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yuebinnie · 8 days

Text

Proverbs 5:19

☾ Pairing : Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x f!reader

☆ Warnings : mdni. Priest!Alastor, implied chubby!reader, noncanon Alastor, dubcon, coercion, blasphemy, abuse of authority, blood kink, blood drinking, squirting, multiple orgasms, fingering (f receiving), cunnulingus, catholic prayers used in a sexual context, scriptures used to coerce, cum eating, size kink, loss of virginity (implied, not talked about), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, literally just smut

☾ WC : 9.8k

☆ A/N : Taking a break from Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea to write Alastor smut ^^ This contains heavy Christian imagery, so if it's something you are uncomfortable with, this fic might not be for you! I really enjoyed writing this; it's my first time writing smut for Alastor, so hopefully I do not disappoint you all. I also posted the fic on AO3, if you'd prefer reading there. Have fun!

There was something about going to church that felt incredibly soothing. The deafening silence every time you walked in during the early hours of the day, steps echoing against the painted ceiling and colourful rose window, the shadows dancing behind the burning wicks of the candles set on each side of the main aisle, the smell of dust dancing in the air like a reminder of how desolate the people who came to visit truly were. You had not always been religious, but you had found peace in believing that there was a divine truth, that being good in this life would give you eternal bliss.

The church was a small one, and an old one; how it was still standing you had no idea. It was annexed to a small decrepit churchyard with moss-covered headstones that dated from at least two centuries ago. To any passersby, it'd be believed to be abandoned, as the outside of the building was quite literally falling apart, the bricks slowly eroding and the tiles covering the roof covered with the same moss as the headstones. The exterior appearance did not matter however, only the inside did; that's where God resided after all.

Despite its age, the inside and of the church was well kept. Yes, the rose window was cracked, and, as an attempt to keep the place as pure as possible, electricity had never been installed. The candles did the job of keeping the inside lit, and as for the temperature, well, dressing warmly was mandatory during the colder months of the year. The benches were old and the varnish that had once covered them was long gone; dents and chips could be found here and there, but they were still sturdy. The altar was small and simple, a wooden thing settled on a small stage that hovered only a few inches above the floor. Near the entrance sat a confessional which reeked of mould, but in the absolute presence of God, the smell was easily forgotten.

You had a habit of going to pray most days when you were not bedridden from the exhaustion of spending the night reading your favourite verses. 5 AM; the perfect time to pray, just as the world welcomed the sun's warmth and light. Very rarely did you meet anyone else; it had happened a few times, mostly old people nearing death coming to ask for absolution for their sins. Otherwise, the only person you had seen was the priest, whom you only had spoken to once or twice. He would look at you while you kneeled and mumbled prayers and verses, a smile plastered on his face.

It was the only downside of it all, that unsettling presence. The priest, a handsome man you had apologized to God for finding attractive, was always smiling. It was a bone-chilling sight; it made you feel as though he could see right through you, like he had access to every single thought that cluttered the inside of your mind. He had asked for your name once and had told you to have a 'delightful rest of the day'. That day had turned out to be horrible, as you had learned your grandmother was diagnosed with stage four cancer and only had a few months left. You had prayed for her, but God had decided to take her, nonetheless. Your subconscious had linked the priest's words as a direct cause of your grandmother's tragic diagnosis, and you had tried your best to avoid talking to him ever since.

When you woke up that morning, sweaty and feeling stickiness between your thighs, you felt sick to your stomach remembering the dreams that had plagued your mind in your slumber. A faceless man, dragging his lips down your stomach, his fingers touching your body in a way that was so sinful; the only logical explanation was that you had been visited by an incubus, an agent of evil. God was testing you, letting evil reach you to see if you'd be as faithful as Job or if you'd succumb to sin like Eve had. You cleaned yourself and changed your nightgown to proper clothes, putting a slightly warm coat on before leaving your house.

The sun had not yet started to show itself, and a thick fog floated above the quiet streets. The sky was covered with grey clouds that seemed to hang low, you wondered if you could touch them if you reached up, but your mind was too preoccupied with your predicament to try and touch something so close to Heaven. Mind running faster than a hare trying to escape a wolf, you tried to convince yourself simple prayers would do, but a loud voice kept coming back, telling you this could only be forgiven by confessing. The thought of having to talk to the priest whom you had convinced yourself was the catalyst of your grandmother's death made you want to cry, but the thought of failing God and disappointing Him was far more upsetting. You reached the church as the first rays of light made the dew covering the Earth glisten, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Your eyes fell upon the priest, who was bent down in the middle of the aisle, a long match in his hand as he lit the candles up. You froze, your eyes running across his shoulders and back. The door closed loudly behind you, and you jumped; the man's head snapped in your direction, his smile growing when he saw who had just walked in.

"You are quite early today, my dear," the priest stated simply, his focus going back to the unlit candles that still begged to melt under the burning flames. "Luckily enough, our Creator does not sleep; we're under scrutiny every second of our time on this earth."

You gulped at the words, the implications they held. You crept closer to the man, fidgeting as you thought of what to say. You let out a small quiet sigh, biting down your bottom lip as you stopped and stood a few feet away from him. The man straightened up and turned in your direction, his head tilted to the left as his gaze travelled across your face, "Oh my, whatever has you this upset?"

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes shifted from his eyes to the floor, the shame of what you had yet to confess weighing down your shoulders like the cross your Saviour had carried through heat and pain. You felt tiny, the priest towering over you; he had to be close to two feet taller than you. Had this been how Lucifer felt when he was at last pushed to meet his fate in the depths, a force greater than all administrating the final judgment? Sinfully powerless, a mere weak being? Tears gathered at your lower lash lines as you spoke, oh so quietly, your voice like the echo of an echo, "Father, I have sinned."

Seconds passed, silent ones, before the man hummed and walked past you, making his way to the front of the church. You twirled around, your eyes landing on where the priest now stood, in front of the old rotting confessional. You gulped, nodding to no one in particular before slowly making your way to the man who was stepping into the booth, the door closing behind him. You did the same, slowly closing the door after giving the empty church one last look, your eyes lingering a few seconds on the nailed Christ resting behind the altar, seemingly judging you.

You sat down, cringing at the creaking of the wood beneath your weight. The grille was pulled up, the silhouette of the man on the other side vaguely distinguishable. You took a deep breath, then spoke softly as you brought your right hand to your forehead, the gesture almost instinctual, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." You put your hand on your thigh, staring at the unmoving priest, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is.... too much time, since my last confession. I am a university student, in my last year to obtain a bachelor's degree." A low hum was heard, and you shifted in your seat, trying to find the exact words for your confession.

"Father, something terrible happened last night. In my weakened sleeping state, evil befell me. I was plagued with sinful dreams. You must understand, I am thoroughly devoted to Christ and our Lord, never have I let a man, or anyone, disgrace the body I was given; never have I had thoughts or dreams of this kind. I fear my will is not strong enough, that this evil shall come back and torment me. I fear I will fall into sin, just as our first predecessors did. I am nothing but willing, Father, so please, do help me. I am sorry for all these sins, and the sins of my past life."

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your rosy cheeks, your eyes glued on the silhouette of the man beyond the grille. His silence made you want to cry even more; were you a lost case? Had your fate already been sealed, your soul now tainted because of the touch of evil in such sacred places? You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited, seconds becoming minutes.

"This evil you speak of, what exactly has it done to you?" His voice seemed to have dropped lower, the sound a bit raspier. You furrowed your brow slightly at the question; you had been clear about the incident. As if feeling your hesitation, the priest continued, "Ma chère, only by knowing exactly what this evil put you through can I give you absolution."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, and flinched as the crack of thunder was heard beyond the church walls; your heartbeat quickened, was this Him telling you to obey?

You let out a small breath, before speaking up, the words shaky, "As I slept, this evil... Entered my dreams. It took advantage of my defenselessness. It disgraced my soul and my body. Upon waking up, there was... Remains of the sinful things it had my body do." You could feel the man's stare on you despite the grille separating you, causing yours to drop to your knees, feeling vulnerable.

"What sinful things did it inflict upon you?" Rain had started falling, as if the sky itself cried for you; the sound of it hammered against the roof, a continuous wail of grief for your poor soul.

"Father, I don't understand how this is necessa-"

"Do you not want absolution? Do you desire to be locked out of His kingdom? The choice is yours," his tone was harsher, demanding, even. You gulped and shook your head; no, that was not what you wanted. It was the furthest thing from it.

"I apologize for questioning your words, Father," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your coat, "From what I can remember... This evil took the shape of a man. A faceless man. I was in bed, and it joined me, and... We, uh, we kissed. It took my nightgown off." Your hands felt clammy, and you couldn't help but press your thighs together as you recollected the events of your dreams. "It kissed my breasts, then my stomach. It went... Down there, and stayed there until my whole body tensed up. Afterwards, it pushed itself inside me, it thoroughly disgraced my body. When I woke up, my body showed signs that it had reacted to the defiling. Father, please, believe me when I tell you that I was coerced by evil."

Thunder was heard again, breaking the silence that had settled between you and the priest. As the minutes passed, you became uneasy; was the man disgusted with you? Could he sense the sins radiating from your being? He cleared his throat, breaking your train of thought. Your eyes went back to his silhouette, waiting for him to speak up.

"I fear this is beyond the power bestowed upon me, dear," his voice was silky, it made warmth spread inside your chest, as if the vibrations it had created affected your very cells.

Your eyes widened; that was impossible. You had confessed and explained the evil that had haunted you. You had done exactly what He told His followers to do, confessed and asked for forgiveness. You shuffled closer to the grille, tearing up as you begged, "Father, please, there must be a way. I will do anything; I will suffer just like our Saviour has if it's what it takes. I'm supplying you, help me get rid of this evil."

“Very well,” the man said. You watched as his silhouette stood up and opened the door of the booth before it disappeared. The door of your little chamber opened, and you turned your head to look at the tall priest, who adjusted his glasses as he stared down at you. You took a few seconds to really look at him. Despite his smile that made shivers run down your spine, the man was handsome. His skin was tan, his hair dark and styled in an old-fashioned way. His features were sharp, intimidating, almost. Towering over you, his shoulders were wider than some quarterbacks’, and his waist was ridiculously small compared to them. His hands seemed to be twice the size of yours, and you found yourself wondering how he managed to button up his shirts with such big hands.

You looked back at his face as you blushed, realizing the man before you knew of your body in such intimate ways. You slowly stood up as you held his gaze, unsure of what to say next. He took a step aside and gestured for you to step out of the confessional, before closing the door behind you. The priest smiled down at you, “Follow me, dear.”

He started walking down the aisle, the flames of the candles on each side of it dancing as he passed by. You hesitantly followed him, looking out one of the small windows to see the rain pouring onto the world as lightning illuminated the sky. He stopped at the altar and turned to you, his smile ever present. You stopped in front of the stage; sinners did not belong anywhere close to that sacred place. The man stayed silent and with a gesture of his hand, permitted you to step up. You gulped and got on the stage, feeling extremely out of place.

“There is one way for you to repent,” he began, his stare fixed on you, “Though it is a bit unorthodox. The choice is yours, but you must remember that there is no place for sinners in Heaven.” He watched as you nodded quickly; you were eager to be forgiven, to go back to being free of sin. The corner of his lips twitched before he uttered one word, “Strip.”

Your eyes widened as your face turned a deeper shade of crimson. Stripping? You searched his face for hints of dishonesty, hoping he was playing a sick joke on you, but to your dismay, he was serious. Your body was frozen as you looked at him, not even the booming thunder making you flinch.

You opened your mouth to ask why, but the man beat you to it, answering your question before you even uttered a word, “Only by showing Him precisely how this evil tainted you can you be absolved. There is no need to be shy, ma chérie; isn’t He all-knowing? All-seeing? Wasn’t the shame of nudity created by His first creations’ sin? There is no purer form of devotion than to go beyond the embarrassment and bare yourself to Him; than to accept the vulnerable nature of your existence.”

He brought his right hand up to lay it flat against the wooden altar, observing you as you fought an inner battle with your dignity. His words were true, the wisdom of a man devoted to God, of someone who knew scriptures and their meaning. As if feeling your unmoving incertitude, he spoke up once again, “Proverbs 28:13.”

You blinked up at him, mind searching for the verse you had read many times before. You licked your bottom lip with your tongue before reciting softly, “He who covers his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy.” The priest hummed, and you raised your gaze to the crucifix hung on the wall behind the altar, feeling as if He was patiently waiting for you to submit to His will. You puffed out a small breath as you nodded to yourself, a hand coming up to the zipper of your coat, slowly bringing it down to then shrug off the piece of clothing and letting it fall on the floor.

You could already feel the wet cold seep through your thin sweater, but you ignored the feeling as you grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it up until it was completely off you; it dropped, finding its place next to your coat at your feet. Your eyes were unfocused, staring into thin air as you slipped your thumbs under the elastic band of your skirt, pushing it down so it pooled at your ankles. You stepped out of it, getting slightly closer to the priest whose gaze was burning your skin despite the goosebumps covering it. You brought a hand to your back, unclasping your bra before slowly taking it off, baring your breasts to the man. Your nipples hardened as the freezing air licked them and you bit hard down your bottom lip as you slid your underwear down your legs, then stepped out of your shoes, leaving you only wearing your lace-arbored anklets.

The man lifted a hand in your direction, a silent request for you to grab it. You did so all while avoiding looking up at him and followed him as he made his way behind the altar, his fingers squeezing yours slightly, “Our Lord blessed you with rare beauty, dear one, what a shame it led evil to you.” You gasped softly as his other hand wrapped around your waist, your eyes shooting up to look at him. He was still smiling, though his eyes seemed clouded with something you could not put your finger on.

He let go of your hand and grabbed the other side of your waist before effortlessly hoisting you up on the altar, the skin of your ass stinging from the cold of the wooden surface. Your gaze was questioning, and the man recited, his voice low and quieter than it had previously been, “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.” You gaped at him; a true man of God, that’s what he was. “Offer your body to Him, and you shall be absolved. Show Him what evil has done to you, so He can forgive and make you pure again,” he held your stare, his pupils slightly dilated. You nodded once, and the priest stepped aside, leaving you to face your Saviour in your naked glory.

You slowly leaned back, using your left elbow to not completely lie down on the wood. You brought your trembling right hand to your lips, the tip of your index finger stroking the pink flesh as you recalled where the lips of the faceless man had touched you. They lingered there for a few seconds before dipping to your neck, dancing around the column of your throat as your eyes fluttered shut; if goosebumps had not already been covering your body fault of the moist cold, they would have appeared, the feeling titillating. Your chest rose and fell in a timely rhythm as you dragged your touch to your breasts where your finger gently caressed your right nipple. Your lips parted, small breaths making their way out as you gathered with your small hand the heavy fat of your breast, squeezing. You could feel the stare of the priest on you, but you attempted to ignore it as you kept going.

Your fingers went down your stomach, using your nails to slightly scratch the skin, and they stopped a few inches below your belly button. You opened your eyes and looked at the crucifix; His peaceful expression, despite being nailed and in pain, gave you courage and you spread your legs, giving your Saviour the perfect view of your most intimate era. You nibbled on your bottom lip as you slowly brought your fingers down, choking on a soft moan when they made contact with your clit. The simple touch made your composure fall a little, your lips parted as your face reddened, feeling more exposed than you had ever felt before. You gently pushed against the bundle of nerves, gasping as your fingers started to move, following a small eight-pattern.

You could feel your heartbeat thundering against your ribcage, matching the loud striking of the heavenly fire against the earth beyond the safety of the church walls. Soft pants left your mouth as you started working on yourself, closing your eyes to focus on the memories of the previous night. Every touch and stroke were vividly drawn in your mind, your fingers moving in an almost instinctual way, leaving you a whimpering mess. You moved your elbow that was holding your weight, slowly leaning your back against the cold wood, before bringing the now free hand to your face, covering your mouth with it as your thighs trembled. Your body was thrumming, humming with new sensations, your mind as foggy as the early morning that had welcomed you when you had stepped out of your home.

Lost in pleasure, you jumped, your eyes shooting open as you felt long fingers wrap around your wrist, the priest looking down at you, his own eyes sharper and darker than they had been earlier. Your fingers nestled between your thighs stopped moving as you stared at him, but he tsked, “My dear, you must not hide anything from Him. These lovely, sinful sounds you make, are not to be repressed. Let them be; let Him hear what evil inflicted upon you,” his voice sent a chill down your spine, your back arching slightly. You watched as the corner of his lips twitched and let him pull your hand away from your mouth, gulping as you nodded weakly. “Good girl.”

Your breath hitched at the praise, eyes not leaving his’ as your fingers started to move once again, bringing your legs up to rest your heels against the altar, spreading your legs a bit more. As if in a trance, your gaze fixed on the priest as you moaned and gasped, your hips twitching as you rubbed your clit. You saw his Adam’s apple bob, his eyes narrowing as you used your free hand to caress the skin of your stomach, slowly inching towards your left breast. Your fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, and with a bite on your bottom lip and a pinch of your nipple, you pushed your middle finger all the way to the second knuckle, your eyes widening at the feeling. You let out a throaty whine, pressing your head harder against the wooden surface that supported your weight. The cold was long forgotten, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, muscles spasming here and there.

You slid your other hand between your thighs, the digits quickly finding your clit and gently stimulating it as you managed to push your finger further inside yourself. The faceless man from your dreams had used three fingers, and you could only wonder how your dream self had taken them, as you were struggling with a lonely, short finger. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, you bit down your lip and pushed your index alongside the finger that was already pressed inside you. Your face scrunched up at the stretch, a silent sob echoing through the dimly lit space. You felt your walls clench around your digits, your free hand still working on your clit as a way to make the dull ache more bearable. You waited a minute, giving your body time to adjust to the feeling, before carefully pulling the fingers out and thrusting them back in, a surprised whimper leaving your lips as a new feeling started to blossom in your lower stomach.

You arched your back and started speeding up the motion of your hands, unable to keep quiet as your body grew warmer and more tense. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at the priest, who was as still as Christ watching you from His cross on the wall. As you exhaled, you pushed a third finger in, welcoming the stretch with a high-pitched whine. Your knees dropped down onto the altar, leaving your womanhood fully exposed; you watched as the man glanced at where your hands were working in tandem to replicate almost exactly what the evil from your dream had done to you. You gathered the little concentration you had left and started muttering through gasps and moans, “Compassionate Father, you are the Lord who rescues His people. When I am overwhelmed with shame, help me find solace in you. You have said that you will help—though my sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are as red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Remind me that I have been purified by you, that the curse of sin and evil is no longer upon me. In your powerful name, Ame-” You were cut off by a large hand wrapping around your lower face, the feeling making your body jolt.

Right, it had to be the same as the dream; you had not uttered a prayer in it, far from it. You closed your eyes, moaning against the palm covering your mouth, as you focused on the growing tension in your core. Every second felt like minutes and every minute felt like hours as you quickly thrust your fingers in and out, all while you rubbed and nudged your clit. The pressure was almost unbearable, your whole body twitching as your hips tried to follow the movements of your digits as if they had a mind of their own. The priest moved his hand away, and you opened your eyes to watch him bring it to his mouth where he licked his palm, which was covered with your drool.

Something snapped inside of you and a loud sob made its way out of your throat as your muscles tensed up, your walls clenching tightly around your fingers as you stilled them, your mind unable to think about anything beyond the blinding pleasure that took over your body. Your eyes rolled back, pitiful sounds leaving your mouth as your back arched from the altar, your thighs squeezing together, trapping your hands between them. This felt so much better than it had felt in your dream. You teared up; the Lord’s love was so strong; evil could not even compare.

After a few seconds, your body relaxed, and you were left panting and sweaty, as if you had just run a marathon. Slowly opening your eyes, your vision became clearer as you blinked, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked at the crucifix, then up to the priest who had not moved. You removed your hands from between your thighs and brought your left one up to wipe the pearls of sweat on your forehead with the back of it. You wrapped your right arm around your chest, trying to hide your breasts as you spoke up, your voice small but hoarse, “Have I done it, Father? Am I free of sin? Has our Lord given me absolution?” Hope lingered; you had done what you were told to do, you had been good, and your Lord was good and forgiving, He had to have seen how faithful you were.

The man’s eyebrows raised before he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly, “My dear, this was only your confession. The truest and purest form of confession.” Your smile dropped. You looked at him as he made his way closer to the wall, where he stopped in front of the crucifix that had observed you as you worked on yourself. His chin tilted up as he looked at it, before his head slowly turned to look at you, “But confession is not enough for this type of sin, sadly; you must also be cleansed.”

You sat up, your brows furrowed, watching as the man stepped closer to you. He stood in front of you, his right hand coming to rest on your thigh, just above your knee. His touch was warm and inviting, but you still wondered what his words meant, so you asked, “Cleansed?”

His thumb stroked your skin as he hummed and brought his other hand up to your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it, “Yes, dearest, cleansed. Your body was defiled by evil, it must be purified. You’ve shown our Lord and Saviour how, and now He shall reclaim your body as His’.” You looked at him, your eyes round and big, trying to make sense of the words that had just been spoken. A small pout appeared on your lips, and the tall priest bent down, his face now closer to yours as he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper, “You are so easy to read, you know? But to ease your confusion; I shall represent our Lord and make you pure again.”

You froze, the realization of what the man meant hitting you just like David’s stone had hit Goliath. You gaped at him, your mouth opening and closing, searching your brain for the right words to speak, afraid to insult God and the man who stood before you. You gulped and said after taking in a deep breath, “Our Lord… I cannot think of mentions of this procedure in the scriptures,” you blinked, your eyes shining as you looked into his’. “Father, has this procedure been tested before? Where does it come from?”

His long fingers dug into the fat of your thigh as you saw the muscle of his jaw clench, a small whimper leaving your lips at the feeling. He kept squeezing, his creepy smile growing, “Are you implying my authority was not given to me by our Lord? That my will does not stem from His’? That I would go against scriptures, something I have devoted my life to?” You shook your head quickly; you had messed up. You were to never question the words of a priest, for he was much closer to God than you were, and you had done just that. This evil needed to leave; it made you do, think and say things that would only make you unworthy of Heaven.

“Father, do forgive me! This evil, it has taken control of my body and sou-”

“There’s no need for that. I shall make your sins a purest white than Abraham’s sacrificial lamb. You will be reborn a new woman, utterly sinless,” he inched his hand higher on your thigh, “That is what you want, isn’t it? To let your God make you pure again?” You gave him a slow nod and his smile widened as he brought his free hand to his face, removing his glasses and putting them on the altar next to you. He nudged your knees open and settled between them, sliding a hand against the back of your head as he sang praise to you, “What a good girl you are, ma chère.”

His lips smashed against yours and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to follow his lead. The hand resting on your thigh slid to your waist and forced you to get closer to him, his chest pressing against your naked breasts. You moaned into the kiss, pictures of your dream flooding your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around his tiny waist and arms around his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair, letting the man run his tongue along your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly in response. His kisses travelled down your chin, to your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin as you let your head fall back, giving him better access.

His mouth slid to your chest, and you lowered your chin to look down at him as he wrapped his swollen lips around your left nipple. You grabbed a handful of his hair and pressed him closer to you, arching your back slightly. His eye shot up to look at you, humming against your skin, the vibration leaving you a whimpering mess. He separated from your pink, wet bud with a last lick, smiling as he flicked your other nipple with his thumb, “So eager for absolution, aren’t you?” Your soft pants were interrupted with a small gulp as you nodded once again; there was nothing you wanted more. He ran a hand up and down your thigh before grabbing it and removing it from his waist, doing the same motion with the other one a few seconds later. You silently watched as he kneeled, his face a few inches away from your exposed core. The sight made your heart skip a beat.

Something caught your eyes on the wall, and you looked up, seeing a rainbow light up the crucifix hung on the wall; the rain and thunder had dissipated as suddenly as they had appeared, and sun rays were beaming through the colourful tainted glass of the rose window at the entrance of the church. A small smile tugged at your lips, this had to be a sign you were on the right path. You bit down your bottom lip and gazed down, seeing the priest eyeing your womanhood, a hungry look on his face. Your cheeks reddened as you waited for the man to do something.

He slowly inched closer, and let his nose nudge your puffy clit, causing you to gasp softly at the feeling. You felt something warm run up and down your slit, your grip on his hair tightening as he flattened his tongue against your entrance. Your brows knitted, a small noise leaving your lips as he started to move his wet appendage up and down, moving his head slightly as he did so to get his nose to bump against your clit with each lick. His hands went to your ass, and he brought you even closer to his face; you wondered how he could even breathe.

Your mind started to wander as pleasure slowly took over your limbs; was the man between your legs mistaking you for a wine-filled chalice? The slurping noises his mouth was making against you travelled through your body and rendered you dizzy. You pushed his hair back from his forehead and his eyes shot open to look up at you as his fingers dug into the fat of your ass. His pupils were dilated to the point that you could barely see his iris and there was wetness spreading on his cheeks and nose. Lips parted, you sighed and slightly scratched his scalp with your nails, leaving the man groaning as his stare was still fixed on your face. One of his hands made its way down your thigh and disappeared from your view before it reappeared; a dainty wooden-beaded rosary was dangling from his fingers.

The priest took his mouth away from you, a wide smirk painting his lips as he grabbed your wrist and dropped the prayer beads in your much smaller palm. His other hand came forward and started stroking the skin of your inner thigh as he wrapped his long digits around yours, forcing you to hold the rosary. He licked his bottom lip before speaking up, “You know how this works, don’t you?” His smile grew as he watched you nod, “Perfect. Recite them in your head, except the Five Decades; you must recite those aloud. It’s Thursday, so Luminous Mysteries. Whatever your Lord has planned next and does to you, you must keep going, understood?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Use your words, dearest.”

“I understand, Father,” you said, your voice small.

The man hummed and let go of your hand, dropping it to your other thigh, massaging the skin there as well. His gaze dropped to where your thumb moved to make the Sign of the Cross on the small crucifix pendant. You closed your eyes as you started reciting the Apostles’ Creed, surrendering your body to the faithful man kneeling before you. His lips pressed against you as you finished the first prayer, your finger moving to the first bead. He fell into a now familiar rhythm, leaving you incapable of staying silent as you breathed out soft moans. Something prodded at your entrance and slowly slipped in as you fell back against the altar with a thud. You arched your back as it kept going, much deeper than you had reached with your fingers. It pumped in and out a few times before the man added a second finger, the pressure and stretch making you whimper.

His tongue kept alternating between sucking on and flicking your clit as you busied yourself with prayers. The priest hummed against you before removing himself; you opened your eyes and lifted your head from the wooden surface, eyes widening when you saw blood on his chin and bottom lip. He removed his fingers from you and showed them to you; they were bloody too. You stared at him silently, uncertain of what to say, but he broke the silence, “See what the evil has left in you? Aren’t you so lucky your Lord is ever so forgiving? That he’s cleaning you up to make you free of sin?” You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes were gleaming as his fingers went to your lower stomach, smearing the blood on your skin, which made goosebumps appear.

You studied his face, his sharp, dark hooded eyes were staring at you under his defined eyebrows, his plump lips were stretched in a smile; his tanned cheeks and chin were coated with a sheening coat of your wetness and blood. His hair was now messy—your doing—and his fingers were slowly making their way back to your slit. Without thinking about it, you reached out and cupped his cheek with your free hand, rubbing your thumb against his bottom lip. His tongue darted out to lick your digit as his fingers sank back in you, knocking the breath out of you. Your eyes closed shut as you gasped, your hand falling from his face to rest on your hip. You heard him laugh under his breath before the warmth of his mouth was back on you. Your mind reminded you of the rosary you were holding, and you started reciting the Hail Mary.

As you neared the end of the Glory Be, you felt the man add another finger, the stretch making your eyes tear up as you mewled weakly. The words of the prayer passed in your mind, disappearing as he started to thrust them in and out. Your walls clenched tightly around his digits as your chest rose and fell quickly, panting as your body tried to get adjusted to the burning feeling.

Your fingers landed on the first Decade, and you gathered all your strength to start reciting the prayer, your voice shaky, “Then Jesus came to Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” You were interrupted by a yelp as you felt the priest’s teeth grazing your clit, your free hand landing in his hair, gripping it. Your hips kept twitching as you kept going, stuttering through the words, “And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.’”

The drag of the man’s fingers had turned pleasurable, and you felt your muscles tense up, the feeling in your lower stomach rapidly growing. You pushed on the back of his head, searching for more friction, and you moaned out loudly when he started mumbling against your clit as his fingers kept moving, “Oh my Jesus, forgive me of my sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy.” You could not register the words but the movements of his lips on you made you come undone, your back arching from the altar as your thighs trapped his head in place, your hips lifting to follow his fingers and urge him to press his tongue harder against you. Your every muscle tensed up, crying out as the waves of your orgasm hit you just like the Red Sea had crashed into the Egyptians as He closed its parting. You spasmed around him, your walls trying to push his fingers out, and you felt wetness drip down your ass.

He separated from your clit, kissing it softly as he removed his digits from you, slowly standing up as you cracked your eyes open, your body still jolting randomly as it calmed down from your high. The light coming from the rose window had moved, and from your angle, it looked like a halo surrounding the priest’s head; a breathtaking sight that had you gape in awe. You watched as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, taking his Roman collar off and letting it fall to his feet. Your wetness was dripping from his lips which were harbouring a soft smile, his hands moving unhurriedly to unbutton his cassock. His eyes travelled up and down your spent body, then to the rosary you had forgotten you were still holding; you clenched your fingers around it and moved to a new bead, your lips moving silently as you recited the Hail Mary in your mind.

You kept your eyes on his hands as they reached the last button, the man shrugging off the black piece of clothing, revealing he was wearing a white tank top and black pants underneath it. You gulped at the true size of his shoulders; you had thought his cassock gave the illusion he was large, but even with it off, he looked huge. The smallness of his waist only accentuated how massive the built of the priest was. He had muscles but they were lean; despite it all, he looked strong and exuded a masculine aura that had you squirming in place.

Your observations were interrupted by his voice, “Do you feel like the weight of your sin has lessened, ma chère?” You dipped your chin once; you did feel lighter. The man grinned wider as his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing your torso up effortlessly so you were now sitting. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over so his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, whispering, “You did so well, dear, you’re almost as pure as the day you were born. There’s only a step left in this procedure, but it will hurt at first.” He pressed a hand on the back of your head and pushed forward, forcing you to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You inhaled and felt his fingers massage your scalp gently.

He smelled so intoxicating; a mixture of moss, rain, coffee, tobacco and a hint of something floral emitted from his skin. You realized you had pressed your lips against the man’s neck when you felt him tense up, his hand stilling in your hair. You backed away slightly, blushing so brightly you were grateful he could not see your face, muttering an apology. His body relaxed again, and he hummed, “There’s no need for apologies. Bite down my shoulder—don’t be scared to bite hard—it will make you focus on something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant but pressed your lips together when you heard a zipper, followed by the shuffling of clothes between your bodies. You brought your hands to his chest, the rosary still in your hand, fingers fidgeting with the beads as you felt one of his large and cold hands spread your thighs a little further apart. You felt his fingers run up and down your slit and you gasped at the feeling, your nails slightly digging into the muscles of his chest. A wet sound travelled up to your ears and you closed your eyes, a shiver running down your spine when you felt a hand drop to your hip, kneading the fat there, and his voice, now a low murmur, “Bite down.”

You barely had the time to process the words that you felt pressure against your entrance which ceded, your walls wrapping around something so thick you shrieked before sinking your teeth into the man’s shoulder. It felt like you were being split in half; the thickness slowly forced its way inside you as tears gathered at your lower lash lines before they dripped down your cheeks. You bit down harder and pulled away quickly when you felt iron-tasting warmth coat the inside of your mouth, but the hand still in your hair pushed you against the bleeding bite mark, the priest almost growling, “Bite, and drink. At this moment, I am God; I am Christ. His blood is mine, and my blood is His’. Savour, dear one, and let me cleanse you inside out.” You let out a shaky breath before sinking your teeth back in his flesh, your brows knitting as he pushed his length an inch deeper inside you, “So obedient.”

You let the blood fill your mouth and swallowed, cringing at the taste but unwilling to go against Heavenly orders. Your arms snaked around his waist as he kept slowly pushing himself into you. The pain was unbearable, but your mind went to Christ, and how much he had suffered for the sins of all; the ache between your legs was a pinch compared to what he had endured, so you toughened up and let your tongue lap at the blood. Your brain felt foggy, and you could only take it as a sign that it was your body reacting to being filled with the divine energy pouring out from the priest. His length reached deeper than his fingers had, and you wondered how much of it you had left to take in.

You soon had your answer, the man stilling as his pelvis pressed against yours; he was so deep in you, stretching you so wide. Your mouth detached from his neck, and you pressed your forehead against his skin, panting loudly as you tried your best to relax your walls around him. The hand that was in your hair made its way to your waist, squeezing gently as you felt his lips press against your ear once again, “Your Lord is so pleased with you; you’re taking his cock so well. You’ll be redeemed in no time.” He slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip in, before thrusting in you at a medium speed, leaving you sobbing against his neck. It was overwhelming, the feeling of his length rubbing your inside and the warmth spreading in your chest, God’s love making you burn up. The feeling started to transform from pain to pleasurable pressure, your pained cries turning into needy moans.

You had managed to reach the tenth Hail Mary in your mind, your fingers reaching the second Decade. You whimpered out the beginning of the Second Luminous Mystery, “On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; Jesus also was invited to the marriage, with his disciples.” The priest started moving faster, his hips meeting yours at a much quicker speed; you whined as his tip hit a certain spot inside you, the rosary dropping on the floor as you dug your nails into the man’s shoulder blades. You could not concentrate on anything other than the drag of his length against your walls, panting and gasping each time he bottomed out.

He slightly pulled away from your body and looked down at you, his hips still moving as he brought a hand to grab your jaw from under, forcing you to look at him. He eyed you before crashing his lips against yours, moaning as he tasted his blood in your mouth. You slid your hands up to his hair, tugging at it and scratching his scalp as your teeth clashed together, tongues dancing. You pressed your chest closer to his’ and sighed as your nipples rubbed against his tank top, the feeling sending electric shocks to your core. You parted away from his lips, catching your breath, and your eyes opened and landed on the crucifix watching you; you smiled softly—oh how good was His clemency. Your gaze went back to the priest who was slightly panting, his lower face covered in blood—just like yours— as he smirked at you, sliding his hand to your cheek, stroking the skin tenderly.

In half a second, he pulled out and manhandled you, so you were now bent over the altar, your breasts pressed against the wooden surface as your feet dangled in the air, his large hands holding you up. His knee nudged your legs open wider and you felt him slip back inside you, the new position bringing a different sensation. His hips met your ass, and he started thrusting into you eagerly, loud smacks echoing through the church. You held yourself up on your elbows, holding your head up as you looked at the front door; if someone were to walk in, they would see the priest cleansing you, a Godsent blessing.

Your elbows started to tremble, and the man noticed; he slid a hand below your stomach and hoisted you up against his chest, your back pressed against him. He held you up, his arms wrapped around you as his pelvis smacked against your ass, your feet dangling one foot above the floor. He slid a hand down, his fingers running down your slit, groaning as he felt where you two were connected. He ran them up again and pushed his middle finger against your puffy clit, gently rubbing it as he kept working himself in and out of you. Your head fell back on his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, kissing and nibbling at the skin.

You truly never had felt anything like this; if you had been a fool, you’d have thought you were glowing from how fulfilled you felt. The familiar tension grew in your lower stomach, lewd noises leaving your mouth as the man dug the fingers of his other hand into your flesh, holding you closer to him as his movements became erratic. His groans and grunts were sending shivers down your back, only adding to the multitudes of sensations you were currently drowning in. As if he could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, he mumbled against your neck, “Let go, ma chérie. Let evil leave your body, let God replace it with goodness.”

Your breath hitched and with a few more nudges on your clit, the pressure building inside you snapped. Your vision went white as you came, the feeling different from your previous releases. Even through the waves of pleasure, you could feel something drip down your thighs and could hear squelches as the priest kept thrusting his length in you. Your mouth was open, silent cries leaving your throat as you clenched tightly around the man. You felt his lips move against your neck, but you were too lost in feelings to understand what he was saying.

Your tensed-up muscles slowly relaxed as the remains of your orgasm washed over your body. You whimpered as the man kept moving, your core feeling overstimulated by his length still burying itself inside your sensitive walls. He quickly pushed your front back against the altar, grabbing your hips as he moved both his hips and yours in sync, your nails digging into the wood as your ass smacked against him. His thrusts were harsh and fast, leaving you breathless; tears were streaming down your cheeks at the delightful ache.

His hips stilled, his length buried deep inside you, as he groaned lowly. You felt your inside be flooded with warmth, whining as you dropped your forehead against the wooden surface, the cold of it grounding you. You were panting, the warmth creating a pleasant pressure inside your core as the priest rubbed his thumbs over your Venus dimples. He stayed inside you for a few more seconds, before easing out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He once again manhandled you so you were now sitting facing him, holding your limp body up as he dragged a hand up your moist thigh, grinning, “See this wetness? It was the remains of evil leaving your body.” His hand reached your slit and he gathered a sticky white substance on his fingers, bringing his hand up close to your lips, “And this is goodness. Do remember, my dear, your sins are scarlet and they shall be as white as snow.”

You gaped at him; he truly was a man of God. He pushed his fingers past your lips, and you let him, wrapping them around his digits as your tongue licked at the goodness. The taste was bitter, but as your eyes met his’, all you could think about was how caring and selfless the man standing in front of you was. You had come to him, worrying about your purity, and he had completely cleansed you of sin and given you his own God-gifted goodness, not asking anything in return. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brushed your cheek with the back of his index, his smile not faltering, “What is this look you are giving me?”

You blinked a few times, your cheeks flushing as you realized you had been staring, “Father, I must thank you. My body and soul were barren, and you made them anew again. I do not know how I could ever repay you.” His eyes narrowed at your words, his hand reaching to grab his glasses before he put them on and ran a hand through his hair. It dropped to your thigh and drew shapes on there, his gaze not leaving yours.

“Alastor,” he said simply before stepping away from you and bending down to grab your clothes. Your expression turned to a confused one as you watched him slip your underwear up your legs, your skirt following. You let him dress you, his fingers skilfully clasping your bra behind your back before he motioned you to lift your arms so he could slip your shirt back on. Once dressed he let his hand lay on your thigh again, before he spoke up, “My name is Alastor. Call me by it and your debt is repaid.” He grabbed one of your hands and dropped the rosary in it before grabbing your waist and helping you down the altar, “Keep this, use it whenever you feel evil is near.”

You nodded up at him and smiled, your grin faltering for a second when you saw that the crucifix on the wall had detached and was now hanging upside down. Oddly, you thought nothing of it and you looked back at Alastor, your smile spreading wide, “Thank you, Fa—Alastor.” You squeezed the rosary between your fingers, watching as he bent down once again, but this time to grab his cassock and Roman collar. You stood silently as he buttoned it up and placed the white collar around his neck. He straightened the fabric with his hands, before meeting your eyes.

“You look quite a mess, dearest, you’d better go home and clean yourself.”

Your hand flew up to your face where dried blood was caked on your chin and around your mouth, and you felt a blush creep up your neck at his words; he did not look any better. Despite it, you nodded, shifting on your feet as you thanked him once again, “I cannot express how thankful I am, Alastor, truly. You, uh, you should probably get cleaned up too; people would probably wonder why there’s blood smeared on their priest’s face.” The man chuckled and nodded before bending down to grab your coat, handing it to you once he straightened up. You took it and quickly slipped it on, putting the rosary in one of the pockets.

You clasped your hands together and bit down your bottom lip as the man put a hand against your back and urged you to walk with him. You walked down the main aisle silently, stopping once you had reached the end of it. You turned to him and opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it, “Go, now. Enjoy your newly found purity.” You smiled and dipped your chin once; he grinned back, “I will see you tomorrow, though I am hoping you will not walk back in here with that same pitiful expression you had earlier.”

You let out a small laugh as you gestured that you agreed before giving him one last glance and turning around, walking towards the door. You could feel his stare burn holes in your back but ignore the feeling, pushing against the door and stepping outside, the sunlight momentarily blinding you. You sighed loudly, looking around to make sure no one was close; the last thing you wanted was someone seeing you limp, your face bloody. You began to make your way back home, ignoring the way your thighs stuck together from your and Alastor’s bodily fluids. You thought about his words, and strangely, you found yourself disagreeing; you hoped the faceless man would come back. You had tasted true goodness, the powerful and unconditional love and mercy of God, and you wanted more of it.

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duskandcobalt · 8 months

Text

For His Eyes Only 📸

She hadn’t really thought much of it when he snuck into her room that night, a couple hours later than usual, with a vintage camera in his hand and an excited smile on his face.

…

Wrote a little vaguely modern AU one-shot where Azriel takes up photography and ends up doing an impromptu photo shoot with a newly acquired camera and a certain Archeron.

No real plot, just pure vibes. This is like 3.7k words of shameless smut so 18+ pls and ty ❤️

I had so much fun writing this, I hope you have as much fun reading it!

Read on AO3

Full Fic under the cut 😘

…

Azriel had developed a keen interest in photography over the past few months and Elain had taken notice, loved watching as he explored this new passion of his - sneaking glances of him from the kitchen window as he strolled around the garden early in the days, capturing photos of her roses as they came to life in the morning sun.

She listened carefully, trying to suppress the small smile that threatened to bloom on her face whenever he spoke to Feyre about her paintings, bombarding her with question after question about what would make for the best angles, the best lighting.

It was so rare for him to talk so much, with such passion, and Elain loved, loved, loved it. Knew that when he was snapping away, capturing the seemingly mundane things that had caught his attention, it brought him the same joy that she had been so grateful to find in baking.

…

She hadn’t really thought much of it when he snuck into her room that night, a couple hours later than usual, with a vintage camera in his hand and an excited smile on his face.

“Hi. Sorry I’m late.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to Elain’s forehead as he slumped down onto the sofa where she was seated, a book she’d borrowed from Nesta now abandoned in her lap. Azriel had been away for three days on a work assignment and she had been doing everything in her power to keep herself from pacing her room like a school girl waiting for him to come back to her. He tugged her against him, one arm coming around to settle heavily over her shoulders as she melted against his chest.

“Hi, Az.” Elain whispered back, tilting her head up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Then finally his lips, taking her time reacquainting herself with the feel of him before pulling back. “How was it?”

“As good as it could be.” Azriel hummed. “Difficult. The guy just wouldn’t break. Plus, I think I might’ve caught Cassian’s cold.”

Elain frowned. She didn’t know all the details of exactly what Azriel’s job as Head of Security entailed but she knew he often returned home tired and sore. For all their jokes about him always being off on super secret spy missions, she knew that his work took a toll on him mentally, physically, and emotionally.

“Can I make you some tea? Something with ginger? Or maybe honey if your throat is sore?” Elain offered, that instinct to look after him taking over. She hated seeing him ill, partly because she was sympathetic… But mostly because like every other man on the face of the earth, Azriel was an absolute pain in the ass when he was sick.

“Don’t worry, El.” He murmured into her hair. “Maybe later.”

Elain couldn’t help but roll her eyes but she dropped the subject, choosing instead to focus on the camera that was balanced on one of his thighs.

“Souvenir from the road?” She reached for the camera, smoothing her fingers over the wood paneled front of it.

“Gift from Cass for my birthday.” Elain didn’t need to look up at him to know that he was smiling, utterly delighted with his new toy. She could hear it in his voice. “He found it in a charity shop in the village, said he thought it’d be good for me to practice with.”

“That was nice of him.” She finally looked up at him, eyes softening at the smile that was indeed plastered on his beautiful face. “Have you taken any pictures yet?”

“A couple…” He nodded. “Passed by some windmills on the way back.”

“Can’t wait to see.” Elain couldn’t help the yawn that escaped her then, it was almost two in the morning after all. “You should bring it along on our walk tomorrow. There’s that little river on the trail, might be nice for a photo.”

They’d been at this for months now - Azriel sneaking into her bedroom late at night, waking up at the first light of dawn to go for leisurely walks before Feyre and Rhys woke up. It had been Elain’s decision to keep things just between them for a bit, to wait and see how things developed before they told her sisters and their partners, who just so happened to be Azriel’s two childhood best friends. Neither of them had the best track records romantically and she knew there’d be an influx of questions and opinions once the four people closest to them were privy to their relationship.

It was only surprising they’d gotten away with sneaking around for this long, especially considering they’d both somehow ended up living with Rhys and Feyre after they’d each ended complicated relationships. Elain did, however, suspect that Nesta knew something was up after she’d caught the way Azriel’s fingers had lingered on Elain’s hip, pressing gently into her skin through the thin fabric of dress as he’d passed behind her in the kitchen one day. There had been plenty of room for him to get by without touching her. Nesta’s eyebrows had scrunched together, eyes flickering to Elain’s as she marked the blush that bloomed on her sister’s cheeks. Elain had quickly looked away, busying herself with something else before Nesta had the chance to question her.

“Good idea.” Azriel nodded, fingers trailing along Elain’s arm in a way that made her eyes flutter shut. “It’s late, we should go to bed.”

“You get ready for bed. I’ll go make you some tea.”

“I don’t need…”

“Don’t argue with me, Azriel. It’s better to prevent than to treat.” Elain warned, patting his knee before quickly raising off the sofa and heading out of her room and down the stairs to the kitchen before he could protest any further.

…

Elain’s hands were in her hair, securing the length of it into a messy knot on the top of her head when she heard the familiar whir of a shutter. Her brows pulled together as her eyes fell on Azriel’s reflection in the mirror.

He was on her bed behind her, slumped against the headboard. He was gloriously shirtless and she couldn’t help but drag her eyes over the tan skin and the dark tattoos and the muscles that were on display - all lit beautifully from the two small lamps on either side of her bed.

Azriel had one eye squeezed shut as the other peered through the viewfinder of the camera cradled in one of his large hands.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asked, tugging once more at her bun before reaching for her eye cream.

“Practicing.” Azriel smirked, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

“Az, it’s so late. I’m tired. I haven’t got any makeup on.” Elain pouted, turning to face him just as the whir of the shutter sounded again.

“You’re beautiful.” He replied easily, biting down on his lower lip.

“You’re cheesy.”

“Maybe so, but you’re standing there in a shirt with my name on it and not much else. I had to document the moment.”

Elain was indeed wearing an oversized button up pajama shirt with Azriel’s name embroidered just over her heart. It was a gift she'd made to wear for him on his birthday a few weeks ago and something she kept carefully hidden at the very back of her underwear drawer in hopes that her sister’s wouldn’t stumble across it when they inevitably snuck through her wardrobe looking for clothing to steal.

“Shut up and drink your tea.” She shook her head, trying desperately to fight back a smile.

Elain crawled into bed, nuzzling herself under the covers and relishing in the feeling of the cold pillow on the back of her neck. She was completely at peace, halfway to sleep before a shadow loomed over her, the mattress dipping at the sides of her hips where he’d carefully planted each of his knees.

“Az…” Elain whined, hands coming up to cover her face as the shutter clicked yet again.

“C’mon, Angel. Give us a smile.” Azriel chuckled, one hand coming down to tickle at her bare hip.

“Azriel!” Elain squealed, halfway between a giggle and a yell. “Get off!”

“Oh, I plan to.” He taunted, not missing a beat.

She rolled her eyes yet again at the innuendo, even though she was secretly delighted.

She loved this side of him, so playful and relaxed. Completely unguarded, a side he rarely let anyone see.

“Just want you to model for me, El.” Azriel pouted, dragging his hand across her hip and up to the buttons at the bottom of her shirt. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Elain was so wrapped up in his words, trying to figure out exactly where he was going with this that she hadn’t even noticed how quickly those skilled fingers of his had undone all but two buttons.

“I don’t think this is the type of practice Cass had in mind.” Elain bit down on her lip, her heart beating faster under the heat of his gaze.

“Cass doesn’t need to know.” His voice was so low that she could almost feel the bass of it vibrate through her.

“You’re not taking pictures of me naked, Azriel.” Elain’s voice was weak, shivering as he ran a finger from the center of her chest all the way down to the waistband of her underwear. He slid a finger just under the fabric at the side of her hip, pulling it up an inch before letting it snap back down against her skin.

“You wouldn’t technically be naked.” He shrugged, fingers dancing back up to those last two buttons.

“Az.” Elain warned.

“I’m going away on another trip soon. I’ll need something to keep me going, won’t I?” He asked, a playful glint in his eyes. “Wouldn’t even have to worry about the cloud.”

He was so, so sly in his maneuvers, bending down to capture her lips in a kiss that left her dizzy with need as he undid those last two buttons. It had been four full days since she’d felt him inside her. It was the longest they’d gone without having each other since they’d started sneaking around. She’d been kidding herself to think they would just fall asleep and let another night pass without sex.

Azriel sat up again, those beautiful scarred hands Elain loved so much carefully fixing her shirt so that each side was apart enough to just hint at the soft curves of her cleavage.

“Look at you. An absolute dream.” Azriel’s voice was full of awe, full of complete and utter reverence, as he picked his camera up again. He moved slowly, giving her ample time to let him know if she truly was uncomfortable with this. He waited for the dip of her chin, that nod of approval, before he pressed down on the shutter and captured the intimate moment.

“Just a bit more, yeah? Always miss you when I’m away.” His voice was soft as he brushed aside her shirt so her breasts were fully visible to him now.

He was about to snap another picture, praying that the camera would pick up the gorgeous flush on Elain’s cheeks, on her chest, before he paused.

“What’s wrong?” Her heart skipped a beat, suddenly apprehensive at his hesitation.

“Not a thing, El. Just want to…” He drifted off, biting down on the inside of his cheek as he fiddled with her shirt, a smug look crossing his face once he was satisfied.

He’d adjusted the shirt so that her breasts were still nicely on show but had pulled the top back into place just enough so that the embroidered Azriel in cobalt blue thread was also on show.

“All mine.” His finger pressed down on the shutter before he set aside the camera once more. He shuffled down the bed a bit, hands skimming over her stomach and hips all while sliding down her underwear in the process.

Elain was blushing furiously now, heat burning low in her belly as she watched him. It was utterly filthy but she didn’t object, never even gave it a second thought before doing exactly as asked when he requested she pull her knees up and apart, muttering something about how he could see her wet and dripping for him as he took the camera again and snapped a few final pictures.

It should’ve felt pornographic, Elain thought. But everything about this moment was so intimate, so erotic, that it was somehow the most empowered she’d ever felt. Knowing that Azriel was so into her to the point that he wanted to capture it all for himself. Seeing how careful he was about how he took her picture, the way he treated her like she was art.

It made her feel beautiful, sexy even. A feeling that was usually foreign to her.

“The best model I could ever ask for.” Azriel remarked finally, leaning over to place his camera on her bedside table before settling back in between Elain’s legs.

He placed a kiss on each of her hips, at the crease of each of her thighs before his tongue was pressed flat against her center, dragging it up her in one long, slow stripe before letting his lips just barely, barely graze over the place where she so desperately needed pressure.

Elain gasped at the sensation, hips lifting up in search of more. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tugging slightly at the strands before gently pressing him down.

Azriel chuckled, fingers holding her in place as he lowered his lips to her once again - this time finally taking that bundle of nerves in his mouth and running his tongue around it.

The sound that left her mouth was unlike anything either of them had ever heard from her before. Louder than she’d ever been before. They looked at each other - both their eyes wide with surprise.

“Gonna wake up Rhys and Feyre and I’ve barely even touched you.” She felt the way he smiled against her, clearly satisfied with himself.

“I don’t know why…” She moaned again as he continued to sweep his tongue around and over her, applying even more pressure with each pass until she was positively writhing under him. “Everything feels so sensitive.”

“I think you like being photographed, El.” Azriel teased, lifting his head up to watch her carefully as he slid two long fingers deep inside her. “Look how wet you are for me, how well you’re taking me… I wonder what you’d be like if we made a movie instead.”

Elain didn’t know if she was laughing at his comment or sobbing at the intensity of the pleasure that had quickly built in her core but she felt completely out of her body, so utterly dizzy as she fell apart more quickly than she could even comprehend. She really did scream then, her body lifting off the bed involuntarily at only the sixth pass of Azriel’s fingers curling against that spot inside her, a spot that he’d seemingly committed to memory after discovering it during their second time together all those months ago.

Azriel quickly reached up, covering her mouth firmly with the hand that wasn’t inside her, in an attempt to keep her quiet as he continued to work her through her orgasm. He didn’t stop stroking her with his tongue, didn’t stop pumping his fingers into her, didn’t remove his hand from her mouth until he felt her back hit the mattress again - one last whimper leaving her lips before her thighs were clamping together around his head and the hands that had been knotted in his hair, previously pressing him to her, were pushing him away.

“That was…” She breathed deeply, shaking her head as he crawled up her body to kiss her. The taste of her on his lips caused heat to rise in her again despite her so overly sensitive still.

“Need you in me.” She whispered against his lips, one hand firm against his bare chest to push him back against the pillows.

Azriel laid back, his eyes darkening as he watched her rid him of his pajama bottoms before straddling him. She ran her fingers down the aching length of him, wrapping them around the base of his cock. He reached for her, hands landing firmly on the soft part of her hips, digging into the flesh there to keep her steady as she carefully ground against him to coat him in her arousal.

Elain leant forward slightly, aligned him at her opening and then slowly lowered herself onto him, taking him inch by inch, relishing in the way he stretched her - the way he filled her so completely that she was convinced he had been put on this earth just for her.

It was Azriel’s turn to attempt to stay quiet, eyes rolling back in his head as he clamped his lips shut - holding in the moan that threatened to erupt from him at the feel of her tight and warm and wet around his cock. He willed himself to not come then and there.

“So pretty.” He whispered, hands sliding from her hips up to cup her breasts. He ran a thumb over each rosy nipple before he pressed his palms into her soft flesh, squeezing just how she liked.

“Camera.” Elain choked out, running a tongue over her lips, biting down on the bottom one. “Get the camera.”

“Yeah?” Azriel asked, eyes shining with amusement as one hand went flying out to fumble around the bedside table for the camera. “Wanna see just how pretty you look when you fuck me, do you?”

Elain just hummed in affirmation, lips parting, her head tilting back as she adjusted herself - her hands left his chest to fall behind her, finding purchase on his thighs as she arched her body back, grinding in a way that made the tip of him repeatedly hit that spot inside her.

She barely heard the camera shutter go off as Azriel lined up the shot - taking a photo of her on top of him, her head thrown back, pleasure written across her features, her breasts and stomach on display with the way her body was arched back. He’d framed it in a way that he could just see his cock sinking into her.

He slid a hand up her stomach, between her breasts, until he reached her neck. He wrapped his fingers around her pretty throat, applying gentle pressure as she increased the pace at which she bounced on top of him. She brought one hand forward to press in between her thighs, just above where they were joined and then moments later, Elain was falling apart on top of him - once again in a state of complete bliss when her orgasm hit her hard. Azriel’s hand was still around her throat when she heard the faint shutter of the camera yet again.

The camera was tossed aside then as he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her to him as she fell forward, still pulsing around him. Azriel planted his feet, lifting his hips to repeatedly drive up into her until he was spilling into her. His hands grasped at her ass, squeezing hard as he held her against him - ensuring she took every last drop that he had to give her.

Elain laughed, truly laughed, as she pressed her face into the side of Azriel’s neck after she pulled off of him and collapsed onto the bed. He’d pulled her into his side, still needing to feel her against him. They were both coated in sweat, both taking deep heaving breaths as they tried to ground themselves in reality. She couldn’t believe they’d done that. Couldn’t believe the way she’d come alive for him. For the camera.

They started again after a little while, slow recovery kisses becoming frantic as their hands roamed. They didn’t stop- couldn’t stop - both somehow needing more after each round that they swore would be the last.

Azriel didn’t know why he was surprised when he realised they’d exhausted all 24 frames of film in his camera. Not when they’d continued to take photos throughout the night…

Elain on her knees, his cock in her hands, in her mouth.

The arch of her back with his hands firmly in her hair pulling her head back towards him.

Azriel looking up at her from in between her thighs.

Her hair splayed out on the pillow as she was sprawled beneath him. His seed pooled on her stomach.

The outline of Elain’s body through the fogged up shower glass.

The two of them in front of the bathroom mirror, the camera in front of her face, his face tucked into her neck while his hands cupped her breasts.

The last was of them finally clothed and in bed, cuddled together with exhausted but satisfied smiles on their faces.

The sun had started to rise by the time they fell asleep in Elain’s bed. They wouldn’t be going for a walk this morning after all, not when Elain was barely capable of standing without assistance. Only an hour had passed when Azriel awoke again, quickly silencing his alarm and pressing a kiss to her forehead as he untangled himself from her arms. He did his best to ignore the frown that formed on her lips from the loss of contact, gently sweeping her hair off her face before turning and slipping quietly out of her room and sneaking back down the hallway to his own room, camera in tow.

It wasn’t until he settled into his too cold sheets, eyes fluttering shut as images of Elain flitted in and out of his mind, that he realised he was going to need to learn how to develop his own film.

An emotion he couldn’t - wouldn’t - label flooded through him at the thought of anyone else seeing Elain like that. No, these would be for his eyes only.

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ohnohargrove · 4 months

Text

You found yourself in Ambrose sometime last fall. It was now early June in Louisiana and you had fallen into your new role very well. Most days you stayed at home and did little things around the house like tend to the garden, read books that Bo had gotten you from the library in town or just simply cleaned up the place. Some days, however, you got out and helped the boys with whatever they needed done. You helped Lester with his roadkill runs, you helped Vincent in the workshop with his sculptures and paintings, and today you were helping Bo in the garage.

Bo always fixed up the vehicles that he acquired from victims. Most times he would only do basic maintenance on them and litter them around the town of Ambrose for a more authentic look. On rare occasions though, he would find something he really fancied, fix it up to peak condition and keep it for himself. You never saw him drive these vehicles around because he always told you it was too risky to get caught so you never really new where he kept them.

Today you had both fixed up a very nice Chevy z26. Whoever had it before had kept it in really nice condition so not much fixing was needed, but you two had still spent all day on it and the sun was hanging low in the sky. "Well Darlin', I think we got 'er. You wanna drive with me down to the warehouse?" he asked while wiping the grease off his hands. The warehouse? There was a warehouse? You agreed, curious of what you would find. You entered the car and relaxed in the bucket seat as Bo turned the key and the sports car roared to life.

The warehouse in question wasn't even a mile down the road from Ambrose. Bo explained to you that the old sugar mill used it to store their product so it wasn't very big, but it was big enough to house a few cars. When you finally got there, a few was an understatement. When you finally pulled into the expansive building there were at least 15 cars all neatly lined up. You new right then and there Bo was a sports car guy as an old Doge Dart and a Chevy Nova caught your eye, all shined up to perfection. As you were exiting the vehicle something in the corner caught your eye. In the low hum of the fluorescent lights you spotted something covered with an old sheet.

"Hey, what's that over there?" you asked. Bo let out a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. "What? That old thing?" he asked as he walked over. He pulled the sheet off and underneath was a Harley Davidson motorcycle. "Swiped this of some old guy who got lost up here. I ain't much for motorcycles, but damn this thing is pretty." You agreed. "I've never been on a motorcycle before. They seem pretty fun." Bo looked at you with a little bit of disbelief. "You're tellin' me you've never been on the back of a motorcycle before? Man, you don't know freedom, Darlin'. The sun on your face. The wind in your hair. The open road..."

He kind of got lost int the thought for a second and then looked back to you. You must've gotten lost too. He looked at the motorcycle and then back at you. "I'll tell you what. How about you an' me go for a little ride. It won't take long. Help me wheel this thing out into the open."

--*--

Bo was right about everything. The sun had set but the arrival of summer left a blue hue in the sky right before nightfall. It was starting to get humid but there was a cool breeze that felt good on your clammy skin, the wind amplifying the effect. Crickets were starting to sound off in the Louisiana woods as you both drove down the old roads that were no longer used since the new highway was built.

You hugged Bo from behind and had your head resting on his shoulder. You could tell he was in his element. When was the last time he rode a motorcycle? You couldn't help but think you had unlocked a forgotten joy within him. "Hold on tight Darlin', we're comin' up to some turns." You wouldn't even think of letting go. In that moment you knew you belonged here. You belonged with the boys in their strange little town filled with illusions. You belonged here to be the light in the gloom of death that hung over the town like a whisper. Most of all, you belonged here with Bo.

___________

I've had this in my head for a little bit since I hc that Bo owns at least one motorcycle but I'm just really lazy when it comes to writing. This is actually the first thing I've written in a while so please be nice to me.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax 2005 #Spotify

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tonberry-yoda · 1 year

Note

Hello! I was wondering if it would be okay to request Jack The Ripper and his future SO meeting for the first time and like, them feeling love at first sight? I think that is so cute to think about 😭🤍 and thank you sm sm, hope you're having an amazing day!

That Color - Jack the Ripper

f!reader

notes - PLEASE DUDE AHHHHH OMFG THIS WAS SO WORTH IT TO WRITE!! Thank you so so so so much for the Jack brainrot you have provided me lmaoooo literally I HAVE to make a part 2 for this because it NEEDS one!!!!! Thanks for the request and please please please enjoy <3333

word count - 1,197

You were bored of London. The streets were messy and everyone was the same. You were wanting a new life, but everyone around you was stuck in their old ways. It was getting tiresome for you.

But your biggest problem in these god awful streets was courting. You could never find a man that didn't bore you. You would either get whistles from older men on the street or dates with boys who would tell you about their fathers business that they wanted to take up next. You would sit and nod with a smile on your face, but you would always be praying in your head for the waiter to bring the check already.

Nobody was exciting anymore, they were all just copy and pastes of one another, so simply, you gave up.

---

"Good morning!" Your sister knocked on the side of your door loudly and you squinted your eyes tightly shut when she pulled open the curtains, letting the bright morning light in. "Wake up sleepy head! You don't want to be in that gross old bed all day, do you?"

You groaned and turned over, pulling your blanket over your head.

Your sister shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. "I don't want you staying in bed all day. I'm going to be cleaning the house today, so could you at least go on a walk?" She pulled the covers off of you and you gave her a very pouty look.

"Oh, come on, y/n! You know you can't stay there all day. How about you get your favorite dress on and go to the field."

You hesitated, but admitted that it didn't sound half bad. "Fine. But don't you dare try to set me up with another boring boy." You fake gagged at the thought and your sister rolled her eyes.

"y/n, there are many nice boys I meet at the market! Please just let me try to find the right one for you!"

"No way!" You didn't even think there was a right boy for you in this place. "If there's one out there for me, I'll find him on my own."

You threw on your favorite corset and dress and quickly ran out of the house before your sister could pack anymore boyfriend bullshit on your shoulders.

You cursed under your breath when you stepped outside seeing that it was raining. Stupid London.

You scoffed and turned back inside for an umbrella. God, you hated this awful town. You wanted nothing more than to run away to somewhere different and you didn't care where that was.

The walk was drab, as always. People trying to hoot and holler at you from the pub and other women making fun of your appearance. You ignored them though and walked to the only place that made you feel like you belonged.

Through a very eerie forest, there was a field you found. Green and lush and most of all, empty.

You smiled when you reached the field, leaving your umbrella and shoes to dance alone in the rain before falling back in the grass. You didn't mind that your dress was sopping wet, it could wash. Being this free was rare for you, so it didn't really matter.

You smiled at the cloudy sky before sitting up and looking off to the distance. That's when you found something new.

You tilted your head and stood up, walking towards the figure in the middle of the field. You had never seen anyone here before, so you had to admit, you were definitely curious.

As you got closer, you saw a man who was staring up at the clouds, letting the rain soak his face. He held a hat to his chest and was smiling.

"Hello?" You were merely 20ft away from the man, but still jumped a little when he turned to you, shock painting your face a bit.

He was stunning. He was skinny and tall and wore dark colors. He didn't look like anyone in London you had met before. You thought you were dreaming, so you pinched your own hand and were very much not dreaming.

"Oh, my apologies," the man bowed before standing back to his full height and putting his hat back on his head. "I didn't mean to startle you, dear."

"You didn't." You voice sounded like a little mouse. Whoever you were looking at felt... different than the others you had met before.

The man walked forward and stuck his hand out to you. "Jack. My name is Jack. What's yours, love?"

You looked up at the man and shook his hand. He had a monocle over one of his eyes that didn't even show his eye, it was covered with what looked like gears.

"y/n." You couldn't stop staring at this man. He looked like something out of a dream.

"That's a beautiful name." Jack smiled, making your cheeks heat.

Jesus, what's wrong with me, you thought. I'm not supposed to feel this way about a some... some... man?

"Might I ask why you're all the way out here, my dear?" Jack asked you, tilting his head. "It's not safe out here for a girl like you, don't you think."

"I go here all the time. I'm very safe. Safer here than out there." You pointed to London and crossed your arms.

"You're a tough one, aren't you, love?" Jack looked at you like no other man had. He looked at you liked he believed you, like he knew you could take care of yourself.

"I am." You giggled, sitting down in the grass, letting the rain coat you.

"You'll get a cold." Jack whispered, as he took off his jacket and wrapped it around you.

"Are you real?" You chuckled, gladly taking the jacket.

"What do you mean?" Jack laughed. Oh, you weren't going to be forgetting that laugh anytime soon.

"You're like... the man from my dreams."

Jack's one eye that showed widened. "I-I don't think I know what you mean."

"We've only known each other for a couple of moments, but.... You have already proven you're something different. You're like the pretty boys from my books." You laughed just at the thought of it.

Jack slowly took off his monocle, revealing a bright red eye that shocked you a bit. His eyes were stunning. This had to be a dream.

Jack gasped quietly. That color, he thought, looking at the bright golden yellow aura that poured off of you. It couldn't be...

After everything Jack had been through, hate, fake love, etc.... you, this random girl who he had met in the middle of the field, had let off the brightest, most beautiful color he had ever seen in his life.

"Will I see you again, my dear?" Jack took your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

"I hope so, Jack. I really hope so."

"I'll be back," he whispered, putting his monocle back on. "That, I can promise you."

And just like that, he was gone.

You were already in love and knew you weren't going to fall out for a long time.

~~~~~

ror masterlist | pinned post

~~~~~

2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

@hallowslasher

#PLEASE OMFG #literally love this one #writing #fanfic #my writing #asks #fanfiction #tonberry answers #<3 #record of ragnarok #ror #record of ragnarok x reader #ror x reader #jack the ripper #jack the ripper x reader #jack the ripper ror #moots <3

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fruit-salad-ship · 1 year

Note

Hey, first of all, I really love your work!

I was reading some of the news stuff and I wondered if Peach ever gets a quiet contented moment for herself and what that looks like. And maybe for the extra challenge, we’re there ever moments during her training or adventures like that? Five minutes where she was just able to breathe?

Oh she gets them, it’s whether or not she takes them.

Peach pre Hisui is tightly wound, a workaholic, always stay busy so the stress and the panic doesn’t settle in. If she keeps working and training then nothing bad can go wrong. Her “down time” was spent painting for days on end in secret, and while she found joy in it, she also sold them under a pen name for cash so the labs can get needed upgrades and items. There was always a stressful background hum of needing to do well, to make money to help others. On the rare moments she got back then to relax, it was brief but pleasant. Fleeting moments where she could sit and take a breath, try to focus on the good for just one minute.

The readers of the current comic and various story lines get to watch her learn how to relax during Hisui in particular, it’s a huge part of her growth, and it’s all thanks to Rei, the boy who just happens to be there when she is, and destined to intercept her grouchy stressed out life. He shows her how to relax and enjoy more. The hisui arc is SO important to her unwinding, learning not to be a control freak, not to get hung up on her rage.

She gets plenty of opportunity to relax despite being thrown around in the past, and it’s that endless struggle to survive and win that makes her see that in fact the joys matter, they never did until she gets close to losing them all. She learns to laugh at jokes more, Rei gets her dancing even when she can’t much, but he teaches her what he can. They start to have inside jokes, start to laugh together. Their “training” turns into a more jovial activity, where both parts are actually having more fun than they’ve had in a long time. There’s plenty of moments where she can accept that sometimes you can sit back and relax. It’s ok to not always be ‘on’. Rei is her change, a teenager with no bad vibes what so ever, she needs him way more than he realises.

So when she's finally home and dry, with the people she thought she'd never see again, her loved ones, human and pokemon alike, Peach is a changed woman. Grey has never seen her demand a day off, but she's activly picking her schedule and allowing for time out (unheard of) and in that down time she's busy sure, but busy with things that make her smile, even takes a nap in the sun sometimes, or gets five minutes to stitch in peace for the hell of it. Plum will watch this once stoic and often serious woman crack more jokes, dance with her, she can kind of do that now??? They get to all see this person finally step back and do things for herself in a way that gives her time to rest and come back to do her job way better.

It's a huge notable change, she's much more fun, way more open, with a softer heart, and a calmer disposition. Once you fight a god, can you really be stressed out by the small stuff? She sure can't.

she even kicks a ball around with the oddish now, takes joy rides on Boa just for the fun of it, goes and wades around in the mud with donphan, is a sucker for taking a day to bake something she really likes, bonus everyone else gets to enjoy it. For a non traditional looking woman, her hobbies do slip into quite traditional areas, gardening, baking, sewing, art, and sport.

#shes learning #this whole thing is about development for them all #but her in particular #fruit salad #let the woman REST

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skylermadness · 7 months

Text

The Hour of the (Dark) Owl (Dark Owl TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: July 3, 2023)

Original Description:

My half of a trade with Catolyst on DeviantArt/FurAffinity. Their his can be found here: DeviantArt / FurAffinity Honestly it has been roughly three or four years since I've watched Miraculous, but I will admit it does have some good mood material. Especially considering how easy I was sold on Dark Owl being one! There isn't really a lot to say in regards to the writing process of this story in particular though. Although I don't think I've done this kind of goo trigger before. The idea of goo-based supersuits is a fun one though! Even if I felt like the word 'goo' stopped having meaning halfway through the story. Honestly it's beginning to stop having meaning again and I'm only two thirds of the way through this description. I think there's a word for that... Either way, a very fun story to work on! Definitely allowed me to work on something outside of my usual knowledge base, and I think I did rather well on it! An all around very enjoyable experience~

Your package is 3 stops away…

Cato had found himself leaning on the wall beside the entrance to his home, the man staring down at that exact text message on his phone for roughly a few minutes now. It was boring, to say the least, but it gave his mind something to focus on as he waited for the aforementioned package.

The item that was within said package was a realistic replica of the mask worn by Dark Owl from the Miraculous series. A rather specific piece of memorabilia when it comes to merchandise. Mainly due to the fact that it was for a minor character that he was pretty sure very few people really were all that interested in. The fact he found anything at all related to the guy was a miracle, but it was definitely one he was glad about.

…well, mostly. A fraction of his mind was surprised that he had gotten any kind of indicator that the package was sent out. Or the fact he was getting a package at all.

It was definitely a gamble to buy random merchandise after a random Google search for it one day while he was bored and lacked something to do. Perhaps not the wisest of purchases, but again: rare character memorabilia. Plus Cato had presumed the site was probably one of those online stores where people would put personal projects and things up for sale that the person made themselves. Like Etsy, but lesser known and a lot more shady of a website.

His thoughts were broken at the sudden sound of banging on the door right next to him, which had started him and caused him to almost drop his phone. He did manage to stop himself though, shoving his phone into his pocket and then opening the door to find a medium-sized package placed on the ground in front of it.

"Hm, I didn't even hear anything drive by," Cato mused to himself as he bent down to pick up the box.

He was quick to head back inside his home and find a spot in his living room to set the box down so he could open it. With a conveniently nearby box opener, he cut open the package and pulled aside the flaps.

Sitting within the box was a copious amount of plastic, which was rather excessive for an object that wasn't even marked as fragile. Strangely, there were splotches of brown and black that stained the plastic. Paint, he had presumed. There was also a weird smell of… either rubber or latex, he couldn't really tell.

"I guess this is what happens when you buy off sketchy sites…" he grumbled as he plunged a hand into the plastic and rummaged around it for a few seconds. It didn't take very long for it to graze the object of his desires, Cato almost instantly grasping onto it and pulling it from the confines of the package.

Despite prior concerns thanks to the smudged plastic and the weird smell, as Cato steadily unfurled the mask he realized it looked and felt relatively higher quality than original anticipations had left him to believe. The material wasn't easy to pinpoint, although it did possess an almost rubbery consistency to it that would allow it to be squeezed and pulled while also presumably being comfortable enough to wear on one's face. It possessed a clean, black coloration with two orange tuft-like points that extend from above the eyes to its back. It didn't seem to have any paint chipping or wetness either, which made the stains in the plastic even more peculiar.

"Huh," Cato audibly vocalized, staring at the object as he held it out in front of him, his thumbs within the eye holes of the mask. If anything it was a perfect replica of the object it was designed after. So much so that it looked wide and round enough that it wouldn't fit on his face very well. A bit disheartening, admittedly, but he was probably going to put it on display somewhere in his home anyway. Although looking at it did make him subconsciously wonder if he could find the rest of the costume somewhere online as well…

He shook his head. Nope, definitely not the best financial choice. Especially with… how…

"What the…? Is that paint??"

With the mask's bottom opening fully unfurled, bits of black and blown 'fluid' were starting to slowly drip off the edges of it. And while it didn't look overtly disgusting, it was unpleasant to view globs of a largely unknown substance slowly drop onto the table from the inside of a usually wearable object.

It had to be wet paint, he kept telling himself. Especially considering he could feel it moving over his thumbs. Now that he thought about it he should really take them out of the mask's eyes now…

Ultimately deciding to set the mask down on the table in front of him, he inspected the fingers that were within it for any abnormalities.

Both thumbs were somehow already covered in brown 'paint', the substance seemingly beginning to sluggishly ooze down towards his hand the longer he looked at it. And after a few seconds, Cato realized one thing.

"Why does paint this feel so… rubbery?"

Using a random finger he tried to wipe off the substance from one of his thumbs, only for it to seemingly multiply by moving onto the finger without losing mass on the thumb.

"Wha-huh? G-get off!!" he inadvertently touched his fingers together as he tried to shake it off the hand instead, the other hand being balled into a fist as he dug it into the table for support. Unfortunately, all that resulted in was the strange brown goo spreading across the rest of his fingers. This had occurred on both hands as well, the mysterious substance easily edging onto his palms and knuckles.

With his attempts at forcing the goo off his hands being a failure, Cato splayed them both in front of him and watched the moving goo with a mix of fear and curiosity. The strange, almost rubbery gobs continued to progress across the surface of his skin, stretching over it in a slow wave-like motion. And as his eyes continued to remain affixed on the sight he noticed something else strange starting to happen as well.

It was rather hard to tell at first, but as each second passed it appeared his hands were getting… larger? The size of his fingers were looking longer, a small increase in length having entered into them. Alongside that was a more noticeable increase in size, a visible chunkiness accumulating in them and granting an meatiness to them. This meatiness was also quick to jump to the rest of his hands, especially as the brown goo was almost finished encapsulating them. Their size was being augmented more and more, stretching out in all directions by about an inch. There was even an evident thickness swelling in his hands as well, overall adding to the density of them and granting them a certain aura of power that they didn't possess before in their previously smaller size.

As the rubbery feel of the goo consumed his hands there was an additional swath of changes pushing into them. The rubber was rubbing up against his skin and causing it to age beneath it. A certain level of weathering entered the back of his hands, meanwhile a hardness was entering his palms granting them a set of calluses. There had even been a level of scarring that etched across his knuckles, some sort of battle wear and tear being formulated upon them.

Eventually the goo, alongside the aging beneath it, would move past his hands and onto his arms. The cuffed sleeves of his flannel were already quick in getting consumed by the substance as it layered onto his wrist and crawled up his forearms. As a result the shirt was practically starting to get absorbed into the transformative goop, which had allowed it to be the only thing that would be layered upon his arms. This would only further facilitate Cato's transformation as a gain in size was now entering the lower half of his arms.

As the rubbery substance inched further upwards, a slight warmth was embedding into his forearms. This warmth was then accompanied by a strange feeling of newfound strength that was beginning to bud within the muscles of the region. This feeling only increased with each passing moment, the muscles in that part of the arm increasing in size. A change that steadily garnered a substantial bulkiness within that area of the arm, density increasing more and more as muscle mass was further accrued.

This would only progress further and further, this burgeoning strength pushing upwards more as the substance caused it to move beyond his elbows and onto his upper arms. The coloration of the substance had become a darker brown now that it was past the elbow, and as the melted rubbery-feeling goo continued to meet skin there was a continuation to the increase in his musculature. Muscles slowly swelling up in size, his biceps bulking while his triceps expanded at the same time. His shoulders followed soon after, both of them rounding out due to the maturing of his deltoids. In totality all of this would result in his arms gaining a set of thick, well defined muscles that was nothing like the build his arms had just a minute prior. And it wouldn't be long until Cato felt a twinge at the furthest edges of his chest, the goo now moving beyond the threshold that divided his arms and torso and cascading onto his body.

Cato had spent the time just staring at the changes, unable to fully formulate what to think. Just watching his form bulk up was a surreal experience, even when it was shrouded beneath a bunch of goo that had felt rather weird to just feel rush across his body like this. And this constant feeling of newfound strength that was circulating throughout his arms, as well as starting to emanate from the core of his body, wasn't an unwelcome feeling.

If anything it kind of made him want to flex an arm more than anything.

Although those plans were disregarded as his attention got diverted back to his hands and arms, as Cato noticed the gooey feeling was subsiding into something a lot harder and more rigid. His gaze lingered on the area, the man left watching again as the once runny goop that encased his limbs was slowly beginning to harden. The rubbery feel remained over his hands, with the brown substance seemingly becoming actual rubber as it appeared to be becoming a pair of gloves. A pair of which was gaining a significant set of intricacies as lining formed above the wrist area while the gloves in their entirety tightened across Cato's lower arms, outlining his thicker physique. There even seemed to be a second layer of material forming beneath them in that area, this being further proven as the portion of goo that had surrounded his elbows and arms was garnering a form itself. Darker brown, appearing almost leathery in its surface texture. There even seemed to be a design akin to depictions of chainmail entering certain segments of the material, a strange familiarity forming the longer Cato's eyes stayed on the hardening goop.

"Why does that look strangely like- oh, urgh-"

Cato stepped forward, hands holding onto the table in front of him for support as a sudden gripping sensation entered into his chest. While he was preoccupied the transformative substance was continuing to spread across the man's chest at a fast rate. By now it had already closed onto the split of his shirt, consuming the first two buttons before finally meeting at the middle and spreading upwards and downwards at the same time.

As it spread across his chest the same mixture of heat and continuous addition to strength intensified within the core of his body. This prompted another set of muscles to grow, his pectorals pushing out further as mass was accumulating within them. Thick muscle steadily swelling out forward, a sizable meatiness filling in both pecs with ease. It wasn't long before they started to push into the goo covering his chest, a noticeable crevice forming from this meaty shelf and dividing his upper body from his lower. At the same time the width of his pectoral muscles also was altering, mainly due to the overall size of his body as a whole being widened thanks to his steadily broadening shoulders.

A churning in his gut soon followed, the feeling of the fabric of his shirt touching his abdomen now being replaced by the goopy rubber that now clung to the skin of his belly. Warm heat was spiraling throughout his lower body, that feeling being followed by more muscles forming. A small set of abdominal muscles slowly pushed forward, etching into the goo. They weren't as impressive as the muscles within the rest of his body, with only two rows being slotted forward to form a four pack, but it was still enough to continue the circulation of physical might throughout his body.

While Cato's frontal changes were occuring, the goo had been making its way over his back as well. This was more apparent with the portions of it that had already reached his stomach with the portion of that substance stretching both downwards and sideways. It wrapped around his lower torso, then seemed to almost squeeze it momentarily. It would eventually give Cato a slightly more top heavy build, albeit not by too much with how wide his abdominal region remained.

The weird tugging in his chest started to subside, Cato now being able to regain his senses and properly look down at his chest. He had also idly raised a gloved hand to his neck, the goo seeming to have already enveloped the collar of his flannel and was now encircling the area. The viscose feeling was hardening around his neck as well, allowing him to tug at the now leathery-like material. He definitely wasn't used to this…

The goo on his torso was beginning to follow the example set by his neck with it now shifting in material as well while garnering more detail. It was tightening, resulting in his form getting better outlined. Shades of brown grew more visible within the substance while bits of black formed on the sides and slightly divided where his chest muscles would be. The chainmail-like padding formed in certain areas around the core of his body. But the most prominent alteration was an orangey-brown 'stain' of sorts that formed right in the middle of the formulating uniform, said stain slowly growing more visible while garnering an actual shape. It would take a few seconds, but it would eventually harden into an all-too-familiar insignia of an owl's face.

Seeming to not worry about whether or not the area was properly hardened or not, Cato stopped pulling at the neck of his forming uniform and brought the hand down to the insignia. "It is definitely the Dark Owl uniform, alright," he said, stating the obvious.

The sight made his mind become lost in thought. Eyes fixed to the insignia, the man started to wonder what exactly this substance even was. Did the mask seriously come with some body altering slime that doubled as a replica of the character's uniform? Come to think of it, was he actually becoming the character in terms of physical form? …and why does that kind of sound appealing to him?

With Cato trailing off mentally, a portion of goo that had remained viscous was slowly starting to stretch out behind him. At the exact same time the mask that he had left on the table was now subtly shaking, seeming to inch towards the man at a fairly unimpressive pace. It was like some kind of partially demagnetized object being pulled towards an actual magnet. Meanwhile, the goo was now reaching his waist, having effectively consumed his shirt entirely now and beginning to repeat the same effect with his pants.

The denim of his pants was effortless getting absorbed into the mysterious substance, meaning that as the almost rubbery texture met his skin yet again it was replicating the same changes it had done to the rest of his body. His thighs began to warm, the muscles within them getting stimulated by the transformative substance. Growing thicker in conjunction were his hamstrings and his quads, both of them steadily gaining a substantial musculature akin to that that his arms possessed. The same thing would happen to the lower half of his legs shortly after. As the goo ran beneath his knees, encapsulating the crus of his legs, squeezing against the skin, his calves were prompted to bulge outwards too.

The last section of his lower body that remained unchanged had been his feet, but that didn't last for long as the wave of goop rushed down to his ankles and beyond. His shoes were swallowed up almost instantly, the goo pressing onto his feet in seconds and prompting the final set of growths to set in. They were massaged out, getting larger in size and thicker in width. His toes got chunkier at a rapid pace. The soles of his feet were becoming harder as well, a rough set of calluses forming on the bottom of them much like how they had on his hands.

All while the lower portion of his body got encapsulated, the last portions of the suit finally seemed to begin forming from the substance. Brown with black lines etching across the legs as a new and harder material formed with thin padding forming atop that material. Bubbling out of the goo that covered his knees was a pair of knee pads that stood out rather prominently against the rest of his suit. Then came the bits of goo that surrounded his lower legs and feet, changing into leather as they gained a lighter shade of brown that was the same as the shade on his gloves, although an orange triangle seemed to stretch on both toecaps. Ridges formed across the footwear to give them more defined features while a design etched into the blackening rubber on the soles.

Concurrently, more drastic additions were coming forward from the goo around his back and waist. The thin portion of black goo that was lengthening from his back was already at the length to meet his waist, and it didn't seem to be stopping there as it was progressing beyond that. The other addition was a belt materializing around his waist; brown leather manifesting from the substance with ease while the buckle was a hard metal. The buckle also possessed an owl-like symbol to it.

Cato was still lost in thought, trying to rationalize his feelings in his mind. Would he really mind this transformation all that much? The new physique definitely wasn't an unwelcome one. And the suit outlined it rather-

That final thought was broken in a single millisecond as the very catalyst of this transformation, the mask, came flying onto his face from the table in front of him. He didn't notice it coming, which resulted in the event to be rather startling.

"Wh-what the hell?!" Cato exclaimed, the last word of his sentence sounding a little deeper than the ones prior. In a blind panic he brought the hands to his head and started to grip onto the mask, but it was already becoming a struggle to rip it off of his head.

"God damn it-" he growled out, his voice continuing to change as his breathing got deeper with the longer the mask stayed on his face.

The mask seemed to surprisingly lack any sort of goo, but it still shared transformative properties exactly like the aforementioned substance had. The moment it latched onto his head the very structure of his skull altered, steadily growing to properly and perfectly fit the mask. The structure of it was slowly widening until the sides of his head touched the inside of the mask. The shape of his head also seemed to change, the rectangular shaping of it shifting with his features rounding out to give it a bit more of an oval-like shape.

While his skull was shifting, the very features of his face were altering at the same time. The most visible changes happened to his lower face, Cato's facial hair changing in a rather drastic manner. The beard that was on his chin changed coloration, a deep brown seeping into and replacing the originally blonde follicles. The spikiness of it was quickly getting lost as well, hairs growing out beneath his lower lip as the beard was being forced to grow thicker. The thickening only continued as more and more hairs grew across his jawline, the brown fluff garnering a dense appearance as it did so. Two noticeable vertical stripes also formed, arising onto the portions of his beard that laid at the sides of his jaw. It wouldn't be long until that portion of facial hair seemed to completely cover his lower jaw, giving him a voluminous beard that possessed a rather well-groomed look to it.

As for above his mouth, Cato's mustache hadn't been spared as it too was growing. Blonde hairs deepening to a more orangey-brown, the lengths of them also stretching out the sides of his face. The general density of his mustache was increasing as time went on, more and more hairs continuing to grow upon the ergotrid of his face until it was practically covered. And the hairs only seemed to get longer with each passing second, extending out sideways on each side of his face. It went way beyond the confines of a normal mustache with it lengthening over his cheeks and beyond them, only getting even denser than it had been before. The mustache didn't even start to taper until it reached the further sectors of the edges of his face, and the growing didn't end until the tips were noticeably sticking out.

"Get off me!" Cato continued to yell as he attempted to use his newly developed strength to brute force the mask off of him. "I'll get to putting you on later- urgh-"

He stopped for a second as, in his panic and fury, he managed to slam himself into a wall. "Uugh, come on…"

The entire ordeal only continued to clue him into his changing voice. Deeper, gaining a bit of an aged tone to it. There was a strange aura of authoritativeness etching into it as well. It sounded so foreign coming from his mouth, but at the same time it was easily becoming an exact copy of the voice of the person he was becoming.

The mask continued to get more comfortable on his head as the rest of his facial features changed. His nose was next in line as the bridge of it was losing its broadness, instead becoming thinner as it more cleanly slotted into the nose of the mask. The roundness of the nasal was also being lost, getting thin as well as his nose appeared to become more aquiline in shape. Meanwhile the top of his head was rounding out more as it brushed up against the mask's dome, changing to fit into that area as well.

As his scalp was pushed into the top of the mask more, it also appeared a strange set of changes was settling into the parts of his face that were obscured. The most drastic of them all came with his hair, much of it rapidly shrinking into his scalp the longer the mask pushed onto it. A bald spot formed on the apex of his head, his hairline receding at the same time, and the bald spot was only growing larger in diameter with each passing second. Blonde hairs constantly disappear into the skin atop his head, leaving behind a clean dome. But not all of his hair would leave, as a portion of it that stretched from the sides of his head to the back of it stubbornly remained. Those parts instead just changed colors, going from bright blonde to deep brown rapidly.

As if the balding wasn't enough, his increasing age only seemed to become more noticeable as the material of the mask rubbed onto the skin of his face. A noticeable weathering was forming into it, the looks of a young adult being lost to that of someone much older. His eyebrows, originally slightly thin, got thicker while they grew longer as well. If his mask was off the arching of his eyebrows could better be more antiquated to the brows of an owl. All the while they gained the same dark coloration as the rest of his hair.

Cato groaned as he pushed himself off the wall, stumbling forward slightly. The thin layer of goo that had stretched behind his back was the last part that seemed unfinished, although after a few more seconds it would end up finally solidifying into a cape. And while many of the physical changes were slowing to a halt, an immense hazy feeling was entering the man's mind. He blinked his eyes a few times, yellow and orange spirals starting to enter them at the last few blinks.

"What… is this… feeling?" he asked himself, raising a hand back up to hold his forehead.

There was a pressurizing feeling within his mind. It was small at first, but it wasn't long until it grew in size. And it wasn't long until it seemed to almost make itself known. It felt abstract at first; urges and desires that were not his own yet they seemed to constantly push into trying to be his. As if they were trying to replace his very self in a way.

A more prominent aspect was one that felt heroic. An immense feeling to be of aid to people who needed it. That immenseness was only growing, getting practically overwhelming in mere seconds. It was practically becoming a staple of his new personality in a way, a driving force for his actions in a way he couldn't fully comprehend.

"N-not right…" Cato groaned out, stumbling another step forward. Such a thought felt wrong. Felt unlike himself. So far beyond his human capabilities. And yet those rationalizations were fleeting fast. What is himself, really? He has this muscular form, he has a certain level of age to him. He has the suit, and his mind felt as if it could easily recall the knowledge for such things.

Was that there before? Knowing to fight? It was hard to discern. Everything felt numb and hazy, everything in Cato's mind just felt like it was drowning. Or was it getting replaced? It was abstract, again.

"Can't think… have to… urgh-"

He still wanted to resist it all though. To tug himself out the overwhelming urges of heroics, the constant impounding to his very identity. He wanted to tell himself he wasn't a hero, but everything was drowning that out because as time was passing it just didn't feel true. How could he think himself not to be one? Especially when he was the best hero this city has to offer, the only-

That's when something else clicked. A second intense feeling that spiraled alongside the first.

It was a very uncouth one, one that practically contrasted with the very identity that should be upheld. At the same time however, it was nigh-impossible to resist the strange urge of vengeance that burned in the back of his mind. It felt like a reason for him to exist, in a way. A negative emotion to pull from and to give him a sense of purpose.

And don't many heroes have that to a degree?

Then again, his desire was one that could be considered selfish. One of hostility, one of wanting to be the only hero around. Perhaps other heroes don't have that, but then again he's not like other heroes. Is he?

But he's not a hero, he's… someone else?

Such a thought was feeling foreign. Pointless. He is a hero! He's the Dark Owl!

He couldn't stop the confident smirk forming on his face in reaction to that very thought. An identity properly forming in his mind, pooling together all the thoughts and emotions that were within it. Any former sense of self seemed distant, replaced. Not like he would ever be able to acknowledge such a thing. As far as he was aware, the only self that existed was the Dark Owl.

A fist clenched, the spirals in his eyes fading into a clean green and orange double-layer iris in his eyes that further accentuated the owl-like features the hero possessed. The fisted arm curled, practically flexing, while the other one swung behind him with his upper body turning slightly. A leg stepped forward while the other one remained in its spot. A smirk still plastered on his face the Dark Owl finished his heroic pose, exclaiming, "Hoo-hoo! Paris' greatest superhero is here to save the day!" as he did so.

Although after that he starts to come to his senses. Primarily because he's not outside, and the place he is in doesn't look familiar at all.

Ending his pose, he shifts to a more upright position as he raises a hand to scratch the back of his head. Looking around, all he can gather is this is someone's home. "Hm…" His inspection does end up eyeing the opened box on the table. Brow raised in curiosity, he steps forward to the table and picks up the empty cardboard package. He turns it around a few times, attempting to find some clue as to where he was. And it isn't long until he does…

#character tf #human tf #transformation #weight gain tf #age progression #tf

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ibijau · 2 years

Text

today is @veraverorum ‘s birthday, so as per tradition I wrote them a fic of their choosing. And then that fic got a little long, so I’m posting it in 3 parts over the week!

I'm not the step-dad, I'm the dad that stepped up pt1 // On AO3

(checking the tags on AO3 is advised)

People who did not know Nie Huaisang tended to assume that he was not a morning person. It was an assumption that he gladly encouraged, making it clear that nobody should ever expect him to be available for them until late morning at best. In fact, anyone trying to check on him mid-morning would indeed find him deeply asleep, and nearly impossible to wake up, confirming their assumption of his laziness.

But anyone foolish enough to instead bother him at the crack of dawn would have merely found an empty bed, because Nie Huaisang usually woke up a first time before the sun rose, dealt with his business for a shichen or two when nobody was around to bother him, and then went back to sleep while others were starting to wake up.

His business was not usually of a nature that others considered as serious (though he personally took it very seriously). Daylight might be good for running a sect or doing cultivation, but fishing usually yielded better results if he went early, painting was more fun when he was sure nobody would scold him for it, masturbating and then going back to sleep immediately was a huge favourite, and bird watching at sunrise was just the best.

It was bird watching that he’d elected as his activity of choice that morning, as it had done nearly every morning in the few weeks since he’d been sent to hide in the Cloud Recesses. Partly because it was always his favourite thing to do, of course. But with paper becoming too precious to be wasted these days he rarely dared to paint, masturbating was boring when he only had one set of erotic prints with him, and fishing was forbidden within the limits of the Cloud Recesses, while leaving those borders was not allowed to him. His brother had sent him here to stay safe in case the Wens decided to attack more great sects, and safe he had to remain. Normally Nie Huaisang didn’t care much about his brother’s paranoia, because surely there would never be an actual war, but…

But the Cloud Recesses had burned, leaving most of it in ruins. And Lan Xichen, now its sect leader, had not been heard of in the four months that had passed. And Nie Huaisang, along with others his age, had been kept hostage by the Wens for over two months. And just the day before, Nie Huaisang had heard that the Yunmeng Jiang sect had been completely slaughtered by the Wens, who hadn’t left a single survivor behind, not even the youngest children or weakest elders.

For once, Nie Mingjue was right about the situation being pretty bad.

Nie Huaisang, who was a proud coward, stayed where he was told to stay, and remained out of everyone’s way whenever possible. He even played at following the Lan rules during daylight, mostly for the novelty of it, and because Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji scared him so much. But Lan Wangji had now left to find out what had really happened in Yunmeng, and Lan Qiren was usually very busy in the morning, so Nie Huaisang was free to do as he pleased, as long as what pleased him didn’t get him in trouble.

Hence, bird watching, usually the world’s least trouble inducing hobby, or so Nie Huaisang tried to tell everyone who suspected him of mischief.

Usually.

For a few days already, Nie Huaisang had been tracking a certain bird that lived near the Cloud Recesses. Its song was unfamiliar to him, which had made him curious enough that he’d put in significant effort to see it, even going into parts of the Cloud Recesses he wasn’t normally supposed to be in. That morning, his relentless pursuit had led him to the half ruined Hanshi, where sect leaders of Gusu Lan were supposed to live. It wasn’t somewhere an outsider like Nie Huaisang was supposed to visit without invitation, but the place had suffered significant damage from the fire, and it wasn’t as if there was a sect leader in the Cloud Recesses at the moment. So Nie Huaisang, following that haunting bird song, had not hesitated to make his way into the ruined part of the building until he reached an inner courtyard. There a little garden, which must have once been exquisitely beautiful, now laid blackened by the fire. But just as the Cloud Recesses hadn’t been fully destroyed, something remained in that courtyard, and already a few strands of green grass were trying to grow amidst the blackened mess.

Nie Huaisang, who enjoyed pretty gardens as much as the next person (provided the next person loved gardens to a somewhat concerning degree), felt saddened by the miserable state of that place, and thought that he just might come there secretly sometimes and try to get things back in order. Surely it would make Lan Xichen happy when (if) he returned to have a nice place to meditate. Nie Huaisang liked it when Lan Xichen was happy, just on the principle that handsome people were even more pleasant to look at when their mood was good. Besides, Lan Xichen was a nice person, who’d always been quite kind to Nie Huaisance, and it would be fun to be kind to him in return, just to try it out.

Nie Huaisang’s rare thoughts of selfless generosity quickly evaporated when he heard again that bird that had been messing with him for the last few days. Without thinking, Nie Huaisang turned toward the source of that song, somewhere near the more intact half of the Hanshi. But rather than to see at last that mysterious bird, Nie Huaisang found himself looking at something far more unexpected.

Across the courtyard, on the unburned part of the building, a door had been opened wide, showing glimpses of a refined room. Nie Huaisang could just barely see a large bronze mirror resting against a wall and. He had a much better view of the man standing in front of that mirror, fully nude.

Lan Xichen.

Nie Huaisang was first surprised that Lan Xichen had returned without his knowledge. He was usually good at knowing what was happening around him, if only because he enjoyed gossip a little too much. If Lan Xichen had returned officially, through the main gate, Nie Huaisang would surely have known.

His second surprise was caused by Lan Xichen’s nudity. Of course Nie Huaisang knew that even Lans had to get naked sometimes, to wash if nothing else, but the concept just felt so alien it was almost funny. After all, Nie Huaisang knew for a fact that even when they went to meditate in their horrible cold springs, they usually kept some of their garments on (but that might have been because the springs were, indeed, very cold). Not that Nie Huaisang was complaining at all about the view. Lan Xichen was a very handsome person to begin with, and Nie Huaisang had always enjoyed looking at him when he needed to shed layers while training on very hot days (the only reason he'd ever showed up to the training grounds, actually). And Nie Huaisang didn’t believe in ethics strongly enough that he wouldn’t stay and get a good look, especially since Lan Xichen appeared unaware that he had company.

That was because Lan Xichen’s attention was entirely on his own body. He kept looking into the bronze mirror with an unreadable expression, then would look down at himself and frown. Both his hands were on his stomach, touching and stroking it, as if trying to map it out. Not without reason, Nie Huaisang thought. At the angle from which he could see Lan Xichen, it appeared that his stomach was a little fuller than normal. It could have been that Lan Xichen had eaten too much, but he’d have needed to truly gorge himself on food to get his stomach distended that way. Besides, it made no sense. Lans had strict rules against overeating, and Lan Xichen was not the sort to break his sect’s rules. And then the way he kept touching his stomach… it was a familiar gesture. Nie Huaisang has seen others do it. One of his cousins had been like that after she’d gotten pregnant, always touching her belly even when it was still very flat, trying to find if it showed at all under her clothes, and she’d probably done the same when she was naked as well.

It was rare for men to get pregnant, but not unheard off. It could happen in various ways, either because they’d been born with a body that didn’t suit them which they’d trained until they were indistinguishable from other men, or weird dual cultivation methods, or curses, or potions, or who else knew what. Nie Huaisang had encountered these options and more when reading, and he had jerked off more than once to such stories.

He watched a little longer, fascinated by the sight in front of him, which was just as erotic as those illustrations he'd seen. Lan Xichen’s body was lean and strong and gorgeous, and then there was that little bump at the bottom of his stomach, that unexpected softness that looked both out of place and like the perfect addition to an already perfect silhouette. But the longer Nie Huaisang watched, the more obvious it became that this wasn't a happy moment for Lan Xichen. After he'd spent a while observing his own body, Lan Xichen appeared to be getting frustrated. He started pushing down on his stomach, as if trying to force his body into its normal shape. His expression grew darker as well, and although Nie Huaisang was a little too far to be sure, he thought that Lan Xichen might have started crying.

It suddenly occurred to Nie Huaisang that he was witnessing something he shouldn’t have seen at all. Normally he might not have cared, and would instead just have observed this and used it as masturbation material later when he was bored. But he did like Lan Xichen. In fact, Nie Huaisang sometimes suspected he had a bit of a crush (more than a crush, perhaps), though he also believed that everybody had a crush on Lan Xichen anyway, so it didn't really matter.

The point being, Nie Huaisang had enough respect for Lan Xichen to leave him to deal with his problems and pretend he hadn’t seen anything. So he very carefully made his way back through the ruined part of the Hanshi, walked back to the room he’d been given for his stay, and went back to sleep without being noticed by anyone.

Well, Nie Huaisang tried to go back to sleep, anyway. But he found himself turning this way and that, or staring at the ceiling, absolutely unable to keep his eyes shut.

He kept thinking of that little bump of a stomach, of Lan Xichen’s tears. And the more he thought about it, the more he wondered how Lan Xichen had ended up in that situation. He was after all too serious to sleep around (Nie Huaisang would have know about it otherwise, and fought for his own chance to jump in Lan Xichen's bed), especially if he was the sort of man whose body could naturally fall pregnant… but even if that wasn't normally a risk, the Lan cultivation method put great emphasis on the importance of having one single dual cultivation partner. It didn’t stop junior disciples from fooling around, but it did mean they were never willing to do more than handjobs or blowjobs unless they thought it was true love, as Nie Huaisang himself had learned long ago. And while Lan Xichen was universally admired and lusted after, it was difficult to imagine him getting close enough to anyone to get in such a sticky situation. His only close friend, the one person who could be suspected of having his affection, was Nie Mingjue, and he was even less the sort to fool around, and entirely uninterested in romance anyway. It had to be a secret relationship then, one so secret that it had even escaped Nie Huaisang’s attention.

Judging by the small curve of Lan Xichen’s stomach, the pregnancy couldn’t be more than three or four months in. That placed the conception around the time the Cloud Recesses had been burned, either a little before or a little after… but more likely before, since after Lan Xichen would have been on the run and probably too busy hiding to have dalliances. Or had he met a handsome stranger who had swept him off his feet? Perhaps someone who had helped him stay away from the Wens, and now Lan Xichen missed that person, and that was why he’d have been crying…

Nie Huaisang huffed angrily, and turned again on his bed, pulling his thin blanket over his eyes. This whole thing was unpleasant to think about. Not because he was envious of Lan Xichen's mysterious lover (he wasn't so foolish as to think Lan Xichen could ever like him) but merely because he hated not knowing the whole story. He hoped that there would soon be an official announcement to put him out of his misery.

But for the time being he eventually had to accept that he wouldn’t fall asleep again.

So Nie Huaisang got up, and patiently waited for the bell that announced breakfast. As soon as it was allowed he made his way to the dining halls, and went to sit at his usual place, next to his current best friend, Lan Shuhuai. Lan Shuhuai was ninety at least (he’d stopped counting after that age, he liked to say), but didn’t look a day over fifty. He was a (mostly) well respected elder of the Gusu Lan sect in charge of the library (or what remained of it), and he’d half recruited Nie Huaisang in helping with his cleaning effort. Something Nie Huaisang had readily agreed to, because Lan Shuhuai knew all the best gossip, and didn’t mind sharing it with the right person. And since Nie Huaisang was always more than happy to hear all the gossip available, they made a great team.

Of course Lan Shuhuai noticed when Nie Huaisang kept looking at the table when Lan Qiren was eating, surprised not to see his oldest nephew sitting with him. And when Nie Huaisang hesitantly confessed that he thought he’d caught a glimpse of Lan Xichen that morning, Lan Shuhuai quickly silenced him with a gesture. It was only when they were alone together in the ruins of the library, still sorting through the destroyed books that Lan Xichen hadn’t been able to take with him, that Lan Shuhuai agreed to talk about his young sect leader’s whereabouts.

“He came by last night,” Lan Shuhuai confirmed. “Spent a good shichen with that Chengfu boy, the doctor, and apparently he was pretty upset when he left. From what I’ve been told, our young Lan zongzhu even raised his voice about… whatever it is he needed a doctor for. Old Chengfu apparently wanted him to stay in the Cloud Recesses until his condition improved, but you know how young men are. I’ve heard he’s already left Gusu again, either to see your brother or to meet some other sect leaders about what happened in Yunmeng.”

Considering how even tempered Lan Xichen was, it was really odd to think of him getting angry. At the same time, being pregnant could affect people’s mood, and it really was an inconveniently timed pregnancy at that. It would have been better to end it, but if Nie Huaisang’s guess of four months was right, then it would have been complicated.

He didn’t understand all the details, but after a certain point the baby became too accepted by the bearing parent’s golden core to be safely aborted. From what Nie Huaisang had heard, two to three months was the ideal period, anything after that became riskier. And that was supposing Lan Xichen would have preferred the baby gone, which Nie Huaisang had to assume was unlikely. Considering the Lans’ ideas on love and sex, Lan Xichen probably had intense romantic ideas about his baby and his baby’s father, and he’d want to keep it of course… in which case, the doctors might have advised him to maybe not run around when the Wens still wanted to capture him and they were all on the verge of a war. Lan Xichen probably wouldn’t have liked that either, because he was not quite twenty, and even someone reasonable like him must have wanted the chance to be a hero.

What a complicated situation, really.

Lan Shuhuai, seeing Nie Huaisang so deep in thought he’d been inspecting the same scroll for the better part of half a shichen, nudged him with a smile.

“Well, Xiao Sang, do you know something about this that I don’t? I’ve never seen you look so serious.”

“I just hope Xichen-ge is not too seriously ill,” Nie Huaisang innocently replied. “My brother would be so sad if something happened to his friend… and besides, can you imagine if Wangji-xiong had to become sect leader?”

That made Lan Shuhuai shiver, and got him to start retelling stories about the Twin Jade’s father, who had not been a very good sect leader even during the short time he had actually bothered leading anything, and how Lan Wangji was similarly an amazingly talented young man but simply not a good fit for the role. Nie Huaisang got a few good laughs out of that, and at least two new embarrassing childhood anecdotes that would make good ammunition against Lan Wangji someday. But most importantly, Nie Huaisang once again managed to hear plenty of gossip without sharing much himself, which was exactly how he liked it.

Days passed, turning into weeks, and still there was no announcement of Lan Xichen’s pregnancy. Odder still, there was no rumour of it, either. Even Lan Shuhuai did not seem to know why his young sect leader had needed a doctor that night he’d finally come home. At most, he’d heard something about possible early signs of a Qi deviation, but he shared that without great conviction, just because he was bored and liked to chat while they sorted books.

Nie Huaisang, curious as he was, figured it made sense for the pregnancy to be kept secret, especially once an alliance was formalised to fight against the Wens. The whole thing was already fragile enough, what with Jin Guangshan’s reluctance, and Lan Xichen’s age, and Jiang Cheng’s age (and lack of an actual sect to speak of). If people knew that Lan Xichen was pregnant on top of being too young, it would make that alliance too much of a joke. It was probably better to keep things secret as long as possible, and to hope that by the time Lan Xichen’s predicament became too obvious to hide, the Sunshot Campaign would be doing well enough that this wouldn’t cause problems.

Nie Huaisang’s assessment of the situation was confirmed when Lan Xichen visited again, a month later. This time the visit was a little more official. Lan Xichen did not try to hide his presence (there was no longer a need for that, now that they’d reach open war) and yet there was still no news of his condition. Yet that condition was still an on-going issue, Nie Huaisang figured, because Lan Xichen’s second stop (right after seeing his father’s tomb to pay his respects) had been to go see the one Lan doctor who hadn’t left yet for the front. Rumour had it that Lan Xichen was once more very unhappy about whatever news it was he received, which suddenly made the theory that he was on the verge of Qi deviation a lot more popular among the Lans. They could not imagine any other reason why their young, strong, and apparently healthy new sect leader would be in need of medical attention.

Nie Huaisang, who knew better, held his tongue. At dinner, he kept glancing across the dining hall toward Lan Xichen who sat alone with his uncle, both of them looking equally grim. It was one thing for Lan Qiren to be so severe, when the man had probably never smiled once in his entire life. But to see Lan Xichen frowning that way was rather discomforting. Nie Huaisang quickly decided that he did not like it. And, being used to getting his way about nearly everything, he decided that what he wanted at the moment was to see Lan Xichen smile again, just to get a sense of normalcy when everything else felt so chaotic.

It would have been ridiculous to approach Lan Xichen during dinner, or right after it for that matter. A sect leader had many duties to attend, especially within a sect already half depleted by the demands of war. Nie Huaisang’s experience in dealing with his brother had taught him to be smart about these things, and to wait for the right moment. Concerning Lan Xichen, he knew that the other man had slept last time in what still remained of the ruined Hanshi, and he knew as well how easy it was to get there without being noticed, having gone a few more times since that fateful morning because he was still looking for that damn bird. It was logical, then, for Nie Huaisang to return to that ruined garden and hide himself there, as patient in this as he was when he went birdwatching.

It was a long wait to be sure, yet less so than Nie Huaisang had prepared himself for. Night had barely fallen when the light of a candle appeared inside the room where he’d seen Lan Xichen last time. Better yet, the door toward the garden soon opened and Lan Xichen himself appeared, fully dressed this time, and came to stand among ruined beauty. Nie Huaisang sprang from his hiding place and greeted Lan Xichen with the same good humour as always. Lan Xichen was startled to find that he was not alone, but quickly relaxed when he realised who was there with him.

“Huaisang, you shouldn’t be out here so late,” Lan Xichen scolded too gently, as if he were still incapable of being reasonably harsh toward Nie Huaisang even when it was deserved. “If you are caught wandering at this time, you’ll have to be punished.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just be tasked with helping Lan Shuhuai even more,” Nie Huaisang retorted. “And that’s what I do all day already.”

“Yes, I’ve heard you’ve been helping a lot. I’ll make sure to mention it to your brother when I see him, I’m sure he will be glad to hear it. I know I’m very grateful for your hard work.”

“It’s not so hard, and Lan Shuhuai always has fun stories to tell so time passes fast.”

“I can imagine Lan Shuhuai is just the sort of company you’d enjoy,” Lan Xichen said, his mouth twitching in amusement, though he did not quite manage to smile.

Even that was an improvement over Lan Xichen's sour mood at dinner, and Nke Huaisang took it as a first victory.

"Of course, Xichen-ge's company is even more enjoyable," he said with sincere warmth. "I'm so glad I was able to catch a moment with you."

"Is that so?" Lan Xichen asked, a little mocking. "I'm surprised. Considering how many times you've accused me of being cruel and unfeeling just because I asked you to study, I thought my company would be particularly loathsome to you."

"I'm not a student anymore, so I'm safe from that now."

"I can still report to your brother on the frequency of your training," Lan Xichen retorted with good humour. "When was the last time you picked up that sabre he lent you to come here? Should we spar a little so I can check your progress?"

Nie Huaisang gasped in mock horror, one hand over his heart while he pretended to stumble as if he'd been struck. Lan Xichen smiled at first, then laughed when Nie Huaisang, now pretending the attack had been mortal, leaned against the remains of a burned tree with a dramatic groan.

It was a soft little thing, that laughter. It sounded fragile almost, as if Lan Xichen couldn't quite remember how to laugh after so much tragedy. And yet, quiet as it was, it illuminated his face, giving it back the warmth that had been absent so far.

Forgetting his comedy, Nie Huaisang stared at him in awe. It always caught him by surprise, how handsome Lan Xichen was when he forgot to restrain himself. Not that he wasn't handsome the rest of the time (he definitely was) but in those too rare moments of sincere emotion, Lan Xichen appeared as a stunning god walking among mortals. A god for whom Nie Huaisang felt more than he ought to have felt, especially when all signs pointed to Lan Xichen having already found his cultivation partner.

But it was fine if Nie Huaisang had a crush. It was fine as long as he didn't let it stop him from being a good friend. In fact, unrequited love, as far as he was concerned, was very fashionable, so he didn't mind partaking in that a little. It would give him something to lament over next time he saw his other friends, and maybe he'd even get Nie Mingjue to feel sorry for him.

"Fine, I'll keep that secret from your brother," Lan Xichen promised, still retaining a certain softness at the corner of his eyes even as he tried to make himself stern again. "And I am happy that you came to see me, but you must go now. I meant it earlier, you will be punished if you're caught breaking curfew."

"It'll be worth it."

"I would be sad if you were punished because of me," Lan Xichen replied. "You don't want me to be sad, do you?"

The question was asked in a playful tone, but Nie Huaisang couldn't help taking it seriously. He really didn't want Lan Xichen to be sad. It would be unbearable to cause Lan Xichen any sadness, when already the world was so unkind to him. Nie Huaisang wanted Lan Xichen to be happy, and he might even be willing to slightly inconvenience himself for it, or to put mild effort into it, which was far more than he could say about literally anyone or anything else in the world.

"Fine, I'll go for now," Nie Huaisang conceded. "But can I come to see you again tomorrow night?"

"I'll be gone by then," Lan Xichen said, fully serious once more.

"Then can I come next time you visit? Just to chat a little like this. I won't bother you, I swear!"

"I don't think I have the power to stop you if that's what you want."

"Of course I want it. But if you don't, I'm not going to force you."

From being stern, Lan Xichen's expression turned a little sad. "That's very kind of you. I think I would like it if you came again. It would really be... But I won't hold it against you if you change your mind between now and then."

"Oh, I definitely won't!" Nie Huaisang exclaimed.

Lan Xichen only looked more sad, as if he knew something Nie Huaisang didn't know. Except Nie Huaisang did know about the pregnancy, and he didn't mind, didn't care, and just wanted to make Lan Xichen smile again.

As long as Lan Xichen smiled, and he smiled because of Nie Huaisang, for Nie Huaisang, nothing else mattered at all.

After that, Lan Xichen returned more often to the Cloud Recesses. Every two or three weeks he would drop by, sometimes alone, more often accompanied by people he had freed from the Wens' clutches. Among those people, some would leave again with him if they were strong enough to fight and judged trustworthy. The others, the young, the old, the weak, those of dubious allegiance, would be confined to the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Xichen never stayed long. A day or two, three at most, and then he was gone again, almost a ghost within his own home. But two things were sure to happen when he was there. First, that he would go see the doctor. Second, that Nie Huaisang and him would exchange a few words.

At first it was Nie Huaisang who sought him out each time, which appeared to surprise Lan Xichen. But then again, with his pregnancy still a secret, there were no rumours to isolate him more than his status already did. And it seemed to do him real good to have someone chat with him as if he were still nothing more than a young master, so Nie Huaisang made sure never to miss out on his visits.

Then, about three months after Lan Xichen's first secret visit, came a day where Lan Xichen was the one to purposefully seek out Nie Huaisang. Of course Nie Huaisang was easy enough to find, because if he wasn't helping in the library then he was gardening, the most pointless and most run activity he'd found for his spare time. Nie Mingjue might have been impressed to see his brother hard at work removing dead bushes and burned out small trees, but Nie Huaisang took comfort in knowing that he was still doing something useless, so physical effort was acceptable.

Still, when Lan Xichen found him, Nie Huaisang was dirty and sweating, his face and hands black with dirt, and overall it wasn't at all how he wanted to be seen by the other man. Least of all when Lan Xichen, in spite of the war, still looked magnificent in his long pale robes.

Magnificent, and visibly pregnant. It had gotten to the point where the many layers worn by the Lan sect could no longer hide Lan Xichen's state. Others would notice, and gossip would be inevitable. But as for Nie Huaisang, he pretended he couldn't see anything, and just greeted Lan Xichen with the same good humour as always.

His silence on that topic appeared to come as a relief to Lan Xichen, and yet his thanks for Nie Huaisang's kindness was to be unbearably cruel, and mean, and the worst friend in the entire world.

"It's just your sabre," Lan Xichen said with barely restrained laughter as Nie Huaisang inspected the offending chunk of metal. "No need to be so upset."

"It's just my sabre, and then it'll be just training, and then just something else that's awful," Nie Huaisang whined. "I can't. I'm too delicate. Can't we pretend you lost it on your way here?"

The argument about being delicate would have worked better without the pile of uprooted bushes surrounding Nie Huaisang, but he was shameless enough to try anyway.

"Your brother would be very upset at me if I lost your sabre," Lan Xichen pointed out with a smile.

"But now he's going to be upset at me for not using it! Have you no mercy?"

"None at all. Better you than me."

Nie Huaisang gasped in horror and betrayal, before both of them started chuckling like schoolboys. Lan Xichen stayed a little more after that, giving some news from the war and from Nie Mingjue, before he had to leave again. But that visit proved a turning point. From then on, whenever Lan Xichen came to the Cloud Recesses, he would look for Nie Huaisang to talk with him, instead of Nie Huaisang trying to steal a few moments of his time.

That change was of course noticed and, combined with Lan Xichen's now obvious stomach, it naturally gave rise to questions and suspicions. Nie Huaisang noticed that the elders who had stuck around would look at him with either interest or open hatred, when before they gave him as little attention as if he'd been an ant under a blade of grass. Lan Qiren was the only one whose attitude did not change, confirming that he had to know who was really to blame for his nephew's condition.

A condition that was still not being acknowledged in any official way. There was still no announcement, which Nie Huaisang was starting to find odd. The war was going well enough at this point, the alliance was strong enough, that publicly admitting Lan Xichen was with child should have been fine. In fact there should also have been news of an engagement at this point. If the other father was a commoner, he should have been brought to the Cloud Recesses and a pretty tale woven to explain why it was actually fine for Lan Xichen to make such a bad match. And if it was a cultivator, a stronger alliance could have been struck with his sect, or else he could have been treated as a martyr of the war against the Wens if he'd fallen against them, and Lan Xichen granted a posthumous marriage to his one true love.

It was all very odd. Nie Huaisang took it as proof that the Lans didn't understand politics and propaganda at all. If he’d been in charge of that, things would have gone very differently.

Not that Nie Huaisang wanted to be in charge of anything. In fact, now that Lan Shuhuai and him were done sorting out the remains of the library, Nie Huaisang was hard at work to avoid being given anything else to do. Helping Lan Shuhuai had been one thing, because Nie Huaisang had hardly done anything at all except provide company. But now Lan Qiren had suggested that Nie Huaisang might give him a hand with double checking the sect’s budget, and that would be more of a problem.

Not because Nie Huaisang wasn’t capable of doing it. In fact, he was immensely competent with numbers, which always surprised everyone who bought into his image as an idle and useless young master. But numbers were fun, and Nie Huaisang was good when it came to money because the too small allowance his brother gave him forced him to be very careful with spending (it had even forced him to build some small businesses while studying in Gusu, to supplement his income and maintain his lifestyle). But if people found out that he was good at one thing, then they’d start expecting him to learn how to be good at other things, and Nie Huaisang just couldn’t be bothered. It was better to keep expectations low and pretend to be a complete idiot.

Which would have been a lot easier if Lan Qiren hadn’t confiscated his accounting book some years ago, and found out first hand that Nie Huaisang was occasionally competent when it suited him. As a result, they were now stuck in a very polite conflict where Lan Qiren tried to get Nie Huaisang to help, while Nie Huaisang pretended he couldn’t pick up the subtle hints dropped at him.

In a way, it was kind of fun.

Well, it was fun until Lan Qiren pulled a dirty trick and had his older nephew ask Nie Huaisang to help around a little.

Lan Xichen was once more visiting the Cloud Recesses after doing whatever people did out there to fight the Wens. It had snowed recently, the first snow of the season, and Nie Huaisang had been happily wasting time making snowmen around the Hanshi, just for the fun of it. It was there that Lan Xichen found him, having likely come there as soon as he’d taken care of his more urgent duties.

By Nie Huaisang’s calculations, Lan Xichen had to be close to giving birth by then. Certainly his stomach was frightfully large. Had he been a woman, he would have stopped appearing in public weeks ago, forced by doctors to rest until the birth. So much activity couldn’t be good for the baby. It probably wasn’t very good for Lan Xichen either, who looked quite tired, but he was probably too stubborn to stop helping with the Sunshot Campaign.

“So this is what you've been doing lately?” Lan Xichen asked when he reached Nie Huaisang, gesturing at the snowmen. “Aren’t you a little old for this?”

“One is never too old to have fun. And I have nothing else to do, anyway.”

“Yes, I’ve been told you made sure of that,” Lan Xichen replied with a mischievous smile. “I have something to say about that. First, can you help me sit? My back hurts if I stand too long.”

Nie Huaisang dutifully obeyed, guiding Lan Xichen to a nearby bench, wiping away the snow from it, then helping the other man sit down. Lan Xichen sighed in relief, and gestured dismissively at his round stomach.

“It’s such a bother, always in my way. I’ve been told some people enjoy this state, but personally I can’t be freed from it soon enough.”

Startled to hear Lan Xichen acknowledge his pregnancy, Nie Huaisang found himself unsure what to say and just nodded.

“Sit down with me,” Lan Xichen said, patting the space next to him on the bench. It wasn’t a very big bench, they’d have to sit close together, and that made Nie Huaisang hesitate. “Sit, please,” Lan Xichen insisted. “At this point, just seeing someone standing makes my feet hurt.”

“Fine then,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, sitting next to Lan Xichen, trying not to enjoy too much the way their elbows and thighs touched.

“You’re always so considerate with me,” Lan Xichen said. From anyone else it would have been sarcasm, but he seemed sincere enough. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet for the way you’ve tried to keep me in a good mood whenever I’ve come here, but I’m really grateful. You’ve made this a little more bearable.”

“I haven’t done anything!”

“You’ve told me jokes, and made me laugh, and distracted me whenever I was angry with something, which was nearly every time I’ve had to come home,” Lan Xichen retorted. “It was really helpful. And I also deeply appreciate the fact that you’ve never asked me any question about… about my situation. Knowing you, you must have been very curious, so I’m sincerely grateful you made an effort not to mention it.”

Nie Huaisang’s cheek heated up, embarrassed by more praise than he was used to.

“I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you’d say so,” he muttered. “You didn’t, so I didn’t either. I bet you had enough people pestering you about it already.”

Lan Xichen grimaced as he nodded. One of his hands came to rest on his stomach for a moment, but he quickly removed it with another grimace.

“People feel so entitled to the details of my life,” he sighed. “But there’s just a lot I don’t feel like sharing. I’ve told the doctors what they had to know, I’ve told my uncle what he had to know… I don’t see why anyone else deserves to hear about it, or why I should share unimportant facts. Even your brother was pestering me about it, and refused to accept that any answers I could give would just be unpleasant for him. But you… thank you for respecting my privacy.”

Thinking about having watched Lan Xichen naked that one time, and having imagined him nude many more times since, Nie Huaisang shrugged. He didn’t feel he’d been particularly good at respecting anyone’s privacy here, but he wasn't above taking a compliment he didn't deserve.

“You’ve really been a true friend,” Lan Xichen insisted, looking at Nie Huaisang with a smile so soft his heart skipped a beat. “And I hope you’ll allow me to ask you for a favour, out of friendship.”

“Anything you want, Xichen-ge!”

“I’ve just been told that I’m too close to my term to leave the Cloud Recesses again,” Lan Xichen explained, gesturing at his stomach with a dismissive gesture. “Especially not when Wei Wuxian has been using… rather unconventional means to fight against the Wens, and it is feared that being near him could have an impact on the baby. So I will be confined at home starting tonight, until after that child is born. It promises to be rather boring. I’m not allowed to do any work at all.”

“I can’t imagine you being idle very long,” Nie Huaisang said.

“Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl,” Lan Xichen agreed with a shiver. "But I believe I found a loophole. You see, I was given permission to have company in my confinement, as long as I can find someone willing. And such a companion would of course not be subject to the same restrictions as me. They would be permitted to work."

Nie Huaisang nodded slowly, half guessing where this was going.

"Naturally if my companion needed help with his work, I would offer to assist," Lan Xichen went on. "And as it happens, my uncle mentioned to me that he has hoped to recruit you into doing some paperwork for him…"

"Accounting," Nie Huaisang corrected with a laugh, surprised that either Lan Xichen or Lan Qiren would be capable of scheming like that. "I have always refused so far because he scares me too much to spend my days in his office. But if I could get to spend my days in your room instead, I wouldn't mind as much."

Actually, several of Nie Huaisang's top ten ways to hypothetically spend his days involved Lan Xichen and a bedroom. In some versions, they even got to stay dressed. In most, they didn't.

Accounting was not a common part of those fantasies, but he could adapt.

"I can't say how grateful I am," Lan Xichen replied, smiling warmly. "You have no idea how much it scared me to be alone or in bad company, with nothing to do but wait idly for this ordeal to be over.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Nie Huaisang assured him, delighted by the perspective of so much time spent with his crush, and with nobody to bother them, too. “I’m glad if you think we’re friends, and I guess it’s fine if I even have to do a little work. If it’s to help you, it’s worth it.”

Lan Xichen appeared pleased by this, and relieved as well. Nie Huaisang wasn’t naive enough to think he would have been the first choice if there had been other options. If Nie Mingjue or Lan Wangji had been around, Lan Xichen wouldn’t have asked him at all. But these two were busy in the war, and there just wasn’t anyone even a little bit fun or interesting left in the Cloud Recesses, except Nie Huaisang.

Being the last resort wasn’t flattering, but it was better than nothing.

“I will be a terrible friend now,” Lan Xichen said after a moment, “and ask for one more favour."

"Anything, anything at all!"

"Can you help me get up?" Lan Xichen shyly asked. "It's slippery with the snow, and my balance is currently a little off. I'm worried I might fall."

Nie Huaisang laughed at the request, and promptly jumped to his feet. He offered both of his hands to Lan Xichen, who took them both as he carefully rose from the bench. Then, instead of letting go of Nie Huaisang's hands, he kept holding them a few moments too long. Nie Huaisang felt too aware of the warmth of their skin touching, of their breaths mixing like clouds in the cold air, of how little space there was between them, barely enough for that round belly. Lan Xichen opened his mouth, as if he might say something, then closed it again and let go of Nie Huaisang’s hands.

In case Lan Xichen changed his mind about whatever he wanted to say, Nie Huaisang offered to walk him to the dining halls for his last meal around others. But they made their way there in silence, the moment having passed.

Hopefully, it would return some other time.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #step dad nhs

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krys-loves-otome · 1 year

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'Tis the Season for Love CCC: "Actually, there is one more thing on my wish list."

(pose found here (and if you like Naruto (specifically NaruHina), highly recommend the fic the source is attached to!)

Notes: mention of oc x canon kids and glimpses of how kids are made. Fun times!

------

The moon peeked through the blinds, reflecting the quiet scene of the living room. Abby and Vincent were picking up small scraps of colorful paper, both tired but smiling. Their sons just had spent Christmas tearing into presents and playing the day away. Now, both boys were asleep in their room upstairs, dreaming of the next day's fun and adventures.

This moment, however, was more for the two parents that cared so much for them. A quiet moment that had been rare in the days since their eldest was born.

"I think today went really well, schatje." Vincent said, leaning into his bed pillows, letting Abby lay across him, "the boys loved their presents."

"And I'm glad you liked the new sweater I got you. It looks good on you." Abby smiled.

"It's really warm too," Vincent said proudly, hugging her closer. "I won't have to worry about getting cold when I wear this outside."

"Just be sure to wear a jacket too," Abby giggled.

"I will."

They sat in silence, watching the shimmering lights on their tree bouncing on the walls, softly illuminating their faces.

After a moment, Abby looked at her beloved, a soft but unsure smile on her face.

"Vincent?"

"Hm?"

"Can… I ask you for one more thing?"

"I thought asking for presents was over hours ago," he chuckled.

"It's… it's something that's on my wish list… but…."

"But?"

"It's ….a big thing."

"A big thing?"

"A big… life changing thing. It's… something I've been thinking about for a while." She bit her lip, pulling down her pink fleece nightgown, a gift from her auntie, appropriate for the season.

And another reason, she thought, looking towards the boys' room.

"What do you think… about having another one?"

"Another one?"

"Another… zuigeling."

Vincent paused, lifting Abby up to face her. Her face was already flushing cutely in embarrassment.

"I-I love Theo and Wil, I love them dearly!" she stuttered out, "they're the world to me-!"

Vincent cut off her mumbling with a swift kiss.

"Schatje," he said calmly, touching his forehead to hers. "I haven't even said anything yet."

"Right…" Abby said, taking a deep breath, "do… do you want another one?"

Vincent closed his eyes, quiet for a moment, mulling over the prospect. Abby held her breath, pleading with her eyes.

In the next moment, Vincent kissed her deeper, wrapping his arms around her.

"If it makes you happy," he said softly in her ear, "another zuigeling running around sounds wonderful."

He kissed her neck.

"Een dochtertje, I think, this time."

"A daughter?"

"As pretty as you are, naturally."

His fingers danced up her side, finding her soft belly and stretch marks under her gown. Abby tried to hide her gasp with a giggle, placing her hands over Vincent's wandering ones.

"If you're sure."

"I am." He kissed her nose. "Lucky me, getting to draw and paint you again so round and sweet."

Abby giggled, kissing him this time.

"Another few months where I can't set a sketchbook on my lap without a little foot kicking it off."

Vincent massaged his fingers into her belly, already anticipating the coming months, a content sigh escaping his lips.

"Another few months where it's very obvious you're mine." He slid his finger down her hip, pulling her panties down. Abby's dainty hands slid over his green pajamas pants.

-----

I know this is one of the smut prompts (and it does get some spice in there, plus the pic is a lil spicy itself), but I couldn't brain on the words anymore, so here's this lil nugget as is. Not super spicy but it's implied.

Thanks again to @voltage-vixen and @xxsycamore for hosting this event!

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justbelievinginmagic · 2 years

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I Need U - Chapter 2: Where Did You Come From? Will You Tell Me Your Name?

a super-slow burn hyyh / bangtan universe au ft oc x taehyung, oc x seokjin, yoongi x jungkook, ot7 & oc being pals.

series summary: Song Nari still couldn’t wrap her mind around it. How was she here? Stuck in a world that felt more like a nightmare than reality. How did she end up here - wishing at a lookout point above the rolling sea in the dead of night besides a high school friend that she hadn’t seen or talked to in over a year? How did she end up here after all she did was chase down the seven delinquents who graffitied her car to give them a piece of her mind?

chapter summary: Nari wished that was the last time she ever saw those boys.

warnings: implied/referenced drug and alcohol use, explicit language, Bangtan Boys are delinquents, oc holds a grudge.

word count: 5.6K

A/N: hi this chapter has been rewritten & reposted as of July 2022. Its been a year since starting to write I Need U and I want so badly to finish it. So I started to reread it (since i did take a hiatus away from it and lost the voice of the characters). I discovered rewriting bits just to tighten up their relationships/experience/etc was really fun so here we are lol. If you have been reading I Need U for a while, major plot points will not be changing as of now - but these chapters are rewritten for more clarity. you wont be missing out on anything if you dont reread them but their relationships/personalities are a bit more fleshed out.

series’ masterlist

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Nari thought that she would never see those delinquents ever again. Yes, she was going to forget that night even happened (after her week of being grounded from using her car was up.) Her car was still in a horrid state – red paint blurring her windshield horribly so. No matter how much cleaning fluid or paint thinner she used, there was a pink haze over the glass. Her fingernails ached from how much she scrubbed and picked at the paint the morning after the event.

The universe, however, refused to give her the closure of that night being done for good.

Jimin had been the first one to notice her just a week after the incident at, of all places, school.

Songju Jeil High School: the public high school of the city, not for the extremely rich or the extremely poor. But with its newly funded school building, it had become a beacon of hope for the town. New and old students from varying communities commuted to the school now, split between rooms of prettied walls or aging peeling halls. A toss of the coin if you were placed in the old building versus the shiny new one.

It occurred during lunch time.

The cafeteria was a relic of the older part of the school – covered in linoleum floors, large concrete columns, and beige walls with layered paint. A sea of long blue laminated lunch tables filled the room in uniformed rows. Large windows lined the furthest wall, revealing the gloom of the cloudy spring day and making the huge room rely on the overhead ceiling lamps. The mismatch of yellow-toned fluorescent lights and the newer blue-lit LEDS painted the room in an uneven hue.

Amongst a hum of a conversation between Namjoon and Taehyung, Jimin found himself blurred. In and out of focus like a camera lens. His eyes wandered around the school’s cafeteria, listening to shouts from other teenagers and the overlapping chatter of different stories conveyed with different accents from the neighboring cities, and sometimes, even neighboring regions. It wasn’t rare now to have classmates who lived hours away.

There was no question about it when he spotted her – even though the blaring LED lights above her painted her in a different complexion compared to the roaring warmth of the amber firelight where they met. Alongside that, she looked so different in the school’s navy-blue uniform jacket, white button up, and red skirt – and not the oversized pink hoodie she wore that night a week ago. But that was her. Jimin was certain of it.

With a pressing look in his wide eyes, he nudged Hoseok with his elbow, jabbing into prominent ribs before whispering into the elder’s ear. A laugh of disbelief left Hoseok, a hand raising to cover his heart-shaped grin of amusement. Hoseok drew attention as he always did, drawing the eyes of the others at the table. As he spoke for Jimin, the group searched the lunch room, and Taehyung pointed when they found her, sitting in the corner of the room.

Nari’s dark hair was loose around her face, but they could see her hand twitch as she moved to tuck it behind her ear. Her posture seemed so unfrightening now, but there was the utter reminder of her previous anger in the boys. A guard-dog doesn’t seem docile when its pawing at an owner’s knee.

Seokjin glanced away in nonchalant disregard at the sight of her, his ears burning a pink color. He was frustrated at the way that encounter went – especially since it led to the demise of the most softest blanket he owned. He didn’t care that she was here – if anything, perhaps he could get her into trouble for the mess she caused. But there was the realization that was slow to crawl up his neck in a red hue, that if he did so, he’d be in trouble too. Silence was a good ally to have he decided then.

Jungkook stuttered out something, commenting to the group that he wondered if she’d follow through with calling the police on them. Taehyung rolled his eyes lightly. He didn’t care if she did. It’d be another day hopping in and out of the cops grasp then. But his eyes did wander back to her again.

He had thought about that night a lot these past few days. Thought about her. She was pretty – rageful but pretty. He didn’t even know her name and he was thinking about her in the firelight. He didn’t like that she was angry – Taehyung didn’t like anger. But he liked how strong-willed she was. It was hot. He knew other people would just go home and wipe the paint he sprayed off, but she chased after them. He thought there were sparks in her eyes when she had glared at him from her car, even when she was scolding them. He liked that she had independence, just a bit of chaos like they did.

Namjoon had already called him stupid when he spilled his harmless crush with the group a few days ago. (“I’m just saying she was pretty!” Taehyung defended. “She legit threatened to kick your ass.” Namjoon called back with his eyes rolling. “Do you want a girl kicking your ass, Taehyungie?” Seokjin teased from the sidelines. A pillow got thrown at Seokjin quickly as Taehyung scrambled to push at him with laughter on his lips. “Shut up – this hyung!”)

But Taehyung’s crush was minimal, momentary and fleeting. Like most boys’ crushes in high school, it was fickle like the wind. He didn’t know her, and he never would.

Until she was sitting there, only twenty feet away in a bustling cafeteria. Her uniform was in perfect condition, her short hair now pushed behind both ears (annoyance written on her brows when a strand dangled over her eyes once it slipped from its spot.) She looked different Taehyung decided. Her face calmed as soon as the annoying strand of hair listened to her, staying tucked behind pierce-less ears. Lips smooth and focused eyes, she was diligent in scribbling in the notebook besides her meal. Watching her from the corner of his eye, Taehyung could see her pink tongue peeking out every now and then to swipe over her lower lip in thought.

She was alone, fiddling with her chopsticks as they hovered over a lunch box she brought. Her other hand grasped a pen which she scribbled with haphazardly. From here, the group of delinquents could tell she wasn’t waiting for anyone else. There was no glance about for friends or tapping of a foot – she was focused on her work.

Nari had friends, of course. But often times, her workload pushed her away from them. Good grades were the ultimate goal. No, she needed to have amazing grades. She was meant to be a doctor or a lawyer or something like that. Far away from the humble office worker life her father and mother both lived. Her sister, Song Jisoo – who was five years her elder, was already in nursing school. Both her parents pushed her to have high grades in STEM, just like her sister before her.

Eventually though, you ignore enough texts and calls that your friends fade away. Nari knew where they were - even now. They were eating at a table right by the basketball courts. She had looked for them the first day they didn’t show up at their usual table, the same one she sat at alone. She found them there, talking behind her back. Back pressed to the old brick walls of the building, she listened. They called her horrible things – compared her to a robot, little less than that. She was so focused on work that all her hobbies had faded away they said. All she did was study. She didn’t care about them they said. She noticed when the group chat went silent, too. Nari assumed they made another one without her.

It annoyed her that she did miss them. It was her fault – but was it really her fault? She had to study. In life you had only one chance at making it. And you needed good grades. It was just too hard to balance school, work, and life. They didn’t. Jiwoo, Sungho, Chanmi, and Eunmi didn’t excel – but they were her childhood friends. They knew how much she had to work to keep up in certain subjects. It annoyed her that they didn’t understand. It hurt when she felt a tingle of hope when they pass to go to their spot outside. She held that bitterness close to her chest ever since. She didn’t turn to look as they pass now. It’d been six months since they stopped talking to her.

Nari was used to being alone. Used to the anger that tickled the back of her brain, at the frustration that nipped at her veins, and the anxiety of “not enough” echoing in her bones. She buried it in notes and textbooks. She’d read; she’d study; she’d take extra shifts; she’d write in her journal. She can feel fine. Anything to keep the loneliness and anger done when it crept up her throat like indigestion. For now, it was just her, her banana milk yogurt, her lunchbox, and her chemistry notes. She never spotted the figure approaching her table, too immersed in her small life of a world.

Yoongi was the one who stood up suddenly and left the group that was whispering at the table. Words spoken over one another – all about a girl. Some were teasing Taehyung for his crush. Laughing at that night’s activities from the traffic stop to the earlier smoking session. Wondering aloud if she was going to beat them up or call the police (another voice reassuring the other that wouldn’t happen). Yoongi had enough of it. This girl was going to drive them nuts. They’d just keep talking about her.

His beat-up converse stopped right in front of her, the blue laminated particleboard table and three plastic chairs were the only thing separating them.

“Hey,” his voice was smooth and utterly calm.

Her eyes rose in alarm, startled like a doe. Brown eyes rushing to meet his dark, nearly black eyes. Plump cheeks flushed red, and she nearly did a double take. Nari could recognize his hair anywhere, blue fading into a mint color. He went to her school? How the hell did she not know this? She never saw him before that night but yet here he was in the school uniform – his tie loose around his throat, his jacket, new but unbuttoned and not ironed to a crisp like hers. His hand moved from his trousers’ pocket to wave lightly at her before slyly moving his shoulders aside to show the group of delinquent boys only a few tables away, trying their best not to look like they were staring at her and Yoongi.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered out, head rolling back to stare at the ceiling. Her chopsticks were stuck straight down into her clump of rice in her lunchbox. Her mind raced to the worst scenario. This was it. She was going to get into actual trouble for her stupidity. The one time she let herself be free and angry.

“Shit,” she added after a moment.

That made Yoongi laugh, the noise come from his throat in a low staccato.

“You’re going to kick our ass, right?” he queried, his tone almost lazy. He knew there was no threat as she moved her gaze back to his. If she cared about social status, she’d feel the glances of the cafeteria around them. Why was one of the academic achievers speaking to someone barely passing Literature class? Nari didn’t feel the murmurs; she was zoned in on the blue-haired boy.

She remembered him from that night. His glare was the heaviest of the lot. Too calm and composed but also festering. His eyes said a lot and now they were cool as a cat’s gaze. But a gleam of amusement gleamed.

Her hand rose to pinch the bridge of her nose, cheeks still burning a rosy color. Those words would bite her in the ass. God, what if they reported her to school? She couldn’t have this stain on her record. Nari really couldn’t. Eyes shutting for a moment, she opened them.

There wasn’t a hint of begging in her face. For some reason, Yoongi had expected her to grovel. She seemed too good. Too high strung. Instead, she let out a laugh - a bit nervous and a bit too sharp to be seen as lovely. Her tongue prodded at the corner of her mouth in subtle annoyance at her past self’s words before she met his gaze steadily.

“Listen, let’s just forget about it,” she grunted out, her tone serious – even if she raised a hand to wave it, as if brushing over the topic. “You guys were drunk or high or whatever illegality you guys were doing; I was tired and angry.”

Her gaze stayed locked with his. There was a long pause. Amusement slowly pooled into his eyes even more, crickling the edges of his eyes, yet his still calm expression and straight-faced lips didn’t shift. There was the ache of the word ‘please’ on her tongue, but it never tumbled out.

He pushed himself up from the table – when had he leaned forward, half of his body hovering over it?

“Mmhmm,” he hummed simply, eyeing her with a tilt of his head before turning on his heel. “Bye, crazy girl,” he called over his shoulder.

When he settled back down with his group, they all jumped onto Yoongi despite the stare of a blush-faced girl twenty feet away. What did you say, hyung? What did she say? Was she angry? Why is she red, hyung? That was quick, Yoongs! What happened?

“She isn’t gonna do anything to any of us,” he scoffed. Like she could beat them up? They both were in the wrong; Yoongi knew that. “Forget about it. Forget about her.”

If only it could be that easy.

Taehyung had to admit: she looked cute with blushed cheeks.

---

It would’ve been nice if that was the only encounter. Hell, seeing them sitting at their spot every day at lunch made her cheeks flush in embarrassment (much to the secret enjoyment of Taehyung.) She was starting to debate if she should just eat her lunch in the library to avoid their gaze – well, the handful of eyes that still seemed to flicker over to her throughout the lunch period.

Nari knew her temper had gotten the best of her then. She knew she shouldn’t ever threaten violence nor chase after boys in the middle of the night. And now, whenever she caught the eye of one of them, all she felt was stupid. Because she had messed up and somehow was still on their mind. She could feel eyes on her now – and when Nari glanced up, she saw the eyes of the shaggy haired boy shifting away.

What if they were plotting to beat her up instead? Oh, it made her stomach queasy and her hand holding her pencil stumble over her notes. The blue haired guy could throw a punch with how he held himself – calm but like there was something lingering behind his dark eyes. A calm before a storm was never truly calm.

Or maybe the one with pink hair – though it was fading from pink to a bleached orange-blonde now. He looked tall, lanky and not yet grown into his height– his uniform was ill-fitting on him and, for some reason, it made her feel like it was less about the way it was tailored and more about how he held himself or articulated with his facial features. He looked too arrogant sometimes – the way he smiled was the one she saw the fuck boys at school use, even if the dimples made it a bit less greasy.

Lunch time wasn’t the only time she ran into the group. No, it got worse when her literature class got rearranged with the class next door. The professor was away on maternity leave and the school had no substitute teachers available in the district. They made due with shoving more desks into the room until they were pressed tightly next to one another. A small pathway made its way through the old small room that now housed over 40 students.

Nari was surprised no one was cheating – but perhaps that’s because she didn’t cheat. She glanced over her shoulder during tests and felt jittery, never at ease while taking her quizzes. There were so many people, so close. It made the room mucky. She hated it. She hated her arm brushing against someone she didn’t know and she hated how easy it was for someone to look over her shoulder at her answers.

“You got an A+?” a male voice commented, too close to her ear as he leaned over her shoulder to look at her work. She flinched away a bit as her gaze quickly shifted to look at him. Nari recognized him.

Orange-haired boy didn’t look as tough in a school uniform compared to the blue-leather jacket he wore the night she met him. Here, he almost looked bashful. With full plump lips and wide eyes at her small flinch, his hands rose in surrender.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he reassured in a squeak.

Nari scoffed at that.

He looked almost hurt at the sound, brows tilting innocently up to the ceiling.

“I mean it,” his brows pursed together in mild offense. “Sorry about your car,” he added as an after-thought. “Is it any better?”

“No,” Nari said simply. Her hands flatted the paper down on the desk; her nail bed was stained a raw red color from the spray paint still, and it had been a week already since she tried to clean the windshield. “I scrubbed at it for hours, and its still ruined,” she added.

His face looked genuinely sad when she glanced back at him. A soft hum of disappointment left his throat; his pouty lower lip was caught between his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think it’d be that bad.”

All Nari did was shrug. There was an odd air of distance in her. She was mostly still embarrassed about that night. Jimin wasn’t though. He leaned back after a moment and settled in his chair. The chatter around them was settling as the overworked professor made the last round through the crowds, the stack of papers in his hand lessening as he went. Nari glanced back at Jimin as he moved, her gaze brushing over his exam’s grade.

Her brows crinkled, and her own lips pouted a bit. Her hand reached out to turn the paper to face her in a swish.

“You got an A, too,” Nari commented. How come she never knew about him in this class? Like any high achieving student, she usually knew the others who got A’s. Not in friendliness mind you. It was more like a competition. If there was one thing Nari couldn’t turn down, it was a challenge.

Jimin’s cheeks warmed to a pretty pink. “Yeah, I like this class a lot actually.” He commented. “This professor’s a bit different.”

He was part of the other class then. And into literature as well. Some people were good essay writers; others were good literature readers. Nari wasn’t certain which he was yet.

“I’m Park Jimin,” he offered his hand. It was harmless even when she noted the gleam of the many intimidating rings on his hand.

His brown eyes were hopeful and sweet as honey. He didn’t take chance a lot. Hoseok was the outgoing friend; that’s how he became friends with the rest – through Hoseok’s kindness and innate ability to bring people together.

Nari swallowed, eyes shifting to his hand and back to his face.

“Song Nari,” she introduced herself, her smaller hand going to shake his hand softly.

“Are you two done chatting?” The teacher scolded, the pair pulling apart immediately and looking up at the professor. Nari was quick to duck her head down in respect.

“Sorry, professor!” they blurted out in respect.

---

Jimin and Nari talked in literature class now. He shared his favorite novels with her; they were usually fantasy stories where the main character was the hero in some distant, far-off world. Or they were manga stories that he scrolled through his phone to show her the titles of. Passion and excitement riddled in his quiet voice, his dialect coming out in rumbles that made his words roll together like the waves of Busan’s shore where he came from.

After every class, they’d walk out together, only for the shaggy haired boy to be leaning on the nearby wall fiddling with his uniform jacket’s sleeves. His hands had the same stains hers did. Splotches of red, blue, and yellow decorated his long tan fingers.

Each time he spotted her, he beamed his boxy smile.

“Hey, crazy girl,” he greeted – picking up the nickname the blue-haired boy used – before he slung his arm around his friend’s shoulder, flashed her a peace sign, and walked off. Every time he enjoyed how her nose twitched and her cheeks warmed to a rosy color of annoyance. He loved making her red – with anger, shyness, or flusterment. Nari looked pretty. But then, he’d be gone, walking toward the rest of his group, towards the storage room they had claimed as their own in a rundown part of the school. That was the extent of their relationship.

It bugged her how he never apologized. At least Jimin did. (She even lamented once when Jimin settled down behind her into his desk – she muttered out that his friend was an unapologetic jerk when she spotted him in the halls and he flashed a peace sign her way over his eye – then winked.) This guy was the reason why her car was damaged and he didn’t even care.

At this rate, she considered Jimin and herself to be school acquaintances. Close enough to ask how their day was going. Not close enough to share each other’s phone numbers with one another for class work. Not that she minded. Nari was busy studying anyways.

Still shaggy haired boy with the fading green highlights – she never got his name – made Nari cross her arms in frustration. A huff escaped her lips. Why did she want him to apologize? It wouldn’t fix anything. Things would be so much easier if they didn’t see each other again.

---

Two weeks later, shaggy haired boy met her properly.

“Nari-ah,” he called after her. Even after their few encounters, Nari could pick his voice out in a crowd by now. It was deeper than most boys… and loud.

Turning her head, she saw him running up to her, skipping one and then two stairs to catch up to her. His uniform was askew; his tie was undone and slipping down his shoulders. Classes were done, but, by the wrinkled state of his shirt and lack of a jacket, it was clear he hadn’t been put together all day.

“How’d you learn my name?” Nari commented, her hands grabbing her backpack’s straps as she turned to face him fully.

“We have math together. I sit in the back or I skip… I skip a lot.” There was a beat as he stepped up one more step. She was still two steps ahead of him, but their heights evened out, allowing his eyes to meet hers. “Also, Jiminie told me,” he admitted with a bashful laugh. His smile was boxy and bright. “How’s your car?”

“My windshield is still stained,” Nari bit back, clearly annoyed.

He made a face at that.

“I am sorry,” he said, biting his lower lip. It looked different on him than it did Jimin. “It was for fun.”

There was a satisfaction – curling up her in her chest like a flame. A ghost of smile at the corner of her lips showed itself like a gift to Taehyung. It was worth the apology if she smiled at him. Like a cat, she wanted to preen, fluff in contentment even if his argument still made pin-prickles of annoyance climb up her spine.

“You did it for fun,” she scoffed. But her tone lacked the genuine anger. It was still disapproving though. “You’re lucky no one called the police. I saw that one guy with the dark hair, tall dude – he spat his drink into a car! If that’d been me, I’d be fucking furious.”

The curse left her lips easily. There was a prodding in the back of her head to be more courteous. Ladies didn’t curse, her mother stressed. Academic starlets didn’t curse like sailors. Taehyung laughed lowly.

“Yeah, Hobi was a bit out of it; I think it was the pills and the alcohol,” he commented, scratched the back of his head. His hair floofed up in the back messily.

She tilted her head at him with that information. She wasn’t impressed. Nari didn’t particularly love druggies. Sure, people smoked and got high – she knew that well enough. The streets still smelled like nicotine and addiction. She didn’t want that. Nari turned to start to walk away.

Taehyung could feel his cheeks burn, and his stomach twist with something. Why was he nervous? Why did he not want her to go? She was just another girl. Sure, a pretty girl but there are plenty of pretty girls who like bad boys. She didn’t even like him and his friends. She was mad at them. So why did he care what she thought? In the end, he had fun that night. A mixture of high through his veins and the blurriness of alcohol left him soft and pliant after the chaos. It soothed his aches and pains for just a moment. He had fun. His friends had fun. Here, he was letting her scold him – and now that she was stopping, he still felt bad and wanting.

Wanting for what? - he wasn’t sure.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her before she could descend further up the school stairs. Nari froze, a Mary Jane shoed foot hovering over the stair.

“Let me make it up to you,” Taehyung pleaded lightly.

Her brows quirked, doubtfully raised before she turned to look at him. Her gaze flickered to her hand where his large hand wrapped around her wrist. He let go immediately almost like she burned him, his hands moving to shove themselves into the pockets of his uniformed pants.

“We are having a party. It’ll be fun,” he offered. A beat passed. “Jimin will be there. You guys are friends, right?”

Friends was a hopeful term. She knew his taste in books and online webcomics. That was it.

“I don’t even know your name,” Nari diverted with a humorless laugh, furrowing her brows at him. “Why would you want me at a party?”

It was almost funny if it didn’t feel so weird. She could tell he felt bad – probably because someone finally stood up to him – but there was a such a difference to how he held himself compared to that night and now, somewhat sober (she could smell weed on him) and soft. It was whiplash inducing. There was this chaos in him still she could feel it. When he grabbed her wrist, when he laughed. That wildness when he jumped on her car; a freedom she doubted she ever would feel. Why did he care?

“Because I think if you saw how we were, you wouldn’t think we were these horrible people. And-” he defended before, with a quickness, his hand left his pocket to reach out to her in greeting.

“I’m Kim Taehyung,” he finally introduced himself with a genuine boxy smile that made his eyes scrunch up into half-moons. “Hi,” he added, his voice a rumble.

There was a beat. There was something lingering like a fleeting phantom smell you remembered when you were young reappearing again. Chasing after it only to lose it before you can discover what it was from. A thought escaping your brain just as you try to grasp onto it. A cliffhanger. Seeing him like this made her bones tingled with that feeling. Despite all her frustration of a ruined car windshield, despite her fear that she’d be reported for threat of violence, despite the fact she never went to parties (let alone with delinquent boys), she grasped his hand and gave it a shake, sealing her fate and agreeing to a party invite.

“Song Nari.”

---

Days later, Taehyung had caught her after math class – the math class they supposedly shared but she never saw him in. His hand caught her arm as he tugged her towards the lockers away from the outpour of students from other classes. He was close as he spoke, his person smelling like bubblegum and weed. He must run off to smoke during that class session.

He told her the details. It was going to be a casual party at his friends’ dad’s place this Friday. His dad was never there, so it was free reign. Nari did have the fluttering thought that this was a strange prank – one to humiliate or scare her. But the way Taehyung bounced lightly on the balls of his feet like an excited golden retriever reassured her a bit. His excitement plus her loneliness equated a bad decision as she began to type down the apartment address into her phone.

“Do I need to worry about spiked shit?” Nari partially joked – partially. She got the hint they weren’t always clever. Spiked punch at a party wouldn’t be a shocker, but it wasn’t welcomed for her.

“Nah, we already have weed, soju, cigarettes. No need to hide it or mix it into stuff,” he replied simply with a shrug, his thumb sliding over his beat up smart-phone’s screen. As if sensing her tentative nature – the way her breath caught for a moment too long as she glanced at him, Taehyung’s gaze rose to look at her. “It’ll be fun I promise.”

Genuineness. His dark almond eyes reflected genuineness in the shadows of the bustling hallway.

Weed, soju, and cigarettes. Not at all her scene. She’d probably have a drink ( she had drank once or twice – mostly, from her sister handing her a beer she couldn’t finish ). But that would be it. At this rate, she couldn’t say no… could she? Not when he smiled so brightly…

Gosh, what was wrong with her? These guys were obviously bad news. A different crowd. And here she was walking willingly into one of their houses. Taehyung’s boxy smile was to blame she reasoned. It felt too sweet sometimes it surprised her to remember when he literally illegally spray painted her car now. A mixture of emotions would clash when she recalled that after these encounters – especially after school as she stared through her rose-tinted windshield to return home.

Finishing typing the address into her Notes app, Nari lightly nodded, biting down the uncertainty into the back of her mouth. Taehyung reached out to grab her phone from her hands. He swiped it with ease, making her eyes bulge.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, hands shooting outwards to grab it back – which he easily countered by raising the phone above his head; his height over her gave him an advantage. His brows raised and his eyes widened dramatically at her – challenging her like that night so many weeks ago before he rose his other arm up to type away on her phone. Tilting his jaw up, he watched the screen as he fended her off.

“Taehyung,” Nari grabbed at his arm, strong tendons flexed under her fingertips but he didn’t budge as he continued typing.

“There,” Taehyung said after a moment, a grin flashing onto his face.

Handing back her phone, Nari could see the screen relaying what he did shining bright back at her. His number was inputted in her contacts under the name “Taehyung-Oppa.” It made her snort.

“How old are you, again? You aren’t older than me, right?” he queried, leaning back against the beat-up forgotten lockers of the secluded hallway.

“You aren’t my oppa,” she laughed as she clicked on the contact and shifted the name to read “Just Taehyung.” Again, his brows twitched in a challenge before his grin burned brighter.

“When’s your birthday?” he prompted.

“August,” she replied. His confidence faltered a bit as he realized she was indeed his elder – but he wanted to be her elder. He couldn’t imagine calling her noona. Not when she was so cute and small and fiery.

Clearing his throat, he nodded his chin towards her phone, switching brainwaves. “Just in case you get lost,” Taehyung gave as an explanation for his number.

“Uh-huh,” Nari replied with a raised brow.

His own phone vibrated in his pocket, making him tug it free. Checking it out before letting out an exclamation of a ‘yeah!’

“I’ve got to go. Hyung got pizza,” Taehyung beamed. He really was like a golden retriever, getting this excited over food. He paused, pointing at her phone with a serious look suddenly.

“Text me,” he near commanded.

But then he was off, rushing into the slowly dissipating crowds of students in the hall. She watched as he rounded the stairwell, skipping every two steps as he went.

These boys always seemed to be running off as soon as they appeared. Nari sighed out, dragging a hand through her hair. Scratching at her scalp, she huffed again. A group of delinquents… and her. At a party.

It wasn’t what she pictured the day the blue-haired kid crept over to her table and asked if she was going to uphold her threat.

Was she stupid for wanting to go still?

Probably.

#hyyh au #kim taehyung fic #kim seokjin fic #kim taehyung x oc #kim taehyung x reader #bts au #bts fanfic #kim seokjin x oc #kim seokjin x reader #hurt/comfort bts au #bts fanfiction

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metellastella · 1 year

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Animation Usurper

Happy International Asexuality Day!

Fun Fact, I wrote this during Ace Week in October. But apparently I either am so forgetful, or dissatisfied with my prose or am distractible or just couldn’t motivate myself to do clarifying edits, or some combo of those, here we are all these months later.

So. Let’s make up for lost time.

I’m very far along the ace spectrum, so I typically don’t like Western ‘adult’ cartoons. (as a result of a particular brand of ace, not all ace people experience repulsion) Really, it’s more because the industry has collectively decided ‘adult cartoons’ should mean almost always be *obnoxious and in-your-face* about sexuality, as opposed to some animes made for adults whose focus isn’t that but maybe it includes it occasionally.

To go on a bit of an unrelated tangent, Japan has a lot more respect for the ART medium of animation. And aside from aesthetics and effort, middling thematic variety between ‘this is all about sex’ and ‘for kids.’

(not fond of violence either)

Sadly though, I find the style repetitive and haven’t really done a deep dive on anime. It doesn’t sate the ‘novelty-seeking’ aspect of my psychology. But I venerate all the effort. I just wish there was some fusion between the two, where Japanese animation was a little less rigid in its style dictates and Western animation aimed a little higher for quality. Maybe that’s arising, as you’ll see here in a bit later.

It also doesn’t help that Western adult cartoons seem to think it’s funny to have a dial-it-in art style.

I don’t like the idea of someone spending months of their lives, limited time on earth per minutes of animation, just to have it look scruffy, or flat, derivative, or unimaginative. That is incredibly disheartening to picture, as an artist. Even just being a hobbyist.

Call it vicarious existential anxiety, I suppose.

Maybe some might misread that concern and call me a ‘snob’ for that, but, hey, what’re ya gonna do.

It’s as if, since again they seem to have very little self-respect for their stories or characters, the crude animation and character design itself is a crutch to add to the writing of comedy, and should be laughed at.

Maybe people do find that funny.

And note, I’m not even necessarily talking about making animation realistic or proportioning bodies exactly like anime does. Elegance can be found in the simplest of character designs, if someone deliberately creates it that way. See: the animation studio that produced The Secret of Kells, Song of the Sea, The Breadwinner, Wolfwalkers, and most recently, My Father’s Dragon.

(kinda glad I dragged my feet and got to give a shout-out to that last one)

Lego Monkie Kid, for that matter!!!!

Cannot say enough good things about that show. I’ll probably make a whole separate post about it.

To be honest, I quite frequently find myself digging for aesthetically pleasing ‘moving art,’ and sometimes the story is secondary. A stationary artist doesn’t have to tell me a whole story for me to enjoy their painting- and artist animators who just happen to draw a bad card from the deck and not to be blessed with pairing to good writers nonetheless pique my interest.

I’ve done enough stationary art browsing over my lifetime, that, in fact, maybe I’ve jaded myself a little. If even a tiny fraction of the stellar character design in art communities online were animated, I think people would start to see the problem, and variety would blossom.

So, that brings me to an interesting intersection of this musing.

And don’t worry, the ace spec subject does come back into it full circle.

Independent animators.

If you had described these two very well-known web animations to me beforehand, and asked me which you think I would like more, I would’ve selected ...

Bee and Puppycat.

I mean. Obviously. Cute creatures and whimsical settings. Not too adult and not too babyish either, something that is astonishingly rare among Western animation??

You might have heard grumblings of this before in fandom spaces, questioning and wondering about why there seems to be no middle ground.

But, oddly, even though I fully mentally recognize B & P as a landmark achievement, both as a step outside monopolized media production spaces and hitting a sweet spot that is sorely lacking within them ... I just didn’t resonate with it.

This is baffling to me, because as I mentioned, the style of it is very appealing, so what gives? I’m put off of some shows with good writing because of aesthetic style, (as a corollary to the seeking styles and disregarding writing, kinda like someone may vibe to acoustic stylings of a piece of music even if the lyrics are utterly insipid on their own) but usually the reverse does not happen. Even if I didn’t like the writing or plotting, which is far from the case, as the writing’s fine, I should have been motivated to finish it.

Honestly, I haven’t quite worked that out yet, tho I have an inkling, and it’s related to suggesting an IRL friend to record Bee’s lines since she likes it so much.

But, that’s not the reason I started this ramble, and not as well-developed as my thoughts on art styles, so forgive me for leaving it aside.

Enter the Dark Horse animation that, had you asked me beforehand if I would like, I would’ve said ‘yeah prob not for me, I’ll move along.’

Helluva Boss (and Hazbin Hotel).

There are LOADS of reasons I shouldn’t take a shine to this cartoon.

1. HH & HB are barely above the likes of Rick and Morty and Simpsons et all in its incessant ‘adult’ jokes

and again don’t misunderstand me here, I /enjoy/ Star Trek Lower Decks. It makes tolerable and judicious use of adult jokes and doesn’t overly rely on them.

2. HH’s style- while absolutely cool- is behind B & P in terms of preference. BUT. In terms of creativity and flow, is heads and shoulders above practically all big name cartoons out there. What I call the “golf ball eye” phenomenon, in which eyes are perfectly round with mere dots. So you get two moldy foods to consume for the price of one: lack of variation in creativity AND lack of character expressiveness and nice looks. Three sci fi examples are Star Trek: Lower Decks, Final Space, and Solar Opposites. One I love, the middle is not bad, and S.O.’s humor is great. Buuuuut. Their face aesthetics….. Even SU Pearl’s exceedingly simple, no-pupil eyes add SO much to the draw of the character with just the inclusion of a single color. I’m not asking for much. I promise. Not even Owl House style highlights are a bare requirement. I know how hard animating is. I like things like She-Ra, soft and round shapes, and tend to dislike sharp edges (Sorry, most recent Ninja Turtles remake. Kipo, you’re fine hunny, just a lil off) and yet. Somehow HH has bypassed that into ‘wtf why do I love this so much.’ Wily little sneaks.

I mean, when the likes of Aquaman 2022 feels like ‘a breath of fresh air’ because there’s so little visual variety in animation, you know something’s amiss. Not to knock it too hard, though. I wish that had been that artist’s “breakout role,” tbh, instead of the first job he got stuck with before that, because he will be forever remembered as the guy who ruined a nostalgic fandom’s wishes at behest of executives and not the guy who made something as whimsical and fun as this iteration of Aquaman. The character was usually the butt of the joke among DC fans to begin with, and therefore has more leeway to be silly. That style won extra points that supplements its questionable aesthetic raw merit. To be fair, there’s so much motion in the character’s body emoting, that also goes beyond very stiff, basic poses common in other shows, I have to give points for that, too.

3. HH universe takes religious concepts and obviously has no respect for them. In a somewhat similar but more lowkey way, recalling a screed by a practicing Hindu who was understandably angry at the less-than-respectful comedic moments in ATLA towards certain cultural aspects, I simply find the /premise/ cringe. I know cringe culture is dead and all. I even agree with that general sentiment. I think Vivzie will sleep fine at night if one backwater Tumblr blog- who’s ultimately still complimenting her- uses the term as a one-off.

It doesn’t help that the vision of Hell typically forwarded in the modern day that is used to terrorize fundie-raised kids during childhood doesn’t resemble the original Hebrew belief and therefore the whole show ends up reminiscent of so much IRL totally unnecessary angst.

I’d almost rather have a fantasy setting that had its own underworld concept, or could be similar to HH canon but with 4th wall breaks that slyly hinted they’re all in Dante’s Inferno which was, historically, political satire of the time (essentially a longform political cartoon, hue hue) and 0% Biblical to begin with ….. Idk.

(though I did have a strange conversation with someone recently which indicated Dante’s Inferno may have been based on pieces of the Quran. Weird.)

4. HB characters are abrasive. I could barely get through Homestuck. Lower Decks is here again a good comedy counterexample of characters that aren’t CONSTANTLY backbiting each other for the sake of a joke.

(or verbally abusing children, as one sci fi protagonist everybody loves to hate)

So, the mystery: how did I manage to stick with this cartoon, with so much pulling against it?

Again, can’t quite put my finger on it

But, I know that by the second episode, it had one little grip on me with Stolas sweetly serenading his daughter against a backdrop of the cosmos and exploding planets.

Encouraged, I thought that perhaps there would be more sincere moments like that. I was hurting for musical animation after all, I can barely comprehend why it’s not more common. (sadly, Centaurworld did not really effectively scratch that itch, for me personally, tho I did latch onto a couple songs long term). Corporations want people hooked on their content, but you don’t offer us that which burrows into the brain and repeats itself for days at a time?

The one time capitalism fails to take advantage of something, and it’s the pleasant things. Figures.

So, back into the thick of it, I’m halfway through the season and have found some bits and pieces to like, but still am questioning if the likable outweighs the negatives. Then I see Blitz and Moxie do their duet. Now that scene alone was worth everything else. Purely aesthetically it’s a treasure, a subtle shift in artstyle that mimicked the likes of Disney, and the character depth upgraded several notches.

So now by this point, I knew, I’m gonna watch the rest of this series at least. Dunno if I was gonna be super invested in the fandom, but not everything you watch will consume your soul like that, so all good.

And then.

Drumroll.

The Wrath Ring pair visits the club.

They are relentlessly mocked for being ‘too vanilla’ for everyone around them.

Man.

You don’t know HOW hard that hit me. You can’t comprehend it.

Feeling constantly out of place b/c of not being allosexual. It’s not a perfect parallel obviously, but it nonetheless struck a deep vein of accumulated angst.

Irony of ironies, the cartoon that may have slipped through my fingers because of VERY SIMILAR issues to that scene IRL managed to take a pickaxe to my psyche.

Seeing two people being unapologetic about being more modest in their desires in the face of what could be interpreted as amatonormativity on steroids was indescribable.

In fact, the parallel gets even closer to reality when you consider any perfectly ordinary woman who’s had the accusations flung at her for being ‘frigid’ or ‘repressed’ whether by men pressuring her or well-meaning friends or acquaintances who think they know what’s good for her better than she does.

An excellent counter-anthem:

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I’d think she’d resonate with this too, and if not, maybe see the episode with new eyes after reading this little entry.

In the modern era, in these ways, there is ubiquitous prude shaming and over-forced sex-positivity even of non-aces.

So, I formally present to you my carefully constructed headcanon on behalf of bygone Ace Week: Moxie and Millie are both gray ace. Their attractions are more subtle than that palm sweaty, instant-draw that ‘primary attraction’ often generates, and subsequent strikes of physical desire.

They might or might not have ‘secondary attraction’ as their only experience (demi) in the stylings of the very popular Friends-To-Lovers trope, but without their backstory of how they met, we can’t determine that yet.

They are alloromo, of course. Alloace. Probably hetace.

After some reflection, as an inversion, Blitz could probably be read as aroallo.

(I know it’s played as if he’s simply ‘afraid’ of getting in a serious relationship, but if you pay close attention, his platonic relationships are presented the exact same way- so it could be just relationships and emotional vulnerability in general. It doesn’t directly have to mean he experiences romo attraction. We don’t see a lot of him deliberating and being ‘drawn’ to it but shying away- rather he’s so oblivious to romance he stumbles into inviting Stolas out without even once thinking what it might mean to the other. Sorry but, that is an incredibly common experience among aro people, not realizing how they’re coming across to another person!!) (and his response to a clearly romantic overture of watching movies and cuddling even more hints that his brain operates in aro mode)

And Angel Dust gives off vibes which are much more straightforwardly aroallo.

And to round it all out, we have the canon aroace character, Alastor.

And thus concludes HH’s careful courting of me. The initial rocky start, the resistance, has evaporated and I am invested.

...

P.S.

If you’d like to see some more independent animation, check out Lackadaisy, which is absolutely stunning

And Talon, the fluidity of which is somewhat rougher, but is nonetheless ambitious, has some neat light effects, and definitely for those who adore dinosaurs

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