#the difference between honey-based paints and those without it

[braisedhoney]

do you have a watercolor brand rec? 👀

i'm actually a really big proponent of using whatever's convenient for you, fr. brands vary in price depending on where you're buying them/where you live, what's available, etc. sure there are definitely differences between them, but especially when you're using professional materials it's actually more rare to pick something bad than to stumble on something serviceable.

(whoops this one got long too. under the cut it goes.)

some brands do, admittedly, do certain things better than others. sennelier (a french brand) is known to go down kind of pale/less saturated on the first wash, but they build really really well in glazes and have a luminosity to them that gives paintings a really interesting depth.

daniel smith (an american brand) has one of the largest collections of colors available i've ever seen and their earth tones are gorgeous and really unique.

QOR (not sure where they're based?) has WILDLY saturated colors that bloom so much it kind of looks like fireworks, same with roman szmal.

holbein (a japanese brand) doesn't move much in water at all and thus offers a lot of control to the user instead at the cost of more abstract or dynamic movement in water.

schmincke horadam (a german brand) was hailed as the holy grail of watercolors for a while for their fine pigments and wild dispersal, but that's kind of chilled out these days since so many new players became beloved staples, and some people aren't fans of wild blooming to begin with. in a similar vein, winsor and newton (english brand) has a very extensive history and honestly works as a super "traditional" pick with few surprises but a solid foundation—and none of that is considering the wild variations in properties between student grade paints or the many types of handmade ones that hit the market lol. some brands make great pro but weak student lines, and vice versa.

buuuuuut.

all of that is pedantic when you're starting out, and honestly if you're asking this you're probably looking to get into watercolor. at beginning or intermediate stages where you haven't gone down the fixation rabbithole, all of tha information is more likely to confuse you than help, especially if you don't know what you like or dislike about watercolor yet.

at beginning stages whatever established pro or student brand is available to you is probably good enough to build fundamental knowledge on.

my actual, legit advice is to pick a few colors you like, then if another brand has what you want get it from them. get a small set if that helps and just build with whatever you find lacking, whatever you aren't using can be replaced with something that appeals to you more. there's no need to stick to one specific brand name just because. just don't pick the super chalky ones that come in those huge art packs with the round pans, and you should be fine (and even then, i've seen some people do great art with those! i just don't like when it comes off like dust on my fingers lol.) general rule of thumb i follow is that if they have accurate pigment and lightfastness information, you're going to be fine.

art isn't really all that exclusionary when you do it for fun, it's just an environment where people started making stuff for smaller and more specific audiences to cater to preferences lol. hell, paint with coffee if you want to. life's short and painting is fun, might as well enjoy it for a while.

oh, but do use good paper. blah blah, you've probably heard it before, and trust me we're all just as horrified as you that watercolor paper is so goddamn expensive. but you could literally have The Nicest Paints In The World and they'd look terrible on bad paper that won't let you use the techniques people try to teach you. if you have to pick between good paper and mediocre paints vs bad paper and excellent paints, pick the paper. trust me.

[nameless-ken]

Since I heard "Timeless" by Taylor Swift I can't unsee Bucky Barnes as the main character from it. Can you please make something like that? I need it with all parts of me

You have no idea how badly I've wanted to write a story based on this song!! Thank you so much for requesting it and making me finally write it <3 hope you like it!

words: 4.1 K

warnings: none, mostly angst with fluff thrown in there

masterlist (requests are open!)

Antique Shop - 2025

Down the block, there's an antique shop And something in my head said, "Stop, " so I walked in On the counter was a cardboard box And the sign said, "Photos: twenty-five cents each"

The sun casts a warm, honey glow over the town as you stroll along the quiet street lined with small shops. Your steps slow when something catches your eye, a small antique shop tucked between two larger storefronts.

The narrow storefront with dust-speckled windows holds a dimmed “OPEN” sign. The door is solid, heavy wood, creaking as you push it open. Above the entrance, a hand-painted sign reads: Antique Shop.

Your hand finds the cool brass handle as you push inside, the bell above the door chimes. The moment you step inside, the musty, old-timey scent hits you. It’s a blend of aged paper, worn wood, and something else you can’t quite place, Time, maybe, or the ghost of it. 

The air is thick with history, full of forgotten things. Each piece holding a story of its own, whispering tales of lives lived and lost. Time seems to have paused here. Every corner and shelf is quietly alive with the weight of the memories.

Then, you notice a cardboard box near the main counter with a hand-scrawled sign taped against it: PHOTOS – 25¢ each.

Something in your chest stirs. Without thinking, you step closer. Your fingers graze the tops of the photos, each one different—faces from decades ago, lives captured in fleeting moments. A woman in a 1930s wedding dress. Two lovers laughing on a porch. A couple holding hands in a driveway. Each one frozen in a simple but beautiful moment.

You reach for one, the plastic sleeve crackling beneath your touch. The moment your fingers brush the edge of the photo, something shifts deep inside your chest.

You’ve always been fascinated by history, by photographs. By the way they hold so much of a person’s life in a single frame, yet leave you wondering about the story behind each face. You’ve always wanted to know who they were and what their lives looked like after the photograph.

But at this moment, it’s not their stories that haunt you. It’s your own.

You imagine what it would be like to be in one of these photos, to be in those moments. To wear a dress like the one in the picture, to laugh with someone you love, to stand beside someone whose hand you’re holding.

And you can’t help but think about one person.

Bucky Barnes.

James Buchanan Barnes. The man you’ve come to know in this lifetime, the one you’ve fallen in love with. Once the Winter Soldier, once lost to the shadows of his past, now free. A man with a kind heart, harsh memories but a future that’s just beginning.

As you stare at the photograph, you imagine how your lives could have been if you’d been there, if you’d been those people. How, in another life, maybe you and Bucky would have shared similar moments. A life in black and white, captured in a photograph that time thought it could forget.

But you and Bucky, no matter the timeline, no matter the odds, you’ve always believed you were meant to find each other.

You can see it so clearly now.

The photograph slips from your fingers. The world around you begins to dissolve. The dusty shelves, the musty scent of the antique shop is gone.

Brooklyn, NY - 1944 

On a crowded street in 1944 And you were headed off to fight in the war You still would've been mine We would have been timeless

You're standing in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. It’s unfamiliar and louder with the busy movements of people rushing. Horns blare. Newspapers rustle in the hands of boys shouting headlines about the war. Streetcars rattle by. The world is louder, faster — alive in a way that feels both foreign and oddly familiar.

You glance down to catch your breath. You're no longer in your usual casual jeans and t-shirt. Instead, you're wearing a knee-length wool skirt, your blouse neatly tucked in. A leather satchel rests under your arm. Every detail feels so vivid. Almost real, but you know it’s not. 

You turn your head and there, across the street, you see him.

It’s Bucky.

He’s dressed in an army uniform, olive green, crisp and tailored. Cap tucked neatly under his arm. Sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his forearms, his left void of metal. His dark hair is tousled in that way it always is when he runs his fingers through it. He looks… untouched by the years, untouched by the pain that would one day haunt him. This is the Bucky Barnes before the Winter Soldier. Before Hydra. Before everything.

He hasn’t seen you yet. Not really. He’s speaking to a stranger on the street, laughing that easy, golden laugh you’ve only heard glimpses of back home.

And then, as if pulled by an invisible thread, he turns. His eyes find yours across the street.

That’s all it takes. The city melts away. The crowd dulls to silence. In a world that never stops moving, time gives you a moment.

He grins, bright and unguarded, and starts walking straight toward you, weaving through the crowd like it doesn’t exist.

“Hey, doll,” he says, his voice warm, laced with affection. Without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, spinning you around, your laughter twirling in the air. When he sets you down, his hands linger at your waist.

“You look like a dream,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “But I gotta admit, you're making it really hard for me to leave on that train.”

You smile, soft but aching. “So don’t.”

He exhales with a light laugh, but there's a flicker in his eyes, something that says he’s thought about it. Maybe even wants it.

“I could,” he says quietly, forehead resting against yours. “Just say the word and we’ll vanish. Disappear to some sleepy town where no one knows our names. You, me, a porch swing, and no goddamn war.”

His voice cracks a little at the end. He tries to hide it with another smile, but you see it. You always do.

You reach up and smooth a strand of hair away from his brow, fingers lingering. “We’ll have that someday. I promise.”

He closes his eyes. He wants to believe you. The two of you stand there in the middle of a city that doesn’t see you, in a time that doesn’t feel real, and for just a moment — the war doesn’t exist. The train doesn’t wait. There’s only this.

But you feel it. In the way his fingers tighten around yours. The weight of what’s coming. The heartbreak wrapped in a uniform. The goodbye that will come too soon.

Still, he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, eyes shining.

“Even if we met like this,” he whispers, “with the world on fire and time against us… I’d still find you. I’d still love you.”

You swallow hard, trying to hold onto the moment, trying not to cry.

“I’d wait a hundred lifetimes just to hear you say that,” you whisper back.

He leans in, closing the last bit of distance. “Then let’s make this one count.”

And then, he kisses you.

Slow, sure, and filled with everything he doesn’t have the time to say. His lips are warm and steady against yours.  

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His breath mingles with yours, his fingers still gently tangled in yours.

The city, the noise, the war. They’re all still out there.

But here in his arms, none of it matters.

Here, you’re timeless.

Prom Night - 1958

I had to smile when it caught my eye There was one of a teenage couple in the driveway Holdin' hands on the way to a dance And the date on the back said 1958

The photograph fades from your fingers, and with it, the memory of a war-torn goodbye.

When the world changes again, it’s softer. The colors are richer, filtered with nostalgia. You’re standing in a driveway, porch light buzzing faintly overhead, casting a glow over the quiet street. The sky is blushing with cotton candy pinks and lilacs smeared across the horizon.

There’s music floating from a nearby radio. A slow, dreamy tune about love and moonlight.

You glance down. Your dress is powder blue with a full skirt that sways gently in the breeze. Your hair’s curled and set with pins. You keep smoothing your skirt, not because it’s wrinkled but because your hands are restless, damp with nerves you can’t explain.

A car pulls up, sleek and black, polished to a mirror finish. The engine purrs low and smooth before cutting off with a soft click.

Then the door swings open and he steps out like a scene from a movie. Bucky.

Wide-eyed and grinning, a crooked tie hanging a little askew around his neck like he gave up trying to fix it. His dark hair neatly combed and he stands for a second at the edge of the driveway, just looking at you.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s the first time. Or the hundredth.

His hands are shoved deep into his pockets. “You look…”

He pauses, eyes skimming over you with quiet awe. “You look like a dream. I mean—hell, you always do. I think.”

You laugh softly, heart skipping in your chest. “That’s not a bad start for someone trying to impress a girl on prom night.”

“Oh, I’m trying, all right,” he chuckles. “You make it kind of impossible to play it cool, y’know?”

He takes a few steps forward, then offers his hand with a little bow, playful but sincere. “Shall we, milady?”

Your fingers slide into his. “We shall.”

The dance is magic.

Paper streamers hang in arches across the school gymnasium ceiling. The punch is overly sweet, spiked with something someone definitely wasn’t supposed to bring. The air reeks of perfume and sweat, hairspray and cologne. Shoes squeak on the floor. The music spins on, soft ballads turning into swingy tunes.

But none of that matters when Bucky holds you.

His arms wrap around your waist like he’s always meant to. You sway to slow songs, his chin resting gently atop your head. Every so often, he leans back just to admire you again.

“Tell me something,” he murmurs midway through a slow song, his voice low, almost lost beneath the music.

You glance up, chin brushing against his chest. “What?”

He hesitates, then runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Have we met before?”

Your brows knit. “What do you mean?”

He searches your face with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. “I don’t know. I keep having these flashes. Feelings. Like I’ve known you forever. But I can’t place it. It’s like…my heart remembers you before my head ever did.”

“Like déjà vu?” you ask softly.

He nods. “Yeah. But stronger. Like…” He exhales, his thumb brushing gently against your back. “Like I’ve loved you before.”

You almost stop breathing from his confession and for a moment, all you can hear is the slow sound of the band behind you and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I know that sounds crazy,” he adds quickly, a sheepish smile flickering across his lips. “Forget I said that. It’s just—there’s something about you. The way you looked at me when I pulled up… it felt like coming home.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy.”

He freezes, surprised by your reply.

“I’ve felt it too,” you admit. “Like we’ve known each other before. Like we’ve done this already. Maybe not this dance… but something like it. Another time. Another place.”

His hands slide to your lower back, holding you a little closer. His breath hitches like he’s trying not to say too much too fast. “If that’s true… then I hope I get to keep finding you. In every lifetime.”

You’re not sure who leans in first. Maybe it’s both of you — but your lips meet in the middle like it’s always meant to happen.

His lips brush yours, hesitant but sweet. His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. You lean into him, fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket like he’s your anchor to something real and good.

When you part, your foreheads rest together, his breath warm on your skin.

“I’ve never kissed anyone like that,” he whispers.

You smile, eyes still closed. “Me neither.”

Somewhere in a Foreign Land - 1500s

In the 1500s off in a foreign land And I was forced to marry another man You still would've been mine We would have been timeless

The next world you're thrown into is sharp like a blade. Cold stone beneath your bare feet and smoke curling from iron sconces.

You wake up beneath a canopy of silk sheets. You are yourself. And yet, not at the same time.

In this timeline you are a daughter of nobility. A symbol dressed in an exquisite gown the color of a deep red wine. Your family's estate is grand and gilded for the ages. But deep in your bones, it feels more like a golden cage than a home. Every corridor echoes with gossip about your wedding, your dowry, the man who will take your hand like it’s a prize won in battle.

But it doesn’t matter to you. 

Because you’ve met him. Your Bucky. But it’s James in this timeline. 

He was never meant to be here. He’s a visiting knight, the second son of no great fortune, no estate to inherit, no grand title held. Quiet, always watching until the day your eyes met outside the chapel.

Dust drifted in the golden afternoon light and your hands brushed as you passed.

You felt the world stop at that moment. 

It began with stolen glances. Then hands grazing beneath the table at dinners. Notes tucked into the spines of poetry books left on your balcony. Midnight meetings in the walled garden beneath the moon.

James calls you by your name like it’s sacred.

One night, pressed close beneath the branches of a weeping willow tree, he held your face in his calloused, rough hands.

“I would burn this place to the ground,” he murmured, “if it meant I could take you with me.”

“Then why don’t you?”

His jaw tensed, thumb brushed your cheeks like an apology.

“Because you deserve more than ash.”

You remember that night. The way he showed you how much he loves you and you showed him what you’d sacrifice to have him forever. 

You decide that tonight is the end of your agony. No more waiting and abiding by the rules thrust upon you since birth. 

You slip away under the cover of a cloak, heart pounding. The chapel waits like a secret only the two of you know. The early morning dew clings to the hem of your cloak. Your bare feet are silent against the grass. 

He’s waiting inside for you.

By candlelight.

When you see him, you don’t hesitate. You run straight into his arms.

He holds you like you’re always made to fit there.

“I had to see you,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “One more time.”

“I hoped you’d come,” he says, pressing his lips to your temple. “But I didn’t expect it. Not with—” He pauses. “Not with how close it is.”

“Two nights,” you choke back the tears. “Then I wear his name and lose mine.”

He pulls back just enough to see your face. His eyes are burning red with unshed tears.

“You don’t belong to him.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But belonging was never mine to choose.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then his voice breaks. “I should’ve taken you away when I had the chance.”

“You still have a chance,” you reply, desperation dripping through your voice.

He shakes his head, “If I run with you, they’ll hunt you down. They’ll use your name to justify another battle. Your blood would be on every stone.”

You don’t argue. You know he’s right.

Instead, you kiss him. Softly. Slowly, like a final goodbye.

“I was yours,” you breathlessly admit. “Before I even knew what it meant to belong to someone. And I’ll be yours in every life after this one.”

He cradles your face like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

“You speak like you’ve seen the end of all things.”

Maybe I have. Maybe we both have.”

From the inside pocket of his cloak, he pulls a folded parchment, sealed in red wax. He presses it into your hand.

“If they make you marry him,” he whispers, “read this the night before. Remember me as I am now. Not as a ghost of our past.”

You grip the letter tight. “Tell me what it says.”

He smiles faintly laced with sadness. “You’ll know.”

You want to beg and scream for him to take you. But dawn is coming and so is the life you never asked for.

So instead, you memorize the curve of his mouth. The warmth of his breath. The way his hand feels pressed to your heart.

“I love you,” you say.

He kisses your forehead. “And I, you.”

You gather the courage to leave without looking back. Silent tears streaming down your cheeks, holding the sobs back until you make it to your room. 

And the next night, in your wedding chamber, you sit in cold and silence. Dressed in white lace. You light a single candle and break the wax seal.

The letter is brief.

The handwriting is unmistakably his.

If there is a place beyond this one, I will find you. In the quiet between stars, in the breath between centuries — I will find you. I will know you by the way your soul reaches for mine, like it always has. By the sound of your laughter. The way your eyes see straight through me. And even if you do not remember me… I will wait until you do. I will always find you. In every time, in every life, in every version of the universe — I will love you. Yours, always, James

You press your fingers to his name and then fold the letter gently, holding it over your heart, where it will remain for eternity. 

And the world begins to fade again.

Antique Shop - 2025 

And sometimes there's no proof, you just know You're always gonna be mine We're gonna be I'm gonna love you when our hair is turnin' gray We'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made And you'll say, "Oh my, we really were timeless"

You’re back in the antique shop, like no time has passed at all. You look around, seeing if you can find anyone but you’re alone, standing in the same spot. The cardboard box of photos remains in front of you. 

Your fingers sift through the stack with trembling care. There they are. The faces you dreamed, the lives you imagined. The girl in the powder-blue dress. The woman in the gown of spilled wine. The look in his eyes that hasn’t changed in centuries.

The bell above the door doesn’t ring this time. There’s no movement behind the counter. No ticking clock.

You pick up the photo of them — of you — and hold it gently in your hands. You don’t care that they’re not yours, not really. You want to keep them anyway.

You want to remember the make believe memories of you and Bucky. 

“Whatcha got there, sweetheart?”

You freeze.

He’s standing by the counter, hands in his jean pockets, eyes on you like no time has passed. His hair is shorter now, but his eyes — God, his eyes — they’re the same. And his smile, that crooked, soft little thing, melts every version of you at once.

“I think…” your voice is quiet as you try to brush off your imagination that took over. “I was looking for you.”

He takes a step closer to you. “You found me.” He jokes, not knowing what you just went through. 

You show him the old photos, wanting to see his reaction and if it’d be the same as yours. 

“Huh,” he murmurs. “Would you look at that.”

There’s a silence — not uncomfortable, but weighted. Like something old and fragile has returned to the surface.

“I remember that kind of feeling,” he says softly.

You tilt your head. “What feeling?”

“Of meeting you for the first time. Our first date,” he pauses as you look up at him. “When I moved into your apartment and when we adopted Alpine. Moments of time like in these photos. It’s the same feeling I get when I look at them.” 

You smile at that because you know what he means.

“They feel like snapshots of something real,” you respond, your fingers still grazing the edges of the worn photographs. “Not posed. Just… living in the moment that someone wanted to remember forever.”

“That’s what I think when I see you some days.” He admits, brushing his hand against yours. “When you’re in the kitchen dancing around while cooking or laughing at some ridiculous video on your phone. Or sitting on the couch in my sweatshirt that’s way too big.” He shrugs. “I think, I hope I remember this exact second.”

You swallow the lump rising in your throat. He says it like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

He picks up one of the black-and-white photos. “They didn’t know someone would find this years later,” he says. “But they look like they were immersed in it. Happiness, hopefulness, love or whatever it is.”

You nod. “Kind of like us.”

He looks at you then. Really looks into your eyes as if he’s remembering everything you’ve lived through together.

“Let’s take them home,” you say suddenly, gathering the photos you can’t bear to leave behind. “Even if we don’t know their names.”

Bucky stands and offers you a hand. “We’ll give them a second life.”

Later, back at your apartment, the old, beat-up shoebox sits open on the living room rug.

The photos from the antique shop now rest alongside your own. A napkin from the diner where you had your first real fight and made up over milkshakes. A polaroid from that road trip to Tony’s cabin in the woods. A dried flower from a bouquet he brought home just because.

Bucky leans against the couch, legs stretched out beside yours, both sorting through the pieces.

“This one,” he says, holding up a photo of you both on the fire escape last summer, sharing a blanket and watching the city lights blink to sleep, “this’ll be the one they find.”

You glance over. “What’ll they think?”

He pounders. “Maybe that we were lucky.”

You rest your head against his shoulder, letting his warmth soak into you. “We were,” you whisper. “We are.”

He turns his head, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Sometimes there’s no proof,” he murmurs. “Not really. Just... these pieces of time that've passed by. Other times—”

“You just know,” you finish his thought.

He nods. “Yeah. You just know.” You both fall quiet again, sifting through more memories.

“That flower’s from the night we got caught in the rain and you picked it from a stranger's yard,” you say, pulling out the wilted stem with a soft laugh. “You said it was fate. I said it was just bad weather.”

“And I said it didn’t matter, ‘cause we were already soaked,” he grins, remembering. “Then you kissed me in the middle of the street.”

“You kissed me,” you correct, nudging him with your foot.

He grins wider. “Right but you didn’t stop me.”

You smile at him, heart full.

And for just a moment, you close your eyes and remember the lives your briefly imagined.

The soldier’s goodbye. The school dance. The candlelit chapel. 

But none of them matter more than this. This quiet apartment, this shoebox, this man beside you who knows exactly how you take your coffee and when you’re lying about being fine.

All of it echoes in the way he looks at you now.

You don’t need time travel or old photographs to know what this is. You feel it in your chest, in your bones, in the way his hand finds yours without looking.

You were right all along.

You really were timeless.

thanks for reading <3 join my taglist

[g1rlsp1ckins]

𝓣HE 𝓢LYTHERIN ✶ 𝓓ORM

𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖒𝖞 𝖋𝖆𝖚𝖑𝖙 𝕴'𝖒 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚.

Hidden beneath the castle, deep under the Black Lake, the Slytherin dormitories have shed their old, dreary reputation and transformed into a sleek, modern sanctuary. No longer cold and ominous, the space now radiates a refined elegance, blending old-world charm with contemporary luxury. It’s a haven for ambitious minds, a place where intelligence, creativity, and camaraderie thrive.

The Entrance:

Unlike the other houses, whose common rooms are hidden behind paintings or riddles, the Slytherin entrance remains a well-kept secret, embedded into the stone walls of the dungeons. The door is a seamless, enchanted slab of black marble veined with silver, appearing only when approached by a Slytherin. With a simple touch or a murmured password, it slides open silently, revealing the breathtaking space beyond.

The foyer is a quiet antechamber before the main common room, designed for those who need a brief moment of solitude before entering the lively hub of the house. Plush emerald benches line the walls, and soft overhead lighting casts a gentle glow over the polished black tile floor. A house crest, made of enchanted silver, shimmers on the wall, subtly shifting between different designs over the years—sometimes reflecting the faces of past Slytherin legends, sometimes morphing into a snake that slithers lazily across the surface.

──────────── · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ────────────

The Common Room:

Stepping into the common room is like entering a high-end lounge designed for scholars and socialites alike. The Black Lake Viewing Windows stretch from floor to ceiling, offering an uninterrupted, spellbinding view of the water beyond. Sunlight filters through in dappled beams during the day, creating a serene, ever-moving pattern across the walls. At night, the lake turns dark and mysterious, with occasional flashes of silver from passing mermaids, darting grindylows, or schools of luminescent fish.

The central seating area is designed for both comfort and conversation. Instead of rigid wooden chairs, plush velvet sectionals in deep green and charcoal gray create cozy clusters, each accompanied by polished oak coffee tables that hold floating candle sconces and stacks of books left behind by students. A massive fireplace, enchanted with cool green and blue flames, sits as the focal point of the room, casting flickering reflections across the glass windows and silver-trimmed walls.

A study alcove on the far side of the room is quieter, tucked away for those who need focus. A long, sleek ebony table runs along the wall, lined with ergonomic chairs that adjust themselves to each student’s preferred posture. Floating glass orbs provide customizable lighting, glowing softly for those pulling late-night study sessions. The surrounding bookshelves are filled with both classic wizarding texts and modern literature, spanning everything from magical law to wizarding fashion trends.

For relaxation, a leisure lounge sits opposite the study alcove, featuring an enchanted chess table, a moving dartboard that playfully dodges poor shots, and a Wizarding Wireless system that plays curated playlists based on the collective mood of the room—whether it’s instrumental music for studying or lively jazz for social evenings.

In one corner, a self-serve café station offers an array of beverages, from classic teas and butterbeer to cold brew coffee and specially crafted wizarding drinks. The station is magically replenished, ensuring that no student ever suffers through an early morning class without caffeine. Seasonal drinks rotate throughout the year—pumpkin spice brews in autumn, peppermint hot chocolate in winter, honey-infused teas in spring, and iced berry potions in summer.

Additional Exclusive Spaces:

Beyond the common room and dorms, the Slytherin quarters feature several hidden areas, reserved for house members only:

The Greenhouse Atrium – A hidden indoor garden filled with exotic plants from all over the wizarding world. Ivy-covered archways lead to a peaceful retreat where students can read, meditate, or study potions in a natural setting. Twinkling fairy lights overhead create a serene, dreamlike atmosphere.

The Lounge Bar – A sophisticated space for unwinding after classes. While it doesn’t serve alcohol, handcrafted butterbeer mocktails, chilled pumpkin juice, and sparkling potions are always on tap. Elegant yet comfortable, it’s the perfect place for deep conversations or celebratory evenings after exams.

The Duelling Room – A state-of-the-art training space for combat practice, fitness, and spellwork. Enchanted dummies, moving obstacle courses, and sparring rings allow students to refine their magical skills in a controlled environment.

The Music & Arts Studio – A soundproofed creative space equipped with enchanted instruments, a recording charm, and a small stage for performances. Whether students want to compose music, paint, or practice dramatic readings, this room is a hub for artistic expression.

──────────── · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ────────────

The Dormitories:

Unlike the cramped and uniform dorms of the past, the modern Slytherin dormitories have been reimagined for comfort, privacy, and personal expression. Instead of only shared rooms, students now have access to private quarters apon request.

Each student, even in shared dorms have their own rooms with beds that are king-sized, dressed in deep emerald or obsidian bedding, embroidered with silver accents. Some students prefer a sleek, minimalistic look with crisp linens and dark wood, while others decorate their spaces with fairy lights, houseplants, and velvet throws. The ceilings can be enchanted to reflect a starry night sky, rainstorms, or even the movement of the Black Lake above.

Each room features a customizable study nook, complete with a polished oak desk, floating bookshelves, and a smart magical mirror that doubles as a daily planner. A window—enchanted to show either the outside world or calming landscapes—can be adjusted depending on the student’s mood.

The wardrobes are another innovation—walk-in closets that magically organize outfits based on the day’s schedule, weather, or personal preference. The enchanted mirror inside offers styling advice and, when in a playful mood, delivers sassy commentary about outfit choices.

1. The Beds

Slytherins value both comfort and aesthetics, and their beds are a reflection of that.

Four-Poster or Canopy Options: Some students keep the traditional regal look, while others enchant their beds to hover slightly above the floor.

Self-Regulating Bedding: Enchanted to adjust to your body temperature for the perfect sleep.

Silk, velvet, or Egyptian cotton sheets, depending on personal preference.

Hidden Storage: Drawers that magically organize clothes, with an enchanted shoe rack that cleans and repairs itself overnight.

Dream Projection Feature: Some beds allow students to replay memories or visualize their dreams before sleeping.

2. Work & Study Spaces

Slytherins are strategic thinkers, so their rooms have top-tier workstations to match their ambitions.

Floating Desks that adjust to standing or sitting mode.

Spell-Proof Study Nooks for students who need to concentrate without distractions.

Holographic Notes & Book Summaries – Simply tap a book, and a glowing summary appears in the air.

Auto-Writing Quills that take dictated notes or transcribe ideas.

3. Personal Wardrobes & Vanity Areas

Walk-in Closets, with sections sorted by magical occasion (formal robes, casual wear, dueling gear, etc.).

Vanity Mirrors with Enchantment Features:

Offer styling advice and hair-styling charms.

Can alter appearances temporarily to test different looks before committing.

Self-Organizing Laundry Baskets: Clothes fold themselves and freshen up overnight.

4. Personalization & Enchanted Features

Slytherins don’t do boring. Their dorms have the coolest magical modifications, including:

Mood Lighting Charms: Adjust the lighting’s warmth and color depending on the vibe.

Personal Sound Systems: Students can play enchanted records, ambient sounds, or Muggle music through magical speakers.

Moving Artwork: Family portraits, classic wizarding art, or animated abstract designs. Some paintings even interact with students, offering advice or sarcasm depending on their enchantment.

Miniature Greenhouses: For students interested in herbology or potion ingredients, a small terrarium-style setup is available in some rooms.

5. Secret Features & Custom Spells

Because Slytherins always have a trick up their sleeve, many students add hidden elements to their rooms.

Hidden Compartment Drawers – Perfect for stashing notes, valuables, or contraband.

Private Entrance Charms – Some students enchant their doors to only open with a personalized spell or phrase.

Soundproofing Charms – For privacy, late-night study sessions, or secret conversations.

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The Bathrooms:

Stepping into the Slytherin bathrooms feels like entering a high-end wizarding spa. The air is lightly scented with enchanted eucalyptus and lavender, keeping the space feeling fresh and calming. The walls are lined with dark green marble, veined with silver, and the floor tiles are temperature-controlled, ensuring that even on the coldest winter mornings, they remain warm underfoot.

Showers & Bathtubs:

Walk-in Rainfall Showers – Spacious, sleek, and enclosed in frosted glass, the showers are charmed to provide a perfect water temperature every time. Some even have illusion charms, allowing students to bathe under a "rainforest canopy" or "waterfall lagoon."

Deep Soaking Bathtubs – Large enough for full-body relaxation, these clawfoot tubs come with a variety of magical bath oils and bubbles that change scents based on mood. Some students opt for self-heating bath stones, turning their baths into a personal hot spring.

Vanity & Grooming Area

Fog-Resistant Mirrors – These enchanted mirrors provide morning affirmations or style advice, adjusting to each student’s needs.

Grooming Stations – Individual vanities stocked with self-cleaning towels, wizarding hair-care tools, and potions for styling or skincare.

Personalized Magic Lockers – Each student has a small enchanted locker where they can store toiletries programmed to open only at their touch.

Additional Features

Soft Lighting Charms – Adjustable based on mood or time of day, ensuring no harsh glares during early morning routines.

Music Charms – Optional, allowing students to play soft instrumentals, classic wizarding tunes, or even Muggle music while getting ready.

Aromatherapy Spells – Cast over the space, keeping it fresh and infused with soothing scents.

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made by @g1rlsp1ckins

[am-i-interrupting]

Guys, guys, guys, can I just. . . Can I just rant for a minute?

Okay, so like this woman came in to see me last minute the other day. We spent a while getting off what was on her nails. It wasn’t my work. I am extra careful about taking off other people’s work ‘cause I don’t know what it is, right? Okay, so we spend like an hour getting this shit off. It was really fucking thick no matter how much I filed it down and it had rhinestones on it. The rhinestones didn’t want to come off and I couldn’t even clip through this acrylic with my clippers.

We finally get it off and this woman doesn’t know what she wants. Doesn’t know what she wants. We spend a while looking at nail designs together to figure out what she wants because she doesn’t wang just solid colors. We settle on an aura effect with five different colors total. Mind you she started off saying she just wanted two colors.

We put on her extensions. I get down the base coat. I start doing the aura. She doesn’t like it. That’s okay. Whatever. We try an ombre instead. She doesn’t like it. Context, this are both designs where you have to cure it as you go so once it’s ok there, it’s not coming off. Instead you have to paint over it or buff it off and then paint over the buffing if you don’t want it to be thick. Okay? Okay. She decided mid way into doing the ombre she don’t like it anymore.

Okay. Fine. We can take it off!

We take it off. She says that she wants the same colors, alternating with a double French. We do that. Then I ask her for, you know, any feedback she might have because I want to improve and I want people to be happy. She said that she wasn’t unhappy but that I need to do more practice because it took so long.

Girl! Of course it’s gonna take so long if you can’t make up your fucking mind! Like the fuck? The part that took the longest was getting those nails off. Because I don’t know what the fuck it is exactly and I don’t wanna fuck up your nails.

Did we spend another two and a half hours there? Yes. But that’s because you didn’t know what you wanted and kept changing the design! For doing three different designs on you, I don’t think that took long. With extensions and designs I average in taking an hour and a half. Like, that’s not long especially when I’m doing something in every single nail.

Then she also said that I should work on lowering my prices. Honey, they’re as low as I can go! I’m still struggling to pay my room rent. My room rent is $400 a month. I am in the shop every single day but people don’t come in every single day. I’m lucky to get two people in a week. I literally cannot go any lower.

She also mentioned that my prices were higher than the girl she went to by five dollars. The girl she went to was working from home, 17, and without bills to pay. She was also unlicensed and still in school for nails. She also said I had better products than the girl that she went too. Of course my prices are gonna be more!

This woman told me to price in mind that everyone will tip. Um, no they fucking don’t. Just because you tip doesn’t mean everyone else will. In fact, I’d say about 40% of people don’t tip and my tips average between $5 and $10. Like that’s not exactly enough to justify me lowering my prices. Also, people shouldn’t have to tip me in order for me to cover my cost of expenses!

She suggested I try to lower my prices down to $20 for EXTENSIONS! I can’t do that! That doesn’t even cover the cost of my supplies!

She said she’ll be coming back and if she does then you know, I’d appreciate it. Business is business and I’m not in a position to turn people away. But like, damn.

She wasn’t necessarily rude but fucking hell she was just— Eh!

Anyway, thank you for letting me rant.

Therapy is expensive and I have other more pressing medical priorities. Guys, I can’t cover the cost to go to a new primary care doctor, much less lower my prices.

I’m just like tired. So tired. After I got done with that woman, I was so exhausted. My mobility issues have been acting up a lot now and I am positive it’s because of dealing with her because they started the day after I had her. Just aaaah!

I’ve been like hyperfixating on BG3 to just like cops by looking and romancing pretty people. I’ll probably get back to my requests soon. I just don’t have the mental energy right now.

Anygay, have a nice timezone, my lovelies!

[bunnysnuff]

Serving.

Pairing: Elle argent x m!drag queen! Reader.

Trigger warning: none. Reader is a drag queen.

Note: love my drag queen community. Slay.

a drag queen known for your bold and fierce makeup looks, sitting down with Elle Argent, ready to work your magic on her. The energy in the room is electric, and Elle’s excited smile shows her trust in you to transform her into a glam queen for the night.

Elle sits in the chair, her long, slender fingers fidgeting with excitement. Her soft, caramel-colored skin catches the light perfectly as you prepare your brushes and palettes. You’ve done hundreds of faces before, but working with someone like Elle—a style icon with a graceful beauty—feels special. She radiates both elegance and a quiet confidence, and you can’t wait to enhance her natural glow.

“Ready for this?” you ask, twirling a large makeup brush between your fingers with a wink.

Elle laughs softly, her eyes sparkling. “More than ready! Make me fabulous.”

You start by laying down the base, a flawless, airbrushed foundation that makes her skin look smooth and luminous. Elle’s soft features are the perfect canvas, and you take your time to contour her high cheekbones and sculpt her face with precision. The goal is to create that perfect mix of feminine beauty and exaggerated drag glam, blending the worlds of everyday beauty and bold artistry.

As you work on her brows, shaping them into sharp, arched perfection, Elle watches intently in the mirror. “I love how strong this looks already,” she says with awe in her voice.

“Wait till you see the eyes, darling,” you respond with a playful grin, reaching for your brightest eyeshadows.

You decide on a bold, neon cut crease with glitter accents—something that will make her eyes pop under the stage lights. You carefully blend the shades, layering electric blues and purples that contrast beautifully with her soft, warm skin tone. The glitter you apply to her lids catches the light, sparkling like diamonds every time she blinks.

“Now for the lashes,” you declare, pulling out a pair of dramatic, fluttery falsies.

Elle’s eyes widen as she sees the lashes. “Are those wings or lashes?” she jokes, but she’s clearly excited.

“Both, honey. You’re about to fly,” you say with a wink, carefully applying the lashes to her eyes. The transformation is already striking—her features have gone from naturally stunning to drag royalty in mere minutes.

Next is the highlight, because no drag look is complete without blinding shine. You apply a shimmering gold highlight to the tops of her cheekbones, her nose, and her cupid’s bow, creating an ethereal glow that catches the light from every angle. You can’t help but step back for a moment, admiring your work.

“Look at you!” you exclaim, genuinely impressed. “Elle Argent, you’re a queen!”

Elle giggles, her gaze shifting between the mirror and you. “I’ve never looked like this before. It’s amazing. I feel so powerful!”

For the final touch, you reach for a deep, glossy lip color—something bold to complete the look. You carefully paint her lips with a rich burgundy shade that adds just the right amount of drama.

When you’re done, you spin her chair toward the mirror for the final reveal. Elle’s face lights up in pure awe as she takes in the full look. Her reflection stares back at her with glittering eyes, sculpted cheekbones, and the perfect blend of softness and drag intensity.

“Wow,” she breathes, turning her face to catch the highlight shimmering on her skin. “I feel like a totally different person.”

“Good,” you say, placing a hand on her shoulder. “That’s the power of drag. It’s about transformation, but it’s also about embracing every side of yourself. And trust me, you’re serving right now.”

Elle stands up, giving herself one last look in the mirror before twirling around dramatically, her face glowing with confidence. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “You’ve turned me into a goddess.”

You smile, feeling proud of the work you’ve done. “Honey, you were always a goddess. I just gave you a little extra sparkle.”

[sloanssalonss]

Balayage for Different Hair Types: Finding Your Perfect Style

In the world of hair colouring, balayage has emerged as a popular and versatile technique that can complement a wide range of hair types. 

Whether you have straight, curly, fine, or thick hair, balayage can be customised to suit your specific texture and style preferences. Let's delve into how balayage Sydney can enhance different hair types and help you discover your perfect look.

1. Understanding Balayage

Before we explore how balayage works with different hair types, let's understand what balayage actually is. Balayage is a French hair colouring technique where colour is hand-painted onto sections of the hair to create natural, graduated highlights. 

Unlike traditional foil highlighting, balayage creates soft, seamless transitions between shades, resulting in a sun-kissed and dimensional effect.

2. Balayage for Straight Hair

Straight hair can beautifully showcase the subtleties of balayage. The key is to create a blend that looks effortless and natural. Balayage can add depth and dimension to straight hair, making it appear fuller. Opt for softer, slightly curved highlights that frame the face and enhance your natural hair colour. 

This technique works well with darker roots transitioning into lighter ends, creating a low-maintenance yet striking look.

3. Balayage for Curly Hair

Balayage can be a game-changer for curly hair, as it accentuates the texture and movement of the curls. When applying balayage Sydney to curly hair, focus on painting the colour onto the surface of the curls to highlight their natural shape. 

This technique adds depth and definition to your curls, enhancing their bounce and volume. Choose warm tones like caramel or honey for a sunlit effect that complements your curls beautifully.

4. Balayage for Fine Hair

Fine hair can benefit greatly from balayage, as it can create the illusion of thicker, fuller hair. The strategic placement of lighter tones can give fine hair a much-needed boost of volume and dimension. Opt for delicate, finely painted highlights that blend seamlessly with your base colour. 

Balayage can also add movement and texture to fine hair, making it look healthier and more vibrant without overwhelming its delicate nature.

5. Balayage for Thick Hair

Balayage is an excellent choice for thick hair, allowing you to showcase its natural density while adding depth and richness. 

For thick hair, consider incorporating a mix of lighter tones to break up the density and prevent the colour from looking too heavy. A combination of soft highlights and strategically placed lowlights can create a stunning contrast that highlights the beauty of your thick locks.

Choosing the Right Balayage

When deciding on the perfect balayage for your hair type, it's essential to consider factors such as your natural hair colour, skin tone, and maintenance preferences. Consult with a professional colourist who can assess your hair type and recommend the most flattering balayage technique for you.

For a low-maintenance option, opt for a lived-in balayage look that grows out beautifully without harsh lines or roots. Alternatively, if you prefer a more defined style, discuss incorporating stronger contrasts or specific colour placements that suit your individual style.

Maintenance and Aftercare

Balayage is known for its low-maintenance upkeep, making it ideal for those who want a beautiful colour without frequent salon visits. 

To maintain your balayage, use colour-safe and sulphate-free hair care products to preserve the vibrancy of your highlights. Regular trims can also help keep your balayage looking fresh by removing any split ends or damaged hair.

Conclusion

Balayage is a versatile hair colouring technique that can be customised to enhance and complement various hair types. Whether you have straight, curly, fine, or thick hair, balayage Sydney offers a personalised approach to colour that celebrates the natural beauty of your hair. 

Consult with a skilled colourist to discover the perfect balayage style that reflects your unique personality and enhances your overall look.

Source by - https://shorturl.at/efkOR 

[jade-parcels]

👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕

The bunnies’ other jobs!

From my bunny cafe au

((I am so peeved :((( I had this all written out!! And I deleted it by accident!! Darnnnnn!!!))

Anon asked “You mentioned that some of the bunnies have day jobs so do they all have jobs outside the cafe or just a few?” (Something along these lines…again…I deleted it by accident 😔)

👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕

Diluc/‘Angel’

After his father got bored with the wine industry, he passed the whole company off to Diluc on his 18th birthday in order to shift his focus to mining. Diluc found himself swamped with all kinds of business decisions while just barely being an adult. He expanded the company and hired some very trustworthy people to handle things for him so he could finish college

When the business was given to him, Diluc and Kaeya had an explosive fight over it. Kaeya felt like he deserved to have some say in what happens to the business, he’s still a part of the family! But Diluc refused to let him in on any decisions so Kaeya packed his bags and left (not before cussing him out in front of their father, staff and business partners). He was just in a silly, goofy mood. They’re fine now, not on the best terms but they do chat and meet up for lunch on occasion.

He is filthy rich, he couldn’t spend all of his all of his money if he tried, so he doesn’t really need the job at the cafe! Kaeya got him the job because he knew his brother was stuck in a weird, antisocial funk and needed some fun in his life

Diluc loves this job, he has a great time, but it isn’t his main job. His priority will always be the family business!! If he has to quit his job at the cafe, he would in a heartbeat

👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕👯‍♂️💕

Kaeya

Kaeya was going to go into the police academy but was scouted out by a modeling agency. They had seen him at Ragnvindr company events and thought ‘well damn’ so they gave him a pretty generous deal

Kaeya makes a good living off of modeling, the tips and paycheck from the cafe. He rakes in cash pretty quickly just cause he knows how to get it. That, and his dad sends him checks every other month as well. Kaeya thinks of it as ‘I’m sorry’ money. He isn’t wrong

He doesn’t travel much for modeling, which he doesn’t mind, so he kinda just hangs around the city with a lot of free time on his hands between photo shoots. That’s why he got this job at the cafe! It gives him something to do and it’s fun as hell ;)

Albedo

Bedo is one busy bunny. He finished college early and is getting his masters degree online. He works most days at the cafe and on the weekends, he tutors other college students in bio/chem/science related subjects

(He was actually Xiao’s tutor back when he was failing chemistry!! Xiao is very thankful for Albedo’s help!!)

His dream is to become a biochemist, he’s always been interested in cells and what makes up living beings. So having a career in that field would make him the happiest man alive

His mother and sister live outside the city in a more rural area so he spends a lot of time FaceTiming the two of them! Klee is always so excited to hear about Albedo’s experiments or the people he’s met while working in such a bustling, fun city :)

Zhongli

Zhongli is a simple man! He’s a bunny waiter and an artist

He creates intricate pieces based on folklore from different cultures, focusing mostly on dragons. His favorite medium is paint, he loves painting on glass and layering the panes in order to create a 3D piece

He sells his works to galleries, shops and anyone who wants them! As long as they appreciate the story behind the artwork. Sadly…He undersells his work. He could def be making more money but he just does not desire money or material goods the way others may

So he got his job at the cafe in order to help out his dear friend Ningguang, not for money, he only planned on working there for a month or two until she got more bunnies but…he ended up really loving the people he works with :’) he looks forward to working with them now and texts/calls them outside of work to meet up for lunch or bowling (such an old man thing to do omfg)

Dainsleif/‘Sweetie’

Dain was a bouncer at another bar before leaving to come to Celestia’s! He’s good friends with Beidou, they belong to the same motorcycle club so when she was talking to him about the lack of security at the cafe/bar, he stepped in to help out

Little did he know…he’d actually become a bunny…And like it

This is his full time job now, he doesn’t have another for the time being. While he is a bunny at the cafe, he still keeps an eye out for any threats to his coworkers and has access to the offices upstairs (Ningguang’s office and the security office)

When he isn’t waiting tables, he’s upstairs in a tank top and sweatpants keeping an eye on the security cameras and talking to the other security guards through their ear pieces

Ajax

Ajax is a student who doesn’t really have much time on his hands

He mows lawns in the summer and he’s quit his job as a cashier to come work at the cafe! He mostly works night shifts his cause he’s still going to school aaaaaand he’s on his college’s swim team! He’s about to graduate so he works close with his coach to help train the others on the team

He doesn’t really want his family knowing that he skips around in a skimpy bunny outfit and fucking customers most nights but I mean…They’re bound to find out if they see him in pictures people post

Xiao/‘Tofu’

Xiao is an art student!! He wants to be a tattoo artist :)

He’s already got one sleeve of tattoos, it’s unfinished but you can’t really tell just by looking. When he isn’t at the cafe, he’s either in class or shadowing Ganyu, his best friend and tattoo artist. Their art styles greatly differ, she focuses her craft on cutesy, colored tattoos, but she is skilled. And Xiao looks up to her

Xiao admires Zhongli too, they met at the cafe and when Zhongli found out Xiao wants to be a tattoo artist he told him that once he’s licensed, he wants to get a tattoo from him :’)

Baizhu/‘Honey’

Baizhu is a (mostly) full time pharmacist, hence why he isn’t usually at the cafe

He also has a niece, Qiqi, who he babysits often. He loves her very much so he has no problem watching her! Baizhu will even bring her to the pharmacy with him when he’s swamped with work. In the break room, he has a play kitchen, coloring books and a bunch of puzzles to keep Qiqi occupied while he works :)

When he’s not at work, he’s at home resting. He has chronic pain flare ups in his back and shoulders that can make life miserable :( he has plenty of good days that outweigh the bad! And as a pharmacist, he has access to any medicine he needs to make his life easier!

Dottore(Alain)/‘Doc’

Alain’s an oral surgeon who’s a little bit….too into his job

He isn’t phased by blood or gore so he’s easily able to conduct procedures that would make other squeamish. He’ll pull teeth, put in dental implants, remove rotten tissue, any of that without even flinching

Outside of that, he works at the cafe. He wears a mask in order to avoid being recognized even though at his job as a surgeon, he’s usually wearing a medical mask anyways. It’s just a precaution

This has nothing to do with his career but he used to be a tap dancer and actor so he’d join in on local theatre shows! He helped build sets when he wasn’t rehearsing. He doesn’t have time for that anymore (which kinda makes him sadddd) but he has all kinds of theatre playlists on his phone and in his car that he’ll sing along to

Scaramouche/‘Boss’

Scara’s job at the cafe is his main job! His side job is something you may not expect from such a grump

He works at an animal shelter! In fact, he brings cats home to train so they have an increased chance of being adopted. Someone is more likely to adopt a potty trained, socialized cat than a feral cat who doesn’t know what a litter box is. So Scara brings them to his apartment for some one-on-one socializing, training and cuddling

One time he offhandedly mentioned working at an animal shelter while he was working at the cafe and sure enough, three separate customers from the cafe came by to adopt!!! Only one actually took an animal home but he was still surprised that those people had listened to him and cared enough to come by

Scara is a jerk most of the time but when he’s at home…by himself…With a lil kitten sleeping in his lap while he plays games on his PC…Yeah, he softens up a bit

So as you can see, we have a very diverse group working at the cafe! They’ve all learned a lot from each other, come to appreciate each other’s friendship and come to help each other out when one of their coworkers is in need or upset.

[makeste]

“...and I bullied him.”

hello, hello, good afternoon or evening or whatever time it is. so by now we’ve all had some time to bask in those “Kacchan admitted he cares about Deku” feels (well, technically they were “All Might pointed out that Kacchan was worried about Deku and Kacchan didn’t deny it” feels, BUT THOSE MIGHT AS WELL BE THE SAME FEELS, YOU KNOW). and it’s been lovely. I’ve been having a time. it’s been nice.

but now I would like to talk a bit more about a part of this chapter which I think was even more important.

for me, this was the line of the chapter. this one panel may honestly be the biggest piece of Kacchan character development since all the way back in chapter 120. “I ended up bullying him.” okay but guys?? can we just talk?? about how absolutely extraordinary this one sentence is.

it’s self-aware.

introspection? from a kid who’s had to be dragged kicking and screaming to every character development milestone he’s ever experienced in his life? and on an emotional level that actually goes deeper, and doesn’t just stop at the surface-level anger that’s so often his instinctive reaction to everything? who are you and what have you done with Bakugou Katsuki lol.

but seriously, the level of self-analysis here almost stunned me, guys. not only does he demonstrate a very impressive level of insight into Deku (something I especially love because it mirrors the many analyses Deku has made of him, and shows that the understanding between them is actually mutual), but he also shows an unprecedented degree of insight into himself. like, historically speaking, Bakugou and Feelings have not always exactly been on the same page, you know? so for him to suddenly get so thoughtful now, and sincerely try to analyze these feelings which up until now he’s always ignored and avoided dealing with... that is such a huge step. also, bonus points: he recognizes it as a problem within himself, and doesn’t try to pin the blame on Deku in any way. he recognizes that he’s the one who reacted badly to Deku’s behavior. to be able to examine your own feelings like that and arrive at a conclusion that acknowledges that you’re not the good guy in this, that you’re the one who made the mistake -- that takes a level of accountability that not everyone possesses.

it’s self-prompted.

okay this one is a big deal honestly. no one put a gun to Katsuki’s head here and forced him to confess this. all All Might said was “you’re worried about him too” and that somehow prompted a level of emotional honesty that Katsuki has never before shown. now, based on the fact that the successors’ notebook is still fresh in Katsuki’s mind, and that All Might mentioned earlier that Aizawa couldn’t help because he was “busy at the moment”, this conversation likely took place shortly after the kids returned from their New Year’s break. meaning that this was basically right after the Endeavor internship arc, when thoughts about seeking atonement were still fresh on Katsuki’s mind. so this isn’t entirely out of the blue; it shows that Katsuki did, in fact, learn exactly what All Might was hoping he would learn from Endeavor.

but it’s one thing for this to be on his mind, and another thing entirely for him to actually confess it out loud. and I absolutely will give him full credit for that. he admits, without anyone forcing him to, that he bullied Deku. there’s no incentive for him to do this whatsoever. Deku isn’t there to hear it. he’s not admitting it for the purposes of seeking forgiveness. he’s simply just being honest, and owning up to what he did because he realizes it was wrong. and that takes a lot of inner strength, to do that. to not shy away from it and keep pretending like it never happened. this is a huge first step for him.

it’s a confession that leaves him emotionally vulnerable.

this is another big one. it’s not always evident because he makes a big effort to downplay it, but Katsuki looks up to All Might every bit as much as Deku does. he seeks his approval, he wants All Might to be proud of him, even though he very often puts on a big show of not caring about it at all. it means a lot to him. a lot.

and Katsuki knows how much All Might cares about Deku. and sure, All Might is already perfectly aware that Katsuki and Deku aren’t exactly on the best of terms, and he’s always been understanding about it; always gently compassionate and attempting to smooth things out between them without being judgmental.

but All Might also doesn’t know everything about the two of them. and even with Kacchan and Deku’s relationship never exactly being on the most rock solid of terms at U.A., there’s still a vast difference between the way they interact there, and the way that they interacted back in middle school. when Katsuki was not only hostile, but occasionally downright cruel. and when Deku was still quirkless, and very much not on equal footing with Kacchan in terms of power, and yet Kacchan bullied him anyway.

what Katsuki is confessing here puts him at risk of rejection from one of the people whose opinion of him matters the most. he’s opening himself up to the possibility that All Might might not, for once, react with his trademark understanding. he’s admitting to All Might, I did something unherolike, and I hurt someone you care about, and I didn’t have a good reason for doing it. All Might, in the moment immediately following this statement, has an incredible amount of power over Katsuki. he has the ability to withdraw his support, to condemn him, to pull away and decide that Katsuki is not someone worthy of becoming a hero after all. he has all the power in the world over Katsuki in this one moment; a rejection from him would be a blow he’d never recover from.

and Katsuki, knowing this, tells him anyway. willingly opens himself up to that possibility of being hurt, of being rejected and shunned by the person who inspired his dream. because the alternative is being dishonest with him. this is, in short, a decision made because he believes All Might deserves to know this, and deserves to hear the truth from him. he wants his approval so badly, but he can’t live with the knowledge that he’s “tricked” him into giving it. so he tells him the truth, ready to face whatever consequences might arise from that. and I think that might be one of the bravest things he’s ever done.

it’s not attempting to shirk responsibility.

this, right here, is why Katsuki is my favorite character. because even though he’s flawed, even though he’s made a lot of mistakes, when he realizes that and is confronted by it, he never tries to hide from them. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: to me, the essence of Katsuki is that he is someone who is always trying to be better. he wants to be a good hero; he wants to be a good person. when people point out to him that he’s done something wrong, he listens. it doesn’t always sink in right away, sure, and sometimes he gets stubborn and it can be hard to hammer that truth in. but once he gets it, he always makes the change. he never tries to make excuses. he owns up to his shit and does his best to course correct.

with this acknowledgement here, that he bullied Deku, there’s no attempt on his part to say that it was Deku’s fault, that Deku shouldn’t have done this or that. he doesn’t blame his parents or his teachers or try to act like he didn’t know any better. he makes no attempt whatsoever to justify it. it’s just simple, honest truth. back then, I ignored my own weakness, so I ended up bullying him. it’s a plea of guilt. no attempt to mitigate it or downplay it. the verb he uses, “ijimeta”, doesn’t water it down.

“to ill-treat; to torment; to be cruel to.” there’s no attempt here to paint this in a flattering light at all. which is good. because in order for him to really atone for it, to really go the distance in his redemption arc which we’re all rooting for him to do, the most important step is for him to take responsibility. he can’t learn from it if he’s trying to hide from it or make excuses for what he did wrong. he has to fully acknowledge his mistakes. and that’s exactly what this is.

it shows remorse.

that’s right y’all. they sent my boy out to do an internship with Endeavor over the holidays, and he came back having learned the true meaning of Christmas. his heart really did grow three sizes. honey badger does care.

there is genuine, sincere remorse for his actions here. he’s sorry for what he did. he regrets what he did. there’s real contrition there. it’s not forced or insincere. again, nobody made him say this! nobody pressured him, nobody led him on. these are his own feelings. I bullied Deku. I shouldn’t have done that to him. I want to atone for it.

I know some people in fandom don’t think this is enough. the same thing happened with Endeavor as well. people aren’t always satisfied with restorative justice; they want retribution. they want punishment for his actions. and that’s a natural feeling; it stems back to that instinct of wanting everything to be fair, which I mentioned in another meta not too long ago.

but the thing is, retributive, punitive justice doesn’t actually help anyone. it doesn’t restore what was lost. Katsuki being punished doesn’t do anything to undo what was done to Deku. it doesn’t do anything to heal the harm that was dealt. it doesn’t do anything to make things better for either of them moving forward.

but do you know what does? restorative justice. making amends. which is exactly what this is building up to now.

it shows an understanding that remorse is not enough, and that in order to move forward he has to take action to be a better person.

Katsuki understands that simply being sorry for what he did is not enough. I suspect that’s one reason why he hasn’t attempted to apologize to Deku yet; because he recognizes that after years of tormenting him for stupid and self-centered reasons, a simple apology might seem meaningless at best and self-serving at worst. it puts pressure on Deku to make a decision to either accept or not accept it. Katsuki saw the Todoroki siblings struggling with a similar conflict not too long ago. and he knows better than anyone else how selfless Deku can be. “deep down, he doesn’t take himself into account, y’know?” and so if Katsuki simply apologizes, Deku might end up offering forgiveness that he doesn’t actually deserve, just because Deku is that kind of person who puts others above himself.

and so rather, what Katsuki has opted to do for now is to put all his efforts into helping Deku. he knows Deku is in a considerable amount of danger. he knows how much Deku has on his plate with the SIXQUIRKS and trying to handle all of that. and he knows there are other potential dangers looming which they don’t even know about yet. he’s been alert and anxious about this -- you saw how quickly his mind leaped to worst-case scenarios about the past OFA users; how he was sure that All Might was hiding something from them, and how agitated and apprehensive he got thinking about what that might be.

“I’m worried for him. you are, too,” All Might said. and Katsuki didn’t deny it. didn’t even try. he is worried about Deku. he’s worried about what he has to face. he’s worried about him getting in over his head and something happening to him. and so the way that he has chosen to try and atone is to help him. with his training, with his quirks; whatever he can do. if he needs to push him he’ll push him. whatever he can do to help make him stronger. and if he needs to protect him, he’ll do that too.

atonement is not the same thing as forgiveness. atonement is about trying to make up for what you did, to try and correct your mistakes however you can. it doesn’t mean you’re pardoned from them. all it means is that you’ve acknowledged them, and are doing your best -- doing whatever you can -- to repair the harm done, and to be a better person going forward. and sometimes there is no way to ever completely make up for it. sometimes you can’t undo the harm, because you can’t go back and change the past. the only thing you can change is the now, and the future.

and so Katsuki is trying to atone. he’s trying to be the friend Deku deserves now, since he wasn’t before. he’s trying his best to make things right, and it all starts with this one sentence. that acknowledgement of what he did, of what can’t be changed. acknowledgement of the mistake, so that he can learn from it, so that it never happens again.

so yeah. BnHA Redemption Arcs strike again. Horikoshi you smooth son of a bitch.

[liptonsbabe]

Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Summary: Molly thinks that Bill’s and the reader relationship is a mistake so she wants them apart from each other. Bill’s against his mother wishes and he find a way to drag the reader into the Weasley family officialy

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi! Part 4 of this thing lol. I’m so happy that you guys like this story. It’ll have like 20 chapters or so, i’m still deciding that so yeah, that’s pretty much the thing. Btw, from now on chapters will be more interestings... i hope so lol. Again, english not my mother language. Please let me know if something’s wrong. Aaaaaand if you want to be tagged in the next chapters tell me and i will add you! Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Arguments

The rest of the afternoon passed as normal as the days before your arrival. Arthur Weasley made sure of it. Even if Molly attacked you with her dagger gaze when you and Bill hugged each other after you were done with dessert.

You didn’t know what Mr. Weasley had talked about with his wife while you were taking a shower, however, you noticed the tension rising from their bodies after you sat down at the table next to Bill and saw an annoyance sign on Molly’s lips. Her temple was frowned, reminding you of your own mother's gestures. Those flaming eyes, cleft chin, and pinion lips. Both women contract their features too much when they were upset and in your distress, you knew that they must not be disturbed.

The last thing you wanted was to hurt a marriage as solid as the Weasley's. More than once you heard your mother talk about it with your nanny making a powerful emphasis on how Molly and Arthur were able to carry out their marriage even if their economic conditions were precarious and the war was on their heels. They were an envied couple. Few dared to expand the family as much as they did without money in their pockets and spreading their progeny like a plague. No one was surprised, not even your mother, not when her marriage to Evan Grant was merely for financial advantage. Now Arthur and Molly looked upset, too upset for your understanding and you just hoped they could get along soon.

You weren't sure you deserved the sacrifice Bill's father had made for you, yet a flame of hope lit up in your chest. If Mr. Weasley started to trust you that was a good sign for others to do as well, right?

The afternoon continued as normal, seeing how Bill's plans to distract you from the fervent harassment of his mother was marred by the twins intervention. They had just finished a new product for their store and needed a good taster to certify the quality of their merchandise. It was a bad idea, he told himself, because twins were just a disaster and you didn't know them well enough to deny their good-natured pretensions.

"Be kind!" He yelled at them as Fred and George pulled you into their. Bill exhaled, pleading that his brothers wouldn't bother his girlfriend more than his mother already had.

Before taking you home, he thought about the pros and cons of your stay in the burrow. His conclusion was based on the fact that his entire family welcomed Harry Potter with open arms, so you didn't have to be the exception. He knew the difference in conditions in which his theory developed, yet he put his trust in the good judgment of his family even if the Grants' past left much to be desired. Bill didn't talk much about you with his mother, in fact, your presence at home was the last of his worries, the real problem came at the time of joining the Order of the Phoenix, would you be willing to fight against your relatives even if that mean betraying your own blood? Bill hope you will

Coming downstairs, Bill found his mother storing the leftover food in the fridge while the dishes soaked in the sink. Then he watched her clean each plate with her bare hands, no magic. William knew his anger was real.

"Want some help with that?"

"I'd love to, honey, thank you," his mother answered without looking at him. Bill raised the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, dipping his hands into the tide of water and bubbles that flew across the kitchen. Molly was silent, drying the dishes and flying them to her place in the display case across the kitchen. Bill cleared his throat doubtfully "It never hurts to help, much less when I have so many things to do before the rest of the Order arrive"

"Don't worry, I'll help you with that too."

"Perfect"

"Mom, can we talk?"

"About what?

"You know what," Bill clicked his tongue, passing her the last plate from the sink to continue with the spoons. "(Y/N)..."

"Your father has scolded me enough about that girl, I don't need you to do it too"

"I wouldn't if you had a little consideration with her."

"More consideration?" Molly asked in a squeak. Bill shook his head. "I'm letting her stay at my home!"

"Our home, mom, ours," he corrected, drying his hands with a cloth. "This house also belongs to my dad, my brothers, and me. It's the burrow, a family property, not a secret club where some people can get in and others cannot."

"You know what I think of her"

"And you know I don't care." Molly looked scandalized at her son. She didn't understand what he had seen in someone like you or what you had given him to come out and defend you as he did "I don't ask you to love her, but at least you have to try...

"Have you ever wondered what will happen when she betrays us?"

"That's not gonna happen"

"You're very sure of that, William"

"I'm convinced, Mom. You don't know her like I do and, you know what? I see that wanting to talk to you was a mistake"

"Moody thinks like me," Molly stopped him when Bill was ready to go upstairs. The woman clung to the railing watching her son standing in the first step out of the kitchen "(Y/N) Grant is a danger to the Order"

"Really? Like Mundungus Fletcher? I beg your pardon, mom, but if there is anyone who represents a latent danger to the Order of the Phoenix, it's him and yet you have assigned him for the mission tonight"

Molly's lips parted and if it weren't for the fact that Bill knew her mother too well, he might think the woman was about to throw herself on the floor in a tantrum. Still, she clenched the bars tightly, her brow furrowed, and the redness on her cheeks washed over her forehead.

"William!" Don't talk to me like that!"

"I wouldn't if you had a little more respect for my girlfriend."

"Don't you understand? I care about you! For all of us!" She snarled angrily. "Having a Riddle in this house..."

"A Grant, mom, (Y/N) is a Grant and that's not the same." Bill descended his steps, approaching her mother, returning that angry look that she had inherited from him. It was a strange sensation. A dyad of emotions between joy and fear where the composed emotion was guilt. He had never exploded that way with his mother, but Molly hadn't behaved that way with anyone either "His grandfather is Lord Voldemort's half-brother and his brothers are all Death Eaters, what does it matter? (Y/N) is not. And when do we judge others by where they come from? If so, we could start with half of us. Being a Weasley is equivalent to being a blood traitor"

"William!"

Molly's face went from fury to shock to fury again. Bill's eyes were twinkling and Molly swore she had never seen any of her children this angry, or worse, this determined.

"What would you have done, Mom?" Bill questioned taking his mother by his arms in an attempt to make him feel her despair. Molly opened her eyes, scared. "When your family tell you not to accept dad? When your brothers object to your engagement, just 'cause the Weasleys have long been considered blood traitors?"

For the first time that day Molly's mind went blank, Bill guessed, rewinding the memories of how difficult it was for the Prewetts to accept the marriage. Bill pleaded silently, but pulled away from her when his mother gave no indication to be a little more respectful with you.

"We aren't like that. We don't separate people by where they come from, we hug them" Bill resumed his way towards the stairs, stopping a couple of steps up, turning to take a look at Molly's stunned figure "As you did with Hermione, Remus and Harry when you and Dad became his godparents after Sirius died. (Y/N) is no different"

"She will turn her back on us when the Order fight the Grants. That moment will come and you know it"

"Don't worry, i'll make sure that doesn't happen"

"She is not part of this family"

"That can be solved very easily," he said and the smile he wore gave her a terrible chill down her spine. "Because I'm going to ask her to be my wife."

Molly's gasp was the only thing Bill heard before climbing the stairs and heading to the twins' room. He always respected his mother a lot and even thinking of opposing to her wishes was inconceivable, but your well-being was something that was involved and Bill couldn't just let her mother control his life at her will. Maybe the mistake he made was not telling his parents the truth about you from the start or, in that case, mentioning that the woman he loved was the fucking niece of the strongest fucking dark wizard of all time.

Bill Weasley rubbed his face as he reached the twins' door. He no longer had to torment himself, it was done and the only thing pending at the moment was to get Harry out of his uncles' house, take him safely to the burrow and find the courage to do what he told his mother he would do.

Would you agree to marry him? He hoped so and if not, he wouldn't pressure you. You were young - even a little younger than him - and it would be understandable if you refused to tie your life to someone else's from one moment to the other. The war progressed every day and if you were going to do it, you would do it as soon as possible.

Loud laughings brought him out of his thoughts to observe you and his brothers sitting on the floor, right in the center of both beds, laughing at each other and touching your faces. From the doorway Bill can't see the full painted room, however George's face showed a rather abstract mural full of bright colors when he felt the presence of his older brother. Fred did the same showing his face in the same situation and then you turned to Bill, still laughing and your face smeared with paint. It seemed the twins had created a paint bomb in millimeter pills, that explode when you put a little bit of pressure. You tried to clean yourself with the sleeve of your sweater but you spread the paint even more. Fred and George laughed and so did Bill.

His heart swelled with love as he saw that at least someone in his family - besides him and his father - had hope in you. God, he may have even cried with happiness.

Bill never understood how a sunshine as beautiful as you was never accepted in your entire life.

Tags:

@purple-vodka-99

@vampirestrawberries

Thanks for the 100 followers!❤

[attllhak]

Flora’s Musings

So, here’s the WingAU fic I mentioned. It’s the first one I wrote and features the fun trope of “The Unreliable Narrator That Is History”, which I had a lot of fun with.

I, don’t have a tag list for this AU at this point. So, this part is just my preamble I guess. So, preamble over, here’s the fic.

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

Zelda ran her fingertips between her shoulder blades. She tried not to think about what wasn’t there.

Her wings would come in, she hoped, no she knew they would. They had to. As the princess fated to stop Calamity Ganon it was her duty to unlock her sealing powers, face him, and earn her wings.

It was why she was down here now, in the hidden and secret library they’d excavated. No one cared about this area of the castle, but Zelda loved it there. It was so full of knowledge, and there were records about the Queens and Princesses of the past, ones who had wings themselves.

It was certainly a good excuse to hide down there and do research.

There weren’t many documents on the founders of Hyrule, but she’d translated a few of the ancient texts and had learned much. Apparently her powers came from the fact she was descended from Hylia herself! There were exactly three paintings of her down there, and all of them were old and weathered. Two, one of her alone and one next to her husband, the first King of Hyrule, who was holding the Master Sword, his own wings giving him away as the first of Link’s incarnations, were so old almost all of the colour was gone. The last one, however, had been tucked into a book and, protected from the elements, retained some of its colour.

The goddess reborn had gold wings, bright and shining and as beautiful as everyone expected them to be. Her Hero, however, had red wings, a bright crimson with soft gold flight feathers. What was more, this painting seemed to depict them in their downtime, the goddess still dressed up and all, but leaning over the edge of her throne. Her Hero sat on the dias and leaned against the throne, and was messing with something in his hands that the goddess seemed to be watching, though age obscured what it was. It was entirely unprofessional and sweet, and it made Zelda happy. It made them seem less like untouchable figures of pure good and more like real people. She liked that they were people too.

There was only one picture of the next Queen, and it was so old and weathered that Zelda was scared to touch it lest it crumble into dust. This queen had smaller wings, though Zelda couldn’t tell what colour they were supposed to be. Her Hero was there too, and he had four wings, and Zelda couldn’t be sure but it almost seemed like each wing was a different colour. She couldn’t find any other record of these two, and so she’d taken a picture of the image on the Sheikah Slate to preserve it. This painting was important.

One of the Queens came from the point in history called the Split, a strange period of several thousand years where very different events happened at the same time. They had, through the records in the castle libraries and the temples across Hyrule, figured out this Queen had lived three different recorded lives. Regardless, she always looked the same, or similar at least, in all of her lives. She was a warrior, and her wings, indigo and white and flecked with gold, were always held in a way that showed pride.

Her Hero wasn’t always with her, in two of her lifetimes she ruled alone. In one of them, her Hero had died trying to fight Ganon, and was buried with wings wrapped about him, as was traditional for Heroes and their Queens. The Queen had been Princess then, the books say, and was only 17. I made Zelda uneasy, Link had turned 17 just a few months ago, and her 17th birthday was fast approaching. To think the Hero of Time could die at 17 made her worried for her own Hero. The next of the two he just, wasn’t there. There was no record of the Hero after he defeated Ganon, he just vanished without a trace. Zelda still wanted to know why. The last life gave the most information on the Hero, but he wasn’t listed as a Hero at all. There was no fight in this life, just peace and a failed arrest. As far as historians could tell, this was the most accurate life of hers, but Zelda wasn’t so sure. After all, she and the head of her Royal Guard both had wings. Something had to have happened. These were the only records of the Hero of Time where his wings were visible. A beautiful metallic copper, with darker bronze flight feathers. He seemed to keep them close to his body, like he didn’t want anyone to pay attention to him or them. He apparently married a farm girl in this life.

There were different heirs in each of these lives. For the first life the Queen was a fighter, one with all kinds of magic at her fingertips. Her wings were pink and red, and when she spread them a little bit of gold could be seen at the base of them. This was a Queen who never shied away from the many, many issues her people faced. And many issues there were, records argued whether the number of quests her Hero went on was five or six or twelve. He seemed grumpy in every painting, but after seven-ish quests Zelda would be too. His wings were pink, a million different shades at once. He also seemed to prefer long tunics or dresses to pants. Apparently he didn’t like pants.

After them came a pair of Queens. Zelda initially thought they were cousins, but apparently one was the other’s ancestor, as bizarre as that was. Only one of the two had wings, a soft amber or honey colour, a safe, warm brown. The Princess didn’t have wings, but was no less important if the records and paintings were to be believed. Their Hero didn’t look like much, but his wings, a deep, dark green with earthy brown flight feathers, told of his heroics enough that his looks didn’t have to. Records said he married the Princess, but they never had children, instead helping the Queen raise her bastard twins as a group. Zelda wondered if perhaps the three had all been together, so to speak, and the twins were actually his.

In the second life, there was only one heir, a woman who was named ‘Tetra’ and not Zelda. Her wings were blue, with red separating the blue from gold flight feathers. It was a beautiful colour. Her Hero was usually pictured at her side, his silver tipped sea foam green feathers shining next to her. Those two were always painted outside, and usually on a boat of some kind.

Following the timeline that was decided to be ‘true’, the Queen following the Queen of Three Lives was her great-granddaughter. Her wings, sleek and graceful, were solid black save for the lowest layer of feathers, which was a soft golden-orange colour. Her Hero was hardly ever at her side, history said he spent most of his time in his home village or on assignments for the Queen. Zelda didn’t know if they didn’t get along, or if he hated the city and castle, or why it was that he was never around his Queen, but there was only one painting of him next to her. His wings were big, wide and strong, a range of soft oranges with a rare black feather scattered across them. He also wore a strange charm on a rope around his neck, but no one seemed to know what it was.

The only other Queen, save for the one from 10 000 years ago, was one with a story so outlandish that historians debated on whether or not she was real. She always held a sword or bow in hand, and her wings were either spread for flight or held in close for combat. They were gold, with white flight feathers that seemed to go indigo at the base of each feather. Black flecked the gold, making it obvious she was a fighter. Her Hero was always with her, his wings out behind him, flared up in a show of pride or confidence, a rallying cry for his troops. They fought in a war, so the records claimed. His wings were gold, shiny silver spots scattered over his wings, not dissimilar to the stars in the sky, that made his wings look like they glittered. He was beautiful, as was his Queen, and it was clear that the two were very close.

There weren’t any records on the wings of the Queen 10 000 years ago, nor her Hero, and Zelda didn’t know why that was. Perhaps those records were lost when the Sheikah split. It was unlikely she would ever know.

Zelda didn’t know when her wings would come in, and some days she feared they never would. It was a comfort at least that Link’s wings hadn’t come in yet either.

He found her a few hours later, bringing her a blanket and some food. He sat with her and politely signed a request for her to read to him. They read all through the night, and Impa found them the next morning, Zelda leaned over the desk with her head on her arms and Link leaning on the side of her desk, head tilted back and drooling. She left them there.

When the Calamity hit and she didn’t get her wings she felt like such a failure, especially since Link’s wings had just broken skin a few moments ago, greyish brown wings that were still all fluff coming through the slits in his tunic designed to accommodate them.

She sat next to him in the Shrine of Resurrection, just before they sealed it. His wings were still small, they had never had the chance to come in fully before he fell. She reached over and brushed hair from his face, watching his relaxed features and ignoring the burns on the rest of his body.

“Don’t worry, Link,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure they’re all safe until you wake up,”

She marched on the castle then, staring down the Calamity and ready to give everything she had to keep him at bay.

She reached forward, holding her hand out to the monster and ready to fight. She could feel the triforce on her hand burn in response, her body spilling a radiant golden light. The monster dove for her, and she held her ground, eyes open and ready to stand and fight.

A push on her shoulders, then the pressure bursting and wings spread out behind her.

Blue and white feathers sat on the ground where she was moments before.

(---)

Link stepped into the castle, tiny wings fluffed up in anxiety and nerves making them quiver. He paused as he moved towards the heart, lifting one foot.

Under his boot, was a pair of blue and white feathers, perfectly preserved from when they fell there 100 years before.

[aliensunflower-fics]

The Liar Trap: A Lila Salt Prompt

You expect me to believe that after Lila gets Marinette expelled that Marinette would just leave that alone? Marinette the girl who made a tamper proof DIARY box?? Yeah I don't think so years of Chloe messing with her and her things, Lila proving to be the same kind of bully, and then of course the added paranoia of hiding Tikki and a secret identity everyday should mean that Marinette is some kind of bully prepper from hell. So I present to you my idea:

Lila’s first attacks were when Marinette was unprepared Chloe had been getting soft lately choosing words over playing dirty the change had been brought on partially by Adrien and partially because Chloe and Sabrina were tired of falling prey to Marinette’s traps. And with the threat of Chloe diminished Alya and others had been able to convince Marinette to disarm her many safety precautions. But then sure enough along came Lila to exploit those weaknesses and exploit them she had! Marinette had been EXPELLED and even if the issue was eventually cleared up Marinette was back on the warpath!

By next monday her old traps were back up and new ones were being drafted. Everything from her bag to her sketchbook to her special art room locker had been fortified and prepared. Marinette had no doubt Lila would lay low for a while but eventually she would coil herself to strike again and when she did she would be caught in Marinette’s traps. Until then all she had to do was prepare and take lessons on composure and remaining calm reacting harshly to Lila’s lies would serve only to bury her; she needed a cool head to deal with the liar. And luckily Kagami was an amazing teacher and a devious friend with many suggestions of her own on how to handle Lila effectively now all Marinette had to do was wait.

It took Lila 2 weeks to make her next move the plan was simple enough, the liar had snagged Alya’s phone and planned to wait until Alya was frantic before ‘helpfully’ pointing out she'd seen it in Marinette’s school bag hopefully the whole thing would build tension between the pair and distrust for Lila to feed on. Only that never happened, stage 1 acquiring the phone was easy but it was during stage 2 slipping it in Marinette’s bag during class that she hit failure as her thin thieving hands were suddenly met with a SNAP upon entering Marinette’s bag. The trap was simple, a design loosely based on your everyday mouse trap only softened so it didn’t hurt QUITE as much after all Marinette didn't need Lila actually getting hurt. But still it hurt enough and was shocking enough that the little liar screamed disrupting class.

Now it was time for Kagami’s lessons to come into play. As Lila revealed her hand and wailed about Marinette’s bag attacking her, the baker keeps a calm head amid the confusion and accusations and “what the heck Marinette!” She explains that after being framed for cheating on the last test and her PAST experiences (At that everyone glances at Chloe) she decided to make her bag tamper proof. Lila is quick to accuse Marinette of bias against her as she tries to save face but Marinette just hides a smirk as Alya and everyone are quick to assure Lila that it isn't her but someone else (Chloe) that Marinette is accusing with the class firmly on her side Marinette frees Lila’s hand and tells the italian that next time she needs to borrow a pencil she should simply ask first. Furious Lila reveals her last card, Alya’s phone! And how it was in Marinette’s bag! Instead of an uproar or Marinette scrambling to defend herself Alya hugs Marinette and thanks her, apparently the blogger losing her phone is a common occurrence and its standard protocol for someone in class to pick it up and give it to her later. Score One: Marinette.

In the following weeks similar incidents occur. Lila manages to break into Marinette’s locker thinking the flimsy looking lock was the only thing holding her back only to find herself covered head to toe in cheap sticky glitter paint! Lila throws a fit and Marinette feigns concern that the art supplies she brought were so precariously placed she apologizes and kindly offers to make Lila a new outfit and then makes a point to ask in an innocent and confused tone that EVERYONE can hear just what Lila was doing in her locker in the first place? Lila gets her paws on Marinette’s sketchbook dreaming of stealing the girls designs and framing her? Tough luck she opens the sketchbook to an artfully crafted pop-up mocking her failure and every other page is empty! She goes after Marinette’s precious designs in the school art room? This time it's latex paint that falls on her. Dump coffee on Marinette? Somehow everything important is in waterproof cases and now the cutest guy in school (yes even cuter than Agreste) is offering Marinette his sweater so she can finish up the school day without an emergency home visit and hey is she free for the school dance? Steal her purse? Strangely enough, she gets seemingly cursed with bad luck and ends up caught red handed by Alix and Max and getting a REAL sprained wrist! 

And during every single incident Marinette is calm and forgiving and understanding and apologetic. She has answers for every accusation and is quick to turn whatever she can around after all why IS Lila looking in her locker? Why is she in the art room alone going through Marinette’s stuff!? Why does she clearly have one of Marinette’s sketchbooks in her bag? That’s the third thing she spilt on Marinette this month! The final piece is Marinette’s purse and the plague of bad luck it brings Lila the moment she snatches it suddenly everyone is a LOT more suspicious, because before? Well it could just be coincidence or bad luck or any of the other many excuses Lila had come up with but this time was different and Alix and Max were witnesses. Now everyone is keen to keep an eye on Lila, and with them paying closer attention they start to notice how easily and how often Lila is to blame Marinette for things, or how she casually and ‘helpfully’ (accuses) points out that Marinette of being a bad friend, or a ‘bully’.

Now how does Lila get exposed? There are options, maybe she gets caught red handed by the now observant classmates and this time she cant lie out of it. Maybe after all her failures to destroy her at school Lila tries to lie her way into the bakery only to learn the traps in Marinette’s room are worse. Maybe she gets careless in her frustration. Maybe Tikki’s residual bad luck from when Lila snagged the purse follows Lila ruining her. Or maybe now that everyone has a closer eye on Lila they realize how she targets Marinette how her friendly advice is needlessly harsh how her honey laced words don't sound QUITE right so eventually they all treat Lila like a friendly acquaintance but never trust her words eventually Lila snaps in frustration or maybe she just moves on. But no matter what happens the class apologize to Marinette and they work to be better friends the kind of friend Kagami turned out to be during the entire Lila ordeal, loyal trusting relying on honest communication to work through hardships.

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[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, edging, orgasm denial, teasing, dirty talk, dom!yoongi, use of sex toys, cumplay, multiple orgasms, creampie, oral (f receiving) face riding/sitting, use of the words slut, cumdump/cumsleeve and degradation in an entirely consensual context, also they drink in this episode so it involves sex under the influence of alcohol, but once again entirely consensual, overstimulation, cumeating (it is a yoongi chapter after all)

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and everyone who submitted truths and/or dares. i apologise if yours didn’t get drawn, there were over eighty of them

DAY SEVENTEEN

Waking up on Wednesday is the calmest you’ve felt in a while. Even though it’s not the start of the week, it still feels fresh, and you slept far better last night than you did before elimination.

That being said, fate apparently gives you very limited time to breathe, because the second you open your bedroom door you get a fright that just about stops your heart.

Min Yoongi, fist falling awkwardly in the open space, blinks at you. “Good morning.”

“Jesus,” you curse, hand pressed to your sternum as your heart races beneath it, wordlessly stepping back to let him in.

Yoongi slips past you smoothly. “I know the resemblance is startling, but we have been living together for two weeks, Y/n. I’m hurt.”

You scoff as he makes himself comfortable on the edge of your bed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He shrugs, looking more casual than usual in a faded red tee and a pair of jeans rolled up at the ankles. His hair, newly mint, sticks up at odd angles like the first thing he’d done this morning was tip out of bed and come down to your door. It just makes him all the more endearing. “I have a proposition,” he announces vaguely, pulling out a sleek black object from his front pocket and resting it on the duvet beside him.

You narrow your eyes at the foreign object. Made of what must be matte silicon, there's the slightest hint of silver that circles an on-button at the base of it. Although it's not particularly long, it's wide and rounded, and it doesn't take much brainpower to work out where a toy like that might go.

Yoongi grins as your eyes rove over the toy. "Perhaps less of a proposition, and more of a challenge," he drawls slowly. A single graceful finger runs up and down the length of the black egg, keeping your gaze locked on it. "I'm gonna fuck you now, sweetheart, and if you can keep my cum inside you all day, I'll give you a reward. How does that sound?"

You suck in a breath, eyes flying up to his again. You're nodding before you even really process the implication of his words, but he's already quirking a finger to beckon you.

"Come sit," he commands breezily. He's already hard when you straddle him, your knees braced on the duvet and arms linking around his neck. Glancing up at you, you're taken by the honeyed way his eyes blink up at you with bemusement. "You're very obedient this morning," Yoongi quips, "is this why people like morning sex?"

You scoff, rolling your clothed core against him. "Hurry up and put your dick in me if you're going to, Min."

"Never mind, then," he sighs, but happily slips open his belt buckle with one hand, the other gripping the flesh of your thigh as he frees his cock from the confines of his jeans.

Still in a loose oversized sleep shirt and panties, it's easy enough for Yoongi to just tug the fabric over your core to one side, fingers sliding through your already-sodden folds.

"Didn't take much, did it, sweetheart?" he asks with a wry grin, and your cheeks heat, burying your face in the crook of his neck even as his deft fingers spread your wetness over you.

"Stop making fun of me," you whine, breath hitching when he slips a single finger deep inside you.

"Oh, but I'm not," he murmurs, voice just as languid as his pumping motions. "It's fucking hot."

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, Yoongi beginning to relax your muscles with a second finger, hooking and twisting and curling them in all the ways that make your legs weak.

"Does it feel good, sweetheart?" You can feel more than see Yoongi's smirk when you nod hastily, grinding against his fingers. "But it doesn't sound like it. Why can't I hear you, hm?"

A free hand presses lightly but firmly at your jaw, lifting your face away from him. You swallow down another moan as his thumb brushes just once over your sensitive clit.

Held up across from Yoongi, you can't avoid the way he frowns. "That won't do," he decides, before his fingers tug down your bottom lip. Without a single falter in his other hand fucking you, now three fingers in, Yoongi hooks his index and middle fingers behind your bottom teeth to keep your mouth open wide for him.

The next time he swipes your clit, you can't hold back the wanton groan that escapes. Yoongi's eyes positively light up at the sound as he fucks you harder, jostling you on his lap and making every little noise from your throat magnify.

When he eventually removes his sopping fingers from your core, you whine unabashedly at the absence. The heat that had built up, the beginnings of an orgasm, quickly dissipate.

“Patience,” Yoongi chastises in a voice thick with humour, before lining himself up at your entrance and swiftly pushing you down onto him.

You groan as he fills you, unable to stop the drool that’s begun to spill over onto his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind the messiness, however, using the leverage to keep you steady once he starts to fuck up into you.

Your hands fly from the back of his neck to his shoulders, stuttered cries punched out of you with every bounce. Certainly not the biggest member in the household, Yoongi did know how to use his cock to make you melt around him and he quickly makes your fingers and toes curl with pleasure.

Even as he maintains his dominance with the unspoken ease he always carries, it’s undeniable that he’s close with the way he beings to lose his composure. Whether it’s his freshly-dyed hair curling at his temples with the sweat of his exertion or the grunts that slipped past gritted teeth, you love those little glimpses of the animal that wrecked you last week.

When his pace stutters into a desperate jackhammer that leaves you breathless, you know it’s only a matter of time before he spills inside you. Close yourself, you slip a hand down seeking your clit for the needed stimulation to push you over the edge.

The second you feel a glimmer of hot pleasure, however, a hand snakes around your wrist and pulls it away. Your eyes widen, drool spilling messily down Yoongi’s other hand as you babble. “Ngo, ‘o, p’ease,” you slur out, “‘oongi, wan’ cum.”

Your whine gets louder as Yoongi responds to your complaints by slowing down to a deep grind, breathing heavily in his chest. “What are our rules, sweetheart? You have to keep my cum inside you all day to win your reward, don’t you? Now be a good girl and let me fill you up.”

Unlike you, Yoongi has clearly still retained that edge of orgasm, and it doesn’t take much before he’s shuddering with a groan, painting your insides white. Finally lifting his fingers off your bottom teeth, he pushes them further in your mouth, instructing you to suck them clean of your own saliva.

Wrapping your lips around them with a dissatisfied whine, you grind your hips fruitlessly against him as he slowly begins to soften. No hope of cumming this morning, you resign yourself to the challenge he’s set you and let him tip you gently onto the bed, standing himself at the edge still inside you.

You blink up at him, licking your swollen lips once he retracts his fingers from your mouth, picking up the small black egg you’d almost forgotten about. “Is it games?” you ask blearily, sniffling when he pulls out of you.

With one of your legs held up to keep you at a good angle, Yoongi starts to push the rounded vibe inside you, aided by your arousal and his own release. “Is what games?” he asks softly, an airy chuckle leaving his mouth when the toy slips inside you, making you moan at the pressure.

“The prompts,” you explain, clenching around the intrusion that’s plugged Yoongi’s cum inside you. “Work hard, play hard. Are they different games or something?”

Yoongi pauses. “I- I’m not sure if it’s beneficial for me to confirm or deny that,” he admits slowly, before clearing his throat and backing up, letting your legs dangle off the side of the bed. “Can you stand? I’m just about ready for breakfast. Nothing like a good orgasm to build my appetite.”

You send him a scowl as you stand on wobbly legs. “Now you’re just rubbing it in,” you accuse, “this reward better be something special.” Even as you adjust your panties back over you, you’re expecting the silicon egg to come out at any moment. As it is, you feel like you might go crazy before the day’s out.

The doctor makes no effort to hide his satisfaction, eyes shamelessly running over you as you squirm in place. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you today,” he announces lowly, buckling his jeans back up. “If you want your reward you better not take it out or get yourself off. Your pleasure belongs to me today, sweetheart.”

“Yes, sir,” you mouth off sarcastically, even as the wetness between your thighs increases.

While Yoongi may have refused to confirm your theory about the prompts being games, it seems games are the theme of the day regardless.

By the time you get dressed - gingerly, like any wrong move would send the egg slipping out in a torrent of cum - and meet the others downstairs, you see the lounge has been cleared to make way for a misshapen pile of packaged snacks and a bowl full of slips of folded paper.

Taehyung, Namjoon, Jin and Hoseok are already surrounding the offering, cross-legged on the carpet. Yoongi, who’d come down before you, haunts the coffee machine. Just as you do a headcount and wonder where Jimin’s gotten to, the man himself approaches from the shadowy depths of the walk-in pantry, two bottles of wine held in one hand by their necks, and a six-pack of soju in the other.

Jimin jumps in surprise when he looks up to see Yoongi just in front of him, sending the older man a small smile. “Good morning.”

Yoongi eyes up the liquor suspiciously. “I suppose it must be.”

“Sejin dropped them off.”

“The bottles?”

“The games,” Jimin emphasises, pointing with a hand laden with bottles. “Jungkookie, Jin-hyung and I just thought we should make it more fun. Didn’t they tell you?”

Yoongi grumbles but doesn’t answer, cradling his coffee like it’s a lifeline and hobbling over to sit on one of the couches, pushed back to give more space.

Wary of your every step, you sit yourself down in a gap between Jungkook and Namjoon. The youngest perks up and turns to you, looking comfy yet stylish in a modern hanbok, black to make the red in his hair pop.

“It’s drunken truth or dare,” Jungkook declares, feet tapping the carpet in excitement. “Sejin said the audience wants more sexy games.”

Jin clicks his tongue. “He never said sexy.”

Jungkook doesn’t bat an eye, still grinning at you. “The ‘sexy’ was implied.”

“I’m sure it was,” you allow with a chuckle. It doesn’t take long for everyone to find their places, Jungkook turning to his other side and tugging on Yoongi’s trouser leg until he sits on the carpet with the rest of you.

Following the circle along, Jimin sits to Yoongi’s left, then Jin, Hoseok, Taehyung and finally back around to Namjoon who’s on your right.

“Alright, how is this supposed to work?” Yoongi asks reluctantly. “And how can I rig this to retain at least a modicum of my dignity?”

“Here’s the deal,” Hoseok announces, “we take turns picking truths or dares from the bowl. If you don’t want to do it, you take off a piece of clothing. Questions?”

Taehyung hesitantly lifts his hand, staring at the dom to his right. “What if we run out of clothes?” Though he’s moderately dressed in thick sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee, Taehyung doesn’t really have any layers, and he’s already barefoot.

Hoseok shrugs. “Then you play the rest of the game naked, I guess. Stripping is the whole raison d'etre of slutty game nights. What part of that don’t you get?”

Taehyung pauses. “The raisin part.”

“He’s saying the whole point of games like these is stripping,” Jimin explains quickly, clapping once to get everyone’s attention. “Okay! Let’s start. I didn’t have hands free to bring glasses so unless someone else wants to help out, we’re drinking from the bottles. Who wants what?”

It doesn’t take long for the alcohol to be dished out. Taehyung and Hoseok both scamper around like children and end up mixing plain soju with Fanta or sprite, sipping at the fizzing mixture as they giggle away. Jimin is making his way through one of the two wine bottles himself, a pretty moscato rosé that matches the baby pink lip balm he’s wearing. Namjoon has the other bottle, though he pours a full glass in a sturdy-looking coffee mug and pawns the rest off back to the middle. Jungkook and you wordlessly split a flavoured soju, something sweet and fruity with the classic burn at the back of your throat, and Jin sticks with an original one, leaving Yoongi the only one without alcohol.

The man himself takes a long swill of coffee. “Someone better pick a dare then.” Making no effort to actually help himself, he waits for Hoseok to wiggle on his knees to the centre of the circle to grab the bowl, keeping it secure on his lap as he blindly roots around for a slip of paper.

His subconscious grin of excitement fades the second he picks one and reads it. “My fucking luck,” he curses, before changing his voice to a monotone drawl. “Allow Jimin to give you a makeover. If Jimin draws this, pick another member.” He glances up in pain. “Can I pick someone else anyway?”

“That’s not the dare, Hobi!” Jungkook protests in an excited squeal. “Are you gonna let him do it?”

Jimin remains perfectly poised, simply arching an eyebrow when Hoseok sends him an accusatory glare. Like he’s disappointed with the calm reaction from his rival, Hoseok huffs and silently tugs off a sock. “He’s not getting anywhere near my face,” the dom insists, “I just know he’d make me look ugly on purpose.”

“The only way I could do that is by using no makeup at all,” Jimin petulantly responds. “Anyway, now that you’ve contaminated the air with your bare foot, can we move on?”

Hoseok huffs, but thrusts the bowl to his right, handing it to Jin. The therapist sighs like the discourse personally drains him, then picks a slip from the top, opening it with one hand. Immediately, he breaks out into a pealing laugh, shoulders shaking as he slaps his knee with his free hand. “Do a cartwheel.”

“What the fuck?” Hoseok shrieks. “Why didn’t I get one like that?”

“Can you do a cartwheel, Hoseok?” Jin questions calmly.

Hoseok’s mouth gapes. “I- no.”

“I guess you were doomed to be one sock down either way, then,” Jin consoles. “I, on the other hand, made it onto my high school cheerleading team.” He steps away to a patch of open carpet. “Well; I was the reserve. I never actually did any games.”

That’s the only warning you get before Jin is launching his torso to the ground, legs flying up and flailing as his hands meet the ground. On landing, his feet come down awkwardly, sending him sprawling onto the back of the couch. “Fuck,” he gasps out, catching his balance, “that was way easier when I was small.”

Jin returns to his place with a smug smile, leaving the room in startled silence. “What? Next person.”

Jimin takes the bowl and pulls out a piece of paper before passing it to his right in front of Yoongi. “Alright, I have…” His eyes rake over, plush lips moving. “What do you hope you can do most before you have to leave the house? Uh… I’d like to try something for the first time.”

Taehyung pouts. “Isn’t that a bit boring, Min?”

Jimin shrugs. “I guess I’m on the other end of the spectrum to Namjoon-hyung. It’s hard to find anything I haven’t done before. I’ve been working for Bangasm for years, and doing porn for even longer. Eventually it feels like everything is the same. I’d like to have something completely new, that I can look back on as special.” He clears his throat loudly and nods his head at Yoongi. “Your turn.”

Yoongi places his now-empty coffee mug on the carpet in front of him, rooting around carelessly for a piece of white. His eyebrows lift past the overhanging swoop of mint. “What sex act have you done that you’ll never do again?” Taking a second to think, Yoongi pushes his tongue to the side of his cheek. “Mm, my best friend and I once experimented with each other just before high school graduation. We were both well over 18 by then, but going to a catholic all boys high school, we were pretty repressed and dumb about those kinda things. He tried to suck me off and threw up right on my dick.”

You cringe violently, the sips of soju you’d already drunk sitting sour in your stomach. “Fuck, that’s so gross, Yoongi. Did he like, say sorry?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Ah, not at the time. He started crying and I had to comfort him while I was still covered in- yeah, I’d honestly kinda blocked that out until this question reminded me. Fuck. Okay, next person, I need to re-forget about that.”

None of you can blame him once he reaches for a straight soju and takes a few deep gulps, throat bobbing.

Jungkook’s next in line, looking a little green in the face from Yoongi’s anecdote. “Right, okay, lemme-” With his eyes scrunched shut, he selects his slip of paper and opens it up. “Get the person to your left in the pool within the next minute.”

Yoongi, too preoccupied with chugging as much liquor as he reasonably can, doesn’t pay attention until he’s deftly snagged around the waist and thrown over Jungkook’s shoulder, the half-empty bottle splashing out onto the carpet.

“Hey! What do you think you’re- Jungkook, where are we going?”

Jungkook races out through the back door faster than any of you can keep up with, Taehyung and Hoseok jogging after him to watch from the doorway.

Even from your spot on the floor, you can hear an almighty shriek followed by a splash, and some watery yelling. By the time Yoongi stomps back in, drenched, Namjoon has some towels from the linen closet.

Without the usual sexual tension of a truth and dare game, Yoongi strips off his wet clothes and wraps himself grouchily in as many towels as possible, the final one over his head and tucked under his chin.

Looking like a drenched cat, Yoongi scowls and shivers. “Can I at least go upstairs and get into some dry clothes, or do I have to risk a second dunk?”

Jungkook shrugs airly, passing the bowl down the line. “The risk of me dunking you again is pretty low, hyung. But never zero.”

The plastic bowl now rests in front of you. You eye the folded slips inside warily, before picking one roughly in the middle of the pile. Unfolding the small rectangle, you let out a week laugh once your eyes scan the neatly handwritten words. “Trade shirts with the person on your right.”

“That’s you, Joonie.” You rake over Namjoon’s getup with a wary eye. Luckily, he’s wearing a forest green tee over some chunky camo pants. You think he’s probably going to be worse off than you having to put on your own thin sweater. “Let’s swap.”

Slipping it off, you shiver in the cold air and feel the hairs on your arms stand up on end. Ignoring the rapt eyes of the others, you chuck it into Namjoon’s lap and watch his stomach and biceps flex as he lifts his own shirt over his head.

The fabric is cotton, but feels so silken against your skin, still warm from his body heat. While the hem of his shirt pools in your lap, your sweater on him strains around his waist, a solid two or three inches above his waistband.

You can’t help but let out a chuckle at the corded body, thick chest and meaty forearms barely being restrained by the slightly fuzzy pastel yellow sweater. “Looking good, Joon,” you jibe, poking him right where the skin of his hips is exposed.

He winces, carding a hand through his grey-silver hair, now ruffled from the closet change. “I’m sorry if it gets stretched out of shape after this. Is it my go?” Without waiting for an answer, he shakes up the bowl and retrieves a piece of paper from the bunch. “Jin’s cooking or Yoongi’s cooking.”

The colour drains from Namjoon’s face at the two men staring him down impassively, one of them sitting poised with an expectant glare, the other shivering slightly through layers of damp towels, round face poking out of the terrycloth with a warning frown.

“Um… I-” Namjoon gulps, and begins to undo the strap on his watch, leaving his wrist bare and slightly pale. “Tae, you’re up.”

Even without either man receiving the victory, they both seem mollified, Yoongi taking the opportunity to gather the towels and rush upstairs quickly. A small wet patch is left on the carpet in his place, Jimin and Jungkook on either side laying some fresh towels on top to soak it up.

Before you even notice Taehyung getting a slip, he’s hooting in excitement, jumping up to stand. “Design an outfit for a member in the house with random clothing in the villa!” He eyes up the people in the circle before gasping. “Wait! No! I’ll go do Yoongi while he’s changing!”

Like an excited puppy, he’s off up the stairs, chasing after the doctor.

“Do we...wait for him?” Jungkook asks uncertainly. His chest jerks with a hiccup, having finished most of your shared bottle of soju.

Leaning forward with a shrug, you snag another bottle, cracking open the lid and taking a sip of the refreshing green apple taste. Not your favourite, but you were just tipsy enough to not care all that much.

As the rest of you mind your time waiting for the absent two to return, some of the others begin on the snacks. Although Jimin has passed halfway on his moscato, he seems perfectly composed as he and Jin share a packet of rice snacks. Jungkook nibbles on the ends of a handful of Pocky sticks, wobbling slightly on the spot. Hoseok’s face is bright red even though he’s just been sipping at his fizzy soju concoction, so he gets a bag of Doritos and begins crunching madly.

Namjoon is holding his mug of white wine in both hands, so he stays snackless, shifting and sneaking glances at the stairs. Still looking comically beefy in your fitted sweater and camo pants with a million pockets, part of you thinks perhaps he was put out that he wasn’t the one to get an opportunity to change clothes again into something that fit a little better.

It doesn’t take long for a frantic thud-thud-thud echo through the room as Taehyung comes bounding down the stairs. “And introducing…!” he shouts cheerily. “The newest dom of the Red Room, Min Yoongiiii!”

When Yoongi comes down, the reaction he was expecting probably wasn’t cooing, but you can’t help it. Taehyung has done well to pick out glossy leather pants, thick-soled black boots, a white shirt and even a leather harness around the top of his chest, all the things that spoke to a professional dom, but on Yoongi it just looks like a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Hoseok, clearly the original owner of the clothes judging by his gobsmacked look of recognition, is far taller than Yoongi, so the shirt drowns his torso and the pants are rolled up at the ends. All in all, he looks so tiny and sweet, hair still damp and tangled, that you imagine the dom clothes just served to make him appear cuter in contrast.

He scowls as he sits down, plump bottom lip sticking out, and reaches for his near-empty bottle of soju with a huff. “I hate this game,” he declares before taking a swig.

“You have had bad luck, hyung,” Hoseok admits, “I’m sure it’ll turn. And speaking of turns; it’s mine now!”

As Hoseok begins digging around for his, taking a dramatically long time just to make everyone groan, your pocket vibrates. Reaching down to check your phone, you suck in a breath when you see the text from Yoongi. It displays a single arrow pointing up, followed by an unambiguous now.

You clear your throat just as Hoseok picks a slip. “I’m just going to the bathroom, you can keep going without me.”

Apparently not concerned about subtlety, Yoongi just stands up and follows, his eyes dark on you.

Hoseok lets out a wolf whistle that makes your cheeks heat, before apparently giving up and returning to the game. You manage to make it upstairs with little fanfare, but Yoongi’s hand snakes around your wrist and his body cages you against the wall in the upstairs hallway before you can make it to your room.

Your breath hitches as his eyes burn into you like twin furnaces. “Have you been a good girl for me?” he asks in a low voice, lip quirking when you nod. “Let me check.”

Your eyes widen. “Here?”

Yoongi jerks his chin towards the sturdy metal banister that runs across the edge of the landing to the top of the stairs. “Bend over, sweetheart.”

You obey before you even realise just how exposed this position makes you. Gripping onto the metal like a lifeline, your face and upper body are well in view of anyone that came into the entrance foyer downstairs. As Yoongi slips down your panties and jeans in one go, your core throbs around the plug. “Please, Yoongi,” you breathe without thinking.

He slips a finger inside you without warning, hooking around the top of the plug and slowly dragging it closer to your entrance.. “Please what?”

“I- ungh.” Your mind comes to a halt as your walls stretch, the plug slipping out into his palm with an obscene noise. You don’t have to feel empty for long, as you feel the blunt head of his cock replacing the silicon toy, reaching much further depths to keep his cum from this morning buried deep inside you. “Fuck.”

Yoongi chuckles, using one hand to steady himself on your hip as he begins to fuck you in earnest, hips smacking your ass. “Well, that wasn’t a very articulate answer,” he teases, “it’s only been a couple of hours and you’ve already become a dumb little cumdump, haven’t you?”

You gasp at his sudden degradation, but you can’t hide the way you clench around him, biting down harshly on your lip to muffle a moan.

“Fuck, you like that?” he curses with a satisfied growl, picking up the pace so that his every thrust jerks your hips forward against the banister. “Spread out in the middle of the hallway for anyone to see, just here to keep my cock and my cum warm?”

You shiver. “Y-yes, Yoongi, fuck me harder, gi-give me your cum, wan’ it!” Denied from an orgasm earlier in the day, it’s no surprise that your dignity drops away so soon, your mind morphing into a desperate organ that needs relief. Doing your best to fuck yourself back on him, you let out a whine. You’d lose your balance if you took a hand off the banner, and you both know it. Something in you doesn’t think Yoongi would do it for you, either, if this morning was anything to go off.

“Such a slut, sweetheart,” Yoongi pants out, but instead of the hard edge of degradation, his voice is honeyed with praise. “So fucking good for me, my little cocksleeve.”

Your eyes begin to prickle, so close yet so far from the orgasm that he deftly dangles in front of you. Uncaring of who could hear you downstairs, or the fact that Yoongi probably wouldn’t listen anyway, you start to mindlessly beg him, letting out a weak stuttered moan with every plunge inside you.

As expected, he just shushes you and tightens his grip on your waist, his pace picking up impossibly fast until he suddenly goes stiff and spills inside you, catching his breath. “That’s a good girl,” he gasps between gulps of air, “still so tight, mean Yoongi not letting you cum.”

You whimper as he slides out slowly, pressing a hand on the small of your back to keep your ass arched up as he slips the still-wet egg back inside. Your legs tremble and your core clenches in dissatisfaction at the second denial, but the pleased smile on his face as you keep two loads of cum inside you is enough to make your heart soar.

He hands you a tissue to wipe the slick off your thighs before lifting your jeans back up, and he cleans off his hand, using his mouth to suck away the creamy mix of your arousal and his cum that had gotten on it from the silicon egg. “Did so well, sweetheart,” he coos, “not much longer now.”

Yoongi ends up returning downstairs first again, if only to give you some time to lose the wobbliness in your knees, but by the time you sit back down, it’s clear a round or so must have gone by without you.

There’s a near-empty glass in the middle of the room, a layer of sludgy green around the sides and gathering at the bottom. Hoseok bears a disgusted frown, swishing lemonade in his puffed cheeks. Jungkook isn’t wearing any pants, Taehyung has lost another sock, and Jin has a stripe of wetness running up his cheek like someone’s licked him. Namjoon doesn’t meet his gaze.

Yoongi glances up and runs his eyes over you as you sit back down gingerly. “Good timing. Your turn, sweetheart.”

You let out a sigh, take a gulp of the closest open soju bottle near you - this one sickly sweet - and pick a piece of paper at random. “How long are we even going to- Oh. What is your ideal sexual scenario.” Your cheeks are on fire. “I- Surely I shouldn’t answer, though, because then you’ll all just do it to try and stay in the game.”

“If it’s your ideal scenario, wouldn’t you prefer to experience it multiple times?” Jin questions, his eyes burning with curiosity even as he keeps his expression neutral.

Jungkook shrugs, the motion lifting his shirt to reveal grey boxer briefs. He seems totally unbothered about his state of undress. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, either. If it helps, I’ll tell you mine.”

You narrow your eyes. “Seriously? Fine, you go first.”

He shrugs again, shaking his head so the strands of red fall away from his eyes. “I’m in a five-star hotel. They gave me like the President’s suite or something because I’m super rich and super important, and it has a whole bunch of video games. I enjoy room service and play video games for an hour, only I didn’t come alone. I have a bunch of hot people, like at least five, and they all wanna fuck me.” Like he’s telling a perfectly innocent yet incredibly interesting story, Jungkook gestures and speaks emphatically, the other members of the house listening in with a dumbfounded silence. “I definitely wanna fuck them too, you know, but I’m busy. Playing games and stuff. So they do everything they can to get my attention, until eventually either I take pity on them and wreck them, or one of them decides to shut the game off and make me pay for ignoring them. I guess ideal would be some of both. And then we all fuck, and I’m right in the middle because it’s all about me. The end.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Why does it sound like you’ve thought this through in great depth?”

“Because I have,” Jungkook answers simply. “Look, one time my friend and I got a fancy hotel room together and I thought it would be totally perfect if there were video games or something fun to do in the room, you know? And also I had a massive crush on her so my mind was also in the gutter and everything just came together.”

You blink. “Well… Okay, I don’t think mine will be so elaborate because I haven’t really… I don’t know. I guess mine would be renting a cabin or a chalet somewhere super remote for like a whole week with someone, knowing that we can basically have sex all day and all night without worrying about anything else.” Your cheeks flush, and you clear your throat awkwardly, staring at the fibres of the carpet.

“Sex retreat,” Jungkook summarises knowingly, “that’s a good one. Anyways, Namjoon’s turn again.”

Over the next few hours, the eight of you get consistently more tipsy, and eventually replace the alcohol with some steamed rice and leftover soup to sober up a bit. Taehyung had to do a blind taste test (apparently Hoseok’s elbow tasted like pork), Namjoon stripped off your stretched-out pink sweater to avoid answering a truth that made him blush so hard he wouldn’t even read it out, and Jimin theorised on who the biggest dick in the house was (guessing Jin, the eldest strutted around like a smug peacock for the rest of the night).

You’d gotten off decently lightly; answering a few questions about Sejin, music, and even Mango, then taking off your pants to avoid a dare that asked you to strip entirely. Though you wouldn’t admit it, you didn’t want to part with Namjoon’s shirt that soon.

Every time you managed to forget about the egg-shaped toy inside you, you’d laugh or change positions or reach forward for a drink and feel it shift inside you. You felt full in a way you’ve never really experienced before, and you couldn’t work out if you liked it or not. Another thing you couldn’t decide if you liked or not was the constant worry that your underwear would betray a dark patch or trail of cum that had escaped you, and the whole rooom would know exactly what Yoongi had done to you. The thought made your heart thud.

By the time Jin started to stack the dishwasher and Jimin - still the most sober one though he outdrunk most of you - cleans up the lounge, you feel equally tired and horny, desperate to get the reward that Yoongi’s been dangling in front of you.

He doesn’t even have to text you or command you; you quite happily trail him to his room like a needy pet, hoping your eyes convey your want.

“Can I help you?” Yoongi asks with a shit-eating grin, finally slipping out of the leather chest harness he’d been grumbling about all afternoon.

You narrow your eyebrows, feeling the toy shift inside you with every movement. “I think you can,” you pout.

His gaze glimmers with bemusement. “Come sit, sweetheart, let me make sure you’ve been good.”

He doesn’t even speak as he pushes lightly at your shoulder, guiding you to lie down on his bed, legs dangling over the edge. With his quiet demeanor of authority, much like you imagine he’d use in his clinic, he slides down your panties and parts your legs, humming in approval at what he sees. “You have been good. Keeping my cum warm for me, what a well-behaved slut you are.”

You suck in a breath at his words, tilting your hips up. “Yoongi, please.”

“I do want to give you your reward now,” he begins, and your heart sinks into your stomach at his reluctant tone. “Really, I do. But if you really want to please me, why don’t you let me fill you up one more time, hm?”

You have the rising urge to bite down hard on your knuckles, teeth grinding as you whine. “Yoongi,” you protest, but the need to please is too great to ignore. “Yeah, fuck me again, Yoongi. Please be quick, I want it.”

Yoongi laughs, a warm grumble in his chest. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve already milked me dry twice today. I won’t be lasting long.”

Quicker than your arousal-addled mind can really process, Yoongi is tugging the plug from you and driving his cock in in one smooth motion. You cry out, a hand flying out to latch onto his arm to ground you as you tighten around his intrusion. “Fuh-fuck, oh god,” you make out through a tensed jaw.

“Shh,” the doctor coos, “are you sensitive? Poor sweetheart, Yoongi’s been so mean not letting you cum, keeping you plugged up all day.”

Your eyes tear up as he jackhammers his hips into you, brute force to achieve a quick and desperate orgasm. Though you doubt he’ll let you cum, you’ve been aroused so much today that heat already curls thickly in your stomach. You can barely respond with no air left in your lungs, so you just garble wordlessly, clutching at him for dear life.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind your inability to hold a coherent conversation. As he mercilessly seeks out your wetness, he continues to spew filth with a grin exposing his teeth. “Gonna fill you up so well, huh? Fill you right up to the brim, you’ll be leaking for days. Taking this cock so well, sweetheart. Just like that, fuck. My perfect little cumdump, only been a day and you’re so well-behaved, yeah? Just drooling for it, look at you.”

You’re out of your mind, holding on to his words and the shared contact like they’re your only lifelines. When Yoongi lets out a guttural groan and comes inside you for the third time that day, you feel totally boneless, unable to do more than whine and shiver on the duvet.

Edged yet again, the only energy left in your body is singing out for an orgasm, and so when you feel his hand cupping your heat, you rock into it mindlessly, warranting a quick and stinging swat to your thigh.

“You’ve been so patient, sweetheart, don’t be greedy now,” Yoongi chastises. “I need you to move for me, okay, on your knees on the bed. Clench hard; I don’t want my cum going to waste on the bedsheets.”

You groan weakly but follow his instructions, bleary-eyed as you watch him walk around the other sie of his bed before getting up and lying down on his back, mint hair splayed out on the pillow. He grins at you, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Come on, then,” he lures, “take a seat.”

You moan out loud before you can even think to swallow it down. “Are you serious? Fuck, okay.” Feeling breathless but vibrating with excitement, you gingerly position yourself above his face, knees either side of his head. It takes a lot of energy to hold your walls tight together, but still his seed runs down your thighs.

He doesn’t seem to mind. Without a moment’s hesitation he mumbles, “let go, sweetheart,” and buries himself between your legs.

You cry out at the first swipe of his tongue, right over your entrance. Your muscles naturally flex, releasing more of him, but you remember his words and let yourself relax.

Yoongi laps up his own cum from you like it’s the sweetest nectar, driving his tongue sharp and deep inside you, then switching to broad, shallow strokes, before flicking the tip against your clit. Although you try to avoid squashing him, he hungrily grabs the flesh of your ass and tugs you down to meet him more fully, making you let out a broken moan and grip the headboard for support.

As he devours you, his hands encourage you to rock against his face, seeking out more pleasure. Whenever he dips his tongue lower to lick you clean, his nose rubs against your clit, and once enabled you can’t help but grind into the long-awaited stimulation, a constant stream of breathy sighs and hiccuped moans slipping from your lips.

The sensation of his cum leaving you is one that takes some getting used to, but it seems to go on forever, unbelievably wet against Yoongi’s face as he eats you out like a silver-tongued god. Your mind is filled with the visual of his eyes, clenched shut in focus, and the mental image of his cum filling your insides, an endless stream with how deep and full he’d fucked you today.

It’s no surprise that it takes you almost no time at all to reach that edge again, and you could cry in relief when, instead of edging you again, he pushes you over it with a sharp tongue, fingers digging into your ass as you rode it out on his face.

What does surprise you, however, is that once the pleasure turns to needling oversensitivity, and your muscles go lax, his grip only tightens, and his tongue just speeds up, ruthlessly pitching you long past the point of your orgasm.

“Yoongi, ah, ‘s too much!” you hiss, trying to wriggle away. Your knees are too wide to give you any leverage, however, and he lifts his forearms up and over your thighs, locking you against him.

You feel rather than hear the vibration of him grunting his response, but he doesn’t let up; not when you sob and writhe above him, not when you go totally silent, mind-blown at how the sensations are beginning to cycle around back to pleasure, and certainly not when a second orgasm is forced upon you, wracking through your body. More violent than the first one, you shudder against him and go slack against the headboard, moans weak and stuttered.

As your body continues to convulse and twitch with the aftermath of your back-to-back orgasms, Yoongi takes the wheel and gently maneuvers you to the side of his bed, head heavy on the pillow.

When he cleans you up, your pussy feels positively raw, and you hiss, locking your thighs around his hand and the damp facecloth he’d used. Mind hazy and floating, it seems like no time at all before he’s tucking the both of you under the covers, snagging you around the stomach and pulling you flush against his back.

Still in Namjoon’s soft shirt, you can nonetheless feel the heat radiating off Yoongi’s skin and his heart thudding in his chest. “Was that okay?” he asks, pressing a single soft kiss against the nape of your neck to punctuate his question.

“Fuck, more than okay,” you pant out.

You feel him smile against your skin. “I’m glad. Sleep well, sweetheart.”

You hum in response, getting yourself comfy, feeling secure in his hold. “Night, Yoon.”

[morepeachyogurt]

we are good people (and we've suffered enough)

word count- 2.5k      Pairing- Temily

Summary- After Scratch, Tara and Emily run away to Italy to start a new life, ft. cats, cafes, and gardening. Based on this post, and this prompt. 

Part 2 of my, maybe we’re from the same star, series, work is a standalone, part 1

read here on ao3

tw’s- very minor mentions of substances and ptsd

Things were never the same after Mr. Scratch. The two of them were filled with more trauma than they had room for in their hearts to still hold each other in. Nights were no longer filled with a movie and cuddling, or talking about philosophy but tense sentences, paranoia, and nightmares. Tara knew that something needed to change, anything to stop the monotony of desolation. But still, they went to work every day and drowned their sorrows in killers like that would bring back the part of her that died when Scratch took Emily. There are only so many times one can be held captive and wait for death before something inside them breaks.

One night they get wine drunk, Emily laying sidewise on their black couch, and Tara sitting on the table staring at the ceiling.

“I miss being young, god, that’s such a weird thing to say. I mean, I spent my youth hating it. Hated my mother, and all of our traveling, never could make friends. I hated that I never belonged, hated not being in control of my own life, and here I am 50 years old working for the government that I used to despise trying not to cry myself to sleep every night,” her voice takes on a bitter tone.

“We love in our old age the things we hated as children. Does that make us matured or foolish?”

“Both, I think.”

“What was your favorite place to live? I mean it sounds like hell to keep moving between places but there must have been someplace you loved, right,” Tara’s voice fills with a tang of desperation as she searches for a way to help her lover.

“Rome. The weather and the scenery,” her voice takes on a dreamy tone, “and the food! Man, the food is good, don’t tell Rossi but his carbonara tastes like Olive Garden compared to the real thing,” they both chuckled at that, knowing it would have sent Rossi in a fit if he were to hear that.

“That sounds really nice honey.”

“I miss it sometimes you know? I think about how gorgeous everything was. It feels like home in my distant memories.”

“Then let’s do it. Lets, go move to Rome. You aren’t happy here Emily, I know you say you are, but you do this job for our team, not the position now. I miss when you laughed,” both of them sobered up by now, knowing that it has taken a turn for the more serious.

“No, no we can’t. I, I can’t keep leaving this team and our friends. And, people need us. You love this job Tara I can’t take that away from you, not for me.”

“They’d understand Emily, they all love you so much. Yeah, I love this job, I won’t lie. But, I love you more, and I’m not happy if you aren’t. So let’s do it. Let’s fucking run away to Rome together and be happy .” The two sit in silence for a minute, the unanswered question still hanging in the air.

“Okay. Let’s do it. Maybe I’ll fulfill my long-lost dream to have a nice, big garden.”

The team took it surprisingly well, they’d all noticed a change in Emily in the months following Scratch and knew that Tara had Emily’s best interest at heart. Of course, they were sad to lose two of the best members of their team, but Emily was family, and family looks out for each other.

“I’m going to miss you my favorite dynamic duo and your guys’ jokes. Ugh, it’s going to be so quiet without you two lovely ladies,” her eyes are welling with unshed tears as she says goodbye to more of her family, “Send me things from Rome or I will install a virus in your phones,” they both laughed at Penelope’s antics and promised her that they’d send as much stuff as they could. The last two weeks of their stay in the United States were filled with mixed emotions. They were excited to start the next chapter of their lives together. Away from all the serial killers and monstrous people out there. They could finally live with a fraction of the naivety that most people carry. On the other hand, Tara only speaks minimal Italian, and now they’re going to be living in a brand-new country, surrounded by strangers. A fresh start, but one filled with anxiety.

“Okay 4:30 is way too early for a flight,” Emily grumbled as they made their way to the airport. The pair had woken up at three, knowing that Tara can’t sleep on planes they tried to go to bed early and were now making their way to the airport in the dead of morning.

“Wait, babe, look! It’s a full moon,” they pulled over just for a moment and got out of the car to sit on the hood. The silence between the two is peaceful, the wind was the only whisper in the air. Moonlight shone on Tara’s face and Emily knew that there was no sight in the world as beautiful as this. With the moon reflected in her eyes and a small simple ghosting on her lips. She’s home.

Security was a breeze, they are former FBI agents after all, and they made their way to their gate. Airports always have a certain air to them, a place where time seizes to exist yet completely runs the place. Their gate was quiet, filled with the tired murmuring of people excited to travel.

“Tara, honey, wake up we’re boarding.”

It was odd for the two of them to be flying commercial after all those years on private jets. It was nice to feel normal though, to fade in the background instead of being other . Human desire is both to be noticed and forgotten all at once.

Italy’s airport is very similar to the DC airport, it would seem like they never left. Outside was a whole different story, bustling crowds and hot air hits them as soon as they step outside the building. They had picked out a quaint apartment building a week prior. Yellow walls with a terrace looking out to an alley. The couple's belongings had been shipped and were waiting to be unpacked. Not right then though. Now, it was time to explore.

Hand in hand they walked leisurely down the narrow alley way of the small Italian town they are now calling their home. Vines and every other type of plant that could grow did. Hanging off banisters, and climbing up orange brick walls. The sunlight was close to blinding, and it hit Emily just right. The golden rays hitting her face and illuminating the ghost of the smile now appearing on Emily’s face. That smile told Tara all she needed to know about their decision. Emily catches her staring, “What are you looking at,” humor evident in her voice.

“You, I’m looking at you miss Emily Prentiss. You’re smiling again,” her words come out softer than she intended, but they convey her point.

Happy couples seem to fill the streets, old and new, young and old. The town may be old, but it was filled with a life that they had been lacking. They pass a quaint little bakery. Bread, cupcakes, and assorted pastries fill the windows. There're bookshelves on all the walls filled to the brim with different books. The walls are light blue and there are flowers everywhere. It looks like something from the movies.

“Un Piccolo Angolo di Paradiso,” Emily reads the name of the building in front of them, they’ve since stopped to admire the view in front of them. It reminds the two of them how Emily asked Tara out. With a cupcake and book who had ‘I know there’s plenty of sugar in that cupcake but it’d be even sweeter if you went out with me. Let me take you to dinner Tara? ’ written on the inside.

“As much as I love hearing you speak Italian, what does that mean? Something heaven?”

“Little Slice of Heaven.” It’s truly a perfect name for the place.

“Okay, now we have to go in,” they’re both smiling now. They push open the glass doors, greeted by the high-pitched ringing of a bell and the smell of freshly baked bread.

The woman at the counter finishes the greeting, “Benvenuti nel piccolo angolo di paradiso, cosa posso offrirvi, adorabili signore?” they blush at the compliment and Emily orders them both cupcakes and coffee. Tara busies herself with admiring the books. Some of them have the most beautiful covers she’s seen. She knows not to judge a book by its cover but sometimes the most beautiful things are just as gorgeous on the inside as out. Just like Emily. She buys a book, and they take their drink and desserts to go. They make their way to a waterfront and sit down on the stairs, side by side.

“Rome is just as beautiful as I remembered. I missed it. It really does feel like home, although, anywhere I’m with you is home,” at the end of her sentence, she turns to face Tara, a look of pure love shown clearly on her face. And for that, Tara just has to kiss her.

The next day they unpack their boxes of belongings into their apartment to help rid the homesickness. Paintings go up on the walls and furniture is placed with the best view in mind. After a couple of hours they’re done, their apartment a bit more homey than before. They crack open a bottle of wine, put on an album, and sit out on the terrace. They watch the sun set over the water, the sounds of big band music filter in as the soundtrack for their night. The sky painted yellow, orange, and pink in the way only nature can create. If nature were an artist they’d be in every museum and sold to the wealthy. Instead, they are for the masses, the beauty of nature is for all to enjoy, free of cost, for those who wish to escape and fly into the night sky.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” Tara leans forward on the balcony, not taking her eyes off the view in front of her, even as the colors begin to fade the sky darkens.

“No, tell me, what?”

“I always wanted to open my own bakery. I know it’s stupid, me a baker. But, I don’t know making things, it feels so uncomplicated. Just me and the dough.”

“In this alternate universe, I’d be a gardener. You and your dough and me and my flowers against the world Tara. Wait a second. I think you and I are onto something my dear,” Emily’s joined Tara at the balcony, the two of them leaning against the railing.

“Actually? You’re serious? You want to do this.?”

“Yeah! Why not? We’ve got enough money in the bank for us to last a bit, you can work at Un Piccolo Angolo di Paradiso,” the Italian rolls of her tongue in a way that drives Tara nuts, “I’ll find a gardening place to work at. We’re in fucking Italy let’s make our dreams come true.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Alessia, the owner of the bakery, is pleased to have another employee. Especially one that is actually interested and isn’t in high school. Tara learns the basics of bread and pastry making. She has some skill, she used to bake with her mother before she died, it had been awhile since she had been able to bake without bumming herself out. Now it’s a nice memory of her. Gone but not forgotten, as is the saying. Emily comes in every lunch break for whatever Tara’s whipped up and to get her caffeine fix. One of the things that she still keeps from her law enforcement days.

They aren’t perfect. A move across the country isn’t going to cure PTSD, she has good days, bad days, and worse days, but now they have the time to deal with it. There was never anytime to process things at the FBI. It was always, distract yourself and throw yourself into solving cases. Now they can slow dance in the kitchen and stay up until three am telling stories from college. They fill their days with the happiness that was once stolen from them and bathe in it like perfume.

True to their word, they send Penelope all sorts of things, books from the café, pressed flowers, trinkets from the small shops to adorn her desk. In return, she sends them pictures of Sergio.

“I miss Sergio, his little paws, and his ability to climb on top of anything.”

Emily finds a job at a nearby garden that sells flower arrangements and herbs to local restaurants. It’s convenient, more than they would have thought. Emily now gets to stop into the bakery on occasion to deliver herbs and has plenty of flowers to give her lover. She also sends a few bouquets back to DC. Hoping that the flowers can brighten up the office in a way that fluorescent lights never can.

On one of their late afternoon walks, they hear a rustling by a trash can.

“What’s that noise?”

“I don’t know, let’s go look, it almost sounds like an animal. Could be a mouse,” Emily suggests, absently reaching to where her gun used to rest on her hip. They open the bag to find three small kittens. Seemly abandoned in a corner.

“Oh god, they’re so cute. We have to keep them.” It’s not a question, Tara knows that Emily is thinking the same thing, their minds connected in the way people who love each other’s minds always are. They look up the nearest veterinarian to make sure that their new pets are okay to take home and healthy.

The vet is sterile and a stark reminder of all the hospitals they’ve spent time in. Tara squeezes her girlfriend’s hand to remind her that they are both safe .

“They look fairly health, a bit malnourished but that is to be expected in these circumstances,” the vet is an elderly man with a mustache as thick as his accent,

“I’ve give them the shots they need, for now, come back in few months and let me take another look. Ciao.”

The kittens are fast asleep by the time they make it home. They gently scoop the kittens out of the bag and into their arms and the couch.

“Okay, what are we naming these angels?” Emily’s voice is pitched up as she talks to the kitten in her arms.

“Well, I’ve always been a classics enthusiast, what if we name them Artemis and Apollo?”

“That’s adorable. Little tiny archery kitties, yes, isn’t that right!” she coos, “And I think I’ll name this one Carter.”

“I love it, and you. Come on, sit with me, you look tired,” Tara grabs Emily’s hand and pulls her onto the couch. They fall over a bit and Emily yelps in surprise. They put the old music back on, a sense of peaceful needs for their new lives. The two sit on the couch, Emily’s head in her girlfriend’s lap, a hand playing with her hair. Apollo climbs on Emily’s feet and lays down to rest.

“I love you, Tara,” she doesn’t respond, just lays a gentle kiss to the back of her head.

The world is big and scary but the two of them feel safe in each other's arms.

taglist- @royalpenelope @criminalmindsvibez @haleymalaffey @scandinavian-punk @abitcriminalminds @hellskitchensmurdock @criminalmindzz2 @rosesonmyheart @ssaemxlyprentxss @reidrights if you’d like to be added to my taglist, the survey is here

[oristromboli]

If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 2

Chapter 2: Shine Like Stolen Gold

Stories aren't meant to be lost and forgotten.

When a timid bird comes knocking at his den, the dragon seizes the rare opportunity presented.

(Smut this chapter: Zhongli/Reader)

So, really, come on. When Aether is cooking some minty meat rolls or sticky honey roast, is it so hard to believe that he thaws their frozen meat to make up for when they lack the ingredients otherwise? Paimon really can’t complain, her mouth waters at the thought of it and a childish smile creeps on her face as her eyes glaze over.

Behind her, Aether is throwing his face in his hands in mortification at the realization that they ran out of chilled meat for goulash. Paimon vaguely registers your voice laugh-crying at Aether that now, they must go fight some unreasonably angry grandpa boars for their next meal.

Yep, the fairy rubs her belly completely content. The sticky honey roast was totally worth it.

She yelps when Aether grabs her ankle to pull her down to their level of reality. “Alright Paimon, think you can handle the cold without that goulash? We ran out of Frostshield Potion a while ago too, which reminds me, can you ask Lisa if she can make more?” Aether turns to you, and you take out your journal to note the next task with a little side note, circled twice: ‘Check all inventories before walking into deadly weather. Obviously.’

Paimon nods, though she puts on a big show of rubbing her arms with a cheeky grin. “Paimon will be okay! The sooner we get off this mountain though, the better.” Nobody disagrees with her, but some hours into climbing the mountain and Paimon is grumbling once again. This time though, it’s not about the cold, oh no.

Aether gave her the golden Seelie to hold and act as a firefly while she scouts for the next torch.

You would laugh harder, really, you would, but every breath you take in this frozen wasteland seems to burn your lungs even more. The sensation reminds you of how Venti once spoke sparkly-eyed about a Snezhnayan drink called Fire-Water that ignites the body while freezing their breath. If not for your collective appearances seeming to be ruefully young for this world, you’re certain that Aether and Venti would have somehow convinced Diluc at this point to import the drink just for them.

Though, come to think of it, you’re not entirely sure if you want to see the havoc that would indubitably follow the drunken duo. After all, you already remember how Aether was shy of throwing a dumpling at Zhongli when he enthusiastically ordered wine-soaked rice balls instead, and that was when Aether was sober.

Your commission involves collecting some of the old books left behind in the libraries littered throughout Dragonspine for the researchers at the base of the mountain. While normally not a difficult task, the blizzard appears to be picking up just to spite you three. If only there was… Aha! “Aether! Paimon!” The two turn at your calls and frantic waving, pointing to the cave just to your right. All three of you missed this hidden entrance – that’s it, time to go inside and wait out the weather. If none of you caught this, then most definitely the visual conditions were progressing from bad to fucked. Stars, you can’t even think beyond trying to get warm.

While Aether kneels to light a cooking fire, you shuffle forward and take stock of your surroundings. All in all, the walls certainly saw better days, but there is no shortage of old books to rifle through for information. Paimon is a step ahead of you though as she floats (wobbles) towards you, carrying two books that are double her size at least. Through your combined efforts, you manage to find a decent number of books to ferry back for the researchers while Aether finishes cooking some jewelry soup.

Gods, the speed Paimon dive bombs for her bowl rivals the hawks over the Liyuen mountains. Magpies are cute and dive too, right? Maybe Paimon is part magpie, with her big eyes and penchant for swooping the unfortunate souls who wander too close to her food.

You shake the thoughts out as you consume your own dish. The silence among you three is not unwelcoming, though you can tell Paimon is itching to say something. Bracing yourself, you take in a deep breath and –

“Do you and Aether ever visit old worlds again?”

Choke on your food. You choke on your food, all elegance and style gone as Aether is clearly not expecting such a question either. Paimon huffs, though she looks more concerned about the wasted food Aether spat out rather than Aether himself.

“We, uh…” Aether coughs, hitting his chest a bit before going silent. There is a shift in the atmosphere, even the embers in the fire long ago dying to merely whispers of warmth. Golden eyes mellow as Aether looks hazy, distant all of a sudden. “We don’t go back usually, no. Why do you ask?”

Paimon scratches her head. “Well, Paimon noticed that every time we come here, there seems to be more to the story of an old kingdom here. The paintings and the books… It’s like they wanted to be remembered, but they weren’t.”

You close your eyes, ears straining as Aether attempts to formulate a proper response. “It’s… We,” he gestures between you two, “We don’t belong to any world. We never did.”

The wind picks up, nearly deafening. What a confession, the wind whispers. What a blessing of freedom.

What a burden.

“You remember how I told you that we were travelers? Well, our people are tasked with, ah, watching those we encounter. We try to learn all of the stories and knowledge of our charges; to our people, that is worth more than all the golden Mora in Teyvat.”

“Oh! Oh! Is that why you’re so glowy and yellow?”

Aether laughs, shoulders relaxing a bit. “Yeah, I just took all the wealth of our old worlds and made it a part of my outfit. That way I’ll always be rich.”

“Ehhh? But why waste treasure like that?”

“Because I’m the real treasured cutie here,” he deadpans, proudly puffing out his chest, only to duck when you and Paimon immediately throw your spoons at him. The atmosphere is lighter now, happier.

You don’t hear the wind anymore, just Paimon and Aether. Only them, always them.

“Anyway… That’s the great paradox of our duty, though. We learn best by walking among them, but never with them. But we try not to visit the same place twice. Stories, once ended, always make way for another chapter. Each new world we walk into, we carry with us the knowledge of all worlds past and try to understand why people act the way they do. We were never mortal, so it’s…” He trails off, unable to complete that sentence.

“Paimon doesn’t get it though. Why do your people watch, if they never actually participate? Isn’t that the whole point of reading a book versus building a library?”

Aether stops, stunned into silence. You close your eyes tightly. Sometimes, Paimon’s naiveté can really hit the mark on all things wrong in a system.

When you were born into the universe, you were simply given one duty: to watch and record. The blinding brilliance a new star is meant to guide, acting as the light in the night sky. However, the only answer your elders gave was that it was the will of the primordial force guiding you all. Your family promised you then that you would find more explanations in the mortal realms, for no star is truly alone.

These answers still elude you, though, as they do Aether. How long have you been lost like this?

Did you stop counting your age because of your immortality, or because you refused to face another year no closer to the truth?

Nobody remembers who came before. Nobody talks of the distant, quiet stars above your own people, separate from their arrogant claims.

“There is a saying from one world we traveled to,” you begin carefully, “that says ‘you can never go home.’ It means that when you leave a place, you can never come back to the memories you made there. Nothing will be the same, because you will have changed in your journey.”

Paimon floats gently down between you and Aether. It is then you notice she still cradles the Seelie, her wide eyes reflecting the golden light that pulses. She kindly reaches for Aether’s hand and gives him back their newest companion before softly smiling. “Not all journeys are bad ones though, right?”

“Paimon,” Aether breathes, “I – “

“Like our next journey to get the heck outta here! Paimon’s hungry.”

“And there it is,” you laugh. Standing up, you offer your hand to Aether as you pull out the map. He leans forward before tapping a point near the camp full of adventurers. Paimon squints and nods, then disappears in a show of light. It’s beautiful, you admit to yourself. All the light, the warp of space-time, the blessed departure of squeaky Paimon. Really brings a tear to your eye sometimes.

“Hey,” Aether says, grabbing your arm. “Are you okay?”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “You’re the one who answered her question. Are you?”

He laughs and looks away. “Yeah, I am. Just shocked that Paimon used up her daily brain power allowance in one go.”

 ---

 Later, when you three stop by Wangshu Inn, Aether strides to the edge of a balcony from one of the many layers and can’t help his wandering thoughts to Paimon. He never cared much for deeper probing and purposes to his journey, he left that to you and Lumine. Adventure and fun always drew him instead, the promise of being chainless. He saw the ability to travel between worlds as a blessing, one where he can be untethered to nearly everything. No, he’s sure his sudden obsession with Paimon’s question is just because he didn’t expect Paimon to be so insightful. That’s it, it has to be.

He thinks of Lumine, of how she would have thoroughly enjoyed this view.

She is always the one reaching out to the locals, to guide and let them follow her back to the path of righteousness – or whatever was deemed lawful during that time, at least. Different worlds, different definitions. At least here, he tries to do what’s right by the people and helping with their (endless) errands. That’s what Lumine would have wanted. What does he want, though?

Well, for starters, he wants to find his sister, his other half, his twin star. Aether smiles to himself as he counts off all the nicknames he has for his little sister, how he plans on releasing Paimon on Lumine to see what the little fairy’s new nickname for her would be. A frown graces his lips though as he follows that thought, of names and designation and purpose.

It’s no secret that the Vigilant Yaksha established here his… home? Home, Aether decides, if only to avoid the sadder options. He remembers Xiao’s long conversation with him beneath the floating lanterns, of how Rex Lapis gifted him his name to give him renewed meaning and life. To protect those he once consumed.

Aether hopes that the adeptus can find that peace one day; as someone who travels worlds, who has seen that darkness between the stars, he knows the shadows are no welcoming place. Still, his heart warms when he remembers Xiao’s tireless watch, knowing that the spirit will come to his aid should Aether ever call his name. He never had someone do that for him, if he was being honest, that level of attentive care. It was always his people helping others.

It’s nice, he thinks. Real nice.

That’s why he resolved long ago to offer the same protection to the adeptus, much to the latter’s scorn, but Aether really didn’t care to listen to his grumbling, he was going to help, damn it. Aether thinks back to Venti, to the bard’s soulful flute and insistence on freedom from chains.

When he goes back inside, he muses, he’ll ask you to write a new quest: ‘Introduce Xiao to Venti.’ Somehow, someway, he plans on helping Xiao out of that darkness that Lumine fell into. Maybe this is his own redemption. Penance for lifetimes of no responsibilities, no cares, no duty to uphold for a singular cause. Look at where it got him now. He’s lost without Lumine as a tether.

He’s not going to give up on Xiao, damn all the others that did. Xiao never gave up on Liyue, so why should Aether?

The blonde turns when he hears your approaching steps and smiles. You return it, bringing him a bowl of sweet almond tofu. Not your own cooking – Aether would have heard the commotion first – but he’s grateful, nonetheless.

“There’s some jerk bullying a kid!” Both of your ears piqued at that, but you don’t bother trying to contain the fit of giggles at the ridiculous statement. You’re sure that someone would have dealt with the jerk by now, anyway.

“Who bullies a kid anyway? It’s like kicking puppies,” you mumble around the food in your mouth. Come on now, that’s a new low, even for Hilichurls.

Aether looks down and spies Paimon with two bowls of sweet almond tofu, full speed ahead like the devil himself is on her heels. Only, when he discovers the figure behind her, the flash of green and smoke and a spear trying to turn Paimon into a kebab, he nearly chokes again on his food.

Hey. Hey, wait, that’s –

“Shit,” he grumbles, “that’s my idiot.”

 ---

 The sun is kissing the horizon by the time you three make it back to Liyue Harbor. Your daily commissions complete and with enough Mora for the week, you nearly make it back to your inn before you catch the unmistakable lilt of a deep voice in the air. Zhongli?

Aether and Paimon catch on, and after a second, make their way to the source of the sound. The former Archon spots you three and his eyes crinkle before he stands. “Oh? I didn’t think I would see you here.”

Be still, beating heart, and thank the stars for the fading light casting everyone with a soft glow to hide your flush. You close your eyes, listening to Aether and the archaeologists ramble about Lord of Geo this, God of Wealth and Commerce that, something about the catalytic power of Mora.

When you open your eyes, you find Zhongli’s own on you instead. Huh?

Aether kicks your foot lightly and you turn to him, blinking again. “Hey, saddle up. We’re going on another adventure.” You deflate slightly; to be honest, you were hoping for a chance to rest and reflect on the conversation with Paimon. Stars, you can’t handle more of this right now, not in this… state. Mentally you’re flailing, trying to keep thoughts buried while you open your journal to mark the next task, because with thinking came emotion and with emotion came trying to understand why Paimon’s question stung you. You always believed these idle thoughts to be private questions, private sins about your loneliness in your duty. How far from the path have you two strayed for even an outlander to notice?

Still, you bite your trembling lip and nod. Back to work like always.

 ---

 You grab Zhongli’s hand as he hoists you up the cliff, your own arms quick to turn to jello. In front of you, you can hear the Fatui agent and archaeologist bickering over something, but you’re frankly too tired to care. Aether’s voice cuts through, trying to make peace. Or, really, trying not to pummel them both, but who cares about nuances? You say tomato and Aether says ‘gimme a sword.’

As you sigh and stretch your back, Zhongli smiles at you before observing the ocean once more.

Your throat is parched, but that’s not the first thing you think of. “I miss him,” you say, “Tartaglia.”

He nods. “I do as well. Are we selfish in desiring his company over his duty?”

You hum. “Well, it’s only natural to want to see your friend again, right?”

Zhongli blinks. “Indeed. Friend.”

Curious. The old god wanted Tartaglia to stay, to study him, thrilled in discovering a mortal so foolish for the first time in many millennia to challenge the Lord of Geo. A selfish want, yes, but present nonetheless.

He thinks he hears Guizhong. “Morax,” she chides, “you cannot hoard people.”

Did you want Tartaglia to stay for something else? He was certain you understood his own desire for the man with your gift mirroring his symbolic chopsticks, even if the Harbinger did not. Is Zhongli’s courting too old-fashioned?

“Ye-ap,” you smile. “He was a good partner-in-crime.”

Not for the first time, Zhongli thinks that perhaps, something is lost in translation.

“Indeed.”

 ---

 Forget Dragonspine. Things have somehow gone from fucked to holy stars keep it together don’t cry don’t cry –

“Your legacy? Your legacy,” you begin, voice shaky. Zhongli turns to stare at you, like… Like… “No. No, you do not get to look at me like that, like you’re Morax. Morax wouldn’t do this.”

Aether and Paimon whip their heads to look at you then. You stop and turn upwards, eyes searching, and take a deep breath to calm your nerves.

Clouds cover the night sky. Cowards.

“We are tasked with remembering, yes. You know this. But don’t you dare imply your legacy was for naught.”

Zhongli’s lips tighten. A single tear falls when you look back at him.

“Mora transforms, yes? Maybe then,” you start and begin waving your arm around, gesturing to the ocean before you all. “Maybe this is a transformation. No god that passes is ever truly gone in Teyvat, so don’t you dare say that something so sacred has departed Liyue. She lives on in her ideals, her beliefs.”

The old god turns to look at the ocean. He thinks back to Ningguang and Guizhong. “Like a cycle? Is this what you have learned on your travels?”

You nod. “Morax knew there was power in mortals, there was potential. As the God of Wealth, does it not logically follow that he would understand that mankind is divinity transmuted? When these men come and go, their souls return to the divine. Nothing is ever truly gone.”

He scoffs at that, but nothing infuriating. It sounds more disbelieving. Still, he turns to you, though you don’t see it. “Rain that rejoins the river into the great ocean is no different than the clouds that made it.” His heart aches. Why does his heart ache? “Perhaps, when the clouds form once more, we shall see the revival and birth of gods anew.”

When you look at him, Zhongli is already gazing back out at the see, a distant memory washing across his eyes. You know of his connection to Guizhong, know of his pride to discover that her tablets still stand strong when you and Aether stumbled across them.

Suddenly, your heart falls in your stomach and you feel sick. “Come on,” you mumble to the other two present. They nod and you open the map, once again deciding that tonight is just too much.

Zhongli stares long and hard at the spot you three stood in, then turns to the stars above as they emerge from cover. The ring in his hand is gently twisted, around and around. He thinks of Aether, of Paimon, of you. Of how, no matter how close to the heavens a mountain dares to try and touch, it can only wait for the light to warm its barren earth and the rain to form once more.

The stars only twinkle back.

 ---

 All right, well, the plan to stay in your inn and once again contemplate Teyvat’s frankly depressing history just went out the window. Literally.

You jump from the bedroom and open your glider to land in a hidden corner to not attract too much attention. Moments like this, Mondstadt is perfect for you; the drunkards leaving the tavern at this hour would just look at you glide by and raise their mugs in understanding. Life is like that sometimes.

Aether and Paimon long ago fell asleep, you made sure of that. It’s annoying that your exhaustion is now to the point where you can’t even fall asleep, thoughts dance just out of your reach, and even the ocean breeze as you shuffle close to the docks no longer tickles your senses.

When you hear your name called, you stop and turn around to find Zhongli ten paces behind you. Ah  shit, here we go again.

“I was hoping, though not expecting, to find you out. You appeared distraught when you left, so I went to Bubu Pharmacy to retrieve some medicine.” As he walks closer, you stand up straight and look at the bag in hand. He holds it out to you and you smile at his amber eyes, pupils in slits as he presents his gift to you with all the grandeur of a cat dragging a mouse to its master.

However, when you open the bag, you stop and look back at him. “Chamomile,” you say, voice flat.

“Yes.”

“You got me tea.”

“Yes. Is something the matter?”

You sigh and rub your eyes. “You could have gotten this at a regular herb shop and not been robbed blind.” He winces as realization dawns on him, nodding along, but then.

Then you start giggling.

It’s stupid, it’s so stupid and your mind is tired beyond reason and here you are laughing at the God of Wealth spending his money for you and got robbed for it. You cover your mouth, but you feel your wrist gently pried from your mouth and you gasp as Zhongli examines at you inquisitively. He smiles too. “Would you care for me to brew this tonight?”

You nod and babble what you hope to be a thank you, incapable beyond reason of any coherent thought, save for one. Food. Flipping him around, you instead take him towards the nearest food stands still open at this hour – at least feeding drunkards is universal – and lead him to the most appetizing.

It doesn’t escape you that his hand glides down your wrist to grasp your fingers gently.

 ---

 Some hours passed and you both settled long ago in front of Wanmin Restaurant for a gamble of Xiangling’s choice of mystery dish. When you first discovered this new weekly option, the three of you had widely ranging reactions: you politely tried to hide your shudder, Aether more openly grimaced, and Paimon was dragging you both by the collars as you desperately dug your heels in.

Conversation flows easy between you two, and you click your chopsticks at Zhongli as you take another bite from a perfectly cooked chunk of meat. “I think you would benefit from some hobbies other than work, you know.”

He arches an eyebrow and puts down his cup of baijiu. “I am attempting to integrate a mortal life. Is it not logical to work within Liyue as one?”

“Well, yes, but actually no,” you drawl and smile behind your cup at Zhongli’s expression. “You should do other things, too! Enjoy life, take long walks, play some xiangqi, meditate – “

“Dear Celestia,” he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am not some grandfather you need to care for. I am old, not dying.” Vaguely, you register a quiet grumble and a why do I even bother.

“What was that, hmm?” You raise your hands to cup your ears, hoping to draw out more of his frustration. Instead, Zhongli’s lips curve up at you with a combined expression of haughtiness and mirth.

“Apparently, I am not the one who requires hearing aids.”

“Touché.” You swipe the bottle of baijiu and pour a small shot for yourself. “D’ya remember in the immediate aftermath of it all, Childe kept bowing and calling you zu fu? I personally think he was on to something.”

The ancient god only grouses as he pours himself another drink. “My temptation to indulge his battle lust then has never been so appetizing. The argumentative fool.”

You shrug. “He was looking to get a reaction out of you. It worked, didn’t it? The great Rex Lapis irritated by an incessant fly! Oh, the scandal that would cause, the humiliation.” Dramatically, you throw your hand over your forehead and lean back, the spitting image of a damsel-in-distress in one of Lady Ying’er’s lustier novels.

Zhongli smirks then and laughs low, a purr more than anything, before gathering his empty dishes to leave a bag of Mora in the center of the table. You’re proud, you really are, though you bite your tongue from any more comments on the old god remembering his money for once.

It’s a while before you both speak again, a silent agreement between the two of you to finish your bottle before moving on. He is the first to break, though you don’t expect the next words. “When I took the seat of Geo Archon offered by Celestia, I never thought this day would come.”

Tilting your head, you scoot a bit closer. He glances at you, posture pristine and relaxed, though you feel rather than see the tension in his taut body. “Why?”

“Because,” he begins, pursing his lips as he thinks. “I am – we are – immortal. Therefore, I suppose I simply did not see an end to my duty.”

“How sad,” you murmur. His eyes dim, so you put your hand on his shoulder to ground him before he sinks further into his memories. “Duties should only be taken when you see a future for it, rather than a lack of an ending. When the day came, I am glad you recognized the need to put down the mantle.”

Zhongli’s eyes burn into you, and realization dawns on you as you think of the potential reason for his intensity. Is it because of - ?

“I’m really sorry for my behavior at Wangsheng, really, I am. You were burdened with a seemingly never-ending duty, it wasn’t fair for my anger to cloud my judgment.” You try to look away, but Zhongli’s hand placed over yours keeps you still.

“Your frustration was reasonable.” He pauses for a second. What was that look in his eye? “You observe those around you just as I once did, though I have stepped into the story. Are you and Aether able to put down your duties as well?”

You quickly withdraw your hand and look away, biting the inside of your cheek. Not him too. “I don’t know,” you breathe. If Zhongli wasn’t so close, he wouldn’t have heard you. He takes a deep breath before offering his hand. Taking it, you both stand, and he releases you as he begins walking away from the restaurant.

“I believe we still have some tea to brew, yes?” You grin at his question, warmth settling in your stomach. Tea. That sounds nice.

As you travel with him, the silence stretching once again, you can’t help but think of Zhongli’s eyes once more. Bah, damn your crush, he only looked at you as a god would a pleading mortal, he’s beyond your realm of comprehension and –

You try to stamp the disappointment before that thought keeps going further. Exhaustion begins to creep in your bones, you’re certain the late night is the cause for your distress, but that doesn’t stop your cynicism.

How could a god understand the burden of stories, of keeping records tirelessly? He’s the God of Contracts, but your contract doesn’t end.

Damn the pity in his eyes.

 ---

 (It wasn’t pity, something whispers. Compassion. Tenderness. Wrath.

All things must be fair, Zhongli thinks. Your contract never was.)

 ---

 By the time you’re in his apartment and sitting at his table, you’re sure you’ve spent the better part of ten minutes gaping like a fish at the luxury of it all. Each item’s quality is beyond description, truly, but you still fumble about in your mind trying to find the words anyway. Rich? Decadent? Unnecessary but very nice? Paper lamps are littered around you, both hanging in the air and on side tables, and you can’t help but notice the soft, hazy golden glow the light casts over the room. Somehow, you’re sure you smell incense burning somewhere…

The colors are earthy in tone, but what surprises you is the abundance of plants – mostly silk flowers and glaze lilies - along the windows and corners carefully placed, following the patterns of feng shui. Stone walls curve around, and the plants appear to rest in the embrace of the circular patterns carved within, perfectly matching the decorations. As the hand-carved furniture, laced with golden accents and filigree, weave into the background, you can’t help but appreciate the apartment’s forest-like ambiance. His den is warm, welcoming, and soft, a far cry from the image of a Geo Archon. All that’s missing is some art and –

There it is. That tapestry Childe bought the day you received your own token.

Before you can stop it, the quiet voice in your mind croons at the memory of him.

You’re only snapped out of your thoughts when Zhongli returns with a tea set and places one cup before you to carefully pour before joining your side. He blows the tea before sipping it, all the serenity afforded to an ancient god.

You pause, smile lost now. “I’m sorry.”

Amber eyes open and scrutinize you. “For what? You have already apologized before for nothing, starlight.”

Rolling your head side to side, you lower your gaze and find solace instead at the steam rising from the tea. There goes that damn nickname again. “For disrespecting your wishes. Your legacy is important to me, but what’s important to you is that you… You…”

It doesn’t have to be said. Zhongli pauses and puts his own teacup down. “You and Aether once informed me of your people’s duties in recording stories. My hope is that my time as Zhongli marks the end of Liyue’s need of me, to close that chapter in Morax’s story.” You frown at that.

“As Zhongli?”

“Yes,” he breathes, smile small but distant, “you were right on the cliff. Morax would not have made the decision Zhongli did. I am no longer that god.”

You reach over and grab his hand, his eyes meeting yours again. “If you are no longer him, then why is Zhongli the end of Morax’s story and not the beginning of his own?” He only makes a soft rumble in response, and not for the first time do you marvel at how lost he appears. “Your journey as Zhongli is not another contract. You shouldn’t start this journey the same way you started your duties as the Geo Archon.”

“Oh?”

Suddenly, Paimon’s question rings clear in your head. “As immortals, we naturally process things slower, we have more time to. Time is given to us to see the future and learn, not to dwell on the past. Otherwise, we waste this gift,” you murmur. Gods help you; you think this next statement is going to kill you but it needs to be said. “I’m sorry about all those you’ve lost.”

Great, just great, way to bring up his old friends. Still, you felt the need to blurt it out, if only so someone could say it to him once. Just once.

Zhongli’s hand turns so that his palm faces yours and his fingers entwine in your own. It’s a long time before he speaks, and if it wasn’t for his gentle grasp, you were sure that the former Archon was furious.

He must be using his elemental powers, he has to be. Why else are you petrified?

His eyes move, looking through your hands. Beyond, beyond. What does he see?

“They would have wanted me to move forward. I honor their memory through remembrance, and hopefully now, movement. All things must return to dust, though I do not rush the journey,” he eventually replies. Only, you look closer, and his eyebrows are barely furrowed, the only sign on his otherwise perfectly composed face of the emotion lurking underneath. “I do not know how she saw fit to be my mentor, to guide such a bloody god out of the battlefield. She saw a nurturer, where I saw only the destruction my hands have wrought eons ago.”

You don’t have to ask to know who he refers to.

It’s stupid, it’s bold, it’s desperate, but you’ve already gone this far, haven’t you? You bite your lip and ask gently, selfishly, “May I remove your gloves?”

He looks to you and nods, relaxing his grip and not bothering to hide the confusion carved all over his face. As you slowly peel off his gloves, you see his dark hands lined with geometric patterns glow dimly, the shade matching his own amber eyes. Fuck, he’s so beautiful, the statues and paintings of him do him no justice; the muscles along his arm flex in reaction when you begin to trace his fingers, inch-by-inch, from the tips to the palm. Reverence fills your eyes as you suddenly understand why so many mortals threw themselves to the floor beneath him in worship.

These are just his hands, though. Should you ever be blessed to see him fully, by the stars, you think you would die and ascend to Celestia right there.

You feel his steady gaze on you, but you don’t care. Home stretch, here we go, how much further can you test these boundaries?

“Do you ever wish you could have changed the outcome?”

He scoffs. “Wish? A god does not wish. What Celestia commands, we obey. Seven seats there were, and so the fighting began until seven victors remained.”

“Sure, but I mean, that’s in the past now. A name both defines a purpose and limits it.” A sentiment both you and Aether share, for those who traveled countless worlds surely held countless names. Zhongli fondly remembers his first encounter with Alatus, but he frowns, nonetheless.

“I will forever carry the scars as the former Geo Archon. I may leave Morax behind, but I can never forget that I am still him, buried beneath this visage and burdened with the weight of that knowledge.” He clenches his hand again, but you spread them out and begin slowly tracing the golden lines along his palm and forearm.

“Hm,” you hum, “that’s odd.”

“What do you see?” Zhongli says, voice pitched an octave lower than before. Subtly, you feel your core heat and you rub your thighs together, though not enough to draw attention.

“Your hands… I don’t see any blood, just these flowers you’ve cultivated,” you beam, eyes flicking to the silk flowers and glaze lilies permeating the room. Maybe it’s the scent, or the lingering baijiu in your system, or the fact that Zhongli’s eyes are on you, but you feel drunk and bold and stupid so you bring his hand up to your face to snuggle. The anxiety in your stomach melts when you feel his rough hands against your cheek. “Warm too. They’re no different than a man’s. Than Zhongli’s.”

When his lips part, your eyes follow the movement and he stares at you for a long time. Those eyes flicker between yours, fully present and watching you now as they pierce your own.

Are you leaning in, or is he? Fuck it. “Kiss me,” you rasp, pleading and hopeful.

You groan when he moves forward and finishes that thought, deftly moving his other hand to your hip to rub small circles with his thumb. How are his lips so soft? All you can feel is his movements against yours, though you register him eventually breaking apart. His pants mingle with yours, and gods if he doesn’t come back you’re going to throw a bitch fit.

“Was that alright?” he murmurs. Ever the gentleman, you bemoan. Instead, you opt to whine lightly as you drag your unoccupied hand up his chest, cooing at his own gasps as you creep farther up.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, “Please, again, let me –“ You reach over and begin unbuttoning his shirt. Zhongli leans back slightly to allow you more access – though the cheeky god turns his head and peppers your forehead with kisses along the way -  and you move both hands to wrangle off his garments. After a few minutes of fumbling, you manage to bare his upper chest, but you pause in appreciation.

Oh, oh stars, you thought you were going crazy for his hands. Truly, you feel like a debauched Sister to Barbatos when you took all of Zhongli in; his hair tussled, lips mumbling something, and his eyes – fuck they are following your every motion. It’s almost predatory. You register somewhere that he’s still rumbling something, but you raise your eyebrows and dig your hands into his chest again, twisting the silken fabric. “I d-don’t, I don’t speak Liyuean, what was that?”

He laughs, solid and rich and you’re in deep. Zhongli takes one of your hands to kiss the palm, then the wrist. His eyes flutter open and look at you again, all mischief and pride still lacing his perfectly composed features.

It’s not fair, you think. Some stupid divine gift of being perfect all the time.

“I spoke Common, dear,” he replies and slowly kisses up your arm before moving to your shoulder. You tense as he leans forward, all but nuzzling your cheek as he whispers, “I asked if you would prefer to take this to the bedroom?” He says something else after, and this time you’re sure it’s Liyuean as he concludes by gently, playfully grazing his teeth over your cheeks and jaw and neck. 

Two can play that game.

You mumble something in response with your own native tongue, all chirps and purrs and light tones. Zhongli pauses and turns back to look at you inquisitively, single eyebrow arched. It’s endearing. “I said that tonight, you’re mine.”

He smiles and you suddenly feel the world spin as – oh fuck are you being lifted? You were trying to be smooth with your earlier statement, corny as it sounded, but this. This fucker literally swept you off your feet.

Yeah, not fair at all.

“Then, dear starlight, allow this old adeptus to humbly offer himself to your whims.”

“Hmm,” you purr, “You offer? Sounds awfully sacrilegious coming from a former Archon.”

As you’re taken to his bedroom, Cor Lapis eyes make a show of inspecting your body he carries before eventually meeting your own. “I am no longer that Archon.” His voices dips even lower, sultry and husky and possessive. “Tonight, I am Zhongli. I am yours.” You gasp as he sits down on his bed and pulls you back in with another kiss, light nips and moans. The debilitating arousal that hits you soaks your undergarments as you realize that this god, Prime of the Adepti, is begging for more on his proverbial knees.

Yeah, you think as you open your mouth and welcome him, this works. His tongue is warm and silky; somewhere, you feel his hands making quick work of your clothing, so you try to return the favor. After you unceremoniously toss his clothes – and ignore his offended puffs – you lean back, admiring the now shirtless Morax as he spread his legs further, nearly coy if not for that devilish smirk. His brown and gold marks extend all the way to his shoulders, reminding you once more of all that those hands have achieved.

Maybe… Maybe will do to you later too, you think, suddenly shy. When you feel cold air strike your core, you shiver, only now realizing that the god stripped you quickly without your notice.

Seeing him spread out like this, legs apart and chest bare, you can’t help but wonder how the statues littering Liyue do him no justice, not by a long shot. You sink to your knees before him, and he makes a confused sound, leaning forward only to halt when you place a hand beneath his naval.

“I thought you were the one to be worshipped tonight,” he mumbles, though clearly not opposed.

“Mm, my whims, right? I just – “ You lean forward and trail your lips up his thighs. “ – really – “ Another kiss, closer, closer. “ – want to taste you.” His breath stutters as you kiss his bulge, relishing in his earthy scent. Somehow, he always still smells of silk flowers, an undercurrent to what you experience now. You glance up at him and undo his pants; as you reach forward, you let just enough of his cock through before you shift forward and let him slide into your hot mouth.

Morax growls at you, and oh fuck that’s doing something to you as another wave floods you, settling low and deep to soak your thighs. He bucks his hips slightly to reach further into your hot mouth and you rush to keep your hands on his thighs. Not that it would help, really, but it reassures you that somehow, you’re still in control. As you move forward to further take him in your mouth, you simultaneously strip him of his last clothing and pull it down to his ankles before he kicks it away somewhere. Truth be told, you’re torn between making this as slow and reverent as possible or drink from him like he’s a fountain in a desert.

You settle for somewhere in between as you slowly move your head back and forth, swallowing around him when you can’t take any more, and you lift your hands to stroke what’s left. Stars, he’s thick and long, your jaws ache just from taking him this much.

As you pull back, a trail of spit connecting his leaking head to your lips, and you flush when you realize – “Only halfway?”

Zhongli chuckles above you and cards his hand through your hair. “It’s okay, starlight, we can – “

“No.” You interrupt him to take his throbbing cock again, but you begin tracing a warm and wet line down his shaft instead, and he groans low. You’ve wanted to taste him for so long and you’re sure there’s some bullshit adeptus aphrodisiac in his precum, because gods above he tastes exquisite everywhere. Somewhere above you, Zhongli is writhing and panting as you take his head again to swallow around it, drunk on his noises. The saltiness in your mouth only encourages your efforts, determined to give him the best performance he’s ever had.

You lay your tongue flat against his frenulum and he jumps, barely incoherent as he tugs incessantly. “Wai – nnngh – wait, I-I’m close, I’m… Haah.”

Warmth blooms within as you release his cock with a pop and look at him, eyes hooded. “I want to taste you,” you slur. “All of you.” He looks stricken as you resume your ministrations, and soon you feel him throb more insistently. Zhongli is a God of War, right? Maybe… Maybe if you do this –

You drag your nails fierce and unexpected down his hips and thighs and he cums, hard. Suddenly you’re forced to hold his legs for purchase as you swallow, it’s all you can really do as you feel his tight grip hold you in place to face-fuck you and you milk him for all he’s worth. Which, y’know, you’re fine with too. Your eyes flutter closed as you hear soft coos and praises tumble from his lips, and you release his cock to look back up as it twitches lightly, already missing your wet mouth. Between the two of you, you’re not sure who looks more drunk.

 No, actually, you’re sure that you look more drunk, because even though Zhongli’s eyes are deep in reverie as watches you stand up, he looks like the perfect image of serenity. His bed is vast, linen sheets with a ridiculously high thread count and shimmering amber patterns over the black base, and his headboard is a deep grey with Cor Lapis geometric decorations littering it almost haphazardly. You realize that the design mimics his throne in the Geo Archon statues.

Around the room, you suddenly notice more silk flowers and glaze lilies, with a window spanning nearly  the entire wall to your right with a view of Liyue only afforded to royalty. There are jade statues and crimson tapestries framing a weapon rack hanging on the wall to your left with multiple spears adorning it, each likely worth a king’s ransom.

And here you are, standing in front of Rex Lapis as he moans your name and nearly pouts for more attention. How many have seen this great emperor laid so low?

Suddenly, you yelp as the man grows impatient and grabs your hand to pull you to him before rolling over you. His glowing eyes narrow as he growls, though it isn’t threatening so much as restless, and you keen when he lowers his mouth to your neck. Ah, there it is, that dominating Archon present once more.

Zhongli’s lips trail kisses as he travels down the curve of your throat to your sternum, before shifting to one breast and flicking his tongue over your nipple. You jolt and moan again, louder when he bites, then nurses it again with kisses to sooth. Then, you feel it, those skillful and calloused hands as one traces your hips before reaching your core. You whine and lift your hips, grabbing a fistful of Zhongli’s hair as he moves to your other breast. “Please, please, please.”

He smiles against your skin as one tickles around your folds, suddenly in the mood to go slowly and tease. Right when you are about to complain, a digit touches your clit and you whine as you jerk your hips again. Only, the sly fucker moves his hand back with your hips so you never feel that pressure tending to your need. You moan out his name, an absolute mess as he massages you idly like he has all the time in the world.

Well, technically, you both do, but you want it now, damn it.

When he moves his head back up to your neck to begin kissing again, you snake your hand around his throat to pull him in close and seethe, “If you keep playing with me, so help me I will – “ The words die in your mouth as he suddenly plunges a finger in and moans at how tight and silky you are, the wet noises drowned out by your cry. Zhongli never breaks eye contact as he watches exactly how you come undone from just one finger.

You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how easily he calls your bluff with the overwhelming relief that comes from him stoking that fire deep within. He twists his hand around and a lazy smile graces his lips, the pristine image of composure while you’re twitching and mumbling underneath. You claw at his back and moan incoherently, desperately looking at him and hoping he understands.

Oh, oh he does, but Zhongli purrs regardless when he leans forward to whisper in your ear, “Words, darling, use your words.” Right when you begin forming them, though, he slides another finger to join the first to cut you off. Cheeky bastard. A third quickly joins, and you throw your head back, noises growing in your throat when you feel yourself getting closer, closer, yes there -

The god looks at you and frowns lightly as he tuts. “So loud,” he says, and you feel his fingers leave you as you clamp around nothing, right at the precipice. Zhongli laughs, silvery in sound, when he spies your frustrated bearing, about a threatening as a kitten’s, and he nips your jaw with a quiet, “Open wide.” When you oblige, you feel him slide his fingers in your mouth, and you move your tongue between them to taste yourself. He moans appreciatively and you smile as you lick again. You never thought you could be into this, but with him? Fuck yes you can be.

“How do you taste, little one?” You sigh at him and smile but pause again when you spot that glint in his eye, the one that spells all sorts of trouble for you. When Zhongli withdraws his fingers, you watch as he gracefully climbs down your body, all slow movements and muscles flexing like an elegant beast.

A dragon, really.

His eyes flick up to yours as you watch, thighs twitching around his head when he leans in closer to kiss your velvety folds. You close your own as you squeak and feel his laugh, before you throw your body up when you feel his tongue slide deep into your pussy without hesitation, the top of his mouth wrapping your bud in a furnace. God of the Stove? Something, something, something –

Your hips struggle to meet his lips, but you feel one hand hold you down with his growling. Stay put. “Ohhh, f-fuck, please – “ You try again and this time, his nails dig deep into your skin and you hiss with pleasure. His other hand creeps up and slides a finger in to match his tongue, and stars you suddenly can’t breathe.

When you look down again and see his golden eyes just fucking watching you, intense and concentrated, you realize the inevitable. “Nnngh, f-fuck I-I’m – “ you stutter, barely having enough wherewithal to warn him, “I’m g-going to –“

The devil smirks wickedly and he sucks on your clit, and you’re tumbling. Gods above, something tears through you as you cum with a ragged, hoarse cry of his name as euphoria streaks through you unforgivingly. Your muscles spasm and you grip the sheets harder, all too aware of your limited mobility and it’s like your body made your orgasm all the more intense, knowing it can only express itself there. White-hot pleasure concentrates around the god’s head, and you can’t figure out if the heat is from you or him.

Each spasm has you releasing more wetness from your cunt to Zhongli’s mouth and he groans deeply, lapping it all the while he finger-fucks you through your orgasm. When it gets to be too much, your oversensitive bud begging for a gods-deserved break, you lightly swat at his head to stop drinking you; he only purrs softly into your folds before slowly withdrawing his fingers.

When the former Archon sits back up and slowly, deliberately licks each of his fingers as he makes eye contact with you, your throat seizes. “Fuck,” you breathe. Oh, oh gods, if you were native Teyvaten, it’s him you would worship, you would throw yourself down and suck him dry all day if he would let you, ride his thighs on his throne, fuck he’s so sexy, so handsome, so fucking good to you –

Only when his eyes crinkle with pleasure did you realize you… You were saying those things out loud, each one of those statements tumbling and traitorous.

You quickly look away, mortified and all too aware suddenly of your current situation, the fact that you’re in bed with him. You’ve harbored a cru- fondness for him for so long, you lost yourself to the ecstasy before being brought back to reality.

Zhongli frowns and crawls forward, gently taking hold of your chin to turn you to him. His eyes. Stars, they’re so warm and welcoming and… Tender. “Starlight,” he rumbles, “Was that… All right?” Stupefied. You’re stupefied as you realize this ancient god thought you were embarrassed of him, of his performance somehow and not your own childish blunderings.

“Y-Yes!” you squeal and immediately wrap your arms around his shoulders. He falls forward with an oof as your legs find purchase around his hips, and you begin trailing kisses down his cheek and jaw to his neck in an attempt to rectify this. “Y-yes, that was so good, I-I just… I can’t believe you… We…”

Zhongli chuckles and you can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “Well, perhaps we can keep proving you wrong?” When he bucks his hips, your pussy feels electric as you realize the angle you’re hanging off of him allows his cock to slide just outside of your slit. Again, you’re sure you would’ve been more embarrassed at the fact that you’re practically a sloth hanging off of him, but, well, come on. Who doesn’t want to climb this tree?

As he’s slowly rocking and coating his cock with your slick, back and forth and whispering sweet nothings between kisses along your temple, you realize belatedly that he’s asking for permission. “Please,” you mumble.

He doesn’t need anything more as you feel his hips angle, the tip poking just the entrance. When he slides in, slowly at first and barely the head inside you, you wheeze. “B-Big,” you huff unceremoniously and Zhongli pauses, waiting for you to adjust.

You both stay like that for a moment, breaths mingling, and you feel his back muscles flex under your nails. Eventually, your eyes open and you see how his are tightly shut and he’s painfully biting his lip. All those centuries carefully cultivating a strong discipline is being tested, here and now, and stars he looks to be in terrible pain as he holds, waiting for you to adjust.

Hm. A thought strikes you, lighting in your head with a faint ping.

Slowly, to not startle him – though his eyes snap open anyway when you touch his shoulder – you creep your hand up and go to the back of his head. He looks at you, curious and distracted for a moment while you reach for his ribbon. When you pull it undone, eyes scrutinizing his every movement to see if he enjoys this, you card your hand through his waves as they cascade around you two.

Then, you tug. Hard.

Shit, that does it as Zhongli sinks his head to your neck and groans, low and open and raw as he thrust his hips further, suddenly sinking in half of his length into you. You gasp and hold on to his hair tighter when he pauses, but you only tug again – lighter, this time – and he gets the hint. Slowly, the god begins rocking his hips once more; this time, he works inch-by-agonizing-inch into you.

You have a hard time breathing as his girth practically splits you open and glides along, your hips already aching from how wide you spread them to accommodate his size. Nothing about him is soft, it’s all hard planes of muscles and jagged edges, and yet. And yet. When he leans forward to capture your lips again, it’s all you can think of when you think of him. Soft.

The obscene noises your pussy makes around him is silenced as he slows, finally reaching the base and hips meet your own. You have to give him credit, those gentle kisses were excellent distractions, because you’re not sure if you could have survived otherwise. When you lean forward to nip his bottom lip, he hums and begins to draw back before rocking back in.

It’s torturous, really, it is, the way his cock rolls along your velvet walls hitting every nerve point with deliberation. He wants to drag this out as long as he can, and impatient as you are, you want him to instead be going faster. Amber eyes meet yours, and neither of you have to say it. It’s now a fight for control, for who can direct the pace of this little skirmish.

For every whine and lift of your hips, his own draws back to match you. “I… Have raised – urgh,” Zhongli starts, grunting when you nip at a spot on his collarbone, “Liyue meticulously… L-little one, let me b-b-hhuild – “ You lap at another spot as you claw his back. “ – you, worship you.”

“Mmmno,” you reply, huffing in protest when Zhongli captures your mouth again and begins exploring it with the same vigor he did your cunt. When you realize that, you squeeze at the memory, but he only groans and shifts for a deeper angle. You let out a noise somewhere between a chirp and a squeal as he begins hitting that one spot. “I-I a-a-am not… Hah… Not a sta-tuueee to worship and erect, Zhongli.”

He laughs. “Interesting choice of words.” You barely hear him though as he begins thrusting with greater power, and you keen as you feel yourself approaching the edge again while you clamp harder around him. Each thrust from his hips punches a slight gasp out of you, and feel teeth drag along your jugular until you’re meeting his piercing eyes. His golden pupils are slits now, absolutely proud and feral. Thank all the gods in all the worlds above because Zhongli doesn’t stop, doesn’t tease you this time. Instead, he guides you to that precipice with the same slow determination he promised.

“Hh-haah, oh fuck,” you whimper, “I-I’m - !”

He kisses your temple and murmurs, “I know.”

Any annoyance you feel at his haughtiness is swept away when another orgasm is drawn from you, and you gasp, tugging his hair needily. His rhythm doesn’t change, only the intensity, but that’s all you need as you feel your pleasure building in waves. You knew this was coming, but you don’t expect how quickly it arrives nor the duration.

No, while your first orgasm was passionate and blazing, striking you like lightning, this one made you feel as though you are in a boat on a turbulent ocean. Each wave you crest over only gets higher, your euphoria growing as you bite his shoulder in an attempt to hide at least some of your cries, but you fail utterly. The noises coming from your core as it floods are downright obscene, and… Shit, is he talking?

“ – lovely, perfect little one, pretty thing just squeezing around my cock, aren’t you? Good girl, you are perfect -”

You sob and nod vigorously, yes you are a good little girl, just keep pounding Zhongli and you’ll be good for him all night. “I – I,” you start, quite uselessly if you’re honest, and he looks at you curiously but doesn’t stop his movements. “I – I… Am still… I-iiiiiin cont-rhhhol.”

“Yes, you are,” he coos and leans forward to kiss you, his hips finally, finally moving slightly faster. Only slightly, though.

Are you, though? Are you really? Because as Zhongli smirks at your debauched expression, drool coming out slightly and covered in blooming bruises, you wonder if this is another one of his games to make the other think they were the victor all along. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“T-then,” you croon, “f-fuck me harder, Zhongli.”

“Mm?”

“H-Harder, faster, oh stars,” you whine, “I need it, p-please, I can take it!”

His eyes become hooded, and suddenly, you feel him pull out. Hey, hey wait, that’s the exact opposite of what you want. It isn’t long, though, and you’re flipped on your stomach with a stone grip yanking your hips up for him. Instinctually you arch your back and mewl as you present yourself, and you hear a string of Liyuen curses fall from his mouth as he palms one of your cheeks before you feel a slap. Oh, that one drew a loud moan.

You feel brave and look over your shoulder, only to be devastatingly aroused at the sight of him inspecting your dripping hole. “Filthy,” he murmurs, clearly pleased with his handwork as his other hand strokes his cock. Zhongli’s eyes meet you then and he smiles, shifting closer, clearly not wanting to waste time.

In a single thrust he’s sheathed fully inside you again, and you cry out as you feel both hands move to your hips in a bruising grip. He begins pounding in earnest, mumbling more praises under his breath, but you don’t register it, all you feel is him, just him.

However, it isn’t long before you’re frustrated. Not with him or his divine cock, but you feel like you’re missing something. You grumble, wanting some of the icy pain you gave him inflicted on you too. “Z-Zhongli!” you cry, turning around again and determination written on your face.

He doesn’t miss a beat in his movements as he meets your stare again, perfect eyebrow arched. “I can take it,” you grouse. “I can take you, don’t hold back, please. Stop treating me so gently. Be rough with me, I’m begging you, be a beast and use me. It’s you and me tonight, remember?”

The god suddenly freezes, eyes wide as saucers at your demand, and you barely stop an embarrassed wince from creeping on your face. Shit, was that too much? Except, when he smiles, all teeth and eyes glowing with pleasure and long eyelashes fluttering, your heart suddenly shoots into your throat with anticipation and no small amount of fear. “Very well.”

He leans forward to kiss the small of your back as he pulls out, your pussy clenching around emptiness once again. Before your very eyes, you watch scales erupt from his shoulders and you feel claws pricking your hips, sure to draw blood if they pressed any further. You vaguely register a sudden weight to your right; gasping, you watch a long, draconic tail wrap around your hand, flicking with all the excitement of a pleased cat. However, when you look back, his whole being seems to have grown larger and you feel small; the dark brown coloring of his shoulders bleeds now to his pecs and journey – delicate like paint strokes – to his naval. You don’t miss fangs grace his open smile and Cor Lapis antlers rising from his head, shy of scraping the ceiling. They glow rhythmically with the markings on his arms, pulsing like a primordial heart. Stars, it’s truly a radiant crown befitting the Prime Adeptus, Morax, emperor of Liyue.

You swear to yourself then to never ever ever tell Zhongli your original intent, not on your fucking life. Truth be told, you meant something more along the lines of biting, scratching your back or something, never in your wildest fantasies did you think he would take your dare so literally.

Well, maybe in your wildest fantasies, but that’s a secret between you and the stars.

When your eyes take in all the glory that is Rex Lapis, your breath hitches when you finally spy his cock, practically weeping with pre-cum and twitching to be back inside you. What gives you pause is the fact that, well, every part of him grew with his transformation. Not only the length and girth, but the very appearance shifted, looking more draconic. Ridges line his darkened member and like his arms, there are golden markings glimmering along his shaft that throb in time with every other.

Immediately, you hear two sides inside you war: fuck yes fuck yes fill me completely and can that even fit or will I die first?

What a way to go, you decide, and shyly meet his eyes again. The entire time he sits under your inspection, he is rigid and chest slightly puffed. He preens under your appreciative noises, and when you finally match his eyes again, there is a renewed hunger lurking in those amber depths. “Last warning,” he rumbles.

You feel the vibrations of his voice, deep and shattering like a rockslide, and another wave of arousal practically seeps out as you moan. The leak doesn’t escape his sharp eyes and he smirks, taking this as your approval. Grabbing his cock in one hand and holding you steady with the other, he begins the slow breach, and oh fuck does it hurt in the best way possible. Some of the loudest cries from you yet are quickly silenced as you bury your head into your arms, only to come out again when one of his hands snake around your hips to begin steadily rubbing your clit. You feel a slight jut and you’re pushed forward, but he doesn’t move. Instead, Zhongli’s head rests between your shoulder blades panting hot and wet while he focuses on getting you to relax.

“M-move,” you mumble, and he growls in response and presses just an inch further before stopping again. You whine, an impatient brat, and try to take more of his cock by rolling your hips back. Hissing, you feel his claws pierce skin as his grip tightens to keep you in place; you choose to ignore the warning and try again, only to yelp when you feel a sharp bite to your shoulder.

You’re pretty sure that if you move this time, his fangs will draw blood, so you still. Okay. Okay, yeah, nope. You’re not in charge anymore. You may have won the battle, but it’s only fitting that Rex Lapis won the war.

“H-How far?” you ask, almost scared of the answer.

Eventually he releases his jaws and begins tenderly licking your skin – is his tongue forked? – and he hums. “About a quarter of the way.”

“A-a quarter of the - ?! Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you sputter. You grab his tail and tug on it insistently, trying to get his attention. “Hey, pull out a sec.”

He doesn’t move.

“Zhongli.”

Grumbles.

“Zhongli.”

The god pulls out, and when you turn back, you can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips at the expression he wears. Liyue’s denizens will surely kill you if they ever saw how you reduced their once mighty Archon to a pouting mess. “Good boy,” you coo. You hear a deep purr rise from his chest, and you lean forward to kiss before shifting around and grabbing his shoulders. “Now, turn around and lay on the bed.”

You don’t have to repeat yourself as he quickly lifts you again – not fair – and twists around so that you’re straddling his waist while his tail curls around one of your feet. When he settles back against the headboard, watching you intently for your next command, you marvel once again at the failure of the statues to truly capture his glory.

Biting your lip, you dig your hands into the brown scales framing his shoulders, but quickly fumble around for different purchase as some of his scales jut into your hand. When you finally find a good position, you release a long sigh and Zhongli curves his lips up before pulling you close for another kiss.

“We don’t have to,” he says when you break apart.

“No, we do, we have to,” you drawl, somber expression contrasting his amused one. “It’s the law, I demand it.”

He huffs, indignant, but offers no further protest. When you look down, your thighs begin quaking as you realize how close his cock already is. You reach down and take it, giving it a firm squeeze around the head and feel him buck into your hand. Eventually, you balance yourself over the head and begin the slow descent into madness.

Because holllyyyy stars, feeling his cock spear you like that is enough to make you become dizzy with pleasure. Still, you made a promise to yourself, so you sink further and work him in deeper. The ridges brush against every nerve ending and you curl your toes, electricity shooting up your spine as you cry out in raw pleasure. Zhongli digs his claws into your hips again and leans forward, snarling at the sensation of you fluttering around him.

By the time you reach the base, you’re a quivering mess; when the god moves his hips to readjust, you openly sob at his cock resting deep and filling you so completely. “Look at you,” he coos, and you feel one hand drag to your stomach. When you look down, you gasp as you see a thick bulge pushing out, marking you in exactly all the ways that Zhongli is filling you. “Taking me so well.”

His fingers drag along your stomach, idly moving in circles. Or diamonds? They feel almost... Purposeful. Hissing, you move forward as you hear him hum something in a language foreign to you while the skin around your belly burns before slowly soothing.

You kiss him again, allowing his tongue to snake in and explore your mouth anew. Deciding to take a page out of his book, you roll your hips against his instead of moving up and down, though he doesn’t seem to mind if the noises he makes are anything to go by.

You can’t help it, you break the kiss and fall forward against his chest and keen when he grabs your hips to begin moving earnestly himself. It’s clear you’re no more than a cocksleeve, legs gone and you can only hold on for the ride. One of your hands winds up to grapple his antlers for stability, prompting greater speed from him. Your voice begins rising in pitch, and the fire within begins burning anew, quick and merciless once again. Zhongli takes one hand and claws his way down your back, marking you and tearing you apart like you’re his prey and you love it. Soon, all you can hear is your heart hammering in your head; you sink further into that dream of bliss, all sense quickly departing except for full –

“One more,” you hear somewhere distant, beckoning. “Grant me one more. Cum for me.”

And that single word yanks you back to the present, growls and moans ringing loud and clear around you as your orgasm tears through you unexpectedly. Oh, how you obey your lord, because that orgasm somehow reaches new heights the previous one didn’t, and you begin openly crying. You register a forked tongue lapping at the salty streaks down your cheeks, but you don’t care, you’re only focusing on your pleasure burning all other thoughts away and rendering you mute. The vivid energy bleeding through you compels your body to release what little wetness you have left, and just barely, Zhongli’s cock pounding away at you glides easier.

You feel nudging at your head, and you roll it to the side instinctually, bearing your throat in submission to lick a hot stripe along your jugular as his hips move faster, singular focus in seemingly rearranging your insides to make more room for him, for all of his godly power. At his final thrust, he sinks his teeth into the crook of your neck and shoulder in determination, but you long ago lost any serious feeling outside of your oversensitive core. Instead, you lift your hand to card through his hair as you feel his hips roll into your own slowly, hellbent on filling you completely.

Zhongli just keeps cumming and cumming, and a nearly unbearable warmth builds low in your stomach, but the amount is enough that it eventually gushes out of around his cock. When he feels wetness seeping out, he release your shoulder and grumbles, soothing the wound with slow licks. One hand caresses the stretched skin of your stomach around his cock again, handling it with the tender care of a doting lover.

Huh. Lover.

You giggle, stupid and dreamy, and Zhongli smiles with you. “Come on, little one,” he says and begins lifting you off. Oversensitive and raw, you both wheeze at the sensation of the ridges catching again until you’re off and empty and – oops. Mixed cum floods out of you; pink dusts your cheeks, but he merely hums and stands with you. The world spins around you as you are placed on the bed with your legs nudged apart. A few moments pass before you feel a warm, damp cloth wiping at your sensitive core and thighs – ah, there are some bite marks there too – and you sigh, perfectly content with all the stress of the day thoroughly fucked out of you.

Though your eyes are closed, you’re still lucid as you feel yourself gently manhandled and lifted. When you’re placed back down, you whine at the loss of the silky cover, left with the downy blanket underneath. “Forgive me, dear bird,” Zhongli laughs, “But I feel you would not appreciate sleeping in our mess.”

“I forgive you,” you say, and open your eyes when you feel the bed dip. Zhongli settles in next to you back in his human form, and of course, perfect as always. Smiling, you move closer to him, making a pleased sound when he takes this opportunity to begin brushing your hair with his fingers.

“We should go to the pharmacy tomorrow for your wounds.”

“Aw, and cover the marks?” You smirk when you hear his breath hitch.

“You cannot say such things to an adeptus, starlight.”

“Oops.” After some minutes, Zhongli stops and rises out of bed. Your hand shoots out to grab his and you look at him pleadingly. “Where are you going?”

“Ah, I am going to brew some tea. Something to soothe the muscles.”

“Of course you are,” you grin and release him. You’re content to let him fuss over you both. Quietly, you hear soft singing emerge from another room, the words foreign to your ears but pleasant nonetheless.

You feel soft inside.

 ---

 “Will you tell me of your friends one day?”

The former Archon stops and looks at you. “My story is a long and complicated one. Entwined with many others.” A red thread.

You nod. “That’s okay,” you hum. “I have all the time in the world.” A pause. “You remember them, yet choose to not be remembered yourself. Left to be debated and fought over. Why?”

Zhongli pulls the blanket over both of you and wraps an arm around you, whispering into your hair like some dirty confession, some dirty sin. “You remember. Is that not enough?”

“I suppose so,” you mumble. What are friends for?  “I hope, before we leave, I can tell your story again and again. Maybe I can move the heavens, make a constellation for you. Permanent and guiding. Even if you don’t want its name remembered, it will still be there.”

He laughs and closes his eyes. She would defy the heavens?

You close your eyes too. After all, that’s what friends do. They remember each other.

 ---

 (Morax’s heart flutters when he hears we. Can he join? Will Celestia allow it?

Certainly, he can collect the wealth of the heavens to pay back Childe, he muses. A practical decision, of course.

Or perhaps Childe can come collect them himself.)

 ---

 Dust is in the air, clouding his vision. The young god coughs and shuffles forward, hand calloused and tight around his stone spear.

Compassion, he muses. She always preached of love, of tenderness. Where was compassion for her?

Morax keeps walking, dust growing thicker and dark like the night. Obsidian lays around him, shimmering with promises of vengeance. He has failed. Guizhong trusted him to lead without her? They were never his people, they were hers. He was merely the guardian, the infallible stone statue.

And now, their Archon.

When he falls to his knees, he feels warm drops fall on his face, only to realize belatedly why – it is blood. The blood of the countless beings he’s slaughtered for her, as her people watched in horror as he attempted to water the earth with it.

Suddenly, he feels a cool breeze pick up. A rolling storm gathers and relentless rain replaces the blood on his face.

His hands remain stained. Cold. Godly.

The rain doesn’t seem to mind.

Before he stands, the water washes away some of the earth in front of him. Morax leans forward to grasp a shimmering stone. The sun’s warmth floods his hands, but he only grips tighter and cradles it close to his chest as he watches the rain pelt the earth.

 ---

 Zhongli’s eyes blink open, though he still feels the weight of sleep and the taste of dust in his mouth. The sun has not quite risen, but the sky turning brighter tells him the world is still asleep. You are still asleep.

His eyes soften as he looks at you hiding your face in the crook of his neck, hands tucked to his chest. However, the dream lingers in his mind, and he can only move forward to wrap tighter as he settles his arm over your body in a protective stance.

A dragon and his hoard.

He remembers Tartaglia’s question. Do you have a hoard, Rex Lapis? Do you safeguard gold? Maybe I can see it one day in your den. How insolent and forward, he thinks fondly.

Though, eventually, his mind strays to your conversation earlier, of his own misgivings about Celestia.

He remembers the last time he tried to hold something so divine – so fragile – in his mighty grip.

“Please,” he murmurs to the empty room. “Please.” Zhongli, for the first time, feels he understands the mortals on their knees before the gods. But he doesn’t pray to Celestia, he prays to her.

He tries to forget how his heart ached when the Snezhnayan ship breached the horizon, gliding on the calm ocean to take its chaos elsewhere. How the sunset took all the light and warmth from Liyue Harbor that day. How fierce and angry you were with him.

Zhongli closes his eyes, resolved in his conviction that, though you may forgive, you will never forget his manipulations of Childe back then. Tartaglia’s insistence on chipping away his stone armor both infuriated and endeared to him, so he respected the Harbinger as a deserving rival. How could the Warrior God do anything less?

You mumble, and he pulls you in closer.

Despite it all, Zhongli begs to keep this moment to himself, away from the burning and punishing gaze of Celestia. He is thankful that you returned to him, thankful you deemed his presence worthy once more, thankful that his wait for the dawn paid off. This is enough, he thinks, just to hold you. This is to protect you – something he failed to do for the last divine he cared for. It’s safer for you.

(It’s safer for him.)

As he coils tighter around you and exhales a deep breath before closing his eyes, he can only pray that this moment remains hidden.

After all, who could forgive an earthly dragon – a God of Greed  - for the sin of stealing one of heaven’s golden stars?

 ---

 In Dihua Marsh, the cresting dawn’s light dances along the earth. The wind whispers to the flora and carries the dusty earth with it, parting the grass to allow the sun to warm the previous cover. Water from a nearby creek has long since fertilized the earth, and there lies a single green sprout.

It’s a glaze lily, the first in many millennia who once belonged to that rare breed that opened only for her.

-

notes:

y'all ever see that image of a hamster eating a very large banana? yeah

1) Baijiu is a type of liquor that originates in China! Furthemore, "zu fu" is the formal term for paternal grandfather in Standard Mandarin, xiangqi is a type of Chinese chess, and feng shui is the principle of decorating one's living space to allow better harmony of all energies within.

2) Up until the past century give or take, it was traditional in ancient China for the emperor to have multiple wives or concubines in order to ensure a male heir. Since Liyue is essentially China and Zhongli was its emperor for 3700 years, I imagine the concept of monogamy to be very foreign to him whenever he desired a lover. As much as i love headcanoning Zhongli as a himbo, i'm pretty sure he's so old-school he doesn't realize his blatant courtships and desires aren't being recognized lol. old himbo?

3) The exchange of betrothal gifts between the families being married is customary before the ritualistic courtships continued, and any partnership without equal exchange (Liyue) was considered extremely dishonorable

4) I wanted to sneak a reference to the fact that zhongli’s story quest is the first one we got that’s not named after his constellation, so his constellation’s name is not important to him, but recording ancient history is

also i appreciate any tips on my writing because fun fact! this is the first time i ever wrote smut _(:3」∠)_ luv y'all

[judediangelo75]

The Scent of Love to The Heart of a Loner Poet

I want to try to develop the whole Judith x Talbott (Talith) lore. I realized I’m a bit all over the place and mostly write one-shots. Some happened due to prompts, others (like how they first met, Mother’s Day, and Father’s Day.

Eventually I do my own versions of their dates, maybe Talbott’s side of Judith’s incident with the “Without You/The Man Behind The Necklace series” and stuff of that nature. Give more depth to their relationship.

Inspired by @rosachaotic version which is here: https://rosachaotic.tumblr.com/post/647921746687688704

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

Talbott wasn’t too sure how he felt about spending Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts. The teachers have taken it upon themselves to make today’s lessons related to the holiday. 

In the beginning, he was indifferent to the holiday. He wasn’t one to express his feelings to anyone. Until recently.

It’s been some time since he went on his first date ever.

The girl who asked him out was one of the last people he expected. Especially since he was so sure that she would be interested in his mate, Andre Egwu.

But Judith Harris proved him wrong as she shyly asked him if he would like to go out on a date with her.

He could never forget the picture she painted. Shoulders slightly hunched as she rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. Her shuffling feet being the only noise in the pregnant pause that fell between them. Pale gold eyes that looked up at him through short curly lashes, uncertainty and hope glimmering his irises. An innocent blush that stained her soft cheeks, a rare sight to see from the silent Beater.

Gone was the tough, silent exterior she’s known for.

Gone was her trademark sarcasm and her slight smirk.

What stood before him in that library was a shy witch asking him to accompany her on a date.

When reality finally caught up with him, he quietly agreed to her offer. The smile she gifted him was something that never failed to set his heart aflutter.

She did tell him to dress nice but nothing too formally. Slightly unsure, he went to the self-proclaimed resident Style Wizard. When he gave the details of his date, he did notice the disappointment that flashed in those cheery brown eyes but Andre didn’t comment on him going out with his Celestial Ball date. Instead Andre devoted his energy into creating an outfit for him.

When Andre handed him his outfit, he held a sad happiness in his eyes and wished him luck on his date.

Seeing Judith waiting for him outside the castle made Talbott’s stomach twist in knots. He was used to seeing her in her class robes, dressed down uniforms, or one of her causal outfits.

Seeing her in a soft yellow off the shoulder sundress that reached her knees and white sandals that hugged her calves made his breath catch in his throat. Her hair, which was normally in twists after she took down her locs, was free. Curls and coils tumbled over one of her shoulders, a bang brushing over one of her eyes.

Talbott found himself gripping his feather necklace for reassurance as he approached the Hufflepuff.

The date itself was rather nice. 

Judith had led him to the forest line by Black Lake. What awaited them was a candle lit picnic. 

He was surprised at the location and the simplicity of it, but he found it lovely. Judith had even made the food that they ate, some of which was cuisine from her old homeland. Talbott was skeptical about eating foreign food, but found it surprisingly good.

The entire time Judith was buzzing from nervous energy, rambling majority of the time. Talbott thought that her excessive chatter would’ve annoy the hell out of him but he did come to find it rather endearing.

She was nervous because of him.

One of the famed Curse Breakers, the fierce Hufflepuff Beater known as “Tigress”... 

Was nervous because of him, a Ravenclaw loner. Virtually a nobody.

Plus, he believed he could hear a faint accent in her voice. He figured it had to be from her homeland she briefly talked about. 

Talbott found himself smiling more than he ever had a long time. When it was time to go, he offered to walk her back to her Common Room. While he didn’t need to, he wanted to.

When they reached their destination, the pair stood outside of the Hufflepuff Common Room for some time. Judith’s face was flushed as she stuttered softly how she had a great time with him. 

Before she could turn her back, Talbott reached out to grab her by her elbow and pull the girl into a hug. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to hug Judith, but it felt right to him.

The girl went stiff in his arms for a few moments before returning the hug.

The pair didn’t say a word during this embrace, only saying good night when they pulled away.

Talbott couldn’t rid himself of the small smile on his lips when he noticed the faint blush on Judith’s cheeks.

Something about the girl was bewitching, but he wasn’t sure how.

Talbott was finally pulled back into the present when Professor Snape’s familiar drawl, explaining today’s lesson.

The class broke out into faint whispers and quiet laughter when the Potion Master revealed what potion they were studying today.

Amortentia. The love potion.

Snape interrupted the giddy class to study the potion and to not inhale too deeply. Talbott shrugged before standing around the massive cauldron. 

Not like he was looking to-

‘What’s that smell?’

There was something sweet in the air. His red eyes landed on the cauldron, which its heart-shaped fumes wafted towards his direction. Instead of covering his nose, the Ravenclaw found himself taking a discreet inhale, trying to figure out where he encountered this scent before.

He can make out a sea breeze, as if he was standing near the ocean and he could smell the salt from the sea. As well as...

His brow furrowed as he took another breath.

Chocolate almost... and something else he couldn’t name. 

There was underlying of fainter sweet scents that seem to alternate. But the consistent one was... honey.

“Talbott?” The wizard blinked as he looked towards the voice speaking to him. Andre was looking at him, concern reflecting in his eyes.

“You good there, mate? You seem to have spaced out.” Damn.

“I’m fine,” he said, writing and studying the potion. Though, his mind was reeling because he knew he smelled that scent from before but how and from where?

“Keep in mind: Amortentia would smell different to each of you, based on who or what appeals to you...” Professor Snape’s words caused Talbott to freeze.

‘Who or what appeals to you... but who would-’

“Class dismissed. It appeared all of you failed to heed my warning. Leave my classroom before you continue to experience... feelings,” Snape said abruptly.

‘Maybe it’s nothing... I have Transfiguration next. I need to focus,’ Talbott thought to himself... not before sparing one last glance to the giant cauldron in the middle of the room.

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

Talbott was standing a bit in the back of the group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. 

“Hey Talbott. Happy Valentine’s Day...” Talbott turned to find Judith giving him a shy smile. He returned it with one of his own.

“Hello, little bird...” A nickname he bestowed onto the Hufflepuff after she turned into an Animagus. Her Black Sparrowhawk was smaller than his Golden Eagle, hence the nickname. Judith blushed at the sound of it, ducking her head before the boy could see it.

Thankfully, the class turned their attention to Professor McGonagall as she explained today’s Valentine’s lesson. 

‘Lovely. First the love potion and now a love note... at least Professor McGonagall said they’ll be innocent. How much could a love note from my heart possibly say?’

A lot apparently.

“How my heart longs for you, mystical gold eyes. Please never leave, for I see forever in your pretty irises...” 

Talbott spluttered out of shock and embarrassment, almost casting Incendio on the Valentine Howler to get it to shut up.

Just how long has his feelings been buried for it to come out like this?!

“Hey Talbott, what did your Howler say?” Talbott sharply inhaled, that same sweet scent from Potions was stronger now. He whipped around to find pale gold eyes looking up at him.

“N-Nothing,” he stuttered as realization began to sink in. Judith cocked her head to the side, confused to the loner Ravenclaw’s behavior.

“Are you-”

“Class dismissed! And have a happy Valentine’s Day, students!” Talbott silently thanked McGonagall for her timing as he quickly grabbed his bag and left the Transfiguration classroom.

He needed to put space between him and the Hufflepuff witch.

The Hufflepuff witch he apparently had feelings for.

Bloody hell...

[lvllns]

honey on my fingers

the wayhaven chronicles. mason x sparrow kingston (nb detective). ~1.8k+ words. mature for implied sex. a whole lot of praise and body worship here y’all. deep relationship mason, so soft content incoming.

read on ao3 instead.

Mason moans.

Deep, rough, from the center of his chest. It pours out of him like wine. Spilling across his chest to drip onto the sheets below. His fingers curl. Wind and card through Sparrow’s hair and they pull away to press a kiss to the inside of his thigh.

“Mêl ar fy mysedd,” they mumble against his skin.

He blinks. Tries to sort the words and gets as far as Welsh before he gives up. Everything is fire bright at the moment. Red and orange licking at the edges of his vision. His hand falls to cup their cheek and they lean into the touch with a soft hum.

“What’s that mean?” His voice is rougher than he expected.

He clears his throat.

Sparrow drops another kiss to his body, on his hip this time, before they prop their chin on his stomach. “Honey on my fingers.” They turn to nip at his wrist. “Welsh version of music to my ears.”

Heat races down his spine and Mason shivers. It’s foolish of him to hope Sparrow doesn’t notice the way his body reacts to their voice. Their touch. He can’t think of one thing over the years that they haven’t noticed. Ava calls them eagle-eyed, quick to spot the tiniest of things, and Mason enjoys the way they’re able to pick out a speck of blood or a slight shift in the paint on a wall. It’s all very impressive until that attention is focused squarely on him.

Then he feels rather like every single inch of him is on display.

Not just his skin, but the secrets he’s buried into the cracks between his ribs. Thoughts he placed carefully among the bones of his wrists. Things he expected to keep to himself until he could sort out whatever was rattling around his head, and then they’d fuck off.

Jokes on him, because once it was all laid out before him and the lights turned the fuck on, it was all he could do to not hand everything over to Sparrow immediately.

They’re still looking at him, one side of their mouth pulled up in a close-lipped smile. Their thumb is drawing sweeping circles over the skin of his thigh. He is so utterly distracted by them. By the way they sound when they’re excited, words rushing from their mouth a mile a minute. By the way they smell, soft hints of vanilla and well-worn leather. By the way their heart sounds, steady beats that lull him to sleep more easily than he ever thought possible. Noises and scents that steady him, and it’s still so strange to find comfort in sensations that usually overwhelm.

“Still with me?” Their breath is warm as it washes over his bare stomach.

He rubs a hand over his face and nods. “Yeah.” Mason curls a hand around the back of their neck and pulls gently. Guides them up his body until they’re laying on top of him, noses bumping.

Sparrow kisses him. Slow and sweet, the vague memory of the taste of sugar lingering on his lips when they pull away to kiss his cheek. “Cuore mio,” they murmur against his temple. “My heart.”

Their touch drifts over his side as they kiss his throat. They’re so gentle with him. Like even after all this time he’s going to splinter in their hands. He wants to tell them it’s different now. He’s stronger. More in tune with his emotions now that he knows what to look for. It’s a moot point though, with them draping him in affection like a warm blanket.

A thumbnail pokes against his bicep and he blinks.

“I do love your arms,” they speak into his jaw. “Strong enough to protect, gentle enough to soothe.”

A little piece of...something, wiggles loose around his heart. “Songbird—”

They quiet him with another kiss. Deeper this time. A searching kiss that has him groaning. Clutching at their waist and holding them tight.

“Are you okay with this?”

“With what? You talking nonsense about how pretty I am?”

They click their tongue. “Nonsense, please.” A tap to his nose. He scoffs. “I only speak the truth. You know I can’t lie to save my life.” Fingers lace with his. “Seriously, is this fine?”

Mason swallows and nods, not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he gently tucks a lock of hair behind their ear.

Their mouth moves back to his jaw. Slips down his neck to settle at the base. “Luce dei miei occhi.” Sparrow props themself up on an elbow and grins. His head is spinning. “Light of my eyes.” They sit up. Straddle his waist and splay their hands across his chest. “Do you know how difficult it is to pay attention when you walk around without a shirt on?”

A soft laugh escapes him, jostling Sparrow a little. He catches their hip and holds them steady. “I might have an idea, given how often I find you staring at me.”

They roll their eyes, a fond smile on their face. “Fair.” Their fingers tap across his collarbones. Dance down to his sternum. He realizes, quite suddenly, that they’re tracing his freckles again. “It’s your freckles.” Their head cocks to the side. “Don’t get me wrong, the muscles are nice.” They emphasize the words with a gentle squeeze of his pecs. Mason snorts. “But...I always want so badly to touch your freckles.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he says. He finds their shoulder. Runs the pads of his fingers over the scattered bursts of pigment that dust their skin.

Sparrow hums. “Your nose too.” Delicately, they run their touch from between his eyebrows to the tip of his nose. “It’s handsome. Suits you.” They cup his face. Smooth their thumb over his jaw. “Jawline sharp enough to cut marble.”

Mason catches the moment their eyes go bright. Delighted with whatever has occurred to them. Their hands find the side of his face, and they squish his cheeks together until his mouth is pursed.

He rolls his eyes as his head falls back, slipping from their grasp, a groan escaping him even as a grin splits his face.

They’re giggling where they sit, perched on his waist. Sparrow leans down to touch their foreheads together. “Can’t imagine why you’ve put up with me all these years.”

Mason trails a finger up and down their spine as he says, “There’s no putting up with anything.”

The admission is quiet. A secret spoken between them, poorly kept as it is. He just can’t let that go. Can’t stand to think that they believe he’s putting up with them. And for what? Sex?

No. No, he’s spent too long embracing what he feels to even consider letting their statement go unchallenged.

For their part, they blush. Red sweeping across their cheeks to their ears. Dripping down their neck to coat their chest. Paint on a canvas. Smears of color spreading out like a wildfire.

“I know,” they whisper, and those two words chase the tension from his body.

Sometimes he worries that he doesn’t do enough. Tell them enough. He’s still stumbling around this like a newborn fawn trying to cross a frozen lake. But the way they light up when he holds them or brings them a book he swiped from Nat’s library...he thinks he’s doing okay. It is nice, however, to have it confirmed.

They slither down his body, peppering kisses over his stomach as they go. Teeth scrape over his hip bones, the bite of them soothed quickly by their tongue. Sparrow curls their fingers around his thighs and exhales. Slow and even. It burns the inside of his leg and the muscles twitch. He had forgotten what they were doing before Sparrow decided this was more important, but his body reacts to them as it always does.

Immediately.

Honestly.

“You have ridiculously nice legs.” Their touch falls to his knee before moving to settle up by his hip. They quirk a brow as their fingers curl, the tips resting on the top of his ass. “I really don’t think I need to tell you what I think about your butt.”

“Need to, no. Still think you should.” He smiles, wide enough to flash his fangs.

“It’s a good butt, sunshine. Seen it plenty, mostly upside down while you’re carrying me around.” Sparrow moves to kneel between his spread legs, their hair hanging loose around their shoulders. “You’ve carried me out of some scary situations.” Their brows furrow. A little knot forms between them and he reaches up to smooth it away. Gently, he sweeps some of their hair back out of their face. “I’m terribly fond of you.”

His heart thumps painfully in his chest. Knocking against his ribs and begging to be let free. If he could give it to them, he would. On a silver fucking platter.

There are lips against the center of his chest, breaking him from his thoughts. Sparrow kisses him, the barest brush of their mouth. “Philtatos,” they whisper against his skin, “most beloved.”

Some kind of broken sound claws its way out of his throat. Mason flips them over. Hovers above them for a moment before he presses them into the bed, and slots his mouth over theirs. They’re smiling, he can feel it, but it’s a distant realization.

He feels like he’s drowning.

No, floating. He’s light, too light for the heaviness of water.

It’s a whole lot of pretty words spoken in a pretty accent by a pretty person but he knows, he knows Sparrow better than he knows himself sometimes.

They’re honest to a fault.

Especially with him.

Mason kisses them until they push on his shoulder. Breaking away to gasp for air as he moves to lick at their throat. He doesn’t know what to do with the love surrounding his heart so he gives it to them the way he knows best. By touching. He maps their body with his hands. Colors every inch of them gold in the low light of their bedroom. So long he’s seen his hands as weapons, useful things to break anyone who threatens him or those who have his loyalty. But when Sparrow is underneath him, body lifting off the bed to fit into the curve of his palms, he finds himself thinking that maybe there’s some good beneath the long dried blood on his skin.

It feels as though an age has passed when he eventually falls onto his back with a soft thump, skin slick with sweat. His eyes are shut, and he takes deep breaths through his nose. Sparrow’s heart starts to settle, to come down from the high of a moment ago, and their lithe fingers find his. Tangling together. Vines on a wall. They squeeze his hand.

They roll onto their side, wiggling close enough for their knees to push against his thighs. Light kisses pepper over his ribs until they exhale and press their nose into his side.

“Rwy'n dy garu di,” Sparrow mumbles. “I love you.”

He buries his face in their hair, eyes shut tight, and wraps his arm around their shoulders to hold them close.

“I love you too.”