#we were looking for the mushrooms all week

[lunajay33]

Searching🍂

Summary: Y/n is taken and no one knows where you are but Daryl doesn’t stop till he has you back in his arms

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

Request by @parasite—girl

•Masterlist•

You were walking through the woods scavenging, Daryl and you were out together but split up to find more food, cover more ground, you were kneeled down picking some mushrooms when searing pain shot through your head and everything went black

You woke up to a painful headache like you’d been on a week drinking bender, groaning you looked around seeing you were strapped down to a chair the governor in front of you

“Finally she’s awake, got pretty lucky finding you out there, been trying to find a way to get some leverage”

“Let me go”

“Now why would I do that, I got you all to myself, sooner or later someone’s gonna come looking and I’ll finally get rid of your group”

The hours dragged by full of pain and screams, he didn’t go easy on you, using various torture on you, dragging knives down your chest, swinging punches until your eye was swollen and your mouth was bloody, you were on the verge of slipping away into unconsciousness, the governor had left the room a while ago to just let you bask in the throbbing pain

A banging came from the door until it busted open, you tried to lift your head but you were so weak

“Angel? Are ya there?” You heard Daryl as he lifted your head to look at you, he was blurring but you knew it was him

“It hurts Daryl” you whined gasping from the pain when he tried to move you

“I know but I gotta get ya outta here” he picked you up bridal style and ran, even with all the gunfire surrounding you both he kept going until you cleared the Woodbury walls running through forest, every step he took shook your head, moved your wounds until you we laid in the back set of a truck your head laid against Daryl’s lap

“Just stay away Angel, we’re going home”

“We shouldn’t have split up, I’m sorry” you groaned as the truck started moving

“Nah it was my fault but I’ve got ya, no one’s every touching ya again, yet my girl and ain’t no one’s gonna hurt my girl, not a cut, not a bruise, not a hurtful word, imma protect ya” he cooed brushing you hair back soothingly

His words giving you enough peace to let go of some of that fear and finally relax in his embrace, knowing he’s always been there made everything feel like it was worth fight for

[psiroller]

you're gonna hate me soon ch. 2 preview. because i like you a lot

When the party reconvened the following Monday, it was like nothing had ever happened. It wasn’t the first time that someone in the group had drunk a little too much or too fast and said something they shouldn’t have—that person was usually Laios—but it hadn’t gone as far as a fistfight in recent memory. Still, when Laios and Falin arrived at their usual spot at the tavern, his teammates greeted him like any other day. Chilchuck raised a stein of something Laios hoped wasn’t alcoholic to hail him, but there was an ever-so-slight upturn to his normal morning grimace, so maybe it was. Laios felt his pulse quicken and focused on his breathing, but it just made him look even more flustered. He cleared his throat in address.

“Alright, everyone, it’s slim pickings on the available jobs this week,” Laios announced. “There weren’t many listings on the boards, and most of them sounded sketchy. Another ‘package delivery’ to one of the unregulated taverns on the second floor, another ‘contraband seizure’ on the lower levels with no seal of authenticity, tons of requests for those kinds of walking mushrooms, a couple of ‘succubus hunts’ looking for entry-level adventurers…”

Chilchuck rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue. “People are still posting those? I can’t imagine there’s a wide pool of scabs left to take them.”

“There’s a sucker born every minute,” Namari shrugged, gnawing on a strip of bacon burnt into a stick of charcoal, just the way she liked it. “Half-minute, for you guys.”

Chilchuck swatted Namari in the shoulder, a backhanded crack of his knuckles that felt like a bug bite to her. She laughed it off, giving him a gentle sock in the arm that made him wince.

“The postings have been generally dubious lately, haven’t they?” Shuro asked. Laios nodded to him, defeated.

“There’s a lot of bureaucratic red tape involved in making sure the job postings are legitimate,” Marcille said, twining a ribbon through her rope braid. Falin went to hold one of the partitioned locks of hair for her as she struggled with an awkward angle. “But I’ve heard that the correspondence offices are swamped with all the new people coming to the island lately. Maybe things are starting to slip through the cracks?”

“Nothing’s stopping anybody from just walking up to the public postings and sticking up a piece of official-looking parchment, either,” said Laios. “Generally, there are officers on patrol to monitor what goes up, but they go out in shifts. If they’re spread too thin, they check less, forget more often, and a newbie takes a crappy monster bait job.”

“And probably dies,” Chilchuck chimed in.

“Thank you, Chilchuck.”

“So, is there anything worth doing this week?” Namari crossed her arms. “Or could I have slept in today?”

“There is one…” Laios said, trying to contain his excitement. “There’s a hydra on the fourth floor.”

Namari grinned and leaned in, elbows on the table. “Now we’re talking.”

Shuro nodded seriously, indicating he was already planning his approach. Marcille blanched at the concept; she hadn’t been to the fourth floor yet in her adventuring career. Falin had assisted in the job hunt and was aware of the plan, but she still grinned toothily at the thought of seeing one.

“You sure we can handle a hydra?” Chilchuck asked. “Two manticores were tough enough. These things have a dozen heads, don’t they? It’s like fighting a whole group of monsters at once.”

“Oh?” Laios grinned. “Are you planning on participating in the hunt this time?”

Chilchuck spat his orange juice (?) back into the cup. “Hell no!”

“That’s a shame,” Laios pouted. “At any rate, I was hoping to borrow those manticore quills you picked up. Did you happen to sell those off?”

Chilchuck had to think about it, scratching his sideburns. Laios had seen him hungover before, but he was in a better mood than usual for such a state, if a bit slow. “I think I got a few still lying around.” He’d been planning to try to find a way to fletch them without spilling the venom everywhere, having found no success. The tips were sharply pointed and might serve well as a pick if carved down, but they were quite valuable in their raw form. Like many things he had trouble deciding on, they’d been stuffed under his desk and left alone.

Laios beamed at him. “Awesome. That’ll be really helpful.” Chilchuck averted his eyes and got his orange juice (?) back down on the second shot.

“Don’t mention it.”

“According to the posting, this hydra is still a juvenile.” Laios continued. “It should be much easier to take down than a full-grown adult, but there’s something to consider: this listing is almost a month old by now. The hydra shouldn’t have grown too much from that sighting, but we all know the thing about hydras, right?”

Everyone around the table nodded; Namari made a what-do-you-think sort of gesture.

“I need all of you to verbally confirm it for me, okay? Just to be sure.”

A collective groan arose.

“Cut off all the heads at once, or two more grow in its place,” the party intoned, with the slow and deliberate cadence of grammar schoolers.

“Very good, everyone. Thank you. I know that sounds insulting, but if you have experience in this kind of work, you know why I’m checking.”

“Common rookie mistake.” Namari sipped her coffee.

“That’s right. And if there’s an influx of rookies coming in, desperate for work…”

“Then the hydra might have gotten a few heads trimmed already.” Shuro folded his arms into his sleeves. “That could be a problem.”

“But it also means that there’s more we can loot from it,” Laios smiled. He pumped his fist a little, unable to control his excitement. “We’ve got some good experience under our belts now, and I’ve done a lot of research on hydras. I think we’re ready to take one on now. They’re fascinating monsters, members of the dragon family! They’ve got an extremely interesting skeletal adaptation that—”

“Sounds good to me.” Namari rose from the bench and stretched, pulling her arm over her shoulder. “I need a really thin taper on the blade for hydras, right?”

“Y-yeah, the hide’s thin for a dragon but the muscle is tough. We need to make sure we get a clean, complete slice when we do get the chance to take a swing. When hydras are young, their heads get severed easily. It sounds like it’s counterintuitive, but—”

“I get it. I’ve fought them before. Just tell me when to slice ‘em and I’ll slice ‘em.”

“See, that’s the problem. We don’t know exactly how many heads this thing has. How do we ensure that we cut them all off at once?” Namari grimaced and sat down, settling in for another lecture. “So that’s why I asked you to meet me here! I have an attack strategy I like to call ‘the kebab method’.”

Namari stood back up. “Nah, that’s cool, see you—”

Chilchuck put a hand on her arm. “Let him talk, Namari.”

Namari stared incredulously down at Chilchuck, then grimaced when she put the pieces together. She clucked her tongue and flopped into her seat for good. She elbowed Chilchuck in the ribs and muttered something in a language Laios didn’t recognize. Chilchuck drummed his fingertips on his arm and ignored it.

Laios smiled down at Chilchuck, and the sour look on his face softened. He twirled his wrist, motioning for Laios to continue. “Continue. I don’t have all day, pal.”

Laios chuckled, blushing a bit. “Right, sorry! So, the manticore quills are great for this, but I’ve also picked up some long-range spears—well, I guess they’re more like polearms?” Falin shot Marcille a horrified glance. The hydra was the furthest thing from their minds. Namari opened her mouth to correct him on his weapons terminology but jolted a little, having gotten kicked in the ankle. “Each head of the hydra has its own spinal cord, much like ours, that runs down down the center and to the back of the hydra’s throat.  So if you stab around the spine between the ribs that protect the hydra’s esophagus, everything stays intact. Severing the spinal cord is what triggers the new heads to grow in, provided that at least one head is left intact when the reflex kicks in.”

“So we could use those polearms to hold it in place? I don’t think my upper arm strength can pull that off,” Marcille protested.

“We could push the spears into the walls and floor to ground them,” Shuro offered. Laios snapped his fingers.

“Yes! That’s a great idea. But I could only afford so many spears, and Chilchuck only has so many quills long enough to pull this off. So it’s important that we’re careful about how many we use. Considering how thin the hydra’s necks are, I thought we could try to skewer multiple heads on the same spear.”

A silence fell on the party, and perhaps the next table over, upon hearing this flawless plan.

“Hence, the kebab method,” Marcille clarified, her tone flat. Chilchuck shrank into his chair when he felt Namari looking over at him. Laios nodded.

“I think it could work,” Shuro said. Laios lit up at the validation. “There’s some merit to restricting the hydra’s movements. Not all of us can restrain the beast on our own, but if securely speared through, we could use the hydra’s muscle strength against itself. Stabbing through the esophagus would also prevent the hydra from swallowing any of us outright, if it has grown large enough to do so.”

“Exactly! Thank you, Shuro.” Shuro seemed a little exhausted by his energy, but Falin gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder that he’d be thinking about for the rest of his life. “And we don’t have to get a perfect hit with every spear. I got as many as I could afford, so if the hydra rips the spear out of your hands or it’s too dangerous to keep going, we can fall back, grab another spear, and try again.”

“So we’re trying to reduce the amount of variables in fighting the hydra?” Marcille asked, more convinced this time.

“The less we have to worry about the hydra writhing around, the easier it’ll be to synchronize the finishing blow.” Laios grinned at Namari. “And that’s when we finally slice ‘em. Everyone clear?”

Namari grinned back. Shuro bowed his head in understanding. Marcille still had her reservations, but Falin was pumping her up. Chilchuck sat back in his seat with his arms crossed, abstaining from any conversation about combat, but when Laios caught his eye, the corner of his mouth curved up in a smirk that Laios couldn’t decipher.

“That’s—that’s all!” Laios croaked. “We’ll all meet at the dungeon tomorrow, as usual. Take whatever preparations you need. Pack heavily, it’s a long trip.”

The party dispersed. Falin and Marcille lingered at their end of the table as Namari hustled to leave, lost in consideration of what weapon she’d be taking down with her. Shuro hung around for a while, trying to find an inroad to talk to Falin, but Marcille was well-equipped to play defense and came prepared with updated Daltian Clan relationship charts. The long-haired swordsman was stuck talking to Laios for an excruciating moment before he politely excused himself.

“Hey,” Chilchuck said, raising a hand. Laios turned from watching Shuro leave, ears perked.

“You have a question, Chilchuck?”

“You mind going over that thing you said about their skeleton? Sounded like it might have been important. You said severing the spinal cord is what activates the head… growing… thing?”

Laios’ eyes glittered. “Oh, uh, yeah! It’s like how some lizards can drop and regrow their tails, just done way faster. Most lizards don’t regrow brains in their missing limbs, either, so maybe it’s not the best analogy…”

“How come it dies if all the heads come off? Can’t it just regrow them anyway?”

“That’s a great question, and one still up for debate! The leading theory is that the heads grown by the hydra are clones based on one of the intact heads. They have the same scale patterns and eye colors as the one closest to it on the array, and…”

Falin had tuned out of Marcille’s rant and had tuned into Laios’, instead. She watched as Chilchuck leaned onto his elbow and listened, looking bored. Laios continued undaunted. Marcille’s slight hand came to rest on Falin’s shoulder, and she gave a reassuring squeeze.

“You don’t have to protect him from everything, you know,” Marcille whispered. Falin bonked their foreheads together and sighed.

“I just can’t watch him get hurt,” Falin said. “Never could.”

Marcille coaxed Falin out of her seat to go get breakfast with her, leaving Chilchuck and Laios shoulder-to-elbow on the bench.

“So it’s kind of like how a flower can grow back if you prune it right,” Chilchuck said, nudging his plate over to Laios, tossing him an unused fork and knife swaddled in a napkin. There was an uneaten, soggy waffle on it, but Laios wasn’t picky. He bit into his takeout budget to get their hunting supplies.

“Yeah, that works! If you cut too much off the whole thing wilts. Most flowers aren’t trying to wrestle you into pruning them, though, so you have to…”

[shanaraharlyah]

They have entire memes at Universal.

[inkskinned]

there are days that it is hard, and unfair, and some horrible part of me wishes i could have been born in a different world. i love being queer, i hate how others react to it. when i first came out at 15, my mom whispered: please don't say that. your life would be so much harder.

it is harder.

it is also a tuesday, walking my dog. we are both skiving off of work, and yes both of us have dyed hair and pronouns. mine is patchy - it was my first time trying bleach; i didn't have enough. theirs is a resilient toadstool green. a little girl comes up to us and asks um, excuse me? is your hair real? 'cause jason says you're a fairy.

it is sunday brunch, all of us talking over each other, overfull on love. she is trying out a new name today, and we made her a cake with today's name scrawled in shaky purple letters. she laughs so much she cries and then gets frosting in her hair. someone young at a different table keeps giving us these large, wide eyes: the same look we have all been on the other side of. the kind that says, breathless: wait, is that possible?

it is a half-fight in a supermarket because he loves "dance moms" and says abby's tiktok is funny and meanwhile i think the children in that show should be allowed to sue abby lee miller for child abuse. i tell him that it led to the casual acceptance of child harassment for mainly adult views; and then i am standing, suddenly, in someone else's thrown soda. there's a white lady standing there, furious, saying something about hell-on-earth. i had forgotten i was wearing stuff with pride colors. and then it is this: he had just been casually arguing with me - and within an instant, he squares his shoulders and goes after her like i am his sister

on saturday i sat in a circle while beca played with my hair and we were all over 30 and we laughed about how much happier we are being this old, how much more we appreciate our community. 25 minutes from now, we will be on stage to dance in baggy beige clothing, but for now we look on with envy to the dancers in loud-and-bright buttondowns. where are they getting these shirts! i cry, distraught. everyone laughs. one of our friends has a mushroom witch hat. this would have been cringey in high school, probably. instead we are all delighted with each other; happy just to be here and alive and moving

it's that last week my new friends cried with joy for me when they heard i'm getting top surgery. every so often i have the honor of being the first person someone feels comfortable enough to tell. i'm trying to make long fluttery butterfly wings to wear to pride; but i don't know anything about fabric or dye, so my friends have been sending me their personal advice.

i think in a different poem i would talk about how sometimes you walk into a room and put the mask back on. but i'm sleepy and my whole brain is fuzzy so i think in this one, it's a monday, and my dog and i took a nap on a couch, and i had missed texts from friends. i used to wake up lonely. i think this poem is about walking into a room and seeing someone and just knowing, the way you just-know-sometimes, and then giving them that little smile, and seeing them light up with joy and relief. it is how we always seem to be able to find each other in a crowded room. how we always seem to make friends with each other before even we know-it-to-be-true. it is saying: we're very different people; but i belong to you.

it is harder, yes. but it comes with a built-in family.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Yuus Food Truck

In which Azul loses his mind over a grilled cheese.

Content stuff: short, one sided enemies to lovers, Azul being a loser, general cringe.

Posting Reqs like this for a bit until Tumblr lets us edit asks. I had a request for Enemies to Lovers with Azul, so I came up with this.

That goddamned Prefect was the bane of Azul's existence. For the past few weeks, he has been gripping his leg in absolute rage within his office as he stares at his weekly reports. Practically frothing at the mouth at the mere mention of you.

Recently, the little Ramshackle prefect has begun a new business venture. A simple food truck on campus selling only grilled cheeses for a singular madol. That's it. He found the idea a bit funny, he'll admit, but he was far from worried.

Surely after a month it would shut down, or at the very least get so few customers it wouldn't impact his business. I mean come on, how much money are you really making from selling grilled cheeses for one dollar? You must be taking a loss!

He was wrong. So so wrong.

Not only have you somehow been profiting from your little side project, but you have taken all of his customers. He is looking over his lounge, nowhere near as full as it usually is. He grits his teeth and heads back into the VIP room. The twins should be here any minute now. 

On cue, the door creaks open, and in come those rowdy twins both with their usual smirks. Azul jerks up, staring up at Jade from his desk. His hand shook ever slightly as he gripped the feather in his hand.

“Well? Did you get it?” The mer asks, gaze steely. Floyd speaks for the both of them through mouthfuls of grilled cheese.

“Mmmhmm yeah, we got you a cheese, here you go. Mmmm.” Floyd took another bite of his as he tossed the wrapped-up grilled cheese onto the desk. 

“Hey watch the merchandise– Are you eating their food?" Azul stared at both of them. Floyd stuffing his face with the one in his hand and Jade elegantly nibbling on his own. He was shocked, betrayed by his own staff. “You guys gave them more money— ugh. I would have expected this of Floyd but you too Jade?”

“The prefect saw me ordering and put some mushrooms into mine that pair well with the cheese. Free of charge as well. How thoughtful of them. I must commend their customer service.” Jade wore a shit-eating smirk on his face as he took another bite, making a show out of it. He seemed to relish in Azul's misery.

“Free of charge?” Azul was flabbergasted. Not only were their prices ridiculously low but they were adding things for free? They might as well be handing their money away at that point.

“Right? I say they should have charged Jade for all he's worth for putting those damn things on. Yuck…” Floyd wrinkled his nose as he side eyed Jade, who just continued to eat blissfully. 

He needed to figure out just what was so good about the damn things. Gloved hands carefully lifted up the wrapped delicacy with such fragility as if it would break from a gust of wind. The wrapping was done well, nice and neat as he peeled it off to reveal what was inside.

Crisped and perfectly brown buttered white bread. It glistened in the light with its heavenly beauty. The cheese was ooey and gooey and so thick that it ran down the sides. So far the presentation was beautiful, but it was pretty damn difficult to fucked up a grilled cheese. He tried to hold back this drool from the smell alone.

Carefully, he took a bite and closed his eyes. His mouth was blasted with flavor. As he savored that magical bite, a gust of wind swept through the room, causing the curtains to dance dramatically. The cheesy aroma lingered, creating an ambiance fit for a culinary masterpiece. This grilled cheese has unlocked secrets of the universe with how much it expanded his mind. This mere sandwich has him on the brink of tears

Azul has to hold his expression. He's not gonna be impressed by some measly sandwich. He's better than that. Though he thought that maybe by tasting it he could be able to figure out what your secret ingredient was, it's clear that isn't the case… This is a simple grilled cheese. He would have to go undercover to discover your cooking secrets.

***

“Heyyy Prefect!” A wry voice hums near the truck, belonging to no other than Ruggie. He knocked on the side of the window and Yuu poked out their head.

Azul watched from the distance, narrowing his eyes as he hyper-focused on the conversation. He admits the front of the Ramshackle dorms was a great location. Close to the botanical garden, close to the main building, not as far as Octavinelle either, and had most of the foot traffic. It's why he had his eye on it for a second location.

“Well if it isn't my number one customer, what can I get ya, let me guess a grilled cheese?” Of course, Ruggie would be their number one customer, which makes sense given his financial state. Figures. Maybe if he introduced a dollar menu…

“You know what Ruggie, you're cool. For you, it's 50 cents. Two for one if you will.” Ruggie pauses for a moment before smiling again. “Awe really? Sweet, can't up a deal like that shyehehehe!” The hyena cackles and you get to work. The window for the truck is fully open, allowing Azul to see in.

You aren't even hiding your cooking technique?! You're just giving all your secrets away like that?! Ohh you foolish fool… This would be easier than he thought.

He must get closer, to see what sort of fuckery is at play here. However, walking up and just watching you cook work is suspicious. As much as he hates to fund this little project… sacrifices must be made… He will have to order a grilled cheese…

Ruggie slinks off, tail wagging happily as he munches on his food. This was the perfect opportunity to approach. He stood up even straighter and approached with determination hidden poorly behind his attempt at a straight face. His scowl dared to seep through but he managed to smooth it out into his sickenly sweet facade.

“Hello, dear prefect!” He watched Yuu perk up through the window as they wiped down their workspace. They glanced over at Azul, completely unaware of his evil plot. “Heya Zuzu what can I get ya?”

Zuzu? That's awfully bold… whatever eyes on the prize… 

“I'd like one grilled cheese please if I may…” Hell yes. Smooth operator. He's so good at this.

“Mkay, coming right up.” Azul leans in closer as you get to work, memorizing everything you do… You just make a grilled cheese… Nothing special. It's just simple bread and cheese you cook in butter. How the hell? Was it the oven perhaps? Did you somehow know of his intentions and we're trying to conceal it?? Ugh, whatever maybe he can sucker you into another deal.

“... You know Prefect, if you just raised the price a bit you'd be bringing in more profits.” 

You shrugged as you pressed down your creation with your spatula to make it sizzle more. “Yeah, I know how money works.” Azul paused and blinked.

“So why don't you do it?” You shrug again. “It's funny.” Azul was perplexed, bamboozled, perhaps even smeckledorfed perchance. You were doing this for fun?! Starting a business for fun. Not for profit which would be beneficial given your situation, but for fun.

“Fun? Really? But prefect– wouldn't you– shouldn't you consider raising the prices even slightly? I mean after all Crowley hasn't been paying you well and if anything—”

“I should shoot you for the mere suggestion of raising the grilled cheese prices. The price is firm. It's never going up even by a cent. Hell, I'm so offended I may lower it.” You pulled the cheese off the grill and started to pack it up, swaddling it with such delicacy and love reserved for newborns.

Azul's mouth hung open for a bit before closing it. “Are you serious? Prefect— Yuu at this point I'm not even mad about the competition I'm– hrk!”  

“You need to relax a little Azul, for your own sake.” You shoved the grilled cheese out the window a bit more forcefully than you intended, making the unwrapped part hit Azul's glasses. The melty butter left grease marks on them, and through the blurriness, he could see your expression. His heart skipped a beat and sucked in a breath. Oh no.

He was in love.

[roanniom]

Asking virgin eddie if you can blow him

Is That a Serious Question?

Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, blow job

"I'm sorry, I might have destroyed my ear drums after years of absolutely shredding it on guitar - what did you say to me?"

You and Eddie are standing in the tiny kitchen of your even tinier apartment. You'd invited him back to your place for a night cap after several weeks of hanging out with him through the go between of your mutual friend Robin. You'd been pretty certain when he'd accepted the invitation - coming at the tail end of a pretty tame night out with the gang - that he understood what you'd been implying. So you push your glass aside and lean over your counter towards him, giving him your most sultry smile.

"I asked if I can blow you, handsome."

Eddie's eyes are wide as saucers and you're pretty sure if he grips his glass of whiskey any harder he will certainly shatter it. To avoid that bloody outcome you reach out and pry his fingers off the glass, moving it also to the side and using your grip on his hand to pull him around to your side of the counter.

"C'mon. I felt how hard you were when we were dancing earlier. You can't tell me you're not into me," you say with a playful smirk.

Your casual confidence floors him. Not that he's surprised you're confident. That's precisely what drew him to you in the first place. But the fact that you seem to be aiming that confidence in the direction of pursuing him? That is something he can't fathom.

"I...I'm not sure...I mean if you want, I don't know..."

You start laughing at his stuttering, not unkindly, reaching up to smooth your hand over his upper arm soothingly.

"I promise I don't bite," you tease, giving him a wink. When he doesn't relax the tension laying siege on his body, you chuckle, less certain. "When was the last time someone gave you a blow job? It can't have been that long."

"Try never, princess," Eddie says with a forced chuckle. You go rigid for a split second. Only a split second. And then you give him an easy smile.

"Eddie. Do you want me to put my mouth on your cock?"

Eddie short circuits. He looks at you with half dead eyes that register almost no emotion before his cheeks set aflame, blushing all the way down his neck and, you assume, across his entire chest.

"I...yes. Yes I want that."

Without further preamble, you drop to your knees. Entirely unceremoniously. Right there in your kitchen. Eddie lets out a gasp and reaches down to you, stopping short of touching you in an awkward attempt to keep space even as you begin to unbuckle his belt.

"What?! Right....here? The tile is like....hard and stuff!"

His concern for your comfort is touching and it swoops your stomach in a pleasant way that makes you want to make him cum immediately. You smile up at him.

"You're cute. You know that, Munson?"

Eddie blushes even harder. Completely unsure of what to do in this situation where you seem totally at ease in the face of his anxiety.

You pop open his button and unzip his jeans, giving his boxer-clad cock room to spring up, extending from his body impatiently and clearly ready to be tended to. Yanking his boxers down under his balls, you tsk at the sight of his leaking, angry red cock.

"You poor thing. How long have you been like this?" you ask, reaching and taking him in your hand. His eyelids flutter shut at the feeling of your palm moving up and down the length of his shaft, something he's only felt from himself before.

"I...oh fuck. I got hard the second you said hi at the bar today, princess."

The honesty makes your smile widen. He looks down at you with hooded eyes when he feels the wet expanse of your tongue press to his mushroom head. You lick up the pre-cum that's collected there and Eddie's knees almost buckle. His hands shoot to the counter, gripping at the edge like he's on the side of a cliff about to fall. It's your intention to push him all the way over.

"Fucking shit," Eddie grits through his teeth, looking down at you almost entirely wrecked already with your tongue swirling around the head of his cock and your fist loosely closed around the shaft.

"Feels good, handsome?" you ask, leaving his cock mashed against your bottom lip as you speak. Based on his words and reactions you've pretty much gathered by this point that he has little to no experience. But that's fine. More for you.

"Is that a serious fucking question?" Eddie asks you, sounding absolutely pained. You laugh and lick a stripe up the underside of his cock and he practically convulses.

"So I guess the answer is yes," you tease. One of Eddie's hands drops to the top of your head. Only gripping gently, but the weight of it spurs you on. You take him fully into your mouth and bob once, twice, three times.

"Are you kidding me?!" Eddie moans out. You anchor your hands on his thighs and get to work sucking on his cock. His fingers tug harsher at your hair in response to the fresh experience of having his soul sucked out through his dick, but you don't mind. It only informs and motivates you. Dropping fully so that your nose nestles in the hair at the base of his member, you let his cock move into the tightened space of your throat. When you gag, Eddie practically shout.

"Oh my fucking - fuck!"

Only seconds later Eddie lets out a shuddering groan that is your only indication that he is going to cum, which he does almost immediately after. The salty spend shoots down your throat and you accept it willingly, swallowing till his balls finish seizing and he's practically gasping for air.

When you finally pull off him, like you're done sucking on a lollipop, your face is devious and thoroughly, thoroughly pleased.

"How was that for you, handsome?"

Eddie pulls you roughly up from the floor and into his arms.

"Again with the stupid questions," he says breathlessly before pulling you in for the most lascivious kiss of your life.

~*~

.....

....

....

Just adding space so Tumblr can delete this if it wants to instead of the actual writing lol

[little-lost-lamb]

The Sting of Envy Pt. 2

CW: GN!MC, hurt/comfort, angst, occult practice, fluff, Demons Being Overall Taller Than Humans On Average, Mention of Israeli food, and - of course - jealousy. Please let me know if there is anything I didn't think to add!

<- Part 1

I want to thank everyone for their support of my first part! I've been out of the writing game for a long time, and it really helped motive me to continue!

_____________________________________________________________

Beelzebub 

Beelzebub tells anyone who asks that his favorite food is cheeseburgers, but this is not quite true. His favorite food is your cooking. So when you keep serving him warm, fresh-baked bread and crispy spinach salad topped with handpicked flowers and nuts and creamy, piping hot wild mushroom risotto and seconds and thirds and FOURTHS, he is in the Celestial Realm. He supposed the menu was carefully thought out, showcasing ingredients locally in season for the spring. He loved human realm food. It reminded him of you, and not just because it’s native the human realm - human cuisine had the capacity for both the sinful and the divine. Just like you. And so, the meal had him nearly moaning in ecstasy against his spoon.

“This is incredible, MC.” Solomon says, meticulously scooping a perfectly balanced bite of rice, cheese, mushroom, and chive. “This is even better than the risotto we had in that little place in Rome. What was that place called?” Solomon looks at you and thoroughly cleans the risotto off his spoon with his mouth. You laugh.

“Solomon, no, no way! That stuff was next level!”

Solomon shrugs before going in for another bite off his plate. “I’m telling you, yours is better.”

“When were you in Rome?” Lucifer inquires, cocking his head with interest. “When did you have the time?”

“Couple Tuesdays ago, I think.” Solomon muffled between bites while Barbatos shot him a look that told him to chew before speaking. Solomon shrugged it off. “Sometimes when we feel like eating out, we’ll go wherever the cuisine strikes our fancy. MC takes me to this Israeli restaurant in New York City about every other week!”

Beel’s brow furrows as he goes in for another bite. It sounds like before you left, what you and he used to do together. Schedule permitting, you were always down to take him wherever his stomach led him. Hell’s Kitchen for the third time that week? Sure! That brand new place with the deep fried vampire bats on sticks? You bet! They restocked flame-charred bone flavored ice cream at the stand down the street from RAD? You might even be willing to skip Chaos Theory to go with him! 

Your foodie dates were one of his all-time favorite things you did together.

“Pfft. You know I can’t do teleportations that big or that frequently yet. You take me.”

Like how Beel would take you all over town, farther if they had some spare time, to try all that the demon realm had to offer. You couldn’t always eat it, you didn’t always like it, but you were always down to try demon cuisine. Try new things in general. He loved that about you.

“Agree to disagree.” Solomon leaned a little closer to you. “I just appreciate you escorting me on so many dates.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I’m just in it for the falafel.” 

Solomon chuckles and smiles fondly at you. He gently tucks a pesky piece of hair behind your ear, keeping it from flying into your mouth with your bread. “Try the hamin next time. I think you’ll like it.”

The heat rose in Beel cheeks, and he subtly sighed out some of his frustration through his nostrils. He glances briefly over to Belphie, and they communicate something to each other with their eyes. Finally, Beel puts his spoon down and Belphie shrugs, picking up another bite with his own.

“I’m done.” Beel says softly.

Not full. Never full. Done.

After everyone has finished with ample time for conversation, you shuffle back to the kitchen to get the desserts. You had prepared an assortment of fresh berries and cream with honey cakes. 

“Beel! Can you help me carry this?” You shout, and you lean casually against the counter to wait for him.

“Carry what?” Beel walks in to help and looks around for the heavy item only for his eyes to fall on the light-weight desserts. “Just…need some extra hands?” Beel asks as he reaches for the dish, but you stop him with a hand on his.

“Are you okay? You didn’t eat much.” You look up into his face, recognizing sadness in it. 

“I ate 5 or 6 plates.”

You raise an eyebrow. Beel sighs, gently reaching for your hand and holding it firmly in his own to ground himself.

“You don’t…like the food here more than in the devildom, do you?”

Your brows furrow with concern. “You…know I do. Most of it won’t kill me.”

Beelzebub shakes his head quickly. “My fault, bad question. New question: do you enjoy…” Beel’s voice cracks ever so slightly. “Do you like eating with Solomon more? You know…than me?”

Yours eyes widen in horror and your heart cracks. All you can think to do is throw yourself into his enormous frame. You bury your face into the soft fabric of the shirt before turning your head to speak, still resting your cheek against his quickly-thumping chest. 

“You’re upset because you and I go out on foodie tours and stuff too, right? It’s our thing.”

“It’s our thing.” Beel answered, wrapping his arms around you firmly. You feel the point of his chin rest against the top of your head.

“And it will always be our thing. Solomon and I eat out so often out of necessity. I don’t always have the energy to focus on planning and making our meals, and the man can’t cook, Beel. Then the human realm's food will kill me.”

You got a smile out of Beel on that one.

“But with you, we go out, and we shove things I once couldn’t even conceptualize down my gullet. You show me fun and fantastical foods I wouldn’t try on my own. That I couldn’t try. We don’t have that stuff here. It’s an experience. You are an experience. And you’re my favorite.”

You lean back just a little, separating only enough to see a wide grin and misty eyes. You reach over and stick your clean finger into the bowl of cream before smearing it playfully on Beel’s lips. 

“Oops!” You exclaim, smearing it on his lips. You raise up and squish the cream against Beels lips with your own. You hear a dreamy sigh from him before he pulls away and licks his lips. A giddy giggle escapes his creamy mouth. He reaches for the cream too, except he takes a thick glob and smears it from your cheek, across your mouth, and down your neck. 

“Oops.”

He starts with your neck.

Belphegor

They said to make himself at home, so he will, thank you very much. Now where was MC’s bed?

He passes the bathroom and opens the knob to a door nearby, figuring this was probably it, and he pushes it open with the subtle crack of the doorframe. He is immediately punished with a wave of Solomon’s scent - a musky mix of exotic spice and  incense smoke. Yours was thickly mixed into the sorcerers, the fusion of smells emanating from one bed in the center of the room. 

No. 

Belphie suddenly feels the irritated flick of his tail and the weight of his horns that have appeared against his will on his body. Shove it down, Belphegor.

He peels himself from the glue that binds his feet to the doorway and steps hesitantly into the room. The room reeks of Solomon, and not just from his scent. Glistening suncatchers whimsically dangle from the ceiling, one wall is adorned with old, dusty books from floor to ceiling, magical trinkets rest precariously on the edges of drawers, nightstands, and any other surface, and plants large and small sprout from the pots scattered around the room. There are countless empty mugs he has forgotten to bring back down to the kitchen shoved onto any previously vacant surface.

Belphie’s attention moves from one piece of junk to the next before focusing on the bed itself. It looked to be what the humans call a “full sized” bed, big enough for two humans to fit, though Belphie figures it’s only as big as he and Beel’s beds back home. Must be a tight squeeze for two. The fluffy blankets are crumpled disproportionately to one side while the other side is draped primarily with just the sheet. He presses a palm into the mattress and it sinks less readily than Belphie would like in a nest. He pictured the two of you picking it out together. 

“Now, MC,” Solomon would say in his smarmy tone, “It’s best to have a mattress that is somewhat firm. It deters one from oversleeping, and it will be good for your spine in the long run. Trust me, I know from experience that you’ll wish you had taken better care of your bones when you’re old.”

Belphie groans at the thought before dipping down into the side that smells most like you. Your scent is thick and fresh, as if you had slept there just last night. Belphie snarls and immediately jumps up, the propulsion of the springs hastening his movement.

I bet he doesn’t even take the time to nestle into their pillows Belphie thought to himself as he glared daggers at the side that smelled more like Solomon. To inhale their pheromones and feel enveloped their scent and appreciate it. 

Since you left, it wasn’t uncommon to catch even Lucifer resting in your bed on occasion. They were all guilty of it. It still retained your scent, and the brothers found that comforting late at night when they cannot escape their respective longing for you. Recently, though, the aroma has begun dissipating, a combination of time and the brothers’ own smells erasing your scent clinging to the fabrics. Belphie had been excited to take a few moments at least to dive into your sheets and smother himself with your scent. He could bring it home with him and savor it for at least a week if he didn’t wash his jacket. He could cling to the hoodie he wears tonight during his slumber and pretend you were still there with him, nestled against his body and in his bed. But it turns out the scent of your bed was contaminated.

Fortunately for his sanity, he didn’t smell certain hormones or fluids or anything to indicate any funny business happened between the two of you in these sheets. That’s for the best. If Belphie had been hit with the scent of lust mixed with the scents of the two of you, he thinks he would have vomited directly on your comforter.

“Did you find my bed? I knew you’d go looking for it.” You tease, clutching the rail as you stare innocently at him from the stairs. 

“Uhm. Yeah. I found it.” Belphie turns to face you from the room, and his eyes motion to the bed in front of him. He makes no attempt to hide the displeasure on his face. Surprise answers it on your own.

“Nope, that’s Solomon’s room.”

“I can smell you, MC.” Belphie’s eyes narrow as he  replies, pointing to the side piled with blankets, “You sleep on the left.”

“I hang out on the left.” You say, climbing the last few steps and joining him in Solomon’s room, “but I don’t sleep here, not usually anyway. I pass out sometimes, but we just watch shows and play games here a lot.” 

You point casually at the TV shoddily hung on Solomon’s wall opposite the bed. Wires poke haphazardly out the bottom and trail their way to a couple of consoles buried in junk beneath.

“There’s this cartoon I’ve been obsessed with recently that makes me think of you, actually. It’s about these kids who are cute little animals, and they go to camp on a magical island. It’s so soft and cozy and comforting…I keep falling asleep when I turn it on. I wish I could watch it with you. Maybe next time I’m in the demon realm, we can set it up in the attic.”

You pap on his bicep and signal him to follow you, flowing from Belphie’s side, out Solomon’s door, and to a second door Belphie had yet to open. 

Oh.

As you push the door in, a current of your sweet smell crashes like a wave over Belphie’s face. Your scent is like an intoxicating mixture of coffee, books, whiskey, and sugar all mixed together. You smell like home. A contented smile forms and he makes his way to you, careful to seal Solomon’s scent away with the bedroom door on his way out. 

You’re suddenly thrusted into a brief whirlwind of confusion as you’re grappled by Belphie, knocked off your feet and plopped down unharmed into the comfort of your bed. Your bed is the opposite of Solomon's: soft, fluffy, warm, and oozing with you smells. Belphie raises himself up to gaze at you lovingly before playfully nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling deeply. He releases his breath with a satisfied sigh and melts himself into you. 

“Much better.”

He peppers your cheek with soft, sleepy kisses until he has you a grinning, giggling mess. 

“Let’s take a nap until dinner is ready. Barbatos can finish the rest.”

Barbatos

This was not part of Barbatos’ plan, but he could reassess and regroup. After all, this was only temporary. He would assure that.

Step 1: Serve Lord Diavolo to the best of his ability while he brings about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: Assure the swift and successful coronation of Lord Diavolo. King Diavolo. 

Step 3: With King Diavolo’s rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, any dissension against angels or humans in the devildom would not be tolerated. The streets of the demon realm would be safer - safer for you to reside in the devildom permanently.

Step 4: With the realm made a better place for you, you live with him, in his care, for the rest of your days. He thought perhaps an emerald in the ring would be best, accented with black diamonds. He had not yet decided whether silver or gold would look best for your band, but he was more than happy to admire you for as long as it took to decide what best suited your coloration.

For now, however, his face remains unwaveringly pleasant as he silently makes note of the dusty floorboards and spattered kitchen counters. He knows Solomon. Solomon doesn’t clean. Not to Barbatos’ standards for your living accommodations, anyway. He watches silently for a few moments as you work alone in your kitchen, smaller than he thought you deserved to have access to. It would have bothered him that Solomon offered no help had Barbatos not also known  he would have rendered each and every item on the menu inedible. All your hard work ruined.

You see him because he allows you to see him. While his presence would ordinarily be welcomed, today your cheeks flush in shame.

“Listen, I know it’s not the cleanest.” You shyly return your attention to the onion you skillfully chop against the cutting board. “I haven’t really had the time to deep clean, not with lessons and work and preparing for the party and…” You trail off, exhaustion lacing your voice. Your eyes seem misty.

“Please, MC, allow me to help. Do the mushrooms still need to be sliced?” Without waiting for an answer, Barbatos swiftly saunters over, scoops the mushrooms off the counter beside you, and drops them gently on the counter in front of himself. One mushroom considers bouncing off the counter, but decides it wouldn’t dare under Barbatos’ watchful eye. You realize your face must betray your emotion.

“Barbatos, I’m fine, really. It’s just the onion.” You point to the onion with your chef knife, and you plead, “you are my guest. I won’t make you work.”

“I am your friend.” He responds, his face focused on the task in front of him as he reaches for the utility knife in your set. He begins quickly and expertly chopping the mushrooms into perfect, uniform slices. “And you are overwhelmed. Your home is dirty because Solomon does not help you with cleaning like he should, yes?”

You remain silent for a moment, considering if you should out Solomon for not doing his share. Barbatos does not allow you to refute it.

“It has been centuries,” Barbatos interjects your thoughts before you can argue. “but Solomon was once royalty. He is independent now, yes, but he never learned how to clean as he should. I fear he is slipping back into the comfort of being taken care of without taking care of you in return.”

You look up at him, and for a moment, you think you see the flash of a scowl before his expression is once again carefully moderated. You had seen it because he had allowed you to see it.

“And of course,” he continued, “you must be doing all of the cooking as well. If he had any part in it, you would certainly be dead by this point.” He finally glanced us at you, his lip curling ever so slightly into a playful smirk. 

The joke catches you off guard and you honk out a laugh.

“One time,” you say through your laughter “I caught him trying to clean the bathroom with bleach and ammonium. Unreal. The man is a master alchemist, and yet he accidentally makes mustard gas in the toilet!”

Barbatos laughs earnestly along and shakes his head. He finishes the last mushroom with a flourish and plops the pieces into a bowl, ready for their future use. He turns around and leans his tall frame against your small counter, assessing your space for a few moments. 

“If I were Solomon,” he mused, almost to himself, “I would ensure your accommodations were immaculate. I would prepare you healthy, delicious meals. Perhaps I would allow you to join me in the kitchen, if only for us to spend the time together. And I see your garden needs attention. I would gladly serve you tea made from those rose petals there once I had finished with the pruning.” He speaks wistfully.

You chuckle. “It does sound nice to be taken care of every once in a while. What with the brothers and Solomon, I can be spread pretty thin. Not a lot left to take care of myself, you know?”

“Perhaps one day, I’ll have the pleasure of doing it for you.” Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush. You look up at him, and he gives you a knowing glance. You hated when he did this. You always wonder: is he teasing, or does he know?

“I have not looked into your future if that is what you are wondering…though I admit, I have considered it once or twice.” You turn to face him fully, the surprise evident on your face. Barbatos chuckles and looks you right in the eyes. “It would ruin the sweet surprise. It will happen because I will make it happen. Your current arrangement is temporary, I assure you.”

Before you can comprehend what is happening, the soft fabric of his gloves are against your cheeks, the warmth of his hands permeating through. He leans in slowly and lovingly plants a petal-soft kiss on the tip of your nose. He holds himself there a moment. You hold your breath until he lets go.

“Now, what do we do with these mushrooms?”

Diavolo

“Yeah, I’ve been doing well!” Lie. “It’s kind of nice to be home, you know?” Lie. “It’s refreshing to be around my own species again.” That one was presented as a joke, but it was still, factually, a lie. Did you usually lie this much? Diavolo hadn’t noticed if you had. And he would have noticed.

It was ultimately his fault, and he understood that. The devildom was under his rule, and had his whims overtaken him, he could have ordered you to stay. It just wasn’t time. Not yet. There was still so much work to be done.

Step 1: Bring about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: His swift and successful coronation.

Step 3: With his rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, no one would dare go against him when he appoints you as Human Ambassador to the demon realm. With such an important position within the new government system, so much as a finger lifted against you would be treason in his book. He would make the realm safe for you.

Step 4: Argue to the council that it is a political marriage. 

That’s the dream that keeps Diavolo going, anyway. His golden orbs lift from the mushrooms he unceremoniously shoves to the side of his plate (subtly, so he didn’t hurt your feelings, of course) over to Barbatos, who watches you with a genuine smile as you speak. What were you saying? Something about a stray cat? Back down to the mushrooms.

He knew the likelihood of this plan succeeding was low - just a dream to keep him working at his goal of unification. What will probably happen is that he will have a spouse chosen for him. Someone he might not yet know, whoever the council sees as the most advantageous choice. Likely a female, as is tradition. Likely traditionally pretty, the boring kind of pretty. Barbatos would intervene only enough to ensure he doesn’t dislike his appointed queen. Maybe Diavolo would even grow to love them one day. But it isn’t what he wants. Who he wants. He would be expected to produce a line of heirs - full-blood demon heirs - and cambion mutts just wouldn’t do. Not his words, of course. That’s what the tabloids said the last time the two of you were seen in public together. They called you his concubinatus. The writer of the article is longer there. No one knows where they are now except Barbatos.

“There's not really anything preventing MC from marrying me, right? Since we’re both humans and all." Solomon’s words echo in Diavolo’s mind, his smug grin still burned into the back of Diavolo’s retinas. The brothers had been more than willing to marry you into the devildom, but Diavolo had not allowed it. If anyone was going to marry you in, it was going to be him. He knew the likelihood of your union going smoothly was slim, but it would not stop him from trying. He was not above monopolizing you. He was the demon lord, not the lord of selflessness. But you were out of his hands here and settled in Solomon’s. He couldn’t stand it.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married, MC?” He later asks you casually as he helps you prepare the bonfire. Barbatos had half-heartedly attempted to dissuade him, as his suit could get dirty, but Diavolo insisted. He hadn’t gotten any alone time with you today, and he likely wouldn’t see you again for a while. He didn’t care about some frivolous suit. You drop the stick you’re holding, but it tumbles into the fire pit, so you figure you can leave it be. 

“Where did that come from?” Your flushed face is camouflaged well by the fading sunset. You quickly grab another bundle to continue building the fire. Diavolo casually swirls the wine in his goblet and peers in, probably inspecting some aspect of the wine that you have no eye for. The sunset hides his own flush from the alcohol. He remained silent, expecting an answer.

“U-Uhm. I suppose that depends on if I find the right person.” You fumble with a few sticks in your grasp before dumping them beside the fire. You crouch down and begin strategically arranging the sticks around lumps of kindling. 

Truth.

“Could you…” Perhaps he shouldn’t ask you this. He’s admittedly afraid of the answer. “...see yourself marrying Solomon?”

“What?”

Silence.

“I…” You thought for a moment, laughed, and shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

LIE. 

Diavolo expertly shoots the rest of his wine like it wasn’t at least half a goblet.

“We aren’t together or anything, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out. You aren’t being very subtle, you know.” You tease.

This was true.

“I guess I could see marrying Solomon if things didn’t work out, but…there’s someone I have my eye on.” You shove some dry grass between the logs, trying to hide behind your task.

True. 

“I don’t see how it would work. I don’t think I would be anywhere near his radar, but…” Perhaps it’s the sunset, perhaps it’s the wine swimming around in your blood, but you felt a bit bold. You look up, directly into his eyes, slightly luminous in the encroaching darkness of the night. “...The heart wants what the heart wants.”

Oh shit, wait, what? Are you coming on to him? Right now?

“Do…I know this person?” Perhaps it’s the wine he just downed, but he too is feeling bold. The corner of his lip quivers ever so slightly in the attempt to hide a grin threatening to spread across his face, just in case he’s wrong. But he doesn’t think so. 

“You do.” You stand up and dust your hand off on your pants.

Truth.

He tries to bite his lip to keep his face in line, but his lip rolls beneath his fangs and the corners of his eyes crinkle. The way you’re looking at him, there’s no way he’s misinterpreting it. You take a shy step closer, your eyes flit from his eyes to his fangs and quickly back up.

“Is it…me?” Diavolo asks playfully, now inches from your face.

“No.” You shrug. You casually toss a few more sticks into the fire pit.

With a snap of his fingers, the fire is lit. It roars to life and lights up your faces, your goofy grins and reddened cheeks on full display. The warmth of the blaze is matched only by the warmth of Diavolo’s arms snaking around your waist. 

“Liar.”

His mouth envelops yours in an instant.

______________________________________________________________

@dokidokidemons, @ourfinalisation

[starfinss]

Efflorescent — Tighnari

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Genshin Impact

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Tighnari + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 8,495

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: Triggered by unseasonably cool weather, Avidiya forest is alive with rare flora. Upon going to investigate it, you and Tighnari get more than you bargained for. 

It was supposed to be an ordinary expedition. And by all accounts, it was, until you found that stupid clearing.

The weather that week was uncharacteristically cool for Avidiya Forest, as ushered in by a passing thunderstorm, and the change in temperature had caused flora that rarely bloomed to come to life, painting the forest with splashes of color, and it wasn’t until a few days after the storm that you began to take notice of the unusual plants.

So when Tighnari had rushed to your room that morning, rousing you from your slumber, you were just as excited as he was to go look for rare samples.

The conversation as you walked into the tree line was full of quiet excitement, the clinking of the glass sample jars in your rucksack almost musical against the morning stillness. You were used to the characteristic balmy humidity that was omnipresent in the rainforests of Sumeru, and the cool breeze felt lovely against your skin. The sky was perfect blue, cloudless and painted with streaks of gold and marigold hues as the sun rose.

The Akademiya would never allow this.

You smiled to yourself at the thought, knowing full well how strenuous it would be to get permission to do this if you were still with the Akademiya. You’d have to talk to your instructors, get permission, write a paper, write another paper, write a proposal, and the list goes on. It was all far too much for you, when all you ever wanted was to go out and discover.

“What are you thinking?” Tighnari asked, head cocked slightly to the side, eyes inquisitive.

“Just about how nice this is,” you replied, pulling your rucksack up higher on your back.

“It is quite beautiful,” Tighnari said fondly, “I wonder if we will find any Avidiya Lilies.”

You hummed in assent, your interest showing in the way your eyes lit up. You’d only seen the flower he mentioned as a bud, coiling along vines encircling trees. It only bloomed when it was cool enough, just after a storm, and since the cool had lingered, you were wondering if the flower had remained in bloom, just as Tignnari was wondering.

Small animals skittered past you as you walked, shroomboars and foxes paying you little mind, as they were used to the presence of the forest rangers such as yourself and Tighnari. You loved it out there; totally at one with nature, and filled with a sense of peace like no other.

Avidiya Forest was like a living organism, so full of vibrancy and life, awash with color and all sorts of smells. If you were hungry, you could stop and forage for mushrooms. If you were thirsty, there were plenty of clear streams you could drink from. Nature provided, and that was one of your favorite things about it. You took a deep lungful of forest air as you walked, a smile spreading across your face.

“There!” Tignnari cried, his voice hushed as he knelt beside the path, “creeping silkweed.”

You knelt beside him, studying the small, pale blue blossoms, which were blooming on a fallen log, attached to a delicate vine. Your fingers brushed against the fragile petals, and you withdrew your shears from your pack.

Carefully, you snipped off a segment of the vine, packing some soft dirt and clear water from a nearby stream into the jar before adding the sample. With a satisfying click, you screwed the lid closed, replacing the jar in the rucksack.

“I’ve only seen those in bloom at twilight, and even then, they often stray closed. It’s amazing to see them in bloom right now. When the conditions are right, they’re supposed to glow. It’s very beautiful.”

You stared at the remaining flowers on the vine, admiring the way the pale blue of the petals tapered off into white the closer it got to the soft yellow of the center. Veins of deep indigo laced up and along the petals, a beautiful contrast to the gentle color.

You stood when Tighnari did, listening intently to the information and facts he was giving you, happy to have the field experience rather than just looking at drawings of plants in a dusty textbook.

Tighnari looked like a painting in the fresh morning light. The dark of his hair was a sharp contrast to the lush green around you, the chartreuse of his bangs elegantly framing his pale, delicate face. Your face felt warm as you watched him, and when he saw you looking, he gave you a friendly smile.

“Is there something on your mind?” He asked gently, his eyes genuine, and you blushed, tearing your gaze away from his face.

“No, I was just listening. You were talking about the hypanthium of the silkweed blossoms?”

Tighnari nodded, eyes lighting up as he continued on talking about the various parts of the flower, and you went right on listening.

It wasn’t until about two hours later, when you were sitting down to rest and refresh yourselves when you caught your first lungful of something new.

You paused mid-gulp as you drank from your waterskin, moving the spout away from your lips as you took another deep breath. It was something you’d never smelled before, like jasmine and lavender, vanilla and lemongrass. It was indescribably scrumptious, smelling of earth and flowers, of your favorite incense, all at once, shifting, sending your senses into overdrive, even if it was still rather faint, requiring several deep breaths to get another whiff of; the kind of scent that you had to take several lungfuls to fully appreciate, or to even place. You had to wonder, out of academic curiosity and for more selfish reasons, where exactly that wonderful scent was coming from.

“I see that you smell it, too,” Tighnari mused.

You nodded, and suddenly, you were aware of how nice Tighnari’s voice was. It was musical against your ears, making you smile.

“It’s new,” he continued, frowning, “I’ve never noticed it before, and with my oversensitive olfactory system, it would have been very evident.”

“Is it dangerous, do you think?” You asked.

“I doubt it,” Tighnari said, glancing sidelong at you, “do you know of anything that would smell like this?”

You shook your head. “It smells like… like many things. All of them are wonderful. Maybe it’s supposed to draw in certain insects, or animals. I don’t know what made it this strong. That’s interesting.”

Tighnari’s brows pushed together, and he was clearly deep in thought.

You’d never noticed just how good looking he was before. You already knew that Tighnari was handsome, that was obvious. You were attracted to him, as many undoubtedly were, and he was a very dear friend. But right now, lit by the sun filtering through the canopy above, he looked more incredible than anything you’d ever seen. With him this close to you, you could smell the earthen scent of his soap, and—

“I’d like to take a sample.”

His voice snapped you out of your staring, and you coughed to hide your embarrassment.

Get ahold of yourself. Think about all of that when he isn’t less than a foot away. Collei already teases you enough.

Truthfully, you wanted a sample, too. You were always hungry for new information, and this was no exception. You eagerly pulled a sample jar from your rucksack, passing it to Tighnari. He sniffed the air once, then a second time, before motioning for you to follow him.

“I learned about plants like this in the Akademiya,” Tighnari explained, “they’re bait, like you said, for small animals and insects. I don’t think the plant is carnivorous, it’s just a way to spread the pollen around, since the scent is nearly irresistible. I’ve never heard of it affecting humans, or my species, this strongly before, however.”

You remembered something like that in a textbook, but the name of the flower in question escaped you. Also, the flower you were thinking of usually affected animals roughly the size of a squirrel or a fox, and not the size of a fully grown person.

The scent got stronger as you walked, off the beaten path and into a clearing.

You stopped after stepping past Tighnari, your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you. There was a waterfall tumbling off a cliff and into a clear, glimmering pool. The pool was lined with stones worn smooth, as well as large slabs of slate. Patches of young grass were peeping through the cracks and bleeding into the small, surrounding meadow. Soft, golden sunlight was scattering through the leaves, casting speckled patterns across the grass, gleaming on the water.

Finally, there, growing on the stone wall, nestled in a curtain of vines beside the waterfall, was a blanket of lotus-like flowers. They were reddish pink, some tinged purple, with multiple layers of petals circled around a small yellow center. Filaments, thickly coated in pollen, were protruding from the flowers’ centers, and you imagined that this was the most likely cause of the powerful scent.

“There they are,” Tignnari said, and you were suddenly hyper aware of his athletic form at your back. The scent of that soap you noted earlier was mingling deliciously with the overpowering fragrance of the flowers, with the scent of his skin, which was somehow all you could even think about now.

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat and turning to face your companion, “any idea what they are?”

His brows furrowed, lip catching between his teeth as he pondered your question, and you couldn’t stop yourself from admiring how unbearably attractive that simple action was. You swallowed thickly, turning away from him about three quarters, just to give yourself some time to breathe.

If only you could remember the effect those flowers had on such animals, but, as it often happens in times of need, you were drawing a blank.

It was Tighnari’s turn to clear his throat, and the intonation made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Shears, please,” he said, and you forced yourself to nod as you passed them to him, a jolt of electricity passing up your spine when his fingertips brushed against yours. He clearly felt it too, because he looked at you for a handful of seconds before gingerly pulling away with the shears.

Blushing, you trailed after him as he approached the tangle of flowers.

Tighnari’s eyes were lovely. Two toned, fading from brown into forest green; eyes like you’d never seen before. They were one of your favorite things about him, among other things. The cut of his jaw, the way the space between his eyebrows creased when he was focused, as he was now, carefully taking a snipping of a couple of the fragrant blossoms.

You forgot to breathe until he handed you back the jar, and that was when you got your first direct hit of the scent. It was like being kicked in the chest in its intensity. It made you dizzy, as you cradled the blooms in your hand, putting soft dirt and water into the jar, placing the flowers down and fastening the top. You put the jar into your rucksack as carefully as you could with your hands shaking as badly as they were before you gently pushed the bag aside and sat down on the soft grass.

Your head was spinning. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, like how you can after you’ve been running.

“I need to rest,” you said.

“It’s the scent,” Tighnari said, his voice lower than it was before, “something is… wrong.”

Oh, Gods. You were getting warm. And not normal Sumeru weather warm, worryingly, feverishly warm. You pulled your shawl off, draping it over your rucksack and rolling up your sleeves.

Tighnari rolled his shoulders back, softly breathing as he sat down beside you, and you could feel that heat spread across your body at an alarming pace. You could hardly take your eyes off him, and you watched with rapt attention as his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip. What were you feeling?

Everything was warm and getting even warmer; everything was hot, and you felt like you were suffocating.

“Stop that,” you blurted, “stop— everything.”

Tighnari looked puzzled. “Stop— stop what? I’m not doing anything.”

The crease between his eyebrows was back as he studied your face, and you felt yourself grow miserably warmer.

“You’re perspiring,” he said, softly, “I am, too. Whatever this is, it is affecting both of us. Your breathing is accelerated, as well.”

You realized it was. Your breath was coming in quick, shallow bursts, and you consciously tried to take deeper breaths. You quailed away in surprise and needless alarm when he reached for you, and when he pressed two of his fingers to your pulse point, you felt like an electric shock went down your body, stronger than when he’d touched you before when he took the shears.

“Your pulse is very quick,” he noted, “but still strong. It’s much too cool for you to be suffering from heat stroke, but it is hot out here all of a sudden, isn’t it?”

You nodded absently.

“Mydriasis,” he muttered, “I suspect with myself, as well. Archons, it really is too warm.”

Sure enough, the dueling color of his irises was thickly ringed around the pale circumference of his pupils, which were widely dilated. His breath was quick, matching yours, and you felt heat begin to simmer beneath your skin, nearly suffocating where his hand still lingered, though gloved, against the skin of your throat.

Your own gaze fell to his lips, soft and full, and you realized just how badly you wanted to kiss him. You’d wanted to kiss him before, in several instances, but doing so would irreparably damage your platonic friendship, which was the last thing you wanted. Now, you could not give less of a damn. You’d give anything to feel his mouth against yours, to feel his skin—

Stop. Stop, Archons help me.

“The scent,” Tighnari said, voice lightly breathless, “there’s a-a correlation between the scent and these symptoms, I think the microgametophytes in the air, combined with the odor is having a physiological effect, on the both of us.”

It took you a handful of seconds to process his words, because the sound of his voice was suddenly the most distracting thing in the entire world; no song you’d ever heard could compare, and the heat beneath your skin was becoming nearly unbearable.

“Pollen,” you said, your brain catching up, “you think it’s the pollen?”

“Yes,” Tighnari said, the hand on your throat dropping to the curve of your shoulder, “it resembles oxytocin, in a very heavy dose, coupled with accelerated lutrophin production, driving reproductive urges.”

It clicked in your head.

Your face turned several shades of red, and you nodded once. Of course. What better way to spread the pollen than to draw in whatever unsuspecting animal, slather the stuff on its fur or whiskers when it leans in for a sniff, and then passing it along when said animal gives in to its reproductive urges and—

“A-an aphrodisiac.”

Tighnari’s eyes darted away from your face, then back to meeting your own gaze.

“Correct.”

The implication hung heavy in the already suffocating air as the sounds of your breathing overlapped, interrupted only by the thrum of the waterfall.

“T-the water,” Tighnari said, his voice strained, “we should—”

“Tighnari,” you said, addressing him, and you intended to continue speaking, until you noticed the way his breath hitched as you said his name. It sent a wave of suffocating, shameful arousal down your body, and you tried your best to ignore it. His hand against your skin was searing, even through the glove, and it took everything in you not to reach out and touch him.

Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods—

“The water,” you repeated, finally, your eyes flicking to the waterfall, “right. Let’s wash off.”

You figured that this plan was flawed, as the water was probably saturated in the pollen, but you were so overheated that as you hurried to unfasten your clothing, the feel of the air against your skin was a mercy. You pulled at the various buckles fastening your Forest Ranger uniform to your body, pulling off your blouse, then your shorts and boots, but as you did, something caught your eye as Tignnari moved to unfasten the toga he wore over his clothing.

There, straining at the front of his trousers, was a distinct shape against the dark fabric. It was hidden by the excess cloth before, but now that this was gone, the evidence of the pollen’s effects was more than evident.

But you weren’t the only one with wandering eyes.

You realized that Tighnari’s eyes were riveted to your bra-covered chest, to the now-exposed skin of your waist, and you watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. An exquisite flush painted his perfect, pale cheeks as he realized you saw him looking.

Quickly, he pulled off his gloves, then tugging his sweatshirt over his head, leaving him bare chested, and oh, you were an absolute goner. His chest was much more muscular than you imagined (and not that you did), toned and lithe and lean, with hard ridges of muscle in all the right places. Of course, he’d have a great body, you reasoned, with all the activity he does, and like the other rangers, you were certain he stuck to the strength training and cardio work you were supposed to do to keep in shape.

You tore your hungry gaze from his body, standing up to step into the water, which was colder than you expected, reaching your mid thigh as you stepped into the pool. You tried to focus on you and not how the space between your thighs was aching, and you stretched your arms over your head with a breathless sigh.

A soft splash filled the air, and a ripple traveled across the surface of the water as Tignnari stepped into the pool as well. When you turned on instinct to look at him, you wished you hadn’t, because you were helpless, your eyes raking down his defined chest, lingering on the thin threads of battle scars, his body tapering off into a trim waist, where his underwear hung low on his hips. It took every ounce of your waning willpower not to jump him right there.

His erection was even more evident through the thin cotton of his underwear, and you realized you could see the flush of pink through the now damp fabric as it clung to his skin, and absently, sinfully, you wondered what it would be like to put your mouth—

No, no, no—

But then your focus was brought straight back to him as he moved closer, his hand reaching out to catch a droplet of water traveling down the curve of your waist with his thumb. His eyes weren’t shy with their wandering, and you knew it was the pollen talking, but Gods, it felt nice, for him to look at you like you were the most exquisite thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

“I-I apologize,” he whispered, but he didn’t sound apologetic.

His hand remained on your waist, fingers tracing a pattern against your skin, causing you to shiver, and your own hand rose to catch his wrist, stopping him. The feel of his skin on yours was like someone applying a salve to a burn, and you had to stop yourself from sighing embarrassingly in pleasure at the sensation.

“Terribly sorry,” he said, sounding even less sorry, and his voice was lower than you’d ever heard it, “I— I can’t seem to help myself. I will go to the far end of the pool—”

“It’s fine,” you said, a little too quickly, your voice light and breathy.

You realized a little too late that you were moving closer to him, and by the time you had, you could feel his breath fanning against your skin, sending violent shivers down your body.

There was a warning in Tighnari’s eyes, but not a particularly firm one, that disappeared with every passing second as his gaze fell to your lips, raking down your body, and you almost lost your composure when he caught his lower lip lightly between his teeth again.

“May I—” Tighnari asked, finally, a note of need leaking into his voice, “may I kiss you?”

Your breath left your lungs in a dizzying swoop as you gave in.

“Gods, yes.”

That was all it took for him to surge forward, his lips connecting with yours more gently than you expected, but that didn’t stop you from tangling your hands into his hair, pulling his body close to your own. You felt his arms wind around your waist, holding you flush to him, and when your tongue swiped along his lower lip, he didn’t hesitate to give you access.

And everything rapidly went downhill from there.

The kiss was messy and uncoordinated, your tongue tangling with his, and you felt one of his hands rise to cup the base of your skull, holding your mouth to his, only separating every so often if only to reconnect. You were suddenly being crowded against the edge of the pool, his arms going on either side of your body to cage you in. Your thighs parted as his hips moved against yours, and he groaned lowly into your mouth when you finally made contact with him where he needed it most.

He was so hard. It had to be uncomfortable to be confined by the little fabric he was wearing, and you wanted so badly to touch him, but he beat you to it, one of his hands trailing up your body to palm your breast through your bra before fumbling with the clasp. You were about to lift a hand to assist him when he managed to unhook the garment, and you broke the kiss briefly to discard it.

“I can’t stop,” Tighnari mumbled against your lips, breathless.

“Then don’t,” you urged, and Tighnari’s grip on your body tightened.

His palm felt like perfection on your flesh, and you whined into his mouth when he rolled your nipple between two fingers, tugging gently and making you arch your back into his touch. His hands were calloused from years of working with them, with the soil, with his bow, and the rough skin sent delightful tingles up your spine.

Your hand slid down his torso, feeling the dips and curves of his defined abdominals, and you reveled in the sound of his breath hitching, his muscles tensing as your fingers crept closer to where the waistband of his underwear met skin.

“Can I—” You started, and he nodded, reconnecting your lips in a chaste kiss.

“Please,” he panted, “please.”

You’d never seen Tighnari anything but composed, so to see him like this was as disarming as it was arousing. You palmed him gently through the thin fabric, and at the sound of his breath catching sharply in his throat, you pressed a little harder.

That elicited a more extreme reaction. Tighnari groaned against your lips, a sound that prompted a cry of your own, and his hips pushed forward against your hand. You squeezed him through the fabric, your fingers dipping past and grazing just the very base of him, making him shudder, a stricken hiss escaping his lips. Fascinated by his reaction, you teased the clearly sensitive flesh with the soft tips of your fingers until he caught your wrist.

“Don’t tease me,” he murmured, his voice firm.

Tighnari guided your hand to his waistband, and you slowly pulled it down to tug him free. You paused for a moment, breath unsteady as you took in the feeling of him against your palm. He was thick and heavy, and long enough to make you dizzy with arousal. He groaned softly as you explored the new territory, mapping out the spots you knew contained the most nerve endings with your fingertips. Finally, you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slowly.

“Oh,” he gasped, eyes half lidded as he broke away from your mouth, “oh.”

You rested your forehead against his as you looked down to where your hand was encircling him, and you felt him throb against your palm, the tip of his dick visibly twitching. You bit back a moan as his breath expelled itself through gritted teeth.

“Rub the tip— yeah.”

An obscene moan fell from his lips as you slowly circled the tip of his cock with your thumb, and you spread the leaking precum around the sensitive flesh, aiding in your motions as you stroked him, long and slow.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he muttered, eyes slipping closed.

Gradually, you sped up, squeezing where you observed that he liked it, and he grabbed at your body, hands on your breasts, the curve of your ass, and you knew he was unable to focus on anything other than the sensations he was feeling at that moment. He let out a quick, stuttering exhale as you squeezed gently, biting back a groan.

You picked up the pace, and he was canting his hips along with your hand, his breath leaving his lips mixed with an incoherent praise as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, sharp teeth sinking into the soft skin of your shoulder. He laved the damaged flesh with his tongue, soothing it, and you couldn’t help but moan, thighs rubbing together in a futile attempt to alleviate the pressure building there.

Tighnari’s mouth trailed down your torso, his lips closing around one of your nipples, and you gasped, back arching, your free hand flying to his hair, the sensitivity making your head spin. You knew it was the pollen heightening your senses like this, but Archons be damned if you weren’t enjoying it. You wanted him inside of you more than you’d wanted anything in your life. You wanted anything inside of you. And so, when he pressed his palm between your thighs, his head rising to lock his lips against yours, it was like he’d read your mind.

“Dammit, You’re so wet,” he seethed, breath heavy, expelling through his teeth, “I can smell it; how aroused you are. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?”

Your face turned pink, but you nodded, squirming against his hand as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers finally sinking inside of you.

“Good,” Tighnari said, breathlessly, “I’ve wanted this, too.”

You cried out into the crook of his neck as his fingers filled you, stretching you so perfectly, and you were helpless as you ground your hips down, your fingers tightening around Tighnari’s cock, drawing out a needy groan.

He wanted this, you dully registered, just like you did. That meant he liked you, he felt the same, he— oh Gods you couldn’t think.

“I love the way you touch me,” he whispered, his voice hushed and chaste, “don’t stop, please.“

He whispered more hushed praises into the crook of your neck, hips bucking as you stroked him faster, and his thumb found your clit, making your legs tremble. His fingers weren’t very practiced, but he knew where he was touching, finding every spot inside of you with a certainty that made your knees feel weak, and you gasped sharply, inner walls fluttering around his fingers, making him groan. The pressure on your clit increased, making your hips jump, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, and it wasn’t long before you were grinding down onto his hand like a bitch in heat.

“Tighnari,” you gasped, head falling back.

“Our tactile receptors are affected by the pollen,” Tighnari said, ever the academic, even like this, “making us more sensitive, increasing oxytocin, making everything more intense.”

You were barely able to formulate a response, your brain fogged with desire so strong it was making you dizzy.

“Just don’t stop,” you gasped, back arching into his chest,

He curled his fingers inside of you, making you cry out.

“Not a chance.”

All eloquence and academic vocabulary flew out the window as you stroked him quicker and quicker, his words replaced with moans of ecstasy mixed with your name, muffled by your skin or filling the open air. You felt him twitch against your palm, his hips bucking harder, and from the deliriously pleasured expression on Tighnari’s face, you knew he was close.

“Fuck,” he gasped, “don’t stop, please, please—”

He was going to cum, and you could tell by the way his thrusts grew uneven, eventually stilling to let you control the pace, working him closer and closer to his release, making him hiss through his teeth.

“Ah… shit,” Tighnari blurted, his jaw clenching, face laced with a stricken expression, “don’t stop, I’m so close—”

You wanted to tell him you weren’t going to stop, but all you could manage was a desperate moan as you ground down on his hand, your head falling back at the divine pleasure, and Tighnari’s groans of ecstasy grew louder, mixing almost incoherently with your name as you continued to jerk him off, your rhythm in tandem with his own as he worked his fingers inside of you.

Your climax was creeping up on you faster than you wanted it to, urged on by the increased sensitivity from the pollen. Your free hand knotted in his hair, your fingers raking upwards to wrap around the base of his right ear, making him groan.

“M-my ears— Not usually that sensitive,” Tighnari stammered, puzzled, his expression hazy, “feels good normally, but not— oh.”

You hummed in assent, fingers rubbing where his ears met his scalp, making him cry out against your skin, the combination of sensations clearly overwhelming to him. His fingers were now curling inside of you, making your eyes roll back in your skull, hips moving with his hand as you squirmed in his hold.

All it took was one more squeeze at the base of his dick to send him over the edge.

“C-cumming, I’m cumming,” Tighnari’s gasped, and with a final buck of his hips, your fingers were coated with white, dripping down your knuckles, painting your stomach, and there was so much of it, hot against your skin. You worked him through his climax with sure, even strokes, and he wasn’t softening, even as you milked him dry.

The sounds he made were madly erotic, his face the perfect picture of ecstasy as he rode out his blissful high, his ears drooping to the sides of his head as his face pressed against your shoulder, teeth sinking into your skin once again.

He yanked your hand away abruptly, even as he continued to twitch, and you were suddenly on your back, laying at the side of of the pool, his hands tugging your panties down and off your legs. He held your thighs apart, pinning you in place as his mouth took the place his hand had been, his tongue hot against your cunt.

Your cries were far too loud, but you were beyond caring about volume as he held you down and devoured you, your clit trapped under his tongue, between his lips, and you were aching to be filled, but he wasn’t giving you that satisfaction, not yet. You were already so close, and all it took was that one final push before you toppled over the edge, sobbing his name, your hands knotting in his hair, but he didn’t even slow, not even as you convulsed under his touch.

Tighnari’s tongue flattened against your clit, dragging up in broad strokes, and you felt your head pitch back, gently knocking against the stones beneath it as you tried to close your thighs instinctively, but were barred from doing so. You felt Tighnari’s hands grab at the backs of your knees, hitching them over his shoulders as he moved closer.

“Please,” you cried, desperate and dizzy with torturous desire, “please, please, fuck me.”

You heard him, felt him snarl against your cunt, more animal than human as he sped up his pace, taking your clit into his mouth and sucking hard enough that it made stars dance across your blurry vision. You were suddenly cumming so hard that you couldn’t even breathe, your mouth wide open in a silent scream, back arched off the ground, your hands locked in a white knuckled grip in Tighnari’s hair as you clenched down hard on nothing.

He was gentler this time as he helped you through your climax, pulling away finally when you were incoherent with pleasure. You lay there, panting hard, your eyes half open as you tried to recover, but even that wasn’t enough. You could still feel the effects of the pollen coursing through your system, and from the way Tighnari was looking at you, it was the same for him.

“I’m on a birth control tonic,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him, “just— please, Tighnari, I feel like I’m burning inside.”

Tighnari’s hands went to rest on your parted thighs, pulling you forward and towards him, to where he stood, still thigh-deep in the water. Your own legs were submerged up to your knee as he pulled you flush to him, his cock pressing against your pubic bone.

“I won’t be able to stop,” Tighnari warned, “I apologize if it becomes too much, but I can’t promise you that—“

“Please,” you whined, growing more and more desperate, “I need you, I can’t take this anymore.”

That was all it took. Tighnari nodded a single time, once he was sure of your consent, and he reached between your bodies to line himself up with your entrance, slowly sheathing himself inside of you.

You made a soft, breathy whine as he filled you, a sound he juxtaposed with a heavy groan. The stretch was almost enough to send you over the edge right there, and if it weren’t for the effects of the pollen, you’d probably have felt more pain from the intrusion, but all you felt was a dull ache and a hint of discomfort.

“Oh, Gods,” Tignnari whispered, and you watched his hands flatten on the stones beside your hips, muscles tightening as he took in the new sensation.

His head tipped forward, his breathing heavy and uneven, and you used your thighs to pull him closer, disregarding the whisper of pain in the back of your mind as the pure relief of being filled up overtook you.

“Stay still, stay still,” he growled, the very threads of his control slipping away as he spoke, the warning clear in his voice, but you didn’t listen, pulling him forward again.

Your actions were met with a sound that was produced deep in his chest, like a warning an animal would give, and it hadn’t even occurred to you how the pollen would affect someone like Tighnari, someone with non-human heritage as opposed to yourself, and as he drew himself out, only to press back in again, your mind went blank, all semblance of scientific curiosity tossed out the window.

Your cries of pleasure mixed with his as he repeated the motion, again, and again, and again, and oh Gods, you couldn’t even think. The pace he adopted was clearly with your comfort in mind, but it was rapidly becoming not enough. You needed more, all you could fathom was how much you needed more.

“Faster,” you gasped, your voice barely there, but he heard you, as evident by the way his ears perked up.

Tighnari snarled, his grip on your body tightening, and when you whimpered, he lost control completely.

His fingers were sure to be pressing bruises into your flesh from how hard he was gripping your body, but you didn’t care, not when every cell in your body was demanding more, more, more. You were vaguely aware of your volume, and you put the back of your hand over your mouth in a half hearted attempt to quiet yourself, but it basically did fuck all, especially when Tighnari reached up to yank your hand away, pinning it by your side.

“I want to hear you,” he rasped, “every single sound you make, I want to hear it.”

Your brain fogged further with desire, fueled by the low, rough timbre Tighnari’s usually gentle voice had adopted, and you whined, back arching off the pleasantly cool stones beneath your body. With his words, every last shred of dignity that you’d feebly been clinging to evaporated.

Tignnari hiked one of your legs over his shoulder as he inched closer, rolling his hips in a way that made stars blast across your hazy vision. You’d never been this aroused before in your life, and all you could do was squirm and cry out as Tighnari fucked you absolutely dumb.

“Need more,” Tighnari hissed, his hands sliding along your body, “need more, needmoreneedmore—”

He let out a low, keening moan as you tightened around him, your hips bucking against his, toes curling. You felt like your sanity was slipping through your fingers like a palmful of sand, and you realized with a sudden shock that you were about to cum, and you were about to cum hard.

The climax hit you with the force of a tidal wave, and your body went stiff, back arching off the stones, hands scrambling for purchase and finding nothing. Your mind was a sea of empty thought, stars bursting across your vision as you convulsed, pulsing around Tighnari’s cock, and he wasn’t even pausing, a snarl tearing from his chest as he pushed deeper inside of you.

Your continued climax was making you lightheaded as you panted for breath, the decline less of a decline and more of a work up to yet another peak as Tighnari kept a steady, dizzying pace, making your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Everything was too much, but it still wasn’t even slightly enough, a bizarre oxymoron that sent shockwaves dancing across your electrified nerves.

Tignnari twitched inside of you, making you whimper, and you looked up at him through your lashes, watching his face. The mask of delirium was back, Tighnari’s eyes wild as he drove himself towards his own climax with deep, even thrusts that grew more and more unsteady.

“Take it,” you heard him rasp, “take it take it take it—”

He shoved himself all the way inside of you, and with a sudden shout, he twitched sharply, and you could feel him filling you, stuffing you full with searing heat. Somewhere in the back of your pollen addled mind, you were glad that your birth control tonic kept you from getting pregnant with a guarantee.

You could feel his cum leaking out of you, and when he noticed, his fingers swept along the curve of your ass and shoved the liquid back inside of you, a sensation that made you let out a startled moan.

Without pulling out, Tighnari was shifting, switching places with you on the stones, where the sat himself down, with you in his lap. The sudden change of position caused you to sink down, pushing him deeper inside of you, a sensation that made you gasp sharply. You appreciated some aspects of the shift, however, as this gave you full access to his body, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as his hands found your hips, dragging up and along your waist.

He said nothing as he found your mouth, joining it with his in a kiss far more gentle than you’d been expecting, an expression of affection amid the suffocating lust that afflicted you both.

Slowly, you moved, rocking your hips as you sank back down onto him, a motion that made you cry out, a sound that mingled almost musically with his own cry. His nails dug into the plush of your thighs, one hand sliding down where you were joined with him to rub circles against your clit, an action that made you stiffen sharply, almost started by the burst of sensation.

His mouth left yours to trail down your throat, teeth grazing against the spot he’d bitten before and making you shiver. He was moving with you as you rocked your hips, one hand on your waist to help you along, his hips bucking to meet you every time you sank back down onto his cock. You heard him whisper your name, and you bent to kiss him again, an action he returned with vigor.

Your fingers combed through his hair, meeting where his ears met his scalp, and you heard him gasp into your mouth as your nails grazed against the sensitive skin. He broke the kiss to tuck his face into the crook of your neck, keening desperately, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Keep touching me there,” he finally managed, and who were you to deny him?

Your nails dragged along his ears, making him groan, and you felt his arm wind around your waist, taking over controlling the pace as he pushed you down onto his cock, guiding you as you moved. You somewhat appreciated it; your thighs had been growing sore. You assisted him by rolling your hips as you moved with him, something he rewarded with a sharp buck of his hips, making blurry stars scatter across your vision, a shrill whine tearing itself from your throat.

Tighnari pressed down on your clit, making you tense, teeth gritting and eyes squeezing closed, and you felt him trail open mouthed kisses down your throat, overloading you with sensation, and you sobbed his name as he tugged you closer, filling you so completely. You felt like you were going insane, and not one part of you wanted it to stop.

You couldn’t even speak as your climax drew closer, only able to let out a strangled cry as Tighnari’s teeth sank into the delicate skin of your shoulder, the pain barely noticeable as it mixed with the overwhelming pleasure. If anything, it just heightened it all, your nerves going off like fireworks under his touch.

With a sudden gasp, your climax slammed into you, making you still as the sensations hit you with enough force to make you dizzy. You were vaguely aware of the sounds Tignnari was making as you tightened around him, muffled by your shoulder, and you were suddenly under him again, sprawled across the stones once more, hands pinned above your head with one of his as he fucked you at a near punishing pace.

His eyes locked onto yours as he moved against you, and you couldn’t even imagine what your face looked like. You could feel tears of overstimulation on your cheeks, sweat on your brow, and you were sure you were an absolute wreck, but so was he. His hair was a mess, the chartreuse of his bangs intermixing with the dark of the rest of his hair, and his face was flushed a rather lovely pink, eyes half lidded. His ears had fallen to droop on either side of his head. His lips were kiss swollen and pink, and you were sure your own were the same.

Tighnari’s free hand slid down your body to hike one of your legs up around his waist, gripping at the plush of your thigh, and you whimpered as his nails bit into the tender skin. You were so sensitive it was almost unbearable, and you tossed your head back when his thumb pressed your clit again, letting out an unrestrained wail, tears beading in the corners of your eyes, and you felt Tighnari kiss them away before joining his mouth to yours once more.

You knew he was going to cum from the unsteady way he was breathing, and you were too, far too sensitive to stand anything else. You didn’t know how much more you could take; everything was blurring together in a cacophony of noise and sensation that left you straining against Tighnari’s grip on your wrists.

“Fill me, please,” you gasped abruptly, surprising even yourself, and Tighnari pulled back from your mouth to gaze at you, eyes wild.

“That’s what you want?” He snarled, “you want me to stuff you full of my cum? yeah? You wanna be filled?”

You nodded rapidly, his words making suffocating arousal course through your veins, and you felt him pick up the pace, forcing you into another dizzying climax, your back arching sharply off the ground. You could just barely hear him whispering praises over the thrum of blood in your ears, and you let out a strangled whine as his mouth connected with your nipple, making you thrash in his hold. He wasn’t even letting you breathe, and all you could think about was him, all around you, mixing with the scent of the pollen in the air in an intoxicating fragrance.

Mercifully, he removed his hand from between your bodies, simply resting it on your hip as he chased his own climax next, whispering your name and filthy praises as he drew closer and closer, his pace growing uneven.

He finally reached his end with a low, nearly possessive growl, holding onto you with a bruising force as he stuffed you full once more, heat blooming in your belly, uncaring about the way his cum was leaking out of you. His teeth were gritted, eyes squeezed shut, and you felt his grip on your wrists loosen just enough that you could wrestle free, so you pulled him down to meet you in a fierce kiss.

He finally slowed, his breath heavy and uneven as he came down from his high, his forehead resting against yours as he remained still, softening inside of you. You relaxed back onto the stones, pleased by the cool temperature they brought, soothing against your burning skin. Your breath was still quick and thin as you recovered, and you could still smell the pollen in the air, but exhaustion was taking over, forcing your eyelids to close.

Tighnari pulled out of you, and you whined at the sudden emptiness, but recovered quickly as he tugged you onto the grass and to his chest, nose nuzzling into your hair where he pressed a kiss. Neither of you were able to speak, completely spent, and you shifted slowly to wrap an arm around his bare waist. The pollen’s scent was falling into the background as the exertion began to wash over you, and you could tell it was the same for Tighnari.

You were asleep in a matter of seconds, pressed close to him.

Warm.

You were warm. And it was dark. Well, darker. You’d been sleeping, you knew that much. The sounds of Avidiya Forest were present around you, as well as the sound of a waterfall. Your brain was lagging behind as you woke, still groggy from such a deep slumber.

You were pressed against something solid and warm and breathing, and when you opened your eyes, you almost jumped from your skin.

Tignnari was laying beside you, sound asleep. He was holding you in his arms, in a possessive, tender way, and it was suddenly all flooding back to you. The pollen. That damn pollen.

Your brain finally caught up, and you remembered. You expected you should be sore, but you weren’t. You felt more satisfied than you ever had before, completely rejuvenated. You lifted your head to look over at the curtain of flowers, only to find that the blossoms had closed, taking the pollen’s scent with them. It had also fallen dark, the sun already setting. You’d been asleep for a while, but after that, you supposed that wasn’t surprising.

You focused back on Tignnari. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, so relaxed. Every bit of tension had been drained away, leaving him looking soft and gentle. You reached a hand up to cup his cheek before you could stop yourself, and he started you when he leaned into your touch.

“Hello,” he said, voice still thick with sleep, and you felt your cheeks beginning to warm.

“Hi.”

And there was your anxiety. What if Tighnari thought that what you’d just done together was a mistake? Things surely wouldn’t be the same after that, you knew that much. He couldn’t just fuck your brains out and then act like nothing happened. That wasn’t how Tighnari was.

But then, he was leaning in to kiss you, and every single doubt was expelled from your mind. It was a soft, gentle kiss, full of tender emotions and care, and it made your heart stutter in your chest.

“Was I too rough with you?” He asked after pulling away, and you shook your head.

“No. It was… it was good.”

Tignnari raised his eyebrows. “Just ‘good?’”

You blanched. “N-no, it was more than good. It was amazing.”

A soft, tender chuckle. “I was only teasing you. You were amazing, too.”

A few moments of comfortable silence passed before he spoke again. “That wasn’t how I imagined that happening for the first time,” he said, a laugh in his voice, and you turned to look at him, trying not to show the surprise on your face.

From the way he was smiling, soft and affectionate, you’d failed on that front.

“I fell in love with you quite a while ago,” he said, “I thought I’d been clear in my advances, but maybe not. I care for you very deeply, though. If you don’t feel the same, I—”

You cut him off, scoffing derisively at the sheer absurdity of that statement, with a kiss. He held you to him, cradling your face in his hands, until you both ran out of air.

“There’s my answer, then,” he said with a smile. You answered him with another quick kiss.

“I love you, too,” you said, “I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

Tighnari snorted, eyes glittering with mirth. “I suppose we’re both a little dense, then.”

You sat up, stretching your arms over your head. “We should wash up. And head back. It’s gotten late. We’re probably missed.”

Tighnari sighed, sitting up beside you. “As much as I’d rather stay here with you a while longer, you’re most likely correct. Collei is probably beside herself with worry.”

You stood on unsteady feet, and Tighnari followed you to the clear pool. The two of you rinsed your bodies off until you felt sufficiently clean before redressing. You were careful to make sure your sample jars were well sealed before you picked up your rucksack, shrugging it onto your back.

“Ready?” Tignnari asked, and you decided he looked lovely in the first rays of moonlight. You smiled at him, taking his outstretched hand in yours and squeezing.

“Yeah.”

Hand in hand, you walked back to Gandharva Ville, basking in the natural symphony of the forest.

Fin.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Midnight Zone

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 608 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: Astarion being doubtful, fluffffffff

“How deep do you think it goes?” Karlach asked, shaking the last of some spider webs off her boots. 

“One way to find out.” You smiled. You rummaged through your bag finally finding your scroll of feather fall. Casting it quickly, an elated yip escaped you as you jumped into the crevice in the center of the Whispering Depths. You fell for ages, admiring the glowing crystals that passed you slowly. You giggled as the fall continued, feeling a moment of reprieve, of happiness as they were rare to come by lately. When your feet hit the ground, you stumbled a bit before regaining your footing. The others landed by you shortly after.

“I think we’ve all had enough for one day, let’s set up camp.” Shadowheart said, walking ahead with everyone else while you lingered back. 

You didn’t notice Astarion had stayed behind with you until he gently soothed his hand over the small of your back. “Dreary, isn’t it?” He said looking around in disgust.

“What?” You said, finally ripping your eyes away from the beauty that surrounded you. “I think this has to be the most amazing place I’ve ever seen.” You said, looking in his eyes.

“You can’t possibly be serious.” he asked, his eyes searching your face trying to find why you’d say such a thing.

“Truth be told, I’ve always preferred the dark. And it isn’t exactly dark down here… look at all the life around us. Wonderful and weird, just how I like it.” you giggled at him. He looked shocked but couldn’t hear any deception from you. 

“If I can’t find a way to stay in the sun after this tadpole situation… I’ll have to live down here… In the dark… Alone.” his voice trailed off, sadly.

You whipped your head to him, “Who said you’d be alone?”

“Darling, I cannot ask that of you…” he laced his fingers through yours.

“It’s a good thing I want to then, isn’t it?” you kissed his cheeks, “Astarion, my love, I can go to the surface if I ever miss the sun. What I cannot do, is live without you. I won’t. You are stuck with me.” you nudged his chin up, trying to lighten his mood. 

“Are you sure? Life down here comes with… difficulties.” he nodded towards the different mushrooms around and the myconid colony off in the distance. 

“Where have we gone that hasn’t had difficulties? Trouble follows you my love, you’ll need my protection.” Astarion laughed at your quip, he pushed you back softly, feigning offense. 

“Lest I remind you of all the times I’ve saved your head from a spike?” he said with his typical snark.

“Lest I remind you?” you said back, holding his hand and pulling him towards camp. He rolled his eyes, trailing after you. 

At the edge of camp he yanked you softly, pulling you back to his chest. You smiled at him, enjoying when his playful side came out. He stared at you, his forehead slowly leaning in to rest against yours. “How refreshing…” he whispered.

“What?” you said, furrowing your eyebrows.

“To know that I won't endure eternity alone… to know that I will be loved.” he kissed you, it was gentle but you could feel his emotions behind it. Relief. Excitement. Happiness. 

You kissed him back, trying to get as close to him as possible. “Eternity saving you from spikes and daggers? Sounds like a lot of grunt work…” you joked.

He laughed before nipping your lip and pulling you into a much hungrier kiss, “I like to think I’m worth it.”

“Definitely.” you kissed him back with equal fervor. 

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

Naboo's Note:

Hey! Last drabble of the week, I'm going to try and write a longer work soon, I know these little bite sized fits aren't for everyone and some would prefer lengthy pieces. I'd love some requests to get the motivation mill going. I hope y'all enjoy; as always - thank you for the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests. Ilysm xoxoxoxo!!

[melrodrigo]

Lovesick - W.A.

Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Wednesday are polar opposites. Do they really attract?

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Request from ages ago, I didn’t proofread this. Please excuse any mistakes. Happy reading! <3

Wednesday had a problem.

When Wednesday had first transferred to Nevermore, and gotten the infamous Enid welcome and introduction, she couldn't have cared less about you.

"That is Bianca Barklay, the closest thing to Nevermore royalty they'll ever be."

Then Enid pointed to a girl sitting next to Bianca, staring at the bubbles in the water fountain with intrigue.

"And that, is YN. She's the school heartthrob. It's just impossible to not love her, you'll see."

"She looks like a mushroom." Wednesday replied dryly, swiftly turning on her heel and heading back to her dorm.

"She's a sweetheart. Everyone likes her. You'll find out what I mean. I'm always right!" Enid shouted out, before quickly catching up and walking side by side with the goth.

Enid had warned that this would happen. God, how was Enid right?

Wednesday's frown only grew deeper as she thought back to the moments you've shared over the past year.

-

"Hey, you must be Wednesday right? New girl?"

All you got in return was a curt nod.

"Allllright, I get it, you don't wanna talk. Trust me I get it, I was so silent the first week here, some people thought I was mute!"

Silence.

You frown a bit but redirect your focus to the teacher emerging from the door.

-

"Enid I do not understand why I have to suffer not only with you, but her. I was content just sitting down in the dorm and practicing my cello."

The werewolf had recently gotten three free passes to Jericho, and decided to drag both you and Wednesday out for a cup of coffee.

"I hate to agree with her Enid, but I really have a lot of biology homework to do." You mused from behind, still sore from fencing class you had that day.

"Oh come on! It's good for you two to bond. My two besties, we're gonna be so cool together!" Enid makes an excited sound, "We should come up with a group name!"

When Wednesday quips back that she'd rather die in a long long torturous death (which she'd probably enjoy) instead of have a group name, you can't help but snort in agreement.

You shoot Wednesday a look, small smile playing on your lips.

-

Ever since that first day at Jericho, Enid had you guys connected by the hip. Unwillingly.

But as the days went on, Wednesday found out you weren't so bad.

She was particularly late to lunch today, catching up with updates on the hyde case.

In fact, she was debating skipping lunch all together. But as she glanced over to the pentagon, a hand shot up along with a shout.

"Wednesday! Over here!" You were waving your hand wildly, gesturing for her to walk over.

Wednesday bit back a sigh as she moved towards you, and to her surprise, there was one empty seat opposite of you, plate full, apple on the side.

"I got some lunch for you. Oh and a plain granola bar, I see you always like eating them." You tell her absentmindedly, munching on a sloppy joe.

Wednesday hesitates, before saying a quiet thank you.

"It's my pleasure Wends. So, how's the hyde case going?"

You both don't mention the fact you used a nickname to address her. She sighs, she supposed it was nice of you to get her lunch, so she tells you about the case.

"It's going well YN, I've just had a breakthrough......"

-

"Come on Wends, pleaseee? I really really really wanna go to The Weathervane."

You stare at Wednesday with your famous puppy eyes, and see Wednesday's glare soften just the slightest bit.

"I....suppose we can go in a few hours. After I've finished my writing hour, I have hyde business to do there anyway." She says, even though she'd already taken care of the issue already.

"Could you help me study for midterms? I do not understand anything for the life of me." You whine and throw the book back on her bed. Flopping onto the soft fabric dramatically.

"Bring it with you to the Weathervane." Wednesday says sharply, and returns back to her typewriter.

-

"Sucky Birthday to you Wednesday! Come, follow me." You squeal excitedly, reaching for the goth and pulling her by the wrist.

Physical touch has come sort of, natural to you with Wednesday. You were a naturally touchy person anyway, but when you were around Wednesday everything felt very...heightened.

Hm, I wonder what that is.

Wednesday was constantly complaining about your intense need to be touching her at all times, but she never actually pulled away when you did; and you're well aware she could if she wanted to.

"Where are we going?" She asks, tone somewhat annoyed.

You turn to her and smile; so bright Wednesday swears light shone through your teeth.

"Grave digging!"

Wednesday's eyebrows twitches in amusement, a small but noticeable movement. You've become sort of professional in her mannerisms over the past few months.

"I knew you'd like it. Come on." You say, practically sprinting to your destination. It's not a smart move, and you stumble over your own feet; arms still connected with Wednesday's.

You fall flat on your back into the soft grass, Wednesday on top of you.

She looks so good, the moonlight shining on her face. You steal a glance at her lips.

She's staring at you with wide eyes, arms on both sides of your face. Her braids frame your head a little.

She coughs awkwardly, then gets up and looks the other way.

You follow suit, trying to calm down your racing heart.

"Ooookay. Let's- let's get grave digging now." You say finally, watch as Wednesday walks toward you but avoids your eye.

She's grateful it's dark out, or else you would've seen the red coating her ears. And when you reach for her wrist she pulls back, afraid you'll be able to feel her racing heart.

-

It's parent's day. The long awaited dreadful day where Wednesday has to talk to her parents.

They'll be able to tell right away, she has no doubt. She's lovesick.

They’d see right through her. They're like magic love wizards in that way.

"You ready Wends?" You muse from behind her, take her hand in yours. You were currently situated in her dorm room, the two of you alone; waiting for your parents to come.

"No." She replies, but not in a sarcastic or dry way. She sounds kind of...scared.

You poke her cheek and watch as she tries and swat your hand away.

"You look a little on edge." You observe, staring at the hairs on the back of her neck.

She's a little afraid if she tells you why she's nervous for this specific meeting she'll let it slip that she might've accidentally caught feelings for you.

Ugh. Feelings.

It's come to the point where she can actually say she has feelings for you. It’s pathetic, and quite frankly sickening.

"I'm fine. Let's just get this over with." She grumbles, and bursts through the door; leaving you standing dumbly in her room.

"Wednesday, darling how have you been?" Her mother drawls, smile on her lips as she speaks.

"I've been good mother. Apart from the gigantic monster that's trying to kill me. Actually, I think I'm having lots of fun." Wednesday says, looking over her moms shoulder to spy on you.

Just a little bit.

You look lively, and happy. It makes her feel weird in her tummy.

"My little storm cloud, what are you looking at?" Her father asks, watching Wednesday with keen eyes. It wouldn't be obvious to anyone else, but Addams were very observatrice people, and he could tell straight away when Wednesday has lost focus.

He follows his daughters gaze to a certain werewolf. He has to blink one more time to make sure he's not seeing things.

“Oh," He smiles, soft. "I see what's going on."

Wednesday turns sharply, face impassive.

"You don't see anything." She says hotly. Too fast for her normal speech.

Her mom smirks, catching on quick.

"Oh sweetie, we think it's cute. Our little storm cloud is in love." They coo, leaning forward to whisper with Wednesday.

The black hair girl scoffs, and folds her arms in front of her chest.

"I am not in love. I do not know what you are talking about." She replies.

"Sure you don't." Pugley adds, peeping in between his parents.

Wednesday suddenly feels hot underneath their gaze. She gets up abruptly, tilts her face up in hopes for some high ground.

"You all annoy me. This is why I don't write to you." She says before turning on her heel and heading over to you.

You stare at her with curious eyes as she walks toward you. Stops in front of you, hands stiff like a soldier.

"Hey? Whatcha doing?" You ask, pat the seat next to you. She ignores the feeling of something fluttering in her stomach when you accidentally touch fingertips.

"I would like to stay here with you. If you do not mind. My parents are being...unreasonable." She says, picking her words carefully.

You chuckle, smile softly.

"Of course you can stay here Wednesday. Come, come meet my family."

Wednesday’s heart almost jumps out her chest. She's really not one to be scared easily, but this was easily one of the most intense moments of her life.

She usually didn't care if anyone didn't like her, but there was an underlying nagging feeling that told her this was important. Your family was an essential part of you, and if she wanted to win you over; she had to win over your family too.

"I can't wait."

[sserpente]

Memories to Enemies 🎃

Synopsis: The TVA is no more—not like it was before, anyway. When the multiverse breaks free, Loki finds himself back where he belongs, on the verge of claiming the throne of Midgard and this time… this time he finishes what he started. But while he’s gained so much, he’s lost even more, for there was one thing the chaos of the timelines had not fixed—it hasn’t brought you back to him. You, the mortal he had refused to fall for until he realised it was too late all along. He never stopped searching for you after Thanos snapped his fingers and now, with so many timelines at the tip of his fingers and a tempad in his pocket… you were out there somewhere and he will find you. But when he finally does… he realises that not only are you the leader of the very rebels aiming to end his ruling, you are a Variant. And you don’t remember him.

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, people! 🎃 Requests from two anons. There are no spoilers for Season 2 in this. I’ll have some more spooky Halloween Imagines coming up this week (I hope), I just didn’t manage to get any writing done as I had initially planned because I spent the whole weekend queueing at Comic Con, haha!

Words: 2407 Warnings: smut

Additional NSFW warnings: edging, very light dub-con

“The rebels are causing trouble again, my king.”

“Which is to say you are unable to deal with a bunch of disobedient humans?” Loki looked up, legs spread on the makeshift throne in what used to be Stark Tower. He lifted his chin, his menacing glare all but intimidating the former politician, now reduced to nothing more than a lackey.

“N-no, of course not. I just thought you should know. They… they made it to the lower levels of the tower last night.”

Loki narrowed his eyes, leaning forward a little. “Who did?”

“The rebels, their leader… we caught her face on camera but… security managed to overwhelm them. I believe they were trying to plant explosives somewhere in the building.”

“Where are they now?”

“They’re being held in the cellars.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “You should have led with that, you fool. Send them up. No… bring me their leader. I believe it is time we have a little chat about where her… loyalties lie.”

The politician nodded and excused himself. Silence filled the room after he left and Loki sat back again and sighed. Those rebels were hardly a threat to him but if they had made it to the tower… he would have to up his game and patch the holes in his security. A spell or two should suffice. Possibly something that would make any uninvited guest grow mushrooms all over their body should they trespass.

If only… he sighed once more. If only he had you by his side. You had always loved this time of the year, made him hand out sweets for children and carve out pumpkins. After all this madness… he still had not found you again. You had been snapped away in the sacred timeline, so he had found out… and even though the now-forgotten Avengers had reversed the titan’s doing, you remained unfound, out of his reach. Wherever you were… he would tear every single timeline apart until he had you back by his side. Would you be overjoyed, to see him where he belonged? On the throne, ruling as he was meant to be?

“The prisoner, my king.” The politician returned after the metal elevator doors swung open yet again, dragging with him a young woman who carried herself quite regally despite her predicament. She lifted her head, her hair revealing her face…

Loki’s face dropped. It was you. You… you were the rebel foolishly trying to put an end to his reign? Desperation and relief paired with anger and disappointment, the sadness that had been residing deep in his heart after he had lost you not quite going away. Something was off.

“Leave her here. Get out.”

“No security, my king?”

“I can handle a mortal woman. Now get out.”

The politician nodded and left without another word all the while you kept on staring at Loki as if you were ready to plunge a dagger into his chest any moment. You probably were—and it broke his heart a lot more than he would have liked to admit.

Your eyes widened when he spoke your name. “So you already know me then.”

“Know you? I have been looking for you for years, pet.”

You blinked. “Pet?”

Loki’s face fell when he realised. You did not know. You did not recognise him. You did not… love him yet. It mattered little, now did it? He would make you love him again, he would restore your memories. Were you a Variant? Had you met him? Had Thanos’ horrors taken your memories? He had to find out, needed to find out.

“You will not believe me, of course. But you were in love with me. I lost you when Thanos snapped his fingers. My path, too, changed. That is a story for another time. Come here, pet. It is so good to see you,” he purred.

Containing his emotions and his excitement had never been so difficult. He all but longed to jump up from his throne and sweep you up into his arms, holding you close until you struggled to breathe. But he didn’t. He wanted you to come to him. Only you remained frozen in place. He could practically feel the defiance radiating from you.

“I’m not falling for your stupid tricks, Loki.”

The God of Mischief smirked. “Would you like me to prove it, pet? Ah, let’s see… I just so happen to know you love Halloween. Carving out pumpkins… handing out sweets to children… watching scary films and eating this disgusting snack you call popcorn… and of course, how could I forget, the hot chocolate with small marshmallows and whipped cream on top? It’s reserved only for months that have the letter ‘r’ in them, no?”

Loki watched with great satisfaction how your lips parted in shock. He stood, taking a step forward. “What else… ah…” He tilted his head. “There is a particularly sweet and sensitive spot on your body that has you absolutely feral for your lover. It is… right… here.” He took another step and brought his hand up to brush his thumb over the spot right below your ear. You shivered, clenching your jaw.

“Lies… y-you’re… you’re tricking me.”

“No tricks,” he purred, “only treats.”

To Hel with the restraint. With a low growl, Loki pulled you close, lifting you off your feet. Your rather pathetic resistance died quickly once you realised that you weren’t going anywhere. Loki was too strong—you’d do well to save your strength for when it truly mattered. But… did you want to?

Why, on Earth, was there a part of you that enjoyed his touch? The way he looked at you… so full of hope and lust… that could not be acted, could it? To win over the leader of the rebellion, make her compliant… was that his plan? Or was he telling the truth?

And if he was, then what would have ridden you to dedicate your life to stopping him at all cost? Heavens, last night, you had attempted an assassination.

Loki put you back down on your feet once you reached his bedroom. He had redecorated, of course. Everything was green and gold, even his bed sheets. It looked… beautiful. Homely, almost and faintly familiar.

A shiver brought you back from the depths of your mind when Loki sneaked his hand under your shirt, slowly pushing it up.

“Do you truly think it’s a coincidence you react this way to me?” He tilted his head, smirking when you flinched at his fingertips ghosting over your bare stomach. He was right. He was so right and you hated it. Part of you wanted him—right here and now. The other part was seething and then, yet another… wanted to give in to his advances out of curiosity.

“Why… why don’t I remember then?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, pet. We will restore your memories. You could be a Variant—a version of yourself from another timeline who has not yet met me. We will worry about this later. I missed you.”

He sounded so… genuine, so full of relief. It was not hard to believe him. But how could you? You hated this man, you loathed how he had taken Earth for himself and declared himself its ruler… you would never kneel before him… right?

Why were you questioning yourself? Perhaps… perhaps it was for when you gazed into his blue eyes, you detected just how troubled his soul was. There was more to this than tyranny. More than a hunger for power.

You ceased to resist when he pulled your shirt off of you. Mesmerised, dazed… perhaps even charmed, you lifted your arms for him to remove it and then allowed him to make short work of your trousers. Only a few more moments passed until you stood completely naked before him, breathing heavily.

His kiss was soft when he held your chin with two fingers, almost as if testing the waters. Your eyes… your eyes fell shut. Why… how did this feel so good?

“Give in to me, pet. Let me show you.”

You bit your lower lip. “I’m supposed to hate you.”

He chuckled. “Why yes… We can speak about your little rebellion after I have had my fill of you. You always longed to be by my side, pet. What changed?”

“I don’t know you.” And perhaps that was the reason. You did not know him. Did not yet see behind the mask. Would things be different if you did? You could have tried to kill him the very moment you stepped out of the elevator. So why hadn’t you? Would you, under different circumstances, support his cause? Aid in his rule? Rule… by his side? That was such a silly thought, wasn’t it?

And yet… even though the arrogant god kept calling you his pet… the way he looked at you made you feel like he regarded you as his equal. Maybe your subconscious knew that there was more to it. Maybe your soul had recognised him.

“Then I will make you know me again. You, my darling, are the one good thing that has ever happened to me. I will not give you up.”

You swallowed, unsure of whether you should regret the words that left your lips next. “S-show me.”

“With pleasure.” Loki smirked, lifting you up once more. The warm leather of his armour against your naked skin made you whimper but it was gone within a heartbeat, melted off his body in a green hue of his magic. It felt tingly, familiar… as if you’d felt it a million times before.

The God of Mischief crawled above you, spreading your legs as he did. Skin against skin, he towered above you like the king he was, his raven hair framing his handsome face. You resisted the urge to reach up and stroke his cheek—just about, for when he leaned down and assaulted your neck with his lips, you dug your nails into the soft bed sheets instead, fighting, desperately, for composure your body was eager to give up.

Every touch, every kiss… it felt right. And you were craving more.

A gasp escaped your lips when Loki sank his length into you with but one deep stroke—it was both out of pure bliss at his size and surprise at how wet you were. How had him undressing you slowly done that?

Deep and languid thrusts soon drove you to the brink of madness. No one… no one had ever fucked you as well as Loki was fucking you right now, and the fact that he seemed to know exactly what turned you on almost filled you with fear.

The intense eye contact, the gentle touches, the soft dominance radiating from him… without a doubt he would pin you against the bed if you so much as attempted to flip around and ride him instead without… without asking for permission?

You whimpered at the thought, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You were close already. Loki was working his magic… firm and yet gentle, you felt it teasing your clit, applying just enough pressure to bring you closer and closer to climax. Once he had you there, right on the edge, the delicious pressure eased, his rhythm speeding up.

“You’re enjoying it…” Loki purred—his tone smug, if anything. You groaned.

And then, once again… he pushed you toward that blissful cliff only to stop—again—right before you could fall. You realised soon enough what he was doing. He was edging you. No one… no one knew about your filthiest desires and kinks. So how did he? He really was telling the truth, wasn’t he?

You pretended to hate this but you loved it… loved how he was in control of your pleasure, able to take it away if he so wished… urgh.

“What is it, pet, hmm? Did you want something?” His strokes were relentless—how he managed not to rut into you like a beast you had no fucking clue.

“P-please…” you choked out, “…let me cum.”

Loki tilted his head. “I think you can do better than that.”

Another grunt on your end but this time, you were ready to throw hands—only the God of Mischief above you didn’t let you. The invisible force tormenting your clit wrapped around your wrists like invisible shackles, holding them in place.

“Please…” you repeated, “…I need to cum. Stop… teasing me…”

“Let me hear it one more time, pet. Scream for me.”

A groan of frustration escaped your lips. All helpless beneath him, there was nothing you could do but endure his torturing treatment. Your toes curled, that all too familiar knot in your lower stomach tightening…

“Oh, fuck, please, please, PLEASE! Just… LET ME CUM ALREADY!” Loki chuckled—he chuckled and then, finally, the delicious pressure on your clit returned. And this time… it didn’t stop again. You tensed up, all air knocked from your lungs as your orgasm washed over you. Contracting around Loki’s cock who did not stop rocking into you for a second, fucking you right through your moment of utter bliss until he too, came.

Loki’s moans were quite possibly the sexiest thing you had ever heard as he buried himself inside of you as deep as he could, coating your walls with his seed, twitching and jerking.

He rested his forehead against yours then, eyes closed—content, at ease… and so unlike what you had expected from a tyrannical ruler.

This… it had felt like your bodies were made for each other. Perhaps they were.

“I want to remember. I want you to prove to me that you’re not the evil tyrant I imagine you to be,” you said, breaking the silence.

Loki chuckled. “Hmm… ever so demanding, pet.”

“Why are you calling me that?”

“Because it turns you feral, am I not right?”

You bit your lower lip. Yes, damn it, he was right.

“We will find a way to restore your memories, I swear it. You are mine.” You shivered when he spoke your name. “You are the very reason I am not a tyrant. Whatever you see, whatever you believe… Midgard is in good hands—it is your home realm, after all.”

“So I’ll just have to trust your word? The word of a Trickster?”

Loki smirked. He knew. He knew that your heart already did.

"Yes. Now then... shall we carve a pumpkin together, pet?"

A/N: Party hard tonight! 🎃

[starxanemone]

꩜ⴰ ࣪˖ THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS

tighnari x gender neutral!reader — oneshot. romance.

if you read between the lines, colors, and shapes of the petals, perhaps you might find meaning conveyed to you through the language of flowers.

— wherein you are a secret admirer of tighnari and you decide to send him flowers and along with equally-flowery words.

Rukkhadhava Mushrooms? Check.

Kalpalata Lotus? Check.

Padisara? Check.

Scarab fluid? Check.

“Do you find all of the necessary ingredients to be satisfactory enough?” An employee asks Tighnari as he counts the number of each ingredient separated into containers on top of the table.

“Yes, thank you very much.” He responds busily.

“I wish you the best in your endeavors. I will be off now.”

“Yes, thank you.” Tighnari nods his head as his pencil drags off carefully against the page of his little notebook, crossing small boxes listed between the grid lines. Work was constant and even more so now as he feels its amount in waves lately with the sudden new virus spreading around due to the withering zones. Fortunately, only a few were infected and it is not taking too much of a toll on his body—with him balancing the role of being a Forest Watcher and a sort of doctor on the side.

He sighs as he closes his notebook shut and sits down on the chair. He looks around him, wide dark emerald eyes admiring the abundance of greenery inside Pardis Dhyai and taking in the cluster of herbal and floral fragrances between each soft inhale.

He then glances at the clock.

3:29AM. Any minute now–

“Delivery for Tighnari!” A deep, gravelly voice enters the vicinity and Tighnari immediately stands up to respectfully bow to the delivery man.

“Ah, Arkan.” Tighnari greets the tall, burly man right in front of him politely. There is a bundle of purple hugged between Arkan’s arms and he eyes it promptly; expectantly; disposition still even despite the slight anticipating twitch of his ear. “I assume that is for me.”

“Ya got that right.” Arkan agrees gruffly, extending his arm out to hand him the bouquet of vibrant purple Forget-Me-Not flowers. “Your lover’s been quite consistent.”

“Perhaps ‘admirer’ would be a more suitable term. I still don’t know who they are.” Tighnari shakes his head before glancing down at the flowers now in his arms. Its petals are the shade of mustard yellow at the center, transitioning to vibrant purple as he eyes the petals down to its rounded tips. He wonders what is their motive behind all of this. How was he to fall for a person whose identity he had no slightest idea of? It was unreasonable to fall for a figment of his imagination—the mere idea built from expectations of who this person might be.

But still, he keeps the flowers close to him. It stays displayed inside his home, consistently being replaced every week upon each delivery. So far, he had received a total of four flower deliveries, all appearing to be freshly-picked and very healthy.

I’m keeping them because it would be a waste not to. Tighnari nodded to himself.

“Well, then, I’ll leave you to think about it by yourself.” Arkan dips his head slightly for a temporary farewell. He would be seeing Tighnarini again soon, no doubt.

“Alright. Thank you for the delivery, Arkan.”

Tighnari sits down once again, placing the wrapped bouquet on his lap, supporting it with one arm. He counts the flowers and the snowy Gypsophila surrounding each small bundle of Forget-Me-Nots. He brings it up to his face, breathing in the floral fragrance before noticing a small piece of rectangular paper pasted onto the wrapping. His fingers gently move the flowers to read the text.

“What if you forget to forget-me-not and we fade away?”

A new piece added onto the puzzle of the admirer’s hidden painting. Clever. Forget-Me-Nots. Tighnari thinks back to the previous pieces of paper he had received along with the bouquets of flowers. So far, the compilation of all the notes reads:

“You can open up to me; show me what’s inside. Mother nature made us to intertwine.”

“Lavender elixir so full of pheromones, give me one taste and you’re gone.”

“What if I can’t get you out of my thoughts? What if my seasons don’t change?”

And today, “What if you forget to forget me not and we fade away?”

The admirer seems troubled today, Tighnari thinks, humming to himself in deep thought. Perhaps they liked him more than he had initially expected. He expected to be receiving about only two to three deliveries of such things, but it’s turning out to be more of a consistent thing now. Looking forward to Monday’s every time the clock strikes thirty minutes after the hour of three in the afternoon has become a sort of habit.

But he wonders: When would this end? When would he get to meet the individual who has been going through the effort to send these on a weekly basis?

Perhaps he must do a little bit of investigating for himself.

The next week comes slowly as the virus dies down significantly with Tighnari providing the patients with treatment. It has provided time for him to give some thought onto the next course of actions he might take to look for the admirer, and perhaps, the best person to ask first is the person consistently delivering the flowers.

Arkan comes marching to the front of Tighnari’s house at exactly 3:30PM, and he’s there to receive him just in time.

“Arkan, I have a question.” Tighnari began as he accepted the bouquet. Today’s flowers were a fresh bundle white Tropical Morning Glories wrapped in black paper. He fishes for the note stuck onto the wrapping paper behind the flowers and silently reads it.

“You’re my little flower blooming in the night.”

Blooming in the night... Morning Glories were also known as Moonflowers.

He purses his lip in thought as his ear unconsciously twitches. He scratches the back of his neck. Why are my ears warm? Perhaps it is hotter today than usual.

“What is it?”

He looks up from the bouquet and eyes Arkan curiously. “By any chance, do you know who’s sending these flowers?”

Arkan lets out a loud guffaw at his question, pressing his hands onto his abdomen. “I thought you’d never ask."

“It’s just that I was too busy to be pondering about that previously with the virus and all.” Tighnari places the flowers onto the ledge of his porch before crossing his arms. “So? Will you tell me who they might be?”

“No can do.” Arkan shakes his head.

He sighs. “As I suspected. Looking for them is not going to be as easy as that.”

“How ‘bout I give ya a hint?” Arkan places his hands on his hips, grinning down at him widely. “You know them.”

Tighnari squints his eyes.

He knows them.

He browses his memories for the list of people that he knew but it was turning out to be rather difficult when he was practically familiar with more than half of Gandharva Ville and many from Sumeru City. It cannot possibly be Collei; she is much too young and she has been quite close with a boy her age lately that lived near their home. Cyno was way too subpar with his linguistic skills to be able to construct mellifluous words such as these, and it is apparent with his dry jokes, thus it is unlikely to be him. Paimon and the Traveler on the other hand had long left the vicinity of Sumeru. And Alhaitham… Well, he’s Alhaitham. Could it be Kaveh?

“Do they live closeby?” Tighnari asks after a few moments of thinking.

“They live in a sort of paradise. Sort of like a garden, if you will. That’s all I gotta say.” Arkan laughs before saluting to him. “Welp, I’ll leave ya to it.”

So it’s not Kaveh, then. Thank goodness. Tighnari breathes out a sigh of relief before taking the flowers from the ledge once again. He must quickly put them in a vase.

Another week comes and Tighnari is finished trekking through the forest with Cyno after dealing with one of the few remaining Withering Zones left.

“So you have been receiving a bouquet of flowers every week.” Cyno summarizes after Tighnari explains the entirety of the situation. “I see.”

“Yes, so if it is not any trouble and if you aren’t busy with work, would you mind helping me investigate this matter?” Tighnari tilts his head, waiting for his friend’s response.

“I’m afraid that I must refuse.” Cyno answers, quickly pulling his eyes away to look up at the nearby trees.

“Hm? And why is that?” Tighnari crosses his arms. “You are looking suspicious right now, my friend. Don’t tell me that you’re actually the secret admirer?”

Cyno sends him an offended look, or at least, as offended as his typically-stoic face could look. “Do I appear to be the type who writes poetry? I must say that my jokes are quite great, but poetry on the other hand?”

“Yes, it is exactly as I thought. Except for the jokes part.” Tighnari nods, ignoring the second wave of offended expression that paints his friend’s face. “But why were you acting suspicious just now? Perhaps… you know who they are. You know who has been sending the flowers to me.”

Cyno shakes his head. “It’s not that I knew. I only figured it out when you told me about the flowers just now.”

“How?”

“Easy. I suggested the flowers, or rather, I told them you liked plants, and maybe, flowers.” Cyno explains before suddenly looking thoughtful. “But now that I think about it. The notes do sound like something they would do.” He hums thoughtfully. "Hm... they even went all the way to Sumeru City to ask about something like that."

“Well? Are you not going to tell me who it is?”

“No.”

Tighnari sighs, rubbing his face in annoyance. This was becoming more frustrating with the way Arkan and Cyno were being so secretive.

Cyno pats his shoulder comfortingly. “You will find out who they are soon.”

“Why? Will they reveal themselves?”

“I do not know. But upon meeting them, it is only time before they slip up. They’re not as patient as you believe they are.”

“Yes, maybe…”

Tighnari receives three stems of Tulips today, tied together with a thin white ribbon that also holds a piece of paper along with it. His eyes squinted a little upon realizing that the texts today were a bit longer, and the handwriting was a bit messier.

Hm… Tulips…

“All I see are Tulips (you) and

I’m a hummingbird;

Heavenly ambrosia in every curve.

Honey dripping over my imagination;

The fragrance keeps flowing straight

down to my soul.”

He doesn’t hold back the warmth that spreads across his light-skinned cheeks and tips of his ears—or rather, he couldn’t. Whoever was writing him these notes and sending these flowers seemed to know just the precise words to make a person’s heart quiver. That, or this was simply born from the inexplicable feeling of adoration; one that Tighnari himself still doesn’t understand.

Perhaps, you would care to show him—to make him understand where all of these saccharine poems flow from inside you and onto paper.

He flips the paper around and is surprised to see an added note.

“I heard you were looking for me. Why don’t you come and find me, then?” He looks down further at the bottom of the page. “Here’s a hint: I live in paradise.”

Paradise? Tighnari squints rubs his chin at the familiar word. Where and when could he have last heard it?

Paradise… Ah! His eyes widen as he remembers his conversation with Arkan about two or three weeks before.

“They live in a sort of paradise. Sort of like a garden, if you will. That’s all I gotta say.” Arkan laughs before saluting to him. “Welp, I’ll leave ya to it.”

Paradise… Paradise— Pardis? Pardis Dhyai? If his suspicions were correct then… then the admirer was much closer than he had initially suspected. He had assumed that they lived in Sumeru City due to the weekly access to new and foreign flowers being delivered there frequently. This had caused him to forget about Pardis Dhyai completely—the actual grounds for producing an array of different plants and flowers.

He set the flowers into a vase filled with water and began preparing to clean up his things. Turns out that he had a trip to make towards Pardis Dhyai outside of work hours.

Tighnari arrives at the vicinity as the Sun had already set, leaving the shrounds of orange to be submerged underneath the dark blues littered with specs of white. Strange to him as it may be, but his heart is racing fast against his ribs as he takes rapid steps to enter the greenhouse. Perhaps it may be from all the running, or maybe it was the nerves swallowing his being, but one thing is for sure and that is the fact that his curiosity and the need to understand cannot deter him from finding out the one behind all these things.

He enters the greenhouse and the silence engulfs his ears aside from the crickets resounding from the distance. He steps forward, moving to the area where the flowers were born side by side, and there, he sees someone standing there, tending to the plants at this hour.

“You’re my little flower

Blooming in the night…”

His eyes widen as hears them sing softly as they hold the watering can over the vibrant leaves and petals.

“Only for an hour,

The northern lights.

My Casablanca sweetheart,

Nectar so divine.

Baby, you’re the best part

Of my life.”

“So it is you.” Tighnari’s voice cuts through the pause of their singing. He sees their shoulders jolt a little in surprise before they turn around slowly, sheepishly. It was you, the employee in Pardis Dhyai who guided him throughout each time he collected ingredients for new medicine.

“So you have found me.” Your smile is relaxed as you take a step towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shivers at the contact but doesn’t move away, causing you to chuckle. “Shall we have a chat?”

“W-What makes you say that I have the time? I could be here for some herbs.” He blurts out, a little out of character from his typical self.

You chuckle at his nervousness. “Well? What can I do to convince you to stay?”

[getluckylana]

Rich baby daddy. You were the first person I talked to after my breakup. It wasn’t meant to be a forever thing or a thing at all. My friends pushed me to DM you because they were so tired of me going back to my ex. By the time you responded to my dm, him and I were already back together. We made each other miserable but couldn’t bare the idea of losing the routine of life we had built together over that year. Him and I were on a plane to New York, he was sitting next to me, as I read our very first interaction. I was loyal to him, but I wondered what would happen if I responded, what you were like, would we get along? A few months later my relationship ended for good. You said you were having a party at your house and I should come by. It wasn’t a party at all, just you and two of your friends sitting at your kitchen table getting high on mushrooms. I wasn’t amused by you. Your immature demeanor disgusted me. A man child. You sent me a “good morning” text the following day, I didn’t respond. Something strange happened a month later, you popped into my mind, and I felt drawn to you, this weird wave of affection washed over me. Coincidentally we both would be looking for houses in New York the next week. What were the chances we both were moving to the same city at the same time? I watched your game before we hung out, I rooted for you and still do to this day. Your team won. “Reposito or Blanco? I replied “blanco” and you said “ that’s my girl”. I was glad you approved of my choice. We sat on the couch beside each other, then I was on your lap. We were in the middle of a party but we only spoke to each other for the entire night. I felt so drawn to you. At one point you mumbled “ I waited for this my entire life” I still wonder what you meant by that. We kissed at that party, in the bathroom, I still remember how your lips. Now we were alone In your hotel room looking at the east river together. You hovered over me while looking into my eyes, and told me that you loved me. I was hooked on you after this night. I needed you. You were the one I wanted. Fate bought us together again in Miami, what were the chances we both would be there for work on the exact same days? that night we conceived our son. It was only our second time having sex. What were the chances I would end up pregnant? All I have left of you is a photo of us and your hoodie I wore home that morning. I never saw you again. You would call every few months while I was pregnant to remind me to keep it hush. Each time our phones calls would end my heart would break, each time a little part of me had hope that you were calling out of love but it was always distain. Four days after I gave birth you asked to FaceTime, I thought you wanted to see him, but once again you reminded me to hush. I cried so hard after that call. You will never understand how alone I felt over that ten months. You never gave me money or had me sign an NDA. I protected you out of love, I will always be rooting for you.

[hussyknee]

Red, White & Royal Blue: Collector's Edition Henry PoV bonus chapter by Casey Mcquiston.

(transcribed from the page pictures posted)

This is the coda to the end of the book, so don't read it if you haven't read the book first. Sadly, the Collector's Edition doesn't seem to be available on Kindle so. Arrrr matey.

Download link for file at the end.

....

HENRY

“I am not asking you to believe in it, or even to like it,” Henry says stonily. It’s been a long morning already. He is beginning to perspire. “I am simply asking you to show a modicum of respect.”

“To–to your quiche?”

“Yes. To my quiche.”

Bea puts down her tape gun and wipes her eyes. “Pez!”

“Yes?”

“Henry says he’s going to make us a quiche!”

Pez’s squawk of a laugh bounces down the stairs. “Pull the other one!”

“I make them all the time for Alex,” Henry insists. “They are perfectly edible.”

“So, when you promised us breakfast if we got up early to help you.” Bea says, “you meant that you were going to make us breakfast?”

“Yes!” Henry says hotly. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Bea says. “It’s only that...well, Henry, the last time you cooked breakfast for me, you were twelve and you put a sausage in the microwave until it exploded.”

“That was your idea! And it’s been ages since then! I’ve studied, all right? I’m quite good now. Those pictures I send the group chat aren’t just for show.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” Bea says rudely, as if his incredibly generous offer to cook her a shallot-and-thyme quiche with mushrooms from the farmer’s market means nothing at all. As if he’s lived in this house for five entire years without learning to use its kitchen.

Perhaps if their lives weren’t so chaotic, if Henry weren’t flying out of New York every time Bea had a spare moment to fly in, he could have proven this to her earlier. But Pez, who lives mostly in the city now and visits so frequently he’s earned his own Secret Service code name (Cardinal, since Henry is Bishop), should know better.

“Percy Okonjo,” Henry says as Pez joins them, “you were here last weekend when I made mince pie. You loved it.”

“Did I?” Pez wonders aloud, with an annoyingly Bea-like lilt.

“Look at this apron!” Henry gestures to himself and the navy blue apron he’s wearing. Alex gave it to him for his birthday last year. “Would a man who can’t make a quiche have an apron like this? It’s monogrammed.”

“You’re royalty, babes,” Pez points out. “Everything you own is monogrammed.”

From the pocket of his serious-home-cook apron, his phone buzzes. Reinforcements. The FaceTime connects, and Alex says, “Good morning, love of my li–”

“Alex,” Henry interrupts, “tell them about my quiches.”

Alex pushes up his sunglasses and frowns into the camera. He looks so lovely with his faded T-shirt and jean jacket and shaggy hair. Pure American heartthrob, might as well have a cowboy hat on. Henry never does tire of it.

“Sorry?”

“Bea and Pez don’t believe I can make a quiche.”

“What? Have they seen your apron?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Henry’s quiches are great!” Alex says loudly, to the kitchen at large. “I almost never find shells in them!”

That sets Bea and Pez off again. On the screen, Alex’s face crinkles into laughter.

“Thank you very much, Alex, you’ve been a tremendous help,” Henry groans. “How are things? Florist this morning, wasn’t it?”

“Just finishing up.” Alex says with a grin. “Final approvals done. Everything looks great.”

With only one week until moving day and two until the wedding, it made sense to divide and conquer. Henry agreed to stay in New York and finish packing up the brownstone with help from Bea and Pez, while Alex, June, and Nora are ticking off the last of their checklists in Texas.

“Of all the surprises that wedding planning has brought us,” Henry says, “your ability to micromanage floral arrangements has certainly been...one of them.”

“You know I love to curate a vibe,” Alex says.

“That you do,” Henry agrees. “Where are the girls?”

“Getting donuts,” Pez answers before Alex can. He holds up his phone, open to a photo of June blowing a kiss while Nora fellates an éclair.

“Donuts!” Bea says. “Now there’s an idea!”

They spend the rest of the day drowning in cardboard boxes and bin liners, packing everything but the furniture and the downstairs television. Pez reminds him once an hour that they could pay someone to do this, but Bea is stubborn, and Henry is reluctant to let anyone else wade into all the intimate trappings of his and Alex’s life. It was bad enough explaining the contents of the trick drawer in their dresser to Pez, much less some mover he’s never met.

When it’s done, Bea puts A Knight’s Tale on in the living room and promptly falls asleep on Pez’s lap. Pez passes out too, but Henry stays awake, because Heath Ledger deserves an audience. And because he knows if he doesn't wake Bea and move her to the guest bedroom, he'll have to hear about her back spasms in the morning.

David hops up beside him on the loveseat, and Henry strokes the top of his snout until his little body relaxes into Henry's side.

"Nervous old boy," Henry hums. It still does seem like the ultimate irony that the dog he adopted for emotional support has anxiety. David has grown more and more worried all week, as more and more of his home disappeared into boxes. "We won't leave you, I promise."

The brownstone has been a good house for them. Sturdy brick walls, neighbors that actually let them be. Henry has loved it more than he ever loved Kensington, or at least as much as he loved Kensington when his parents both lived there too. Some mornings, when he comes downstairs to find Alex with the coffeepot and the kettle already on, he feels the way he did when his family all slept under one roof. This roof is quite a bit smaller than that one, but the feeling isn't.

So, perhaps David hasn't got entirely the wrong idea. It is hard to let the place go. For the past month, Alex has kept asking Henry why he's staring, and the truth is that he's been committing to memory exactly how Alex looks in every room. How the bannister fits in his hand, the place on the foyer wall where he always braces himself to pull on his shoes.

Everything that's happened in the past five years has happened, at least in part, inside this house.

…

It's seven months after Alex's mother's second inauguration, and Henry is wishing he had never even heard the word "credenza." Then he wouldn't have to decide where to put one. Alex is arriving in half an hour to help him move it, but Henry still doesn't know where. Across from the fireplace, perhaps? But what if he wants to put a sofa there? Does he want a regular sofa, or a sectional? Should it go upstairs, in his study? Or should he leave room for bookcases?

He longs to be back on a beach, sipping something from a pineapple.

It’s been a long, glorious summer since Alex packed up his White House bedroom, called Henry, and asked, "Do you want to get the fuck off the continent?" They did Dubai first, then Lagos. Rio, for old time's sake. Buenos Aires, paper lanterns in moonlight and Alex flirting with the bartender for free drinks. June through August became a lovely blur: Alex asleep against his shoulder on the plane, Alex throwing his Portuguese phrase book out the window of a speeding car, sand in unmentionable places, Alex Alex Alex. Endless runways and half-arsed disguises, swimsuits that got smaller and smaller until they simply didn't wear them anymore. Falling in love, the sequel, with fresh suntans and all the time in the world.

And now here they are in Park Slope, where Alex is renting the second floor of a brownstone two blocks from Henry's.

It's practical, they agreed, to live in the same neighborhood before they live at the same address. They've scarcely gotten a chance to date the normal way yet– if it can be called "normal" when their combined security teams are headquartered in an empty apartment down the street. Still, Henry wants this to last.

They've sprinted headlong into everything so far, but now he wants move slowly, in delicious increments. He wants to savor nights, minutes, firsts, to covet them and then let them dissolve on his tongue, like the sugar cubes he snuck off his gran's filigreed tea trays when he was small. He wants a life.

He wants someone to tell him where to put this damned credenza.

It's a vintage Broyhill Brasilia piece, walnut with clever brass drawer pulls. June helped him pick it out when she was in town with meeting her editor, but she never gave him any advice on where it should go. He hasn't ever been allowed to decide where furniture should go before.

So, it’s...there, in the center of the empty living room, the first piece in the entire house.

“Maybe you could start with a rug or two,” says Alex from the foyer.

Henry turns to find him with his keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other, smiling in a beam of mid-morning light, and, ah. Yes. There it is. That sweet, sharp gasp of nerves. The half second when he forgets how to use his mouth. If he knows nothing else, at least one certainty remains, which is that seeing Alex Claremont-Diaz in the flesh will always do this to him.

Alex in a photo is handsome, but Alex in life is a symphony. He’s refracted light with a cherry cola chaser. He’s got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways with his sleeves rolled and thumbing corks out of champagne bottles. The first time Henry ever told Pez about him, he said, “God, but he’s lethal.” It’s only worse once you get to know him.

“Weird place for a credenza,” Alex comments. He kisses Henry’s cheek, then passes him a warm bundle wrapped in parchment paper. “Hope you like sausage-egg-and-cheese.”

“I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sandwich goes in your mouth, typically.”

“The credenza.”

“Ohhh, right,” Alex says, pretending to have just caught on. He winks. Henry sighs theatrically but accepts a second kiss, on the lips this time. “Why don’t you just put it right here?”

He points to his left, where a blank wall stretches from the front door to the foot of the stairs. It does, upon closer inspection, appear to be the exact right size.

“Oh,” Henry says.

This is where they overlap. Where he ends and Alex begins. Great gooey puddle of feelings, meet course of action; endless burning energy, meet point of focus. Agonies, meet your most obvious, most natural, most inevitable conclusions. It’s frightening sometimes for a person like Henry, who has spent his entire life pedaling his agonies about like baguettes in a posh little bicycle basket. What is he to do with them now?

Yes," Henry concedes, "I suppose I could," and Alex laughs.

...

It's the summer of 2022. Henry has opened his third shelter, and Alex has just finished bulldozing his first year at NYU Law.

A few boxes of books still wait at Alex's place, but otherwise, he lives in Henry's brownstone now. Their brownstone. A UT pennant beside a Chelsea scarf on the living room wall. A fridge full of Topo Chico and Bulmers. Two pairs of shoes by the front door, brown Barker derbies and Reebok trainers. Nobody could mistake it for anyone else's.

It's their first Chore Sunday (Alex's idea), and Henry has put the last of the laundry in the dryer. He's in the kitchen doorway, watching Alex unload the dishwasher.

Alex once told Henry the type of man he's typically attracted to: tall, broad-shouldered, pretty eyes, a little haunted. Bit of attitude and a smile that makes you curious. For Henry, it's never been so simple. He liked boys in his classes because they bothered with the assigned readings and fancied one of Philip's awful Eton friends because he could sail and smelled of cinnamon. The only thing all his Oxford boys had in common was that they didn't know how to speak to him. He's never had a type, and he's always been sure Alex was singular, anyway. Alex is unlike anyone he's ever met before or since.

But here, now, watching Alex bend to remove a salad bowl from the bottom rack, he is confronted with the hard truth. All those boys did, actually, share one trait.

"Are you gonna help me with this," Alex says without even an investigatory glance over his shoulder, "or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?"

...

It’s Christmas 2022, their first since Alex officially moved in, and Henry is going to make a yule log if it kills him.

Perhaps he’s been too ambitious. He’s rather new to all. Growing up, he was rarely permitted in the kitchens, and he concentrated his uni diet on fast food and takeaway. He can make toast and boil an egg, and he’s got a deft hand with the coffee percolator and a gin swizzle from time to time. He knows about food– the finest foods, actually, he’s yet to meet an Englishman who can select a better brie– but he never learned to cook, until recently.

Recently, as in when Alex became too fanatically involved in his second-year coursework to remember to feed himself.

It began with force-feeding Alex a bacon butty twice a week. Henry’s arms suffered little constellations of grease burns, but bacon was easy. And those faded, so they didn’t deter him for long. Curiosity piqued, he taught himself the basics of pasta, how one can simmer almost anything with garlic and onion and butter and it will taste good over noodles. It bolstered his confidence enough to truly commit, and now, between hours at the shelters and video calls with his mum, he watches tutorial after tutorial on how to brown butter and roast chicken. Only half of what he makes turns out the color it’s meant to, but he loves it.

He loves walking to the market on the corner and hunting down specific ingredients from the family recipes June sends him. In fact, it’s become such a regular pastime that the paparazzi have cottoned on, which is why his mother finally forced his security team to hire an actual body double. Now some bloke named Angus with his height and build and nearly the same face goes on diversionary strolls while Henry peruses jarred chilies.

With all his independent studying, he was certain he could manage a dessert. He wanted to do something impressive, since they’ve convinced their families to let them host Christmas dinner. Only, his sponge has gone all wrong, and if he’s learned anything from Bake Off, he knows it’s not meant to have cracked in five places when he tried to roll it up. Paul Hollywood would have him pilloried.

“Think you might’ve left it in too long?” Oscar asks from across the kitchen island. He’s wearing his white elephant prize, a sweatshirt airbrushed with the slogan YOU CAN’T SPELL CONSTITUTION WITHOUT TITS. Inexplicably, Henry’s own mother brought that one. “Lookin’ kinda dry there.”

“I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful,” Henry enunciates, “but if you say one more word I may start crying, and then we’ll both lose some respect for me.”

Later, when Pez has persuaded him to “call it, mate, put it out of its misery,” he carries his disgraced platter of ganache and cake and marzipan out into the living room and lets everyone go at it with spoons. The house feels full to bursting, and not just because of the Christmas crackers. There are all three of Alex’s parents, Henry’s mum, June and Nora, Bea and Pez, Shaan and Zahra on speakerphone, occasionally an awkward Philip and Martha via FaceTime, and, because he had nowhere else to go for the holiday, Angus.

(“I don’t like him,” Alex muttered when Henry suggested inviting his own body double to Christmas dinner.

“Why not?”

“Because he looks exactly like you, but I find him deeply unattractive, and that freaks me out.”)

Ellen tells everyone the story of the year Alex got his first real bike for Christmas and knocked out his two front teeth by Boxing Day, which prompts Catherine to recite eight-year-old Henry’s letter to Father Christmas, in which he requested a leather-bound journal and a holiday to East Wittering so he could gaze at the sea. Bea pushes Henry behind the upright piano, and he takes requests for an hour. It only ends when Pez rewrites half the lyrics to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” to be about his own lactose intolerance. No one wants to follow “tidings of Lactaid and soy.”

After the third round of mulled wine, when Alex’s parents have called their drivers and his mum has retired to the guest room, June and Nora find themselves under the mistletoe. Everyone whoops and whistles until Nora finally pulls June in by her Christmas-light necklace and kisses her to a round of applause. June's cheeks turn red, but she looks pleased as anything.

"I can't believe it took this long for y'all to finally kiss." Alex says, to which Pez bursts into laughter. "What?"

"Alex," he says fondly. He drains his glass and pecks Alex on the forehead. "You gorgeous, stupid little turnip."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pez just shakes his head and strolls off to the kitchen.

"Wait," Alex says.

He frowns, like he does when he's trying to recall something incredibly minute and specific from his torts textbook. Then, suddenly, a light goes on, and his own mug is clunking on the lamp table, and he's running off after Pez.

"Pez, what's that supposed to mean?"

...

It's late morning the summer before Alex's last year of law school, 2023, and Alex is the first word out of Henry's mouth.

Truthfully, that's how he begins most mornings. On a Monday morning five time zones away, "Alex" pitched low to the screen of his phone. On a Friday when Alex's early lecture is cancelled, "Alex" in F major, muffled in the pillow as his body moves and the day stretches out before them. Half three the night before an exam, a hoarse "Alex," followed by, "turn the bloody light off and come to bed."

This morning, it's because David is barking at the door. A rainstorm is brewing, and if jet lag didn't have Henry dead under the bedclothes, the gray gloom would. Alex was the one who surfaced from sleep half an hour ago and blearily ordered three entire pancake breakfasts from some 24-hour diner a few neighborhoods over. He should have to get up and answer the door.

“Alex.” Henry mumbles, turning over.

Alex has got the quilt tugged up so high he’s only a shock of wild curls on white linens.

“Nnnghh,” Alex groans from the depths.

“Breakfast is here,” Henry says. The doorbell helpfully rings again. David howls.

Alex’s face appears, pouting. There’s a crease from the pillow down one of his cheekbones, a comet’s tail in a constellation of freckles. “Can you get it?”

Henry rolls his eyes but smiles. Inevitable.

He drags himself out of bed and pulls on the joggers and hoodie from last night’s flight. It’s not until he feels the breeze on his ankles as he descends the stairs that he realizes they’re Alex’s, not his.

On their doorstep, a pink-haired delivery girl is looking bored under her bicycle helmet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Henry says. He fishes a crumpled bill out of Alex’s pocket. “For your trouble.”

The girl pulls a face.

“Got any real money?” she asks. Her accent reminds him a bit of Alex’s mum.

He blinks down at her hand, which is holding a twenty-pound note. “Ah. Sorry again. Er.” He snatches his wallet out of the bowl on the credenza and gives her all the American dollars he has.

“She’s gone, Davey,” Henry says afterward to David, who’s now fretfully circling the living room. “You’ve protected us from another fearsome home invader. Well done.”

He lets David out into the back garden to do his business, then carries the food upstairs. Shockingly, Alex is awake and propped up against the headboard.

“I’m getting too old for red-eye flights,” Alex says, rubbing his eyes.

“Love, you’re twenty-five,” Henry reminds him. He deposits the bag on the nightstand, and Alex wastes no time tearing through the plastic and tucking in to his breakfast. “And I’m older than you.”

“Yes, you are. But like... I get why we have to go to Philip’s kids’ christenings. The cousins, though?” He sets to work smothering his pancakes in syrup. “I mean, at least my cousins would stack their baptisms. One and done, baby.”

Henry opens his mouth, prepared to answer with one of a thousand things. That the tabloids will have even more of a field day than usual if he stops doing his chores, that there will always be a church dedication or a swan upping or an appointment for a top hat fitting, that he’ll always be obligated to have one foot in London and one day they’ll have to choose where to settle down. It’s far from the first time they’ve had this conversation.

But then Alex shovels a massive bite of pancakes into his mouth and says, “Anyway, I love you. Do you wanna have June and Nora over tomorrow? We can play Mario Party again. I wanna see them get in a fistfight. Oh, and my dad’s in town next week, and he said to tell you he’s bringing that book you asked about–”

And that’s when Henry knows: He doesn’t ever want to go back.

...

It’s the end of spring 2024, and Henry is not eavesdropping, per se. He excused himself to answer a call from Shaan, which really could not be avoided. Shaan has taken to his new life as a househusband with predictable aplomb, and most of his calls these days involve Henry getting to talk to a baby who is clearly destined to become prime minister. He simply can’t send that to voicemail.

It’s the first time they’ve had room in the schedule for his mother to visit since Alex accepted his law job, which Henry understands very little about but has been assured is the most strategic next step for Alex’s career long game. When Henry left the room, Alex was still trying to explain it to Catherine. It all sounds terribly prestigious.

He is just returning to the sitting room with a fresh pot of tea when he hears his name from around the corner.

“–and the next morning Henry and Arthur vanished,” his mother is saying, “and when Uncle Algie called, I told him that Henry couldn’t go on the annual pheasant hunt because he was violently ill, but actually Arthur had taken him to Rome for two weeks on the set of that go on ridiculous car heist film he was working on, the one with, oh, what’s his name–“

“Jason Statham,” Alex says promptly, through wheezing laughter.

“That’s the one!”

“Loved that movie,” Alex says. “I can’t believe Henry got to be on set.”

“It was all Arthur’s idea, but he was right to do it. Uncle Algie is a dreadful bore, and Henry despises his son. Guilford. Did you meet Guilford at the wedding?”

“Henry made sure I avoided it.”

“Yes, that’s for the best,” Catherine says daintily. “He has matured into an absolute dickhead.”

Henry wishes he was in the room to see the way Alex sputters out, “Oh my God.” Alex always forgets that Catherine went to uni and married a commoner from Sheffield.

And then Alex sighs and says, “When Henry and I get married–”

Henry manages to recover the teapot before he drops it.

It’s not a surprise to hear Alex mention marriage. They’ve been sorting it out for years: political logistics and Alex’s child-of-divorce anxiety and a thousand questions about a royal wedding neither of them actually wants to have. He’s already bought an engagement ring, even, and judging by how tetchy Alex gets whenever Henry tries to put his underwear away for him, he’s not the only one.

But it is the first time he’s heard Alex mention it to his mother. He dropped it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been talking to her about marrying Henry for years. Henry supposes it’s possible he has been. Is this why Alex had tea with her in London last month and told Henry he wasn’t invited? Have they been conspiring?

They’re discussing hypothetical guest lists now, which cousins secretly hate one another and who wore an inappropriately large fascinator to whose birthday tea, but Henry isn’t listening anymore. He’s thinking of a cafe table in Rome, his dad waving over a second round of gelato.

In his memory, he’s nine years old, and his father is saying, Whoever you marry, Henry, make sure they think your mum is a laugh, because she is. She really is.

He clears his throat and finally rounds the corner. “Tea, anyone?”

...

It’s 2024, and nobody knows they’re engaged.

Granted, they’ve only been engaged for about three hours, but Henry is curious to see how long they can go. It feels nice to keep a secret that doesn’t have to be a secret. It’s more that they’re keeping it like a pet, or something especially beautiful from the garden that they’ve coaxed into a jar.

A record is spinning on the turntable, one of Alex’s, maybe the Joni Mitchell he borrowed from Bea. They’ve shoved their phones under the couch cushions and ordered a pizza the size of the moon, and now they’re sitting in the center of the living room floor, demolishing it. They kiss, then eat more pizza, then get distracted kissing again. Henry licks a streak of pepperoni grease from Alex’s forearm, which is a fantasy he didn’t know he had until he’s living it. They tangle up on the rug, and Henry decides he’ll take Alex sailing next weekend, or even out to the edge of the river, just to see him against a horizon.

Four-nearly-five years in, the main thing he’s learned is that Alex is a world without end. All Henry wants is to go on with him forever. To keep finding new favorite parts, to keep turning things over and studying their soft bellies and finding the best bits.

So, he will.

...

It snows on New Year’s Eve 2024. Alex looks out the window and shrugs off his coat.

The Young America Gala may be no longer, but Nora, June, and Pez aren’t to be stopped from throwing a New Year’s party, especially now that Pez has gotten his own part-time flat in the city. They’re the three fates of New York City’s holiday social circuit: birth (June, managing invitations), life (Pez, topless), and death (Nora, also topless).

“What if,” Alex says, turning to Henry on the foot of the stairs, “we don’t go to the party?”

“Nora will murder me,” Henry says. “She told me she’s not afraid to do that now that I’ve given up my title.”

“Murder is still a crime even if you’re not officially a prince.”

“Yes, but she said, quote,” he puts on his best American accent, “They can’t put me in the Tower anymore. Who’s gonna arrest me now? Mr. Bean?”

“Why don’t we just send Angus? It’s dark. Maybe she won’t notice.”

“Where’s your double, then?”

“We live in New York, I’m sure I can find a male model somewhere.”

“As always, sounding the very bass string of humility.”

“Is that fucking Shakespeare?”

“Henry IV.”

“I’m gonna give you a wedgie, you fucking nerd.”

In the end, it doesn’t take much to convince Henry to stay in. Lately, it never does. Alex texts June a flimsy excuse, and they toe off their shoes and relax out of their button-downs.

Henry does have to admit he’s exhausted, in the way that one only can be on the last day of the year, when every other day of the year piles way up behind it. It’s been a big one: Alex’s first law job, the endless press about Henry’s decision to surrender his title, the engagement, Bea’s wedding, the incident with the croquet mallets and the Dutch ambassador at Bea's wedding.

Sometimes Alex jokes that they squeezed it all into one calendar year because no headline can stick if there's another next week, but it's only half a joke. They've been bone-tired for months.

"I'm surprised you're the one who wants to stay home," Henry says. "I remember a young lothario who lived to ruin people's lives on New Year's Eve."

"Ruin?" Alex says. "That's not how I remember it."

"It certainly felt that way at the time."

They drift to the kitchen, past all the traces of the year. The dried flowers, the new scuffs on the floorboards. The box of bound manuscripts of Henry's first finished poetry-ish short-fiction-ish essay-ish collection. The holiday cards from senators and diplomats and old Texas friends, topped off with Alex's favorite of Rafael Luna and his astonishingly fit partner in matching Christmas jumpers. Henry would think Raf had been forced into it if it hadn't come with a case of beer and a note of thanks for letting him stay over the last time he visited Alex and had one too many tequila shots at drag bingo.

Alex withdraws a bottle of Clicquot from the refrigerator and says, "We're not washed, are we?"

“We're aging," Henry points out.

"That's right," Alex says, eyes immediately sparking at the opportunity. Henry preemptively sighs. "You're almost thirty."

"Almost twenty-eight is not almost thirty."

"It basically is. You're old. You'll be thirty a whole year before me. You'll be popping antacids and I'll be in the club, popping my p-"

"You're not even in the club now."

"I could be, I'm just choosing not to, because I don't want to deal with the snow. That's not aging, it's growth."

He slides Henry a glass of champagne and adds, "It's probably time for us to start talking about what's on your Do Before Thirty list, huh?"

Henry takes the glass and chooses going with Alex's bit over pointing out that he's entering his late twenties, not dying.

“I’ve done quite well on that front so far, actually,” he says. “Wrote a book. Started a nonprofit. Engaged to the love of my life.”

“Involved in an international sex scandal.”

“Shook the hands of all five Spice Girls.”

“Best dressed at the Met Gala.”

“Cried in the Water Lilies room at the MOMA.”

“Grew your hair out, then cut it all off.“

“Taught myself to make beef Wellington.”

“That one’s, uh, still in progress,” Alex hedges. Henry gives him an affronted look. “But, yeah! Definitely. And you got really good at scones.”

“That I did.”

“Right,” Alex agrees. “So what’s left? Streaking? Dropping acid? Having sex on our kitchen island?”

Henry takes a moment with that one.

“Having sex on our kitchen island?”

When the clock strikes the new year, the house is quiet. The timer on the light over the front stoop clicks off. The champagne bottle rests between two glasses on the edge of the sink, spent and sticky around the rim, a single soggy strawberry at the bottom of each flute. Miles out from their apartment, fireworks fight the snow over the East River, but in their kitchen in Park Slope, the only sounds are the two of them.

Henry, almost twenty-eight, presses his warm body to the cool marble and gets his midnight kiss.

...

“Do you know what today is?” Alex asks on a lukewarm September.

It’s 2025. He’s in the doorway of Henry’s study, where Henry has been all evening, answering emails.

“Hm? No.”

When Alex doesn’t immediately fill the silence, Henry looks up from his laptop screen.

“What is it?”

“Five years since the story broke,” Alex says.

It takes a moment for him to realize what story Alex means; there have been so many of them. But of course, he means that gigantic, terrible one. The one that changed their lives forever.

“Oh,” Henry says. He closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair and away from it. “Well. Hated that.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Zero out of ten. Would not do again.”

His tone is light and casual, but when he folds his arms across his chest, Henry can see his glasses in the front pocket of his flannel. It’s been months and months since the last time Alex didn’t feel confident enough to wear them.

For his part, Henry can remember much of that day, but not all of it. He remembers stirring sugar into his morning tea when Shaan walked in wearing an expression Henry had never seen before. He remembers Pez arriving like the cavalry in Gucci slippers, hustling Henry away from his handlers with the same graceful disdain he used to direct at Eton classmates who stared at them too much. He remembers Bea finding them in the music parlor and refusing to hear Henry’s apology, and he remembers Alex’s call and Alex’s arrival.

The funny part, though, is he can’t remember anything between Bea and Alex. He knows that Philip was involved, and there were stories on every news channel, and he spoke to his mother at some point. But the space in his memory where those hours belong is simply blank. His psychiatrist says it’s post-traumatic stress disorder, and Henry is inclined to agree, considering the two of them spent the entire following year recalibrating Henry’s anxiety and depression medication around the event.

Those hours will always be gone. There are things he will never get back.

Most of the time, though, when he thinks of that day, the second worst thing that's ever happened to him, he thinks of Alex's hand in his under a Buckingham Palace table. He remembers, clear as a bell, Alex's voice telling him they would survive it together. It happened to Alex too. It wasn't what they would have chosen, but it was what they received, and they've done their absolute bloody best with it.

He rises from his desk, crosses to the doorway, and gathers Alex up against his chest. Their size difference isn't that pronounced—Henry is taller but lean, Alex shorter but sturdy—but in moments like this, he's thankful for the way Alex's cheek perfectly aligns with the crook of his neck. He's grateful for how effortless it is to slip a kiss to Alex's temple.

Neither of them says anything else. It's all been said a thousand times, in speeches and through official statements and in the dark when it's only the two of them. It's enough to stand here in the center of the house, in the quiet, and let it hold their weight.

...

At the end of 2025, Henry has a bad day.

There's nothing specific that causes it. The days just happen like this sometimes, even with all the therapy and medication and supportive partnership and fulfilling creative projects in the world. There are other people, he supposes, who don't spend their lives waiting for the next bad day. He's had every bloody luxury but that one.

Alex comes home from work to find him curled up on the armchair in the study, staring out the window at the light-polluted night sky over the row of brownstones across the street.

“What are you doing?" Alex asks him.

"Looking for Orion," Henry deadpans.

Alex kneels on the rug in his tailored suit pants and rolled-up sleeves and rests his cheek on Henry's knee, the way he often does when Henry's in a mood. Henry's fingers slide into his curls. They've grown a bit longer in the past few months. Lately. Alex looks quite like he did when they met, except for the glasses and the stubble dusting his jaw.

“I’m tired of big law, “ Alex confesses. It would appear he’s in a mood too. “I know it’s only been a year and a half, but...I kind of hate it.”

Henry contemplates that, along with the dark circles around Alex’s eyes.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Henry tells him.

Alex looks at him like he did in that hotel room in Paris the first time they woke up together, like the only thing he knows for sure about what he’s being offered is that he wants it completely. It’s an intimidating look to receive, but it’s only ever improved Henry’s life in the end.

He kisses Henry’s knuckle, just below his ring.

“I have some ideas.”

...

In February 2026, a flu sweeps through Park Slope. Neither Alex nor Henry can agree on who gave it to whom first– Henry knows it was Alex, since he’s been up late consulting with his mum about a voting rights bill in Texas, and his immune system always suffers when he gets upset about Texas—but regardless, they’re trapped in the brownstone together for a week. At least Alex doesn’t have to work through his illness the way he usually does, since he resigned from his job last month.

Somewhere around day five, Henry realizes it’s the longest consecutive amount of time they’ve both been home in years. They always seem to be leaving or returning: rushing off to appearances, climbing out of security caravans in half-undone suits, meeting Cash at the curb at three in the morning with bags over their shoulders. It’s nice, in a way, to get reacquainted with this home they’ve built together.

While Alex naps, Henry paces the entire floorplan.

The first floor, with its long living room and the original beams and mantelpiece, which Henry had restored before he moved in, because he always has been precious about the history of things. Then the kitchen and the deep blue cabinets and the wide back window over the knotty pine dining table handed down from Alex's dad. Upstairs, on the second floor, the guest bedroom with all of his mum's preferred hand creams in the attached washroom and the sitting room with the shelf of swan figurines Pez started collecting years ago in a dramatic fit of June-related yearning. One more flight up to the top floor, with his study and Alex's office and the hall with their photo from Shaan and Zahra's wedding and, at the far end, their bedroom.

The bedroom is his favorite part of the house, and not only for the obvious reasons, no matter how much Alex tries to imply otherwise with suggestive eyebrows. He loves the high ceiling and the chipped plaster medallion of roses at the center. They picked out the bed together, and every morning that he wakes up in it, he gets to turn over and see Alex's loose pens and glasses wipes scattered atop the dresser and know that this, his life, is still real. Perhaps he likes the room best because it feels separated from every other part of the house, lifted up and bundled in, which is the first time he's ever been safe in a tower.

Most importantly, of all three levels of bay windows jutting from the redbrick front of the brownstone, only the one in the bedroom has a seat. They've filled it with velvet pillows and mossy green cushions, and once or twice a year, on one of their vanishingly rare slow days, Alex will climb in and fall asleep.

That's where he finds Alex when he eases into the room with a mug of soup in each hand. He recognizes the quilt wrapped around him: they slept under it in Alex's childhood twin bed the night Ellen won her second term, and then Alex crammed it into his suitcase and brought it back to Washington.

He stirs as Henry sets the mugs down on the dresser.

“Thanks,” he says in a hoarse voice.

Henry nudges in beside him, gingerly removing Alex's glasses from beneath his elbow before they get crushed.

"You know," Henry says, "I chose this house for the bay windows."

Alex blinks at him, fully awake now. "Really?"

"I thought you might like them. You always talked about the one you grew up with. Hoped they might make the place feel like home."

Alex smiles. "They do."

Henry looks at him in his quilt, sleep-mussed and flushed from fever and overdue for a shave, and he remembers that night in the yellow house in Austin. Before Alex led them back to his old bedroom, he peeled up the cushion in the living room window seat and showed Henry pages of elementary school scribbles still hidden there. And he told Henry that he thought once of hiding a picture there too, if only he'd had the nerve to tear it out of his sister's magazine.

Love, Henry has found, has a way of growing backward. You fall in love with a person in the present, and then every person you've ever been gets to fall in love with every past version of them. A sleep-deprived Georgetown freshman falls in love with an Oxford sophomore who's testing out undoing the top button of his shirts sometimes. A ruddy-cheeked teenager with his nose in a book loves a backtalking lacrosse captain. A boy comes home from school with perfect marks and sees a picture in a magazine, and the boy from the picture pauses on a palace staircase.

The crux of it is, he loves every version of Alex to ever sleep under that quilt. Everything else is mostly set dressing

"I'm having a thought," Henry says.

"Congratulations," Alex deadpans automatically. Then, "Tell me."

"This life we have here," Henry says. "This house. It's good, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course it is."

"But we could have a good life somewhere else too."

Alex frowns. "Like where?"

"Somewhere... farther from everything, maybe? Somewhere we could slow down, and things could be quieter, and you could do the work you want to do. I think I could use some time away from it all, honestly. Maybe I wouldn't even have to have a body double anymore."

Alex considers that for a long moment. They both know where Henry means, even if he doesn't say it. Besides New York and DC, and London on its best days, there's really only one place Alex would seriously consider living. They've joked about it before, but Henry's always thought it might be nice to spend a few years somewhere completely different than he's used to. A place where he could see the stars.

At long last, Alex sniffs and says, "You're gonna fire Angus? He was just starting to grow on me.”

...

“If you don't wake Bea up, you're gonna have to hear about her back spasms in the morning,” says a voice that is most certainly not Heath Ledger's.

Henry startles awake to find Alex leaning over his shoulder from behind the loveseat, curls everywhere. The room is dark, and the end credits are rolling.

"You're not home until tomorrow," Henry mumbles.

"Moved up my flight," Alex says. He's so close to Henry's face, he's gone a bit cross-eyed. His lips bounce off the tip of Henry's nose. "I missed you."

It's only been a few days, but the truth is Henry missed him too. He supposes he should be used to empty beds and time differences by now, especially when they began that way, but he suspects he'll never stop waiting at the door. You know what will be the best part of getting married?" Henry asks Alex.

"The line dancing."

"The way I won't have to miss you nearly as often."

Alex softens, then maneuvers himself over the armrest until he's draped across Henry's lap. David climbs on top of him and curls up on Alex's left buttock.

Letting go of the house has been hard, but this particular decision was easy, once they finally said it out loud. A gradual, careful withdrawal from public life, at least for a few years. They’ve given so much of themselves to the world and had the privilege of feeling a legacy take shape beneath them, but they need rest too.

It was June who convinced them, actually. Even now, there are certain things only June can say to Alex. Early in the spring, when she was finally transitioning out of her speechwriting job for Raf, she called Alex from Colorado and told him she was moving to New York to be closer to Nora and Pez, and she wanted to sublet the brownstone. When Alex pointed out that he was still living in it, she said, "We both know you've been looking at farmhouses in Austin for six months, it's time to shit or get off the pot."

(Henry loves his particular collection of Americans. They truly do say what's on their minds.)

The new house is beautiful. Henry's only seen it in person once, but the previous owner was a reclusive tech executive with shockingly good taste, so Architectural Digest featured it last year. He's had the article open in a tab on his phone for two months, and he scrolls through all those perfectly lit photos twice a day, getting high on possibilities. Lazy mornings in the wide sunroom, midnight dives in the lake. It's easy to imagine Alex mellowing into a brisket-smoking, tamale-rolling Texas dad out there, and it's just as easy to imagine them basking under cedar trees until their mid-thirties and then deciding they're ready for another round. The wonderful thing is, they can take their time either way.

It isn't a full release from their obligations, but it is the next step after formally relinquishing his title. More boundaries, more of their own rules about what they will and won't do. No royal wedding, but a private ceremony at the lake house and a honeymoon unpacking boxes. A job for Alex at a smaller firm where he can finally get his hands in the earth. A quieter life.

"You're right," Alex says. "You know what else is gonna be awesome about married-people life? We can have actual, real-life date nights. Just imagine it: free refills and bottomless chips and salsa."

"Oh, I've got another one," Henry says. “You can finally show me how to navigate an H-E-B."

“Baby, don’t talk dirty to me in front of company.”

“Please,” says a groggy voice from the couch.

“Hi, Bea.”

“Time’s it?”

“One in the morning.”

“Ugh.”

Grumbling and tugging a blanket around herself, Bea wakes Pez and the two of them head off to wash up before bed. The odds of Pez returning to the couch for the night or availing himself of their bed so that Alex has to sleep on the couch are just about even, based on six years of Pez falling asleep at their house. It’s a comfort to know that when they leave the brownstone and June moves in, Pez will still be making himself at home in it.

Downstairs, surrounded by boxes, Alex crawls out of Henry’s lap and slides a large shopping bag out from behind the loveseat. “I brought you something.” Alex says.

Inside the bag is a box made of the sort of heavy cardboard that augurs something expensive. He imagines Alex hurling his patched-up rough-ridden leather duffle into the overhead compartment of the airplane and then sliding this bag under the seat so carefully that there’s not even a crease in the paper.

He takes the lid off the box and unwraps layers of tissue paper to reveal a hat. A cowboy hat. It’s made of gorgeous, thick felt, with a cattleman crown and a satin lining. A nearly identical one has hung in Alex’s office since he moved in, though Alex’s is midnight black and this one is a warm, pale sand. Where Alex’s hatband has a small gold buckle, this one has a silver pin in the shape of an English rose.

“It’s a Stetson,” Alex says. When Henry looks up at him, his cheeks have darkened faintly. “I know it’s not really your thing, but you ride horses, and it’s kind of a big deal where I’m from to get your first Stetson, so I wanted to be the one to give it to you since you’re about to be an honorary Texan. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want–“

“I love it,” Henry interrupts.

Alex pauses, then breaks out in a grin. “You do? I was afraid you’d think it was a joke.”

“It’s the least ridiculous hat I’ve ever been given,” Henry tells him. “It didn’t even come with a matching tailcoat.”

“Nah, but maybe we can get you some Wranglers,” Alex says.

“Some chaps, perhaps.”

“I just told you not to talk dirty to me.”

Henry laughs and kisses him over the open box, thinking of the next year of their lives. Sunday morning fry-ups, swimming holes, a wedding cake that doesn’t wind up on the floor. Tomorrow he needs to ask if Alex checked on the bakery while he was in Austin, and if they have any more packing tape, and whether Amy’s daughter has gotten her flower girl dress yet.

Tonight, though, Alex is home a day early, and the house is making all its soft, familiar night-time sounds around them. No one sees in through the windows. No one comes in through the gate.

“Henry,” says Alex.

“Alex,” says Henry.

“You and me,” Alex says.

“You and me,” Henry agrees.

End.

Download as EPUB

Download as PDF

(Let me know if you have any problems with the links or files.)

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

kinda part 2 of the suicidal yuu thing, uhhhh that is a request?? kinda??? i really want to here your thoughts about it and one of the reasons why i sent it to you is because i think you have something amazing to add. (also because i love sad yuu)

Missing Yuu

How they mourn over the loss of their best friend— I kinda inspired/off topic sorry

TWs: GN Yuu. Mostly platonic Some have romantic subtexts like pining and such. In Vils, Jamils, and Idia’s it is implied more explicitly that Yuu took their own life. There are references to songs and movies from Yuus world, specifically Ponyo Time/Space +Mary by Alex G and BaBopByeYa by Janelle Monae. Game refernced but theyre listed in Idias section. (Also for any nerds ik that isnt how MKW’s ghost data works but shhh imagine the angst,

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul thought he was done mourning. It’s been years since you died, he actually remembers that entire month vividly to this day. How he was in his office, sorting through some papers and awaiting his tea from Jade. It took longer than expected. He would surely accept this from Floyd, but Jade of all mer? Disgruntledly, Azul gets off and goes out to look for the eel. He was only a few steps out of his office when he hears some faint sobbing. Oh dear, that's not good for business…

“Yer lying!” Floyd sobs as Jade holds onto his brother with a particularly grim expression, everyone in the lounge gone silent, each patron not daring to disturb the conversation unfolding out of pity. “Floyd, there is no reason to be mad at Deuce, he’s only the messenger.” “What’s going on here?” Azul asked sternly, getting ready to shoo out the Heartslabyul member. “Ah, there you are Azul.” The spade said, with defeat in his voice.

Nothing Deuce said registered in his head the minute he heard ‘Yuu is dead’. The words strung together were incomprehensible to him. Yuu? Gone? As if! That little prefect was always in everyone’s business! They went up against blots for the sevens sake! They couldn't be dead! But as Deuce continued to speak, the reality started to set in as they handed Azul a small box. “They wanted you to have this.”

The Lounge was closed for a few weeks afterward, the entire school seemed to be in shock. That entire month he couldn't even think right, his mind seemingly blocking out the existence of the prefect he grew to adore. It was only when he saw the twins mourning in their own ways, did it remind him. How Floyd would always keep the handmade eel plush Yuu made on his person, keeping it in the best condition possible despite his messy personality. Jade had a new accessory on his person as well, a small bag shaped like a Fly Agaric mushroom, it went with him everywhere even if it wasn't the most practical. In the gardens, Azul found himself wandering over to your small plot, where you kept your own crops, sitting next to Jade as he continued to care for your plants after your passing.

It was because of you, did he and the tweels he worked alongside closely become friends after all these years. A few years ago he couldn't even imagine seeing them as such, they were merely business partners, a means to an end. Yet now the three of them actually hang out or just… talk.

When he is alone at night does his mind wander as he opens the beat-up box to look at his own gift, memories flooding in from the device in hand…

You were in the VIP room, he doesn’t even remember why, when he heard you reference a few movies from your world. “It was good I ended up being summoned with some of my things, I honestly don't know what I’d do without anything from my world, especially my comfort shows.” They mentioned offhand, chopping it up with Floyd.

“Though we don't have mermaids in my world, we do have a lot of TV shows about them. I wonder how they hold up here?” Azul continued to scribble on his papers as he eavesdropped. “Oh, I know! What if we have a sleepover and binge-watch some of them, maybe you guys can rate how accurate or offensive they are!” Floyd practically squealed with glee at the idea, and he knew he had no choice in the matter.

It was the end of senior year now, and he was packing his things to head to his home in the Coral Sea. He also never thought he would go back there too, but he supposed spending some time with his family should do some good. As he packed everything out of his safe, he examined the box that he was given on that fateful day, old and torn up, and he opened it up again.

An alien laptop attached to a projector was inside. On a piece of paper were the password and log in. It was also ironically one of his best projects to demonstrate his magic comprehension. One of his finals was to prove he knew how to do a proper protection spell, and what better to protect than one of his most prized possessions, more valuable than the coins he loved to collect?

Azul remembers the praise he was given by one of the professors that visited NRC. The spell was one of the most powerful he’s ever seen! Not even a fingerprint could be left on the thing, and it was completely waterproof as well! But what was he wasn't expecting to be praised for was the device itself. “Now did you make this thing, Mr.Ashengrotto? I must say it is quite impressive! I have never seen this sort of technology before!”

The mage was blindsided by the praise, not even knowing how to react. He wanted to stop the professor, correct him, say that his friend was the one who made it, but the words seemed to die on his tongue. If he talks about you right now, he would cry, and if he cries that means you mattered to him, and he still doesn’t know how to feel about that. He didn’t even call you his friend when you were alive, calling such a term now seemed unfair. And yet you were. You are arguably the first friend he ever had. The first friend the trio even had, and he didn't even have the courage to consider you one until you died.

Azul held onto the box as he and his friends pass through the mirror, promising to all meetup and hang out again soon as they made their way home. His mother was the first to greet him in a tight hug as she rambled on about how much she missed him and how proud she was of him, how she made his favorite, and how she can't wait to celebrate his graduation. His grandmother greeted him from the kitchen as he and his stepfather carried in the few boxes he took with him back to his room.

His mother soon came in to help him unpack, and she stumbled across the old torn box from earlier. Azul didn't even realize she opened it until he heard it open and a familiar tune played.

Ponyo, Ponyo, Ponyo, Little fishie in the sea~

Tiny little fishie, who could you really be?~

Ponyo, Ponyo, Ponyo, magic sets you free~

“Ahahaha! Is this some sort of kid's show, shrimpy?” “Hey! Ponyo is for all ages, firstly! Secondly, it's my favorite movie and it's mermaid themed!” The prefect defended themselves from Floyd's teasing. Azul chuckled in agreement with Floyd's words as he made himself comfortable on the couch with Jade. “Well so far there is nothing offensive in this movie, however, I do find it offensive that you see us as children, Yuu.”

“I don’t! Im just trying to show you my favorite movie first!” Yuu bit back at Jade's snark as the tune plays, the prefect messing with the computer and the projector attached to it to project it onto the white curtains of their dorm. Azul never expected to even care about some stupid kid's movie, yet as it drew out he was completely invested. The brightly colored film even manages to keep Floyd enraptured until the end. Jade commented on how much of a delight it was.

They continued into the night, watching show after show, some corny, some fun. “This is far from accurate!” Azul huffs, “People actually watch this where you're from?” “H2O Just Add Water was a big deal for a while actually!” “I’m curious prefect, is this how you thought mers were?” Jade teased, leading to another mini-argument.

“Haha! Imagine if we actually turned into mermaids if we touch water though! That would be funny~” Floyd chuckled, reaching onto the table filled with food and snacks and shoving a handful of candy into his mouth. The atmosphere was lively, and the night was perfect, he had never been so relaxed before, especially around his dormmates, it felt almost domestic in a way— was this what it was like to have friends?

The very next day it was back to normal, but that stupid little movie kept playing in his mind. He would rather die than admit it was his new favorite movie, however, but it seems Yuu always knew. Their gift proved that.

Azul seemed to freeze in place as the sound from the laptop continued. “Son?” His stepfather asked as he watch the mer shake. He thought he was done mourning. A sudden sob of anguish escaped his throat as he nearly screamed, years of guilt and sadness coming out all at once. Azul sobbed into his parent's arms, choking back sobs as he apologized, stuttering out gibberish as he inked. He never told them about you, he never even told him about his overblot, but tonight, he will, you would have wanted him to heal.

Ponyo, Ponyo, Ponyo, Little fishie in the sea~

Tiny little fishie, who could you really be?~

Ponyo, Ponyo, Ponyo, magic sets you free~

Oh pretty fishie, will you swim back to me?~

Jamil Viper

His parents never gave him the time to mourn, even when Kalim told them it was okay. “You need to watch over him!” His mother scolded. “He is our employer's son! If anything happens to him—“ Jamil blanked out at the rest, his mind immediately shutting when he was getting yelled at for the sin of grief. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he would have probably yelled at them. Actually, he wished he did, it’s what you would have wanted for him.

Jamil never expected to be so close to you of all people, and he especially never expected you to understand him. But, you did. In fact, you stood up for him. He remembers how you would often distract Kalim for his sake, allowing him to get some much-needed rest from being at his beck and call 24/7. You helped him with his chores as well. He doesn’t even remember when you officially became his friend, it just felt so natural.

Finally, after all of these years, he had someone that cared about him, that listened to him, that understood him. He could never confide in anyone until you came around. He remembers vividly talking about his parents off-hand while you were in his room. He didn’t mean to vent about them, you just asked how they were doing since they sent him a letter and it all came out.

They barely even wrote to him, they only asked about Kalim, it's like he doesn't even exist! They don’t do this to Namja, not that they should, he loves his sister, but it is just so… frustrating. It’s just like he's just an extension of someone else!

He didn’t even realize he was crying until you put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m… I’m sorry.” Jamil whispered. “Don’t be.” You smiled at him, a warm, genuine understanding smile. You didn’t speak as he vented, and you didn’t try to offer solutions or pity, you just listened and validated him, the very first and only person who has ever done that. The topic soon changed to music, he thinks it's because you brought up some of the headphones he had in his room, and you both exchanged your opinions on the subject.

“The music here is so similar yet so different from my world, it's good don't get me wrong, it's just… strange.” “What is the music from your world like?” He asked as you swung your legs on the edge of your bed. “Uhh, what's genre you like? I’ll try to find something similar on here.” You held up your phone as Jamil started describing music he listened to.

After a moment, a song played from your phone. Beautifully unique instrumental unlike anything he's ever heard started playing. He started to understand what you mean by similar but different. The singer began to vocalize, but the words were utterly incomprehensible, the language unlike anything he has heard.

“Oh right, I forgot, language barrier, different dimensions, hold on!” The student took off the enchanted necklace given to them at the beginning of the year and handed it to him. Jamil hesitantly took it, clasping it around his neck. The minute it clasped around him, the lyrics suddenly started making sense.

I hear echoes of your laughter

In the corners of my mind

As I memorize each detail of your intricate design

In your hair, there is symphony

Your lips, a string quartet

They tell stories of the neon valley street where we first met

Now somewhere time pursues us

As we love in technicolor

But I dwell in silence of your words that move me like none other

This time I shall be unafraid

And violence will not move me

This time we will relax

This time we will stay in our movie

“Woah…” Jamil whispers. “I know trippy right?” You asked the interdimensional gibberish from their lips suddenly making sense. “Hearing you speak my language sounds so surreal, it suits you though!” You smile. “Oh if you like this song, I know another one you're gonna love!”

You were such a great friend, you still did everything you could for him despite your own situation, so he reciprocated. You couldn’t eat today because Crowley had you run all his errands? Good thing he made an extra lunch today, for no reason of course. No time to study because of that overblot that happened? Oh no, it sure would be a shame if his old graded assignments with the correct answers written on them got mixed up in your stuff.

He didn’t explicitly state his intentions, it would take him a while for him to truly open up and say what he meant because of his upbringing, but you didn't care. You understood. And he was here for you the same way you were there for him. When you complained about your master's most recent demands, he was there to listen the same you did when he complained about his.

He was devastated when he heard the news of your death. If it wasn’t for years of keeping his composure, he would have fallen apart then and there. He felt sick, the earth was suddenly spinning around him. Everything Crowley announced after was a blur, Jamil didn’t even realize Crowley was talking to him until he said his name for the third time. A small box was held out to him, note attached to it in Yuu’s handwriting.

Jamil took the box and continued to stare off into space until the announcements came to a close. Kalim was inconsolable as they walked back to the dorm. Kalim wiped his tears holding onto his own box, and both wordlessly went into their rooms, needing time for themselves. The minute the door shut behind him, Jamil let out a cry of pure agony, collapsing onto his bed as he wept.

For the next few weeks, Kalim tried his best to not rely on Jamil, even ordering him to take a vacation though he didn't have the power to do so, it was ultimately up to his family. Still, Jamil appreciated the sentiment. Kalim would try to cook for himself and do his own makeup, even if it wasn't the best. It was ironic that even in death you continued to help with Kalim, your death making Kalim more independent, and mending their relationship by proxy

Jamil hadn’t opened the box yet, nor read the note. He hasn't had the courage to, but tonight was different. He opened the small box, peering at the device inside. It was an MP3 player of sorts, he assumed, along with a pair of high-quality earbuds. His eyes watered too much to read the note properly, but he did see the password to the device. Pulling out the device, he noticed that the necklace Yuu used was also in the box.

Jamil clipped the necklace onto himself and entered the password. He placed the earbuds into his ears and swiped through the device. He paused as he saw the albums you created for yourself with all sorts of names. Study Playlist, Rock, Love Songs and Pining, and one simply titled For Jamil.

He shakily tapped on it. More tears rolled down his cheeks as he scrolled through all of the songs you put in it, all of them songs of genres or vibes you thought he would have loved. It would be too much to listen to it right now. He tapped back to the list of albums and kept scrolling though, abruptly stopping at one album.

This Time I’m Really Gonna Do It, it was titled. He tapped on it and immediately started the playlist. Most songs were about loneliness, homesickness, derealization, self-harm. Jamil sat, hunched over, laser-focused on the lyrics of each song.

Mary is the one that leaves you to rot.

She says I am real and you are not.

She says

I am real

And you are not…

Jamil began to sob again as he listened as it all sunk in for him. You were gone, and for the entire time you were here, this is how you felt. You were always there for him. You always comforted him. And he couldn’t do the same for you. If he was just there a little more, if he just truly asked and truly listened would you still be here? If he asked about your family and your home, would you have been able to find it easier here? If he were more honest…. As he sobbed another song started playing, lyrics resonating deep within him as it played.

Hold on tight to this time this place,

Cause everything you know will be erased.

You were born inside your head.

And that is where you’ll go when you are dead.

Vil Shoenheit

When he received the news of your passing, he decided to take a break from the spotlight, announcing his hiatus to his manager and his social media. He was less strict in ruling dorm, and much more forgiving of Epel's outburst of rage, knowing that he was mourning in his own way. Rook was a blessing with how much he understood and stepped up to give Vil a break, an unspoken thank you between the two of them.

Vil kept you in his mind while doing everything for a while. Even as he applied his skincare he found his mind explaining it to himself as if it was his first time. He imagined explaining the process to the overworked prefect who seemed to never have enough time to care for their skin, or afford it. “Now exfoliate gently in circles like so,” his mind would say, and he would close his eyes and pretend he was doing it to you. He never even got the chance to gift you the cleanser he made for you.

As he prepares his salads, he finds himself making an extra one on the side. He remembers how you would occasionally complain about skipping meals because of Crowley, and he would imagine that if you were still here, he would have given the meal to you while lightly scolding you.

When he applies his makeup, he experiments slightly in the way you would. You seldom wore makeup with how busy your schedule was. The few times he saw you with it, he remembered you mentioning that one of your friends did it for you. If you were given the materials and time, how would you have applied it? Would you use a brush or sponge for your foundation? Perhaps your eyeliner would follow the trends from your world?

As he led his club, he remembered what you would mention about the shows from your world and how you viewed magic from an Outlander's perspective. He found himself looking at some of the graphic novels and manga from your world that you lent him before you passed. You said they were made into movies, some good but most bad. As he flipped the pages he saw the sticky notes you wrote on each one, translating the foreign language for him. Your handwriting was comforting.

He wondered which one of these were your favorite as he read, admiring the storylines. How did movies work where you were from? Did you miss them? This comics would make for a good one, maybe he can direct one based on them…

Vil didn’t want to use social media, but he opened it up to go and find yours. Going onto some of the freshman’s socials, he found you in their followers. You were a private account, and he couldn’t see any of your posts. He mindlessly requested a follow, not expecting to be let in immediately— you must have already been following him, and he couldn't help but go through your entire account.

You didn’t follow a lot of people, and only your friends along with a few bots followed you. Most of the posts were of photos around NRC or of friends along with some inside jokes. Some posts consisted of memes or images that weren’t like anything of that of his world, captions talking about how much you miss home. The horrible realization of you being an Outlander seemed to sink in even more at the caption. No one here truly knew you, you had very few to remember you. Your family will never even know what happened to you, that you died. Vil shut off his phone, regretting his decision to reopen Magicam.

The Dormleader even found himself eating a bit unhealthily, in moderation of course. He remembered how you would practically shove everything down your throat before having to go off and do your next task without any etiquette whatsoever. He even remembers Epel saving up to buy junk food and sweets to give to you as gifts. Apparently, you couldn't afford them or had nothing like them in your world. He even remembers the captions of you complaining of only eating one thing all day and such.

He requested Epel to tell him some of your favorite desserts you enjoyed or the ones he planned on getting for you, perhaps he could understand you more if he ate them, or perhaps consume them for you since you never got the opportunity to enjoy them. Epel had no use for his gifts anymore, so he shoved most of them into the communal fridge.

In one of his runs, Vil noticed that the freshman’s mood seemed to sour more as his phone continued to ping. “Epel. Your phone. Either turn it on silent or respond.” Vil reprimanded. “Ugh, I can't! They keep finding me on everythin’! Even harrasin’ my folks at home!” Vils brows knitted together, “What are you talking about?”

“Ever since you followed Yuu or something like that I’ve been getting a buncha DMs and stuff asking if I knew anything about you or who Yuu is to you, seriously it’s driving me insane! It's happening to Ace and the others too! Assholes doxxed me and even got my number so I can't just block em.” Epel wiped away a tear that threatened to fall. “Can't even be left alone to mourn…”

“Let me see them.” Vil opened Epel's social phone, seeing notification after notification pop up. Opening his social media, he saw that even with the restricted access and privating of his account, almost all of the comments were about him.

>Hey! Hey! Hey! Do you know Vil???

>Please DM me for an interview!

>Hello there Mr.Epel, do you know a person named Yuu?

>Do you know who Yuu is to Vil??? Are they like together or something???

The sight made Vil feel sick as he turned off the phone and handed it back to Epel. “I’ll take care of this Epel, I’m sorry you have to put up with this.” Vil knew making a simple announcement wouldn’t be enough. He sighs as he sends a message to his manager, requesting her to get him an interview.

***

Vil sits up straight on the seat across from the interviewer, going over introductions and greetings as the camera rolls, broadcasting everything live. The interview goes smoothly. Vil already has his answers to simple questions about his career memorized. “So, Vil, I’m sure you are aware of the recent news going on about who you followed.” Vil nods, throat suddenly going dry. “Yes, I didn’t know that it would blow up if I’m being honest.”

The interviewer laughs for a moment. “So who’s this ‘Yuu’ person now? It’s not every day you follow a private personal account, they anyone special?” Yes, yes they are Vil thinks. Vil takes a deep breath. “I actually want to address the recent drama regarding them,” Vil pauses to hold back a stutter, it was strange, why was he being so emotional now of all times?

“Yuu is…” There were so many ways to describe them, but nothing came out. “They are no longer with us. They have passed away recently and…” Vil wiped away tears forming in his eyes. “I want to ask everyone to please stop harassing everyone, they are all— we are all mourning their loss and…” Vil suddenly chokes back a sob, and the weight of it all suddenly starts to sink as grief envelops him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m going to have to stop this interview here, I need… I need some time for myself…”

Vil stands up and goes off-screen, covering his mouth with his fist as he walks off. On the car ride back to NRC he hesitantly turns on his phone, looking at the notifications that pop up. Opening his Magicam, he looks through some of his comments, most of which are now apologies from overbearing fans and inquiries about his mental state. One notification stands out from the rest, a small red dot near his messages. Tapping on it he sees a DM from no other than Neige LeBlanche himself asking if he was alright and that he was always here for him.

“How could you forgive everyone around you for mistreating you?” The blond asked the prefect in front of them. “Everyone here has treated you horribly.” The prefect merely shrugged, “It’s much better to make a friend out of an enemy than to destroy them, after all my first meeting with Ace and Grim was far from perfect.” They chuckled before sipping on their drink as they sat across from the model. “If I started shutting out everyone because of a few bad experiences, I would have never met you. Besides, I can't let things get to me that easily!” The last part is now ironic as Vil reminisces.

Vil wiped another tear, before pressing accept on the DM request.

Idia Shroud

It was like it never happened. You were just offline, the Shroud reasoned upon seeing your profiles on everything no longer active. To an outsider, it was like Idia didn’t care, he continued on his computer without a tear shed.

To Ortho, however, it was obvious that everything he was doing was to preserve what was left of you. You were summoned with a few items, one of them being some portable gaming device that was now his. Idia remembers when you first showed it to him when he was curious about how games were from your world. He remembered you were a bit upset that you couldn't play a majority of the games together as it required two devices, and Idia being as tech savvy as he was merely snickered before hooking up the device to his computer and copying the files.

A bit of coding and emulating later, the young man now had an entire library of interdimensional games on his pc for him to enjoy, and now he can join your sessions online. From farming sims to FPS, he thoroughly enjoyed all of it, fascinated at how similar yet different everything is. Certain buttons are mixed up, common gaming terminology from his world wasn’t used.

He would often join you in all sorts of random games. Even games he never thought he would enjoy like that weird ‘Skate 3’, ‘Power Washing Simulator’, ‘Raft’, ‘Animal Crossing’ or even ‘Stardew Valley’. It was fun to visit your farm or island, or to skate with you, or even to power wash things. There were so many fun and unique games that your world had, and since your passing, he wanted to try and share it with everyone. He didn’t have time to mourn with how busy he was!

The games you brought over made him happy, and now he wanted to share that feeling with everyone else in a way to honor you. The media wondered why STYX of all companies started releasing a bunch of free games to download. The only thing they charged money for was the soundtrack, where all of the proceeds went to mental health and suicide prevention programs.

All the time he spent on his computer was him testing every game you had and adjusting them to work on these world’s devices with ease. Occasionally when he got to a game you especially adored, he would add a few features that he remembered you mentioning wishing were in it before uploading them. Each game's credits had you listed in them as one of the creators as well.

When he wanted to take a break, he ended up playing his new favorite game, Skate 3. He didn’t necessarily care about the gameplay however, rather it was a feature he learned about only after you died. Even when your friends were offline, their character would occasionally appear and skate with you. It was the only way he could ever hope of playing with you again, and every time he finds your character, he pretends that for a moment you are in your dorm on your couch hopping on with him.

He still on occasion opens your other games and cares for your Animal Crossing island, your Minecraft dog, or crops in Stardew Valley. Ortho would also occasionally play one of those multiplayer games with him too like Mario Party, Halo, Terraria, or Smash Bros. Ortho was mourning you as well, you were like another big sibling to them. He would still play the Minecraft world you all shared and visit your house, adding decorations to it as he progresses to include you in a way.

The kid hated whenever someone misinterpreted his brother's actions, often passionately correcting before getting emotional over the thought of what he was doing. He's preserving them, but why did he have to do so already? They were so young.

Idia was on the last few games he needed to upload. He looked over at one of the first games you introduced him to, an emulation of Mario Kart Wii.

“Yeah it’s pretty old but it’s pretty nostalgic to me. I used to play it with my family all the time! It’s one of my favorites! I managed to move all my ghost data onto here too! Still, hold the record!” You beamed proudly as you showed the two brothers. “Ah, you appreciate oldies too huh?” Yuu nods. “If only I downloaded more before I came here. I think you would have loved some of the classic games we had.”

Idia loaded up the game with you, hooking up your device to the big screen in his room so you could all play. Ortho grabbed his favorite controller, and you all chose your characters to race as. Sure, you had the home-field advantage, but he’s played tons of racing games before! He has this in the bag.

The pair never stood a chance. With every map, you seemed to know a perfect shortcut, a perfect glitch, a perfect setup to always come out in first place. Even when the two said you had to play fair and you complied, you still easily beat them both while humming the music under your breath. Yet despite the frustration, it was still fun, especially since you included Ortho in everything as well.

Idia loaded up the game again, for old time's sake. He didn’t put much thought into the map or character he chose, he was too busy imagining that day you all were together, laughing and exchanging the things you loved. Rainbow Road was loaded up, the hardest track in the game and your favorite one, he remembered how much you laughed at his misery when he played on it. A few extra carts appear in the track that weren't the bots he was playing against, they were translucent much like ghosts, and had names over each one.

One of them he recognized as yours. As he began, he saw the ghost carts glided across the road. It was then he realized that these were the previous top three records that were saved. Idia wasn’t thinking, as his competitive streak overtook him. In the very first round, he beat the one in third place, putting in his name ‘Gloomurai’. He played a few more times, each time optimizing his route and techniques to get faster with each run. He’d even watch your racer’s techniques so he could copy.

After what felt like hours, he finally beat your character's time, and mentally celebrated when the option to put in his name popped up. The small smile on his face suddenly faded for a moment as he thought back to what you said. “I used to play with my family all the time!” You said. “It’s one of my favorites!”

Idia’s hands shook. When you showed him this game, it was obvious you adored it. He even caught you playing it by yourself a lot. Those other names, were they your family? Your friends? The realization hit him. This wasn’t your favorite game just because of nostalgia, it was because you still play with your family.

All those other ghosts he beat, they drove the exact same route, the exact same way your loved ones did and he overwrote them, and now, he overwrote you on your favorite route. Not only did he get rid of you, but he got rid of the only trace you had of your old life. Panicking, Idia dove into the files of the game, looking through everything he could see if there was any way he could save your data, frantically scanning each line of code. He knew the answer in his head though, the minute that box popped up, it was deleted instantly.

Idia suddenly stopped, clenching his fists. He didn’t care that your ghost was probably on other tracks. That one was your favorite one. He got rid of you. He got rid of you on your favorite game. The sadness finally caught up to him, he was too exhausted to keep coding at this point.

“Idia?” Ortho called into his shared room with his brother. “Idia? Your heart rate is acting up on my scanner—“ Ortho creaked open the door to see his brother with his head in his hands, violently sobbing. “They’re gone.” He mutters. “They’re gone.” Ortho shut the door behind him, floating over to where his brother was, and pulls him down to hug him. “It's okay,” the boy soothes. “They still live in you.”

[3cremepie3]

Slip!

Jade Leech x reader Smut/ fluff 18+

.

.

.

.

Synopsis- After taking a fall down the mountain Jade takes care of you! Quiet loving sex with the leech bro.

A/n- I just realized I didn’t write for him. So after weeks of writing and editing here he is. Also p.s this is long ash.

Warnings - mentions of injury, slight dark humor, saliva, multiple creampies, cursing, overall sloppy sex, sweat, strange dick shape

“Welcome Y/n.” Jade smiled down at you waiting underneath a large tree. “Hi, Jade.” You huffed out of breath from the long trail you had to walk to get here. “Don’t tell me you're tired already that wasn’t even a quarter of the way to our destination?”

“Nah that was nothing.” You lied trying to catch your breath. “While then let’s start walking,” you cheered!” You leaped over a large log and onto the walkway. Your boots squeaked as you walked through the numerous muddy paths.

“Thank god I found these at ramshackle,” you noted. “Yes to do these activities you have to have a sturdy pair of footwear,” Jade spoke. “I made that mistake my first time walking up here.” His voice was almost drowned out by a nearby stream so he spoke louder.

“I could barely stand while working at the Lounge the next day.” I know Azul probably didn’t let you have a break either,” you added. “You guessed right but luckily I didn’t have a shift the after so I was okay.” Just let me know if you need a break alright?”

“Right,” you nodded. Jade took note while you both walked even though you saw these same rocks and tree’s over and over. “How do you have so much to write down?” It’s the same scene over and over again.”

“Maybe I’ll find something new one day it’s always good to keep a new perspective on things.” Like, let’s use this rock.” He bent down and picked up a rock. At first, I thought it was a metamorphic rock that’s very common.” But looking closely I can see it’s a sandstone which is still common but still you get the point.”

“So it’s always good to keep an eye out?” Yes, try to find me something pretty we need better pictures.” Will do!” Now your eyes were scanning every surface. You thought of picking up a frog but it leaped away. Then you pointed to a bird but it flew away.

A bunch of mushrooms hung off a branch so you were gonna point those out but he said something that was living. “Ooo found something!” You went to grab the beautiful creature. “Stay just like that don’t move a muscle,” Jade demanded. You did as follows so he could snap a pic. It flew off of you going back to its business. “Come look Y/n.” Aww!” You gushed looking at the butterfly that landed on your nose.

“This is perfect for our club poster,” Jade chuckled. “Hell yeah it is I found you two pretty things,” you joked. “Yup you’ll attract more club members.” Am I that fine?” Yes, are you blind to others' attraction to you?”

“I must because I had not one clue I was the “It girl” or whatever you want to call me.” Do you think everyone just asked you to come to their club meetings with no motive?” You thought back to all the proposals people had given you over the months. You were even allowed to attend their events if you wanted to.

“I thought that they just wanted my company?” I’m a good friend once you get to know me,” you pleaded. “Well you never come so they wouldn’t know that.” Not true I’m here with you today,” you called into question. “Now I can brag to Floyd about this his mood is sure to sour.” I wasn’t ever gonna go to basketball with sweaty high schoolers that are gonna yell at me when I miss. That seems like an absolute nightmare.”

“Yeah they wouldn’t go easy on you,” he chuckled. But I’m glad you're here with me.” Yes even though you scare me sometimes well most of the time!” I still rather be in this club than anyone else’s.” Thanks for coming y/n. For a long time, I thought I would always be alone. But somehow I’ve gained a companion.”

“Yup for now on I’ll be the best partner you can ask for Jade.” Y/n there’s something else I’ve been wanting to ask you.” You paused your actions to look back at him. Before he could speak his expression seriously you got distracted by the rain. It started to fall suddenly and heavily like a blanket of snow. “Does it usually rain on this mountain?” Yes, that’s why I brought these.”

He handed you a yellow poncho. “Up ahead there should be a resting area we can wait there until the rain clears.” Okay, let’s get there fast my boots are getting soaked.” You dashed ahead of him not focused on your footing. “Wait it’s slippery up there L/n!” He tried his best to warn you but it was too late. You already slipped on the stone steps. “Fuck why did I wear high waters!” You cussed looking at the gash in your leg.

“I’ll clean up your wound soon.” For now, let me carry you.” Are you sure I’m pretty heavy,” you warned. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he shushed you. Afterward, you didn’t protest as he picked you up bridal style. Despite the added weight, his steps were stable and he didn’t slip. “I'm sorry Jade I didn’t mean to be dead weight.”

“We got our mission accomplished so I don’t mind.” Besides you’re not heavy.” He bounced you up and down in his arms. “Ah,” you screamed thinking you were gonna fall down the hill. “I forget how strong you and your brother are.” You could probably deadlift Jack.” He didn’t look anywhere near tired even after bringing you further to the rest stop.

Which you now saw was a supply shed. He dropped you on a recliner that was in the corner. “This is your idea of a rest stop?”

“Yes now Stay still,” he directed. He pulled a small first aid kit out of his backpack. “At least someone came prepared.” You laughed at yourself who only brought your outfit and a half-eaten granola bar. “I always get hurt while up here.” Especially when I was newer like you I scraped my legs a lot.” I know just the thing to treat your injuries.”

He pulled out a small bottle of alcohol. “This is going to sting .” He explained to you all while holding that same unreassuring smile. “Wait!” I’m scared.” Sorry I know I’m such a baby,” you frowned. “This has to happen Y/n I’ll be here to guide you through it.” Fine just do it,” you blurted.

He began to pour the alcohol on the scrape. You grabbed his hand out of instinct squeezing tight on the large and long fingers of his. “All done.” He patched you up thoroughly then leaned your leg on the chair. “I think we should stay here until morning.” My weather predictor says there’s gonna be a storm.”

The whole time he was talking you couldn’t focus since you just now realized you were holding his hand. “Such a gentleman,” you spoke aloud. “What was that,” he interrupted. “I didn’t think I said that so loud… but I did mean it.” Thanks for all your help Jade I would’ve probably had to camp in some tree stump if you weren’t here.”

“I’m not so good at taking care of myself. But your pretty caring I can see that in the way you treat Floyd.” Thank you that was nice of you Y/n and… “About that thing earlier Y/n that I was trying to tell you.” Oh yeah, you weren’t able to finish I’m sorry that I interrupted you.” No problem as long as your listening now.” He clasped his other hand over both of yours encasing them with warmth. “I didn’t need your help to take pictures for the club.” I brought you out here for another reason.”

Silence filled the shack and the only thing you could hear was the rain tap in the background. “You brought me in these secluded woods to eat me?” You joked thinking it was funny but other questions ran through your mind. What was he planning to do with you? Was Jade asking you out? Your mind couldn’t even process it correctly. You stayed frozen in shock for a minute before his lips on one of your knuckles brought you back to earth.

“I hope you can find it in you to answer me.” It doesn’t have to be soon I’ll wait however long it takes.” Wait you’re serious Jade this isn’t some rude prank or scheme you and Azul boiled up?” No, I would never go as far as I plan to go with you,” he admitted.

“Just how far do you plan to go?” You smirked catching his flirtatiousness. “If your comfortable I wanted to try third base?” But today I’ll only be servicing you, my sweetheart.” He leaned over on the corner of the chair to kiss you.

While doing so his hands trailed down lifting your legs to each side of the chair. He sat up then squeezed himself in between your legs. Now he was impossibly closer smothering you into a drool-sharing kiss. You could feel him smile against you as you begged for air against him. But his tongue held you in a tight lock.

Your hands clasped his hair and your legs locked around his back. For a moment you even forgot about your injury blinded by lust. Finally, you broke apart. Worn out from the heat of the moment your leg dropped remembering the pain it once beard.

Jade looked at you one last time for permission before sliding your pants off. If only you’d known you would’ve worn your cutest panties. But Jade didn’t seem to give a damn after kissing your clit through them. “I did bring you deep in the woods for this.” Somewhere far where I know no one will bother us.”You shivered at the straightforward action while he laughed finding you too sensitive for your good.

“Try to stay still,” he directed. Even after his direction, you were still squirming in his strong grasp as he liked up your panties. His fingers lightly followed the path he made. Your underwear was completely drenched in your essence by the time he pulled them to the side. If he didn’t have patience he would’ve torn them off but he much preferred to keep their ruin so he could use them later.

He spat a globe that rolled down to your fluttering hole. You watched his every move your body reacting to every movement of his in anticipation. He paused completely his fingers just a few centimeters from your clit. He wouldn’t be a leech if he wasn’t at least a bit malicious. The noises falling out of your mouth were embarrassing. Jade could tell how uneasy you felt as his other hand worked his way up your shirt.

Your bra soon fell on the chair. You gripped the sides for support so your hands wouldn’t tangle in his hair. You wanted nothing more than to slam his head down on your cunt. You could feel his heavy breathing as his sight focused on yours.

“Please I can’t wait any longer,” you groaned. If you didn’t have such a grip on the chair then you would’ve touched yourself by now. “You’re so impatient.” You just really want my tongue that bad huh?” Yes please, I need you.”

“Just wait a little longer.” He kissed the area around your hole. You waited for what felt like forever you were even more soaked than the ground outside by now. You couldn’t wait for another second his smooching was too stimulating. Your hands moved from the side of the chair and into his hair.

You would probably come to regret it later but for now, you needed the pleasure. He groaned his supply of air being cut off since you stuffed him in your fat cunt. “Ahh finally,” you whined. “You’ll come to regret this later once I start I won’t stop.”

He wasn’t lying he licked you in all the places you needed until you were creaming all over his tongue. The first time you felt good your orgasm was powerful. You tightened the grip on his hair. The second time felt odd to you. Never before had you been so sensitive after an orgasm.

Your clit which he rolled around meticulously was now throbbing. “This feels weird.” You mewled feeling a new sensation rocking through your body. “Just let it all out no need to hold back.” Your body began to spasm your back arched off the chair and your head fell back. You hadn’t realized what you’d done until you looked down at Jade's ruined face.

“Ah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make a mess.” You tried your best to help him reaching for a shirt to dry him off. But his grip on your legs tightened. He forced them back open again and began to feast. Maybe it was the merman in him but he loved it when you squirted. So he was gonna make it happen again.

Only this time his fingers filled your hole pumping you while his thumb rubbed on your overworked clit. He moved them faster and faster until the familiar feeling came back to you. “So good! So good, so good,” you chanted. He was hitting a spot you never thought you could reach.

Your juices dripped down his fingers but he didn’t care continuing to pump in and out of you. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s possible to get this wet.” You're making a mess everywhere but it’s nothing I can’t lick up.” It took you until now to notice his tongue wasn’t normally shaped. You couldn’t tell since you’ve never gotten head before. It was long and pointy enough to make your toes curl as it filled you.

He switched in and out with his tongue and his fingers his pace was slow. But the preciseness of it all had your legs crushing his head in between your thighs. Another orgasm hit you and he achieved his goal of making you squirt again. “I don’t think I can cum anymore.” That’s an impossible statement Y/n of course you can still cum look at how you're taking my fingers.”

Despite your begging, he didn’t let up erasing orgasm after orgasm out of you. You lost count of how many times you came your mind turning to mush. The sounds of your lovesong intensified as did the thunder that almost shattered the window. But you knew you were safe in his grasp. Your body jolted with each vibration his tongue let out.

You bit your hand embarrassed by the sounds you were making. But he removed your hand from your mouth. If you had to hear his groans as he ate you out he wanted to hear your reactions too. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.” Or I’ll stop altogether,” he threatened.

“No please don’t stop,” you begged. If you could feel this good just from his fingers how would his dick feel? It was all you could think about. You became unaware of your surroundings letting the pleasure take over.“I need you to fuck me.” Please I’m begging you!” Anyone walking nearby could probably hear you scream these slutty statements but you couldn’t care. Not when he complied pulling away from you. His face was smeared with your juices and his hair was ruffled. He looked a mess but nowhere near as worse as you.

Your mascara was running down your face for quite a few years fell. Also, your lips were swollen to perfection to him they looked biteable. And your body was hot and flushed with sweat it added a glow like no other to your beautiful skin. However, at the moment you couldn’t find a reason to hate it. Maybe the moonlight and the rain consumed you. Or maybe it was the kiss he pulled you in. The aftertaste was strong this time since you could taste it yourself.

“I have something to share with you before we continue.” What’s that Jade,” you said hastily. “My dick is different than most people.” It’s one part of me that only half changed when I turned human. That’s why I didn’t want to just pull it out.”

“You’ve already excepted every imperfection of mine.” So, of course, I’ll accept yours baby.” His smile returned to his face. He was quick to pull his cock out his pre dribbled on your thigh.“Okay,” you huffed. You were hesitant he was large as you expected but way thicker than you could handle. His cock had ridges that you could feel as your fingers traced. As you felt it he began to get slimy.

“I can’t wait much longer Y/n are you ready?” I- I don’t know if I can handle this.” I made you lose enough now relax love.” He slipped his cock into you after a little resistance. Immediately you tensed the stretch knocking the air out of your lungs. But after a few of his sloppy strokes, you felt good. Your cunt which had previously been prepared was now slimy with his slick.

“How are you feeling Y/n?” He already knew the answer by your face. Your eyes were rolling in the back of your head. He was hitting so deep inside that you began to see white. It didn’t take long for you to cum. He was quick to follow. His cum flowed back in and out of you as he continued to fuck you threw his orgasm.

Your body collapsed to the side of the chair. He lifted your leg so he could still have access to you’re drowning cunt. His strokes were slow and his hips snapped forward once your cunt craved more. You were both still sensitive from your highs that occurred not even a couple of minutes ago; consequently, the round was short.

The base of his cock was covered in a ring of your cream. Things weren’t only looking sloppy but they sounded sloppy. The sound of wet smacking filled the walls. Your body was tired but somehow you were able to keep up with his thrust throwing your ass back on his toned body. You didn’t having speak since you were able to see every emotion he wanted to convey through his smile.

He littered your neck with kisses and you littered his body with scratches. You would have felt bad but he didn’t care. The pain was nothing to him all he could feel were you milking him dry. His dick throbbed inside you. You could feel each vain and ride budge as he came inside you once again.

“I can't stop now not ever,” he whispered. “Please stay with me and take it.” His hand moved your head which was rolling back to his. “Don’t pass out I know it feels good but you gotta stay with me.” He spoke while thrusting into you. Your body was overstimulated each time he moved you gushed at him.

This continued after you moved through many positions. it didn’t matter how outlandish they were as long as he could see your face. Your injuries weren’t considered they couldn’t matter right now. “It’s too dark to leave we would get stranded.” He decided but you could tell it was just an excuse to stay with you and keep making love.

Before you knew it the morning had swept over you both. You awoke both of you collapsed in the chair. You were cockwarming him so you removed yourself from the previous rounds of cum he loaded into you dripping out.

“So this wasn’t a dream,” you confirmed. “Well, I’m glad I slipped!”