#Like just strings of words that impress themselves on me

[pinknipszz]

adagio for strings 1/4

↷ ˊ- true form!ryomen sukuna/f!reader | next >

"you know where to find me, and i know where to look."

(a/n: gift for my baby @mania-sama)

sellers of the market shout at you for standing idly on the edge of the street, their sun-kissed faces pulled taut from age and ire. they have been keeping a keen eye on you, muttering to themselves over what trouble the illegitimate daughter of a whore and a local businessman would stir. but you, so bony and brittle, find their fears irrational. how could you possibly be capable of anything else, other than swatting away the mosquitoes that threaten to drink all that you had left?

you thought that the day was too pleasant to waste away, so you had crawled out of the woven walls that keep you cool from the summer haze. it is more like a pile of scraps than a house, but it feels like home. it doesn’t look down on you with hate and pity and everything in between. when nights grow too cold, you pull the walls closer and hug your body. when the sun smiles at you relentlessly, as if it was laughing at your predicament, you push back further into the shade.

home is the only thing you could control, and for that, it is your prized possession. your stomach twists into tight knots at the idea of leaving, but you want to stretch your legs. the calluses on your feet are softening. if you don’t get up and move now, your feet won’t be ready for a sprint down the gravel streets if a mob finally decides to chase you out. so you visit the market, silently greeting their looks of apprehension like an old friend. 

you grip the hatchet that you stole, remembering how the old farmer had chased after you, throwing rocks and curses laced with venom, when he realized that the village vagrant had snatched his favorite tool. that was many years ago. you don’t know how he’s doing now. maybe he found a better one, something sharper to hack bamboo stalks with, and has long forgotten about you. or maybe he hammered a headsman’s block near his front porch, where he sits sharpening his sword, waiting for you to come back. 

mindlessly tracing the grooves in the weathered wood, you limp from stall to stall. the closest seller eyes you warily. her gaze flits between your haggard appearance and the dull weapon at your side, her lips tight and nose turned upwards, most likely upset over your proximity to her precious baskets of fresh pomelos and persimmons. it leaves a bad impression on her more than you. she is an esteemed seller with the finest fruits, and you are people repellent. bad for business.

she watches you with ferocious intensity, half-expecting you to reach for a fruit to quell the gnawing hunger in your gut. she knows how you feel. she could see it in your eyes, in the bones that peek under the dirty robes that you stole from a dead man you had found on the side of the road. she knows about your hunger, but she doesn’t offer a single fruit, even when she has baskets upon baskets to spare, like you are nothing more than a thief or a pauper. if selfishness was a monster, you wondered if it would look like her.

but miraculously, she doesn’t say anything. the feeling never gets old. you don’t know if it is the dull hatchet or the rest of your unsightly figure that frightens her just enough, but it leaves you with sick gratitude for whatever gods are up there. if you could only have a handful of good things in this lifetime, let this moment be one of them. you flee deeper into the market before the seller could reach for something to hit you with.

it is busier than usual today, you realize, limping past a group of giggling kids drawing figures in the dirt. the shouts are louder here. those wise enough to not waste their attention on you continue their hollering, eager to reel in unsuspecting customers with a net spun from deceptive words. you don’t know a lick of business. what it meant or how it worked. based on what you’ve seen, however, is that the loudest caught the most fish. you don’t think twice about the quiet sellers you had seen during your last visit that are no longer here. 

sometimes you think it is just the laws of nature. the strongest survive and forget the weak, who are branded for death the second they leave the womb. it’s a promising thought. the sellers who had been too meek to adapt with their competition had been overturned by the changing tides of an uncertain economy. they were weak, unfit to survive. you don’t know if your assumption is correct, but you find that things in nature can easily be applied in real life. you scratch the itch under your jaw.

further along the path, you see a stranger standing by a stall that sold fowl meat. the stark white of their hair, reminiscent of winter nights, ceases your limping. their robes are clean, and they wear socks with sandals. they aren’t local. you have never seen something so close to snow standing in the heat of summer. briefly, you wonder if thirst and hunger finally caught up with you, until the stranger turns. their muddy eyes rake over your form, picking apart your robes and hatchet and matted hair. they hold a small bag of pomelos.

quite a sight for sore eyes, you think bitterly. while they don’t entirely look like a pompous bastard, anyone with clean clothes and warm food in their belly is sure to look down on you in one way or another. so you continue to watch the interaction in silence, even when the stranger looks away in favor of the butcher, handing him a heavy satchel of gems you never knew existed. then they leave, with a bag of raw meat, for the other side of the market, the opposite of where you are standing. 

you pull yourself to where they stood, dropping your hatchet to hold out your hands. you wait expectantly for your fill. “the hell d’you think yer’ looking at,” the butcher spits, eyes narrowing at you. fury rolls off of him in waves at your audacity. “got a lot of nerve to show up here.” you don’t know why he’s so upset. well, everyone is upset with you, but you don’t know what unsettles him today. perhaps the white-haired stranger was someone important, and you shouldn’t be standing in the footprints they left in the dirt.

“trimmings,” you rasp, your voice curling around each syllable harshly. it is the first word you utter in weeks. it is also the only word you said during your last visit, and the one before that. seriously, you would think that the butcher had it down to routine by now. he scoffs but reaches for the bloodied basket anyway, throwing it in your chest. your weak arms catch it quickly before you peer inside. it is mostly fat, but food is food. you can’t wait to savor it back home. 

“t’s the last time yer’ getting anything from me,” the butcher breathes and leans in to jab a roughened finger into your shoulder. “better get out of here before i hang you on a jointed hook.” the cruel threat falls on deaf ears. you know the butcher wouldn’t do that. not because he is kind, no. far from it. your dead body simply has nothing to offer. there’s no way to make money off of you, unless someone decides to throw your bones to a dog. nonetheless, you retrieve your hatchet and scurry off without saying a thank-you or a goodbye. 

there’s no point in wasting a breath on a man who looks at you with equal hatred. with one arm, you hold the bucket close to your chest protectively, while your other hand holds the hatchet. you follow the path from whence you came. the dirty robes cling to your skin uncomfortably, and your raw feet ache, but you can’t afford to let your guard down, not when you finally have proper food again. the sun dips into the horizon, and sellers are dismantling their stalls. soon, they will reach home, and so will you.

the hatchet continues to work its miracles, warding off evil like a talisman. however, you know deep down that you shouldn’t overdo it. it won't be long until someone calls you out on your bluff. when they realize that you can’t even lift it past your waist, they’ll come rushing towards you with bags over their heads and poison on their pitchforks. you let your mind wander. perhaps you could pay another visit to the butcher and weasel through a hole in his house, tiptoeing around for his favorite cleaver. you quite like the thought.

you hardly hear passing gossip over the pulse in your ears. however, one frantic conversation bleeds through your excitement. you pay no mind to it at first, thinking you are the subject that leaves them so tense, which is nothing out of the ordinary, but the words “white” and “monk” and “curse” stop you in your tracks. you nearly forgot about the uncanny stranger who stood out like a sore thumb, much like you for reasons entirely different.

the hairs behind your neck stand pin-straight, and you tilt your head towards them. it is two ladies who frequent the market often, you realize. their houmongi kimonos juxtapose with the plain wear of village folk. their wealth couldn’t be any more obvious. kamo. the name tastes like metal in your mouth. great. more pompous bastards. you want to resume the walk home, but something in you feels inclined to listen, to eavesdrop on what leaves their pretty little heads spinning.

so you listen and you eavesdrop, keeping yourself a safe distance away to ensure they don’t see you. 

“this is the third time this week,” one who wears a sparkling pin says first. she leans closer to her friend’s side. “you know about the rumors. nothing good comes out of seeing him.” him. for a moment, you think that she’s referring to the white-haired stranger, until you hear what she says next. “the monk-child is just a bad omen. it’s the cursed object we have to worry about.” it comes out of her mouth like a slur. you think it’s a euphemism for something else.

but you don’t have time to dwell. you must return home, so you do.

you like to think that things would have turned out differently if you had stayed at the market a little longer. maybe then, you would have heard them talk more about the supposed monster among men, and how the villagers suspect you having something to do with it. how your sudden appearance somehow aligned with the monk-child, another bad omen second only to you. you would have heard them chortle over the troops they had sent to your home while you had been away. 

maybe then, you would have lifted your hatchet over your waist for the first time in your life, and hack down on their shoulders, through the thick material of their beautiful kimonos, and into unmarred flesh. but no amount of dreaming could save you from the anguish, as the grip around your bucket and hatchet slacken. they fall to the ground, and the fatty meat spills all over. your finger twitches, as well as the edge of your lips, the corner of your eyes, and the base of your spine. the sun is long gone, replaced by moonlight. 

you find it sick how you wouldn't have known who destroyed your humble home if it weren't for the insignia left behind. you recognize the colors. kamo. kamo. kamo. the torn fabric lies above the ashes and taunts you.

your legs give up under you, and you fall to your knees. the sound that leaves you is nothing short of primal. animalistic. closer to grief more than anything, when you grab handfuls of dirt and ash and squeeze hard. you think about the village. about the stranger you are wrongly accused of associating with. about the butcher and the kamo women. the butcher. you wouldn’t be surprised if he had been the one to ask for military intervention, like the goddamn coward he is. you claw at the ground until your nails bleed.

you are too angry to weep. you don’t care about the blood collecting at your knees, seeping into the robes that you had stolen, or around the precious hatchet. is this penance? your soiled hands find purchase in your hair, and they tug at the roots. how could the gods be so cruel? it still smells like smoke. the residual warmth taunts you, as if reminding you what a real fire is like. nothing that a couple of makeshift walls of a home could emulate. you shakily reach for the wooden handle.

you push yourself up, ignoring the protests of your aching body, and bite the inside of your cheek. you are staring hard at the remains when you feel a heavy weight bump into your foot. with the last bits of your patience, you look down. a pomelo. it sways side-to-side before coming to a complete stop, as if someone rolled it towards you. someone did. when you look back up, you find the same muddy eyes that studied you at the market. 

they didn’t say a word then, and they don’t now. they simply watch, hidden between trees in the distance. you reach down for the ripe pomelo and tear it open. when you bite, you realize you don’t like pomelos, but you finish anyways. you're still starving. you throw the tart flesh into the ashes with no intention of returning, before tightening your grip on the hatchet and turning towards the village. you miss the ghost of a smile on the stranger’s face.

“are you pleased with her actions?” they ask the darkness beside them. their words are met with silence.

(masterlist) | listen to adagio for strings!

#jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen x you #heian period #true form sukuna #uraume #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk imagines #ryomen x reader

[as-is-above-so-below]

Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader

Part 1: It Starts In A Bar

summary: your friends take you out to a local pub when you would much rather be grading assignments. a/n: hello! big surprise, me writing for john price! I don't know how long this will be, but I definitely have a general idea of where I want this to go. I hope y'all like it!

thank you @lethalchiralium for dragging me into the clubhouse kicking and screaming LMAO << Previous | Next >>

Why did they pick this place again?

Ah, right. “It’s a hometown pub, a staple to the community,” they said. That was clear from the couple dozen men and women, ranging from middle-aged to elderly, scattered about, and a few younger folks peppered into the crowd. It wasn’t run down by any means, just…a dive. You mindlessly picked at the peanuts and pretzels in little bowls, elbows perched on the edge of the sticky table, for hours. You chatted and occasionally laughed at the stories they shared about their homeroom students and the shenanigans the other grades got up to. You’d been teaching year thirteen for a while, students taking their A-levels in history. 

It was supposed to be a quiet evening, spent with a stack of papers to grade, surrounded by glowing candles scattered around your apartment accompanied by soft white string lights stretched across the ceiling. Instead, your friends somehow managed to drag you out of your cozy home to a dark dive in town. You loved them dearly (really, you did), but you had a routine. Your ideal Friday night wasn’t in a damp bar.

Your kids could be challenging at times in their late teens. They occasionally cause trouble, known for getting into fights, interrupting class, or bringing drama into the classroom. Nevertheless, you’d never had a set of students that was more than you could handle. They turned their work in on time and were always nosy about your personal life, which – much to their chagrin – was uneventful. Your love life was stale, to put it nicely. And your friends tried everything in their power to set you up on dates, every single one striking out miserably. It didn’t feel natural to meet some guy at a restaurant for a blind date.

One of them talked about themselves the entire time, barely letting you get a word in. The next ordered about three more drinks than you and a meal that cost twice as much as yours but demanded you split the cost of the date. You were all for splitting the bill but on the first date? Not a good impression.

The rest were uninteresting and immemorable.

“Seriously? You haven’t been on a date since – Oh, what was his name again?”

“Zachary,” you pointed out, taking a long sip of your drink. “You should know; you set up the date.”

“I know, I know. I didn’t realize he was such a bore one-on-one.”

“Thanks for that, by the way. Loved talking to myself for two hours.”

You all laughed at the memory, starting to finish drinks and gather belongings. “Let’s get to the next spot to find you a man!”

Bar hopping was the absolute last thing you wanted to do, but you knew better than to resist. It would all be over much faster if you just went along. Your companions were much quicker on their exit, considering the nearly-full drink that you felt like you just bought, and they were already moving on to the next dig. You threw the rest of your drink back, flinching as the big gulp of alcohol burned down your throat, and hurried to catch up with them. You took one of their outstretched hands, giggling as they just about pulled you into the circle exiting the pub–

“Excuse me, miss!” a deep voice called out. You’re not sure why, but you turned, feeling like the man was calling out to you. Your assumption turned out to be correct, and a tall, dark-haired man with a beard and a soft smile approached you. “Sorry, you left this.”

He held your cardigan to you. You must have abandoned it in your haste.

“Oh! Thank you so much. That’s kind of you,” you said, taking the garment back and draping it over your forearm. “I’d forget my head if it weren’t attached,” you added, tapping your temple with a soft chuckle.

“Quite alright.” Behind you, an elbow nudged your spine; you barely caught yourself from making a face and snapping at whichever acquaintance decided to egg you on. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it seems you’re heading out.”

He certainly was handsome. His beard was well-groomed, just like his hair. It looked like he went to a barber fairly recently. He even dressed well, in a cream, ribbed polo tucked loosely into his jeans. Dark chest hair peeked out where the top two buttons were undone. It was an enticing offer…

“Um, yeah, but….” You looked over your shoulder and met expectant glances. Some looked like they were about to bust apart at the seams with glee, which made you roll your eyes. Clearly, you wouldn’t be missed. “I could hang for a little while longer.”

The man's smile grew, and his stance shifted to open a path toward the bar. “Are you sure? Y’don’t have to,” he amended, his hands in his pockets. His energy was warm and soft but still masculine. He held a confidence that not many people carried, at least not the men you’d been on dates with recently. And the Liverpool accent? Maybe things were starting to look up.

“No, no, I honestly need another drink.” You flashed your teeth back to him, folding your arms over your chest with your sweater in hand.

“In that case, after you.”

Before taking his arm, you realized you’d yet to even ask for his name. “Thank you…?”

“John.” John’s right hand hovered before you and he flashed his bright teeth. His hands were clean, nails neatly trimmed. Although, one nail bed was bruised.

Man, he’s pretty for a grown man.

“Y/N,” you replied with an easy grin. He kept a steady hold on your gaze, carefully examining the bright twinkle they held. You didn’t know it, but John had just returned from a long mission. One that had left him yearning for a shower, a haircut, and somebody to come home to. He’d never had anything to look forward to and stay alive for; no affection or comfort after a rough assignment, no one to care for and spoil.

And he wanted that.

“A surname to that, John?” you asked, sliding your hand through the loop he created with his elbow. Holy shit, he was strong. Your hand rested on the soft but well-built muscle of his bicep. You figured he must have a labor-intensive job, or he goes to the gym frequently. John didn’t seem like the type to spend hours at the gym in his spare time, so you went with the first option. You’d keep that in mind when making small talk later.

“John Price.”

“Very regal name.”

John scoffed but laughed nonetheless. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

John couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were unbelievably bubbly, especially for interacting with a stranger who only gave back your forgotten cardigan. He’d been watching you from his spot at the bar, laughing with your friends but zoning out every once in a while. He was no stranger to giving himself a mental break, particularly in a hectic environment like a packed bar on a cool, Friday evening.

“I’ll call you when I need a ride!”

You and John watched the giggly group exit the pub, happily waving as they piled into a cab. You waved back with your free hand, your other palm still pressed against his warm skin. They didn’t embarrass you too badly, thank god. You met John’s eyes, a dark color twinkling with mischief.

“Your friends seem chipper.”

“I’m so sorry. They’re just happy to see me talking to a man.” 

“Oh? Is that right?” he chuckled, nodding to your previously held table. John broke away briefly to retrieve his unfinished drink and denim jacket from the bar.

You followed his lead back to the booth, attempting to keep control of the flush you felt beginning to heat your cheeks. “They’ve set me up on many an unfortunate date. Not saying I don’t get along fine on my own, but–”

“It’s rough out there?” he finished, sliding into the cushioned seat across from you. When you nodded in return, John smirked. “Believe me. I get it. My career makes it difficult to find time for much of anything.”

“Yeah, well, I have sixteen kids.”

The man sputtered, choking on what looked to be an old-fashioned. Possibly a bad joke, but it was such a great opportunity; you were feeling frisky, and you couldn’t help the giggles that erupted following his reaction. “I teach history for year thirteen.”

“Oh, thank Christ.” John wiped the cocktail off his lip with the back of his hand, shaking his head at your laughter. “You had me going there. Five minutes into our date, and I’ve made a mess of myself.”

You quirked a brow. “So this is a date?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, I would consider it light conversation. Getting to know each other.”

“That’s a date.”

“Mmm, I’d say it’s more casual than that.”

“I’m not looking for casual, love.”

You paused, examining his calm demeanor. He didn’t seem cocky, but honest, a welcome change to the pattern you’d observed over the last few months. None of your dates had been so bold as to know what they want and make their intentions clear. Especially not so quickly. It was refreshing.

“Me neither.”

“Good.”

You both sat in peace, pausing your conversation for the waitress. You ordered another drink, as promised, and folded your hands on the tabletop, fingers laced. “So, what do you do, John?” you asked, tapping your thumbs together.

“I’m in the military.”

You paused, expectantly waiting for him to continue, only to be met with silence.

“Care to elaborate?”

He tutted once with his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth. “I would love to, but I can’t.”

Interesting. Normally, resistance like that would be a red flag. On the other hand, his job could be “classified” or whatever is said in the movies. No alarms went off in your mind; your intuition told you that John was trustworthy, so you let it go. The pretty brunette dropped your new drink off and another for John.

“I can tell you that I’m a Captain.”

“So you have pretend kids too?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he hummed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. A slight tinge of the citrus notes from the expressed orange peel wafted across the table. John’s laugh was distinctive, chesty and rumbly, inviting. “Of course. Mine are bigger, though, I’m sure.”

“Oh? They’re not scrawny little soldiers?”

“No. One’s almost two meters tall.”

“Jesus. How many?”

“Five. Gaz, Ghost, Soap, Alex, and Farah.”

“Well, I for one can’t wait to meet them.”

“Likewise.”

You fussed with your hair for about the thousandth time in your bathroom mirror and huffed when it wouldn’t settle right. John was to meet you in about fifteen minutes. Knowing him, that meant he would be buzzing up to your apartment any second. You’d been on a few dates and knew his date habits pretty well. If you’re not fifteen minutes early, you’re late. You had been out to dinner, grabbed coffee once or twice; you even grabbed an ice cream. So, it was a surprise when John suggested a trip to the museum. It didn’t seem like his thing, but you weren’t about to turn down a trip to the history exhibit.

As you expected, a familiar BZZT BZZT reverberated through your flat, signaling his arrival. The first time he picked you up, you let him into the building without using the intercom. You tried explaining that the speaker broke and your landlord had yet to fix it (shocker), but John wouldn’t hear it. You could have been letting in a random creep pressing buttons until some tenant unlocked the door. He insisted on creating a little system, so you would know it was him downstairs and not a kidnapper. From then on, he always rang the bell twice.

You gave up on your hair, switched the light off, and paged him in. Your unit was on the first floor (which wasn’t ideal), so it only took John a few seconds to reach your door. When you heard a knock at your door, you peered through the peephole (as promised) before unlocking the deadbolt, revealing a very well-dressed captain. John’s hair was a bit shaggy, but it suited him well. Your heart fluttered helplessly at the bright smile that appeared when he laid eyes on you, his gaze obviously taking in the sight before him.

It was a weeknight, and you didn’t have time to change between school and your usual errands. You threw a plaid skirt, thigh-high socks, and loose sweater together; just a sliver of skin showed between the top of your socks and hem of your skirt. You felt underdressed compared to John, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. 

“Hi,” he said, leaning to kiss your cheek. “You look lovely.”

“Same to you. You always clean up well.”

“If you saw the state I’m usually in at work – you’d understand why.”

John kept a watchful eye to make sure you turned both locks for your door before guiding you outside to a waiting taxi with a hand on the small of your back. He held the door to your building and the car open for you. The drive was short, but the weather was starting to catch a bit of a chill, and you didn’t want to walk too far.

Ever the gentleman, the captain followed closely behind you up the steps to the gallery. Even if he weren’t perceptive, with years of experience reading people, he could tell you were excited to be there; however, he wasn’t so experienced in the ‘romance’ department. John honestly couldn’t even remember the last time he visited any museum, let alone a dedicated history exhibition. But when he suggested it and assured you that he would have a good time, he was only being partially truthful. Secretly, the man just wanted an excuse to listen to you talk. What better place to bring you than an exhibit where he knew you would talk his ear off for hours?

You slowly worked your way through each exhibit, explaining some pieces you recognized and their significance to the period; at displays you weren’t familiar with, you both quietly hovered closer to the title cards, reading through the description. While that kind of date wasn’t John’s usual cup of tea, he was glad he planned it; it helped him figure out how to slow the fuck down and try to be normal outside of a military setting or a pub.

His breath nearly stuttered every time you laid a gentle hand on his arm and drew his attention to the next section, beaming as you animately but quietly pointed out the tiny details in a Renaissance painting hung on the wall. The man couldn’t help but stare at how your lips curved at every syllable, wide eyes glued on the intricate scene portrayed. John hadn’t spoken much so far aside from the occasional affirmation that he was listening; he was very much in his head, unsure if you were excited to be there with him or just excited to be there. But, standing in front of the big painting, you went quiet. You met his gaze, and his lips pulled into a lopsided grin, which you returned before you both shifted back to the artwork. It was peaceful, absorbing the atmosphere and just existing together. Suddenly, John was jolted out of his reverie by the feeling of something brushing the side of his palm. 

You were itching to hold his hand all night but were too nervous to take that leap. What if he rejected you? That wasn’t likely after so many dates, but still. Your nerves got the better of you for the better half of the self-guided tour. Regardless, you had managed to work up the courage, cautiously grazing your pinky against his wrist and hand before wrapping it around his. You didn’t look away from the illustration, but he did, moving to you, then down to your hands.

He simply stared for a moment, surprised but positively giddy at the same time. Surely enough, John took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and leaning just a bit closer to you. He could stand there forever, basking in your warmth and energy, the sound of your voice sinking into his every thought–

“Oh no,” you said, breaking the silence. You looked up at him worried, wrinkles forming between your brows. “I-I’m sorry. I was teaching again.”

He immediately gave you a reassuring squeeze, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Don’t be. I like hearing you talk.” Jesus, did he have a way with words. He liked hearing you talk? With that accent, he could spew nonsense, and it would still draw you in. But hearing John Price give you compliments and praise? Flattery? You were a goner. “Tell me more about the next one?”

As if he could get any more fucking perfect.

“Okay.”

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

#captain john price x f!reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #john price x teacher!reader #call of duty #captain john price #cardigan as is above so below #as is above so below #cod mw #mw fics #call of duty fanfic #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #teacher!reader #john price x afab!reader

[sockcanvas]

𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧༝༚༝༚

⚘. A oneshot [668 words]

⟣ ──┈⇢˚⋆ Pairing : Kim Gi-Myung + G.NReader

⟣ ──┈⇢˚⋆ c/w : suggestive | established relationship | fluff/silly

⟣ ──┈⇢˚⋆ a/n : jake’s gloves got me feeling sum typa way 🤤 gif was filtered and cropped by me, but created by @nonden.tx on tiktok. Got some feedback from a friend abt my writing style to not use big boy words I plucked off thesaurus.com😭 also i got lazy at the end, i suck ass with conversational dialogue💔💔 I had this drafted yesterday so i finished it up today, ofc… after my beloved Goo’s silly hurt comfort story [READ IT NOWWW]

snippet . ₊˚. The gloves, like a second skin of his, clung to him with an intimacy that you familiarly shared. Such display of seduction that you wouldn’t have expected Jake to pull off, left you captivated with your mouth agape.

You’ve longed for it, a hidden desire that you never knew you had. It skimmed so close to the surface that you tried terribly to hide it.

Jake’s gloves were a yearning fantasy of yours, how he had secured the bestowed item with his teeth, pulling til his finger tips could no longer slip further.

The first time you seen it happen, was a whole revelation, a delightful tingle that sent a shiver down your spine.

His movements were on purpose, each fingers snugging themselves in the cool embrace of the leather. The gloves, like a second skin of his, clung to him with an intimacy that you familiarly shared. Such display of seduction that you wouldn’t have expected Jake to pull off, left you captivated with your mouth agape.

And his hands, oh.. his hands… They weren’t just hands, rough yet smooth, protected from callous thanks to the gloves. It was like an empty canvas that was painted with experience, it was the hands of Gapryong Kim’s son.

They were large, you could argue, the largest you’ve ever seen. But size isn’t what matters, as many say. It wasn’t his hands at all that intrigued you the most, it was the gloves.

How come the worn leather was so well-preserved?Weathered yet still resilient, it remained as intact as it was since the pre-generational era of fighters, how it was adorned by a unique golden embroidery at it’s hem

Yet, within your desires, Jake remains a masterful tease, skillfully playing with the strings of your eagerness. He was very aware if your ogling, playing along with your gaze, tracing the lines of your fascination with each deliberate movement.

He adorned his hands, savoring the heightened senses that hung in the air. You, the willing participant in this tantalizing stalemate, couldn’t help but succumb to the attraction. His eyes, locked onto yours, read your shift in demeanor. His gloves, now transformed into a sensual artifact, accentuated his every move. As he flexed his fingers, coaxing forth the friction between his leather gloves. A mesmerizing spectacle that hypnotized you to look, each nuance movement drew your gaze. 

In the tender interplay of hunger, captivated by the alluring performance. He gave a knowing smile, a playful glint in his eyes that acknowledged the shared secret between you two. Your figure shifted gradually in response, returning with a sheepish smile to contradict his smug look. 

“What?” you blurted out first, your ears burning hot from being caught in the act of unashamedly ogling his hands. The heat of embarrassment radiates from your cheeks. It was as though a spotlight had been directed onto your not-so-secret fascination.

He chuckled, a playful melody that underscored your discomposure. “You’re practically burning holes into my hands,” he remarked, the amusement evident in his voice, and you couldn’t deny the truth of his statement. Your eyes were laser focused, like it was attempting to etch a lasting impression on those gloves. 

Defensively, you retorted in a childish manner, “You started it!” an accusation that was far from true. The realization that he was well aware of your sneaky glances only intensified the flush on your cheeks.

He leaned in, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and with a sly grin, he teased, “Well, can you blame me? My hands are just irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes, but a subtle smile betrayed you. “Irresistible gloves, maybe,” you scoffed, already openly admitting that his gloves were the factor that held your attention.

Jake, undeterred, leaned back, feigning innocence to his words, “Oh, these old things?” He gestured with the gloves, waving them, “They do have a certain charm, don’t they?” 

You huffed, feigning annoyance, “Don’t flatter yourself, Jake. I just appreciate a good pair of gloves.” Jake lets out a soft laughter that was joined shortly by you. Sharing a playful exchange with good-natured teasing. The gloves, now a shared secret between you two, continued to be a source of amusement, wrapping your interactions with a flirtatious charm.

#double posting today is crazy #lookism x reader #lookism #lookism webtoon #jake kim x reader #lookism fic #jake kim #kim gimyung #kim gimyung x reader #holy moly im motivated for once in my life

[flowery-language]

𓆩♡𓆪 STAY AWAY. Loser! Ellie Williams headcanons

a/n : I am struggling to start writing and stop procrastinating on writing the series I am working on so have some quick Ellie head canons while you wait also loser!Ellie is just regular Ellie and y’all aren’t ready for that conversation also it isn’t much sorry I’ve been struggling with procrastinating on writing got to put something out for the mean time

Inspired by seriously go read theirs @cowgirlcherrie and my one of my close friends mannerisms

Warnings/content: 18+ mentions of sex mostly fluff and also Ellie is a loser and cursing fingering!receiving masturbating and mentions of face riding

ੈ✩‧₊˚ you met loser!Ellie in Highschool and you bonded your intense overwhelming hatred for the people at your school over how much you hated everyone else here and that your the only person she could tolerate

“Everyone here are fucking npc’s with no capacity for thinking for themselves”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Loser!Ellie definitely owns a women love me fish fear me shirt that she started wearing ironically until it wasn’t anymore

ੈ✩‧₊˚ she always had to make jokes about her nonexistent dick much to your annoyance she has the humor of twelve year old boy

“How about you suck 15 inch cock”

“You don’t have one” you exclaimed

“Fuck you mean women literally beg me to see it”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ loser!Ellie unironically loves family guy and American guy and and fucking loves Rick and Morty and Bojack horseman

“I know I am a lesbian but I would fuck rick Sanchez no questions asked”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ you and loser!Ellie bonded over your intense overwhelming hatred for chase Atlantic

“They sound like they are fucking singing in cursive”

“I know right thank you someone gets it”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ loser!ellie has the music taste of someone’s father and she is very unapologetic about it she listens to Radiohead, nirvana, slipknot, the cure and the Beatles. etc

“ you should listen to the cure”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ loser!Ellie got into an argument once with you because you said you liked Saturn more than Jupiter

“Jupiter or Saturn pick one”

“Uh—Saturn”

“Jupiter is fucking better”

“No it’s not I like Saturn better”

“You only like Saturn because it’s fucking pretty”

“No I don’t”

“Yes you fucking do”

“Whatever”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ loser!Ellie cannot flirt with women for shit she just infodumps to them and hopes her info would get them to like her and wanna be with her and she is lucky that she is attractive enough to pull it off

ੈ✩‧₊˚ when loser!Ellie started to develop a crush on you she would do favours and constantly try to impress you she once took you to skater park to show you the tricks she was learning she ended up falling flat on her face because she was too busy staring into your eyes and she had the biggest blush on her face when you laughed at her for it.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ By the time Loser!Ellie developed feelings for you she would go above and beyond because suddenly the concept of helping others was completely uninteresting until it was you you got your heart shattered by another girl and all she could think of is that she would never treat you that way ever.

“It’s just that I wished that she didn’t string me along for a month and actually rejected me instead of telling me she liked me back when she didn’t”

“I swear when I see that fucker in my line of vision it won’t be pretty you deserve better than her anyway you were out of her league”

“Honestly I am starting to think maybe it’s because I am not attractive enough for girls to want me”

“Don’t fucking say that you were out of her league you will find someone who treats you so good ”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ loser!Ellie always wants you to try smoking weed with her even though you very much didn’t like taking drugs or being high it’s mostly because you make her so nervous and if she was high with you she could maybe try to flirt with you without fumbling her words and not looking you in the eye.

“Come on try it for me it feels really good I promise”

“Yeah no thanks Ellie”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ she knew that she couldn’t keep this to herself anymore she wanted you and Every time you tried to date someone else it made her genuinely sick to her stomach.

“ oh fuck saying this shit isn’t easy but I gotta say it I like you okay I really really do”

“Your fucking with me right now if your joking Ellie it’s not funny”

“I am not joking I fucking do okay”

“Wait your not”

“Of course I am not”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ NSFW section

ੈ✩‧₊˚ you are always the first person she thinks of when she gets high late at night she has to resist the urge to call you over her hand in her boxers.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Loser!Ellie has a happy trail.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ she loves it when you ride her face and not just hovering she wants you to sit on it at first you were really nervous and insecure but she was a having the time of her life and Everytime you do hover she would beg you sit properly

“Babe please just sit stop fucking hovering”

ੈ✩‧₊˚she loves it when you ride her thighs she loves the sensory experience of you riding it and when you ride her fingers she always wishes to be inside you and feel it when you ride it

ੈ✩‧₊˚ she is obsessed with you wearing her clothes especially her boxers she loves giving them to you

“You’re gonna run out of boxers to wear if you keep this up”

“I don’t fucking care”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ she loves you to death and will not hesitate to show it off she always loves mentioning you much to literally everyone’s annoyance.

“My girl is getting a PHD is so smart”

“This reminds me my girlfriend really loves these flowers I gotta get them”

#ellie smut #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie willams x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie williams #ellie tlou

[haikyuufanficwriting]

Chapter 17: Lev

Prompt: (Character) trying to impress Reader and ends up hurting themselves Character: Lev Haiba ________________________

Being manager of the Boys’ Volleyball team at Nekoma High School was tough.

More specifically, being a female manager of the Boys’ Volleyball at Nekoma High School was tough.

Now, you didn’t want anyone to misunderstand you; you absolutely loved managing this team. It was the only reason you enjoyed going to school at all. The excitement of the game, the passion of the players, and the genuineness of the boys would never fail to make you smile. It was just that often, you forgot that they were boys.

Even worse, teenage boys.

While it seemed like most men never truly grew up, the stage in which they don’t have to, they seemed embraced wholeheartedly. Now, you could comprehend a certain level of foolishness, you yourself are no saint, but it seemed like these boys seemed to try and do stupid things on purpose, expecting some sort of godly result.

Your days were full of reprimands, warnings, and scoldings. No, Yamamoto, you can’t lift that much, Kenma stop with the videogames, Kuroo stop trying to annoy Yaku, Yamamoto you can’t lift that much! These were some of the few that you had shouted in the last week.

You’d never fully understand how they functioned, their thought processes, or their motives but you felt as though it was your main job to avoid them from killing themselves during the season.

But you definitely weren’t perfect at it.

Lev Haiba was a prime example of that.

When the half-Russian had joined the volleyball team, you had immediately had one thought.

He’s a mound of human silly-string with an affinity for accidents.

His lanky form, paired with his endless energy, was bound to cause some sort of natural disaster, you were sure. So sure, in fact, you made sure to tell him the very first time you met him.

“My job is to keep you organized and keep you alive until the next game. Don’t make it too hard for me.” Were the words you chose for your introduction, to which Lev responded with his back immediately snapping up in attention, taking your words so seriously it was laughable.

“I’ll do my best!” He said, looking down at you with such a sincere and determined smile that you felt as if you needed sunglasses to avoid looking at the pure shine of his teeth. You heard a scoff before Kuroo came and slapped the tall first-year on the back to loosen him up.

“You should be saying that to me. And calm down, she’s our manager not our drill sergeant.” You roll your eyes at the captain, seeing right through his feigned cool façade. “With how you all act, I’m more of a glorified babysitter.”

You heard dispersed chuckles from the rest of the team stretching, and you match Kuroo’s playful glare before he chuckles and shrugs before joining Kenma on the ground. You look back to Lev, to find his full attention on you. You open your notebook, detailing every member's extensive game record, and make a page for Lev. He continues to watch as you write his name.

“I’ll be watching you this practice and see where you stand out. From there we can work with the coach and find where you’re best suited. You should start stretching.” You had said calmly, but with so much finality there were better described as commands. Lev simply stares at you, before you look at him, patiently waiting for him to join the team.

“Lev! What are you gawking at her for!” You heard Yaku yell, all the while stretching out his hamstrings. This seems to snap him back into action, with him muttering some apologies and sitting on the ground. You ponder for a moment on what that was, but you have other things to worry about, so you don’t think too deeply.

Watching Lev play was like watching a cartoon cat try to catch a mouse. He was all over the place, missing passes, missing hits and just generally clumsy. Exactly as you predicted. Once you watched him miss Kenma’s toss for the fourth time, you gently whispered to Coach Nekomata. “Are we sure we want to bring him on the team mid-season? Inuoka’s a perfectly fine player.” The coach only chuckles, waving off your worries. “The higher the risk, the higher the reward.” Is all he says back to you, watching is covered in amusement as he watches the practice game.

By the end of the session, while everyone was cleaning up, the coach pulled you and Kenma away.

“We’ll need to train him for the season. I’ll leave it up to you and Kenma.” Coach Nekomata said, looking quite entertained as you and Kenma shared a look of mutual worriedness and future exhaustion. Neither of you says anything to argue, both knowing that it would fall on deaf ears.

“I can’t believe I have to train him.” Kenma had later complained when the coach wasn’t around, listening to Kuroo cackle as you three walked to the train. It just so happened that you all took the same line, so you often road with them to avoid taking it alone at 8 pm.

“This does have major potential. How often do you get to mold your own hitter?” Kuroo, ever the optimist, asks, with you now rolling your eyes. “You’re acting as though he’s made of the perfect material to mold. It’s like building a castle out of dry sand and no water.” Kenma sighed and pointed to you.

“What she said.” Kuroo snorted, leaning against the rail of the train as he watched both of you clearly defeated. “Guess you guys have to find some water.” The captain said all proud-like as if the words being uttered from his mouth were somehow inspirational. Kenma only looked at him in mental exhaustion.

“You’re not helping, you know.” It was your turn to point.

“What he said.”

~~~

Preparing Lev for the next game was akin to wrangling an excited tornado. The guy had a heart of gold, but his enthusiasm often led to mishaps that bordered on calamitous. It wasn't that he lacked talent or determination; it was just that his coordination seemed to take occasional coffee breaks. Or you know, year-long vacations.

You watched for half an hour as Lev fumbled bumps and tosses. Either he was too fast or too slow, or just all around clumsy. With each failed attempt, you could feel the mutual blood raising of both you and Kenma’s.

You both exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. You could no longer stay silent once you saw the tall first-year miss a toss entirely.

“Lev! You need to watch the ball!” You all but shouted across the gym, causing more than one member to flinch at the frustration in your voice. The first year all but stumbled, before turning to you and yelling a quick ‘Right! Sorry!’ before returning his focus to Kenma who looked like he wanted to burn down the world.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to stop the incoming headache from building.

“If you’re having trouble training the rookie, why don’t you take a break and have some one-on-one time with me? Promise I won’t be half the trouble.” You hear Yamamoto try to say smoothly, to which you feel your eye twitch. You turn to give him a look that accurately expresses what you’re feeling.

“Word of advice. You don’t want to try with me when I look like this.” You said calmly, Yamamoto responding with a meek ‘Duly noted’ before slinking off to the other side of the court. You return to Lev and Kenma.

“Okay, so I think we try another skill. Coach said he was a good hitter.” You watch Kenma’s nose wrinkle.

“He can barely hit the ball on the ground, we’re gonna try in the air?” You both hear Lev’s quick ‘Hey!’ in protest, but a stare down from Kenma renders him silent and sad. You sigh, seeing really no other option.

“Let’s just give him a chance. You can do it can’t you?” You ask him, voice only slightly skeptical, but the moment you asked, you saw a fire burn in Lev’s eyes.

“I won’t let you down!” There it was again, that extremely serious tone and expression that you couldn’t quite get. But he was willing to try so you once more didn’t think too deeply about it.

“Fine…” Kenma muttered with a deep sigh, before going back to his place on the court. Lev eagerly followed him, still keeping his eyes on you, however.

You watched for the first ten minutes as Kenma set up perfect tosses, only for Lev to miss them entirely. Kenma tried to adapt, toss them higher, lower, slower, faster, but Lev also seemed to get the opposite message.

You felt the annoyance build up in Kenma and yourself as you began to get impatient. Surely, he could get one?

“Lev. Eyes on the ball.” You heard the setter say tired but sharply. The first year nodded, really trying to head his advice. Kenma tossed the ball, you watched as Lev had his eyes on it entirely, never once straying.

You saw him taking steps only his long legs could take and jumping higher than you’ve ever seen him.

Before making perfect contact with the ball, the satisfying smack of it hitting the gymnasium ground faster than you’ve seen in a while. The whole gym was silent as they watched.

“Yes!” You fist-pumped, even surprised at yourself how much you expressed yourself. You heard the other members also show their surprise, going over to Lev and patting his back in admiration and comradery.

You could only see Lev smiling at you though. You couldn’t help but smile back.

You made your way through the boys, looking at Lev excited at his progress. “That was beautiful! Exactly like that okay?” He nodded furiously, the members leaving the court to watch his second attempt. Kenma, not reacting all that much (not very surprising) went back to his place and tossed the ball exactly the same.

Lev gave you once last glance, a smile wide on his face as he attempted to focus once more. You watched him watch the ball, taking the long strides again, jumping to reach it with much more energy than last time.

It was too late to realize it was too much energy.

Your face morphed into horror as you watched Lev jump past where the ball was in the air. You saw Kenma’s eyes widen.

“Lev! The net!” You tried to stop him, not quite knowing how your words would stop him. The gym fell into a momentary hush as Lev's body collided with the net, hearing the sound of his lanky body hitting the gym floor. Hard.

Your hands covered your mouth in shock, along with everyone else, staring in mortified horror at the way he fell.

"Lev! Are you okay?" Yaku's voice cut through the tension, his normally calm demeanour replaced by genuine concern as he rushed to Lev's side, followed by the rest of the time.

"Ow…" Lev whined, though his slight wince betrayed the pain he was trying to hide as he rubbed his head. You hear Yamamoto’s rambunctious laughter. “He got caught in the net like a fish!” He wheezed. You responded with a rather harsh blow to his head, which shut him up quickly, along with your glare.

Kuroo's brows furrowed in frustration as he approached Lev, his expression a mixture of annoyance and relief. "Damn it, Lev, you scared us."

Kenma, ever the calm and collected one, stepped forward, his gaze assessing Lev's condition with a critical eye. "Maybe we should take it easy for today."

You were unable to hide your concern, evident in the furrow of your brows and the tightness of your lips, and hurried over to Lev's side. You crouched down beside him, your hand hovering over his shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. "Come on, let's get you to the nurse's office just to be safe."

Lev nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of embarrassment and determination. "I'm really sorry about that. I just wanted to do it right for you."

Your cheeks flushed slightly at his words, a surge of warmth spreading through her chest at his earnestness. You ignored the looks of the team towards you, knowing that it’d be worse if you acknowledged it. You placed a gentle hand on his back, offering him a supportive smile. "It's okay, Lev. Just take it easy, alright? We'll work on it together."

Lev nodded, his resolve firming as he pushed himself up from the ground with a determined grunt. "Yeah, together."

You didn’t notice the looks the team gave each other.

Seemed the drill sergeant had a soft spot.

#haikyuu #fanfic #writing prompt #humour #writing #drabble #hq x reader #lev haiba #nekoma #lev haiba x reader #nekoma x reader

[loversj0y]

stoner wilbur

you decide to start being more outgoing, though after a party doesnt go perfectly to plan, a classmate is there to help you out a bit

wilbur soot x reader

this is lil gift for @lyssys

tw for smoking, marijuana, and mentions of being overwhelmed. also slight suggestive material

word count: 2.1k

pls do not smoke unless u are of legal age and live in a place where it is legal for you to <3

You weren’t one to usually go to house parties. They were gross, full of way too many people, and entirely overwhelming. However, you made an exception this time because you decided, with the new year and the new semester starting, that you wanted to get out more. Your number of friends were quickly dwindling down, so your resolution was to do better: start saying yes instead of no (as long as you were comfortable and safe). You felt more comfortable and safe going to this party than most of the ones you’d heard about recently. It was being thrown by some first-year undergrads, so unlike some cheap frat party, you actually had a bit of hope. You were older than most of the people at the party, but there were of few of your classmates there, so you didn’t feel entirely out of place. The party’s hosts were loud, and when you’d seen them at first, you geniunely thought that they were some year twelves who’d snuck in. However, you quickly realized that these were, in fact, the people throwing the party, considering how one of them, Tommy, had run up to you and handed you a bottle of beer, calling it “compliments of the host” as if he was some Gatsby-ian party thrower and not an 18 year old trying to leave a good impression on the older students. The beer was cheap, but not horrible, you’d certainly had worse, but it was when you finished drink two – a cup of their finest jungle juice, Tommy noted – that you started to feel just how overwhelming the whole environment was. You could feel the bass in the music through your skull, and you found a way to escape the bright LEDs by slipping through the door to the back yard. 

You took a deep breath, pleased by the much calmer atmosphere of the backyard. There were Edison bulb string lights hung up around the backyard, giving it a nice glow, as well as a small table with a few seats. There were a few people, but they seemed to corral themselves towards the left side of the fence. It was such a stark contrast to the inside, and you felt chilled by the outside air, though it was more likely the lack of people accounting for the temperature change. As you took a deep breath, wanting to steady yourself, you heard a voice from behind you.

“Y/N?” 

You turned quickly. It was one of your classmates, you knew that, but you struggled to place him for a moment. He was leaning against the wall cooly, one hand fiddling with a small metal container. He was tall, with soft brown curls that fell in front of his face. It hit you after a moment. 

“Wilbur, right? From sound editing?”

He nodded, his face seemingly lighting up when you remembered him. You walked over, hands in your pockets, standing at a slight distance. 

“What are you doing here? Not to sound rude, but you’re the last person I expected to see in a place like this.”

“I could ask you the same,” he chuckled softly, “but Tommy is my… not brother, but he may as well be. We grew up together. He invited me, and I didn’t want to say no.”

You nodded softly. “That makes sense. He’s quite a loud one. Never would’ve expected the two of you to be close.”

“Trust me, I question it every day.” He smiled, and you don’t know how you never noticed just how nice of a smile he had. “What about you?”

“Hm?” You had to bring yourself back to the conversation, a bit distracted by him, “Oh. I’ve been trying to say yes to more things. Be more outgoing and stuff. Really make the most of the whole ‘University Experience.’” You joked lightly. 

“Oh, yeah? How’s that been working out for you?”

“Well… this is my first time actually doing anything different, so it’s only up from here, I suppose.”

He nodded, smiling a bit, “What are you doing out here then? Not exactly being outgoing if you’re standing out here alone.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m alone,” you smiled up at him, the alcohol in your system making you a tad bit more bold than normal. Then you sighed lightly, answering his question, “I got a bit overwhelmed. As you noticed, this isn’t exactly my environment.”

“Ahh,” he nodded, making a noise of understanding. “I know what you mean. I got the same feeling, actually. Hence why I’m out here,” He brought a hand up, adjusting the beanie on his head. He lifted the metal container in his hand, “to calm down.”

You gave the container a better look now in the light, recognizing it as a cigarette tray. “Cigarettes? I didn’t think you’d be the type”

“Not cigarettes,” he chuckled lightly. He opened it up, pulling out a joint. Oh. “Do you smoke?”

You shook your head, “Uh, not really, I’ve done it a few times, but I-”

“Sorry, let me rephrase. Do you want to smoke?”

You looked up at him. This boy, who had no business being this cute and who you shared one class with, was offering for you to get high with him. You thought back to your oath of saying yes more often. Well, he didn’t make you uncomfortable, and you were in a pretty safe place anyways, so… “Yeah.”

He grinned softly, putting the joint up to his lips, and somehow, that alone put a blush on your cheeks. He had no damn right to look this good while smoking. He pulled out a zippo, flicking it open with ease and lighting the joint, taking a long drag. He made it look so incredibly sensual and easy. He pulled the joint from his lips, handing it over. You took it and held it to your lips. You did not make it look as easy, taking a quick hit and holding it, trying to look cool, but coughing quickly after. 

He just smiled, no sense of judgement at all, “You’ll get used to it. Let’s go sit down?”

You nodded, and the two of you walked to the old metal table, sitting in the chairs next to each other. He took the joint from you, and you started a good rotation of for every two hits he took, you took one. You started to feel a nice warm feeling throughout your body, a slight buzz washing over you that truly did help relax you after the stress of inside.

As he passed the joint to you, he spoke up, “So, what make you want to start saying yes to stuff?”

You blew out a slow stream of smoke, shrugging, “I got lonely, I guess. I don’t hang out with many people, so I figured that doing more things would help.” You tilted your head back, looking up at the night sky.

“Has it been helping so far?”

You leaned your head back up, looking over at him with a smile, “I think it’s starting to go well.” You put the joint to your lips, going to take a hit before noticing it was out. You pouted a bit, looking up at him, “it went out.” 

He nodded, grabbing his lighter. You put the joint back to your mouth as he flicked open his lighter, holding the flame to the end of the joint until it glowed a soft amber, and you took a slow, deep inhale. You passed the joint back to him, exhaling. He looked at you quietly, looking down at the joint for a moment before looking back at you.

“Do you know what shotgunning is?”

You looked up at him, shaking your head. 

“Do you want to try it? It’s not anything bad, I promise.”

You nodded, sitting up a bit. He turned to you. “So, I’m going to get kind of close to you, just relax, and breathe in. You’ll know when to, okay?”

“Okay.” You could feel your heartbeat pounding through you at the mention of him getting closer to you, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious. He pulled the joint up to his lips, taking a long inhale. He held his breath, gently grabbing your chin and getting closer. His lips were just centimeters away, the slightest slip and they’d be on yours. He started slowly blowing the smoke out, and it took you a moment to process that this was when you were supposed to breathe in. You closed your eyes, breathing in slowly. You only opened your eyes when you realized he’d already moved back, and you slowly breathed out, feeling weak in the knees. 

“So? What did you think?”

“That was,” any sense of a filter you had went out the door the second the joint had touched your lips, “hot.” You immediately flushed, holding your hand over your mouth and starting to laugh, “Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

He started laughing as well, and if you’d looked, you would’ve seen a matching blush on his cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re not wrong.”

Your heartbeat a bit faster at that, but the grin never left your face. Your conversations flowed easily, until the entire joint had been smoked to just a roach. He tucked it back into his cigarette holder, pocketing it once again before turning back to you. You two spoke about a lot of things, mostly life and whether or not the ants on the table could take over the world if they tried. You found it easier to talk than usual, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was the weed or Wilbur. Whichever it was didn’t matter, you were just so incredibly aware of the warm feeling in your chest. You were honestly a bit annoyed at yourself for never having a proper conversation with him in class before, although it wasn’t entirely on you, since that professor was a harsh one. The world felt a lot lighter, and you two spent what could’ve easily been hours or minutes talking. You knew that it was hours when Tommy came outside, walking over to you both.

“Wilbur,” he started, “are you staying here with me and Toby tonight? Just about everyone’s left by now.”

Wilbur shook his head, “probably not. I was planning on walking home.”

Tommy nodded, “thank God because I did not feel like fixing up the spare room.” He spared you a wave before turning back around, wishing us both a goodnight before walking back inside. 

You sighed, “Guess I should probably get back too.”

Wilbur looked back over at you, “Do you live far?”

You shrugged, “Not too far. Just about three streets over.’

He nodded, then stood, “I’ll walk you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to.” “Don’t worry about it. I want to.” He smiled. You nodded, standing carefully. You stumbled a bit, not quite used to moving after sitting and getting high, though the high was starting to fade now. He quickly moved a hand to your back, helping steady you. He kept his hand there the entire time you walked back to your small apartment, and it made butterflies flutter in your stomach. When you reached your front door, you turned to him with a soft smile. 

“Thanks for tonight. I had a much better time with you than had I stayed inside there.”

He chuckled softly, “You don’t have to thank me. I would’ve been the same way had you not been there.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning it to you, “if you don’t mind though, it would be nice to get your number. That way I could take you out on a date sometime, maybe, if you’d like?” He sounded incredibly unsure of himself, which made you laugh a bit.

“I would absolutely like that.” You took his phone, entering your contact in before handing it back to him. “I had a really great time tonight, Wilbur. Sleep well, and text me when you’re home, alright?”

He nodded quickly, and, without really thinking about it, you pulled him in for a tight hug. He hugged you back, a blush covering his face. 

“Have a good night,” he told you, and as you both pulled away, he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. 

You blushed, and a wide grin covered your face, one that you couldn’t quite hide even if you tried, “goodnight, Wilbur.” You walked into your apartment, closing the door behind you and leaning against it. He sent you a text about ten minutes later letting you know he made it home and sending a message to reiterate the “goodnight” with a small text heart next to it that filled you with warmth. Maybe you could get used to this saying yes thing. 

#wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt x reader #wilbur soot #this is the fastest ive ever written something #mar writes

[xo-rihanna]

Forget Him Part 2 - Neteyam Sully

A/N - Oh my fucking god its been like too many months since I've written something, god damn I apologise. I've been going through a bit of a storm lately and genuinely forgot that I had this account and these drafts🤭 I’ve had a few submissions so I’ll be getting started on them soon🫡 ALSO I FEEL LIKE THE ENDING OF THIS IS SHIT AND IF IT IS PLS LET ME KNOW AND I'LL REWRITE IT OR SOMETHING THANK YOU

All characters are aged up. Warnings - arguing, swearing, p in v, oral (f receiving), fighting, Lo’ak is a dick but I’ll make up for it I promise🫶🏻 also this is not proof read so ignore any spelling mistakes or errors🩷 MDNI

"You're mine now." Neteyam whispered against your bare skin. The thick wilderness enclosing you gave the impression that it was just the two of you on the whole of Pandora. Just you and Neteyam, in your own bubble of lovesick air and wet kisses. You hummed gently as Neteyam once again found your nipple and took it into his mouth, your fingers found his braids and threaded themselves into them.

In the fog of the moment, you couldn't shake away what Loak's reaction to this would be. Rage is all you could think of. Red hot rage, no doubt he'd start on Neteyam straight away. You had no regrets, you realised in your first kiss with Neteyam that you'd be in love with him all along but you couldn't wash the guilt building in a pit in your stomach.

Like an instinct, Neteyam's firm hand found your hot cheek and his thumb stroked against the soft skin gently knowing your thoughts were creeping up on you. "Don't think about him, Y/n." He breathed into your neck, planting kisses along your jawline. Your body submitted to him in ways it never did with Lo'ak and you relaxed under the gentle rain of kisses.

Neteyam knew your body immediately and you finally understood the meaning of being someone's mate. You were emotionally, mentally and physically on the same level as him, and you now understood why you never mated with Lo'ak. You weren't compatible, you shared only a common sexual desire which could never be quenched. With Neteyam you were whole, you would never go thirsty. Lo'ak had some maturing to do but Neteyam was already there and that's what you needed.

Neteyam's eyes glinted and he rose, gently settling you on the forest floor. His fingers trailed your body, over every bioluminescent freckle and fluttered around the strings of your loincloth. You hadn't even noticed the slick pooling beneath it. A warm fire kindled in your womb and the thirst to feel him inside you crashed over you. Neteyam smiled, your desire for him was evident in your eyes which looked into his desperately. "Patience, tiyawn." He savoured every second of this, watching how your body reacted to his touch. Wanting this night to last forever.

With his eyes locked on yours, he took his time to undo your loincloth and drag it down your legs and finally completely off, disregarding it in the wilderness. You drew a sharp breath as the cool night air hit your bare core. Neteyam was almost in a trance, his breath hitching in his throat. He parted your legs, and kissed your stomach. "Don't be afraid to be loud." He gave you a small grin as you rolled your eyes and answered, "You wish, Teyam."

With a strong hold on your thighs, Neteyam explored your soaked pussy with his tongue. Tasting the nectar of your body and finding out exactly what you liked. Your sweet moans and whimpers forced their way from your throat. Your back arched off the cold forest floor and you clung to Neteyam's braids in desperation. Neteyam’s iron grip on your thighs made it impossible to escape his beautiful tongue as it worked on your sopping core. Your cries filled the humid air and Neteyam moaned as your juices filled his mouth and followed lusciously down to your cheeks, finding just as much pleasure in this as you did.

“Holy shit, Neteyam! I’m gonna cum!” You managed to let out these words between your uncontrollable moans, feeling a coil tightening in your stomach. Neteyam hummed and the vibration fluttered against your sensitive clit which was being rolled against his tongue, sending throbs of pleasure through your body. Your legs began to tremble and your mouth hung open in bliss as your release washed over you. You came into Neteyam’s welcoming mouth and he lapped up the excess like a thirsty puppy. When he resurfaced, his eyes were golden, the lust practically spilling out of them as they locked on your own which fluttered as you came down from your high. The evidence of your orgasm was still dripping luxuriously down his chin.

The warm fire in your womb was now raging and the pleasure from your first orgasm made you hungry for another. Neteyam released your thighs and they wrapped around his waist, pleading for his touch. A grin found his lips and they found yours, the desire to feel you around him now evident in his eagerness. “Think you can take me, baby?” His voice was cocky and you bit your lip, nodding your head.

“Use your words, yawne.” Your pussy clenched around nothing and you moaned at how he was dragging this out. “Yes Teyam, now please fuck me I can’t wait any longer.” The connection from your bond heightened your emotions and you could feel yourself losing it. Neteyam’s eyes darkened and while one hand cupped the side of your face, admiring your beauty in the reflecting light of the bioluminescent plants, the other untied his loincloth and let it drop to the ground. His cock sprung up already dripping pre cum.

Out of curiosity, you peered down at it and found that while he wasn’t much longer then Lo’ak, he was almost twice as thick. You shuddered, that’s never gonna fit. Neteyam must have read your face because he kissed you comfortingly and started to gently run his tip between your wet folds, “Don’t look so scared, I won’t ever hurt you.” He assured you. After making sure his cock was covered in as much of your slick as possible, he pushed himself gently into you. Only allowing the tip, to let yourself start to adjust. Your back arched significantly off the thick forest floor and a shocked gasp escaped your plump lips.

Neteyam groaned watching your face screw up in pleasure, but remained composed and resisted the temptation to slide the rest of his length into you. The hot feeling of being stretched to the brim quickly subsided and pleasure took over. You whined and wrapped your legs strongly around Neteyam’s waist trying to pull him further into you.

Neteyam chuckled and gave you what you want, “Someone’s needy.” He groaned. He was giving you slow, hard thrusts. Sweet sounds escaped your mouth when his hips made contact with your skin, a small slapping sound filtering into the echo of the wilderness. “Neteyam please don’t- I need you so bad.” Your eyebrows knitted as frustration set in, desperate for him to pick up the pace.

Neteyam hummed and kissed your neck, sucking at the skin so dark purple hickeys formed. Marking you as his. Neteyam’s slow thrusts began to quicken, pushing himself into you until he had nothing left to give. His tip kissed at your sweet spot effortlessly. Immediately, you became a hot mess under him. Your soft whimpers turned into intense moans and you felt your stomach bulge with every thrust.

Neteyam watched you in awe as he admired the faces you made, his own pleasure rippling through him. He groaned and felt a shudder of pleasure hit every nerve in his body, your beautiful faces we’re gonna send him to Eywa. “Fuck you’re so pretty tìyawn.” He moaned, unwrapping your legs from his waist and lifting them to his shoulders, thrusting passionately into you as you practically screamed his name into the night.

“Fuck Neteyam! You’re s-so deep!” You cried, your stomach felt tight like it couldn’t take anymore of Neteyam’s pounding.

“I know, I know baby. But this is what you wanted wasn’t it? You want to cum all over my dick, hm?” His voice was like velvet and his words sent you closer to your release. Neteyam rubbed his face into the crook of your neck biting down gently as he fucked into you relentlessly, your walls tightening around him was driving him crazy. Your hands clawed at his back, scratching at the beautiful blue skin.

“Neteyam p-please I’m gonna cum!” You moaned, losing yourself as your legs started to shake on his shoulders.

Neteyam nodded, biting his own lip as the pain from your scratches and the pleasure from his thrusting was threatening to finish him. “Cum baby. Cum all over my fucking dick.” He commanded.

With a loud trail of moans and whimpers, your legs began to shake violently. Your stomach contracted and you gushed all over his dick. Neteyam followed swiftly after, groaning as his thick cum coated your walls. He thrusted lazily to help you through your high before withdrawing, a river of cum oozing out of you, and collapsing onto the forest floor next to you.

His arms found you and brought you to lay on his chest, his heart thumped softly in your ear. A sudden tiredness washed over you and you almost fell asleep on Neteyam’s warm chest. “Neteyam.” You whispered.

Neteyam’s ears perked at your voice and he hummed in response. “I love you.” You murmured. A massive smile found its way to Neteyam’s face and he kissed the top of you head sweetly, soaking in your scent. “I love you too, tìyawn.” He told you.

The stars twinkled down onto you as you took a moment to just appreciate the night together. It couldn’t be more perfect. “I just wanted to tell you that before your likely death at the hands of Lo’ak when we go back.” You sighed, you didn’t want to go back. You were happy in your little bubble with Neteyam.

“Not gonna happen. I just got you, I’m not letting him ruin that.” He laughed slightly before sitting up and running his eyes over the marks he made on you.

You spent another hour cleaning each other up. Bathing each other in a hot spring nearby. You turned Neteyam around to run water over his back and gasped slightly when you saw the sight of his marked back. Hot pink scratches ran down his skin, and you traced them gently. “Don’t you dare apologise. I like when you mark me. It’s fair game. Plus it’ll just remind Lo’ak of who has you now.” You smiled and kissed his back tenderly.

You watched Neteyam intently as he cleaned you up, taking extra care when lifting your legs. You had never seen Lo’ak be so gently with you, but every movement from Neteyam was delicate. The way he wrung out the cloth that he washed you with, his fingers against your skin, the way he patted you dry. You didn’t think it was possible to fall even more in love with this man, but you were.

And when you finally had to return to the village, Neteyam engulfed you in his warm body as you flew on his ikran to keep you warm against the biting wind. As you saw the flickering fires of your village approaching in the distance, a nervous feeling settled into your stomach. “Can you stay with me tonight?” You asked Neteyam, just loud enough for him to hear above the flapping of wings.

Neteyam kissed your temple and nodded, knowing you must have felt nervous about confronting Lo’ak. After a few minutes, all the while your stomach churned with anxiety, Neteyam landed his ikran softly in front of your lonely hut. “We don’t have to tell Lo’ak tonight baby. I’ll stay with you and we can just tell him tomorrow.” Neteyam proposed, stroking your arm comfortingly before jumping gracefully onto the ground and helping you down.

You nodded, feeling some unease evaporate. You took Neteyam’s hand as you led the way into your hut. You quickly realised Neteyam has never really been in your bedroom. You blushed at the thought of him seeing your childhood toys you kept for sentimental reasons. As you opened the flap and stepped into your main space, your smile fell as you saw Lo’ak sat on your couch, glaring daggers into you.

Neteyam walked in after you and was just as shocked to see Lo’ak. Lo’ak smiled at his brother, “Thanks for bringing her home bro. You can go now.” He told his brother, his gaze returning back to you. How he hadn’t noticed your hands intertwined together you didn’t know but you were just waiting for him to explode.

“Where have you been Y/n?” Lo’ak asked, stretching I comfortably. It made you mad, seeing how comfortable he was intruding your home when you thought you had made it clear earlier you didn’t want him here. “Lo’ak I think we need to talk.” Neteyam spoke for you.

Lo’ak caught glimpse of your hands wrapped together and his chest visibility shuddered. You could see his jaw clench from where you were stood. To your surprise, he laughed gently as he stood up, his braids tied back in a ponytail. He approached Neteyam and pushed him slightly on the shoulder with a smile firm on his lips still, “Did you fuck my girl?” His voice was like venom and you felt the anticipation of a fist fight lingering in the air.

“Lo’ak please-“ You tried to push Lo’ak gently away from your mate. His skin was hot against your skin like it always was when he was raging. Neteyam pushed you back with his arm protectively, his eyes locked on his little brother. Lo’ak eyes faltered on the dark marks on your neck and chest, the sudden scent of his brother on your skin now pungent in the hot air. Lo’ak lipped his bottom lip. “Lo’ak we need to talk like adults here.” Neteyam spoke calmly but you could feel a hint of a threat in his voice.

Lo’ak nodded and smiled, it was a smile you recognised, a smile he gave when he was about to blow. “Talk like adults. Mhm. Okay. That’s fine.” He finished his sentence with a firm punch to Neteyam’s jaw, sending him stumbling back before regaining his balance.

“Don’t fucking touch her! She’s mine! Hear me! Mine.” Lo’ak roared, veins in his arm popping with rage. Neteyam dropped his jaw, moving it to assess any injuries. He knew his brother never intended to hurt anyone, he was a rebellious teenager who couldn't control his anger. He just needed some guidance. Still, he couldn't lie and say that it didn't sting. "Lo'ak enough! Please. We are mated, its done! There's nothing you can do now. I love him." Your voice softened as you reached the end of your words.

Hearing the word "mated" was a slap in the face to Lo'ak. The severity of the situation set in. He watched as you rushed to Neteyam, checking him over affectionately. As much as he hated to admit it, it felt right. He had no intention of mating with you, he couldn't give you what you wanted and he couldn't love you as much as Neteyam could. It was like you said, he had some growing to do.

"Y-you're mated?" He said softly, like he was trying to get it through his head. Neteyam nodded, "Yes Lo'ak. I'm sorry, but I don't regret it." He told his brother. You felt guilty, like you'd abandoned Lo'ak when he needed you. You bit your lip and wrapped your arms around him, allowing him to hug you. Lo'ak felt the realisation and buried his head into your neck despite the scent of your new mate flooding his nose. "I'm sorry Lo'ak. You'll make a woman very happy someday." You let him go and smiled, kissing his cheek innocently.

Lo'ak smiled ever so slightly, nodding to his brother. This didn't rid him of the betrayal he was feeling nor the anger which was now more directed at himself but he had come to terms with it. It was Eywa's will.

"We'll talk later?" Neteyam suggested to his brother, wanting to mend things over. Lo'ak nodded, looked to you and smiled before walking himself from your hut leaving whatever feelings he had for you with it.

Neteyam wrapped his arms fluidly around your waist, studying your features up close. "He'll be okay, we'll help him. Like you said, he'll make a woman happy someday. Just not my woman." Neteyam ended with a smirk and kissed you.

You were ready for this new chapter in your life. You were where you belonged all along.

#avatar #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar way of water #loak #loak sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #tsireya #atwow neteyam #avatar loak #neteyam smut #avatar neteyam #neteyam avatar #loak angst #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam imagine #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fluff #loak x reader #loak x y/n #avatar twow #loak fanfiction #loak fic

[bnuuys-writing]

Meet my Yuusona!

This is Jenny, but she goes by Jen. More information down below! <3

No one knows where Jenny has come from, but they all know she is able to wield magic without a pen. She also has all these strange markings on her body that she keeps hidden that occasionally glow when she is feeling certain strong emotions such as the ones of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Jenny is a caregiver, a empath who knows who is crying the next room over without even looking up from the book she is reading. She is able to diffuse fights before they even start either by fighting and winning herself or talking everyone out of it. She is someone you can rely on and trust if you're having a hard time with something either in school or emotionally. She will mom you, in short.

Fun Facts about Jenny! She actually had come from Devildom to here, and to avoid making connections with everyone, she gave out a fake name in hopes of being able to go home with no strings involved. Her name is actually Ophelia. Lia for short. She was learning how to wield magic by Solomon at first and the pacts she made with the brothers, angels, and the Butler and Prince of Devildom themselves only spur her magic on. She is more able to cast healing spells that fighting spells, so she summoned a familiar which was a brown rabbit! Yet, in the transport to Twisted Wonderland, their same magic merged them together to where Jenny now has a fluffy rabbit tail and large floppy ears!

Relationship Dynamics!

Leona: Absolutely a hater of this man. ONLY because she knows his worth could be so much more and he just doesn't put any effort into showing that he could be a good mage. It absolutely infuriates her. They constantly get into fights that either end up with both of them in the infirmary or both of them getting heated in a vocal argument.

Sebek: Love Interest #1. When Jen first came to NRC and met Sebek, she immediately did NOT like him. Both of them getting into silly little arguments that would go "So, Beastman-" "I'm actually a human. I just merged forms with my rabbit familiar." "DO NOT INTERUPT ME WHILE I AM TELLING YOU ABOUT LORD MALLEUS!!" "ok, bye." Yet after getting to know him better and better and actually taking time to see past everything, she saw him for who he truly is and just fell heads over heels with him. Yet, he doesn't need to know that.

Silver: Good friend, was a possible love interest and she had a small crush on him but after she fell in love with Sebek, they both just stayed close friends. Silver was one of the first few people to actually greet her into NRC. Sometimes Silver will find himself waking up with his head in Jen's lap as she reads away. They could make a cute couple but they respect each other a lot to not meddle with each other's love life.

Vil: Imagine; Malleus with Sebek. But now its Jenny and Vil. If anyone disrespects her housewarden, they will get thrown. Epel is impressed by this but Vil just taught her how to hurt people with words and how to make it sting. Jenny doesn't really hurt people without a good cause. But she heavily admires Vil due to the fact that he seriously reminds her of Asmodeus.

Azul: This is her boss. Was love interest #3 but after working for him constantly as either a waitress with the Tweels on the weekday and Singing for Monstro Lounge on the Weekend, that dwindled down fast. They both seriously respect each other and Azul has made the comment of making a deal about her voice once or twice in which she has denied more than plenty.

Ace and Deuce: These two are her best friends and Ride or Die's. Especially Deuce. She makes sure that they are all caught up and studied on homework before they can go ask Azul for tutoring papers all over again. Rewards them with baked goods that were helped made by Trey just to make sure that they keep their grades above a C-. C's get degrees!

Grim: She doesn't really interact with Grim all that much even though she is Housewarden of Ramshackle, but is an honorary member of Pomefiore. Its all because she is severely allergic to cats. But if you mess with her baby? You are so fried. Prepare to meet the actual full power of Wrath.

Crowley: Does not like him. She has thrown a chair at him. They do not interact unless absolutely necessary and she is finding her own way back home.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland yuu oc #octwst #twst #twst oc #twst yuu #twst yuu oc #yuusona #twst yuusona #twisted wonderland yuusona #sebek zigvolt #silver vanrouge #twst ace #deuce spade #azul ashengrotto #vil shoenheit #leona kingscholar

[violetsiren90]

All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader

💜 Chapter 3: Part 1 💜

Table of Contents: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 (part 1), Chapter 3 (part 2)

Pairing: idol!Namjoon/f!Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU; idol AU; chapter fic; strangers to lovers; a bit of idiots to lovers, tbh; slow burn; eventual romance; eventual smut; angst (life is messy & hearts are complex); OT7 featured

Summary: You found your soulmate - or rather, he found you. Turns out he's an idol of much acclaim who needs you for very real and unglamorous reasons. What could become of two hearts so used to giving of themselves when they are confronted with needing each other?

Chapter Word Count: ~6k

Chapter Warnings: This fic is 18+, as is all my work and my page as a whole; Talk and depictions of cancer, its treatment, and the symptoms of both; implication of some disregard for personal agency by entertainment industry; character experience and description of disassociation; flashbacks of a distressing situation; soulmate skinship; cursing; conversations surrounding soulmates and sex; character experiences an emotional breakdown; light embarrassment; CONFLICT (you knew it was coming, right?), there is plenty of fluffy stuff too I PROMISE 😂😅

Author's Note: Wow. It's been a minute. If you're still reading this story, thank you for sticking with me, and I apologize for the stretch of time between updates. For the longest time, I just couldn't get this part right...and then it was far too long, so I split it up, and I'm still editing the second, and (potentially) third parts. I got several messages from readers who were worried I might have abandoned this fic, and let me assure you, far from it! I am not a speedy writer, and struggle with doubting if what I'm putting on the page is good enough, so sometimes it takes me a minute to update, but let me assure you, these characters are so special to me and so alive in me, and I ask thank you for your patience as I work to tell their story! Thank you for your lovely words of encouragement and feedback on the story - I appreciate each and every one of them!!

P.S. If you want to join the tag list, drop me a comment or ask!

P.P.S. If no one has told you yet today, you're loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

"I needed the light of your energy, I looked around, devouring hope."

~Pablo Neruda

Chapter 3: My Windows Ache

  "FUCKING FINALLY."

    "Hey, Di."

    "How dare you ghost me for the forty-eight most interesting hours of your life?!"

    "Well, I was low-key occupied..."

    "TELL ME EVERYTHING." 

     You sighed, settling down on a shaded bench in the garden grounds of the hospital to which you had escaped for a little privacy and an important phone call or two.

    "Uh oh. That was your 'things are complicated' sigh," Diana prodded.

    Your eyes tracked a swallowtail as it flitted from azalea to azalea.

    "Well, things certainly aren't conventional or straight-forward, that's for sure. But where's the fun in understanding the basic parameters of what you're getting yourself into on a life-altering scale, right?"

    "Ummmm...what does that mean? You met him, right?"

You could barely hear your sister's question over the crinkle of plastic in the background.

    "Yeah, I did. We bonded too."

    "Oh mah gah!!" Diana choked out amidst sounds of crunchy chewing. "So what's he like?"

    You thought for a moment.

    "He's kind and intelligent. Obviously extremely resilient. His presence is impressive, but he has something about him that's very disarming. He's kind of clumsy and at moments almost...shy? Like, I don't know what I expected, but there's this sweetness to him that you wouldn't anticipate from someone in his position."

    "As a cancer patient?"

    "As an idol."

    You sighed again.

    "I don't know...he's..."

    Diana let out a strangled sound and uttered an enthusiastic string of words you couldn't make out.

    "I have no idea what you just said. Could you please decide whether you want to talk to me or consume an entire bag of Doritos?" 

    "Hey, it's dinner time here!" she whined, "And I said," her voice quickly changed to take on a smug sing-song tone, "That last sigh was your smitten-kitten one..."

    "It was not!" you cut her off sharply. "And get every single idea of Namjoon and I as a couple out of that scheming head of yours because he's very much taken. I'm meeting his fiancée for lunch today."

    "What? He's engaged?"

Diana let out an exasperated huff.

"Why didn't they tell you about this right off the bat? You're going to be the soulmate of a married man? What does that even mean? This is bullshit."

    You had a hard time disagreeing with her there. It was, in fact, bullshit that Namjoon's team had kept his relationship status a secret. Would it have changed your decision? Probably not. This had been about saving Namjoon's life, not some bizarre attempt at matchmaking. But having a third person to consider, and so intimately, as part of the equation for the rest of your earthly life felt like something you should have been made more immediately aware of. Navigating your boundaries with your soulmate had already been complex enough without introducing the prospect of being a fixture in his married life. When Namjoon had breached the prospect of meeting her, he had been taken aback at your surprise - he, like you, had assumed that Hybe's representation had disclosed everything of significance.

    "So it's a good thing I came here as a lifeline, not a mail-order bride," you reminded your sister, "And that seems to be working, by the way. His vitals are already stable. They stabilized overnight, in fact. And his white blood cell count was way up this morning, which is good because I guess he was experiencing immunosuppression from the chemo."

    "Oh, nice," Diana murmured.

You had to remind yourself that she was young and excitable, and not to be annoyed at the disappointment that he crept into her tone. However, never one to be down for long, her voice brought its usual bright mischief through the speaker as she posed her following question.

    "By the way...how was bonding?"

    She had said it with an inescapably salacious undertone, which is why, you told yourself, heat had begun to creep up the base of your neck. You stammered, switching the phone from one ear to the other as you bought yourself time to reassemble your decorum. 

    "Ah...I mean...it was...intense?"

    "Ooooohhhh," Diana trilled, only making you more uncomfortable as the heat spread from your neck to your cheeks, "Intense, huh? Like in a good way?"

     You squirmed uncomfortably where you sat, thoughts of Namjoon's pleasure-stricken face and the strength of his hand and how his skin felt against your own hitting your hippocampus like a flash flood.

    "Y/n?"

    "It was fine, okay? And it worked - so that's what's important."

    "....Okaaay..." Diana drawled skeptically.

You scrambled for another talking point.

    "That kid visited. The one who came to the States - Jungkook. And another one of the members too - Jim...Jimin? I'm still trying to get their names straight. Some of them don't go by their actual names on stage - Namjoon is RM...but you knew that. Anyway, I digress. Both the boys were really sweet. Seems like they're all very close. I'm supposed to meet the rest of the members at some point next week at dinner. They wanted to have a sort of 'last supper' for us since we're probably going to start rejecting food soon."

    "That's cool, you get to meet the whole team! Oh my gosh, you're just going to casually have dinner with BTS...this is still so unreal!"

    "Yep," you affirmed, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Namjoon had hit you with a couple of whoppers last night, but this was one you were actually looking forward to. You told Diana all about your first two days in Seoul - about the impressive hospital and its kind staff. About meeting Namjoon, and his condition. About how everything was still so fresh and new. About how so many things were still unsettled, so many questions unanswered.

    "So are you nervous?"

    "About what?"

    "Meeting his girlfriend."

    You had been so wrapped up in filling Diana in on it all that you had actually forgotten about the impending lunch date. As you pulled the phone away from your ear to check the time, your stomach lurched. 

    "Shit, I better get going. It's almost eleven-thirty." You sprang up and started quickly back toward the building.

    "That wasn't an answer," Diana scoffed, "But, hey, sis?"

    "Yeah?" You pressed the "up" button on the elevator.

    "Don't be."

    You smiled.

    "Love you, Di."

    "Love you too. And so does anyone worth a damn."

    After deciding that you smelled like outside, you showered quickly then slipped into caramel-colored corduroys and an off-white tee. You rummaged around the small suitcase Matt had brought from the hotel for you in search of a sweater. After several exasperating minutes of unsuccessful digging, you heaved the bag of laundered clothes that had been returned to you by the hospital staff this morning, having gone through much of the what the Hybe staff had initially pilfered from your luggage in the last two days.

You grumbled in relief as you pulled out your dark green cardigan and slipped it over your shoulders, wondering what the hell the hospital laundry services had done to stretch it out so badly. But, you didn't have time to fuss - so you bunched up the sleeves and headed to the opposite end of the hospital's outdoor grounds where you suspected Namjoon and his guest were already waiting. 

    The hospital grounds were extensive and beautiful, sporting a garden that extended from the western wing, and a lawn punctuated by traditional pavilions to the east. He had pointed out the one he had reserved to you last night - tucked away in the shade of the large gingko trees flanking the little man-made stream that delineated the border of the grounds.

As you made your way toward the shady spot you chided yourself for being so uneasy - everyone surrounding your soulmate had been as lovely and warm and welcoming as he had been, and the woman he loved would likely be no exception. After Namjoon had disclosed that she was a musician like he was, you had done a bit of online recon before going to bed that night.

Her given name was Kim Hyung-seo, but her stage name, by which she was well-known, was Bibi. She was four years Namjoon's junior, but seemed nearly as ambitious. From what you could tell, she seemed to share a similar drive for artistry and honesty in her musical process as her future husband, and though her tendency for loose-canon candidness had landed her in hot water more than once, her earnest sincerity had engendered her to the hearts of her peers and fans alike. In an industry that seemed to often censor and restrict women, Hyung-seo didn't seem to give much credence to the rules. You liked that. You were actually kind of excited to get to know her a bit and ask her about her art - you had always been a woman's woman, and being in the company of strong feminine energy was something you found deeply empowering and grounding. You anticipated that your soulmate's girlfriend was someone you could respect, and you allowed yourself to venture to hope that feeling would be mutual.

    You trotted up the steps of the pavilion and took in its contents. The center had been fitted with a low, round table bearing a colorful and mouthwatering spread of gogi, bibim guksu, gimbap, and banchan. Cushions had been placed on the floor for seating, but none bore the lunch companions you had been anxious not to keep waiting. You were about to take your place at the table when a figure moving near the creek caught your eye.

You moved to the far side of the structure, to see your soulmate deeply engaged in conversation...with a duck.

He was standing near the edge of the water, his tall figure clad in silky modern navy blue hanbok. The top was untied and hung loosely over a white tee - the only contrast to the deep muted tone apart from his cognac loafers. He wore a dark beanie pulled low on his head, which was bowed in affectionate greeting to a juvenile Gadwall who had paddled away from his family to sample the little bits of starchy fluff that the stranger had sprinkled onto the water.

You pressed your palms against the painted wood, taking him in with a smile as he crouched down, extending a bit of bread between his fingers slowly toward the curious little water foul.

This man, you were learning - this erstwhile underground rapper, this leader of men, this brilliant intellectual and genius artist - this great, powerful, impressive man could be called out of his poise in an instant by the sweet and tiny things of the world.

You watched as he waited patiently, the little duck swimming in to-and-fro circuits and drawing closer and closer to Namjoon with each pass, until finally it was close enough to snatch its prize from him and scuttle off quickly to rejoin its mother and siblings. Namjoon chuckled, smiling fondly as he watched the duck make his way back down the creek.

This man, you thought to yourself, could not possibly be real.

    "So you're a Kpop idol and a Disney princess, huh?" you called, causing Namjoon to startle and rock back on his heels, landing on his posterior in the damp grass.

    You slapped a hand over your mouth to repress the laughter that threatened to bubble up at the site of his large well-dressed figure tipped back haphazardly on the creekside. He huffed a sheepish laugh as he stood, swiping at the back of his pants.

    "Give a person a little warning?" he chided lightly, approaching you where you leaned on the railing.

    "Sorry," you chuckled, "I didn't want to scare your little friend."

    "So you settled for scaring your soulmate? I see how it is." 

    You smiled and ducked your head.

    "Sorry," you murmured, flicking your gaze back to his.

He looked up at you, fixing you with his warm brown eyes and bringing his hands to grip the railing on either side of yours. Suddenly, you felt shy. You shook yourself.

    "Hey, hang out with the ducks and you'll end up with a wet tail," you teased.

Namjoon's eyebrows drew together in mock disgust.

    "Yikes, you're almost as bad as Seokjin hyung," he remarked disparagingly.

    You shrugged, smirking.

    "I have no idea what that means, but whoever Seokjin is, he must have a superior sense of humor."

Namjoon was opening his mouth to respond, but was cut short, as the tiny motion of your shoulders had slid one of your hands just a centimeter down the railing and barely flush with his own. The slight contact was enough to send sudden little tingles of comfort shooting up your arm and across your chest. In a millisecond you felt yourself relax where you hadn't realized you were tense. You could have imagined it, but you thought you felt Namjoon press his hand just a fraction more into yours as he swallowed and heaved a deep sigh.

You reminded yourself for the hundredth time since you arrived that this was biological. Clinical. The means to an end. Damn, he felt good though.

You found yourself snatching your hands away to push up your cardigan sleeves and then stuff them into your pants pockets where they would stop confusing you. You distracted yourself from Namjoon's subtle look of disappointment with an apology.

    "Sorry about your pants," you rocked back on your heels as you looked out over the little ribbon of water rippling over its stony bed behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder and brushed himself off again before waving a hand in dismissal. Your eyes focused back on the blue silk.

"I didn't realize this was a fancy lunch. I feel under-dressed."

    "You look nice," Namjoon rebutted, as he glanced over your attire. Then his brow pinched as his eyes halted on your torso, flitting over your arms and shoulders. "But isn't that -"

    "Joon?"

A voice behind you caused you to turn.

Standing at the top of the steps was the woman it belonged to. She was tall and beautifully slender - her svelte figure draped in a slinky chrome dress with a triangular cutout that displayed the smooth skin of her upper abdomen. Her glossy raven tresses were styled away from her face in a high ponytail, drawing sharp attention to her sultry features. Her smoky eyes glanced over your form with a lazy intensity, lids half-raised over dark irises, and her pouted lips pursed in appraisal. You wondered just exactly how many ridiculously beautiful people traveled in Namjoon's circle.

She stepped toward you, her chunky pink heels marking her confident strides on the floorboards, before bowing and extending a small hand with sharp white acrylics and icy sliver rings.

    "I'm the girlfriend!" she hummed, her deep, velvety voice matching her features.

    You bowed in return before shaking her hand politely.

    "So nice to meet you," you smiled, "I'm -

    "The soulmate," she cut you off, glancing over your shoulder at Namjoon, who still stood outside the pavilion, "of that weirdo." '

Namjoon circled around to the entrance of the pavilion before joining you with a wry smile. He introduced the two of you formally, before being the first to take a seat at the table. Hyung-seo joined him, shimmying her cushion closer to Namjoon's as she used a pair of chopsticks to load her plate with selections from the spread. 

    "Oh my god, I'm STARVING," she gushed, staring at Namjoon impatiently as he took a bit of kimchi fried rice and a few slices of samgyeobsal.

    "My stomach feels like it could take some real food for the first time in a while," he said with eager enthusiasm, glancing up at you with a smile of gratitude. 

    Hyung-seo tapped her chopsticks against her plate as she watched you survey the dishes before you. You took some kimchi fried rice and carefully ladled out a small bowl of doenjang-jjigae. You pulled your hands into your lap and watched the steam rise from the fragrant broth.

    "Ah, unnie..." Hyung-seo began before Namjoon shushed her and lightly tapped her knee.

You glanced between them in confusion. Namjoon merely smiled at you, and you smiled back, glancing down from his warm gaze to your plate.

    "Oh for the love of god, would you take a bite?"

    You looked up rather startled at Hyung-seo, who was leaned forward, her desperate eyes tracking your movements, and the chopsticks clutched in her right hand hovering over a plump, sweating mandu.

You blinked, fumbling for your chopsticks as your soulmate admonished the woman next to him. You took a heap of fried rice onto your chopsticks and brought it to your lips, looking questioningly between the two across from you. Hyung-seo groaned in impatience, her head lolling back.   

    "In Korea, the eldest eats first," Namjoon offered in soft explanation, his features trained in apology.

    As realization washed over you, you all but shoved the rice into your mouth, hoping to swallow your embarrassment with it, followed quickly by Hyung-seo, who popped two mandu into her mouth consecutively. Her eyes rolled back as she let out a groan of appreciation. You watched Namjoon carefully savor a piece of samgyeobsal. He smiled a dimpled smile. You smiled to yourself as you tucked into your fried rice. Namjoon's fiancée watched you both. Her cheeks were full, but she wasn't smiling.

Your little trio ate in contented silence until your visitor, having satisfied her belly, fixed her eyes on you with a different sort of eagerness. The time for questions had come, you realized. You set down your chopsticks, taking a drink of water.

    "I'm sure there is so much we'd like to know about each other," you offered with a smile.

    She pulled her lips into a brief grin, sipping from her own glass as her eyes trailed over you. You cleared your throat.

    "So, I read that y-"

    "How does it feel?" she interrupted, starring at you raptly. You blinked.

    "I'm sorry?"

    "When he touches you." She licked her lips. "I heard it's like cumming. I heard it's better."

Namjoon slid a large hand over her thigh. You saw it squeeze.

    "Jagiya..." he murmured.

    You glanced at him and gave him a reassuring grin which he returned, though not as readily as before. Not the start to the conversation you had hoped for, but she was living up to her brusque reputation. You let yourself laugh a little at the question, and saw Hyung-seo's mouth curl up a bit at the corners, though it didn't reach her eyes.

    "It's nothing like sex, actually," you mused, trying to be as forthcoming as possible without abandoning politeness. "Strange, I guess, because it is all about physical exchange and contact. But...it's more like...nourishment? I don't know...I haven't had long enough to think about it."

You had had quite long enough to know that it was ineffable, but in the most intoxicating, magnificent way - and a hell of a lot better than most of the sex you'd had. This, however, wasn't the time and place for descriptions of the bond that could be ripped from the pages of drugstore romance novels.

    You found yourself turning to Namjoon with a questioning gaze, as if to ask if he had anything to add. He nodded in response, not meeting your eyes.

    "Yeah, it's different," he murmured succinctly.  

    Hyung-seo hummed in assent, chewing on her lip, her gaze still roving over you. You decided to try again.

    "So how did you m-"

    "How do you do it?"

    You stifled a small sigh that threatened to escape your lips.

    "Do what?"

    "Use the bond. Like, do you hold hands, or...or what?"

    You looked to Namjoon who murmured something in Korean that sounded like a warning. This wasn't going as you'd hoped. Her questions were natural ones, but not the first you thought you'd be asked, and not so pointedly. In fact, they were ones she should probably have put to her partner. Had they not spoken since you arrived?

    "The bond works with any physical contact. When I first got here, I had so many questions myself. The hospital personnel were very informative while helping us navigate our questions. I still know very little, but as someone whose partner is bonded, I'm sure they would have someone who could better answer these types of questions than I can," you offered.

It was the opposite of forthcoming, but you were absolutely not prepared to launch into a conversation about you and her fiancé spooning in your undergarments. The trajectory of the exchange had to go elsewhere, so you resolved to take the wheel.

    "Is there anything you'd like to know about me? Maybe I could tell you a little about myself. My job in the states wasn't glamorous, but I loved it. I was -"

    "A social worker, I know," she murmured with a sigh, and Namjoon's head snapped toward her.     

You could feel your confusion pulling into a frown. In your beat of silence, the woman in front of you gave into another impulse as she placidly launched into an answer of your unasked question.

    "You're a social worker from the West coast, oldest of three kids. Your father died when you were ten. You graduated summa cum laude, and chose a career in women's services. You support your mother's living - you have been, long-term. Your brother is an engineer and your sister is in nursing school. You've never committed any crimes, but you were arrested once in college at some political protest about immigrant rights. Your blood type is O positive. You don't seem very good with your money, but you've never asked for financial assistance. You've never been married." 

    Silence.

    Your ears were ringing.

    You blinked as you tried to focus, grappling for something on which to stabilize your composure. This isn't how this was supposed to go. You felt your control slipping as the words pierced you in echoes that knocked you back down each time you reached out to steady your mind. 

    "Your father died when you were young..."

    "...You support your mother's living..."

    "...You don't seem very good with your money"

    Your mind whirred as the silence closed in, and for a moment you were suspended.

        Diana and Henry weren't pillars, you thought - they were tiny little babies as your mother clutched them on either side of her prone, shaking form as shovels of dirt were shifted back into the gaping hole that held a pine box covered in flowers. You looked down at the flag in your hands, and then up at the white flowers, still fresh and blooming, being caked and sodden with damp soil. You felt something rising up in your chest - something that never reached the surface. You turned from the wound in the earth as Dianna reached out and tugged at your arm. The babies looked afraid. You couldn't see your mother's face from where it was buried in her skirts. You tucked the flag reverently under your arm and took the little hands.

    Somewhere outside the amniotic sack of your mind, you saw Namjoon's figure stand. You heard his garbled voice speak to the woman beside him. He was angry, his voice pitched low. Hers in response was sharp and high.

    You took a deep breath and exhaled. Your chest was beginning to labor and your inhaler was on the fifth floor of a building on the other side of the property.

You willed yourself back into this world you had chosen. This place which, like the others you had inhabited, would discover its new tenant didn't take long to adapt. She was built to withstand.

    "Namjoon," you called softly, as you looked up at your soulmate. His eyes snapped to yours, his face showing subtle but unmistakable signs of distress - eyes reflecting remorsefully and jaw flexing.

You smiled at him gently, reassuringly.

    "It's alright," you insisted, your eyes not leaving his.

You saw his shoulders sag, and his head bow. His hand came up to scrub over his face. You realized then that she was looking at you. Hyung-seo's expression was apprehensive, her eyes scouring your face.

    "This must be an extremely difficult thing for you, whatever the reason," you offered earnestly.

    She regarded you in silence, her eyes flickering like the flame of a candle.

    "I would say, 'I understand', but I don't. I have no idea how hard it must be to fall in love with someone only to watch them suffer at the hands of disease, and to suffer so greatly and to come so close to losing them that you turn to finding a person who can save them, and who - if they are saved by - they will need and desire for the rest of their natural life. A person who isn't you." 

    Her eyes quivered as they held you in their gaze.

    "I know I'm supposed to be a saving grace," you continued, having gained your ground, "But I know I could also look a lot like a threat. Trust me when I say that you can be open and honest with me about how you feel. This is a difficult situation where we're going to feel burdened by things we shouldn't. Namjoon and I discussed this."

    You smiled again at your soulmate, who was watching you with relief and something else in his features. You wanted to call it admiration, but you had only known him for two whole days.

    "Whatever fears you're carrying that make you feel like a burden in this moment, could I ask you to set them aside? For a chance to get to know me in the real way that you deserve? This isn't a trap. Or a cage. We've all chosen to be here."

    You regarded Hyung-seo in the silence that followed. Her eyes had fallen from your face - they glanced over toward where Namjoon stood, barely raising toward his figure, when she suddenly dropped her face into her hands and began shaking with sobs.

    You let out a sigh of relief too soft to be heard by the others.

    "Fuck...." Hyung-seo choked out against her palms, "I'm such a piece of shit..."

    Namjoon moved to place a hand over her back and assure her she wasn't. You wondered what she felt when he touched her. Your heart ached with pity for her. Namjoon drew her into his chest and held her as she cried her makeup off. He stroked her hair as her regarded her with weary, worried eyes. You couldn't help but feel that you were encroaching on a private moment...expect that you were a part of this as much as they were. Was there a lifetime of this feeling to be endured? You sighed again.

    "I'm gonna give you guys a minute," you whispered as you clambered to your feet.

    Namjoon nodded silently over the woman in his arms. 

    You watched scattered leaves from the boughs overhanging the far side of the stream spin as the were swept away. Your eyes tracked one in particular, twirling as it sailed around a protruding rock and under an arching root, only to be stopped as it was doubled at the middle by a thin, swaying reed. You found your feet moving to where the water rushed around it as it billowed helplessly on both sides of its obstruction like a flag of surrender. You slipped off your shoes and rolled up your pants. You waded into the cool, clear water and, reaching out, tugged the little leaf free. You watched as it sailed on, disappearing around a bend in the waterway. You glanced back up at the pavilion. If you could have been sure it was the right move, you would have left altogether, but you wouldn't want your sudden departure to be taken the wrong way.

    You sighed. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket as you waded back out of the stream. Dead. You were bad about keeping it charged, and your conversation with Diana had drained its aged battery. You wished you had a book. Glancing about, your eyes caught a fairly large patch of clover flowers a few yards down the bank, and crossing the soft grass, you sank down in its center.

You smiled weakly to yourself as you plucked one of the little white buds near the base of its stem. You and your siblings would spend hours at the park under the shade turning sprawling patches of the puffy blooms into garlands, crowns, bracelets, and rings. You picked another flower and tied its supple stem into a knot just under the other flower's head. 

    By the time Namjoon came to join you, sinking down across from you in little clover patch you had fashioned yourself a crown and a necklace, and were working on a garland to send to Diana. You set down your handiwork to look up at him. He was regarding you with soft, somber eyes and a little smile that looked like one he didn't have the energy for but couldn't help besides. He picked a flower and twirled it between his fingers.

    "I'm so sorry," he murmured, "If I would have thought that things would go that way, I wouldn't have insisted on her meeting you before she left. She's going on tour and I thought...well, I thought if she just met you her anxieties would be eased."

    You nodded thoughtfully.

    "Thank you for your patience and kindness. She was out of line saying those things to you like that...you were...that was everything she needed to hear, I think."

    You cast your eyes down as you tied off another knot in the garland.

    "Is she okay?" you asked quietly.

    Namjoon sighed.

    "She's...embarrassed. Ashamed of herself. She wasn't in any condition to finish that conversation, so I suggested she go home."

    "Understandable," you assented, nodding again.

    Silence hung between you for a moment before you raised your eyes to his again.

    "Namjoon...there are some things I think we should discuss."

    He nodded earnestly, his eyes falling, brow creasing and tongue pressing into his cheek.

    "I know we haven't had much time," you continued, "And we have literally the rest of our lives...but, I think we should be on the same page about what we've been told about each other. I think it will make this whole process easier? I don't know. There are some things you assume you'll have to tell someone at a certain point in knowing them - some things that are...deeply personal..."

    "Aren't things between us already that way? Deeply personal?"

    You looked up and those half-lidded brown eyes were looking right at you in a way you weren't prepared for, in a way that flooded your veins. Soulmate. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to feel him and what he brought to you. You wanted him to feel it too. But you didn't know him, and he didn't know you, and he needed healing, which is why you were here. He loved someone who loved him whose lives you were disrupting. This feeling was basal, you knew - came with the territory...but you were going to need some strong boundaries if this was going to function. You were going to need honesty, for a start.

   "They are," you relented slowly, "But I have questions that I need answers to. Your trust in me is clear, and I appreciate that...but...I need time to get my footing here."

    Namjoon nodded in assent.

    "I get that. So, what do you want to know, specifically? I'll answer any question you have."

    You nodded gratefully.

    "Thank you. Do you think I could take a little time to think about what I want to ask? I'm kind of still processing everything that just happened."

    "Of course," he was quick to answer, "Whenever you want to talk, just let me know. Did I say how sorry I am?" he asked smiling weakly as he looked up from where he struggled to knot the stem of one flower around another, suddenly looking down again when its stem snapped between his fingers.

    You huffed out a little laugh.

    "Yes, you did," you did, you answered, offering him a rueful grin.

    He picked another flower only to realize he had cut its stem too short for his purposes. He tossed the little blossoms back into the grass.

    "Can you make me one?" he asked pathetically, pouting at the garland in your hands.

    You chuckled as you tied off the one in your lap and leaned forward to slip it over his head. He adjusted it around his neck, looking down at it with a pleased expression.

    "You know...if you can believe it, we actually got lucky in there," he smirked, his forehead creasing as he raised his brow.

    You gave him a look of confusion. His eyes trailed over your torso again before flitting back up to yours.

    "She didn't notice that you're wearing my sweater."

    You froze. Then you blinked down at the giant green cardigan that had, in fact, slipped down off of one shoulder. Then you gaped at him.

    He snickered.

    You scrambled to yank the sweater over your head, even as he laughed and protested, you blustered apology after expletive after apology.

    "Shit, it was in my laundry bag!" You whined in explanation as you shook it out and began to fold it in your lap.

    "Stop, just keep it on," Namjoon insisted, still clearly amused at your state of panic.

    "I have one just like this. Like, identical but obviously smaller. I just assumed it had stretched out in the wash..." You extended the sweater toward him.

    He shook his head.

    "Just give it back later, you'll be cold." He looked up at your exasperated expression and started laughing again.

    "Stooop..." you whined in embarrassment, and when he only laughed harder, you tossed the sweater in his face. As he balled it up with a smile where it fell down into his lap, his smart watch trilled. He glanced down at it.

    "I've got labs scheduled now," he sighed.

    "Hopefully they'll bring more good news," you offered, at which he nodded. "I seem to be getting the job done, if I do say so myself," you teased, leaning back on your hands and offering him a smug look.

He nodded, tongue in his cheek, then pushed to stand - with effort, you noticed - and extended a hand down to you. You didn't realize what the little smile on his mouth was for until you accepted his hand with your own, by habit, and were nearly knocked back off your feet as the bond surged through you like a wave of mind-numbing euphoria that left you unable to process information outside of what was sent coursing through your every cell from where he touched you.

    You blinked up at him as you got your wits about you, and he was looking down at you through little slits in his barely-open eyes, head tilted back and mouth hanging open - little smirk still tugging at its corner. You pursed your lips, trying not to grin back.

    "You did that on purpose," you chided, trying and failing to train your features in a scowl.

    His smirk deepened.

    "What? I was just being courteous..."

    You rolled your eyes.

    "I'm feeling a little weak, I think it would be best if you helped me back to the room," he muttered slyly, turning to head back toward the building.

The smile that was dimpling his cheek and creasing the corners of his eyes did something to your stomach that had you yanking your hand out of his grasp.

    "Yeah, right," you huffed, forging a few steps ahead of him, "You're putting a lot by your poorly reputed coordination to think you could walk while I was touching you." 

    He let out a laugh behind you. It was loud and bright and had you biting back a smile to match it.

    "What happened to getting the job done, sweater thief?" he called after you teasingly.

    Shit. Yeah. Boundaries. You were going to need them.

_________________________________________________

Well, they met! Next part to follow soon.

Thank you for sticking with me here!

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[2af-afterdark]

Come Hell or High Water

Rating: Explicit  Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con Category: F/M Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Relationships: Main Character/Asmodeus Characters: Asmodeus, Main Character Additional Tags: afab!mc (she/her), noncon, non-consensual drug use, somnophilia, size difference, vaginal fingering, victim blaming, vaginal sex, Asmo is delusional as hell,  fic follows the ‘demons will be demons’ rules so don’t expect anyone to be good here Summary: There’s a new human living in the House of Lamentation and Asmodeus is not impressed. That is, until the day he finds that she isn’t charmed just from being in his mere presence. He’s never seen someone who hasn’t fallen for him instantly in some way before and it drives him mad. If she won’t fall for him on her own, he’ll have to pull some strings to make her fall for him, one way or another. After all, it’s not his fault that she chose to do things the hard way… A/N: Thanks for the request and for being patient with me! Not going to lie, I love addictive cum as a monster fucking/magic concept. I went a bit on the darker end for this one (as in, this is where demons live and they will do what they want while using whatever reasoning justifies their actions). Dark fics heal my tired brain. Word Count: 2.8k

He didn’t care for her at all. Not at first. She was just another human out of the billions that should have been prostrating themselves before him for a microsecond of his attention. Worse yet? She wasn’t even interesting in a way that made her stand out among the rest of the rabble. If anything, she started as far less interesting than a common rodent because at least they scurried about and terrified people who were so much larger than them. She, on the other hand, had no magic, no talent, and a perfectly average face – although everyone was average at best when compared to him.

But perhaps he had judged her too quickly. After all, when Asmodeus looked deep into her eyes to charm her, she felt absolutely nothing. It was as if he was just another person to her. It was new to have someone who wasn't immediately taken in by his alluring eyes and that only made him want to chase her all the more. After all, it wasn't often he met a challenge like her and he wanted to savor the hunt while he found a way to break her down.

If that way was by using a few tools to help awaken the feelings she should have had, who could fault him? It was, after all, his right to be adored by everyone who saw him and she was the one breaking the terms of that unspoken agreement. She should have simply given into his powers to begin with if she didn’t want this outcome to occur.

So he asked Satan, oh so sweetly as brothers do, to find him a potion or a cursed object that would – hypothetically, of course – put someone in a dazed state that wasn’t quite asleep but also wasn’t aware enough to fight against anything that may be happening around them.

Satan gave him some sweet, refreshing smelling incense the next day – no questions asked because he literally didn’t care what Asmodeus was going to use them for.

Asmodeus smiled at her with a sickeningly sweet smile as he played out the events of tonight on repeat in his head. If any of his brothers noticed that he was clearly planning something they didn’t say a word – because, again, they really did not care. The human should have learned on her own by now that she couldn’t trust any demon in the Devildom and that there wasn't a single one of them that was completely harmless– aside from Mammon, but he was too stupid to realize that Asmodeus had something in mind for their houseguest. 

Normally, he would be one to go to bed early to ensure that he got enough sleep to maintain his skin's healthy, youthful glow, but tonight was special. Tonight was his precious first time with his human that would make them irrevocably fall for him. They just had to fall asleep first so he could begin.

After the house went dark and quiet, Asmodeus left his room dressed only in his silk sleeping robe. The halls creaked loudly with each step – or, it seemed loud because of just how silent everything else was. The building was so still that the only noise as he walked to her room came from the gentle snores of his brothers, the settling frame of the house, and Beelzebub's obnoxious barely conscious munching coming from the kitchen as he passed by.

It was as if the entire world slowed down just for him – just for this moment – and would ensure nothing got in his way.

He didn't hesitate to turn her doorknob. He didn't think twice to open it and slip inside once he found it was unlocked. He also didn't stop his thoughts from turning to delight at her naive foolishness in trusting a house full of demons enough to leave her door unlocked in the middle of the night.

With nimble fingers, he withdrew a sweet-smelling ball of reddish-purple grass from the pocket of his robe and turned it over in his hands to examine it.

Satan had said that if he planned to use it – again, hypothetically– it would need to be lit and allowed to smolder rather than burn. The smoke it let off wouldn't affect a conscious person, but anyone that was already in a dazed state would be unable to come out of it. He just needed to wait ten minutes after lighting it for the smoke to get into her system.

So he lit it and waited.

Ten minutes later, when he was certain she had inhaled enough of the smoke for it to be dancing through her bloodstream, Asmodeus dragged his fingers over the tightly pulled fabric of the t-shirt she had worn to bed, tracing intricate patterns across her body and savoring her little unconscious whines and whimpers that told him that she was deep enough under not to wake up but not so far under to be entirely unresponsive. In fact, he couldn't help but smirk victoriously as her pretty nipples began to poke through the fabric straining to hold them back.

"Does it feel good?" Asmodeus song-sang as he slipped a hand under the hem of her shirt.

His fingers danced along the smooth expanse of her skin, traveling over her slowly rising and falling tummy until he met her breast and could feel its weight in his hand.

Her soft, delicate moans were music to his ears.

"You're simply ravishing, my dear. Not as beautiful as me, of course, but I won't hold that against you." He cupped her breast and gave it a taunting squeeze. "Not so long as you don't mind me holding you in return."

He licked his lips, practically salivating at the sight of her lying there so completely vulnerable. She couldn't say it with her own voice, but he knew he was making her feel good with just his caresses by the way her mouth gently opened and moans poured out.

"Shh. You'll wake up the others if you're too loud and I don't want to ruin our private moment."

Every ticking second made him shiver in anticipation. If any part of his plan fell apart, if she suddenly resisted the incense or if one of his brothers suddenly decided to care about his strange behavior, he may have found himself in a compromising position. As things stood, however, she was helplessly shackled to her own vulnerability and he had free reign to do with her as he pleased. And, oh, it would be his pleasure to make her fall for him at last, one way or another.

"You're so lucky," he cooed in hushed tones as he leaned in close to make sure she heard him, even in her dazed state. "No one ever gets my attention like this. No one except you."

He grabbed the fabric of her shirt in his fist and pulled the bottom up high until her breasts spilled out and he could admire her bare chest in full.

"Is playing hard to get fun? It must be, because there's no other reason for you to be so frigid with me." His voice was laced with venom, even as he smiled. "Don't worry. You'll love me soon and then we'll be the best of friends."

Asmodeus' mouth latched onto one of her nipples and began to suck. Down below, his hand slipped past the band of her pajama pants and slid into her underwear to rub his fingers over her clit.

The way he touched her wasn't kind. He didn't mean for it to be. Even though he wanted her to fall for him, he also had a bruised ego that demanded retribution. That's why he didn't mind sucking on her chest a little too hard or pressing on her clit so violently that, as he massaged it, her whimpering turned to expressionless crying.

He bit the hardening nub that rose to meet him before flicking his tongue across it to soothe whatever pain he may have caused. Then he bit her again for the joy of knowing he could do whatever he wanted without her protesting. Pliant partners that he could do as he wished with were truly the best. She would learn that soon enough.

His fingers left her throbbing clit and slithered down her slit until he found her entrance. Slowly, he began to push two of his fingers – an amount that was clearly too much for her given how forcefully her body fought not to open for him – into her wet hole. He forced her to take him all the way to the knuckle so he could feel her deepest parts, so he could assault and train her body the way he liked it.

"Isn't this nice?" he chuckled as he pinched her opposite nipple with his unused hand. "Even though you act so cold toward me, your body is greedy for more."

And that was enough.

Asmodeus kept touching her until her thighs were slick with her own juices and her body trembled as it stretched to accommodate him.

He would have lost himself completely to simply touching her and indulging in her warmth, but, just as he was delving deeper into her, he heard an almost imperceptibly low groan. It was the kind of thrusting groan one only made when they were rudely awoken from a night of restless sleep, and it was coming from her.

He stopped playing with her chest to look at her face.

She was still expressionless, clearly entirely unaware of what was happening, but her eyes were somehow staring directly at him. Even in her barely conscious state, it looked like she was accusing him.

Just beneath his robe, his cock pulsed with desire.

"You can't wait, can you? Don't worry. I won't tease you any more." He pulled back his hands – her dripping pussy making a lewd squelching sound that made him shake with delight as he withdrew his fingers – and moved to open his robe.

As the silken garment fell to the ground, his lithe body -- still so much larger than hers by quirk of being a demon despite him being shorter than the rest of his brothers -- trembled. If he had any sense of shame, he may have hesitated to show off what she'd done to him; that her constant game of cat and mouse had gotten him so riled up that finally catching her made him so hard he couldn't hide it.

"Look what you've done," he chastised with a song in his voice and a smile on his face as he spread her legs open wide and settled between them. "Now, be a good little human and take responsibility for what you've done."

He thrust his hips forward, sinking deep into her warmth with one movement and moaning at how tightly she squeezed him. The moment he was inside of her, it felt like he'd found something he didn't know he'd been missing. It was like her pussy was made to cradle his dick and her body molded itself just for him.

How could a human, especially one as mediocre as her, feel so perfect?

Asmodeus rolled his hips against her, groaning each time the tip of his cock kissed the back of her warm walls. He loved the feeling of her so much that he wanted to rip her open and feel every part of her in full.

"Were you planning to hide your sinful body from me forever," he babbled as he started to slam into her at a frantic pace, "or were you just playing hard to get?"

Wake up. 

He wanted her to fight against the smoke running through her veins and wake up so she could see firsthand how her body was being changed to fit him; how she was being changed to adore him. He wanted her to understand why she couldn't fight her desires to worship his very existence after tonight. Once he was finished with her, she would be better; she would be another of his admirers.

Once he left a part of himself inside of her, her fate would be sealed. Even she wouldn’t be able to fight against his charm once it infected her from the inside, greedily accepted by her most intimate place.

He placed her hands on either side of her face and smiled down at her with manic glee. "Are you watching? Can you see how you’re falling for me?" 

He knew she wasn’t, not in any meaningful way at least, but it didn’t make him any less giddy, especially not when she unconsciously started cumming around his cock. She was going to be his. This human who had fought against his charms for so long was going to fall for him at last and then there really wouldn’t be a person in any realm who didn’t desire him. She would be the jewel in his crown of sycophants. He would indulge her needs for the rest of her life, even if only to remind himself how it felt to achieve something seemingly impossible each time he sunk into her pleading cunt.

That was all he needed to think about in order to find his eventual release. He rammed into her one last time, pressing against her as he emptied everything he had deep inside of her warmth.

The following day, after he had left her in that spoiled bed of hers with her used and abused hole dripping his seed, he was all smiles. His cheer was sickening and over exaggerated, even for him, but he didn’t care; he was too pleased with himself to let anything bring down his mood.

It wasn’t until his precocious little human came to join the family meal that he really felt accomplished though. She looked awful, eyes red from tears and face sunken in absolute misery. When Lucifer asked what was wrong with her, however, she couldn’t answer him. She took one glance – a knowing one – at Asmodeus and turned on her heels to escape the entire situation. It was adorable how she didn’t even try to explain herself. So adorable that he couldn’t help but barge into her room after he’d convinced the others to let him be the one to check on her – a simple task because no one else beside Mammon wanted to do it, and he was easy to outplay.

Asmodeus was also disappointed that her door still wasn’t locked. Even after experiencing firsthand the consequences of leaving herself so exposed, she still didn’t take precautions. Of course, it could also be that she was inviting him inside in her own way.

And what an invitation it was.

The entire room reeked of sex as soon as he stepped inside. It was so much stronger than when he’d left her last night, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why as he neared the human-sized pile of sheets on the bed. The most delightful moans and whimpers came from below the sheets as they shook. 

He grabbed the edge of the sheets.

“If you’re going to put on a show,” he yanked the covers away from her and was pleased to find her hand down her pants as he expected, “you need an audience.”

The little yelp she made as she tried to pull her hand away in an attempt to hide her actions was music to his ears.

Her attempt to smack him was not, however. 

“None of that now.” 

He had to grab her wrists to stop her from flailing about and potentially scratching his beautiful face. 

He moved both of her wrists to one hand – the benefit of being a species that was so much larger than hers.

“You were looking last night, weren’t you? You experienced firsthand how wonderful it was to lie with me. No one and nothing will ever make you feel that good ever again.” 

 With his now free hand, he ran a single finger along her clothed sex and watched as her eyes rolled back in her head and her entire body convulsed in pleasure. She looked so much like a dying animal twitching before it finally expired that it made him laugh.

“You’re so cute like this, but I’m not so cruel to leave you frustrated forever.” His smile went far too wide and a glint of pure malice, evil, and desire twinkled in his eyes. “Beg nicely and I’ll show that pleasure again.”

As soon as her body stopped twitching, she looked at him with hazy eyes that could only show just how ruined she really was. Somewhere in the very back of her mind, she had to know that there was no coming back from the euphoria she’d been shown. Even if she hated it and cursed his very existence, no one could go back to their everyday normal after experiencing the best that all of eternity would have to offer.

Her lips parted only enough to let out a small squeak of a request. “Lord Asmodeus, won’t you let me feel your lust one more time?”

#2af writes #obey me smut #asmodeus smut #afab fic #cw noncon #cw somnophilia #cw size difference #cw victim blaming #cw vaginal penetration

[rosanna-writer]

Dress

Summary: Sparks are flying between Mor and Emerie. And fortunately for them, the rest of Nesta's bridesmaids love to play matchmaker. Warnings: None Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~2.7k

A fluffy Emorie oneshot for @sjmromanceweek Day 3: Weddings! You can read it below or Here on AO3.

It started with a dress fitting.

Nesta's entire bridal party—Feyre, Elain, Gwyn, Emerie, and Mor—had squeezed themselves into a dressmaker's shop tucked away in a corner of the Palace of Thread and Jewels, ready for one last round of pinning and hemming before her upcoming mating ceremony.

The dresses matched, a nod to human traditions intended to confuse any faeries who might make mischief for the happy couple. Rhys had chosen them—Nesta had requested a soft shade of violet and instructed her brother-in-law to handle selecting a style that suited everyone and accommodated wings. He'd more than delivered.

Emerie emerged from a dressing room, awkwardly reaching under her wings for the buttons on the back of the dress. "Gwyn, can I get a hand with this?"

"Sorry, still changing!" Gwyn called from another dressing room.

"Mor, go help her," Feyre said, an unexpected note of command creeping into her voice, as if this were a matter of life and death. The voice of the High Lady.

That was odd—Mor would have offered anyway. But perhaps Feyre was just concerned with making sure everything went smoothly for her sister's mating ceremony.

Emerie turned, and Mor stepped closer. She was no stranger to Illyrian wings, but there was something different about standing at the center of Emerie's impressive wingspan.

Something that Mor felt right behind her ribs, almost like a tug on a string tied around her heart.

Emerie twisted her head to peer over her shoulder. "Alright back there?"

"The buttons are just harder to find than I'd originally thought," Mor said, and thank the Mother the words came out sounding cheerful and—more importantly—normal.

It wasn't a lie, either; Rhys had chosen gowns with a hidden button placket. Mor gripped the fabric with one hand, her knuckles brushing Emerie's warm skin. The backless design showed off the swirling tattoos that ran up her spine, over her shoulders, and down the tops of her arms, a new addition she'd earned after the Blood Rite.

It would be so easy to trace them, slowly trailing a hand up the center of her back. Mor imagined the way the other female might arch into her touch, the noises she'd make if Mor dared to caress the membrane of her wings….

But she was supposed to be getting Emerie into the dress, not out of it. Mor shook her head as if to clear it, then kept her fingers steady as she made quick work of fastening the buttons.

"All done," Mor said, taking a step back.

"Need me to do you next?"

Mor flushed crimson, as if she were a schoolgirl and not the seasoned five-hundred-year-old warrior she was. There was something in Emerie's smile that was just a bit too knowing.

Just a crush. A crush. Nothing more, and that tug in her chest had been so subtle that she'd probably imagined it.

Mor had already done up her own buttons herself—it was easier without wings in the way. She tamped down the strange sense of disappointment. "No, but thank you. Maybe next time."

Gods, why had she responded to the question as if it had been an invitation?

Something sparked in Emerie's eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."

Perhaps if Mor hadn't been quite so flustered, she would have noticed Gwyn flashing Feyre a grin and an approving thumbs-up.

And what started with a dress fitting, continued with the invitations.

Emerie hadn't understood why Nesta had been so insistent she needed help sealing envelopes. Apparently it wouldn't do to simply magic them closed, even though most of the guests who weren't family were the priestesses who'd trained with them or the few Illyrians who liked Cassian. The invitations weren't going far. But Nesta was happy, so Emerie would limit herself to rolling her eyes only when her friend's back was turned.

The other two Archerons and Mor were already in the sitting room in the House of Wind when Emerie made her way down after training. A pile of cards and envelopes covered the table.

Elain smiled sweetly at her. "I have seeds for your garden," she said, indicating a packet she'd placed at the chair to her right. The chair across from Mor.

Perhaps Emerie should have been suspicious, but Elain's smile was the picture of innocence. And they had struck up a conversation about the upcoming planting season last time Nesta had them all over for dinner at the House of Wind.

Emerie shrugged off the top half of her leathers, revealing the tight undershirt she wore beneath. Mor's throat bobbed. Or perhaps it hadn't and that was just stupid, wishful thinking on Emerie's part.

She sank into the chair and eyed the size of the pile. "I didn't think the guest list was that large?"

"Official mating announcements need to be sent out, too," Elain said, a bit primly.

Gwyn snickered. "In case you forgot, Em, Nesta is technically a princess."

Emerie supposed that was true—Nesta was the High Lady's sister, and if the mating ceremony was small, perhaps the cards were making up for it. She didn't know how the High Fae nobility did things. Maybe this was just tradition.

Maybe she wasn't actually being set up for something.

Or she definitely was because Nesta smirked, looked her in the eye, and said, "The envelopes won't take care of themselves. Get licking."

Emerie spent the next half hour trying to pay attention to the chitchat about Gwyn's research and Nyx's first words—and not the way the tip of Mor's tongue was repeatedly darting out from between her lips. It was nearly impossible not to stare.

Nearly impossible not to think about what it would feel like to have that tongue against her skin or in her mouth.

Emerie really didn't want to ruin any of this; Nesta had asked Mor to be a bridesmaid to extend a tentative olive branch to one of her mate's oldest friends. It felt like a small miracle that everyone was getting along for once. There might have been a spark between them when Mor had buttoned up her dress, but misreading that could be….disastrous.

It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually, there was a neat pile of sealed envelopes. The group began to disperse, making their way down to the library or readying to flown back down to the street by Feyre. Emerie had just stood up when a hand on her arm made her freeze.

"Are you finding that this is durable? Mine always wear out from the way they rub against the leathers," Mor was saying, fingering the fabric of Emerie's shirt.

Emerie relaxed. She owned a clothing store—fabric care was, at least, familiar territory. "You might do better with something with a tighter weave."

"And the extra backstitching?"

That was a small detail, one that Emerie wouldn't have expected someone to notice unless they knew clothing construction. Which Mor apparently did. "Yes. It makes more of a difference than you'd think."

There was admiration in Mor's eyes, and at first Emerie assumed the other female just knew quality tailoring when she saw it. But Mor didn't move her hand—she squeezed lightly, feeling the muscle of Emerie's bicep beneath.

Emerie stretched her wings a bit, preening. She hadn't misread anything at all. Mor smiled. If Emerie hadn't been so struck by the beauty of it, she might have noticed Nesta and Elain silently bumping their fists together.

And what started with a dress fitting and continued with invitations, all came to a head at Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony.

Feyre was off somewhere wrestling Nyx into a tiny suit jacket, and Rhys had insisted Elain was the only one he trusted to handle a last-minute problem with the florist. Gwyn was sitting with Nesta, which left just…Mor and Emerie.

Mor emerged from behind a dressing screen. "Does your offer to do me next time still stand?"

"And the time after that if you wanted," Emerie said.

Mor laughed, tossing her golden hair over a shoulder to keep it out of the way. She tried not to shiver at the brush of Emerie's knuckles on her lower back.

It was a easier, though, to speak the truth with her back turned. A bit more softly, Mor added, "You look beautiful, by the way."

For a moment, Emerie didn't say anything, just leaned in, her breath warm against Mor's bare shoulder. Something went tight in Mor's chest as she tipped her head to the side, baring the side of her neck.

"I was going to say that dress looks gorgeous on you, but…" Emerie dropped her voice lower, trailing off as she finished the last of the buttons.

Mor turned around, her smile widening into a grin. "But it looks even better on you?"

"Come to the training ring more often, and maybe you'll have something to show off in a sleeveless dress, too," Emerie said.

She turned around, a wordless request for help with the buttons again, and for once, it wasn't the wingspan that made Mor's breath catch. It had been the implication in those words—come to the training ring and see me again after this.

And somehow, it was the easiest thing in the world to slip into easy banter with her, as if they'd always known each other. "I know it's been a while since I've swung a sword, but be careful what you wish for. Unless you're asking to get pummeled into the dirt."

"That's rich coming from a five-hundred-year-old with creaky knees—"

"—who was gracing the battlefield before you were even born."

"Fine. See you in the ring at dawn."

Mor had spent enough time around Illyrians to know that was as good as asking her on a date. And that Emerie was completely serious about the early hour, even if it was the morning after Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony. She muttered something under her breath that made Emerie snort, then finished buttoning the dress.

The ceremony was perfect, not a dry eye in the temple as the priestess declared Nesta and Cassian officially mated. When it was over, the guests made their way to the River House—Rhys and Feyre had offered to host so that the House of Wind could remain a quiet retreat for the happy couple at the end of the night.

Mor sat next to Emerie at dinner, and there had been more of that comfortable, easy banter. At some point during the meal, her hand came to rest on Emerie's thigh. But it had still been a shock when the rest of the table had gone to dance or get dessert and Emerie leaned in and murmured something about finding a place they could be alone.

"Nesta's only just started talking to me without flinging insults. She'll kill me if we run off now," Mor whispered. There were few enough guests that their absence would be noted, even with the dancing in full swing.

"I'm one of her best friends. She'll be fine with it as long as I finish first," Emerie said. If Mor had still been drinking the glass of wine in front of her, she would have spit it out. Emerie laughed and added, "Besides, if anyone asks, we can always say I was helping you fix a rip in your dress."

It was a fair point. Mor let Emerie tug her out of her chair and into the garden.

There was a bench shaped to accommodate wings, tucked away in a secluded corner of the courtyard. It was covered by a trellis of night-blooming flowers—Elain's doing, no doubt—but Mor still put up a shield around them as Emerie sat down.

"There's room for you too," Emerie said, indicating the space next to her with a jerk of her chin.

And maybe Mor should have sat, leaned in, and kissed her softly, done this right. But at some point the thread that she felt faintly in her chest had wound itself into a knot of need.

On some level, she knew: after five hundred years, waiting was becoming excruciating.

"Can I…touch your wings?" Mor said, fully aware of what she was asking, that Emerie had every right to be outraged she'd even suggest it when they hadn't so much as kissed yet.

Emerie stared at her, her gaze sharp and assessing, the look of a warrior who didn't back down from anything. Mor held it.

"Yes." Permission, and that she'd given it at all was evidence enough that Emerie knew what they were to each other.

Mor stepped around to the back of the bench, where Emerie's wings were hanging over it. She leaned in, kissing a straight line down Emerie's spine as she knelt in the grass with the other female's back at eye level.

"Tell me if it's too much," Mor said, reaching out a tentative hand.

Emerie's wings rustled at the first brush of Mor's fingertips. Mor's touch had been light, just ghosting across the membrane, but that had been enough.

"Too much?" Emerie said, her voice going rough. "It's not enough."

Mor raised both hands this time, pressing a bit harder against the silky membranes. They were soft in the places that weren't covered in jagged, brutal scars, oddly cool to the touch, and stiff—too stiff, another lingering reminder of old injuries that wouldn't fade.

Emerie sighed—an invitation. Mor pressed a kiss to the central tendon of a wing, where the scarring was concentrated. She paused, waiting for a cry of pain or to be told to stop, but Emerie just made a low, contented sound in the back of her throat.

Mor's blood heated in answer. She'd been sitting back on her heels, but she rose up on her knees, running one hand up, up, up Emerie's back, around to her front, dipping it under her gown to palm a breast.

"Is this better?" Mor said, sliding her finger up the rest of the way to circle a peaked nipple. Emerie's back arched.

"Yes. Don't stop."

"I'm not stopping anytime soon, beautiful. Not when I've thought about getting my hands on you since I saw you at Windhaven." Mor hadn't meant for the endearment or the admission to slip out like that, but both were true. And her gift was truth.

Before Emerie could answer, Mor swept a hand along her wing again. Emerie threw her head back, and suddenly there was no possibility of conversation, not when the Illyrian had been reduced to moans and it took all of Mor's concentration to circle a nipple with one hand and caress all the most sensitive places on a wing with the other.

Mor pressed another kiss to Emerie's back, just as Emerie came with a cry. She stood, brushing grass from her gown, and stepped back to the front of the bench, admiring the sight of Emerie flushed and panting.

Mor extended a hand, and Emerie took it, getting up and stepping closer on pleasantly unsteady feet. As Mor snaked an arm around her waist, Emerie stretched her wings, encircling them both. And finally kissed her.

It was soft, almost chaste. The sort of kiss they probably should have started all of this with. When they broke apart, Emerie let her head rest on Mor's shoulder.

"I meant what I said about doing you next," Emerie said, smiling against Mor's collarbone.

Mor brushed a lock of Emerie's hair back into place. "Then come home with me tonight." Or every night. Move into Athelwood.

"I'd love to."

They stood quietly for a long moment, pressed against each other at the center of twin circles of arms and wings. But there was still a party, and they would be missed. Before long, Mor was casting a glamour to cover the scent of arousal, spelling away grass stains, and making sure no one looked disheveled.

Mor and Emerie attempted to slip back into the party without any fanfare. They'd walked back in together, not even holding hands, ready with a story about a torn strap on Mor's dress and Emerie's emergency sewing kit.

But four heads whipped around at the sight of them. Nesta was sitting at the head table with the rest of her bridesmaids, a glass in front of each of them. The bride winked.

And as a team, the Archerons and Gwyn toasted to the sight of Emerie and Mor together and a job well done.

#sjmromanceweek2024 #emorie #mor acotar #emerie of illyria

[lunar-serpentinite]

Harry Potter, son of Hecate... and James and Lily (HP x PJO AU)

so we're in an alternate universe where wixkind are basically a subspecies of human born from the spilled ichor of Hecate during the great giant war

sometimes Hecate goes around to check on her accidental creations by disguising herself as one of them and blending in

that is how she meets our power couple james and lily as one of their yearmates (Hecate was in ravenclaw btw if u even care😔)

hecate sticks around long enough to witness the fast approach of the first war against voldemort and she's like ??? well thats one of the most brutal and inefficient ways to chase for immortality but wtv

so somehow lily figures out that hecate is ,,, well ,,, hecate and asks for help on how theyre going to get out of this one alive

hecate is like mmm i dont usually help mortals but youre one of my faves so ill let you have this one

turns out hecate knew this was gonna happen the entire time bc of a prophecy apollo gave her (not the same one from trelawney, mind you) so the most she cld do to help lily without risking the ire of literally everyone else in the pantheon was ,,, help her give birth to their saviour ???

so harry james potter was born with three biological parents: hecate, james, and lily . to represent hecate's status as a triple goddess ??? and apparently harry will represent the union of three worlds : the godly, the magical, and the mundane/muggle .

hecate was under no obligation to continue keeping an eye on the wizarding world bc her role is done and they can take care of themselves now but she cant help but check in on harry from time to time ??? like thats her kid ??? and her fave mortal's ofc

so when she sees that harry was being treated as less than dirt at the dursley's she was like absolutely not and pulls some strings to get harry the fuck out of there

and thats how harry ends up in camp half-blood

mind you back then there were no cabins for non-major olympians so harry had to bunk w the hermes kids

but thats okay at least hes not being bullied anymore !!!

chiron is aware of the role harry is going to play in the wizarding world in the future but was instructed to not tell harry anything until the time was right

everyone knows harry is a hecate kid since he was claimed by her once he had his first sign of magic (made a bench in the dining pavilion explode)

harry befriends hestia in her kiddo form (yes i know nico was supposed to be the first demigod to talk to her in ages but this was in the 1990s bear with me hestia will still have a few years of lonesome before nico comes) without knowing she was hestia

harry gains the favour of hestia who gifts him a nifty little hand mirror that would take him home when he needs it the most

by the time harry is 11, he already has a decent amount of training and was even able to go to his first quest just a few days after he turned 10 yrs old after he was chosen by the words of the quest's prophecy

so harry enters the wizarding world armed with a sword disguised as a bracelet charm, a whole year's worth of ambrosia and nectar, and a bag of drachmas in case he ever gets homesick

and on his first halloween there, he slays a troll . not with a wand, but with a sword. ron is impressed, hermione is concerned, and the rest of the professors dont know what to do with a kid who was apparently trained in literal swordplay

he's in slytherin btw #slytherinsupremacy

#harry potter #harry james potter #harry potter au #harry potter pjo au #hp x pjo au #demigod harry potter

[foolondahill17]

Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

Transcript (bracketed text are notes from Mrs. Dalton):

[11/15/94, please add date]

[C- please see me after class]

Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

[Introduce yourself here]

We’re supposed to pick our favorite author and write them a letter, or whatever. I don’t have a favorite author because I’m not a fucking [unacceptable language!] nerd, but I thought Cat’s Cradle was the best book we read so far by process of elimination (no offense). I just thought the other books were stupid. My Antonia? Total snooze fest [point taken]. And the story about the tricked-out wallpaper? 

I get that it was supposed to “mean something,” but – call me crazy – I think a story should have a good story before you start talking about hidden meanings. Some lady getting locked in her bedroom and hallucinating - that’s a shitty [language!] story. If I were her, I would have just jumped out the window or beat my husband over the head with a lamp. Not that I’m ever gonna have a husband. I’m a dude. But my point is, it doesn’t matter if the story’s secretly some feminist commentary on how we shouldn’t lock up women (see, Mrs. Dalton? I do pay attention) [not quite] if it’s just a crummy story in the first place. 

But Cat’s Cradle was a good story, first, before all those messages about how we shouldn’t have gone so crazy with nuclear technology during the Cold War because it might blow up the earth someday. But anyway, the story was good, you get me? It was funny and weird and had all that new age religion and science fiction stuff – kind of like “Star Trek.” 

I liked the stuff about Bokonism Bokononism. There’s this real stuck up prissy bitch in class named Marie [very inappropriate to discuss another student like this!] who was really upset that Bokononism was basically saying that all religion is just a bunch of lies people make up to make themselves feel better about the fact that everyone dies. And Mrs. Dalton said that, why did it matter if it was all lies if it still brought people peace? I don’t know, I think I’d rather not be lied to and find peace on my own terms, you get me? But Marie was all like “but Jesus is the truth and the Bible is the word of God.” People like her are all over Texas. I hope we move soon. It’s way too fucking [language!] hot here, too. 

My dad’s got this friend who’s a pastor who used to babysit me and my brother all the time. He’s always saying the same kind of stuff Marie is, accept [except] he’s not a jerk about it. He thinks that the evil all around us is proof that there’s good, too. My mom used to think that. She taught me the hole [whole] “when I lay me down to sleep” schtick, but then she ended up dying, anyway, by something so evil you wouldn’t even believe it if I told you. 

The foot thing was kind of kinky [??], but one thing I liked about Bokononism was the karass idea. I move around a lot, so I meet a lot of people, and I guess some of them have sorta joined my karass [nice connection to your personal life]. I don’t think we’re cosmically linked like the book was talking about, but I think it’s weird [significant?] that we all met each other even though we normally never would have. Like if Dad never met Pastor Jim, he never would have met Caleb and Bobby [run-on sentence] and then me and Sam never would have spent that summer with Bobby [run-on sentence] and I never would have learned how to replace a catalytic converter [impressive!], which was helpful because I had to do it all by myself on the Impala when Dad broke his arm and I needed to drive [??] Sam to school.

It’s like what Newt said: “life’s just a game of Cat’s Cradle. [end quote] I see what you mean, but I don’t know if I totally agree. It just seems so pointless if you really think about it. Life’s nothing more than interconnected strings [nicely phrase]. It’s…doomful [??]. (My dweeb little brother says “inevitable” is a better word) [It is a better word]. 

Living in a world where you’re not in control of your decisions seems kinda depressing. I mean, I don’t have a lot of control over where we live or what my dad does for a living, but at least I get to decide to help people. It’s not me who’s trapped inside a story that’s already been written. I’m not some corpse on the highest mountain of some Caribean Caribbean Island, thumbing my nose to God. I’ve got more power than that, right? [A significant question]

Anyway, it ain’t like you’re actually going to read this because I probably won’t get a chance to send it. And Mrs. Dalton won’t get to read it, either, [spoke too soon] because I won’t even be at this school in a week. But there’s nothing else to do while I wait for Dad to get back home. There’s nothing good on TV after 11:00, so I might as well do homework. He said he’d be back in time for dinner, but it’s already 1 AM. [??]

Bye, [Regards,] 

- Dean W.

 A+, you’re a genious [genius] Mr. Winchester! [haha]

[Passably written, and you followed the assignment well enough, but your language and attitude toward your fellow students are unacceptable.]

*Pages surrounded by doodles of a devils trap, fire, Star Wars logo, book, stick-figures, grocery list (peanut butter, apples, bread, soup, cereal, socks), snail, partly erased cartoon dog, glasses, gun, Scooby Doo, baseball, skull, Samulet, Chevrolet logo, Zeppelin lyrics (‘Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor I met a girl so fair, but Gollum, and the evil one, crept up and slipped away with her), note: Call dentist for Sammy! 555-8451*

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #young dean winchester #tean dean winchester #kurt vonnegut #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #ficlet #cat's cradle

[ax-y10]

“imagine being young”

in which; your older brother, schlatt, doesn't help hide your feelings for his bestfriend

requested by anonymous; may i order a mocha with: being schlatts younger sibling by a year with ted, feeling worried when their crush isn’t at school, fixing/fidgeting with their school tie/the hem of their shirt/the collar of their uniform (or something along the lines of preening themselves) whenever their crush walks past them. ( fixing their hair, fidgeting with their ear, fixing their sleeve, pulling at a thread on their shirt — the list goes on. possibilities: endless.) (not the full request)

about; oblivious pining, highschool au, schlatt is referred to as jonathan and schlatt in this, ted is referred to as theodore in a message, swearing, use of y/n, overall fairly fluffy

word count; 526

celebrate here;

ted was known around the school as the local stoner, either showing up to school high or in a headspin. was he cool? some might say so. was he annoying? some also might say so, but not you. you could never find him annoying. partly because if you did, your older brother, jonathan, would reprimand you for 'hating' on his bestfriend.

but jonathan only found out that you had feelings for ted when you had accidentally let it slip one night while you were watching a movie with him. and, as any older brother would do, he teased you relentlessly, sparing you no mercy.

he was at your throat with flirty comments and sexual jokes that probably would have freaked out anyone who was listening.

but one night when ted was staying over, schlatt decided it would be the funniest idea to make it known to ted that his younger sister liked him. shit idea? we both know.

and ever since ted heard that string of words leave his bestfriends mouth, he was nervous as well as overjoyed. he'd liked you forever! of course he'd get excited when his crush liked him. but having known schlatt for years, ted didn't get his hopes up too high.

so when you don't turn up to school one day, and schlatt not having given him any heads up, he was a nervous wreck. he couldn't sit still, he was constantly fidgeting with the collar of his uncomfortable uniform, and he was constantly scolded by the teachers for his lack of focus during the day.

he went home, freaked out and anxious, immediately texting schlatt, demanding answers as to why you weren't there.

---

ted ;)

3:24 pm schlatt!

3:25 pm where the fuck was y/n today? where were you today?

3:28 pm give me some fucking answers, asshole!

3:44 pm i give up now :(

---

the next day, you still didn't show up, but schlatt did, and he immediately started interrogating him.

"schlatt! you bastard! where is y/n!" he whisper-yelled, trying not to alert anyone else's judgmental gaze.

"what do you mean? they're just sick?" oh...

"give me their number, please?" and his phone was placed on ted's desk, your contact open. he copied it into his phone as fast as possible and texted you a quick message, saying hi.

he dragged himself through the rest of the school day, desperate to get back to his house and call you. he was, again, pulling at loose strings on his tie, fixing and styling his hair subconsciously, as if he was trying to impress you, and worried sick about how sick you were. did you have the flu? was it just a head cold?

he ran home as soon as the home bell went, and texted you though pants and heaves.

---

theodore

3:09 pm hey y/n, sorry i didn't text back, i was in class and the teacher kept getting pissed off at me. how have you been? jonathan said you were sick.

3:11 pm oh, i'm a little bit better. i'll be at school tomorrow :)

---

he couldn't fucking wait to see you tomorrow.

#200 follower event #event piece #writing event #ted nivison #ted nivison x reader #ted #ted nivison imagine #ted x reader #ted nivison fluff #ted fluff #highschool au #jschlatt

[merrickthemyth]

Chapter Two - Bloom of the Sun

The banquet is gracefully decorated with candles, vines, and food from places I can not pronounce. I want this to be remembered throughout history, even if it is a ruse.

I grasp Hyacinthus’s hand, now warm and shaky. He looks at me, tilting his head up just the slightest to make direct eye contact.

“You okay?” He gives a sympathetic smile.

“Of course, what about you?” I kiss his soft lips, I can feel him smile as he kisses me back.

“I think nervous is the right word.” He pulls away.

“I won’t let him come near you, I promise, just stick with me.” I squeeze his hand. He nods and I smile. I feel bad, but I will make it up to him. We will hang out, just me and him, no one else.

Soon, Thamyris arrived.

He entered the room with the confidence of an Ox, he might as well be as clumsy as one. He touches all the decorations that took hours to put up, and I bite my lip with annoyance.

He keeps looking behind his neck, searching for Hyacinthus. Hyacinthus is with me, so I don’t greet him like you usually would.

The guests start to roll in and I smile. My Muses are set up in the back, playing the most amazing music, I really outdid myself.

Everyone takes to the floor and starts to dance in diverse ways, I grab Hyacinthus’s hands and I drag him over.

He laughs and smiles as I hold his hands and move them up and down in a playful motion. He is not a very good dancer, so he relies on me for most moves. He holds me tight and I smile.

But soon I can’t stall much longer, and I have to make an announcement about Thamyris because he is the whole reason I’m holding this banquet.

I let go of Hyacinthus’s hand and walk up to the front of the room, no one’s attention directed towards me, yet.

“Excuse me, I would like to raise a toast to Thamyris, the reason we are all here tonight!” I shout to grab everyone’s attention.

Thamyris waves his hand and smiles. I force a smile back as he walks up towards me.

“Well, I am not surprised. I am the best musician here,” The crowd laughs. “I just thank you all for recognizing that, and celebrating it with me! In preparation, I wrote a song tonight, just for you!”

He walks back to my table and grabs my lyre as he pats my Hyacinthus on the shoulder, I cringe with resentment, but I don’t say anything as he walks back to his place next to me.

He grabs the instrument, and starts to play. His fingers dance across the golden strings like a leaf in the wind, while the sound plays a beautiful soft and confident tone, perfectly mixing the 2 opposites together, and for a second I forget why I am here. The music starts to become sick and streaky as I remember what I need to do.

I started to alter the tone of my lyre so it sounds untuned without touching it.

I watch in delight as Thamyris’s eyes grow wider and more impatient by the second. He frantically inspects lyre while snapping his neck back to the crowd.

“Thamyris, I thought you were good?” I taunt as his skin grows as red as his hair.

“I- I am. I swear to Zeus, I am good! Better than the Muses themselves!”

“Is that so?” I laugh, and call over one of my Muses. As she comes, her white and golden dress flows behind her, her dark hair following.

“Yes, Apollo?” Erato asks with a sing-song voice.

“Our guest, Thamyris here, says he is even better than you Muses?”

Erato tilts her head. “Even better than I, Lord Apollo?”

“Even better than you”

“Well then. I challenge you to a music contest! Whoever wins will be declared the best in all of Sparta!

“And whoever loses?” He asks.

“Will face a punishment designed by the other”

“Very well”

It was settled, the competition would begin shortly. The crowd is still as water, and one word could create a tidal wave.

Erato summons her Lyre and starts to play. Such a beautiful tale that I can visualize it. A million different interpretations can be imagined from her song. A hero’s life cut short, a rival romance, or a happy ever after, something so rare, even I am impressed. I look over to see Thamyris. He purses his lips and runs his fingers through his curly hair. 

Erato finally stops, the crowd is in awe, no words are spoken, the water is still unbothered. She looks at Thamyris and gives a half sympathetic smile. 

“Well, that was nothing- I could do better!” Thamyris sneers while tripping over his own words.

She nods, as if giving him the right of way to go and try to be better than herself. 

He hesitates for a moment, but then grabs my lyre, I cut him off. “Ah, see that is mine, meaning, you can’t use it. Good luck though!” Erato glances at me and silently her face reads  ‘Really? Just let him use your lyre. But I do not. 

He spits at her feet, and for a second I am about to maim him right here, but Erato cuts me off.

“Borrow mine. I will not mess with it or anything, you probably forgot yours, just borrow mine.” She speaks softly, turning him away from the crowd so he is not embarrassed.

I stare in awe. She is too nice. “Erato-”

“Apollo, you can not make it impossible on him.”

She is right, I nod, my golden hair sweeping in front of my face. I tuck it into my ponytail to see Erato handing her lyre to Thamyris.

Thamyris scoffs, and snatched her lyre. I turn to her and I whisper “I’ll make you a new one”, because Thamyris would somehow find a way to ruin hers.

She nudges me in the side, and lets him play.

He uncomfortably grasps the instrument, as it was not fitted and carved for his unnaturally long fingers. Eventually he situates himself and starts to strum it. He manages to play a beautiful tune. I hate to say it, but I start to become engaged with it. I listen closely as a bead of sweat trickles down Thamyris’s freakishly long face. His pupils are shaking in the white of his eyes, and I give a sickly grin.

The audience listens intensely, their full attention on Thamyris. I just sit back and watch. A little trick I learned from Dionysus: People crack under pressure. Dionysus has often said that people will mess up on various things when they feel pressure to be perfect. That is what I’m counting on.

Thamyris slowly gets wrapped up in his own mind and his fears eat away at him. He starts to go off beat while feeling the audience’s eyes burn into his hands. His hands eventually slip off of Erato’s lyre and he is furious. He throws the instrument to the ground and tears swell up in his eyes.

“That- That isn't fair!! It isn’t my lyre! It’s Erato’s fault!!” Thamyris stammers, and Erato seems hurt. Her lyre, a gift from me to her, is shattered into a million silver pieces, and she is devastated. 

She looked at him, and with despair in her eyes she yells. “You were challenged to a competition. You lost fairly. You took your anger out on my property. For that you shall suffer. You will never look nor speak on music ever again.” And with that, she looks at me to finish it off

 I smile and I blind and mute him. 

Thamyris grabs his throat and tries to speak, but no sound comes out. His eyes, once frosted with green, are frosted with a gray film. His head turns in every direction in hopes that his sight might be magically regained, but it does not.

The first still water, is now a tidal wave of commotion.

#queer #apollo #hyacinthus #thamyris #greek myth retellings #Bloom of the Sun #BOTS #retellings

[iamthenerdqueen]

The Red String of Faith - Chapter VIII

Idol!AteezXOCs Soulmates!ot8AteezXOCs OCXOC Slight Social Media AU!

slight twigger warnings: Drinking in this chapter, talking about extreme poverty, Polyamory, group of 10, two OC's -feel free to replace one OC with yourself if you'd like- , listen this is an idea me and my best friend had and is something for fun read at own risk, not edited as always, also we are starting to explore themes such as bxb and gxg if thats not for you, this story may not be for you. Also, this chpater had hurt Wooyoung cause it's the Madrid concerts.

Chapter V, Chapter VI, Chapter VII, Next

The entire soulgroup spent the rest of the afternoon and late into the night just relishing the fact that they were in each other's presence again. The real problem all of them were facing was some serious jetlag, the girls were about six hours ahead of their normal time while the boys were about seven hours behind.

To put it lightly, they were all very tired and struggling to stay awake by midnight. As much as they would swear that the reason they stayed up was to put themselves on the right schedule, that is a blatant lie. They didn’t go to bed because they were 1, way too excited to see each other again 2, catching up on everything they hadn’t spoken about on the phone, and 3, drinking.

Also, Seonghwa was pouting but that was just because the girls brought him his birthday gift to Madrid rather than sending it to him like they did Yunho. His Toothless stuffy was decked out in Jedi robes, a voice recording in its paw, and sprayed with the girls' perfume.

They were sprawled out in the living area, the girls had somehow both ended up on the floor Lia sitting against the bottom of a chair with Yeosang behind her, somewhat drunkenly playing with her hair while Lyra was against Yunho’s knees just to the left of the Lia. Across from Lyra was Jungho who had also opted to sit on the floor once they started taking shots.

Dear reader, please note that Jongho and Lyra very much care for each other. They’re soulmates and their connection is unbreakable, but the two of them refuse to show the other mercy in what turned into a shot-for-shot competition.

“My money is on Jongho, he holds his liquor the best and enjoys drinking,” Wooyoung said while leaning down to Lia’s level only to have the girl actually laugh at him. She was laughing at him with her whole chest.

“If it was anyone else, I would be on the same page as you. Lyra is going to win, every single time.” Lia was very sure of her words and lost all sense of volume when drunk so she was practically shouting she was so loud.

At her words everyone, except the two on their ninth shot in a row, turned to look at her with questioning glances.

“Why would you say that?” Hongjoong didn’t know if he was impressed or very concerned at the fact that Lyra didn’t even seem more than a little buzzed after two drinks and a total of thirteen shots of straight vodka counting the few she had when they opened the bottle.

“Y’all know she went to college, right? In the deep south? That says enough on its own” That obviously went over all of the boys' heads as even Jungho gave her a questioning look after that comment. “Okay… what does that mean?” San was a tired drunk but Lia’s confusing words made his brain work overtime trying to understand what she could possibly mean.

Finally, Lyra - who to be fair was a little drunk - began to explain what Lia was trying to get at. “I was a sorority girl in college, so I did my fair share of drinking and partying at sketchy places.”

“ A sororrr-” Wooyoung stopped himself and thought about the word while a deep frown came over his face, “that word is hard, what does it mean?”

“SHE WAS IN A CULT!” Lia threw her hand into the air with her proclamation causing Seonghwa to gasp in concern and Lyra to giggle before taking her next shot.

“It’s not a cult, umm the best way to describe it in a general way is a womens’ based organization for college girls, there are fraternities which are the men’s equivalent. Pretty much a lot of meetings, lot of interacting with people, and suffering but telling yourself it's okay because you love the people you’re suffering with. Oh, and drinking a decent amount of drinking just at nothing official.”

“Sounds like a very odd cult.” Hongjoong said affirming Lia’s words from earlier, the rest of the boys nodding along with him.

Lyra kinda gave in and understood the logic, she just gave them a shrug, “You get a lot of useful skills from it, social skills and other things that come from organizations and other crap like that. There is also something fun about knowing all the secret things that go on, I'm a sucker for dramatics.”

At that, the boys moved on again as they had made it to the bottom of the bottle of Vodka and took it as the sign to slowly start sobering up before going to bed. They had made their way from one topic to the next, the mood shifted from chaotic to somber as they got deeper and deeper.

“I don’t know what I expected out of life, I had a lot of things I loved as a child. I’m happy I ended up here, doing this and being with all of you,” Jongho’s words got a lot of cooing from his soulmates and Seonghwa even kissed the top of his head from behind him.

“I get what you mean, everyone always talks about their hopes and dreams as a child but I never had that. Even as I got older, I didn’t have a strong desire to be anything specific, my only goal was to have something. Do something to make enough money to live comfortably.” Lia said, looking at nothing in particular.

“Yeah, I just wanted to be able to get out of our hometown. Have enough money to eat every night, to never have one of those dry goods boxes from the school show up in front of the door again.” Lyra said to Lia who knew exactly what she was talking about, it was one of the things that bothered the boys sometimes. That they hadn’t been there to stop bad things from happening to the girls.

“A box?” Yunho didn’t exactly understand, he had heard her but the alcohol and the English were getting to him, he had been slipping in and out of Korean all night. They were all a little too drunk to notice both girls were keeping up with them as best they could as they switched between languages, having worked hard to be able to speak the basics in the past two months.

“A dry good box, stuff that my family could eat and was shelf stable for a long time. There were times my family couldn’t afford a lot of food, there were a lot of us and my dad couldn’t work so money was always tight. Sometimes the food wasn’t great, but it was better than the night when we didn’t have any food.”

It was quiet after that, Lia wasn’t a stranger to the level of poverty Lyra experienced as she had grown up with it herself. Everyone in their town had grown up in some level of poverty. Most people in their town fell to heavy drugs at some point, it’s a cycle that thrives in impoverished areas.

“Do you remember the trailer I grew up in?” Lyra nodded her head to Lia’s question, the boys a little lost. “Sometimes, I still wake up and have that moment where I think I have to be really careful when moving around because I forget that the floor isn’t caving in on itself. The floor of my childhood bedroom and the whole trailer really was falling apart.”

“Oh, I-” Yunho's lip quivered slightly, tears had come to his eyes as she had explained more. Times hadn’t always been great for them either, but the thought of one of his soulmates going hungry hurt.

A quick sob left him and Lyra leaned up to look at him before turning to be face-to-face with him. He was crying because she had suffered like that, but she was the one comforting him, and that only made him want to cry more.

“Don’t cry baby, please don’t cry over that. It was a long time ago, we’re okay now. “ Lyra was holding him at this point, the other boys also were a little emotional at the new information. It seemed as though as they learned more and more about the girls, the more they wanted to hide them from all the awful things that had already happened to them.

They couldn’t change the past, the girls couldn’t take away the things that had happened to them as trainees and rookies from a small company in an industry that is dominated by those who have the most money to make an extravagant show. The boys couldn’t change the circumstances the girls grew up in. Yet, the most beautiful part of it all was they were only able to find each other because they had kept going. Fate is funny, not everyone finds their soulmate but everyone has at least one out there. There is a level of free will that comes into play, you have to experience life to find them.

The group stayed like that for a while, Lyra comforting Yunho and Jongho had moved to lay his head in Lia’s lap in an affectionate way. Everyone else was piled on the furniture and soon enough they were fighting sleep.

Considering how drunk a couple of them were (I.e. San, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa) it was time for them to crawl into their beds. Lia was sleeping with Mingi and San while Lyra was with Jongho and Yunho in the same room. Yeosang and Seonghwa took up one of the beds in the other room while Wooyoung and Hongjoong took the other.

It was perhaps a very bad idea for them to drink so much, as they all regretted it the next morning while the boys were practicing for the show.

Lyra had gone to speak with the translator she would be helping through the European leg to see if it would be a good fit while Lia just watched them as they were marking some songs and doing some run-throughs of their songs.

Lia was the first one to catch that something was off with Wooyoung. He was moving stiffly and kept twisting as if he were trying to crack his back to bring him some relief.

It was a few minutes after that started when he let out a pained noise after dancing one move particularly hard.

“Oh my god,” Lia felt relatively helpless at this moment, she had been watching with a couple of staff members from the empty seats when he cried out. In an instant, the boys had gone to him from their positions, and a plethora of the staff that had been backstage.

They surrounded him to the point that Lia couldn’t even see him, nor could she hear what was going on. It was then she made her way to the back parts of the arena, her staff lanyard let her move easily through all areas of the building.

By the time she made it to the dressing rooms, Lyra was there and pacing as they both waited for the boys to come backstage.

“Nononono, I’m okay Hyung. It’ll be okay for the show, I’ve just got to rest my back some and I’ll be good to go,” Wooyoung was pleading with Hongjoong who was helping him back to the waiting room. “We won’t make a decision right now, we will talk with Hajoon hyung about it closer to the show.” Hongjoong was stern but also incredibly gentle in his tone of voice.

“Don’t worry about that right now, please just let us get you to a spot where you can lay down and get you something for the pain,” Lia was trying her best to contain her worry but she hated not being able to do much more than pamper him at this moment. She was scrambling to set up the small couch in a way that would help take pressure off his back.

Despite being in so much pain, Wooyoung didn’t let Lia’s use of Korean at that moment go unnoticed, “Did you just say that to me in Korean?”

Lyra had found a medical kit somewhere among all the things the staff had, they didn’t have an on-staff doctor, just a few staff with medical experience and the bag Lyra was now rummaging through for some sort of painkiller.

She tossed some generic painkillers to Lia before being dragged back over to where the translator was to look over some of the Spanish for the night's show.

“Yes, we’ve been practicing and I know it’s really bad right now.” She spoke in Korean again as she took out some pills and grabbed him a bottle of water from the counter, “Here take these, and tell me if you need anything,” she switched back to English at this point while still trying to find a couple things to make him feel more comfortable.

The rest of the boys were also moving around the back now, trying to figure out what the situation would be and taking care of other little things that needed to be done before the show.

“I don’t understand why y’all don’t have a blanket somewhere around her, all these damn bags and not a single blanket for me to tuck you in with,” Lia was speaking to no one specifically, just talking while looking for other things to make Wooyoung feel better.

“Cute,” Wooyoung was definitely in some serious pain as that was all he could muster as he tried to shift to make it feel better as he waited for the medicine to kick in.

By the time they were about to start the show, he swore up and down it was better. Good enough that he could go on with the show and worry about it after.

This was a lie, he was not better and did not make it through the show. There was nothing more heartbreaking than the sight of Wooyoung having to leave the stage mid-performance. He was in tears, some may assume from the pain but the girls knew that it was from the fact that he felt he was disappointing Atiny because he couldn’t perform for them.

Madrid turned out to be rougher than expected, the injury being the worst of it. The second day of the show was somber as none of the boys enjoyed performing without all eight of them there, but they did their best for Atiny regardless. Lia had stayed at the hotel with Wooyoung, so he wouldn’t be alone and to make it easier for him to rest.

Sometimes it was like they were living in a dream where nothing had consequences, but then real life always came knocking and burst that little bubble.

A/N: Hello! Back with a short update. I didn't get to write as much as i would've like this last week so this is a little shorter than usual but next week should be back to our regualarly sheduled fun!

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez soulmate au #ateez x oc #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez san #ateez smut #ot8 ateez x reader #ateez ot8 #ot8 x reader #ateez scenarios #atz #atiny #ateez social media au #choi san #jung wooyoung #kang yeosang #wooyoung #san ateez #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #ateez fic #song mingi #ateez mingi #kim hongjoong #ateez headcanons #ateez hongjoong