#I might finally void the inbox

[tiny-cloud-of-flowers]

Voice asks 4 & 5? ~sunlight-ships

Sure thing, @sunlight-ships! Thank you for sending this in! I apologise for the delay in answering it; I had to wait for an instance where I was alone in the house to be able to answer it, and the first time I got one of those I had to stop prematurely because someone got home, so my answer to number 5 was only just recorded even though I have had the answer to 4 for a bit.

(question source: “F/O Voice Ask Meme” by thearchivesofforeveryoursmouse)

You haven't specified a particular F/O here, so given how these questions are worded, I may answer them for more than one at once if that's alright!

4. Mention one of my favourite canon moments involving my F/O(s). - "Try and be brief", I said, proceeding to ramble about Elena for ages. I regret nothing. (Also, the line I was trying to remember was "Well, I hope I look better as an old bag than you do. Though I suppose I have the type advantage there; Ghosts have a pretty strong monopoly on cool old ladies.", which I found amusing but laughed even more at once my friend responded to it with "GOOD NEWS ADRIANA")

5. Talk about some headcanons I have for my F/O(s). - Here you are! I wish I knew why it was so tricky to think of things .w.

I said it in the audio itself, but thank you so much again for sending these in, Jordan!! I hope that these answers were alright ^-^

#heart of the void #selfshipping #in the first question I mentioned: #love: final memoriate (zero) #love: soaring skyspectre (elena) #and in the second question I mentioned: #love: dark dreamer (luna) #love: fire of the aegis (pyra) #friend: light of the aegis (mythra) #friend: scion secretary (tataru) #self‑insert: wings of the void (lorenza) #of shards and crystal (FFXIV) #of a city reborn (pokémon reborn) #of gods and titans (xenoblade chronicles) #out of the inbox #selfship asks #jordan tag! #oh a clarification listening back: the scene I talked about with tataru is right before stormblood #which means it's after y'shtola coming back and after y'shtola comes back she can probably see what lorenza is #so tataru might be the second scion to find out instead of the first

[void-kissed]

✨✨✨ !!!

Hehe, sure thing, friend!! You're why I reblogged the game in the first place, so, thank you very kindly for sending these~

(source: this post by dragonsmooch)

Send me ✨ for a random thing about one of my OCs! (Optional: You can specify one!) - Let's go with Dragon Quest Iris for these, if that's alright with you!

I'm.. not actually sure if I've ever shown what Iris looks like before? So, in case you were wondering, here she is! The armoured appearance is her actual current equipment set in my game right now as I've loaded it up, whereas the set with the dress was put together from some extra equipment pieces I had in my inventory; it seems more like something she herself would choose to wear, having such a style-focused vocation and all.

Speaking of her vocation, Iris is a luminary! This is.. not to be confused with the Luminary, which is the name of the Dragon Quest XI protagonist. Luminaries (or, in the Japanese version, Superstars) are the sole postgame-exclusive vocation in Dragon Quest IX. They are.. kind of seen as not great combat-wise, because they have such mixed-up stats other than their high charm, which only means they might occasionally cause enemies to skip their actions or get paralysed by style slightly more often. But they have some neat vocation-exclusive outfit pieces, like that tint-tastic tutu Iris is wearing. They can use fans, whips, and boomerangs by default - as can be seen in the screenshots, Iris wields her fan in combat, as well as wind magic spells.

And on the note of combat, when it comes to the party as a whole, Iris is arguably the most versatile character in terms of what she can do - however, she mostly tends to play a more supportive role due to the strength of Ardea and Avalon's physical attacks compared to hers. She can use Reverse Cycle using her fan to reflect breath-based attacks, which is very helpful for certain bosses, and she also knows some healing spells which is advantageous if Pavo alone isn't able to keep up with the damage being dealt. Similarly, her wind spells are good against groups of enemies!

I hope that these answers were alright, friend! Thank you very much once again for sending these sparkles~

#a call from the void #heart of the void #selfshipping #friend: starlit luminary (iris) #my OCs #platonic F/Os #ah and I suppose I also mentioned #friend: shattered light (avalon) #self‑insert: clawed heron (ardea) #love: winged watcher (pavo) #to a very small extent but still #of sentinels and starry skies (DQIX) #out of the inbox #selfship asks #chris tag! #I *think* the circlet she's wearing is the spellward circlet from the top of the realm of the mighty #but I also think you can alchemise that earlier into the story so I might say that's like her main item that always stays on #it is a *very* good circlet after all #i'm doing it! i'm getting to sparkles!! finally!!! #although it is nearly midnight so I may have to leave it at these for today #however I am also happy to take more sparkles if anyone wanted to send any?? #it's up to you

[moved-to-void-kissed]

Ah yes, the classic ask game! /pos

💬 & "apprehensive" for Aqua, please! - @edencantstopfallininlove

Hehe, thank you for this! I definitely have something in mind for this emotion, so thank you kindly for it!~

(source: this post by queenieboo22)

send me 💬 and a character (and optional bonus emotion) and I’ll give you a line my self-insert would say if in a canon interaction with them - "I.. I suppose what I worried about for so long was whether you would truly want to be with me. Whether you would truly want me to be with you, as well. With what you have told me of how your Master taught you and Terra, I can't help but shake the impression that.. you would have merely struck me down as if I were any other creature of darkness, had we first crossed paths in circumstances where you were stronger. I, for my part, am still so enraged at the man who did all this to you and to the people you cared about. And so I will do everything I can in order to destroy him, and to do so at your side. But.. that’s only if you want me there with you. And.. I can’t say I wouldn’t understand if you were to say that you didn’t. The idea of it still worries me, but I know that it could be a possibility..”

I hope that that was alright! Thank you very much again for sending this in ^-^

#a call from the void #selfship #selfshipping #heart of the void #love: wayfinding waters (aqua) #selfship: survivors of the dark (aqua/aria) #self‑insert: darkness' champion (aria) #it's rare I get to demonstrate this fully but aria's more.. clunky? way of talking is deliberate on my part #as you might be able to see i'm doing now because i was writing the line out in ''her'' tone of voice #the idea is that the structure of how she speaks is the same way my latin translations turn out #which is to say it is in places somewhat clunky/less fluent-sounding in favour of preserving the original word order as closely as possible #because while I understand the importance of taking liberties with translations to make them flow more naturally in the new language.. #I personally like preserving as much of the original's.. essence? flow? in the translation. almost so you could translate it back smoothly #then again when the only language I knew well enough to translate epic excerpts of is the one of two thousand years in the past #whose most famed-to-us-now writers tend to *miss out half of the verbs for the sake of preserving the metre* #I suppose it's only natural for keeping close to lead to an arguably less fluent/less fluid end result #..that was a ramble and a half wasn't it? maybe when we're finally settled i'll be able to find my aeneid translations from a-level #out of the inbox #selfship asks #eden tag! #oh also suffice it to say aria doesn’t have to worry about aqua not wanting her because she does want her and she does value her company

[hoseoksluna]

MURK | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

summary: one encounter with jungkook heals you enough to mend your boyfriend's heart.

pinterest board: murk

warnings: anxiety attack, different forms of self-harm and self-sabotage, mental agony, mutual masturbation, toying with polyamory, foreshadowing the use of a sex toy, alcohol consumption, seduction, provocation, teasing, oc wears pretty lingerie, cuckold kink, guided female masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, nipple play, clit rubbing, ass play, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, facial, cum eating

note: oh my god, this was supposed to have three parts, but it was getting way too long and i decided to prolong the series. i'm not gonna even mention how many parts this series is gonna have bc my characters surprise me every time i finish writing so... they're the boss of me. ANYWAYS, pls i am so proud of this work of mine and i can't wait for you all to read it. pls, spam my inbox anonymously! i need to hear your thoughts, so pretty please, let me know everything you're feeling, hating, expecting etc. i'm absolutely obsessed with oc, jk and yoongi. ALSO, let me know what team you are. team yoongi or team jk? i'll put a poll in the final part if i remember. hehe ENJOY READING ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Sensing Yoongi’s emotions, the clouds pull in, shunning the sunlight and you feel it. You feel it, enormously. 

The wind becomes violent. Curtains of sheer gray slap against the windows, undulating with such might that you sense its urgency. You stare at it in deep thought, naked and barren—void of any dignity, void of any rightness of feelings. A hole of blackness takes form in the middle of your chest, where the memory of Yoongi exiting the room hastily plays on a loop and there’s a faint, feeble hand in you, one of that urgency, that reaches for him, while the other remains slack at your side, caressing your own skin, pacifying your selfishness, your hypnosis—dragging you away from the side you had unwittingly and so unrightfully chosen. 

And while you want to mend what you’ve caused in your relationship, the only side you want to take at the moment is your own. The defeat pains you still, but what aches even more is the feeble wish there wasn’t any defeat at all. Not on Yoongi’s face, not on yours. 

You don’t regret what you’ve done. You don’t want to regret anything anymore, which is why you’re still standing dressed in your femininity as Jungkook apprehensively rakes his hands through his hair on the bed. You care very little for it because a bigger part of you is concerned about the well-being of your boyfriend. You wonder what he’s up to downstairs. Is he pacing? Is he busying himself from the onrush of his negative emotions, not able to stand the sight of you? You’d run to him, but there’s a bigger matter at hand. You have to fix your mind first. You have to cleanse yourself of the mess and the chaos, sort out the darkness so the light pours in. 

The light that will guide you to make the right decisions at last. The light that will burst your ugliness to smithereens, smother you with its heat so the hypnosis won’t penetrate it again. The light that should, ultimately, help Yoongi, help your relationship—fix its face, soothe out the overbearing tension. 

You’re aware Jungkook put you under a spell, now that the wind and Yoongi’s coldness has sobered you up. Turned you against him. Made you forget about him. You give zero fucks about how he does it time and time again. What you will concentrate on in the present time is making sure it won’t happen again. How? You’ll figure it out. Somehow. 

You don’t want any of the males to regard you as of now—and you wish you were alone, you wish you could escape like Yoongi did. That thought leads you, conspicuously, to begin to understand the reason behind his actions, but you don’t allow it to unfold in you. Not yet. You turn around to look at Jungkook. 

Elbows propped on his thighs, he’s digging a hole into the hardwood floors with the blackness of his irises. A small mole kisses the side of his ribs, the only visible part of his body that is otherwise clouded in shadows. You take your eyes away from that sight, not trusting yourself, hating yourself for naturally looking at that intimate part of him. Upon the sound of your movement, Jungkook flicks his eyes towards your form. You dislike everything about his attentiveness to you with every fiber of the betrayal that your body has become. 

His face is squished in his hands. He doesn’t look at your bareness. Merely studies the emotions written on your face. Like the healer he is, you know he wants to find something, anything to latch himself onto. And while you once obsessed over this need of his to mend, to make right, you despise it now. In spite of it, while you swallow down your distaste for it, your hand yearns to pet him like the wounded puppy he is, because you know that the tumultuous darkness both men are facing is of your origin, of your doing.

You keep it clenched in a tight fist. 

You don’t want to touch him anymore. You don’t want to touch any of them. Don’t want to cause any more harm than you already have with your desires. 

Jungkook startles when you make your way towards your travel bag. You hide your breasts beneath your forearm, not wished to be seen, not wishing to be vulnerable like that. The feeling of your stickiness along the inner sides of your thighs makes you cringe, worsens your hatred, and tears begin to sting in your waterline when you unzip your bag and grab the first thing you see. Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but for the last time you avert your gaze from him and bolt to his bathroom. At the sound of his heavy steps, you slam the door shut. 

He calls your name and it is only then, when you’re alone, that you let those bitter tears and whimpers emit out of you. The sound is hidden by each strike of his palm upon the wood and your hand flies to your mouth in effort to stifle your emotions, feeling undeserving of them, feeling wrong, ugly, not worthy of his damned attention—not worthy of anything. 

“Sweetheart,” Jungkook whines. The first pet name he ever called you. You let out a pained sound and he forces the door open with all his might. Even though you don’t want to, you let him see the state of you—clutching your wrinkled dress and panties, concealing the evidence of the pleasure he gave to your body, of your femininity that he had put under his spell. 

You step away from the threshold, slinking deeper into the shadows of the bathroom. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be looking at you with such solicitude and affection. His brows shouldn’t be knitted like that, those eyes bigger and rounded than they usually are, fists tight and clenched, veins thumping and thick. Yoongi should be standing in his place with the intention to heal. Not him. 

“Please, go away,” you whisper, hot tears pouring down your pallid cheeks. You’re ashamed of them because you know full well that at this point you should be doing anything but crying. You’ve gone through so much turmoil, mingled with the darkness to such great extent that you should be proud of your work. You wanted this at some point—you wanted to remain the opposite force with separate feelings. You wanted to be his, when you had no right to choose. 

Jungkook’s eyes glisten. You turn your back to him, unable to be a witness to his emotions. You can’t see that; you don’t deserve to and he shouldn’t be feeling like this. He should’ve long exited this disorder—

You sob louder, exhausted of your thoughts, exhausted of shoulds, of wrongness. Turn the shower on, aware of the traces of disobedience and pain on your backside and you want to hide, but you have nowhere to go to. 

Jungkook turns the main lights off, leaving only the soft flickering bulbs on by the mirror. Ever the healer who senses your emotions by some sixth sense that you hate. Dimness covers your shame. 

He takes away your dress and panties and you let him. Folds them neatly on his laundry hamper. You watch him treat your underwear with such gentleness that it hurts. A flashback of him ripping your thong and making your bum red fills your brain, causing your feelings to expand in your chest—so much that you think your body is too small to keep them in. You can’t breathe, your lungs don’t have enough space to stretch and you panic, taking small breaths that don’t appease your need for air. Not at all. 

You step into the shower, needing to get away. 

The hot water burns on the curves of your behind and you hiss, but it alleviates your hatred. You deem it is precisely what you deserve. Your hand turns the temperature higher, sobbing into the stream of water, lungs heaving with such heft and it is okay, for it camouflages your hypocrisy. That is, until Jungkook notices it. 

“Are you crazy?” he mutters in dismay, fixing the temperature, but you grip his wrist briefly, pushing it away. Don’t look at him. Only warn him this way, silently. His miffed sigh wafts into the mist rising along your form, diffusing into your hair that still carries the scent of the pond. You want to wash it all out. “It’s going to hurt more like this.” 

You scowl, cupping the water in your hands like a child. “I don’t care. Leave.” 

The outward pain of your body isn’t the problem here. It aggravates you how he doesn’t see it—how he can be so ignorant to the more important matter at hand. Yoongi left because of him and because of you, because of the single-minded pleasure between you both that had nothing to do with Yoongi. You might as well have been there alone with him—Yoongi being just a pair of helping hands. Redundant. 

Burning. Burning of eyes, burning of skin, burning ache of heart. 

Jungkook scoffs at your forwardness, dumbfounded. Has the audacity to follow the drop of water trickling down the small of your back. You splash him, willing him to go away, but he stays put. Unbuttons his cargos. Hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, ridding himself, and stepping into the shower with you, sliding the door shut. 

You whisk your eyes to him with as much ill-will as you’re able to muster and he seizes it, unafraid of it, backing you against the wall. Solemn mien, subdued and so soft amidst the hardness of his decisiveness. Small pearls of emotion are stained upon the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, twinkling in the shadows in tandem with the ever persisting glint perched on top of his irises. “I told you to leave.” 

He doesn’t blink. “You splashed me,” he utters, lowly. Grips your waist and pushes you against the coolness of the tiles. It takes a hold of the burn and rips it away, relief flooding in its place and your features relax against your will. “See how it feels better?” 

It does, but you don’t give him the benefit of the doubt—you refuse to. Not when you deserve to rot for hurting your boyfriend enough to make him leave, not when it should be him standing here with you—

“Don’t punish yourself,” Jungkook whispers, fixing the temperature yet again, letting the mist disperse. Such a tender, velvety sound that reaches deep inside of you, even when you want to fight him, even when you think that punishing yourself is the least you can do, considering how despicable you’ve become. But then he dabs a small amount of body wash onto his palm, rubs it across your sternum and it nobbles the drift of your self-sabotage. 

You feel the snugness of his touch, the darkness thickening in you and you take a fright of it. 

You put a stop to it. 

Grasping his wrist, you blink through the unrelenting fragrance of cherries filling your nostrils. “Don’t touch me.”

Seeing the panic flitting over your damp eyes, he lets go, respecting your wish. Smears it on the broadness of his chest instead. “Alright, I won’t touch you.” 

You sigh a whiny, vulnerable breath of relief. The glint of his irises ripples as tears pool across them. He, too, blinks them away. Stills as a sculpture while watching the film of your emotions. For a mere moment. Your throat constricts. Time, then, resumes. 

Jungkook hands you the bottle. Silence suffuses the profound atmosphere as you lather yourself in the cherry aroma. Almost without touching your skin, he peels your hair away from your back, capacitating you to reach your shoulder. As if his hands, now that they’ve acknowledged themselves with your body, simply cannot keep their distance. You shoot him a look that forces him to drop his limb. Note that it trembles on its way down to his side; note the same trepidation beginning its course on your body. Your mouth rounds in yet another rush of emotions, but you don’t cry. 

You’re so tired. So tired of feeling. So tired of guilt, of shame, of getting up and falling again. 

You avoid your intimate parts, your breasts and your behind. You hold your body instead, arms wrapped around your ribcage in effort to put yourself back together. You don’t understand why he’s here, why he cares; why he thinks he has the right to touch you without your boyfriend being present, why he thinks the situation between you and Yoongi is something he needs to remedy. And why, ultimately, he thinks it’s right to be on your side, instead of Yoongi’s. 

He’s not your friend. He doesn’t know you. 

You look up at him to fire that question at him, but Jungkook clutches the shower head and, with lukewarm water, he cleanses you of the foam, the bubbles and the stickiness on your thighs that he never got to wipe clean because you had pushed him away earlier. And then it happens. 

He cleanses you of your dirtiness, of your hatred and of your tiredness, too. With the same shower head, the same lukewarm water. And you can’t explain how he does it, how your body lets him, how it willingly lets go until there’s nothing in you anymore. Just the cherry perfume and the hole in your chest with a murky cloud in the middle. You merely watch it dribble down your skin, plop onto the tiles on the floor, swimming around your feet and his. Dumbstruck. 

You feel like stomping on it, but you don’t have the energy. Figure it will drown in the small pool of water on its own, die a slow, painful death, before it trickles down the drain. 

You don’t know how it came about now that it’s gone and you can’t take your eyes off of him. All he did was rinse you off. And the ridiculousness of it all is that, the more Jungkook deepens your eye contact, the more you want it back. You want to be the one who purges you of it. Steal the magic from his hands and splatter it back on your skin, in place of the cherries. He can keep those. 

Why did he come? Why didn’t he go to Yoongi? 

And you ask him. “Why are you here?” 

He fishes for a bottle of shampoo. “Will you let me wash your hair?” 

You scowl up at him. “I asked you a question.” 

Stillness in his features. “So did I.” 

That damned stubbornness, so reminiscent of yours, of your muted, silent one, hidden within you. Fair enough. You search within yourself for any hint of protest. Find none—find it’s been washed away, find cherries and the heft of the cloud, no darkness, much to your dismay. You turn your back towards him. 

“Tilt your head back.” 

Thankful that he didn’t do it himself, you do as he says. Jungkook wets your hair and you feel the pond leaving you, your heart skipping over to latch onto it, adamant on not letting it leave, but alas—it disappears along with everything else. You wish your heart would trickle down the drain, too. You have no need for it, anyways. 

Jungkook’s touch on your hair is benign, careful as he rubs the shampoo on your scalp. You flutter your eyes shut, welcoming in, somehow, the massage that diminishes the intensity, which your thoughts are hurled at you with, as though he was the owner of them and he came home to make order. And they settle altogether to listen as he begins to speak. “It shattered my heart. To see both of you so broken because of me. I saw it at dinner at first. Then I saw it again today. It pains me. It pains me that it’s my fault.” 

Silence, hefty, strong silence. The principle of being seen by another pair of eyes; the principle of your agony being seen and understood, no longer obscured within your mind, within your heart. Jungkook didn’t just see you, he saw Yoongi, too. Saw through you both. Something about that, along with the work of his fingertips, mitigates the heaviness of your emptiness, of your cloud, but it doesn’t tear the misty body. Not yet. 

Your throat is dry. “Why are you here, then? Why aren’t you with Yoongi? He’s your friend.” 

He gently drags his palms across your length. “Because Yoongi deals with things like this on his own. He doesn’t need a friend when he goes through shit. He needs to be alone.” 

You don’t understand. Yoongi always needed you when his mental health was at stake. Needed you as he unraveled the entanglement of ropes of that darkness that had enveloped his mind by talking to you about it. Then, he would eat with you, fuck you and try again the next day. It would be a long process, but it would be something you’d go through together. There never was a time he’d walk that path alone. 

And then it hits you. 

That was before you. Before he met you, he meandered through that decaying meadow alone. Jungkook served in the military—he doesn’t know anything about the change that occurred. Doesn’t know that Yoongi gave up his isolation. 

And you tell him. Merely a hint of it. Figure it’s Yoongi’s story to tell and you don’t have the heart to snatch that opportunity away from him. 

Listening to your words, Jungkook slackens. You only hear the sound of the shower head being put back into its place that indicates his shock to you. You figure he wanted to rinse off the shampoo, but the information paralyzed his body. You turn around to see that bewilderment writing verses across his features. Tenderness, too. A tendril of liquid emotion swirling past his waterline. “I tried my best to make that happen when I could,” he utters and you don’t think he realizes he said it, eyes unfocused, fixed on the tile beside your arm. “You can’t imagine how difficult it was for him. To let you in.” 

You feel the same tenderness curling into your cloud. Your mouth rounds again. Touched, terribly touched. Gladness holds hands with that tenderness, gladness that he didn’t leave when you had told him to. Because if he had never stepped inside the shower, you wouldn’t have known. You wouldn’t have known the secret that changes everything. 

You yearn to see Yoongi. Yearn to hug him, hold him, to pour out your love into him. Think you’re ready now. Stable enough to satisfy your craving. And in the love that you feel for him, you sense the light swarming, begging to be seeped into him. 

You stand beneath the stream to rinse off the shampoo, the water blanketing your head, peace penetrating your skull, tidying up the mess in your mind. Hushing out your thoughts now that your negative feelings long slinked away. You’re a new person. Clean, purified. And while you find it hard to believe, all you want to do is truly run to Yoongi. 

You can’t let him venture back to that forlorn meadow, to the ghost of his isolation. You might have shown him the way, but you have the will to stop him—and that’s more than enough. 

The healer that Jungkook is… he did it again. He dismantled your attachment and now he fixed your mind. You don’t know from what source he had rooted out the light, but he gave it to you. He gave it to you when you needed it the most, without knowing a thing about it. 

Blindly, you hook a finger around his index in a gesture of thanks. You don’t want to look at his nakedness. Don’t want to be pulled into that energy again. It brings his attention to you and you want to weep. Differently now. You want to weep due to the fact he somehow, seemingly, knows because he cups himself. Due to the roundness of his eyes that you know, that still live under your skin—differently now, too. Due to the fact that you got to be acquainted with him, despite the ruckus and the pain it came with. 

And you hope, in all truthfulness, that you remain something along the lines of friends after this day is over. How else would you have gotten to this healing? 

You open your mouth to express your gratitude, but Jungkook speaks first. “Don’t look at my worm.” 

The laughter that dribbles out of your mouth is so lightweight, so full of breezy and summer-breathed relief that the tears, which were held in, do break through the confinement and roll down the apples of your cheeks. Different, different tears. 

Friends, yes, please. You beg the heavens. May they let him become your friend. 

Jungkook scrunches his nose, squeezing your finger, relief, too, washing over him. “Don’t cry, I swear it’s not small like this all the time. It gets bi—”

“Get me a towel, you dummy,” you say, softly, amidst your sputtering laughter, wiping your tears away. Jungkook smiles, the change of the atmosphere illuminating him from beneath, and he slides the door open, letting the slight cold air in. You turn off the water, focusing your eyes on the last ripples of water draining your negative emotions until they slip, entirely, away. 

Jungkook holds out a beige towel for you. Doesn’t wrap it around you; still respects your wish. Lets you take it from him and then he disappears into the bedroom, closing the door shut behind him. 

You used the alone time to doll yourself up for Yoongi. At least a little bit—you didn’t want to overdo it, amongst other things that you already had. 

Although you missed your favorite mango scent, the cherries didn’t seem so bad and you got accustomed to it fairly quickly as you swiped a tiny bit of your cream blush along your cheeks, where you’ve let your relieved tears dry. You smeared the same tint of soft red upon the puffiness of your lips, connecting it to the perfume, connecting it to the healing that sank lower and lower in your gut. And you sealed it into the entwistment of your braid—sealed it fully.

You won’t let it leave you. Not this time; not again. 

By the time your feet pad down the wooden stairs, you discover what Yoongi was up to in his absence. Three plates of ramen are prepared on the dinner table, gone cold by now, along with utensils and opened cans of fizzy drinks. The sight lids your eyes with tears, but you stifle them, blink them away. You thought he wanted to forget you, when in reality he had you in mind the whole time. And not just you, but your culprit as well—and he cooked him food. 

A sudden roar forces your head to whisk towards the balcony. And your heartbeat quickens. You don’t feel your legs as you speed outside. 

Yoongi sits on top of the stairs, a cigarette in hand, torso twisted, facing Jungkook, whose shoulders sag in consternation, palms open towards him. He makes a move to his side, but Yoongi raises a limb to stop him. Looks at you for a moment. At your wet hair, at the same state of Jungkook’s. Your heart lodges in your throat—

“Get away from me,” Yoongi mutters, taking a long drag from his cigarette, and you don’t feel anything at all. Not your legs trembling, threatening to drop to the ground. Not the standstill of your bloodstream. You’re struck, unable to speak, to think. Yoongi rises to his feet and points his busy fingers at you. “Did you enjoy your shower?” he spits the venom in your face, ruining your makeup that you diligently put on for him—your tears flow, mingling with it, hot to the touch. “Did you enjoy fucking him?”

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

Yoongi’s own tears pool in his clouded eyes. You’ve never seen them before and they break you, tear apart the cloud in you. “You didn’t what, honey?” he croaks out. Repeats the question. 

Your sobs ache, but you don’t care. You take a step towards him, reach out your hand like you should’ve done earlier before he left and he takes it. The light that spills out from your chest radiates him, radiates him enough that he gives you the chance to explain yourself, to redeem his heart and you’re willing to do anything for it. His palm is cold, more cold than it’s ever been and Yoongi squeezes you, as if to beg you to undo the gashes upon his heart. Jungkook looks at the intertwinement for a mere second and you refuse to note the sliver of pain whirling past his eyes. Not this time; not again—this is about you and Yoongi. And you’re glad when he leaves. You don’t watch him go. 

“I didn’t have sex with him,” you whisper, the only way you could keep your voice still, your tears soaking the neckline of your lacy dress. You will your healing not to quiver, but to remain strong, remain unbreakable. “I swear on my life that I didn’t.” 

The same drops of pain pour down his face and you can’t bear it. You bury your face into his clothed chest, bunching the material of his T-shirt in your fists, needing him to believe you, needing him—

“You took a shower with him,” he breathes in pure disbelief. You feel it palpitate in his heart that your forehead is pressed against. This time, you understand right away how wrong that was—that showers are something that belongs to you and him, your shared rose garden of some sort that they could become, even though you were too smothered by the darkness to realize it fully in the moment.

You halt the shame creeping in. The guilt, the wisps of darkness. You’ve healed, and it shall stay that way. No more. 

“I took a shower alone.” The wind nips at you and it is like a slash of a whip on your back. “He came in—”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Lets his cigarette fall to the floor of the veranda. With his lips pursed and like a bolt of lightning you can’t keep in your hands, he rips himself out of your hold and lopes inside the cabin with heavy, wrathful steps. 

And you can’t stop it—the colliding of Yoongi’s fist on Jungkook’s cheekbone. 

You yelp, grabbing a hold of the fabric of Yoongi’s T-shirt to pull him back, your sight blurred enough that you can’t see. You can’t see properly the way Yoongi doesn’t let Jungkook fall to the floor, but instead grabs him by the collar and fumes in his face. Your sobs choke you and you press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around his torso, willing him to stop, begging him in your silent language. 

You feel the heavy, long thuds of his heart, the trembling lift and fall of his chest and you squeeze him tighter, weeping into the cloth of his garment, emitting liquid fear—fear of Yoongi receiving the same hit, fear of the darkness, much bigger one, enveloping all three of you. And you don’t have the time to blame yourself for causing this. Yoongi’s words stop you dead in your tracks. 

“You forced yourself on her?” he hisses, pushing him to and fro like the curtain billowing behind you. “Are you that fucking desperate for pussy that you forced yourself on my girl? Should I fucking kill you?” 

A momentary stillness. Your breath is loud. Louder than the hard huffs of air escaping the mouths of the two males. 

“Let go, hyung,” Jungkook croaks out, defeated. And you don’t know how the sound of it makes you feel. Perhaps, you’re feeling nothing, which is a good thing. You put your boyfriend first in your weak heart, his feelings, his well-being. Not Jungkook; not yourself. Even though your heart silently, painlessly cracks. 

“I asked you a question.” Yoongi’s wrath rises, absorbing the room, despite the fact his voice is deadly calm. You squeeze him harder. 

He did force himself into your personal space, but if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been healed. You wouldn’t be here, on your boyfriend’s side. And the thought of being the opposite force if he hadn’t done that, cradling his back instead of Yoongi’s terrifies you enough that you speak up—in need to fix the situation. 

“He didn’t, Yoongi. I promise,” you whimper, burying your face deeper into the middle between his shoulder blades. And there you feel his spine shake. You caress his stomach to soothe him, peppering kisses along that strong column. 

Yoongi punches him again. It reverberates throughout your whole body. You only hear the crash of Jungkook’s form onto the floor. 

“Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again,” Yoongi hisses and he twists his wrist to alleviate himself of the affliction scattering along his knuckles. “And what you’ve done to her, the pain you’ve caused her is something I will never forgive you for.” 

Stillness. Terrible, terrible stillness. The whip of the wind. A roar of an upcoming storm in the heavens far, far away. You don’t become it. You remain yourself. His girlfriend, defended. 

Yoongi turns around and cradles your face in his hands. Wet, worried eyes, begging you for something that you can’t pinpoint. Shiny, sniffling nose, suppressing his emotions. Red, regretful mouth, breathing out exasperated breaths. Quivering chin—quaint in the rawness of his expressed love towards you. You yearn to kiss him, you yearn to take him home, so terribly remorseful that you got him into this gut-wrenching mess. And you listen to your body, fulfill the only right decision you’ve come across since meeting his friend. 

“Let’s go home, baby,” you whisper, pecking him softly. Yoongi nods, wiping your tears away. Takes your hand and leads you towards the front door. 

Jungkook, now standing on his wobbly feet, bruised and bloodied, merely watches the pair of you. Sorrowful. And as you walk away from him, you clutch in your heart what he’s done for you. 

Yoongi hands you his car keys. “Wait in the car.” 

You nod and you go. Don’t stick around to see the unfolding of the storm. Don’t say goodbye. 

The rain pitter-patters on the roof of the car. You’re tired of it. You’re tired of the summer. Don’t find any beauty in it. Not even in the mountains and the trees. 

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet. 

Your stomach grumbles, but you don’t feel any hunger. You’ve nibbled on your bottom lip so much that rawness of blood is all that your teeth sink into. The same blood that, much like your darkened self-sabotage, trickled out of Jungkook’s nostril. It tastes bitter on your tongue. 

A ruthless carousel of scenarios spin in your mind and you’re tightly buckled in the seat of fear with no way out. The fear that, in your absence, Yoongi’s hit got reciprocated. The fear that the same blood you taste could, possibly, be on your own hands. 

You want to get away from here. Far, far away. 

When Yoongi emerges from the cabin, a thunder announces it. The only blood you detect is the dried one on his knuckles. The rain didn’t get to clean it and once he places the same hand upon the shivering coldness of your thigh, a decision perks up in you. A decision to not let anyone get in the way of mending and cleansing anymore.  

You shall be the one who does it now. Not the rain, not Jungkook. They’ve both done enough. 

And when you lift that wounded hand to your lips, you wish you could clean it with your tears—but you fear the salt would only pain him more. So you settle for your sighs of relief, for your gentle kisses and for the light in you to do the work. 

“No more tears, honey,” Yoongi murmurs, cupping your chin and pecking you. “It’s over now.” 

You drift to sleep during the ride home. 

And you sleep through the whole afternoon in an anguished effort to forget. Forget the blood, forget the sound of Jungkook’s body hitting the floor… forget yourself. 

You didn’t dream about anything at all. Only the darkness consumed you, a lullaby of nothingness. 

And when you awake, your feet groggily take you to Yoongi. They seem to know where he is, even when your eyelids are still half-closed, even when your brain still dozes. A canopy of dusky, darkening heavens, with hues of roses dispersed all around, gently fondles your eyes to rouse them fully and right here, on the balcony, much different to the one you spent your afternoon on—much smaller, much more confined—is where you find your boyfriend. An empty pack of cigarettes on the table, a cold purple lighter and a dark bottle of liquor.

His strained back greets you first. He doesn’t hear your steps; he doesn’t sense your presence and it isn’t until your fingertips touch his saddened spine that he turns around. Wrinkles of the same dejected nature, absolute despair wrung into the paleness of his face. You cradle it and you bolster it when he spills into your hands, when you feel the hotness of his tears. And you spill with him—the only thing left to do. 

You will your light to swathe him. Press his head against your chest as you lead him to take a seat with you on his lap. And you keep your mouth tightly shut when the soreness of your muscles, the slight discomfort of the burn on your skin forces a whine out of you. You keep it caged in. Put your boyfriend first. 

Sifting your fingers through his hair, you kiss his scalp—kiss his mind, even when you don’t know its contents. To ease it, whatever it was that caused him to break. 

You sit like this until the moon springs from the clouds. You don’t look at it. Refuse to. 

It’s Yoongi who speaks first, cold fingers sunk beneath your thighs, seeking your warmth. 

“Tell me everything from the beginning,” he murmurs, weary eyes boring into yours. “I need to hear it from you.” 

You’d give him anything he asked, anything he wished for; you’d pierce your heart if the time asked for it. And so you nod, place your hand on his chest, lie against his good shoulder and you begin to leak. Leak the simplest of words you’re able to find in your windswept mind. 

“He put me in a trance when we were intimate. So much that I lost my mind, lost my surroundings, lost my sense of home.” You swallow, dryly, thinking that’s the best way you could explain it without deepening the gashes upon his heart. Decide you will not overdo it. “And when you left and I breathed in the fresh air, it was like I’d woken up from it. It hurt so much. I was worried about you, but I wasn’t ready to face you. Not when I had to deal with the repercussions.” 

Yoongi squeezes the flesh of your thigh to comfort you, thumb fondling the skin back and forth, listening intently. 

“I didn’t understand at first why you left. I was so out of it. But little pieces started to put it together in my mind as I was thinking about it. And then I saw Jungkook with his head in his hands and I knew I’d done something really, really bad. I wanted to run away, like you did, but I had no other place to go to other than the bathroom. And Jungkook…” you trail off, taking a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally for this part of the story—the thread that is linked to the bruises upon Yoongi’s knuckles. “I thought he wanted to comfort me, and maybe he did. I pushed him away but he relented. He was concerned because I—” A lump forms in your throat, your lashes quiver. “I made sure the water was boiling hot because I wanted to burn off—I wanted to punish myself for making you leave, for hurting you. And then he got in the shower and I didn’t say anything.” 

You pause for a moment, thinking about how you’re supposed to mention the matter of the burn of your backside and his concern regarding it without wounding Yoongi. 

“He—” Your throat constricts and Yoongi cradles your face in his palm, lifting your head so you can gaze into his eyes, draw strength from him. He nods, encouraging you to continue, while seemingly giving you as much time as you need. Tears the lump apart. “He was worried because the hot water was making the burn on my butt worse, but I—I didn’t feel it. I was crying so hard.” 

His eyes search for something in yours and you know right away what it is. The answer to his question on whether he touched you. You wrap your arm around his neck. Glad it didn’t wound him. Enough that you overbrim with the desire to assuage his disquiet. 

“He didn’t touch me,” you whisper, although it’s not entirely true. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. “Not in the way you think. I told him to stop. He wanted to wash me. I told him no.” 

He blinks, but you can’t read his solemn features. You see the memory of Jungkook gripping your waist and pushing you against the tiles, so you wouldn’t burn your skin, and you saying nothing displayed on them. It overwhelms you, but you fight it. What’s done is done.  

The worst part of the story awaits you. You pluck it, ready to get it over with. 

“All he did was rinse me off. And he told me about how it hurt him to see us like this because of him. I felt everything leaving me when I was listening to him. I don’t know how, but I did. He asked to wash my hair and I let him. I felt so relieved to be ridded of the guilt and the pain I felt that I started crying again. He made me laugh. And then he left me alone. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if he hadn’t been there.” 

Stillness, awfully quiet stillness—like the one at the cabin, but you do not fear it. An abrupt onrush of strength fills your bones, giving you the notion that whatever comes next is something you’ll be able to endure. 

Yoongi drops his hand. You will your heart not to drop along with it. 

“The lines have been blurred so much that I—” He averts his gaze. Towards the glimmering stars up above as if they could give him the strength he’s now void of. “I don’t know if it’s fair for me to feel the way I do, when—when I let him have you.” 

You are able to endure it. A motherly stimulus creeps in, one that has the capacity for the mightiness of whatever it is that he’s feeling. You want to swallow it down. You desire to. 

“What do you feel, baby?” you whisper, nudging your nose against his, an Eskimo kiss to relieve him, to help him. “Tell me.” 

Yoongi narrows his eyes in regret. “It should’ve been me,” he breathes. You nod, agreeing with him, even though you’ve accepted that fate wrote it was meant to be Jungkook. Perhaps for that very reason, he was inscribed to be pulled into that whole situation to begin with, no matter how lewd it was. “And it should’ve been me under that—”

He doesn’t let himself finish his sentence, but you know what he wanted to say. It brings tears to your eyes, the fact that he hated what you had done to yourself and instead wished it was him—to whom the harm was done. 

You let them pour out. You don’t want them smothering you. You want everything out, so you can move on—so both of you can. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Another Eskimo kiss, a longer one this time. Yoongi sniffles against you and you want to pull out more from him, to rid him completely of those negative feelings. “Like you said, it’s over now.” 

Yoongi nods, vulnerably, and you peck him on the mouth. And he’s unable to reciprocate the kiss, for his features twist in another rush of liquid emotions. You stroke the back of his hair, running your fingers down its length, urging softly more out. 

“I don’t regret anything,” you continue, pressing your cheek against his tears, letting them seep into your skin. “Even though it hurt, I don’t regret it, Yoongi. Neither should you.” 

He sobs and it reverberates through your body. You remain strong. Strong like the mountains. “I hurt him.” 

The breath you inhale is knifing you sharply. “He loves you—”

“And I hurt him,” he cuts in, squeezing you against him, needing you. “I didn’t trust a word he said. I didn’t—” he heaves, unable to catch his breath, hiccups. “Because I thought he hurt you, I didn’t hear him out. I didn’t know he helped you.” 

“What did he tell you?”

“He told me he didn’t force himself on you, but I didn’t believe him. I gave him so much shit for it, for spanking you. And then he begged me to hit him again.” 

The healer deemed it would make Yoongi feel better. Your heart warps. 

“Did you?” 

“No.” 

You kiss his temple and you don’t realize that it’s a silent thanks until you lift your lips, however you’re not thrown off balance. It should be like this. You should feel for both men. You should feel. It makes you a living, breathing human. And Yoongi’s reactions and emotions make him human, too, even if they seem wrong in the moment. It’s not something to hate him or judge him for—it’s something to love him for. He should feel safe. Deserves to. 

It’s better than to feel nothing. 

And you tell him. A thousand times until he nods, sloshing your words in his mouth before carefully swallowing them, accepting them. 

“It’s not a lost cause. You can talk to him. And you can try again.” 

Yoongi looks at you as he takes in what you’ve said, as if the concept never crossed his mind—or, if it did, it perhaps seemed too unrealistic to make happen. As if he was doomed for life. As if he lost him forever. 

Love is never lost. And you tell him that as well. 

Yoongi lights up from within. You wipe away his tears. Brush his hair away from his face. And you give him every last drop of your light, hugging him. And he hugs you back until birds begin to sing in the sky. 

It took several weeks for Yoongi to gather courage to call Jungkook. Liquor bottles piled in a row on the balcony and you didn’t count them anymore, you just joined your boyfriend, who had become a frail skeleton, whenever his nerves asked for the burning liquid. Either you would keep him company or you’d bring your own shot glass. And each time, it would end with a subdued, murky therapy session, without the fucking. 

Yoongi hasn’t touched you since the afternoon spent in the cabin. 

He wasn’t in the mood and you stifled yours. Your body was so accustomed to the daily release of pleasure that because it didn’t have it now all of a sudden, it felt weird—it felt out of place, and you drowned it out with alcohol and smokes, drowned it out with shopping sprees until money ran out and stashes became empty. So you had to settle for your own hand. 

And it was easy. You daydreamed about Jungkook. Felt the ghost of his fingers on every sensitive place your hand roamed. On your breast, on your thigh and on your clit, in your entrance. You replayed everything he’d done to you and it didn’t hurt; you didn’t feel shame. You’ve healed to the point that it drenched you, aroused you enough to coax your orgasm out in mere minutes.

And it didn’t feel shameful because Yoongi had told you the reason why he fled the scene. 

“You were in pain and I couldn’t stand it. You wouldn’t look at me and if you did, you’d look away as if I had no role in the sex. He took control when it should’ve been me. And I didn’t do anything to stop it.” 

It wasn’t about you being so preoccupied in the trance. It was about Jungkook taking charge as if you were his. Which was what led Yoongi to think he forced himself on you in the shower. It was about him being silent and not speaking up, prioritizing your pleasure. 

It made sense to you, but you still apologized. For what, you didn’t know. Just felt the need to. And Yoongi made you feel so safe, as safe as you had made him feel that night on the balcony, that you couldn’t help but yap about how enjoyable it was for you—what Jungkook did to you. And Yoongi agreed. 

You were content that you’ve moved past the hurt and focused on the real truth beneath, revealing it: you both had enjoyed it when you were pleasured. 

You didn’t check if the conversation made him hard, for you ran into your bedroom to relieve yourself of the ache between your legs as fast as possible. But he found you. Watched you. Validated you. Validated your daydreams. Told you what to do as he smoked a cigarette, standing in between your outstretched legs before the bed, the summer wind cooling the sweat on your body. And then he told you to do it again. 

And again. 

Until he couldn’t pull out any more orgasms out of you. 

He became obsessed with it. 

Because the next day and the many after that, you did the same thing. He would watch you while you fingered yourself. He’d tell you what he’s doing to you in your daydreams, taking charge of them, what Jungkook is doing to you. Other times he’d jerk off and come all over your tummy and cunt. Still remain hard; still remain needy. He wouldn’t fuck you. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t even insulate it. Wouldn’t slip it inside the dreams. And once his desire would run out of its sweet wine, yours simply wouldn’t. And the more you both indulged in this act, you figured out two things. 

One, Yoongi used it as a coping mechanism. As a healing tool to recuperate from the afternoon spent in the cabin, one that would ultimately help him have sex with you in the long run. Two, you were riding the waves of ideas and excitement with no real fulfillment, with no release. 

Tasting the picture of the sin at first might have been enough—but the more you did it, the more you wanted to sink your teeth into the real thing. 

You wanted Jungkook again. 

And like the intelligent man Yoongi is, he figured it out, too. 

A certain number of orgasms was an indication of an ending to this playful time. And the last time you did this, Yoongi—at this number—was ready to withdraw and jump into the shower, but you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Hungry, starved, devouring his neck, grinding your still wet pussy against his softening cock. 

He put two and two together. Immediately.

“You’re hungry for what I haven’t given you yet, aren’t you?” 

You begged for it, moaning against his artery, reveling in the feeling of his cock against you after such a long time. And when you looked at him, you saw drunkenness seizing his features. Drunkenness without the consumption of alcohol. And you felt the same inebriation enclosing around yours, knowing your desire sparked this inside of him. It felt different. Way, way different. 

“Think about how you want it. Make yourself come as many times as you want. And when I come back from the shower, tell me about it. We’ll figure it out; we’ll make it work.” 

It grazed your hunger. Squeezed it in such a playful way. Like a human hand squeezing an animal because of the cute-aggression it feels towards it. 

You didn’t know how many times you came. You were too lost in the story you constructed, soaking the bed sheets even more than you already had. Your fingers had turned wrinkly by the time you opened your eyes, finished with the plot, to see Yoongi leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, not having the heart to disturb you in your passion. 

And while you showered, playing the story in your head over and over, Yoongi cooked you food. Poured you liquid courage. Waited for you at the table, dressed only in a pair of joggers. Chain-smoked, the rule of only smoking on the balcony long forgotten during his process of healing. 

When you sat down to eat, you slid your feet across his lap. Lifted your camisole, let him see your bare cunt the way he liked it that one time; the scent of your mango body butter wafting in the air, the sultriness of an August evening carrying that eccentricness right into his senses, readying him for what you were about to tell him. 

And you began, casually, with every bite of the delicious food he made you. You got ahead of yourself, though, dumb by the intensity of adrenaline and arousal coursing in your veins. “I want you to dictate every move. And it’s up to you if you let him fuck me or not. My first idea from the start was—”

“I want you to tell me your full fantasy. What you touched yourself to. From the beginning ‘til the end.” 

You fixed your mistake quickly. 

“I dreamed about him watching us. You gave him rules. No touching. Hands on the armchair I wanted him to sit in. No talking. Then, I began with you letting him see what we’ve been doing. Loudly, vulgarly. Me playing with my pussy while you jerked off until you came all over me. Then you ate me out and wouldn’t stop until I begged you to fuck me. From behind. While you stretched my ass with a butt plug.” 

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?” 

“Yes. He heard it all. Every word you used. And I wanted you to do it to make him needy. Needy enough to beg you to let him fuck me.” 

Yoongi only cursed. And you felt him hardening again under the soles of your feet. You caressed his ache with your toes.

“He thought the butt plug was used to stretch me for him, but it was for my pleasure, for decoration. You only let him pump your cum deeper into me. You didn’t let him come. And you held me from behind. Held me open for him in the air. And then he begged you for mercy. You gave in. Dropped me to the floor. And he fucked me ruthlessly, keeping me still on the floor with his thighs around me. He wasn’t able to last long. Begged you to let him come in me and you did. And then… then he ate me out. And so did you. At the same time. And I came so hard that I squirted. Then we took a shower. All three of us.” 

“Did anything happen in the shower?” Quick, hard breaths, as if he was on the verge of an orgasm from your footjob. 

And he proved to you, with a groan, that he was when you finished your story and his joggers dampened. “No, you both just held me. And we kissed like crazy.” 

And it was this release of cum that drove him to make that phone call. 

When Jungkook picks up on the first ring, Yoongi grabs his keys, blows you an air kiss and leaves. The joy that thrums in your heart is unlike any you’ve ever felt. You know where he’s gone. You know it fully well. 

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up. 

Hours later, he returns. With a grin blossomed on his face, one you haven’t seen since the day at the cabin, and a pink bag in his hand, one he hands you as soon as he takes off his shoes. 

Inside you find the butt plug you dreamed of. Silver with a purple faux diamond in the middle. Fairly small, just the kind you’re certain you will be able to take. With a freebie of a much smaller packet of lube. To be safe playing out the fantasy. 

Yoongi kisses you so hard when you look up at him that he steals all of your breath, ridding you of your chance to thank him. 

“He’s coming over later.” 

You kiss him, equally hard. Happy that he’s happy, happy to see movement in his healing journey. You give him tiny kisses, a hundred of them, and he breathes a laugh into your mouth, his joy filling you with energy and exhilaration. Finally, finally, finally—you’ve missed this emotion of his. Glad for the sadness, for the murkiness to be gone. 

And you pray nothing gets in the way. 

When Jungkook announces his arrival by knocking on the door, the sight you’re met with is quite uncanny. Though your heart isn’t stirred by it, bouncing in your chest like a small child seeing its father after a long, long time. 

It’s been almost a month and he’s become older since the last time you saw him. His hair, grown longer and thicker, curls at his temples, ears and the nape of his neck. Round eyes have stayed the same, as well as the glint, and there’s a hint of the same joy that you’ve found in Yoongi, whirling in circles past it. Nose void of any blood, cheekbone healed from bruises. His demeanor is careful as if he had been punished enough by the fight and the silent treatment that followed it, taking off his shoes and his zipper hoodie, revealing a much bigger broadness of shoulders and arms, exposed in a tight fit of a black tank. 

While Yoongi drowned his sorrow in alcohol and smokes and then came across his relief, his air in a sexual fantasy with his friend involved, he—the said friend—clearly found his coping mechanism in the gym. 

He’s huge. As if he hadn’t already been from the military. 

You lick your lips at him, and it’s such a natural reaction that you don’t even think about what you’ve done until you perceive that he doesn’t look at you at all. And it turns you on. It turns you on that he’s holding himself back from you. You know what hides beneath, what comes out when he lets go of his good boy persona.  

Glancing at Yoongi, he’s already smirking at you with a playful gaze. Affected by his ignoring of you just the same. The shared connection thickens the energy around, but Jungkook breaks it. 

He breaks it once he lifts his head, hangs his hoodie on the back of a chair and envelops you in a hug. Defaces your evident tendency to view him as an object, scribbles it in slashes until the ink runs out. All by a few strokes of his hand down your hair, down your back clothed in a new silky robe. 

And when he withdraws from the hug, you see the healer that helped you become the person Yoongi needed on his journey. 

His somber eyes skim over the long length of your nighttime attire, as if lamenting over the fact it’s not the red one. Over its dusty-pink color that parts the fabric to reveal your smooth leg and your toes. And then he’s gone, pulling your boyfriend in the same hug that lasts a bit longer, uttering silent words that should’ve been said that afternoon at the cabin with each increase of squeezes and pats within the hold. 

You know they’ve said what they needed to hear during the phone call to mend what’s been broken. You feel a certain proudness of Yoongi for managing so well, for being at this very part of the journey. It’s praiseworthy. 

“You hungry?” 

Jungkook looks at you at last, imaginary puppy ears perking up at your question. And his eyes soften, wet with emotion from the reunion. He rubs his belly. “Starving.” 

You shuffle your feet to make your way into the kitchen, but Yoongi beats you to it. Wave a hand towards the table, inviting him to sit and, out of habit, you pour some liquid courage into a shot glass for him from the bottle you keep there instead of a vase filled with flowers. 

He merely glances at it. Doesn’t drink it. 

“How have you been?” you ask, screwing the lid back on, not being able to take your eyes off of him—your entire history faintly blanketing your sight. 

And he deepens the eye contact. 

“How do you like your butt plug?” 

Taken aback, you laugh, the atmosphere so airy all of a sudden that your cheeks flush and your lungs heave with affability. This is the friendship you had begged the heavens for. Without strings, without pain. Light-natured friendship, with flirtation in the middle. You find it hard to believe you have it. Find it hard to believe he’s here. 

Find it hard to believe that when you had told Yoongi he could try again, he took your words and created this, embedding it into your fate. 

“It’s pretty,” you say, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. Jungkook smiles, fondly, fingers wrapping around the shot. You’re reminded, momentarily, of the way he teased you with the foot of his wine glass on your first dinner date. 

As if thinking about that night, too, his other fingers sneak to your bare knee, tapping it once. “We picked it for you.” 

You nod in feigned, exaggerated gratitude, even though you mean it, even though the thought of them choosing a sex toy for you makes you burst into flames from within. “Thank you, Oppa. Thank you so much. I will use it well.” And you bow to him with each word in your seat next to him.

Jungkook laughs and it’s such a sweet sound that you feel unfamiliar flowers growing in you, laughing along with him. He lays his palm flat on the entirety of your knee. Heavy, strong, warm. Then, he widens his eyes, as if he only now realized what you’ve called him. “You’re younger than me?” 

You’ve guessed he was older than you. “I was born in 1999. I take it you’re around the same age as Yoongi?” 

Not the same, entirely. You recall him calling Yoongi ‘hyung’. He must be a year or a few years younger. 

That tenderness you know flashes in his face. “I was born in 1997. Yoongi is older than me.” 

Your mouth opens in the shape of ‘O’. Jungkook’s eyes flick to it before he averts them, slapping the side of your thigh gently, sighing as if he held his breath the entire time. Only then does he down the shot you poured him, keeping his hand there. 

Such a blessing, the simple act of getting to know him. 

He slouches in his seat and you ask him again. “How have you been?”

Smacking his mouth, he roams his gaze along the perimeters of the dinner table. And you realize he’s avoiding the question. Avoided it the first time you launched it at him, too. 

You fold your fingers under his palm on your knee, signaling your understanding and sympathy. Don’t want to think about the healing journey he had to walk through by himself. He’s reached the end and that’s the most important thing as of now. You caress his reddened, tattooed knuckles, smeared with flecks of violet and yellow—much like your bum that one afternoon—with your thumb, wondering how that tinge came to live there. “What happened to your hand?” 

Jungkook contemplates your study of his hand, stoically, still as ever. Then, his mouth rounds, barely, in a tiny suggestion of sadness. Your heart catches it before it disappears, making it hers. In such a swift moment that you don’t realize what you’ve done. 

“Boxing,” he murmurs, eyeing the way your hand is enclosed around his large palm, the way your thumb hovers over his knuckles, as if afraid to cause them any more pain. Seems touched by it and your brows knit, your heart speaking to you, telling you something, urgently, but you don’t understand her. 

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?” 

Jungkook shakes his head ‘no’. “Didn’t want to.” 

And then it hits you—the language of your heart unfolding within you, deciphered at last. It hits you how you and him are very much alike. 

This is his coping mechanism. Hurting his hand as he lets out his negative emotions. Knowing, just like you, that the pain is the gain, the relief. And by the state of the bruises, you were wrong. He’s not at the end of his healing journey—and he’s nowhere near the beginning. He traipses around it, steering clear of it, ignoring it. 

Your lungs swell. And that motherly impulse you’re familiar with croons around them, extends towards him with the dutiful intention to heal. 

And you will. 

You will heal both of the males. 

And the decision is strengthened even more in you when Jungkook hears Yoongi’s footsteps and startles, extracting his hand from your hold, from your thigh. Like he startled upon hearing your movement back then, scurrying towards your bag as if you were intending to leave him, abandon him. 

It is your heart that weeps now for him, not your eyes, remembering the words Yoongi uttered over his bruised cheek and bloody nose. Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again. You try your hardest to remain strong on the outside. For him, for Yoongi, for yourself. You try your hardest to forget that declaration, that physical pain of his, considering it over—long gone, a lifetime away. 

And when your boyfriend sets the full plates of food in front of him and he digs in wordlessly, you watch him. With a landslide in your insides. With a hand on his muscled arm, stroking back and forth, eyes flicked momentarily to Yoongi, willing him to see how broken his friend is. 

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it. 

He settles for a drink instead, fixing his gaze on the table. Takes a step back on his journey, his nerves pursuing him. And so he’s not alone, because it is your duty, you follow him into that rabbit hole like the Alice you are. With empty hands, void of any control, despite the onus you own in your heart. 

By the time sex is even mentioned between the three of you, you’re tipsy and your head is swimming. 

You’re conscious, aware of your body, aware of your surroundings and your home. Aware that you’re intoxicated, too, and it’s a peculiar feeling—to be present in your body and out of it just the same. And you owe it to the males sitting around the table. To the owner of the house, mainly. 

Yoongi has taken such a dominant role naturally that he’s the reason why your head is taking laps in his energy. And it was him who put the topic of sex to the front after double meanings found their way into the gradually unfurling conversation, imbued with exuberance. Asked Jungkook straight away if he’d been sexually active with people after you, to which he merely shook his head ‘no’, too vulnerable to express it in his own words. You don’t think Yoongi even realized the gravity of the question, influenced by the alcohol, the lighthearted energy and the fact that he got his friend back. And Yoongi… he praised him for it, making his head lift in disbelief and coyness. You saw the way it healed him, brought color to his face— it happened so quickly, too quickly, Yoongi turning the leaf over right after, seamlessly leading the conversation back to the double meanings, working them up until you and Jungkook blushed. 

But you didn’t listen entirely, and neither did Jungkook. You surveyed the way he turned the praise over in his mind, dwelling on it. And you knew, without a doubt, that, besides healing him—undoing the ugly words flung at him that day, it turned him on. He played with his bracelet in the air, a faint smile on his mouth, legs outstretched, touching yours, and you… you wanted to play with him, too. Your body begged you for it, telling you it’s time. 

In fact, you knew very well what the little bit of alcohol Yoongi drank was doing to him. Much like Jungkook, it helped him avoid the matter of his friend’s sensitive burden at hand while collecting information. Especially about where he stands in the realm of the three of you and sex. And while you’ve let him do it, thinking it was something he needed to do on his journey, you've also been deciding for the last half an hour when it was time to put a stop to it. The sexual comments, the double meanings—it became too much, became too obvious, even though he, in most probability, wasn’t even aware of it, was doing it for you unconsciously. And your body agreed, whispering to you that the only way you could do that was to take advantage of what was right before you.

You were going to outrun your boyfriend and seduce them both. 

You light up a cigarette, bringing Yoongi’s attention to you. You graze your foot on his shin as you cross your legs, lifting it higher until you reach his thigh. And when you take a long drag, you skim your hand on Jungkook’s knee, briefly—calling for his attention, too, preparing him. Your toe feels up Yoongi’s soft manhood and he stops talking, your hand trailing along the side of Jungkook’s thigh, inches away from his intimate parts. They let you touch them, both heads turned in your direction. 

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently. 

Before Yoongi has the chance to scold you for interrupting him, you withdraw. You withdraw entirely. Pretend to take your cigarette to the balcony. Jungkook lifts his hand to grab yours, to put it back where it was, but you’re gone before you could take him up on it. 

You feel both of them watching you as you leave. You sway your hips a little. It makes you chuckle. Makes you feel invincible.

You stay there but for a mere moment. Don’t even finish your cigarette before you put it out in the ashtray. And when you return, you undo the knot while they are preoccupied, unaware of you. Uncover the outfit you spent your money on while Yoongi healed. 

A sheer, black crop top, with polka dots and puffed sleeves, that ties in the middle, ending beneath your breasts and adding nothing to the imagination. Could be mistaken for a wireless bra. Panties of the same tulle material with frills on the side. You leave your robe undone, the act of revealing yourself so casually stiffening your nipples. You consider taking a seat as if you did no such thing, but an idea pulls you to your boyfriend, who’s ignorant to your scheme, listening to something that Jungkook is telling him. 

You don’t grasp any of the words coming out of his mouth, however you do focus on the deep intonation of his voice. Let it curl beneath your skin; propel you to act out on your whim. 

You take a seat on Yoongi’s lap. Jungkook’s gaze falls on your intimate form, bare under the almost translucent fabric, and he parts his lips. He watches as Yoongi wraps an arm around your middle and smiles at the feeling of your bare skin. You rock your hips once, backwards, pretending you’re shifting to make yourself comfortable and Yoongi grips your waist until his fingers turn white. Jungkook doesn’t stop talking, hides his astonishment at your behavior, at your boldness. Doesn’t stop looking at you and neither do you at him, nodding to every other word as if you were listening. That is until you grab a handful of cheese balls and pop one by one into your mouth, purposefully letting one of them fall into your cleavage. 

“Can you get it for me? My hands are full.”

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

You’ve interrupted him so rudely that you’re surprised that he doesn’t frown at you, but smirks instead. Yoongi caresses your thigh, validating you, catching onto your scheme, and it spreads the fire that burst in you hours ago, making it bigger, hotter. 

It’s time. You want both of them, badly. 

You lean forward for him, fingers ready for the next move you’re planning. Jungkook lifts a hand, reaches for the orange treat in the middle of your breasts and before his digits have the time to grasp it, you pull on the loose knot on your top, your flesh spilling, the treat slipping onto the floor.

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased. 

“Oh, no.” Fake pity; fake pout. You look at the cheese ball, then back at Jungkook. Your impishness reflects in the blazing fire of his eyes, the same one that courses through your body. “I guess I didn’t tie it properly. Can you do it for me? My hand is dirty.” 

You eat the last remaining cheese balls while staring him dead in the eye. Show him your orange-tinted fingers once you’re done. A spark flashes in the fire; piques his interest. 

Leaning forward even more, Yoongi uses your position to slide your robe down your shoulders. Lifts you for a second to rid you completely of it, setting you back down sharply, causing your breasts to bounce. Throws it on Jungkook’s lap. A gesture that tells him playtime has begun. He sucks in a breath, biting his bottom lip, the way Yoongi gathers your hair in his fist stealing his attention fleetingly from you, fingers clutching the fabric. 

And when he takes the swinging laces in his hands and barely tightens them, you click your tongue, disapprovingly. “Tighter.” 

It arouses the beast in him, eyes lidding ever so slightly. He pulls on the laces until your breasts are squished together. “Like this?” 

You wet your lips before you quirk them up. “Yes. Make a bow for me.” 

Jungkook deepens the eye contact as he obeys. You lift your chin, asserting Yoongi’s dominance, taking after him, the inkling to own that beast in him absorbing you whole. 

And you shall. 

When he’s finished with the bow, he grazes the material of your top, fingers flat against your nipples before he slouches back in his chair. The touch was too brief for your liking, yet it spurs your cunt to soak your panties, the notion that you’ve done it intoxicating your senses—you’ve seduced him. 

You mimic what he did, theatrically—you slouch back into Yoongi’s chest, turn your chin to the side to tell on him. “Yoongi, he touched me.” 

Yoongi only smirks, playing along. “Did he? How? Show me.” 

Your fingers fly to your pebbled nipples, stroking them in downward motion like he did before you repeat it. Again and again. Your hips begin to slowly rotate, your body reacting to your touch, to the pleasure you’re giving it. “Like this.” 

Jungkook’s breath hitches in his throat. He spreads his legs. You do, too. And when you whimper, he twitches, your robe slipping onto the ground, joining the cheese ball. 

“Did it feel good? When he touched you there?” Yoongi asks, hands spreading across your thighs. You make a noise of agreement, whining into it. “Does it feel as good now?” 

You shake your head ‘no’, meaning it. “No, it makes me needy.”  

Yoongi hums. “Where?” 

You cup the soaked material of your panties, right over your cunt with one hand, while the other squeezes your breast. “Here.” 

Your boyfriend opens your legs wider, as if to take a closer look at what body part you’re showing him. “You should do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“Like what?” 

“Touch yourself.” 

Jungkook stills. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. Neither do you. 

“How?” 

“I don’t know, maybe I should ask him,” he mumbles, fingers playing with the frills on your hips. “Do you want me to ask him?” 

The asking of consent, beckoning out your slick. You nod your head. “Ask him, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Jungkook’s mouth is parted in an enigmatic manner, waiting—waiting to be given what your boyfriend long teased him with. And you like the suspense, the tension pulled so taut, the process before he’s gratified. It makes you even needier and, like Jungkook, you clutch the fabric of your panties in impatience. 

Yoongi doesn’t ask right away. He tortures Jungkook until his lips lose their moisture. Dry, like a withered flower asking for the tiniest raindrop to refresh. And you want to give it to him. You’re leaking so much dewiness it is only right that he could get to drink it. You tuck that thought into your heart. 

Yoongi hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your panties and slowly, like your robe, drags them down as far as he can reach. Then, he lets them pool by your knees. “Take them off of her,” he commands in a hushed tone, fingers drifting to your waist, stopping by your mound and your stomach on the way. And it isn’t until Jungkook rids you fully of the wet undergarment that he finally asks: “How should she touch herself?” 

Jungkook crumples it in his fist, tightly enough that white comes into view across his colorful knuckles upon the denim of his jeans. And among other things, his breath hardens. Gazes into your eyes as he says to Yoongi, “Tell her to lift her legs, lick her fingers and rub her princess parts until it feels good.” 

He’s tuned in into the role-play. You think about how you wanted to turn off your brain for him when he had told you to not think that he’d ever get sick of you. How you wanted to keep it stupid for him. 

You know that if you were to do that, if you were to let go—that he’d put you under his spell again, but you’re not letting that cave in on you. Because when Yoongi imparts the instructions to you and you lift your leg, propping your foot on Jungkook’s thigh, saliva-coated fingers finding your clit, you feel a sliver of something indescribably exhilarating. 

Jungkook moans at the first few careful circles. And it’s him who becomes hypnotized. 

It’s your green light to play the role of a stupid, innocent girl—in the hands of two very experienced, aroused men. Seduced, more like. You pat yourself on the back, mentally.  

And the proud feeling of your achievement, the feeling of his vigorous and ardent observance of your pleasured cunt, of the tendril of the profound reminiscence that sweeps in as if he truly missed the sight of her—it all incites you to speed up your movement. To consciously immerse yourself deeper in the role, in the pretending. You figure it should work like this; you won’t get submerged in the water of the hypnosis if you remain in control, clinging to it with all your might. Not if Jungkook is the one spellbound this time. 

You feel your orgasm drawing closer at that thought, breathing against your body. 

“Am I doing it right?” 

Jungkook sneaks a hand around your ankle, hard breaths puffing out of his still parted mouth, cheeks full of vibrant color, eyes dazed—so awfully dazed and fixed on your cunt, on the sheen of your arousal splattered on your folds. Then, he licks his lips, slouches further in his seat after he moves his chair to be more in line with you. Horny, curious puppy, needing to see the full view; your work of art. Yoongi’s soft chuckle rumbles against your scalp and you realize he’s been watching him this entire time, studying him—assessing the situation meticulously. 

“Is she doing it right?” Yoongi asks and you can hear the smirk coating his voice. Jungkook’s other hand, with the panties still clutched, wraps around his hard length, brows furrowing and you whine at the sight, but Yoongi tuts, disapproving. “No touching.” 

Jungkook lifts his hand and so do you—to stall your orgasm, the principle of Jungkook obeying so easily almost throwing you over the edge. You breathe heavily, a tingly sensation swarming within your skin, a certain string of words rising on your tongue. 

You turn your head towards Yoongi. Dart out your tongue to lick swiftly at his bottom lip before you kiss him. Yoongi hums, pleased. “Tell him he’s a good boy.”

Another similar sound, one that makes you smile. You drift a hand towards the back of his head, fingers sinking into the dark length of his hair. Yoongi purrs, blinking down at you like rose petals fluttering—you feel as though you were at the very beginning, living through the moment you learned Jungkook’s name, as if no pain, no murkiness never settled upon the three of you. You don’t know how it makes you feel and you hardly want to decipher it; you gravitate towards enjoying yourself more, thoughts and feelings pushed to the side. 

“He is, isn’t he?” Yoongi murmurs, taking your arm gently in his hand and joining it to your other one around the back of his head, then he roams his back, takes his time, until he plants it upon your cunt. You spasm at the long-awaited contact. “He listens well. So out of it, the poor thing forgot to speak. Maybe we should help him with that, don’t you think?” Poor thing. Your hole clenches, drooling with your dewiness and you groan, the aspect of Jungkook being degraded like this, after he dominated both of you the last time, making you utterly, utterly feral. 

At your noise, Yoongi begins to play with your slippery folds, pressing them together with his fingers flat on each side—not touching your pussy, but pleasuring her nonetheless. You give him more at each squeeze he bestows on your clit, elated that he’s touching her after such a long time, elated that he’s able to. 

It is, undeniably, working like this. Your heart thrums with elation. Happy it has come to this, happy it’s different this time—happy that both parties are happy. 

Not wishing to lose the momentum, you gaze at Jungkook. At the light cascading dimly from his lip ring—that pink, puffy, dry mouth that you long to kiss, that you long to feel on your bundle of nerves. His eyes seem to grow in size at your attention and you’re so touched to witness something like that. You need to ride his face; you need to watch those eyes roll back. You can see his need to take charge, to tell both of you what to do by his irregular breaths, clenched fists and bulging muscles, veins so prominent that you do well not staring at them at all—but he subdues that need, perhaps for you, perhaps for Yoongi. Both possibilities graze your feelings with such fondness that he’s putting himself last, prioritizing the hard truth: you’re not his, not in the sexual ambiance of your time spent together, not even in the lasciviousness of your daydreams. 

You’re Yoongi’s and he’s the boss, one he should’ve been since the beginning. And that’s the core of the difference. The key that makes this work. 

Covering your mouth, you spill your idea of how you should help Jungkook speak into Yoongi’s ear while keeping your eyes on his round ones. He aches to be let in on it, to know, but you don’t allow him that satisfaction. In fact, when you beam at Yoongi once you withdraw, it’s more of a provocation directed towards the puppy than an expression of your true joy. 

“Yes, fuck yes,” Yoongi agrees, orbs aglow by the idea, by something that you can only pin down to a feeling of safety within the environment. He feels safe. Feels comfortable. Feels okay—more than okay by the hardening length against your bum, by the moonbeams flecking across his irises, by the extension of his index finger to your clit, which makes you freeze, stop breathing altogether. “But I want to make you come first. Can I?” 

You peck him, deeply, to seal that package of positive feelings in him, to seal that sense of safety and comfort. Nod a million times. “Yes, please, baby. I need it.” 

Yoongi coos at the pet name, at your willing submissiveness to him and expression of neediness. Nudges his nose against yours. “Need what?” 

You giggle softly. Happy, so awfully happy. “I need you to make me come,” you say, but your words are muffled by the way he skims his mouth over yours, and you don’t think over the next words directed to the other male that tumble out of you. “You want to watch?” 

A stupid, stupid question because he’s been watching this entire time, although it breaks something. Breaks the invisible wall between you, Yoongi and him—breaks his coyness as he sets your foot down and leans forward, smiling fondly. “I’d be happy to watch. Honored.” 

It breaks the unspoken, unseen tension. Breaks the past. Breaks the hurt. And the difference, now validated, made beautiful by his smile, sinks in, spreads across the atmosphere surrounded by the three of you. The sense of safety and comfort now sails over into Jungkook’s pores, slipping inside. And you could burst now. Burst with your joy. 

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves. 

You didn’t expect that to happen. 

Yoongi feels it—and you feel him feel it by the trembling breaths he takes against your back. And even though you went into the rabbit hole with him with empty hands, now you hold healing in them. A warm round body of light, heavy and thick, ready for them both. Yoongi might have talked Jungkook’s head off and drank until his nerves eased and was able to escape them, but now he’s eligible to take the light. Jungkook is, too, now that he’s given you his consent for the dynamic to be different. A certain kind of glorious satisfaction envelops you in glow, ridding you of any intoxication and you’re bare. Vulnerable, horny and so tremendously bright. Filled with flowers, filled with love, filled with a delicious, selfish taste of control. 

You want to kiss Jungkook, but you recognize right away that there’s a time and a place for that, one that is not appropriate now. You stifle your craving, wiggle your hips to let Yoongi know you want him to begin. 

You brim with the need to forget now and just enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself at the hands of your long-awaited desire, now boundless, now right, now different. And you break the crumbles of the wall, the hurt and the past when you tell them. “I want us to forget about the last time and enjoy where we are right now. Can we do that?” 

Although you don’t know the contents of the long conversation they had in private about this, you’re glad you’ve said it out loud. Glad it’s out of your chest. Glad for the kiss Yoongi plants on your temple. Glad for Jungkook’s hand encasing yours. Even if that’s the only way they communicate their agreement. 

Out with the old, in with the new. 

And Jungkook keeps holding your hand when Yoongi begins to rub your clit. He tightens his hold, in fact, at the first twist of your features, at the relief intermingling, despite the fact he knows nothing about how this is the first time Yoongi touched you like this since forever ago. His hand feels much more different than yours, much more nimble and much quicker. And the pleasure that floods your body is more about that than it is about the stimulation. A wish pricks at you, a wish to tell him, but you don’t let it get near you, not when you know the time for that is long, long gone, not when forgetting is supposed to take place now because the new is here. 

You push those thoughts entirely away. The thoughts of there being a certain forever ago, a certain past along with it, too. 

And then Yoongi hums and the sound sweeps it far, far away from you. 

He pinches your nipple. Finds it’s not enough and forces your top open, undoing the bow, baring you to his and Jungkook’s eyes. Joins his other hand to knead both of your full breasts, but you whine, needing him elsewhere. Yoongi chuckles, listening to you—drifting his hand immediately back down to your clit, resuming his swift circles.  

Jungkook salivates. Makes no indication of being in demand of participation. Merely wipes at the corners of his mouth while his other hand squeezes yours in a tight, clammy hold. Light protrudes from his eyes, akin to the one you still own, cooling the sweat layering upon your body. No darkness of arousal, none whatsoever, only the chocolate brown of his irises, vibrant, mesmerized and absolutely affectionate. 

Newness, you breathe it in and exhale a moan. Yoongi changes direction. Moves from circles to side to side, angling your body so he can give it his all. You feel the incoming pressure of your orgasm and you ready yourself for it, squeezing your eyes shut. And when he decides to alternate, so quickly that you lose track of it, it is your ultimate undoing. 

Mainly when Yoongi curtly slaps your clit, transferring you back to the very beginning of your story, rooting you there. You come so hard that you fall apart. 

Tears fly out of you, but you laugh—and the sound is broken by a deep moan from your chest caused by pure, boundless euphoria. Yoongi prolongs your orgasm, keeps strumming your clit, purring onto your mouth and you open your eyes to witness his devotion to it, to your pleasure. Brows furrowed, eyes lidded, pouty mouth. Adamant on making you feel as good as—

It triggers another orgasm. A softer, mellow one. And the string of noises you let out are of the same dulcet nature. Yoongi swallows them, groaning, fondling your pussy, patting her gently, making you tremble, woozy, giddy and so incredibly girly. 

“That was so good,” he whispers, caressing you everywhere and you nod, a million times. You’ve missed him, terribly. 

You give him a nasty kiss full of tongue, aware of what’s happened and of what’s next just the same. 

Yoongi perches on the floor, knees on either side of yours as you crawl towards Jungkook’s lap. He leans back, a surprised grin appearing on his flustered face. And it hits him like a ton of bricks when you pop his button open and drag down the zipper of his jeans. Your words that follow, too. 

“Off. Everything.” 

“You want to suck me off?” A calm bewilderment coats his voice, such a heavy oxymoron for him to bear when he was fine with just watching. 

You smile at him briefly before you wet your lips, eager to make happen what he can’t believe you’re willing to do for him. “I knew it would get you talking.” 

An airy laugh. So endearing to your hearing sense. He cradles your chin for a mere beat of time. “You’re so smart.” He takes off his tank, revealing his enormous pecs adorned with a long but dainty silver chain that you crave to have swinging in your face, that steals your attention from the dose of validation he gave you. 

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic. 

Only to hoist it back up when you realize he went to fetch the gift he bought you, along with a bigger tube of lube from your bedroom. Your body tremors and it’s both of the males that try to alleviate it. Yoongi, who settles back behind you, fondling the skin of your bare bum. Jungkook, who turns you to look at him, nodding once to let you know everything’s okay. 

You release a breath, but you can’t hide the shakes. 

Jungkook strokes your brow. A tender touch that drives you to believe him. Yes, everything’s okay. The past is gone. Healing is contained in the conscious reminders. The light in your hands flutters, calling out to you, and you press it over that heft of your wandering heart. 

It’s you who alleviates the tremors. 

And when you take off your top, Jungkook follows suit, ridding himself of his jeans.

To distract your mind from hurling false thoughts at you, you finally allow yourself to look at his hard length—still, disappointingly clothed. Thick. You can almost feel the memory of him, the heaviness of him, when he had you pressed against him by the pond. The first time you touched him. You groan, softly. “Off.” 

Jungkook coos, patting you on the cheek with his finger. “So eager.” 

He paints a smile on your face with that brush of his digit. “Be a good boy and listen.” 

Without taking his eyes off of you, he swears. Pulls his manhood out, tugs his boxers a few inches down and you bite back a gasp, a moan and something in between. Red, swollen tip, the petal of a sun-kissed rose, little thick veins enveloping the girth. He keeps his balls covered to tease you. “Like this, Mommy?” 

You glare at him and it’s Yoongi’s second-hand embarrassment laughter that smooths out your features, contagious to such a great extent that when you look back at him to see him pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed and crinkly, you burst into the same laughter, lungs expanding, exhaling all that heft and momentary residue of panic until there’s nothing negative left. 

It even radiates Jungkook. He laughs so much that his cock bounces, which deepens your giggles and you hide your face in your hands. 

And when the conveyance of joy simmers, another tender tears rush out of your tear ducts. Good tears. You’re so content with life shared with the two males that you can’t help but be emotional. You shield those tears behind the premise of your laughter. They’re private—just yours. The final conclusion of the dark side. 

Yoongi skims his fingers across your tiny hole. Back to business. 

You tug Jungkook’s boxers all the way down and you lift his ankle to rid him completely of them. Mimic the way he did it to you. You even think about keeping them. Think about how this is exactly how it should be—recollecting only the good parts of the story, the light side while letting the dark one go. Jungkook sees it on your face and he lets you decide. 

You don’t have to think twice. 

You fling his underwear on the chair you sat on. Jungkook caresses your hair in response and you smile at him. Yoongi leans over you, fists your hair and pushes you toward Jungkook’s cock. At the sight, the puppy swears. 

“Spit on it. Make it nice and wet for him,” Yoongi orders and there’s slyness to your ever persisting smile when you gather your saliva and do exactly as he says. 

At the first contact of your liquid love, Jungkook swears again and there’s no stopping to that litany of vulgar words when you, just like him, swirl it around the top of his head with the tip of your tongue without taking your gaze off of him. It’s at this movement of yours that a flashback gleams across his still round, tender eyes for a split second. Now he remembers, now you’ve pulled him back to the place you didn’t even realize that you did. 

Yoongi guides you to wrap your mouth around him and Jungkook loses it. 

The suction of your cheeks, the eye contact, the warmth of your mouth and the wetness of your tongue, Jungkook rolls his eyes back before he whisks them back to you, not able to miss one moment of the pleasure you give him. Yoongi pushes your head back and forth and when it dawns upon you that there’s nothing else for you to do but to keep your mouth open while Yoongi does all the work, you moan. And like Jungkook, you can’t stop. 

You feel Yoongi’s lips at your ear. “You think you can take him all the way?” 

The mewl that comes out of you is the only agreement you can manage to give him. Yoongi groans, kissing your earlobe before he licks it, nibbles on it, taking his mouth to the skin beneath, causing your eyes to narrow. Your pussy drenches, throbs and your hand automatically flies to her. You rub yourself slowly to gain a hint of relief, bobbing your head up and down, tongue feeling up the thick veins along his girth and you whine so desperately—enough for Yoongi to check what was the cause of it. 

He draws back. Finds you touching yourself. Clicks his tongue and chuckles in absolute appreciation. He likes what he sees. Pushes your head until your nose swipes past Jungkook’s minimal pubic hair and only when you gag does he let you breathe—does he let you play with his tip on your own. “Mommy is playing with her needy cunt.” 

The curse word that wafts in the air is singular, coming out of your and Jungkook’s mouth simultaneously. There’s no laughter this time. Just thick arousal spreading across the room, dizzying all of your senses. Jungkook is breathless and the look you share is desperate, unspoken but so, so vivid. You take him in your free hand and jerk him off, reveling in the feeling of his veins. You give him all of your whiny moans, straightening up, your fingers sneaking to your hole. Eyes narrowing, mouth open, the sounds of your slick saliva in your tight grasp so obscene, so stimulating that when you begin to finger yourself and Yoongi latches his lips onto your neck, you know you’ll be coming in mere, pathetic minutes. 

Jungkook leans forward a little bit to watch you stuffing yourself full. Bites his lip, closes his eyes when you tighten your grip around his head. And you do it again and again to coax his moans and he willingly supplies you with them. Opens his eyes and the look he gives you stops time. “So good. So fucking good.” 

You yearn to kiss him and he does, too. You twist your wrist and he loses himself for a moment. That alone speeds up the coming of your orgasm. Your body flares with heat, your fingers picking up their speed instinctually and Jungkook angles his head to kiss you—

You push him back. To tease him, to make him more desperate because it pleases you and Jungkook smirks at you, gripping your panties in his fist. Hiding your own, you lick him all over and get to the undiscovered part you want the most. 

You mouth his full balls. Whimper against them. Hot flashes fill your sight at the scent of him, even more so when Jungkook inhales your sounds and emits the same ones. “Fuck, sweetheart, oh fuck, yes, like that.” Takes your hand and busies it, wrapping it around his length. You spasm at the pet name, at the warmth that seeps into your skin from him.  

It’s him who guides you now. Yoongi merely watches, in awe, wet fingers rubbing circles on your tiny hole, preparing you. “That’s it, honey, make him come.” 

You’re so overwhelmed by your task that you withdraw your fingers from your heat, though Yoongi is quick to replace his. And the speed he establishes, you mimic it on Jungkook’s length and he grunts at the contact of your dewiness on him. You twists your wrists, fucking yourself back on Yoongi’s fingers. Bore your gaze into Jungkook’s. Hard, hard breaths, quickening lifts of his chest, he struggles to reciprocate your eye contact, the rhythm so beautiful so seamless, working so well. 

And when you wrap your lips around him and suck him with fast bobs, he comes. 

You open your mouth, yearning to feel him paint your face. Quick to grip his balls to feel them emptying out for you and you milk his cum out of him, jerking him off until his ropes smear on the corners of your lips, hot and thick. Yoongi pulls out his fingers, latches them onto your hip. “Stick out your tongue.” 

You do as he says, in time to catch the last rope landing onto the muscle. You hum, swallowing, watching the tension screwing his features and the relief unweaving it as his orgasm reaches the end. Winded, dumbfounded, gruntled. A lovely sight to behold. 

Jungkook’s grip loosens on your panties. And with his other hand, he feeds you his cum. Swipes his fingers from your cheek onto your mouth, plunging it inside. Yoongi kisses the side of your face, gripping your neck to hold your head steady for Jungkook, allowing him to finish the job. 

You swallow everything, the taste of him suffused with mild earthiness, with tanginess and the tiniest hint of sweetness. Liquid candy, just for you. You allow him to see how much you enjoyed that, but it’s Yoongi first to whom you show that you’ve swallowed everything. 

Your boyfriend beams at you. “Well done, honey.” He kisses you hard, licking into your mouth, and the thought of him tasting the residue of Jungkook numbs your senses entirely. “You did so well.” 

You’re panting when he withdraws and when you look at Jungkook, there’s a moment of stillness when you take in the thundering turmoil rushing inside him. You don’t have to guess what’s behind it. Jungkook voices it. “Let me kiss her, please.” 

Such a soft murmur, charged with so much desperation. You break at the sound of it, gripping his hand, furrowing your brows, ready to give him anything he wants, boundlessly. Your heart thuds and it only takes one look at Yoongi and he folds, too. 

Nods. 

You thought he’d kiss you from the position you’re in, but Jungkook stands to his feet, grabbing you along with him, picking you up like a child by sliding his hands under your armpits. And when he presses you against him and kisses you hungrily with fast pecks, breathing hard, you discern how illogical it was for him to call you Mommy. 

Even though he can listen like a good boy, it’s merely a role, one he plays for you, for Yoongi, one that fragments with each kiss. Who he truly is the reversal of it. 

He’s Daddy. Undeniably. 

You’ve never been keen for titles. You and Yoongi never used them, never felt the need for it, hence why you both laughed when it came up. But the more you kiss him, the more you sense it. The awakening dominance, the tendril of fatherliness that spirals around you, the deserved respect he emanates. It turns you on to the point that you find yourself wondering what else is there beneath the shadows of your undiscovered sexuality. 

The feeling of his warm skin against yours, his still hard manhood against your stomach, the provocation of the lip ring, the softness of his mouth slowing down and prolonging the kiss—fuck. How much more can you possibly get aroused? He empties out your brain, but you’re calm, not panicked by it at all. And to stay conscious, to stay in control, you wrap your hand around him again. 

He hisses, breaking the kiss, grasping your hand. “Too sensitive. Sorry. I came so hard.” 

You coo, pecking him deeply, squeezing his broad shoulders. “It’s okay.” 

When you turn around to give your attention to Yoongi, you find him deep in thought, fixed on Jungkook. “Remember how she came when you kissed her? At the cabin?” 

Your heart speeds up. Not due to fear or anything of the sort, but due to excitement. You know where he’s heading with this. 

“Hard to forget,” Jungkook murmurs and it thrums beneath your skin, spreading wide. 

“She came multiple times when I made her think about that,” Yoongi starts and you can’t halt the smile growing on your lips. A tiny whirl of shyness mingles with the words coursing through your bloodstream. “It’s what we did. I made her imagine that you were kissing her, eating her out while she touched herself. And now I want you to give it to her. Give it to her good. Better than she was able to imagine.” 

Sharp inhale of breath. You want to see his reaction to your secret—but then hands. Clammy hands on your hips, nose nuzzling in your hair. “Who’s gonna be in control when I do that?” 

Your eyes widen, pulse quickening to the point that it troubles you. 

And Yoongi looks at you when he answers his question, “You. It’s me who’s gonna watch now.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two 

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

[another-lost-mc]

a/n: inspired by this ask and the others that have flooded my inbox since. rofl. I might tinker with these a bit more. a nsfw version might be coming later, maybe? we'll see.

➤ shadow-walking with mc | the demons + solomon

1.9k words | gn!reader | sfw | descriptions of canon-typical violence

Shadow-walking requires the demon and human to have a pact. MC is a rare human that shares this ability with all the demon brothers.

Solomon shares this ability with Barbatos and Asmodeus but rarely uses it.

It's normally used as an offensive or defensive ability as needed.

The demon brothers re-purpose it as a way of still "being" with MC and spending time with them even when they can't physically.

The demon and their human master share a telepathic bond that lets them communicate through thoughts and emotions. This allows them to "speak" to each other.

Only one demon can share MC's shadow which means there's usually a queue of demons waiting for their chance to sneak in next.

None of the demon brothers believe they need a formal system to decide who gets to spend time shadow-walking with MC because that's just embarrassing to admit. It ends up being a first-come first-serve free-for-all unless they negotiate some sort of agreement in advance (which usually involves threats or bribes).

Belphegor spends the most time in MC's shadow—his subconscious is constantly trying to gain access even when he's asleep.

Only powerful demons can sense when MC is shadow-walking with another demon if their shadow form hasn't manifested yet. This would catch arrogant lesser-demons completely by surprise if they think MC is a lonely, vulnerable target.

When the demon's shadow form "awakens," MC's shadow changes to the shape of whichever demon is shadow-walking with them at that time. This usually happens when the demon senses something is wrong or MC is troubled; it gives them more access to MC's surroundings so they can detect danger more easily.

Shadow-walking's final form is a corporeal version of the shadow come to life. It manifests as a dark, muted visage of whichever demon is present. They are generally not capable of regular speech and rarely make noise or sounds at all.

The shadow forms are capable of offensive and defensive magical abilities, and some may even fight with conjured weapons. They all have increased agility/reflexes and enhanced strength.

Shadow forms are able to communicate telepathically with Little Ds that share their sin attribute. Little Ds can also be controlled as offensive minions in MC's defense.

The demon brothers have limited control over their shadow forms. The shadows function on instinct fueled by emotion and their natural desire to protect their precious human master at all costs.

MC can use direct commands or pact magic spells to temporarily block the demon brothers from entering their shadow. This prevents any unwanted interruptions if MC is doing someone something private, or if MC simply wants to be alone.

LUCIFER

Lucifer sometimes shadow-walks with MC as an alternative to stringing up his brothers when he's frustrated.

He also shadow-walks with MC when he's working in his study or relaxing with a glass of Demonus by the fireplace. Their link allows MC to hear whatever cursed record he's listening to without succumbing to any of the negative side effects.

Shadow Form manifestation: appears in a gust of wind behind a flurry of black feathers. He hovers off the ground behind MC. Even though the shadow forms are dark and generally void of colour, his eyes and gloves are still noticeably red.

Shadow Form offensive and defensive abilities: In addition to enhanced physical combat abilities, he is capable of telekinetic control of objects. His shadow form's wings can also block MC like a shield and the feathers can slice through most materials including demon flesh.

MAMMON

Sometimes he claims he does it when he's bored or it's "his turn to babysit MC" but really, he does it because he misses them.

If MC goes to the club or casino without him, he's usually lurking in their shadow instead. MC's luck is amplified when Mammon is in their shadow, but he can't replicate that same good luck in-person which frustrates him to no end.

Shadow Form manifestation: He spawns in a pool at MC's feet and then sprints past whatever is bothering MC. The threat turns around and sees Mammon's shadow, crouched low and grinning with his fangs on display before he pounces.

Shadow Form offensive and defensive abilities: Capable of flight and is the most agile of all his brothers in this form. He normally uses hand-to-hand combat to overwhelm whoever or whatever is threatening MC. He can summon a protective barrier around MC that reflects spells/physical blows back at the attacker.

LEVIATHAN

He gets very jealous of the others when he has to wait to shadow-walk with MC.

Sometimes he'll keep gaming when he shadow-walks, but most of the time he goes to his bathtub so he can focus all of his attention on MC instead. He's more confident communicating with MC this way. He's less awkward and more outgoing, especially when he can sense how happy MC is too.

Shadow Form manifestation: His shadow ripples like inky black water before he emerges. His silhouette almost looks like a naga until he steps forward and his tail uncoils itself from around his body.

Shadow Form offensive and defensive abilities: He uses shadow-infused water magic. He can summon a defensive water shield around MC to absorb any magical or physical blows. His tail is strong enough to wrap around and crush the body of most weaker demons. If the threats are too strong or if he's particularly angry, he can summon Lotan whose immense power is enhanced with shadow magic. (He's never had to do this because he knows it should be used as a last resort—the collateral damage would be catastrophic.)

SATAN

Shadow-walking is one of the easiest ways for him to calm down.

When they shadow-walk together, they talk about school or books or movies or their other shared interests—it's like walking for a casual stroll together, but with extra steps.

Shadow Form manifestation: He crawls out of the shadow, and his sharp claws leave visible marks on the ground. The wispy shape of his feathered boa and his tail curling around his body makes him look bestial and menacing.

Shadow Form offensive and defensive abilities: His teeth and nails are longer and sharper. He attacks brutally with uncontained fury and his opponents are often left in bloody, mangled messes by the time he's ensured MC's safety. His shadow form is capable of distorted growling noises when angry or purring noises when content.

ASMODEUS

His motivations for shadow-walking are to spend quality time with MC but he's also extremely protective of them. He gets worried when he can't be there with MC directly.

He likes to shadow-walk with MC when he's having a spa night or when he's out shopping. He sends MC visual images of things he's doing or clothes he's trying on so he can get their feedback. He will purposefully block out any images of things he buys for MC so he can surprise them with gifts later.

Shadow Form manifestation: The first thing you notice before his shadow appears is a soft, condescending chuckle. It's distorted and deeper, like an old audio recording. A pair of shadowy hands curl over MC's shoulders—or around their waist—as he slowly wraps his arms around them from behind. He pulls MC against his chest and hooks his chin over their shoulder, eyes flaring and mouth widening in deadly amusement while he assesses the threat.

Shadow Form offensive and defensive abilities: His wings are stronger and capable of flight easier in this form. He uses shadow-infused charm magic that tortures his enemies with pain and batters away at their mental defenses. Sometimes he prefers a personal touch and conjures a pair of poison-tipped daggers to eviscerate anything that dares to harm his MC.

BEELZEBUB

He feels bad that fights literally break out over access to MC's shadow so he tries not to be greedy for MC's sake. Belphie will usually give up some of his "shadow time" so Beel can have that time with MC too without feeling guilty about it.

He likes shadow-walking with MC when they're out shopping or doing other errands. He can boost MC's strength so that it's easier for them to carry things that might ordinarily be too heavy on their own.

Shadow Form manifestation: His shadow form is a blur that launches itself from the ground into the sky. His wings flutter rapidly against his back while he assesses the threat. When he goes in for the attack, he's like a comet plummeting to the ground.

Shadow Form offensive and defensive abilities: His wings are constantly buzzing and he can use shadow-infused wind magic to attack enemies or create protective barriers around MC. If he enters a rampage, he prefers to attack with his bare hands and teeth—his and Satan's shadow forms are the most gruesome to witness. (Satan doesn't usually eat his victims, though.)

BELPHEGOR

He would camp in MC's shadow forever if he could. Even when he's sleeping, his subconscious is still capable of communicating with MC but he uses raw emotion and abstract images rather than telepathic speech in that situation.

Shadow Form manifestation: His shadow grabs onto MC's clothes while he climbs up their body and pulls himself off the ground. He nuzzles into MC's neck or shoulder while he yawns and flicks his tail in annoyance.

Shadow Form offensive and defensive abilities: He can attack threats personally if he needs to, but usually he's too lazy. He drapes himself over MC's shoulder and wraps his tail around them protectively while he summons the Dark Specter of Despair and lets that do the work for him.

DIAVOLO

He's inspired by the bonds MC shares with the demon brothers but he's also regretful that he doesn't have a pact with them too.

He's able to expel the demon brother in MC's shadow with his own power, but usually they know better than to try and intrude on MC's visits with Diavolo out of respect.

BARBATOS

He can shadow-walk with Solomon but rarely chooses to do so. However, he shadow-walks with Solomon if he knows the sorcerer and MC are together. (Sometimes he and Asmo fight over Solomon's shadow if another demon brother is in MC's.)

Shadow Form offensive and defensive abilities: he mostly ignores Solomon and lets the wizard take care of himself; he focuses on protecting MC instead. He can use time-altering shadow magic to freeze or slow enemies. He can also teleport MC directly to his physical body's location out of harm's way.

MEPHISTOPHELES

He doesn't have a pact with MC and he swears he will never have a pact with MC (and will never ever want one, ever). However, he still feels prickly when he senses MC is shadow-walking with one of the demon brothers. He doesn't insult MC as much, but he does insult Lucifer loudly and with even more colourful language than usual. Most of Lucifer's brothers think this is hilarious.

SOLOMON

Most of the corporeal shadow demons are surprisingly hostile towards Solomon for no apparent reason. He finds it odd that they always appear whenever he's trying to cook something for MC. The shadow forms that are more tolerable of him are Asmo, Barbatos, and to a lesser degree, Satan.

Solomon doesn't get many opportunities to shadow-walk with his pact demons so he finds it fascinating to watch, but none of them will tolerate his experiments. He's also jealous that he doesn't get to spend much time alone with MC because one of the demons is usually lurking within MC's shadow.

#jes.world building #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #obey me leviathan #leviathan x reader #obey me satan #satan x reader #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub x reader #obey me belphegor #belphegor x reader #obey me diavolo #diavolo x reader #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader #obey me mephistopheles #mephistopheles x reader #obey me solomon #solomon x reader #obey me headcanons #obey me x reader #x reader #gn!reader

[revletter]

How does Geno sleep?

GASP. An inbox ask about something I already can't shut up about? AND an excuse to glow-up some more old art?! 🤩

In my headcanon:

Badassery notwithstanding, Geno often just sleeps like a sweet little doll. It feels natural and comfortable - after all, long before he ever borrowed it, it spent almost every night sitting like this.

Also, lying down felt a bit too vulnerable for a while. Especially at the beginning of his adventure. In fact, he got a TERRIBLE first impression of anything resembling unconsciousness - so terrible that for his entire first week on the planet, he didn't sleep at all.

And then he discovered sleep is actually… lovely.

Here's a little bullet point story about that! 😊 [oops, it actually got pretty long, haha... hope you enjoy it!]

Geno Versus Sleep

During that first big fight, Bowyer sent a wall of electricity crashing toward ♡♪!? and the two people who had shown up out of the blue to fight by his side. Before it even hit, he knew it would be too much. He heard Mario's shout, Bowyer's mocking laugh, then dimly felt the impact of his borrowed form against the ground.

The next instant, he found himself alone in a blank, dark, starless void. This was new. And… not good. ♡♪!?'s mind was still very much aware, but he couldn't see, hear, feel, perceive anything. All he knew was that he was still in the doll's body.

Then a harrowing realization dawned on him. With almost all of his magic tethered to a body that wasn't working, he didn't have enough left to escape it…

[Continued under the cut]

Seconds later, there came a feeling almost as jarring: a sudden, wild, violent propulsion back into his senses. The first sense to return was a gaggingly sour taste. Then the unmistakable pain of his injuries knitting back together. Then a voice saying "Good morning! You okay?" - then the blurry sight of Mallow's face. Geno was just as disoriented as he had been when he'd first commandeered the doll.

He quickly learned this feeling was a Pick-Me-Up.

Cool.

He inwardly decided to avoid all of that mess involved in being less than conscious - at least when he had a choice in it.

His first full night on the planet, he kept watch all night long. And the second, and the third. Mario and Mallow became increasingly concerned, which Geno only found endearing. Patiently, repeatedly, he put them at ease about his lack of need for sleep.

(He did not mention any other reasons he might be avoiding it. These people had saved him and his mission; no way was he going to get picky about their methods. Besides, even the child could clearly handle these things without complaint. He resolved to do the same.)

He did, however, often feel a specific exhaustion: being low on magic left him dim inside, almost too depleted to maintain his hard-won motor control over his feet and fingers. On any normal day, the Star Road would restore him directly and abundantly, but now he felt this exhaustion more than he ever had. And it was work and expense to use physical consumables to keep himself going.

When he mentioned this inner conflict in passing - masked as appreciation for how much they spent on him - he was quite surprised to learn that for Mario and Mallow, sleep restored their magic. Intriguing.

Resolving to try and save his friends some resources, he finally decided to give sleep a shot on purpose.

Mario and Mallow were both amused to see Geno flop to the floor between their beds like a toy. After several days of watching the serious, otherworldly warrior wreck things ten times his size on the battlefield, it was easy to forget that part - but his limp doll slump against the wall was a clear reminder that his form was still every bit the silly oversized plaything.

"You sure you don't want to lie down?" asked Mallow.

"It's alright. I don't think it makes a difference to this body," said Geno. "Besides… if something happens, I can be on my feet faster."

In his own bed, Mario rolled onto his side toward him and offered a reassuring smile. "If anything happens, we're right here. We'll be in it together."

They turned out the lamp, and Geno tried to relax. He could do this. Piece of cake. He'd been here a week; he'd been able to tolerate feeling trapped in an unconscious body several times. If he had to face that for several hours in one go… well, he'd experienced worse things.

Hadn't he?

What? Yes, of course he had. Stars, what a silly thought. People down here did this every night. Surely he was blowing this way out of proportion. Surely it couldn't possibly be such a -

Geno felt something fluffy brush against him. It was Mallow's hand, wrapping around his. "S'gonna be okay," the kid said, sounding already half in a dream.

Of course. Mallow seemed to have a sixth sense for these things. Geno chuckled softly into the dark, feeling equal parts sheepish and glad for a friend like this. "That's what I'm here to make sure of, my little friend," he redirected anyway, but Mallow was already asleep.

On his other side, he heard his other friend shift. Mario looked quite awake, the shine of his eyes just visible in the starlight through the window. Mario didn't always pick up on Mallow's reactions and what they meant. Had he this time?

Confirming his suspicions, Mario quietly slipped out of his bed and sat next to Geno on the floor.

"Let me guess," Mario whispered conspiratorially, "where you're from, there's always someone alert and guarding, yeah?"

"Yeah," Geno whispered back. "It's what I do."

"Well, who does it for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Up there, who guards you when you need it?"

Geno was quiet. Mario clearly didn't know his real source of trepidation, but… he'd never specifically considered this question. His unspoken answer was, of course, 'Still me.'

Mario seemed to take his silence as an answer. "Hey, you know what? I'll sit watch tonight."

Geno blinked. "Mario, you really don't have to do that."

"I'm gonna."

"But... you need nightly sleep."

Mario leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "Wanna know how little rest I got when it was just'a me and Mallow? And how much I've gotten for the past week with another actual adult around? It's like having my brother here, but you actually stay awake all night, like - I dunno, almost like you're some kinda star watching over us or something."

Mario's eyes were glistening with humor in the dark. Geno couldn't help a soft chuckle in return, and stopped trying to dissuade his determined friend from his new side mission.

"I can handle one all-nighter. Get some rest… stella dalla testa dura," Mario added under his breath as he got up, a good-natured tease he probably didn't realize Geno understood just fine.

Nice projection there, hard-headed human, Geno thought with affection as his friend sat in the same chair he would have chosen himself, the one next to the window and in full view of the door. He knew it was far from the first time Mario had done any of this… including the unnecessary and probably futile gesture of support at his own expense.

But he was surprised at how much it helped.

Before he even asked it to again, Geno felt his body relax. His eyes drifted closed; his head and shoulders drooped more deeply. The ever-present restlessness in his feet and fingers departed as he realized that, for tonight, he could at least withdraw from the most complicated joints and actually give himself a bit of a break.

Through the wood of his eyelids and chest, ♡♪!? could still see a dreamy, unfocused version of the room. He still had all of his senses. He could still feel Mallow's fluffy hand. The little guy had pulled Geno's entire forearm close to him in his sleep, as if his arm were a doll itself.

Some time later, he heard Mario softly snoring. Geno noticed that he was slumped backward in his chair, his neck at an angle even he recognized as uncomfortable. He sorted himself back into his body. As he got up, Mallow made a little sound and clutched his arm more tightly; Geno carefully detached it at the elbow.

By this point he knew that, if woken, Mario would only be embarrassed and more doggedly committed to staying awake. So instead, he tucked a pillow behind his friend's head, and covered him with his bed's left-behind blanket. Then he quietly sank to the floor next to Mallow again, plugging his arm back into his socket so the little guy wouldn't get a scare when he next awoke.

He relaxed his head and limbs again, letting the sounds of his sleeping companions soothe him, until… finally… he felt it. The magic of this world, barely perceptible. It was always there in the living things, the trees and flowers and mushrooms and people, so strong in his friends, and now it was slowly suffusing every part of him that he'd allowed to relax.

He knew that at its deepest root it was the same old, deep source of magic as that of the stars. But down here it was slower, gentler; less of a fiery focused precision, more of a flowing peace just out of sight.

Feeling at ease at last, he surrendered control, for the first time head to toe, purposefully, completely. The gentle flow of magic coursed like water through his cooling chest… pleasantly ran through the starlight fringe of his spirit like a caring hand through hair.

What a gift of an experience sleep is... he thought contentedly. Yes, I think I'll be able to handle this indeed.

Bonus headcanons:

With his action figure joints, Geno can technically lock his knees and sleep standing up like some kind of weird horse. He doesn't, though. That would freak people out.

At some point in their adventure, Geno somehow acquires the ability to snore. It sounds like creaking. Because it IS creaking. Geno somehow cannot hear himself do this, and genuinely thinks they're all making a joke he doesn't quite get. Finally, Mario, with his assortment of handyman skills that include carpentry, does the rest of the party a favor and gets some graphite and wax into Old Man Geno's joints.

The first time Princess Peach uses star magic (Come Back) to revive Geno, he's absolutely awestruck. He wonders if she has the slightest idea how much sheer potential she has. Here's a big long headcanon of mine about that, with some art!

#minific #geno #geno smrpg #smrpg #super mario rpg #supermariorpg #fanart #fanfic #writing #smrpg fanfic #glowed-up art #my art #mario #mallow #mallow smrpg #my writing

[rhymeswithchronic]

Art by my sister-in-law and one of my best friends, plebianplant! I realized that, while I post a lot of art and chapter updates for this story, I never actually explained what What This World Has to Offer was! So, here's an introduction post for it! I'd like to do it for some of my other fanfics, too, but we'll have to see :3

“The Reign of Giants will come and go Shipwrecked will he, we'll never know When finally, the end of lives Begins with the fall of five”

A world fraying apart from the seams would do anything to save itself. If that means damning innocent souls to a neverending Hell, then so be it. The Host, The Young Heir, The Martyr, The Sister, and The One True Heir. The Host of Their Master The Young Heir to a Throne of Shadows The Martyr Who Gave Up Everything The Sister of the Monster in the Dark The One True Heir to a Kingdom of Bones Don't be afraid. This is what is meant to happen. This is what you're meant to be. After all, it's all happened before, and it will all happen again.

Part 1 - Reign of Giants: Chapter 1-50 Part 2 - The One True Heir: Chapter 51-67 Part 3 - The King’s Gambit: Chapter 68-? Part 4 - ?

What This World Has to Offer is posted by Pokemaniac5000, Moonweaver50, or Pokemaniac7000 depending on which site you read it on. It is a Don't Starve longfic with an estimated 109 chapters in all. At this point in time, 90 of these chapters have been written and posted, totaling roughly 294k words. Each part in this story has a different set of plotlines, but all follow the same characters, the same timeline, and the same story. Part 1 - Reign of Giants is largely episodic, focusing on events that only span a few chapters at a time instead of anything that requires longer sections of writing to cover. In this part, you can expect a lot more of the game elements to be explored such as sanity, seasonal changes, and of course, as the name implies, the Giants! This section also features the least content warnings, although the later chapters lean much closer to the darker subjects of the later chapters. Expect to see a whole lot of Webber, Wilson, and WX-78, and just a little bit of Winona at the tail end. Part 2 - The One True Heir features Webber and Wilbur almost exclusively and explores a bit of Shipwrecked and the Archipelago. This is when many of the content warnings lean towards mental health issues. This is the shortest part in the entire fic. Part 3 - The King's Gambit introduces and explores Adventure Mode, with a twist to the formula to make it unique from your own playthrough of it. While this is the darkest part of the story, this section also focuses a lot on concepts like love, friendship, and found family. Expect to see the worst angst but the lightest fluff. Part 4 - Dust, The Void, and Them is the current arc. Details I can reveal are sparce as I have just begun posting it :3 The original story was written back in 2015 and finished in 2016 by a plucky 13-year-old with no concept of story or character growth, so many may recognize it from its original version. The rewriting process started in 2017, and as such, earlier chapters tend to be shorter with less descriptive writing. I expect to finish the rewrite by the end of 2024, although it might be earlier than that if my intense excitement for the story continues the way it has. If you are new to WTWHTO, welcome and I hope you enjoy! It is certainly a bit of a commitment, but I hope you find it worth your time nonetheless. Expect lots of random art, a writer who is so scared of drawing humans that she avoids drawing them like the plague half the time, and a story filled with angst, hurt/comfort, and found family. If you are one of the poor souls who read the original version back in 2015, welcome back! I assure you, much of this story has changed in the past several years and there is so much more for you to explore as you reread. Also, uh, yeah, Winona's in this now! Enjoy! My inbox is always open for any questions or comments you may have! Read on Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction.net, or the Don't Starve Forums! Archive of Our Own Fanfiction.net Don't Starve Forums

#fanfiction #dst #ds #archive of our own #webber #ao3 #fanfiction.net #wilbur #wtwhto #what this world has to offer #winona #wilson #wilson higgsbury #wx-78 #story #writing #don't starve fanfiction #dont starve #dont starve together #dontstarve #dontstarvetogether

[mechanicalinfection]

Hi hi hi hello hi

Please

Please talk about your new au

It looks so cool I need to know what it's about

(insert puppy eyes here)

YOU GOT FLOODED DOWN THE INBOX I DIDN'T SEE YOU IM SO SORRY ALSO ALSO THANKYOUUDHXBMM AUGHHSHH anyways ehrm

The things you need to know about is that this au has to do with reality and said reality falling apart, and Springtrap's universe is heavily effected by this reality "glitch", and he's one of the few that has survived this whole mess. This springtrap has gained what he wanted, gained immortality and trying to live in peace but over time he does start to notice how... Fucked up everything is getting.

It was subtle at first, just a few things he started to noticed in tbe corner of his eye that you could mistake and excuse for having very bad eyesight, however... He does start to get extremely paranoid overtime with how he feels as if there's a bunch of eyes watching him, watching everuthing he does, where he goes, what he says. Everything.

This has led to him just dismissing this as very bad paranoia, not until he starts to finally see how fucked up everything has gotten, how everything is seemingly just falling apart right before his eyes, floors begun to disappear and being replaced with something else entirely different by this glitch. One of the main factors in this is that he's able to maneuver through broken and warped realities to another, because of having survived the whole reality glitch that caused him to try and run for his life, only to be met by accidentally falling down to a pit, seemingly an endless void. And no matter how long it had been, he keeps on falling. And falling.

Forever trapped.

But at some point, the falling does stop. And he's met laying down the floor.

Everything in this room and state is pure white, seemingly also an endless void, but something you can explore at least. And there are times where things happen, things appearing on this broken and forgotten reality that he had found himself in. At some point there will be an overflow of papers suddenly appearing, falling out of... Nowhere. Text is written down but he can't quite understand what it is, due to it being a new language entirely. Or maybe it's just scribbles...... And now let's talk about the creature in the au!

Something.

This was supposed to be someone, a child that was murdered by the hands of William, but after so long of being lost, confused, and forgotten, pure rage and vengeance has consumed them, turning them into this monster. No longer a scared, confused child, but something... Dangerous. Wicked. And all it's purpose is to make Afton suffer for what he has done to their friends, and to them. Stripping them away of the childhood they were supposed to have.

You can guess who this might be at this point. :].

This... Something, tears apart reality itself, bends it and is purely just the embodiment of destruction. This is what caused Afton's reality to disappear, and be forgotten. As it was trying to get to him, trying to make him go through Hell and back. And they no longer have any humanity left in them, so that's all they think about, revenge and the obliteration of Afton and so he can finally pay for his sins.

That's all I have for today though! If you have any questions about ANY of my aus, PLEASE do ask me so I LOVE INFODUMPING TO YOU GUYS ABOUT MY AUS !!!

#art #entertainer's inbox #the mechanic's crafts #digital art #fnaf #fnaf au #springtrap #william afton #spring bonnie

[naffeclipse]

*Arrives at Internet Explorer Speed*

Hey guys! Those new chapter of Lack of Light, am I right??!

FDKHKFGH Sorry I needed to make a silly entrance back in your inbox Naff XD

But aaaaaa I finally came back to read these and I'm here with a brand new comment!! For the two chapters I was missing no less! :D

So let's get to it!

Ok so first off I don't know if I'm just looking too much into it but I read this line: "You rely on your eyes to adjust to the darkness" from th first paragraph and it just felt significant to the rest of the chapter, you know? Very literal but metaphorical at the same time!

And oooh something I definitely have to praise in this is the amazing description of the anguish through all the physical sensations that the reader is going through. I think I've mentioned before that when I read reader inserts I don't truly put my real self in the story but rather try to imagine it through the main characters eyes, but wow did I feel this one. The way you detail all those physical effects that anxiety has on the body, beautifully described through images and comparisons, just made it seem so very real. I basically could almost feel them myself, just remembering times when I had definitely experienced something similar, even if the causes were different! I will always applaud your descriptions, Naff! Makes me want to take notes!

And AAAAAAA I gotta say that I absolutely love how just, hrrrr, I'm struggling to find the words to describe it, but I would say how there's a clear parallel between what both Reader and Eclipse are going through?

Because ok, first of all, is the matter of hiding right? Reader seems to be trying to hide (kind of like Eclipse does his true self), but through a mask instead of blindness. Even through previous encounters they have tried to present themselves a very specific way. The unshakable one. Unaffected by everything, at least in a way that goes beyond mild funny venting. And it feels like something they force themselves to do in their daily life, beyond the forest. It's just they're so used to doing it, that it became a part of how they perceive themselves and failing to do so feels to them like they're showing a part of themselves that is intolerable. And aaaaa then Eclipse also because clearly he must have enough experience having met other humans to know that even those that dared stay after learning of his presence ran away after seeing him. So both hide and hide while they wish for more and hate themselves for it, and might even think they don't deserve it.

(Sidenote: I love this description: "The mysterious being who exists in pure darkness, cast by the sun and the moon." Obviously because it references his name (be it a solar or lunar eclipse), but also because it reminds of his strange nature. Because an Eclipse is an event! A phenomenon that is not exactly a natural object, but something that can only be seen under the right conditions!)

And oooh speaking about Eclipse and hiding, I just love the contrast between Eclipse's darkness coming from being unseen vs the darkness born from emptiness. Because Reader so far hasn't been daring at all in pushing to see him, because they fear the latter. Eclipse's nature is intimidating, and it's often said that we fear not the darkness itself, but what we might find in it. But here it's the contrary! Both Reader and Eclipse fear that potential emptiness. They have found company in each other thanks to the darkness, but should something go wrong (pushing too much or scaring the other one away), they would find themselves staring into the void and nothing else.)

And that exactly leads into the doubts about what the other thinks once they've revealed themselves! And it's so interesting how they fear so intensely that the "flaw" they see in themselves, which are kinda opposite, is what will make the other regret meeting them. Like for Reader is that vulnerability, that inability to be perfect about everything that hits them in their daily life and dealing easily with it. They fear their "weakness" will disgust a great being as Eclipse. And for Eclipse is fearing that his form, great, strange, intimidating, monstrous, is what will leave him without his dear one. His very nature enough to drive them away. When in reality, it's likely those very things that made them initially appealing to the other! The Reader a precious little creature, that despite not having horns or sharp teeth lives their daily life bravely (enough to befriend a shadowy being). And Eclipse, a fascinating and fearsome creature, that despite it all demonstrates he's gentle and kind and capable of becoming that friend that provides the most comfort in Reader's life!

Ooooh I just adore how two very different beings, with way more differences than similarities, still have this experience in common. That fear and uncertainty about letting themselves be known, because past experience has thought them it's unwise, and yet they find relief from that terrible all-consuming anxiety when they let themselves trust that this time it will be different and that it is worth it, even if it is raw, to open up and let the right person in.

Now for Mothman Moon!

Just starting and the Reader is already turning the headlights on and off repeatedly jfhdsgkh Prime conditions for Mothman sightings! XD

Oooh I love how you build up the paranoia! Different situations, but it makes me think when it's late at night and for whatever reason you need to go out in a hallway of your home and you gotta reassure yourself that no, there's nothing lurking in the shadows of your home, be an adult and walk calmly jghdkfsj The feeling of being exposed and on edge is so very well achieved! But also all the little hints, like the raven falling quiet. And that instinctual feeling of being watched! Related to all this, I adore this line: "Your optimism slips in the slightest before you yank it back up by the throat and continue marching along." I felt that in my soul fkijhdfgkñjh

Aaaa I love how everything falls quiet at the flapping of wings! Everything knows to be quiet and freeze. And I love Reader is part of that everything. Like they are connected to the forest around them by virtue of not wanting to draw attention to themselves, something they share with all the creatures around.

And oooooo such a spooky sight when we finally get a glimpse of him!! Kinda gave me the urge to hold my breath as well as I read! Just the sight of the glowing red eyes coming from a shadow within the fog would paralyze anyone for sure! And then gjhfdkg poor Reader just shifts horror flavor from Creature-in-the-forest-that-could-kill-me to Stranger-Danger. Pick your poison and all that XD But man that instinct does seriously kick in when a stranger gives us bad vibes huh?

(As a sidenote, I love how you've given the different readers between chapters different responses to fear! Like the first chapter with Sun had Fight if I remember correctly, then the second chapter had Fawn, which I think it's trying to please to prevent from being harmed, even if the fear wasn't so much of Eclipse but of abandonment, and in this one we have Freeze! Which we see twice when Moon first appears and then when the car races towards them!)

Oh. My gosh??? The fact that Moon is just able to take on a car that's going full speed though?? Damn! And oooh he was not happy. He does not appreciate assholes/downright murderers in this area. (Btw I can't help but think that he did in fact break that second light slower on purpose to seem more menacing fjkhdaskjh)

Aaaa it's fascinating how he seems so perplexed by the Reader's response to everything that just happened! Like he doesn't quite understand the freeze response. It's something animals do as well, but I'm guessing if it doesn't work then most would ultimately run from the danger. It's probably the first instance of this he has encountered! And poor reader seems to just be very badly affected by it, physically as well as mentally judging by the lightheadedness.

(sidenote: "He looms, his wings flaring out beside him in magnificent flares of warnings and death." Me, helpless DCA simp, vivid image of the majestic view in my head: Um yes, hi, hello? 👉👈 GFÑLKDJHGÑLJ)

And aaaaa I loved the flight scene! I myself am pretty scared of heights so I likely would have screamed gkjhfdksj but! I love that we continue the theme of braving a bit of the fear to discover something wonderful! Despite my fear of heights I've always imagined how wonderful it would be to have wings and this scene just striked me as something terrifying yet beautiful because it really is an experience that Reader wouldn't get anywhere else! And despite the polarizing feelings of fear and safety just warring inside of them, the wonder was just so tangible as Moon carried them through the air!

And ooo I find it so interesting how he refers to multiple things as the "lights", which from his perspective must be the most notable characteristic of the stuff that emanates it! It's clear he's familiar with cars, and likely has witnessed what happens when one hits a living thing. And the light of the gas station tells him that it's a place humans go to. So he knows it's not just lights, but he still seems to perceive it as their most important characteristic. Aaaa I'm so curious about what the world looks like to him because of this!

And ough it's so sweet he keeps watch over them as they go trying to get the help they need. It seems to me he finds them really intriguing and the fact that he gave them his name could mean he hopes it will not be their last meeting!

And that's that!

Aaaaaa everytime I come back to your writing I keep being taken by surprise by how well you manage to make the reader immerse themselves in the story! Your descriptions are so vivid and your use of the language so *chef kiss*! Everytime I'm just dying to know what's the word that follows the previous one, what will happen, and when that tasty tension you build so well will reach it's snapping point! This little series was a delight to read and a very nice journey into what fear and darkness means to different people. And of course, meeting some very strange and fascinating creatures that make the unknown not as bad as it seemed <3

Thanks for this delicious chapters Naff! It's always a delight reading what you make! 

(Sorry if something is phrased weirdly btw, it’s kinda late as I’m writing this fgkjhdsk)

AHHH CHAOTIK! HI, HELLO! WELCOME BACK!!! I'm so glad to see you in my inbox again!!

Oh, I am rattling you so hard right now! I live for your analysis and I especially love that you caught how much Eclipse and Y/N complement and contrast each other—the same fears but different reasons. They are dear ones, your honor!!!

And Moon! My Mothman!Moon! He's so much fun to write! I'm really glad you enjoy his spooky entrance and his descriptions!

Also, with the readers, that's so funny that it changes from Fight, Fawn, and Freeze! I meant for Mothman's Y/N to freeze but I also think it's neat to explore different responses to fear, so I'm happy that stood out!

(He did break the second car light slowly—he's so dramatic lol)

He does have a different view of the world due to lights—humans have lights. Humans drive with them, live with them, and are afraid without them. Lights are just as foreign as those humans! But he does have a particular interest in Y/N—they were almost hit by the lights themselves. It's now every time he sees that, but he was curious from how they froze to how they were terrified yet in awe of flying. He even finds them cute but doesn't expect to see them again! But Y/N has plans of venturing back to the words with the mothman hehe

Gah, thank you so much, Chaotik! I love how in-depth you go and reading your thoughts makes my day, babe! <3

#chaotikanvas #lack of light #compliments

[ask-the-critters-survival-au]

The sounds of paper ruffling can be heard coming from the Monitor

"Hmm...? Ah a live feed from the fac... Huh, well these logs paint a bad picture. Are you alright Young One? Besides your leg- please see if you can stop the bleeding for now...

I feel like if we let your leg remain the way it is... something bad may happen... Now Young One, luck seems to favor you at the moment... well not exactly since you are missing your foot, and you may not like the deal I am about to make.

There is a way for the the harm done to you to be undone... but there is a price. That is the most reliable way I can provide aid at the moment. There is always a price for things like this... and if you don't believe me... I ask that you at least Humor me, and take it as merely hypothetical.

There are three ways you can pay for the returning of your leg: A price of equivalent exchange, where you will have to trade one of your hands for your missing foot. A price of regeneration, where your foot will be healed but your body will enter a extremely starved state to pay for the cost. And finally a price of a Curse... which I cannot determine. The curse may be light, or it may be heavy, it's a gamble, but you will avoid the other two outcomes.

I must warn you however that no matter what you pick, should you choose at all, is that it will be painful. There is no way to avoid that when healing a lost limb.

I leave the choice to you, and if you wish to use this gift, that is also your choice. I wish you luck in whatever you aim to do within those stained halls. May You One Day See The Sun."

The audio from the Device cuts out... but the stranger's offer still stands. Let us see what this child shall choose.

(Very neat blog you have here Mod! Hope you don't mind me throwing in some 'aid' for hopster here. If you do mind and don't want to throw in magic stuff, it's 100% okay for you to toss this ask into the void, I totally get it (maybe even asking for it just a bit). I'll be watching for what next befalls the Hopster next!)

Wait actually?! YES! I’LL DO ANYTHING TO HOP AGAIN! I…don’t want to lose a hand. And being really hungry could also be really dangerous. So I’ll choose the last one. Anything to get my foot back.

Mod note: Had a really big debate with myself whether or not to include this ask or not, so magic themed asks might not always be answered. Also to that one person who sent that image with Hoppy in a wheelchair, I’m never answering it. Treasuring that one in my inbox forever.

#poppy playtime #hoppy hopscotch #hoppy hopscotch poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #ask blog #ask the critters #smiling critters #poppy playtime au #ask the smiling critters

[venjamin-kingdomhearts]

I have an idea, but I don't know if it fits the 2000< requirement, but what about Ventus talking to Roxas about his time in daybreak town and how alone he used to feel?

OK hello first off. THANK YOU for the prompt!! I kinda. branched off from what was asked a bit cause i got ✨ Inspired ✨ SO I hope you enjoy regardless! I also got another prompt from @/fangirling-heart that I'm working on SO in case they see this 👋🏻 hi! That one will probably be a LOT shorter. If anyone else is interested in throwin some ideas my way check out this post and then feel free to hit me up in my inbox 💚 No beta, only one or two re-reads, so if there's any mistakes here... pretend you didn't see them LOL Summary: Roxas is sent on a quest into Ventus' dreams, and makes a new (?) friend Word Count: 2892 Relationship: Roxas & Ventus (friendship)

Others had volunteered to go there, to the space where the Sleeping Realm and individual Dreamscapes met, but in the end, Ventus had chosen Roxas to investigate his dreams.  Not Terra or Aqua, nor “literally-a-Dream-Eater” Riku, but Roxas. Sure, he wasn’t alone -- this experiment required a Dream Eater to accompany him, so Sora’s Meow Wow was by Roxas’ side -- but he’d been picked by Ventus above anyone else to literally walk into his mind and look around. Him! They hadn’t even been friends for that long, with the battle against Xehanort having been just over a year ago, yet here Roxas was, standing on the edge of Ventus’ subconscious mind, petting his Dream Eater companion.

“. . . I don’t know if he’s really dreaming yet,” Roxas admitted. “This is dark. Ventus’ dreams can’t be dark.”

The “world” around Roxas currently was nothing but an odd black void. There was no true ground, nor walls, nor sky, which was all a bit disorienting. But there was something beneath Roxas’ feet, or else he and Meow Wow would be drifting off somewhere. Roxas chose to focus on that feeling of standing, ‘cause he was pretty sure if he didn’t, he might feel so disconnected from this reality that he really could drift away.

Roxas had a job to do. He couldn’t let himself get too intimidated by all… this.

This was to help Ventus recover the memories he’d lost, that were apparently buried so deep than even Naminé and the scientists working in the Radiant Gardens couldn’t reach without some help. Admittedly, Ventus wasn’t really gung-ho about remembering anything (apparently the last time he’d touched his forgotten memories, the migraine he’d been left with was enough to make him scream), but he had to put that fear aside for the good of the mission.

(Of course, Ventus had still been scared. An hour prior, he’d been laid down in a hospital bed and told that he’d be put to sleep. That’s not exactly easy for someone who’d spent 12 years in a magical coma to chew. Certainly not someone who’d developed insomnia because of the fear he might fall into another decade-long sleep. Ventus was clearly miserable, but it was getting to the point that Ventus’ memories might be the missing key to finding Sora after his disappearance a year prior. Ventus may have been scared, but when it came to Sora… he’d do almost anything to help him.)

(Roxas remembered catching a glimpse of Ventus holding Terra’s and Aqua’s hands tight as Dr. Even and Ienzo prepared the sleeping spell Ventus would be put under. The magic was distributed to Ventus as if it was anesthesia, as a clunky plastic dome had to be put over his nose and mouth. Roxas and Meow Wow had watched from behind glass doors as Ventus’ chest heaved slower, as his eyes grew heavier, until finally his hands went limp and Aqua pressed a kiss to his forehead.)

Roxas had 24 hours. That’s how deep the spell was. Hopefully he’d be able to get a good lead sooner than that, but he had a lot of leeway. Okay. Ventus and the others were counting on him… especially since Ventus wouldn’t be able to wake up until Roxas and Meow Wow were outta his head. 

“...C’mon, Meow Wow,” Roxas whispered, standing up straight and taking another good look at the empty space before him. “We’ve gotta find where Ven’s dreams are. Or… something.”

“Meowf!” Meow Wow barked, and Roxas couldn’t help but laugh. 

With that, their mission officially began. They walked off into the darkness, steps echoing as though they were walking on glass. It really was unsettling, but Roxas kept his nerves under wraps. What an interesting place this was, this time between sleep and dreams. Mysterious. Dark. But not too cold.

Slowly, some semblance of color and light began to seep into the world. Ventus’ dream began forming, and suddenly Roxas was inside the Land of Departure’s castle. Of course, things weren’t even close to being a perfect recreation. The stained glass windows weren’t symmetrical, and the colors of their glass kept shifting, meanwhile some of the thrones making up the throne room were replaced with bean-bag chairs. It was almost like looking at one of those “spot the difference” puzzles, as dream-oddities popped up left and right to add differences between reality and dream.   

Okay, this is definitely a Ven-dream, Roxas thought as a small herd of numbered sheep crossed a distant hallway. Meow Wow went up to sniff them, but that just frightened a majority of them into running into the throne room. 

“Meow Wow! Over here, buddy!” Roxas called. “Those aren’t Tama Sheep. Don’t bother them!”

Meow Wow waddled back to Roxas’ side, sniffing his shoes. Meanwhile, Roxas gave the room another look-around. Okay, now he just had to… find anything that might not belong. Anything that could be a hint to where Sora was, or something from Ventus’ past. Anything Naminé could use as a branching-off point. 

He chose me for this. Ventus chose me, ‘cause he trusts me to see all this.

Honestly? That was still a pretty big deal. There was a chance Roxas could come across anything here, even stuff Ventus wanted to keep a secret. It was a bit more responsibility than Roxas really wanted, but at the same time, being picked out at the one to take care of all this was oddly flattering. It was ike Roxas was being handed a part of Ventus no one else had access to.

(“It… kinda came down to you or Xion,” Ventus had admitted before he’d been put under. “You two… I mean, I know we’re not all connected in the same way, but I know you guys would understand if you saw anything weird, in my head.”)

(Ventus had taken a shaky breath, trying to get his thoughts to words. Eventually, he just settled on smiling up at Roxas, and thanking him.)

(“I know you’d be the best fit. You’re the best at figuring out stuff like this. If anyone could find out what secrets I’m hiding, it’d be the guy who always calls me out for lying, eheh!” Ventus laughed and gave Roxas’ arm a light punch. “Just promise you’ll… stay with me, when you get back, if I’m still sleeping. I don’t… wanna wake up all alone.”) 

Roxas took note of a sheep labeled ‘7’ sniffing around the thrones/bean-bags at the north of the room. Number 9 was lying under the shifting stained glass window, while sheeps #3 and #14 were munching on a patch of grass that had spawned on top of wood flooring. Meanwhile, one of the dream-sheeps decided that Roxas was of interest, and approached to nuzzle his leg.

“...Course. Number 13.”

Roxas gave the animal a gentle pat on the head. Okay, if all the sheep are numbered… maybe this is a test. You count sheep to get to sleep, don’t you? So….

“Great. All the sheep are outta order,” Roxas muttered. “Maybe we should--”

“GO AWAY!”

Oathkeeper and Oblivion appeared in Roxas’ hands reflexively.

Who the hell was that? Roxas thought, sending Meow Wow a glance. The Dream Eater had its back arched, growling lightly and staring ahead at one of the unchanged thrones across the room. Roxas crouched down, ready to stealth his way across the room. 

Meanwhile, the mystery voice snapped again:

“Get outta here! L-leave me alone!”

Sheep #7 gave a startled “baa!” as it dove past Roxas, who was already on his way towards the center throne. This voice wasn’t one he recognized right away, so Roxas’ first thought was Nightmare, though he couldn’t sense any Darkness lurking around the corner. Regardless, Roxas snuck up to the chair, while Meow Wow prepared a bouncing attack.

On three, we attack. One, two--

Roxas held his blades tight, listening for that mystery voice. He could hear some light breathing, so unless this was a trick of Ven’s mind, something had to be hiding behind that throne.

Three!

Without a sound, Roxas dove out from his hiding spot, Keyblades in hand. He didn’t make any move to strike, not yet, but he did hold his Keyblades offensively, ready for whatever he found--

“A--ahh!” 

--well, he certainly wasn’t ready to realize he had Oblivion raised in the face of a child. 

The boy yelped again, raising his arms to cover his head. Roxas felt his heart drop past his stomach, to his feet. That was a kid! That was an actual child! For a moment, all Roxas could do was freeze.

“Please-- don’t hurt me!” The child cried out. “I-I didn’t do nothin’!”

Roxas had never seen a child before, not really. Not this close.

Actually, Roxas hadn’t even been one himself. A Nobody came to life the same age their Somebody had been, and with Roxas’ strange state of being, that meant he couldn’t even remember what it’d been like to be any younger than 16. So to see someone so young (Roxas didn’t really have a great judge of age, but this boy was younger than a teenager) with blonde hair the same style as Roxas’ own, and big green eyes that reminded Roxas of Ven, was a bit disorienting.

Oblivion shook in Roxas’ hand, and he lowered the blade.

“Please, please, please…” the blonde child whimpered. “Don’t… don’t hurt me….”

In two flashes of light, Oblivion and Oathkeeper vanished. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The child didn’t seem convinced.

Alright, off to a great start already, Roxas thought sarcastically. He took a breath and a knee, holding his hands up in surrender, to show he wasn’t making any moves to lash out. The mysterious child looked between him and Meow Wow suspiciously, then scooted back. He’d been hiding behind this throne, hadn’t he? Poor thing.

(Funny, how the throne he’d hid behind was the dream’s reflection of the chair Ventus had slept on for 12 years….)

“Hi,” Roxas started simply. “I’m Roxas. Sorry I scared you; I thought you were a monster.”

Was he doing this right? Kneeling down to be at eye level, keeping his voice soft and being honest. Was that how people talked to children? Roxas licked his bottom lip in thought, furrowing his brows. Meanwhile, the little boy hugged himself tighter, glaring up at Roxas.

“Monster? I’m not a monster! I’m just… me. ‘M just Ventus.”

Roxas’ eyes went wide. “Ventus?”

“Umm...m’yeah?” 

Of course. That explained the resemblance. Roxas felt something odd stir up in his heart. This kid… was Ventus. Or at least, who Ventus had been, as a child. Roxas had never been a kid, and Ventus had no memory of his past. So to see someone so young wearing the same face they shared was odd. It almost felt like looking at a stranger, and the feeling reminded Roxas of what it was like to meet Sora for the first time, and realize “this is who I used to be a part of?”

“Ventus,” Roxas echoed. “You’re Ventus.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” the child affirmed, before he suddenly grew defensive. “I’m-- wait! You-- you’re gonna make fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Make fun of you? Why would I--’

“Because everyone does. All the Big Kids, in the other Unions!” That look of fear the child had been wearing earlier was quickly replaced by an angry pout. “W-well, I’ve had it! If you’re gonna try anything….”

The child lifted his hand, and in a flash of light, summoned a Keyblade Roxas hadn’t seen in a while.

“Missing Ache?”

“That’s right! If you’re gonna be mean to me, or call me names, or anything, I’ll fight you! I’ll… I’ll….” 

But as quickly as the determination had come, the fire began to fade. The young boy’s lip trembled, and Missing Ache grew heavy in his hand. The boy scooted back, pulled his knees to his chest, and became shy once more. He didn’t say anything, didn’t raise Missing Ache again, he just hid his face and hugged himself with one arm.

. . .Oh.

Roxas felt a rush of something between pity and affection. He had to put aside how weird this was (but it was a dream! Dreams are meant to be weird!). Roxas bit his bottom lip, trying to plot out how to go about this. A kid… what was he supposed to say to a scared little kid?

Well, he should be gentler than the Organization XIII members were to him when he joined. That was the closest he’d ever been to being a child, so it was his one point of reference. The only other experience he’d had was seeing Peter Pan’s lost boys playing from a distance, or being harassed by Locke, Shock, and Barrel in Halloween Town. But Roxas wasn’t sure he could count any of that as actual experience taking care of a kid. 

“. . . It’s. Nice to meet you. Ventus.” Roxas took a moment to let that name settle. To let that identity settle.“I’m here on a mission. I’m looking around this drea-- this place with my friend, Meow Wow.”

The “Little Ventus” didn’t react with the same excitement real Ventus would’ve. He just peeked up, looking from Roxas to Meow Wow. Roxas watched as the little boy’s brow furrowed, before his eyes lit up with recognition.

“A Dream Eater?”

“That’s right. How’d ya know…?”

Before Little Ventus could answer, Meow Wow bounced up eagerly. The little boy held his arms out, sitting cross-legged, as if opening up to give Meow Wow a hug.

“Bwarf! Mrreowf!” Meow Wow leapt onto Little Ventus, giving him a ton of slobbery “kisses”. Despite his previous hesitance, Little Ventus laughed. It seemed the focus keeping Missing Ache by his side was diverted, so the strange Keyblade returned to light, while Little Ventus pressed his face into Meow Wow’s fur.

“Smells like cotton candy….”

“Haha… yeah,” Roxas said, scooting a tad closer. “I think Meow Wow just had a bath too, so his fur is extra soft.”

Roxas rested a gentle hand on top of the Dream Eater’s blue fur as if to demonstrate. Little Ventus watched shyly. Roxas tried to keep a small smile on his face as he pet the cat-dog, hoping that maybe he could earn the child’s trust by showing that Meow Wow trusted them both. Green eyes followed Roxas’ hand…until eventually, a small hand joined him in stroking through the Dream Eater’s fur.

“You’re right!” Little Ventus’ voice was an eager gasp. “So soft….”

Roxas felt a smile tug at his lips, but he said nothing. Maybe it was nerves, or just his quieter nature coming out. He tended to let Ventus fill the air when the two of them were together. Guess that instinct kicked in around Little Ventus, too. The two sat in silence for a moment, while Meow Wow began to purr.

Little Ventus gasped. “Just like Chirithy!” 

“Right. Just like Chirithy.”

“...Roxas.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s your name, right? It’s weird. I’ve never met a Roxas before!”

“Well I don’t know many other people named Ventus,” Roxas smirked. “Only the one….”

“W-well, that just means I’m u-unique.” Little Ventus mispronounced the word as if it rhymed with “quiche”, and that made Roxas laugh. “Hey! What’s so funny? You said you weren’t gonna make fun of me!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I just… I think Ventus is a nice name. Weird. But nice.”

Little Ventus huffed, and Roxas had to hold back another laugh. Were all kids this… funny? Was that the word? Roxas didn’t know how to describe this. He just felt happy, in a very curious way. 

“Well, I guess Roxas isn’t a bad name, either. Weird. But… not bad.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!”

Another moment of silence, but there was something warmer to it. By now, Meow Wow’s tail was wagging so hard, it was thumping against the floor. 

“Are you a cat or a dog?” Little Ventus asked the Dream Eater. “Anyways… what Union are you in?”

…? Was Little Ventus talking to Meow Wow, or--?

“Hello? Roxaaas. Roxas! What Union are you in?”

“Union? Uh. None?” Roxas shrugged. “I don’t really know what you mean.”

“You don’t have a Union?! Like some… some wanderer?” Little Ventus leaned over Meow Wow as if the pet were a pillow, and he didn’t seem to mind. “Well, I’m in the Leopardus Union! And I’m the fastest member there. Honest!”

Roxas chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm!” Little Ventus was looking more eager by the second. “I’m gonna be the best runner in Daybreak Town! Faster than the wind!”

Roxas had a feeling there was a bit of a story to this. He also had a feeling that it’d be a lot of work convincing Meow Wow to leave this spot. It looked like they’d have to put a ‘pin’ in their mission for now.

…Well, Roxas did have 23 hours before Ventus would have to wake up. Maybe he could spend a little longer in this dream, not just to figure out more, but to keep this forgotten part of Ven company. He’d promised Ventus he wouldn’t leave him alone… and that applied to all parts of Ventus. Even the ones that were exceptionally well-hidden.

“Tell me all about it,” Roxas said gently. “I’d be happy to listen.”

 ‘Cause that’s what a good friend does.

#kh #my writing #ventus #roxas #ventus and roxas #SORRY THE ENDINGS A LIL RUSHED this was mostly a challenge to get myself to write something #....this concept is just so cute to me.

[alienssstufff]

Okay, so I saw your thing about QSMP classpects and I just wanted to throw my opinion in. Kind of already sent an ask about this but I think it got lost on the way to the inbox.

Maximus is absolutely Void aspect. He’s constantly characterized by the things he doesn’t have. He’s probably a Mage, too, one of his major motivations and themes is Knowing.

His son is dead. His husband/partner disappeared under mysterious circumstances, was never seen again, and might also be dead. He usually isn’t paid much attention to. He’s the reason why we know at least 95% of the lore. His mystery-solving was fueled by a grief-induced crisis. He used to binge drink to forget. He had a egg persona that nobody acknowledged. He’s suffering from unrequited feelings for Forever. He doesn’t even tell anyone about any of this that often. Not a lot of people really know there’s anything he actively suffers from because his default mode of existing is inherently wacky and out of pocket.

He wants to know the unknown, knows what it’s like to not be understood, and knows what it’s like to hurt by the absence of people and things.

Maximus is a Mage of Void, and this is why I’m sure of it. Thank you for entertaining this mini-essay I decided to write out of nowhere.

Hi ya I saw the other one (slwo to answer ><) I did a classpect assignment on q!Maximus in another ask as the Prince of Void but I also really like the idea of him being Mage of Void as well and the different ways we reached either conclusions: One assignment (Prince of Void) focuses on the present-future of Maximus' arcs and goals - whilst the other focuses on the past-present (Mage of Void) what he's gone through and what he's doing now about it, regardless there's no incorrect answer to which (I think).

I'm going to put your part from the other ask here as well:

[ more undercut ]

Expanding on that Mage of Void theory, quick recap mage of void are those who uniquely experience their Aspect, both good and bad. As a result, they gain a unique understanding of what their Aspect is or does.

Maximus was the first parent to ever experience an egg loss through 'neglect' (I've written my doubts on that HERE). There were implications before but his final conversation with q!Trump at the funeral most likely jumpstarted raising suspicion against the Federation and Maximus' willingness to understand the unknowns (Mage) of the island / breaking a part from his role to uncover the secrets of the Federation etc (Prince)... He also was the first resident to canonically die (death by a Binary monster).

By that Maximus uniquely experiences and hence uniquely suffers because of it. Maximus as a Mage of Void suffers from nothing - not that he literally suffers from nothing but like you said his struggles from an outsider's perspective are unknown that it is difficult to sympathise with him because others have simply not felt the void in the way that he has. Not only that but his actions also suffers a net nothing. Despite being extremely important to lore, no one would have even known or done anything about a lot of Maximus' if he never reached out.

That being said, my one mini criticism about both our theories when considering Maximus' role in lore: to push others and the narrative forward in the right direction. I'm no Maximus-expert (anyone feel free to put their input) and don't fully understand whether his motivations are for himself or for others - though I feel a passive-class (-) that serves a team might also be a good fit for him like a mf Seer of Void but then again I am unsure >w<

#ask stufff #classpect #stufff rambles #qsmp #maximus

[obiwan]

more new obikin recs pleaseeee <3

Okay this has been stewing in my inbox for a while and I think I have enough new ones. I know the last one requested the last three months and I don't want a re-do, so I'm going to do a mixture of old and new faves.

✰ (Explicit, A/B/O, Complete) Molten by @zimriya

“Was Ben my omega father?” Luke asks.

The cavernous void that is Darth Vader’s heart demands that he swallow the boy whole. “Why does it matter?” he says. “Your other father clearly never wanted you. He gave you up the minute you were born.”

One truth; one lie.

This is a continuation to a past rec., Igneous. It's still canon compliant, it's basically the rest of the story. I'd say you should give these a read even if you're not usually into a/b/o, because it doesn't really linger on the whole a/b/o usual squicks people have, and it is so beautifully done. It also has a little epilogue piece which (in my opinion) has the funniest star wars imagery. I truly recommend reading these if you love canon compliant obikin.

✰(Explicit, WIP) stars to fill my dream by hidden_humours

Given a second chance, Anakin Skywalker awakes from death--into a different world than the one that made him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, a lost young padawan still finding his way, becomes apprenticed to a living legend who doesn't seem all there...

I know reverse!padawan isn't everyone's jam, but it is mine, so you get it recced. I'm really obsessed with this story (and this author, I like the way they write slightly unhinged Anakin, they have a little one shot if you don't want to read wips, I recommend checking it out) Please note that in this story, Anakin is a bit creepy so keep that in mind.

✰ (Explicit, Complete) Sanctifica Mē by @theseptemberist

Father Obi-Wan Kenobi has never desired anything more than to guide and serve his flock. He's content with his simple life—or he would be, if not for one confessor who returns again and again, pouring sickening stories into his ear, sinful and bloody. It's unbearable, but he can't bring himself to turn away. At least, not until he finally understands.

What does Anakin Skywalker truly want from him?

I know people complain about reccing popular authors but! 1)there are always new people in the fandom, and 2)there might be people who have missed it! Hooooly shit so this is *the* yandere!anakin priest fic. It’s *so* good, as always mind the tags, but hhhhhhhhhhhh priest!obi-wan. l always keep coming back to this one, if only for the writing alone (and nothing else *cough*)

✰ (Explicit, Completed) Slow Learner by @binaryeclipse​

Four times Anakin tried to fit Obi-Wan's big dick inside him and one time he managed it. or; the evolution of their sexual relationship.

I mean. Literally what it says on the tin lmaoo - but it’s so well done. It’s literally 12k of Anakin just gagging for it (how relatable,) I don’t know what else to say. As always read the tags, but also go read this fic. 

✰(Explicit, WIP) Obi-Two by Viraha

After Anakin is denied the rank of master, a mysterious phenomenon in the Force creates a baffling situation right in the middle of the same Council session. Anakin is not complaining.

Or, How Two Obi-Wan Kenobi can resolve Pretty Much Everything

I usually refrain from reccing things with only a single chapter or very early in the WIP stages but this one intrigued me so much. Usually time travel fics bring in the pada-wan version, but this one has a twist. I don’t know I’m very intrigued by this one, I’ll be watching this space. 

✰(Explicit, Complete) full throttle by spqr

“If you’re not first, you’re last,” Anakin says wisely. “Qui-Gon told me that once.”

I know it’s a (relatively) well known fic but I just read it again the other day and. HHHHHHHHHH rattling the walls of my enclosure. So it goes in this rec list, read this if you haven’t it’s so good. bark bark bark. 

✰(Teen & Up, Complete) Hands that are earnest, brave, and true by @obi-wkenobi​

On Trevo, after watching his Master be fret and fawned over by the governments elite, Obi-Wan miraculously peeled himself away from wanton eyes and returned to sit by his side, and for the first time ever, Anakin truly noticed the hands that rose to smooth back long copper hair.

Or, five times Anakin was distracted by Obi-Wan's hands, and one time that Obi-Wan noticed.

An *entire* fic about Obi-Wan’s hands y’all. It’s really soft and I’d say a feel-good fic if you’re in the mood for some fluff and love. There’s also a lot of pining (which is the draw!) but it’s all resolved in the end and it’s so beautifully done!

✰(Explicit, Complete) A Study in Tears by shatou

Anakin is used to sinking into the comfort of Obi-Wan’s arms when he is in tears. Obi-Wan is used to offering it. Neither of them realizes the moment when habit tips into heat-haze, but their acceptance for each other is boundless all the same.

(or: five times anakin gets aroused by accident when he’s crying and being comforted by obi-wan… and one time obi-wan does)

BARK HOWL CRY etc. God this fic, it really is one of *the* ones for me. I really enjoy this author’s work, but this particular fic. You know what I love, when a kink that could be considered niche, or could easily be done in a very tacky/porny way is done so intricately and artfully it just. Hhhhhhhhh it’s really good. Really good. 

✰(Explicit, Complete) Beer and Paint by @intermundia​

Artist!AU - it’s a part of a collection (go read all of it if you haven’t already) this is the latest stand alone chapter!

As it’s written, it’s inspired by Hayden in Life as a House, and it’s soooo delicious. Perfect mixture of hot/angsty/sweet. The atmosphere is set *so* well for a relatively shorter fic, as always i’m in awe, this was really good. 

✰(Explicit, WIP) if this isn’t nice, what is? by Anonymous​

"Your form has been improving remarkably quickly, Anakin," Obi-Wan said on the sparring platform one afternoon, as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "Don't tell me you've actually been listening to the healer for once and doing your physical therapy."

In his adrenaline-addled mind, it took Anakin a moment to sort out what his master was talking about, but eventually his gaze drifted down to his lightsaber, or, more accurately, to the mechno-hand that held it.

"Um," he said. "Something like that."

---

Or, once he could hold a lightsaber again, it took Anakin maybe three days to learn how to jerk off with the new metal hand.

Again, what it says on the tin. It’s really well done though, I can’t wait for it to be completed. Tbh personally I really enjoy stories around Anakin’s mechno arm, and this one...well. I really really like it. 

✰(Explicit, WIP) toss overboard what is too heavy to carry by @tennessoui​​

In the aftermath of the Clone Wars, Palpatine dead and untold tragedy averted, the Republic struggles to heal and rebuild itself.

Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi attempt to do the same with their own relationship, riddled as it has become with betrayal, distrust, and hurt. It's not going too well. Desperate and unwilling to accept that maybe their friendship is ruined, Anakin finds a counselor they can talk to, one that specializes in healing "teams."

Or, as the counselor would probably put it, married couples, which they are decidedly not. Not that she knows that though. And not that they know that she thinks they're in a romantic relationship either. What a silly assumption to make. It's not like they're more intimate than lovers or anything.

YOOOOOOOO God this fic this fic!!!!!! I don’t know if I need to rec Kit’s fics honestly, as with some other authors I can feel people going “yes we are aware of this fic” but as I said, I want to do an honest list lol. Listen this one really has the potential to end me I don’t know. I’m really into the premise, the setting, the dialogue, the everything. 

✰(Explicit, Complete)  sink into the dunes by @starsdies​​​

“How about now, my young Padawan?” Anakin shivers, the title in Obi-wan’s chiding voice taunting him. Like he already knows. “Do you need me now too?”

This has every single trope I can want in a fic - first time, virginity kink, canon-verse!!!!!! I love their dynamic in this, especially love how suave Obi-Wan is. The tone, the setting, the dialogue... chef’s kiss.  

✰(Explicit, Complete)  on high by @treescape​​​​

Anakin breaks once they’re in the turbolift, alone, a dozen stories beneath the Council chamber and climbing steadily downwards.

“Are you even going to look at me?” he blurts out into the heavy silence, his own eyes fixed straight ahead. Obi-Wan stands still as stone beside him, but for the rise and fall of his chest, their shoulders just a breath from touching. His hands are folded into the sleeves of his robes, the very image of the calm Jedi Master.

It’s infuriating. It makes Anakin want to fidget, makes him want to run the edges of his own sleeves between his fingers and twist just for something else to focus on, but he catches himself just in time.

He doesn’t want to give Obi-Wan the satisfaction of sensing him squirm.

Or, Anakin returns from a series of missions and thinks Obi-Wan is angry with him.

Obi-Wan being angry with Anakin because he’s being too reckless is *my jam* I love this trope of one of them being too worried about the other one because they’re too reckless!!! This is beautifully written as always, I genuinely love angry!obi-wan so much, possibly one of my favourite obi-wans. 

✰(Explicit, WIP)  the trouble with wanting by @travellingcircus​​​​

Anakin is an alpha with few hobbies, chief among them watching his favourite omega and amateur videographer Ben showcase his many, many talents. Anakin tells himself he isn't obsessed, but when he finds out Ben is a lot closer to him than he realises, he stops at nothing to get what he wants. That is, Ben's sweet little ass--even if Ben turns out to be Anakin's stuffy, buttoned-up Lit professor.

Ahhhh last but not least! Mind the tags, again with a bit of a darker Anakin in this one, but I am so obsessed with the story telling aspect and I’ll be hones the idea of ~professor kenobi being on cam on the side is just. You know. They also have a couple other stories as a part of the obikin fest s1 which you should check out! 

Oookay, this was it for me this time! I know I’m probably missing some great content out there, but I don’t want to rec anything I haven’t personally read. As always, please mind the tags before you read a story, and don’t read it if you see anything that might potentially trigger you. 

#obikin #fic rec #fanfiction #answered

[outrunningthedark]

I had a nonnie in my inbox who asked me to expand my thoughts on the sperm donor arc and when I tried to post I got an error, so here is the answer without exact context, ugh:

I'm glad you brought this up because it's giving me a chance to express my thoughts more...calmly, as opposed to the *screaming into the void* moment I had yesterday. I, personally, am not a fan of what the show has done to Buck's character since season four. To me, it feels like the intention was to go one way with his story (the therapy arc, maybe revisit things with the parents in s5 to officially move on to the next phase), but then...problems? unforeseen circumstances? changed it up. I mean...think about it. We get this "huge" Buck backstory, he realizes he needs to start learning about his past/accepting it, and then...two episodes later...here comes his former hookup who causes nothing but drama and she's not just a blip on the radar again. They're bringing her back to be part of the cast in s5. If you want my opinion (and this is not a slight on any actors because it is what it is), once it was realized that Jennifer was pregnant and she would have to be written out, and then the question turned to what to do with Chimney... Buck in healing mode didn't mesh with how the audience would expect him to react to Madney "leaving", so...why not let him self-destruct even more! The show abandoned the therapy arc. That's the part people are ignoring. That's the part that makes their arguments about "healing not being linear" irrelevant. There was no hint at healing beyond those two conversations (the end of 4x05 and beginning of 4x06). Shit happened and the show changed course. Very quickly. Skipping ahead to the sperm donor storyline...Well. I would argue that it narratively doesn't make *total* sense when we left off 5x18 with Buck finally doing something for himself by breaking up with TayKay. Maybe if it was TayKay who cut ties, we could more easily accept him still not being willing to listen to that voice inside that knows he's doing the wrong thing(s). Also, now that we know "radical acceptance" isn't supposed to be explained the way Buck explained it (they should have just stuck with "saying yes to possibilities")...I'm annoyed that his behavior is the antithesis of radical acceptance and looking at the show like "you just threw fancy words out there hoping people would call you genius, huh?" (Sad to say it worked.) It makes the fandom look dumb af, too, "He's saying yes without thinking! He's bound to backslide!" He's...he's not performing radical acceptance until he STOPS falling into old habits, actually. It's now a conversation that could have been avoided if they didn't use THAT exact term. 🤦‍♀️ (It's like someone decided they should use a word other than 'open-minded' or even 'automatic' and chose radical without considering it's a real phrase with a completely different connotation.) I'm not a fan of the sperm donor arc, I've made no secret of that. The timing of it (to me) seems like a way to appease the people who want to think of him as a father (because Chris isn't biologically his and therefore it doesn't count 🙃) since it's probably gonna be awhile until he has a bio kid of his own, if ever. But. I was trying to stay optimistic. "Well, surely, this is not gonna work out and he's gonna have a moment where he realizes his purpose is to build/be a family with Eddie and Chris." And by "not work out" I mean he gets rejected or the attempts aren't successful. *That* would have been my preferred scenario - he makes a rash decision, but backs out before it's too late because he's finally like "Wtf am I doing? This isn't gonna make me happy." *That* would have fit with him putting himself first. *That* would have been a way to expand on the growth we saw a glimpse of in 5x18. Now...there might be a baby? (Still allowing a 1% chance that it ends up being Connor's baby after all...) And as long as there's a baby, people aren't going to let it go. "Is Buck gonna have to save his bio kid when they get sick???" "Will Connor and Kameron die to bring up a new trauma for Buck???" "Are we gonna get Big Man, Tiny Baby because he gets to be a friend to the family???" And the thing is...I can't blame people for going there with it. As long as there is a (hypothetical) child in the story, the show could bring them up at any time. To some in the fandom, Buck should be capable of walking away peacefully from this situation he's found himself in, but the fandom is not in the writers' room. If the show doesn't have any "better" ideas, if the show needs easy drama...Buck's attitude could change on a dime. The saving grace is that this storyline is happening now when (I highly doubt) we'll get to a season where the child is old enough to want to get to know their dad. Because you know that would happen.

#praying the original ask doesn't pop up on my dash after this lol #tina speaks #tv: 911 #tv: 9-1-1 #evan buckley #buddie #(because they are mentioned briefly)

[another-lost-mc]

a/n: I'm pretty sure I had this prompt in my inbox ages ago but it got swallowed by the internet void.

➤ getting cockblocked at the HoL | azra x gn!reader

0.5k words | nsfw | oral sex

The warm, syrupy pleasure of your impending orgasm dissipates suddenly when Azra lifts his head from between your legs with a rumbling growl. Your fingers slip through his curls and you raise your head off the pillow to glance down at him. "Hey, are you—?" You're panting a little, but then you finally realize what's got him so worked up: the front door of the House of Lamentation slams shut and you hear the indistinct voices of the demon brothers returning home early from RAD. Shit.

"I'm sorry, we were supposed to have more time." You scratch your fingers lightly against his scalp in apology and his eyes flutter closed when he leans into your palm. The menacing growl softens into a purr instead. It's not that he's unwelcome here, not exactly. Sometimes it's easier if you can keep him and certain demons from crossing paths—it really ruins the mood once they start bickering.

He glances up at you and you can tell he's still a little annoyed by the interruption. "I don't care if you don't." He kisses your palm and flicks out his tongue playfully to lick the same spot. "Whatever you want, babe."

Your thighs are still slung over his shoulders and trembling slightly from the pleasure simmering in your belly. His eyes are dark and glittering with lust, and his lips are shiny from spit and slick. His thumbs trace little circles around the jut of your hip bones. He turns his head and kisses your thigh, and your restraint crumbles. "Don't stop."

He looks genuinely surprised for a moment, but the expression passes and his mouth curls into a smirk. He runs his tongue along his teeth so you can see his fangs, and you know he's doing it on purpose just to tease you. "Mm, I was hoping you'd say that."

He sits up and lowers your legs back to the mattress. His hands tighten on your hips and then the world shifts as he flips you onto your stomach. He coaxes you to your knees, and you look back over your shoulder just in time to see him lower his head. "Try and keep quiet, yeah?" he murmurs, his warm breath fanning across the swell of your ass. You exhale shakily and release a stuttered moan as his fingers spread you wide for him. "Don't want the others hearing us. All your pretty noises are mine, aren't they?"

Your face grows warm from the insinuation that you might be a little loud in bed, but then his tongue traces your hole and your body shivers. Desire courses through your veins all over again and your fingers clench the sheets to brace yourself. "Oh, fuck—!" The vibration of his chuckle ripples up your body from between your legs. You bite down onto the pillow just in time to muffle your shout as his greedy tongue snakes its way inside you.

#obey me x reader #my oc: azra #obey me oc #obey me oc x reader #x reader #gn!reader

[falconcoast]

thin ice | childe x reader | twenty-one.

twenty-one. you 

masterlist

today is the big day for childe and the team: the national championship. but, you’re still pretty pissed at childe for what he did the week before. will it get in the way of securing the national championship? 

a/n: hello thin ice folks !! sorry for such a delay, but this chapter is extra long, just for you !! i thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter. this chapter was one i always imagined from the start of thin ice, and it was originally supposed to be the conclusion ! but i still have some tricks (angst) up my sleeve, so don’t think thin ice is over just yet :D as always, i hope you guys enjoy this chapter, i’m not gonna lie, i shed a tear or two writing this :) my inbox is always open!

warnings; none i believe? emotional scenes. hockey mansplaining

you were pissed off.

it was a rarity for you to storm the front doors of the arena. you didn’t even greet katheryne a good morning. with a steeled jaw, you slammed the door to the arena backroom.

xiao immediately got out of the way, noticing the grumbled expression on your face. diluc almost seemed panicked as you passed by, hastily shoving his gross, green pre-workout shake into the fridge. chongyun got smacked in the face with a ball as you passed the windows by the personal gym from staring at you. and kaeya stumbled on his skates, hugging the wall as you barreled by.

your head swarmed with thoughts of saturday night. the way that childe wasn’t there to watch you skate, your argument, and the shameful tears you cried long after you had finished fighting. you clawed at your face, sighing deeply. why did things have to be like this?

as you mumbled into your palms, you crashed into one of the figures that you most definitely didn’t want to see. looking up, you put on the most neutral expression you could muster.

“morning, coach,” you smiled shakily, crossing your arms. “big day today, huh? what can i help with?”

“now, now, what’s gotten into you?” coach zhongli said, propping his hands on his hips. “i’ve never seen you so mad.”

“me? mad? never,” you lied through your teeth, smiling. “coach. i’m fine. now, if you’ll excuse me, i’ll be setting up some things with the arena crew.”

taking a deep breath, you side-stepped him and slapped open the arena door. there were things bigger than childe that you needed to deal with right now.

the national championship was underway tonight. the arena, although it was technically closed to the public, was full of people swarming by the glass doors of the arena. a lone helicopter swooped back and forth beyond the large, panoramic window. as you skated on the ice, gently dropping off the nets as you went about, you stared up at each of the individuals. the air was already tense, and nothing had even happened yet.

walking off the ice, you were quick to take off your skates. as you loosened the laces, you heard the arena door briefly open. xingqiu peered over, raising an eyebrow. “ah, there you are,” he said, smiling over at you. “thought i might find you around here. coach wants you to be in the backrooms.”

“i’m going, i’m going,” you mumbled, leaving your loosened skates on the bench. whistling loudly, you motioned for the crew to do a final check on the arena.

opening the backroom door, you watched as xingqiu shuffled in with the rest of the team. coach zhongli had them straight as a pin, like an elementary teacher: straight backs, arms to their sides, and silent. the main six were in front, with your beloathed captain standing tall up front.

your heart nearly stopped when he looked at you with blank, dead eyes. it was like the color in his eyes had been drained, leaving a void of beryl blue. his jaw was ground tight, biting the corner of his lip to suppress the need to bark an insult at you. you crossed your arms and walked right past him.

“what’s the occasion?” you asked.

“the opposing team is here,” coach replied. gently taking you by the shoulders, you got placed in front of the line. you, too, bit your lip tightly to stop an insult from coming out of your mouth. “you’ll lead them out there. coach ningguang is out there already, keeping the paparazzi busy. they’re probably going to pull childe back and forth for an interview, but you keep him in line, you hear?”

closing your eyes for a moment, you calmed all of the nerves inside of yourself. “i understand,” you replied blankly. “let’s head out, everyone. coach, i’m assuming you’re taking the back.”

bursting open the door, you haphazardly shed your tracksuit jacket and tossed it on a bench. smoothing down over your tank top and sweats, you motioned for the team to head out. striding forward, you hastily escorted your team to the front of the building. the security team stood diligent as you passed by, holding back the sea of fans.

the front doors opened themselves and you weren’t surprised to see even more fans. the first breath of spring air nipped your shoulders, but you brushed it off. coach ningguang turned to face you at the edge of the sidewalk, waving a hand. she was dressed classily, wearing a white button-down and pants that were a shade of gold. cameras, microphones, and chatter were everywhere. briefly looking back, the team didn’t falter, most likely because of coach’s death stare.

“afternoon, coach ningguang,” you stated as you turned to face her, the rest of the team doing the same. “this seems much different from every other time we’ve had to come out and greet the other team.”

“it’s a sacred tradition for the hockey folks,” she shrugged as she looked at the empty, arched road in front of the arena. “at a national championship game, there’s hardly any time to go and shake hands with the other team after a game. there's interviewers, screaming, and someone is running in with a shiny trophy to give to the captain. it’s essentially our show of sportsmanship.”

coach zhongli joined you and coach ningguang up front, smoothing down his suit coat. he watched with a plain expression as a slick, black bus rolled up front. snapping his fingers, the rest of the team got in line. your eyes widened with surprise as you read the flashy silver logo: abyss university.

“admittedly, i had hoped that we wouldn’t have to face the abyss in our final round,” coach zhongli sighed next to you, crossing his arms. “they’re our toughest opponent. and that wildcard freshman--aether, was it?--is as dangerous as when we last met him.”

the crowd swelled with a unifying cry as the front doors of the bus opened. a tall man with blond hair stepped out first, adjusting the cufflinks of his suit. he had crisp blue eyes, the color of a summer sky. players filed out in front of the bus, standing adjacent to your team’s line.

“ah, mr. zhongli,” the blond man greeted, firmly shaking his hand. the abyss’ coach, you assumed. “pleasure to see you after all season. let’s see if my team will break your three-year national championship streak.”

“you underestimate my team,” coach zhongli answered with a strained smile. “i believe i’ll solidify my spot in the hall of fame after this.”

“hey, you’re y/n, right?” a pleasant voice greeted happily. turning to face forward again, you locked eyes with a short girl with golden hair. she wore a black letterman jacket with white stripes. “nice to meet another hockey manager my age. i’m lumine.”

you were quick to shake her hand, not sensing any negative intentions from her. “nice to meet you too, lumine. how’d you get into the hockey business?”

“my brother,” she replied sheepishly, scratching the back of her neck. “we both got into abyss university, but he committed as a hockey player. i just tagged along.”

“oh, that’s great! who’s your brother?”

a small figure passed by, long, blond hair whipping in the air. you noticed the sound of the crowd got louder as the rest of the team members folded into the line. you watched as a delicate hand removed their headphones from their head. the head of blond hair shook away stray hairs and locked eyes with lumine. proudly placing her fists on her hips, she smiled at you. “my brother is aether. he got called the “prince” by the press. he’s pretty good, i think!”

pretty good? pretty good?! this aether kid was one you had been warned about by coach since the first time you met him. you always heard childe swear under his breath when he showed up in post-game interviews and switched channels. but, as he slid to the side of his sister, he looked as gentle as the spring breeze.

“oh, nice to meet you again. tartaglia, was it?” he shook hands amiably with a soft voice.

“yes. it’s nice to see you again, aether,” the captain smiled with a strained grin.

“aw, it’s great to see them get along. you know, aether’s got into a few scuffles with other captains, but he seems to get along with tartaglia.”

as you let go of her hand, you looked over with slight concern. if either one enabled the other, you’re sure that this show of sportsmanship would end with a fist fight.

“yeah, they sure do!” you cheerfully fake-laughed.

the abyss team abruptly turned and made their way to the front entrance. lumine’s brother whipped around quickly, golden eyes locking with your own very briefly. the rest of the team straightened out to face coach zhongli. he nodded at coach ningguang and led the rest of the team inside.

as usual, most of the questions were for childe. his face was set like stone: apathetic and cold. even among flashing lights, he didn’t even move to acknowledge the paparazzi.

“how do you feel about tonight?”

“what are your thoughts on aether, the abyss’ wildcard?”

“are you and your manager over there dating?”

he froze at the question. immediately sensing his panic, you gave him a slight nudge forward. childe walked in front of you, and coach diverted attention away from any thoughts about your relationship.

striding past the crowds and into the backrooms, you found yourself pursing your lips. what were you and childe?

five hours before the game began, coach approached you. dragged behind him was childe, who remained pouty in his golden and white teyvat university hoodie. “what do you want?” you scowled at him.

“as if i know! coach just dragged me off the ice and back here!” he whisper-screamed. you turned your face from him, not wanting to hear out whatever he wanted to say. you still weren’t ready to forgive him for what he did on saturday, no matter how petty it was.

“really, if there was a day where the two of you needed to get along, it would be today,” coach grumbled, making you revert into a neutral stance. “anyways, i have an errand for you two to run.”

“what do you mean ‘two’? thought i was made a manager for a reason, coach,” you coldly remarked. childe scoffed at your lackluster comments, but there was a small bite of sadness in it.

“actually,” another voice piped up. the freshmen were decked out in freshly washed jerseys, helmets tucked under their arms. xingqiu smiled, blissfully unaware of the situation at hand. “we were hoping you could run and get boba for us.”

chongyun shyly looked up with doe-like eyes and pleading lips. “and as our graduating seniors at their last game, we thought it would be cool if you guys got us some boba for us,” he said, poking his fingers together.

“fuck, he’s really good at persuading,” you sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “fine. fine! i’ll go get you boba drinks. but can someone please explain why childe has to come with me? i’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“and if all the seniors have to come, why isn’t diluc going with us?” childe piped up, to which you gritted your teeth.

“because he’s practicing with kaeya and xiao as the center,” coach zhongli said, making you instantly turn around. the air around the hallway dropped at least ten degrees, sweat trickling down your hands. your back felt prickly, and you aren’t even in trouble! chongyun cowered behind xingqiu, one eye peeking out behind the player’s lounge doorway.

“you’re joking,” childe spat out, exasperated. “you cannot make diluc the center tonight. he’s always been at his best when he’s the left-wing. i know thi--actually, you know this!”

“i’m not afraid to put him as our center if you continue doing what you’re doing right now. analyze yourself. are you really going to be caught up in personal problems that will inevitably end up affecting your performance on the ice tonight?” he countered. he tossed his ponytail over his shoulder, turning around. “you heard the freshies. boba. stat. and if i see that you don’t come back changed, you’ll be sitting on the bench.”

“ruthless,” you lowly whistled after coach slammed the door shut. quickly, you were yanked by the scruff of your neck by childe. “hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“we’re getting some damn boba,” he stated with finality.

the ride to the liyue district was silent, save for the strange finance bros podcast childe was insistent on playing. you rolled your eyes, instead choosing to focus on the weather outside. thick, heavy clouds rolled through the sky. you heard the brief crashes of thunder in steady intervals. you nearly rolled your eyes as you watched flashes of cars pass by; a simple boba run for a drink shop only fifteen minutes away was not a two-person job.

after exiting off the freeway, childe drove a few minutes more. the liyue district of teyvat city was fairly similar to what the actual liyue harbor looked like, according to xiao. many signs were written in liyuean script. the street lamps advertised for the local hockey team were brandished with coach zhongli’s image and name. there were various restaurants you passed by, some showing off your favorite matsutake meat rolls.

as you pulled in front of the boba shop, you watched as he parallel parked with a lithe hand. reaching for your seatbelt, your hand was covered by childe’s warm one. “i’ll do it,” he said plainly, before opening the door and walking away. you hit the lock button after he left. small droplets of water hit the windshield, pattering in a steady rhythm.

unlocking your seatbelt, you curled up into the leather seats of the car, leaning your head against the window. being stuck with your frenemy felt like the plot of a cheesy kids’ film. flashbacks of what happened last saturday repeated in your mind. you knew that it was inefficient to give one another cold shoulder, and coach was correct in that it would affect both of your performances if you didn’t get your acts together.

even still, you held onto every bit of anger you could. you knew that, deep down, you weren’t actually as mad at him as you thought you were. the icy feeling of betrayal ran deep through your veins. in your eyes, it was truly the bare minimum to show up to one of the biggest skates of your life when you had gone to every single one of his.

sitting up a little straighter, you hit your head against the window again. at least, for better or for worse, tonight was the last night that you had to be a manager. after this, it was your final exams, and then you would be done with college forever. you’d go skate for coach jean again. you’d finally tighten all those loose ends. and after you retired, maybe you would become like her and become a mondstadt arena coach yourself. and you’d do everything that twelve-year-old you always wanted to do. but now that you thought about it, it felt hollow. lonely, even. relaxing your legs down, you tried to see a future without childe.

it turned out there was no such thing as a future without childe. at least, not in your imagination.

in your daydreams about what was to come, he was always there. he was always standing and clapping after you practiced with coach jean. he was smiling with you and diluc as the hockey team celebrated your graduation. he was running up to you with his golden-retriever-like smile after you won another olympic medal. he was escorting you to morning flights at ungodly hours. he was embracing you up in his arms after he took home another cup win.

he was kissing you on the cheek as you washed dishes in your shared home.

snapping up, you stared at your palms with widened eyes and a slackened jaw. did you, who swore on childe’s demise a week ago, just think that? did you really just imagine a domestic scenario with one of the players who made your job hell and a half? fuck. fuck! why the hell did you just imagine that?!

the rain was louder and more consistent now, dotting the windshield and sliding down in round shapes. “disgusting,” you said aloud, trying to shake away any other thoughts.

you always saw childe as a menace. before becoming a manager, he was some dude who forgot to pick up after himself when you tried to get in some skate time. as a manager, you discovered he was a goofy, well-meaning but chaotic, captain of your team. even now, as someone who prayed for his downfall last week, you still considered him your friend. someone who had become a close confidant and companion.

you tried to determine what you felt of childe now. he was stupid and immature at times, but when it didn’t come to major events, you almost found it endearing. the ginger was the one who seamlessly welcomed you into the team with open arms and flashcards, and you were grateful for it. the line between coworkers, friends, and lovers was especially blurry.

lovers, you repeated to yourself, over and over again. each syllable fell off your tongue with smoothness. groaning, you kicked your feet out. you felt like a high schooler losing your mind over a silly crush. shaking your head again, you denied it again. your relationship was platonic. nothing more, nothing less.

thunder crackled nearby as if to make fun of your romance dilemma. it was soaking out there now. the wind made the store signs wave wildly. water ran down the windshield like it was purposefully getting soaked. curling up again, you sighed. you still cared for childe while you were mad and hoped he would come back soon. after all, it was inconvenient for the star player to get sick with the cold right before finals.

as if on cue childe knocked on the door window. you could only identify him with his peach-colored hair, as the rain made his figure incomprehensible. unlocking the car, you stared at his soaked hoodie and boba carrier in hand. you took the drinks off of him, placing them in your lap. counting, you nodded and saw everyone’s drinks there.

quickly, he took off his wet hoodie and threw it in the back seat. shaking his head, you winced as his wet hair dotted the car in small drops. he got in, slamming the door shut in the process. you both sat in silence, watching water run down the front of the car. you stared down at the shiny, smiling logo of the boba shop, trying to ignore him.

“i--” childe began before his voice trailed off. “i wanted to say sorry, again.”

there was a beat of silence. it was between getting out of the car and standing in the rain and not making it to the final game or hearing childe out. you chose the latter.

“it’s not fair that i left you hanging last saturday,” he started up again. “you’ve always been my biggest supporter. i still can’t believe that i chose a party over watching you skate. you know, in snezhnaya, there’s a saying that if you promise something and you break it, you get thrown on the ice.”

you dryly laughed, looking over at him briefly. he choked out a little laugh too, but he was on the verge of tears too.

“i think i deserve to get dunked in the ice too. i should’ve been there for the thing that makes you happiest,” he confessed. “i know i can’t change what’s already happened, but i can make sure it never happens again.”

“what are you getting at?”

he took your hands. they were still slightly damp from the rain but intertwined with your own nonetheless. “i’m going to be there for you as much as i can. and i don’t just mean your practices with coach jean. i mean your big tournaments, or if you decide to go to med school after retiring or something, or if you want to coach after you step back. my future is your future. i want to be in this together.”

“childe,” you whispered, but he shook his head. tears fell from his eyes earnestly and his lower lip trembled.

“i don’t--i don’t want to lose the person i care about most because i did something stupid,” he choked out. “i’m sorry. i really am.”

you took him into your arms immediately, gently rubbing his back. a few stray hiccups came from his throat as you combed through his hair with your fingers. you leaned your cheek against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his face.

“i have to admit, what you did was a real dick move,” you conceded. “and you’re right, there is going in the past and fixing it. but, i don’t want to lose you either. you mean too much to me. you always have.” pulling back, you wiped the tears from his eyes with a soft smile. he grinned back, weepy and dull eyes turning bright again.

there was a pause and the air in the car changed. as you continued looking at childe, your eyes flickered to and from his lips. he was close, so close that you could still feel the pulse on his wrist. he somehow looked more handsome now that his hair was soaked from the rain. your stomach felt like it had been flipped upside down.

you both leaned in closer, hands still holding one another. nervously, you searched your eyes to see if you were having the same thoughts that childe was. it felt like an eternity that you stared at each other, going back and forth on the idea of altering your relationship forever.

the cheery chime of an incoming call made the both of you jump up and pull away instantly. you fumbled with pulling your phone out of your pocket, hastily swiping to answer the call. pressing the speaker phone icon, coach’s voice echoed in the car.

“did you get the boba already?” he asked. “it’s been nearly an hour, but this rain is really starting to get heavy.”

“yeah, um, sorry, coach,” you apologized hastily. “we just got the boba. we’ll be heading back to the arena now. we would’ve gotten back sooner if childe didn’t get soaked in the rain.”

“i was running as quickly as i could! you know how xiao gets if there’s even a drop of his precious drink spilled,” childe whined.

“haha, glad to hear that you got the boba,” coach chuckled. “now, head back to the arena, would you? parking is already difficult to find.”

you felt somewhat hollow when childe’s hands left your own.

as you entered the arena backrooms with bright smiles, kaeya deadpanned at you two. “i don’t understand you two. one minute you’re at each other’s throats like ‘oh, childe! i hate your guts!’, and the next you’re all snuggled up like ‘y/n, i love you!’” he lamented, crossing his arms over his jersey. “you two are confusing as hell.”

“yeah, but we got your boba,” you countered, handing him over his winter melon boba tea. happily, he took it without question.

the rest of the afternoon was spent mostly away from childe. you did a sound and light check with the arena crew first. next, you were responsible for filling up water bottles in the player’s lounge. finally, you were tasked with escorting the VIPs to their seats.

opening the backdoor rooms, you were pleased to see that two of your guests were already there. “it’s nice to see you again, ganyu!” you greeted her. she wore a simple sweatshirt that was gold and white; the colors of the university. turning to the other figure, you were surprised to not recognize them at first. trying to think of who else could have snow-white hair and a cold gaze, you perked up. “would you happen to be coach shenhe? one of the junior league skating coaches?”

“that i am,” she replied. crossing her arms, you noted the little logo on her black vest. holding up her vip pass, she curtly nodded behind you. “chongyun is my nephew. since his family couldn’t make it in time, i’m going on their behalf.”

“and as always, i’m here to support my dad and xiao!” ganyu cheerfully chirped.

you walked through the backrooms, watching as their respective players chatted it up in the personal gym. inside the actual arena, you escorted them to a set of seats near the penalty box.

you repeated the process with the rest of the guests. a girl with long, brown ponytails flashed you her pass and said she was here for chongyun and xingqiu. another girl followed shortly after in her pretzel-like hair, echoing the other girl’s intent. the great mr. ragnvindr greeted you amiably, shaking your hand firmly and openly embracing coach zhongli. they reminisced on their experience as college champions on a night like tonight. and finally, barbara was still in her scrubs when she met up with you, asking how the team had been doing.

as you opened the doors for the final time, you were tackled to the floor. “teucer!” you exclaimed, hugging him back with equal fervor.

childe’s father wrangled him off with a heavy tug, much to the little boy’s discontent. “teucer,” he scolded, ruffling his hair and tucking him under his arm like a football.

getting off of the floor, you greeted childe’s parents. “hi again, mr. and mrs. childe’s parents,” you rushed out. looking at the children, you beamed even more. “and hello to you too, anton, tonia, and teucer.”

“sorry about our delay. it’s difficult to navigate an airport with three children under the age of ten,” childe’s mother sheepishly apologized.

you shook your head with a smile. “it’s not a problem at all. i just seated the rest of the team’s loved ones. you’re just on time.”

they all wore matching jerseys with the tartaglia label and bright 11 number. you admired their dedication to their superstar son and his hockey career. they watched him bloom into one of the fiercest hockey players in the country. and tonight, they would have the chance to see him win yet again.

after you had gotten childe’s family to their seats, you watched as the arena flooded to life. people flocked down the stairs, wearing either black and white or white and gold. the pa system flickered on, showing the pearly-toothed and slicked-haired overhead announcers. and outside, the sky was clearing up from the rain.

as you whistled for the zamboni to do another sweep on the ice, you paused and stared at the umpteen banners hanging on the ceiling. gold banners depicted national champions and the year they won.

tonight was the night where you’d add another flag to the collection.

as the heavy pop music blasted through the overhead system outside, there was dead silence outside of the locker room. the team was lined up by the trophy case. champions from decades ago stared at the new generation of the teyvat stars in photos. stacks of medals and trophies eagerly awaited their newest arrival.

the team was dressed in their cleanest jerseys, helmets that were so polished they shined like new, and skates that were razor sharp. coach zhongli was dressed for the part as well, wearing a black suit with a golden tie and white dress shirt. his hair was pulled up into a slick ponytail. coach ningguang wore a white and gold suit and skirt, with three-inch high skates. looking in the reflection of the mirror, you were dressed the part as well. you traded your usual sweatpants and sweatshirt for a nice blouse and white pants.

“you all are fully capable of winning tonight. it’s not you against the abyss. it’s not you against your arch-rival on the other team. it’s you against yourself,” coach zhongli began, rocking on his heels and putting his hands behind his back. “the only thing standing in the way between you and that national championship is yourself. i know that you are the finest, well-oiled machine team in all of the world.”

he continued, voice solemn. “no matter what happens tonight, just know that i’m forever proud of you,” coach zhongli reaffirmed. looking over to the captain himself, he smiled. “now, would you like to give your speech, childe?”

the bright-eyed boy stepped out of line, bouncing in his skates. his hockey stick hit the floor twice as you looked over. you gave him a quick nod, and he began.

“as a senior who’s been playing for the stars for four years, it’s surreal to end up at the national championship again,” he started. “never in my wildest dreams did i think i would also find my hockey team to be my family. as coach said, no matter what happens, i’m extremely proud of you all. i couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

“tonight is the night to put it all out on the line,” he continued. “i know we all want this more than anything. so, let’s go out there and get it, yeah?”

the sound of two dozen men incoherently yelling filled the air. smiling, you opened the door for the team as they waddled out. looking at coach zhongli, he only looked down at you with a neutral expression. “this is it. the last game,” he said solemnly.

in the darkened arena, spotlights swept over the crowds of people. there were tens of thousands of fans in the seats, watching the pa system with hushed whispers. coach ningguang strode forward to the entrance of the rink before setting foot on the ice. one of the tech crew members handed her a microphone.

“ladies and gentlemen, the master of ceremonies for tonight’s game is the general manager of the teyvat university rink, mrs. ningguang!” the announcer cried, to the abrupt applause of the crowd.

her elegant figure skated forward, waving a hand to the audience. a brief cry of “that’s my wife!” from coach beidou broke the silence, making her chuckle softly.

“good evening, and welcome one and all to the teyvat university arena,” she stated. “it is an honor to be your host for this year’s championship. now, let me introduce you to our competing teams tonight.”

a hush settled over the audience as the spotlight appeared over that other manager’s brother--aether, was it?--and gave him a dewy glow against his pure black jersey. raising a hand high, he skated forward from the other end of the ice rink, followed by the rest of the team. “from the other side of the continent, please welcome our visiting team: the abyss mages!”

cheers erupted from one side of the arena, while the other politely clapped. they swarmed like a hive, taking over the left side of the arena. aether stood with his helmet tucked under his arm, looking up at coach ningguang. she amiably greeted him.

turning to the right, she grinned up at him. “and of course, your host team tonight is the teyvat stars! give it up for our reigning champions!”

a deafening cry burst from your side of the arena. in the dark, a light swept onto childe’s face. briefly, he winked at you before racing out. you crossed your arms with a smile, chuckling into the palm of your hand.

the hockey game of all hockey games shortly began after a coin flip. the abyss won the toss, and the puck was in their possession. by the bench, you stood by coach zhongli. you couldn’t help but fiddle with your fingers, nervous on behalf of the group.

you watched as the referee threw the puck up in the air. in the split second, it was in the air, you watched as childe’s eyes narrowed sharply under the helmet. aether was quicker, stealing the puck away from the stars’ in an instant.

the little black disc was tossed around on the ice. both sides whizzed by, rustling your dress shirt and fumbling at coach zhongli’s hair. xingqiu chucked away some of the defensemen, only to check shoved back down. chongyun helped him up, affectionately knocking their helmets together in support.

looping around the corners of the rink, the lithe abyss captain took back the puck again. guarding the puck with his stick, he hastily made his way to the other side of the rink. in the blink of an eye, the goal board lamp lit up in favor of the abyss. 

cooler than ever, coach clapped his hands. “bring it back, boys!”

the first third of the game continued with a downward trend. at first, the stars were evenly matched with the mages. diluc and kaeya assisted one another to tie up the score, much to their father’s delight. but by the time the third ended, the abyss racked up another point.

the whistle blew for intermission, and both teams headed out to their end of the ice. walking behind coach zhongli, you tossed each water bottle to their respective player. he lead them into the locker rooms, quick to shut the door on paparazzi.

“down one,” coach zhongli announced as everyone sat on the locker room benches. “but for us, that’s normal. even the best team in the country has its faults.”

you spoke up, looking into the eyes of each member of the team. “but that’s no reason to start giving up yet. we’ve gone to games where we’ll be up by five points. one point is nothing to us. all it takes is a little re-calibration.”

coach zhongli pushed one of the whiteboards from the player’s lounge into the locker room. biting the marker, he turned the board around and swiftly began drawing. “to compensate for the abyss’ speed, we have to change our rhythm to compete with theirs,” he started, outlining a mini rink. “to do that, we’ll use a couple of strategies. xingqiu and chongyun, when you notice that the other team is going for a point, your job is to completely shut them down by surrounding the person in possession of the puck. kaeya and diluc, keep yourselves open so that when it comes time for a turnover, you can break away to the other side of the rink quickly.”

looking at his clipboard, he noted some improvements that each player could make. after glancing at his watch, he clapped his hands. “let’s get out there again, yeah? tie it up by the end of the next third.”

the team walked out in clumps, discussing the previous third. as the rest of the team got escorted out, childe was last to leave the locker room. noticing his sullen look, you stood in front of him. “everything okay, captain?”

“yeah, no, everything’s fine,” he said, shaking his head. as he opened the door and put on his helmet, he stared at you. his mouth briefly opened to say something, but it abruptly shut. he strode off with the rest of the team as if nothing had happened.

as you watched from the bench, you were nervous on his behalf. childe was a loudmouth, but it was usually when he was winning. now that the team was down a point, you could see his persona falter. he shook out his arms, before crouching and getting in position again.

the second third was intense yet again. more often than not, both teams were at a stalemate. the abyss scored yet another point, but the stars’ tied it up. the first point was scored by childe, who, in signature childe-like fashion, howled on his knees in celebration. the second was through an assist from xingqiu to kaeya, who managed to get the puck so airborne it whizzed past the goalie’s shoulders. xiao was cutting it close as well; sometimes, the puck would be nearly in the goal zone when he stopped it with his mittens.

by the end of the third, nothing had changed. the score was 3-3, leaving everyone on the edge of their seats. you could see it on everyone’s faces that fatigue was beginning to settle in. you were especially worried about childe, as his eyes looked even less lively.

pulling him to the side as coach looked over his notes, you asked him again. “are you sure you’re okay?” you asked, crouching down beside his spot in the locker room.

“it’s just--” he started before pausing. “you should see teucer and anton and tonia out there. they might be all smiles, but they’re really afraid of their big brother losing when he’s won every other time. we’ve never cut it this close either. the past three years, we were able to shut out the opposing team by the time the third third started. it’s--”

“overwhelming?” you finished before bumping his shoulder. ‘while i’ve never competed in a national hockey league, i do understand what it’s like to have your biggest supporters watching you and worry about failing.

“but childe, those people--your fans, your friends, your family--they all love you so much. they’re not going to suddenly change their perception of you because you lose a hockey game. what they care about is you having the time of your life at your last collegiate game. and you and i both know that no game is ever the same, no matter how prepared you think you are for it.”

“y/n…” he said softly.

“chin up, childe,” you encouraged. “you’ve still got twenty minutes to go. no point in giving up just yet.”

the final third of the game was a pure stalemate. even when the abyss team was on the penalty kill, where they had one player down because of a penalty, the stars’ couldn’t manage to get past their iron wall of a goalie. and even when one more point was added to the board, it was matched.

besides you, coach zhongli began to get anxious. his assistant coaches were moving around in the same way a worker bee treats its hive’s queen. the mic attached to his ear was constantly being talked to, detailing ideas for the next play. eventually, all talk ceased in the last minute of the third. shaking his head, his hands folded in front of his torso.

if the abyss mages managed to get another puck into the net, they would practically be guaranteed the championship. but if your boys pulled through, they would have that shiny, 60-pound trophy cup in their hands in less than a minute.

there were ten seconds on the clock. the abyss owned the puck, but xingqiu and chongyun weren’t having it. shoving the other defensemen away, it was the perfect opportunity to turn over the puck. the wings of the other team shut away kaeya, and you watched as diluc and childe raced to the other end of the rink where aether was heading.

you watched in horror as he swept the puck, soaring it up into the air with one firm stroke. the buzzer already sounded, but since the puck was airborne, if it got in, it would be an automatic win. the abyss student section began their cheers only to stop. your jaw dropped and for the first time in your time at teyvat university, coach zhongli swore incredibly loudly. taking off his helmet, xiao had a ghost of a smile on his face.

“holy shit. holy shit!” you swore, jumping to your feet.

in his mittened hand was the puck, caught in one fell swoop.

looking over at coach, he had a fatherly expression on his face, clearly proud of his son. the assistant coaches were making a ruckus around the benches, dropping clipboards and making papers fly.

as the PA announcers described what would happen in overtime, the team slammed xiao down onto the ice in a crushing embrace. the puck got haphazardly tossed to the referee. aether glared, giving one glance to the opposing team before reconvening back with his own. the crowd screamed in both agony and relief, to the sound of pop songs and ice skates grating.

heading over to coach zhongli, the team was still coming off of their new euphoria. “well done, xiao. you never cease to amaze me,” he complimented, ruffling his hair.

he huffed out, “it was nothing.”

turning to face the team, his face hardened. “i, too, admire all of your hard work. but, we can’t celebrate yet. as you all know, when a playoff game ends in a tie, it goes into overtime as a 3-on-3. childe, diluc, and xiao? you’re on the ice. we need as much manpower as we can get. we also need a goalkeeper. go on out there. this five-minute overtime is all we have.”

“happy to watch from the side!” kaeya chirped, leaning against the dashboard. xingqiu and chongyun nodded, taking off their helmets and standing by the blue-haired forward.

the team stood by you as the teams rejoined at the center. aether was still in the front, as always, with only one forward at his side. a referee held a puck high in the air, before slamming it down on the ice.

both sides of the arena quieted, only watching with anxious eyes. aether stormed the puck, looping around the edge of the rink. diluc cornered him but was juked out with a swift push of the puck away from him. childe had it for a moment before getting body slammed into the dashboard.

coach beidou was leading a cheer in the student section. rallying support was barbara in a sea of stars’ fans. you spared a glance at teucer, who was watching with a giant grin. he clapped his hands together, jubilantly cheering his brother on. as childe and the other forward neared his edge of the rink, they locked eyes for a moment. childe winked at him, much to his younger brother’s delight. moving forward, the abyss right-wing was shouldered into the ground by diluc. “run it!” he hollered.

aether was parallel with the ground with how he glided forward. looking up, xiao loudly cried and pointed to the opposing net, “go!”

everything was just right. with one player on the ground and the other a few feet behind him, nothing was standing in the way of childe and the goal. with a few strong glides, he was already at the center of the rink. he spun around, lightly tossing the puck out of his radius. the blond swooped in for the turnover, but to everyone’s surprise, childe regained possession. the team bounced, shaking the dashboard in anticipation. coach zhongli was silent, fist clenched and clipboard on the ground. after a successful fake-out, childe made the puck fly.

as the buzzer chimed, everyone watched as the puck bounced off the back of the net.

“YES!” you screamed alongside the rest of the team. hopping the dashboard with coach and the team, you ran on the ice. you collided with xiao, diluc, and childe, happily sobbing into their jerseys. the crowd was wild but your eyes met teucer’s. he burst with excitement, sitting on his father’s shoulders with both of his arms up.

coach embraced each one of the players individually, tightly hugging them. the ever stony coach shed tears as the sterling silver cup was handed over to him. he rose it in the air, releasing a deafening roar. the team cheered again, blinded by the white and gold lights. outside, the sunset was a stunning mix of yellow, blush pink, and bright orange--the perfect setting for one of the best days of your life.

the cup was handed over to him, and he embraced it like his firstborn child. as the abyss team skated off, childe offered a curt wave and smile. only aether caught a glimpse of it, and he reciprocated with a friendly thumbs-up.

naturally, you and childe locked eyes with one another and made your way to one another. the crowd parted for you easily, making the two of you exposed up front. the cold of the arena was swept away as he took you by the waist with his open arm. laughing, you leaned your head onto his chest. “you did it,” you whispered, so quiet that even in a room full of cacophony, he could only hear. “everything you did tonight? that was all you, ajax.”

leaning closer, he laughed so closely that your foreheads touched. you placed a hand on his cheek, wiping away the joyful tears. while everyone else was moving to take a group picture, you and your captain stayed still.

pulling you tight, fingers pressed into your waist, he shook his head with a wide smile. “no, y/n,” he murmured, blue eyes staring into your own as the confetti finally rained down from the ceiling. “it was my manager who helped me through it all.”

you smacked his chest for his cheesiness, but neither of you pulled away. as the cameraman squinted to take a photo of the team, you both angled your heads against one another. he dipped you by your waist, the trophy still in his other hand. as if by instinct, your heart palpitated as he leaned closer, and closer, and closer. you didn’t care that there were millions of eyes watching. you knew that he didn’t care that his social media would be blown up tomorrow morning and coach would have to deal with the aftermath.

“it was you,” he whispered against your lips, to which you stared up with some surprise and euphoria and relief. “it was always you.”

the two of you messily slammed your lips against each other as the camera clicked, breathlessly getting lost in a long-awaited kiss.

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