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pingutats · 3 years

Note

For the “ways to say i love you” prompts, 43 please!

thank you for the request! from this list, prompt 43: "I picked these for you."

warnings: none! this is just fluff!

word count: 1.8k

. . . . .

This is definitely Harry’s domain.

Y/N hugs her shoulders as she stands in her bedroom-turned-dressing-room, staring at the rack of expensive clothes that have been left for her. Through the door, she can hear the noise of the crew bustling around her living room. This house has, of course, been the site of many Harry-hosted parties that had packed in a lot more people than there are present here today — despite that, this smaller group is threatening to become overwhelming for her.

She’s doing this for Harry. A couple of months ago, he was approached by AnOther Magazine to do a big feature with them — a kind of sequel to the one that he did when they were still called Another Man — and he’s been pouring his heart and soul into it since then. It feels like every single day, he’s been off chatting with a writer or meeting with the creative director. He dragged boxes out of storage to rifle through for mementos of his life as a solo artist last week. Y/N knows that some of their friends have been interviewed to talk about Harry. She’s pretty sure Stevie Nicks is one of them.

The centrepiece, though, is a photoshoot more intimate than he’s ever shared before. In the same way that the shoot set in his hometown years ago illustrated where he came from before he rocketed to stardom, this one will reveal who he is underneath all the make-up and glamour of fame.

Harry as he exists in private: in his home, with his girl, sharing this image of himself for the very first time.

Y/N was apprehensive at first — hell, Harry was too — but they’ve discussed it at length. He’s always been a private man, but his ethos is that honesty is integral to his art. He sings in detail about her in his music and puts that into the world with minimal censoring. This magazine feature, at its core, is just another artistic venture. He doesn’t want to hold back. When she understood it like that, it was easy for her to agree.

Her conviction that this is an important thing to do for Harry doesn’t stop the nerves, though. She’s never been a model, or even remotely a figure of interest beyond her connection to Harry. It’s his limelight that she’s stepping into. She can’t help but feel nervous about it.

The first outfit she’s wearing is a boldly patterned dress, custom-made by Gucci at Harry’s request. This isn’t the first time she’s wearing something this expensive (there are no compromises on fashion when you’re with Harry) but it still makes her feel like a fish out of water. She holds the hanger at arms-length for a moment, vaguely anxious that she might have put on weight since the fitting and it won’t fit her anymore, then carefully slips it off. She steps into it gingerly and shrugs it over her shoulders, then reaches behind her to pull the zip up as far as she can reach. She stands in front of the mirror and looks at her reflection, frowning.

Her make-up, which was done earlier, is colourful and dramatic. The point of this home shoot is to show the dichotomy between Harry’s celebrity persona and his private life, illustrated through the elaborate costuming inside their relatively normal home. She doesn’t recognise herself in it.

There’s a knock at the door, startling her out of her thoughts. She whips around, back straightening. “What is it?”

“Can I come in?” It’s Harry’s voice, and just those four short words in his gentle tone are enough to dissolve some of her anxiety.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself into a calmer headspace. “Yeah,” she answers.

He opens the door discreetly and slips inside, careful not to reveal her to the people in the living room while she’s not properly dressed. She appreciates his caution. Although he’s apparently comfortable enough to walk around near-strangers half-naked—he’s only wearing his boxers right now—she definitely isn’t.

“Everything alright, darling?” he asks. Every step that brings him closer puts her more at ease. She’s always been an anxious person, but he’s like a drug to her. From the very first time they met, he’s been the person she feels most natural with. They just work. Things feel right with him.

She smiles at him. It’s a weak stretch of her lips, but a smile nonetheless. “Yeah. Can you zip me up, please?”

“Of course.”

She turns back around to face the mirror and reaches behind her head to pull her hair out of his way. His fingers are warm against bare skin of her back, finding the zipper and dragging it up, his knuckles brushing against her skin more than is probably necessary. He fixes the way the straps sit over her shoulders with the same attention to detail that she’s seen his stylists give for him a hundred times before. His lip is tucked between his teeth as he does so, glancing from the mirror back to her, his face the image of concentration.

Finally satisfied, he takes a step back and rakes his gaze up and down her figure. “Y’look gorgeous.”

She shrugs, staring at herself. “Thanks, H.”

“I mean it.” He plants a kiss on her cheek, holding her by the waist as they look at each other through their reflections. “Pretty dress for a pretty girl.”

Heat rises in her face and she drops her gaze to the floor. “Now you’re doing too much.”

He shakes his head. “‘M not. Promise I’m not.”

She hums, appraising their reflection with a frown. Even in his underwear, Harry is Harry, and she… She feels like she’s playing dress up in someone else’s wardrobe, dipping her toes into someone else’s life. Harry is at ease in a place like this but she certainly isn’t.

Harry seems to sense this. “Something the matter?” he asks her gently.

“No, just —“ she wrings her hands in front of her, searching for the words. “I don’t feel like me.”

He furrows his brow. “I know what you mean. ’S weird when you do all this—” he flutters his hand around the room, at the rack of clothes and towards the door where they can hear someone giving directions to shift the couch slightly to the left “—just to get a photo done. And I know you’re not used to it.” He squeezes her waist gently. “But you look beautiful. Just like you always do.”

She can’t suppress a small smile at that, bumping her head against Harry’s shoulder with a quietly mouthed, “Thank you.”

He turns his head to kiss her hair, then releases his grip on her waist and moves over to the rack of clothes. “But did y’see…” He bends down to pick up a plastic container marked Look 1 from the shelf at the bottom. He opens it up to reveal various pieces of jewellery inside, and delicately picks out a couple pieces with nimble fingers. “I picked these for you.”

They’re her earrings. More specifically, they’re the earrings that he gave her for their first anniversary. A couple of dangling pearls—he’d bought them during his obsession with the gems. They’re a sweet memento of that time of their lives, of the honeymoon phase that felt like it lasted forever, that never really fizzled out even to this day. They’re her favourites.

She realises her mouth has dropped open. “When did you sneak those in?” she asks.

He shrugs, smirking. “I have my ways. I’m sneaky.” He returns to his previous position standing behind her, nudging her hair behind her ear with his knuckles. “May I?”

She nods, trying not to shiver as his fingers brush against her ears.

“There we go,” he says, stepping back. “Is that a bit better?”

The girl in the mirror looks familiar now. Despite the make-up and the dress, she can see herself. The same face, framed by the same earrings, that has accompanied Harry through all sorts of days and nights. Today is just another one of those things. Something they’re doing, together, and isn’t that all she wants, for them to do everything together?

Being with Harry is a dream she never wants to wake up from. They’ve built a paradise together and now they get to share a tiny part of it with the world—not for the world to share in it, but to see just how beautiful it is.

There’s a little part of Y/N that hopes it makes the rest of the world jealous. They should be, she thinks.

“It’s perfect, H,” she tells him, glancing over her shoulder so she looks at his real face, not just his reflection. “Honestly. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” He looks proud of himself—his eyes are shining and his dimples are on display as he looks her up and down once more. “It’s all you.”

Y/N mirrors him, her gaze travelling down his body. She bites her lip.

Harry seems to remember suddenly that he’s only in his underwear—his hands fly to cover his thinly-clothed privates and he looks at her, his mouth open in a sly grin. “This is not the time,” he scolds, his shoulders shaking as he suppresses laughter.

Y/N rolls her eyes, grabbing him by the shoulder and pushing him to turn around. “Go get dressed, you dork.”

. . . . .

The suit that Harry wears is made out of the same material as Y/N’s dress, bright and bold colours. The photographer is accomodating of her nerves as he has them sit on the couch. The window is wide open to allow the natural light to illuminate their faces, and the Y/N can feel the warmth of the sun on her face. The sky is a brilliant blue. It’s a perfect day.

“Okay, look this way,” the photographer tells her, drawing her attention from the window to the camera. “A little closer, Harry.”

Harry shifts over, his thigh pressing against hers. His hand comes to rest on her knee, then lifts suddenly as if he’s remembered something. “Hang on a minute,” he says to the photographer, holding up a finger.

He twists around to face Y/N and carefully sweeps her hair back over her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear to ensure the pearl earring is on clear display. She smiles at him, which he returns in a quick unspoken exchange of gratitude and care.

“Alright,” Harry says, settling back to face the photographer. His hand finds Y/N’s and he squeezes it. “We’re good.”

The camera clicks and the flash goes off. Their hands remain joined on Harry’s lap.

. . . . .

hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, a reblog & any kind of message would be really appreciated. i'm open to any requests, from the prompt list linked above or from your own imagination, which you can send here. all my other writing is linked on my masterlist. have a lovely day!

#harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #fic

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honorguk · 3 years

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birthday boy ➔hybrid!chanlix

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pairing ━ hybrid!chanlix x hybrid fem!reader genre ━ smut words ━ 2K warnings ━ soft dom!felix, soft dom!chan, sub!reader, chan is a wolf, felix is a cat and so are you, felix is a bit of a voyeur, penetrative unprotected sex, fellatio, threesomes, established relationship summary ━ the boys spend chan’s birthday at your and felix’s apartment, and felix lets you on a little secret about chan’s views of you, escalating into much more than just dirty thoughts.. ↳ requested!

────✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ────

“Babe?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think of Chris?”

You and your boyfriend Felix were lying on the couch late one night, with your head in his lap as he stroked the hair behind your kitty ears, a random show playing on the screen in front of you. You specifically remembered the curious way Felix decided to approach this topic, and how eager you suddenly got after finding out the reason.

“Why?” You furrowed a brow at him, turning your head to face him.

“Just wondering..with his birthday coming up and y’know...the way he stares at you all the time and stuff..” The boy trailed off, taking his hand from your head to the back of his own, scratching it in thought and nervousness.

“Lix, what are you trying to say?” You made your tone more gentle, your tail unconsciously travelling to wrap around his arm, giving Felix a sense of comfort to continue.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he averted his eyes, pressing his lips into a tight line, “he’s into you, so how about we treat him for his birthday?”

Now, it was time for Chan’s special day to actually arrive, and you were seated alongside eight boys all around your living room, cheekily choosing to sit close to the birthday boy himself whilst Felix chose a place on the armchair across.

You’d be lying if you said your mind wasn’t filled with empty worries, and how tonight might end up going, and even having discussed the plan prior with Felix, you still couldn’t help but wonder what it will do to the friendship. Yet, on the other hand, another part of you admired Chris’ alpha appeal, the way his body was built and the not-so-secret attention he always gave you.

The movie playing at the center of the room was surely capturing everyone’s attention, except for you and Felix surely, yet you noticed that whenever you moved an inch closer to the grey wolf sitting beside you under the blanket, his ears twitched, and a gulp made his Adam’s apple bobble, which was clearly a sign that the film did not interest him in the slightest. It was a mere blessing it was playing, because otherwise it would be way too obvious when you began to trace a delicate finger over his forearm and down to his hand, nonchalantly hovering over his thigh and right above his hips.

Chris’ body stiffened, ears facing back from the unexpected contact, and although your eyes were mostly facing the screen ahead, you could still notice a slight smirk playing on Felix’s lips in the corner. You saw his eyes glance over to his bandmate, a silent, nearly breathy chuckle escaping at the elder’s widened eyes.

“Uh, Y/N, don’t you think w-we’re a bit...too close?” You heard Chan whisper in your ear, your hand still ghosting over his leg. His jeans felt tighter, legs pressed together, the only response from you being a slight giggle and a rapid movement of the hand as you took out your phone to check up on your boyfriend, completely disregarding the heated up boy next to you.

You babe are u still okay with this?

Felix instantly took out his phone upon feeling it vibrate beside him, as if he was expecting you to speak up, and pressed his lips tightly once he answered, not looking in your direction to not seem suspicious.

Felix is it bothering u?

You no just making sure with you :)

You saw the boy’s lips turn upwards this time as he held his bottom lip between his teeth, quickly typing up a presumably cheeky response.

Felix keep going love as long as you’re the one sucking me off in the end, i’m cool with it

You gulped, a red blush coming over your face, and you felt your tail unconsciously wrap around your own waist from the anticipation. You glanced at Chris and at his struggling physique, pressed your head against his shoulder nonchalantly and glued your eyes to the screen.

And yet, once again, all faces turned back to the TV, and the movie carried on playing whilst the attention spans were getting lower, and lower, and lower. Thankfully, it was nearly midnight and the film was coming to an end, and as expected, the boy beside you still hasn’t taken his mind off of your earlier actions (as if you couldn’t tell by the tent in his pants). Right as the final credits began to roll, he stood up as fast as lightning and headed towards the hallway to grab his shoes. The rest of the boys, excluding Felix, followed and mimicked his actions, all gathering their things and thanking you two for the wonderful opportunity to relax for Chris’ birthday at their house. You saw him in the corner of the room, glancing at his wristwatch, and you couldn’t help but proudly smile at your doings. The poor wolf was nearly shedding, silently begging the members to hurry up and leave with him.

Yet, you and Felix had other ideas.

Out of respect, as the boys started piling out of the apartment, Chan stayed behind and was the last to step out of the door, but halted in his tracks before doing so.

“Thank you, Felix, Y/N, for having me ‘round. It was a great birthday and I appreciate you guys offering to host it at your home.”

As Chris was speaking, your boyfriend and you only had one thought circling your heads. Felix snaked his arm around your waist upon Chan finishing his words and took his other hand out of his pocket.

“But why don’t you stay a little longer? I know how much you like Y/N’s company..” he smirked, borderline sadistically, and awaited Chan’s response.

Chris just gulped, his eyes wide and ears shifting, as he muttered out a “W-What?”

You giggled at his shaken state, and hopped towards the man in front of you only to grab him by the collar of his dress shirt and pull him closer, whispering into his ear.

“Why don’t you join Felix and I tonight?”

In a sudden blur of actions, moments later you find yourself on top of the wolf, pressing gentle kisses all over his chest, neck and face, choosing to avoid any contact with his own lips. Chan’s shirt was on the floor as he whines, and digs parts of his claws into your body, his still tense towards your contact. He holds in a suppressed moan as you start to suck purple marks into his pecs, and his hands go to lay obediently beside him, not daring to touch you elsewhere without your boyfriend’s permission.

Felix was sat on the armchair once more, a hand pressing on his growing bulge. Something about how eager you were to please two men at once, or the way your body curved on top of the leader’s made Felix a little too excited a little too quickly, but his thoughts of you getting fucked raw into the couch were interrupted by his friend’s voice, one that belonged to Chan.

“Lix, w-what am I allowed..to do?” Chris gulped, his own brain bordering the idea that this is all wrong but so right, as Felix chuckled lowly and looked him in the eyes.

“Use her how you must.”

From then on, you instantly felt the older man’s hands exploring your body, often landing themselves on your hips, again, and your ass, as he groaned at your grinding waist. Felix couldn’t help but furrow his brows at the intimacy, not expecting the change of atmosphere to be so sudden, so he stood up and approached the couch, standing beside you and pulling on the hem of your shirt to take it off. He grazed his hands along your chest as he tugged off the top, and pressed a chaste kiss to your neck.

You giggled at the interaction and went back to working on Chris, trailing small kisses and bites down his abdomen. His bulge was gradually getting more constricted as you went on, yet right before you could take off his already unbuckled jeans and boxers, you felt a soft hand card through your hair, pulling you up from your bent position.

“Remember what I said, princess,” Felix purrs, and walks to the other side of the couch as you switch your posture, gesturing for Chan to sit up and settle down behind you. Now, you were facing Felix’s crotch, glancing up at the boy for reassurance before undoing the zipper.

In the meantime, behind you, you felt the birthday boy pull down your shorts and panties, his digits instantly latching onto your dripping heat. He toys with your nearly-aching slit, slipping in two of his fingers in an attempt to stretch you out. You moan, your nails digging into Felix’s thigh, who was evidently enjoying the show considering his hard-on.

Within minutes, your mouth was pressed around your boyfriend’s cock, being careful not to touch him with your pointy teeth, at the same time as the tip of Chris’ own member was entering you from the other side. Softly, you bob your head, knowing Felix likes a delicate start, but in contrast to the man you were dating, Chan didn’t waste his time and started to slide in and out of you at a rough, established pace.

A small howl erupted from the boy behind you, and the room became full of slapping sounds, meanwhile your hands and head were working around your boyfriend’s length. Felix groaned, too, and all of these actions were overwhelming your senses, a knot in your stomach building up simply from the aura.

Automatically, as if it was natural, Chan leans down to place a harsh bite onto your shoulder, his own fangs delicately piercing your skin with a pleasurable sting that follows. You moan onto Felix’s cock, the vibrations making him arch his back and thrust himself deeper inside you, as a dark purple hickey forms on your back.

The more Chris was focused on slamming himself into you, the more his brows furrowed, a mixture of grunts and growls escaping his lips, his tail pressed between his legs. Felix’s head was thrown back in immense pleasure, vocal mewls and purrs sounding like music to your ears. Every second that passed made you clench tighter, and finally, when Chan’s fingertips found themselves latching into your clit, you released onto the man, nails digging deeper into the thighs of your boyfriend.

Felix grips your hair tightly, helping you not stop the movements of your head as he twitched in your mouth, acidic precum signalling he was close, as Chris helped your shaking figure ride out its orgasm. Not long after, his movements became sloppier, and he finished in time with Felix.

You gasped for air, released Felix from your mouth with a pop, and Chan pulled out, collapsing on the couch and watching his seed drip out of your abused cunt.

You looked up at your boyfriend who pet your head lovingly upon seeing your glistening eyes, and went to take a seat in between you and his bandmate, flopping effortlessly on the couch.

“That..was great,” he thought aloud, earning an agreeing nod from Chan who was still panting, dazed from the contact.

“It sure was,” you said back.

“This was an amazing birthday gift, I can’t lie,” The eldest huffs out with a grin, earning a small chuckle from you and Felix.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” The cat pats his shoulder and glances onto the couch. He spots several dark marks beside him, his cheeks flushing red from the sight. “But you better buy us a new couch after this. I think we deserve it.”

This makes you giggle and Chan laughs audibly, reaching for his boxers and sweats on the floor.

“Will do, Felix,” he gets up, dressing himself and heading towards the door. “See you around!”

You both smile as you watch Chris head out, and not even a minute later, Felix’s takes your hand into his, his head whipping around to face you with an eager simper.

“Round two?”

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imaginethoseguys · 3 years

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Liquid Courage

Hi, I need to submit a seminar paper in 10 days so naturally I wrote this 3k+ fic for Itadori Yuji girl, bye

Pairing: Itadori Yuji x fem!S/O Word count: 3.3k Warnings: fluff, drinking, drunk confessions, slight angst, au motifs Summary: No matter the chosen activity, Yuji would be equally excited to simply spend time with her. He didn’t even need her to reciprocate his feelings. He felt comfortable in his lovable bubbly state, and she most likely loved him as a friend, so all was well. Trying to take things further would be a risky move anyway and he would not dare take his chances at the expense of making things worse between them because the last thing he would ever want is to make her upset or uncomfortable. He still remembered all her stories about friendships she inescapably lost after the “I need to tell you something” texts in the middle of the night from guys who she felt comfortable enough to be herself with.

Yup, no way that was happening. a/n: Itadori's in his 20s (as well as s/o)

gif credit

It wasn’t Yuji who offered to spend the Friday night at a bar. He didn’t enjoy drinking that much, and there was some weird old movie at the local theatre that they could watch and make fun of together. But it was an unusual occasion, they were on a week-long mission, dealing with curse activity in Osaka, and, well, it was her who asked, so of course he agreed. He never went against her suggestions, he trusted her fully, maybe even too much. Possibly, it was her way with words. Somehow, she knew exactly what to say in situations where Yuji often found himself at loss for words. She was reliable and reassuring and had a certain kind of warmness to her.

Or, possibly, it was Yuji’s six-years-long crush on her that had him blushing and hyperventilating at anything she did, so opinions were divided on this one.

No matter the chosen activity, Yuji would be equally excited to simply spend time with her. He didn’t even need her to reciprocate his feelings. He felt comfortable in his lovable bubbly state, and she most likely loved him as a friend, so all was well. Trying to take things further would be a risky move anyway and he would not dare take his chances at the expense of making things worse between them because the last thing he would ever want is to make her upset or uncomfortable. He still remembered all her stories about friendships she inescapably lost after the “I need to tell you something” texts in the middle of the night from guys with who she felt comfortable enough to be herself. Yup, no way that was happening.

“Oh, look, they have homemade plum wine!” her exclamation brought Yuji’s attention back to reality. “And it’s in pitchers too. Lucky!”

“You do remember you can’t hold your liquor, right?” he said, propping his face on his right hand while watching her mumble giddily “plum wine and soda, plum wine and soda.” She lowered the laminated menu sheet and leveled him with an annoyed gaze.

“I am a grown young woman who earns a living by exorcising curses, I’m pretty sure I can handle a glass or two, Yuji .”

“Including that time when you threw up on Fushiguro mid-conversation?”

“That was graduation! And we did shots.”

“Yeah, it was also 7pm.”

“Enough of you, mister.” She threateningly pointed a finger at him and turned around to call the waiter. Receiving an acknowledging nod in return, she turned back. “Besides, if we’re talking about you, everyone is terrible at holding their liquor in comparison.”

“I’m just heavyweight.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re just a beast machine who suppressed the King of Curses and can run 50 meters in 3 seconds,” she shook her head at her own description, “no wonder you’re Special Grade. Why do you bother drinking at all? Pretty sure it does nothing to you.”

“I don’t do it on my own. I like the company.” He said timidly.

“Aw, see? This is why I love you.”

Yuji’s eyes widened unintentionally, but she didn’t look at him long enough to see it, her attention swiftly taken away by an approaching waiter. He assured himself he was better at controlling his feelings, but it was all falling apart now, like a bunch of lies, because he could feel his entire face and ears pulsate from heat. He stared at the way her lips moved, making the order.

as a friend as a friend as a friend as a friend as a friend

“Yuji? Yuji!”

He snapped back, looking even more surprised.

“You wanted the Ginjo-Shu, right?”

His gaze lingered on her face, open and bright, with eyebrows slightly raised.

“Yeah.”

This is fine.

* * *

“Ah, see? This is exactly what I was talking about.”

Yuji furrowed his eyes helplessly and took the glass from her hand. She tried to down her drink in one motion but missed and spilled it over herself. Looking back now, he wasn’t sure if it was her being lightweight or her not stopping in time.

“When did that even happen,” he mumbled to himself, “she was fine a minute ago.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she moaned in drunk annoyance, “because I am here.”

“So it seems,” Yuji smiled.

“And I may be many things, but there’s one thing that I am not, and it is deaf. Or stupid.”

“Yup, that’s two things though.”

She sighed loudly and leaned back on the wooden wall of their booth. They were surrounded by soft mixes of white noise: distant frying and sizzling from the kitchen, clinking of glasses, and giddy discussions of the upcoming weekend. They could almost feel like they belonged here, to the normal crowd of Osaka drinking their weekly stresses away, complaining about their bosses, bills, and personal dramas.

Is that what it’s like to be normal? Both of them thought.

Yuji looked over at her and felt the heat returning to his cheeks. This drink spill felt too deliberate to be accidental. And her bra was very thin, and the bar’s AC was on and—

Yuji groaned and swiftly took his hoodie off, almost throwing it in her direction.

“Wear this, please.”

She didn’t really fight it and slowly put it over her head, beginning to crawl inside. She stopped somewhere in the middle and breathed in.

Ah, it smells so good. Smells like him.

She pressed the fabric into her face, taking in his scent. When did he manage to put on cologne? That’s just unfair.

“You okay in there? Are you stuck?” Yuji looked questionably at the wrinkly bundle that was now his hoodie with her somewhere inside.

“Listen, Yuji.”

“You’re just gonna talk to me like this, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in a soft voice. “I know this isn’t how you would spend your night, but—I wanted to—you know. But in the end, I just—and—”

Suddenly, she felt a gentle tug, and her head popped out of the hoodie, revealing Yuji’s face lightened by a warm smile.

“I told you, I like the company.”

There was a needle prick somewhere around her heart, and she pressed her lips together, taken by a sudden wave of sadness.

“Let’s get back, yeah?”

* * *

Their hotel wasn’t far from the bar, but due to her condition, the walk back took longer than usual. Summer was ending, the air was still warm, but there was a tingling coldness with each wind blow, a careful reminder of the approaching grey sky and smell of wet concrete, covered by tired leaves.

The path to the hotel entrance was hidden among the sleeping quarters, illuminated by floor lights, and framed by tall bamboo sticks. Yuji walked first and was right in front of the automatic sliding doors when he stopped and turned around to check on her. Instead of right behind him, he saw her at the beginning of the entrance path with her head down.

“Hm? Are you okay? Wait, are you sick?? Then stay right there, if you wanna throw up, do it—um—” he swiftly looked around. Seeing a gardening pot near one of the doors across the street, he pointed at it. “Here, maybe in this pot? Wait, no, this is a nice neighborhood, imagine waking up and finding vomit in your plants… ah, maybe in this bamboo? I’m not sure if it’s real though… ah, but this hotel allows hosting of jujutsu sorcerers because the owner is a friend of someone from the higher-ups, and if we vomit here—"

“Yuji.”

“Oh, maybe vomit in my t-shirt? And I’ll carry it to the nearest dumpster? No, that’s a horrible idea. Are you sure you can’t hold it until we get to our room? Then—”

“I’m not sick, Yuji!” she said loudly, maybe even too much so. “Although all this vomit talk is grossing me out.”

Yuji raised his eyebrows. “Then what’s wrong? Wait, did drinking uncover your hidden phobia of hotels? I read that somewhere…”

She smiled sadly. “You’re such an idiot.”

He bared his teeth, clearly offended. “Well, I’m sorry for trying to be helpful! Jeez, if you can’t walk – just say so, I’ll carry you to our room.”

“I don’t want to go to our room!” she yelled again. Yuji’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t say anything.

“Because then we go to sleep, come back to Tokyo and—I—” She squeezed the hem of his hoodie, “and I’ll never get another chance.”

There’s a short silence after her outburst. Yuji glanced over her hands that were clenched in fists and looked to the side.

“I mean, it’s not like this is our only chance to visit Osaka, we can always book a vacation and come back here.”

“Huh? Who cares about Osaka? It's—”

“I’m not very smart,” he interrupted her quietly, “so you’ll need to be straight with me, otherwise I won’t understand what you mean.” Then, his voice got even quieter. “Or I’ll start imagining things that aren’t real.”

“Yuji, I—” she tried to speak fast, because she felt a betraying lump in her throat, “I never wanted to drag you into a bar. There was this old movie at the local theatre that we could have watched, but I—If I didn’t drink, I would have never gotten the strength to say the things that I’ve been meaning to say for a long-long time. And this trip felt like a perfect opportunity, and you’re right, I’m a lightweight and I overdid it, and I was so close to saying it, but I thought—I cherish you so, so much , Yuji, it hurts me to even think about it. I tried to tell you before, after graduation, but you distanced yourself from me that night, so I figured it was a bad idea. I still think it is, but I—Yuji, I—”

Yuji shortened the distance between them with a desperately fast sprint and grabbed her with both of his hands, squeezing her so tight that she could barely talk anymore, her face pressed into his chest. He was silent for a bit.

“I distanced myself from you during the graduation night because you looked so vulnerable. I thought you were doing things you would regret the next day, so I didn’t want to take advantage. Because when you’re like this with me, I,” his hands trembled, “It’s so hard for me not to be selfish.”

“Wait, Yuji,” she tried to move away from him, but no matter how hard she pushed, she would never win Yuji in a battle of strength. “Please, let me finish.”

“No,” he sounded uncharacteristically serious. He lowered his head and pressed his cheek to her forehead. “When you say that this is not the way I would spend my night… You can invite me to dumpster dive or read books about molecular physics in a public library, or lick poles in winter, and I’ll choose it over anything else. When I found out we would go on this mission together, I was so happy. I can be doing the grossest, most stupid, and pointless things, but if I’m with you – it would be the best way to spend all the time I have. I hate being alone, and it's all I ever felt for so many years of life. But when I met you—when I’m with you – I feel so warm. You make me forget about the bad stuff. When you’re next to me, I—I feel wanted. So please,” his hands weakened his grab on her frame, letting her lean back and catch a glimpse of his face. “Please, don’t give me false hopes.”

Their breaths were hot and shaky as they looked each other in the eyes, hypnotised by each other’s presence. She cautiously moved closer to him and cupped his cheeks. Yuji swallowed thickly, he had to stop himself, but her hand was soft and warm, and the number of times he dreamt about this exact moment didn’t let him move an inch of his body. She raised herself on her tiptoes and leaned to his lips. She smelled so sweet, and her body was so close to his that—

“Ghh, stop,” Yuji groaned and pressed his forehead to hers in agony.

“Why?” She asked breathlessly, “you don’t want this?”

“ No ! I mean, yes. God, I want this so much my head could explode, b-but,” he leaned back slightly, revealing his glowing red face, from the neck to the tips of his ears. “You’re drunk, and we’re tired and I,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “I want this to be right. If you wake up tomorrow and don’t remember any of this, I—”

“Stop talking,” she moaned and pulled him back by the fabric of his t-shirt, crushing her lips into his, arms then moving up to snake around his neck. Yuji had to resist. He had to, but when she touched him like this, the taste of plum on her lips, and when her—

“Mhm,” Yuji groaned hopelessly, feeling her tongue explore the insides of his mouth. It was hot and wet, and he felt like his heart could stop. Suddenly, he was so putty in her hands, he would do anything for her to keep touching and kissing him like this. No, for her to do anything she wanted with him. He would make a pact with a curse and sell his soul to stay like this a little longer, or to never feel the need to breathe again, so her lips can remain sealed with his forever. Still desperate for air, however, he forced himself to pull away, a shining string of saliva stretching between their lips.

She breathed in, preparing to talk. “I—”

“No, please, don’t say it.” He pressed their foreheads together again, breathing heavily. “Allow me to be selfish. I—I want you to say it tomorrow, in the morning. So that—”

“—It’s real?” she finished for him.

“Yeah,” he smiled bashfully, looking into her eyes. He could see himself in the glassy reflection of her eyes. They were bright and kind, and they looked at him the way he never thought would ever happen. He never thought he would be close enough to her to have the chance of examining just how deep and gentle they are.

Yuji moved a hair strand away from her face. “C’mon, I’ll carry you.”

He lifted her in one motion and pressed firmly to his chest. She could hear the rapid pounding in his chest, and it made her heart race after it. Pressing her ear closer, she could almost hear his thoughts. She didn't really need to hear them, she got the general idea from how uneven were his breaths and how his fingers trembled around her form.

While they waited for the elevator inside, she looked at him.

“Can I keep kissing you?”

His face heated up for a hundredth time this night, as he diverted his gaze nervously. She could feel his hands now squeezing her a little tighter.

“Y-yeah. I would like that.”

* * *

Yuji did not know that pain can bring such an amount of happiness with it. There were two single beds in their room, but they ended up sharing one of them together, which resulted in soreness and numbness in different parts of Yuji’s body. His back ached from arching it so that he didn't fall, and he couldn’t feel his right arm anymore because he went to bed while hugging her. Not that he was complaining though. He could go to sleep on hot coals for all he cared if that meant she would lie on top of him. Feeling her body next to his sent vibrations down his spine. Suddenly, he heard her groan, and his heart fastened its pace.

Nanami Kento was right when he said that getting old is manifested in small things. One of them was getting morning sickness and headaches from any amount of drinking, moderate or otherwise. She hid her face in both of her palms and turned to the side, trying to hide from the morning sun. Sliding the palms down to her chest, she was met with Yuji’s glowing but anxious face: his hair was a mess, and there was a big imprint on his right cheek from the pillow wrinkles. She smiled softly, reaching out to fix one of his hair strands.

“Hi,” she rasped.

“Hi,” he responded, sounding relieved.

“Remind me to never drink again,” she said, turning on her back tiredly. “I lose years of my life from each hangover.”

“I mean, it’s exactly what I’m doing each time, but the strategy doesn’t seem to be working.” He chuckled, slowly getting up from the bed. “I’ll bring you an aspirin.”

Her eyes traced his features radiating in the morning sun as he made his way to the coffee table across the room. He had plenty of scars across his back and more on the chest. None of Jujutsu High students got anything close to normal school life, but Yuji certainly took the cake. And to remain so gratuitously giving and caring all while dealing with so much burden and pressure—her heart sank from just the thought.

She sat up as Yuji sat in front of her on the side of the bed, giving her a glass of fizzling water. She smiled in gratification and brought it to her lips.

“By the way, can you tell me what we ended up doing yesterday? I don’t remember shit,” she said nonchalantly before starting to gulp down the medicine.

The look on Yuji’s face filled with terror and chagrin; he felt his fingertips grow colder as he grasped the bedsheets beneath his hands. He lowered his gaze in silence, feeling the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Meanwhile, she downed the glass and put it on her nightstand. Looking back at him, she lifted the corners of her lips.

“Kidding.”

He let out a questioning yell and grabbed a pillow, aiming a blow. “You’re so mean! Never ever do that shit again!”

He threw the pillow into her face, and she laughed, grabbing his hand, and pulling him on top of her. Yuji positioned his hands on both sides of her head and felt the familiar heat run up his neck to his cheeks, nose, and ears.

“Sorry,” she whispered softly.

“I’ll think about it.”

She lifted her hands and palmed his face, looking deep into his amber eyes. Yuji swallowed thickly, both of his palms twitching uncontrollably.

“Yuji.”

“Y-yeah?”

“I love you.”

The warmness from her hands went deep beyond his face. He felt her arms reach out gently into his chest and cradle his heart, calming its frantic heartbeat and holding it with such care that it sent lumps to his throat. He fought back the quivering of his lips as her thumb stroked across the scar right beneath his eye.

“I love you so so much,” she murmured fondly, squinting from her growing smile. Yuji lowered his body closer to hers and hid his face in the crook of her neck, hugging her from behind.

“If you don’t stop, I might die.”

“Why?”

“I shouldn’t… feel this happy.”

She closed her eyes contently and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a slow kiss to his temple. “Well, that’s not for you to decide, dumbass.”

She played with his messy hairs, breathing in his scent.

“But if you don’t reciprocate, I might die as well.”

Yuji rose sharply on his hands and leaned forward, crushing his lips into hers for a quick second.

“I love you,” he said loudly after breaking the kiss. Then he leaned in and kissed her again.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you,” he kept repeating after kissing her over and over again. “I lov—” She interrupted him mid-sentence and took initiative, thrusting into his lips and parting them with a twirl of her tongue. He moaned and gave in, moving his head to the side.

Please, don’t leave me

I’m with you until the world collapses

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #itadori yuji #itadori yuji x reader

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Prompt: LQR/NMJ fuck or die, whether literally or socially

Without a Path - Chapter 1 - ao3

Warnings: adult content - please mind the other tags on Ao3!

These discussion conferences were getting less tolerable by the year, Lan Qiren thought as he trudged up the steep steps that led to the little house on the top of the hill. It was only two years ago that Sect Leader Nie had died, his place among the five Great Sects taken by his eldest son, and it was as if without his steadying (if irreverent) presence the other sect leaders had completely lost all sense of restraint.

Just last year, Jin Guangshan, who had been hosting, had set some late afternoon meetings in a “wine shop” that had almost predictably turned out to be a brothel, and he’d even taken the further step of paying the ladies of the establishment in advance to accompany them for the evening. A number of the smaller sect leaders had taken him up on the offer, carousing gleefully in the main room, but in the luxuriously laid out room reserved for the Great Sects, three of the five of them had stubbornly refused to partake – Lan Qiren on account of his sect rules, Nie Mingjue on account of his mourning, and Jiang Fengmian on account of his wife.

The entire evening had been unbearably awkward as a result: the ladies continued to make advances, even after having been rejected, and Wen Ruohan and Jin Guangshan only pressured them all the harder the drunker they got, both with a girl on each leg and one rubbing their shoulders. At one point, when Nie Mingjue had gotten up to leave, utterly disgusted – Lan Qiren couldn’t blame him – Wen Ruohan had even reached out to catch him, using his superior strength to pull him off his feet and onto his couch. Nie Mingjue had recoiled as if he’d landed amidst a bed of poisonous snakes, leaping up and storming out, and Jin Guangshan had nearly burst something laughing.

And now there was this year, Wen Ruohan was hosting, and he’d decided to do some sort of fancy winter night-hunt set up, encircling an entire mountain valley in the north for their use. There were a half-dozen houses in the foothills for all the sect leaders to stay in as their disciples conducted the hunts, excluding only the leaders of the Great Set, who were invited to walk up an unnecessarily steep hill to stay in the house up there. Fancier, more prestigious, with a better view…really, Wen Ruohan probably just wanted to rub all the smaller sect’s faces in the Great Sects’ glory, by which he meant his glory, again. Lan Qiren was most definitely not impressed.

The house might be better positioned, but it was inconvenient.

It was located on vein of power that boosted cultivation considerably but made flying by sword difficult – meaning they could only walk up, not fly – and the house itself was more elegant than it was spacious, meaning that once all the servants Wen Ruohan deemed essential were included the rest of them could each bring no more than two attendants. It was distant from the other houses, including the ones where their remaining sect disciples were being housed, and that in turn meant that someone would need to make the trek in between the two on a regular basis to bring them news of their own sects’ successes or failures in the hunt.

Moreover, it had already begun to gently snow, which meant they didn’t even get the benefit of the supposed view!

No, Lan Qiren was most certainly not impressed.

He entered the house, which was at least properly warm, and nodded at Jiang Fengmian, who was sitting with Jin Guangshan and receiving a cup of tea – he looked minorly pained, but that could just be proximity to Jin Guangshan and his idea of acceptable small talk – and it wasn’t long before Nie Mingjue arrived, habitual scowl on his face as he stalked in, flanked by his own two attendants. He was probably least comfortable out of all of them, it being no secret that he believed Wen Ruohan had had something to do with the death of his father – no, that was too polite. More accurately, he believed Wen Ruohan to have murdered his father, and Wen Ruohan had only barely gone through the motions of denying it, yet there was nothing anyone could do about it without starting a war that no one was ready for.

This was the first discussion conference he had to attend as Wen Ruohan’s guest. Lan Qiren felt a stab of sympathy and nodded to him; Nie Mingjue’s scowl softened, fading slightly as he nodded back.

The two of them were more familiar than most, and not only because the Nie and the Lan were long-standing allies. Nie Mingjue himself had spent some time in Gusu at one of Lan Qiren’s early lectures, back when he was still figuring things out – he had been a good student, thoughtful and hard-working, and he had become friends with Lan Qiren’s eldest nephew. That had been a friendship Lan Qiren had sought to encourage, thinking it would be good for them when they would both be sect leaders in the future; it was only that he had not expected Nie Mingjue to become sect leader so fast, so early. It was in many ways deeply strange to think that one of his students was now his peer and equal, even though Lan Qiren acknowledged that that was simply how inheritance worked.

(He wondered a little, sometimes, at Nie Mingjue’s age – the Qinghe Nie were unusually secretive on such matters, had always been. He’d never known the boy’s age when he had been his student, only that Nie Mingjue had grown tall at an advanced clip compared to the other boys, suggesting that he was perhaps older than he appeared. The Nie sect hadn’t objected to his ascension to the role of sect leader, suggesting he must be at least close to being of age at twenty, but really there wasn’t any polite way to ask. Not that that had stopped Jin Guangshan from trying to pry, though naturally Nie Mingjue had rebuffed all such queries.)

“Wonderful view,” he remarked, seeking to ease the mood, and Nie Mingjue briefly almost smiled.

“If you like dull white,” Jin Guangshan sniffed, completely missing the implied criticism. “But then again, I suppose that is the Lan sect’s preferred taste.”

“We generally prefer clouds to snow,” Lan Qiren said, not rising to his bait. “Where is our host?”

“An excellent question. One typically expects a host to be present to greet his guests,” Nie Mingjue said in agreement, his voice low and hot with seething rage.

“He was here, but was called away unexpectedly,” Jiang Fengmian said, acting as the peacemaker as always. “I have no doubt he’ll return shortly.”

Another ke passed before Wen Ruohan strode in, his shoulders slightly damp with snow that turned into condensation from the heat of his cultivation – a waste of spiritual energy, really, but quite in character for him. It occurred briefly to Lan Qiren that for there to be sufficient snow to make such a performance meant that the gentle snow must have gotten stronger since he had entered earlier, but then Wen Ruohan was opening the meeting and he had to focus on more important things. These discussion conferences might officially be held out to be social events, a way for the cultivation world to come together to share knowledge and trade pointers, but for the sect leaders, the Great Sects most of all, it was also an opportunity to do business. Interactions between the great cultivation sects was an especially cut-throat business, each move, even those of allies, being filled with traps, and that meant Lan Qiren had to be paying full attention at all times.

Wen Ruohan seemed especially enthusiastic for business that day, the agenda for that afternoon’s meeting being more filled up than usual with contentious subjects that required significant debate. The meetings on the first day always ran long, a shichen or more, but this one ran past two and was nearing three by the time they started to near the end – they’d even worked through dinner, servants flitting into the room with trays that they placed in front of each sect leader’s seat and communal dishes carried around, a set-up that suggested that Wen Ruohan had anticipated such an over-long meeting from the start.

An attempt to finagle some benefits through driving them all into exhaustion, perhaps? He would have had the advantage of being here for several days in advance, while the rest of them had only just arrived. A cheap trick, if that’s what he was up to, and not successful; if anything, the pressure put them all on their guard.

“I think we’re just about done,” Wen Ruohan finally said, which was a relief. “It’s too late to have the entertainment I planned with our dinner, but I’ll have them bring out some wine to accompany us.”

Lan Qiren suppressed a groan.

Jiang Fengmian cleared his throat. “I had planned to go check on how my disciples were settling in,” he said apologetically, and Lan Qiren was just about to agree that that was a marvelous idea when Wen Ruohan broke the sound-suppressing arrays that had been protecting the room they were in and they abruptly heard the rattling sound of intense winds.

“A storm?” Jin Guangshan asked with a frown, and they all went out to look – it was indeed a storm, the snow from earlier having intensified into a blizzard. It was impossible to see more than a few zhang out, even with eyes sharpened through cultivation; it would be inadvisable weather to fly in even if such a thing were not already made difficult by the dense qi of the hilltop, and of course the stairs would be impossible to navigate. “Ah, well. Such things are impossible to predict.”

They weren’t, actually, Lan Qiren thought with irritation, and Wen Ruohan should have put some more effort into trying to predict it before insisting on this ridiculous winter hunt. Perhaps he’d even deliberately planned for something like this to increase the difficulty level for their disciples, who would not be expecting it – the man’s pettiness and need for victory truly knew no bounds.

“I suppose it’s time for the entertainment, then,” Wen Ruohan said with a smirk, clapping to summon in the dancers. Scantily clad ones, to Jin Guangshan’s delight and everyone else’s growing misery, and Lan Qiren couldn’t help but think grumpily that he wouldn’t have considered dancers ‘essential’ enough to take up space that could have been used by adding in additional attendants.

Luckily, a glance at the candle clock revealed that it wouldn’t be long – enough time to burn an incense stick or two, no more – before he could plausibly plead out on the basis of his sect rules regarding the right time to retire for the evening. It wasn’t an excuse that always worked, unfortunately, as the other sect leaders knew that the rules of hospitality took precedence, but in this particular instance when he tried it Nie Mingjue made some noises about wanting to take advantage of the mountain spiritual vein and winter storm to cultivate and Wen Ruohan for once acted the gracious host, allowing them to retire without raising too much of a fuss. Jiang Fengmian stayed behind to continue watching the dancers, his posture clearly appreciative and more interested than usual, but Lan Qiren had no doubt that he’d be following them soon enough; with a wife like his, he’d soon conclude that the momentary pleasure of watching the admittedly beautiful and well-trained women wasn’t worth her reaction should she hear of it.

He himself settled into his room with a sigh, dismissing his two attendants to go to their own beds. It was already hai hour, the time for sleep according to the Lan sect rules, and by all rights he ought to be fading off to sleep as well through sheer force of habit.

Unfortunately, sleep did not seem forthcoming. He felt restless and confined, hot under the collar with suppressed inactivity – still full of adrenaline from the high-pressure tension that always accompanied the business parts of the discussion conferences, the often vicious arguments that always danced on the very edge of a war he was no longer certain he could say that no one wanted, and, worse, because of the ice storm battering the windows, he could not take a walk to burn off the excess energy.

Sleep seemed far out of reach.

At least he had his duties as sect leader to keep him busy. Lan Qiren occupied himself with taking down notes regarding the results of the meeting at once, lest he forget and have his forgetfulness used against him, and with a meeting that went on so long there was a great deal to record and plenty of information he would need to obtain from his disciples once connection was reestablished in the morning.

A shichen later, he was still awake, writing out one final set of instructions, and he was just about to finally retire for the evening and try to go to sleep, however unsuccessful he expected that endeavor to be, when there was an unexpected knock on his door.

Frowning, Lan Qiren rose to his feet and went to open it.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he said, surprised. “What brings you here this late?”

“Can I come in?” Nie Mingjue asked, and Lan Qiren would have refused if he hadn’t noticed that the other man appeared unusually upset – although the room was lit only by flickering lanterns, Lan Qiren’s cultivation was high enough to make his night vision excellent, and he could see the tightness in Nie Mingjue’s eyes and the bulge of his jaw as he ground his teeth together.

“Very well,” Lan Qiren said, and stepped aside, allowing Nie Mingjue to enter. “What’s the matter?”

“Have you been feeling unusual this evening?” Nie Mingjue asked, voice abrupt. He was standing especially straight, his hands behind his back. “Uncomfortable, or – overheating?”

Lan Qiren frowned.

“I have,” he said slowly. Now that he thought about it, he could feel sweat on the back of his neck, which could not be explained merely by the braziers and conductive array keeping the room warm – not in the face of the ice storm right outside. He did not like that, nor did he like the implications of Nie Mingjue coming to him late at night with the question. “Why?”

“I found this in the kitchen,” Nie Mingjue said, and he stuck out his hand with a jar with herbs in it. “It was – I think they put it in our food.”

Lan Qiren accepted the jar and examined it, his lips twisting into a scowl of his own as he realized what it was. “A consequence of our refusal to participate in the planned entertainment last time, no doubt,” he said, his voice tight, thinking that this was truly intolerable behavior. They were sect leaders, not schoolchildren; such a prank went beyond the mere unseemly into the inappropriate.

He noticed that Nie Mingjue’s expression had only grown more anxious, however, and sought to reassure him. “It’s not poison,” he explained. “At least not in the traditional sense – the drug is a powerful yin stimulant, with amatory properties.”

An extremely powerful aphrodisiac, in other words.

“Although it has some legitimate uses, it is best known to be used in the more dubious forms of dual cultivation. The effects cannot be simply filtered out with a golden core, but are easy enough to blunt with an infusion of yang energy.”

That was, of course, the basis of the prank, stupid and infantile as it was: for a man, it was generally not difficult to infuse one’s core with yang energy. Although it would of course be easier and more beneficial to accept an offer from one of the undoubtedly specially selected female dancers to engage in dual cultivation, a man could always utilize his own hand to stimulate the appropriate effect, even if it would take longer. Wen Ruohan – and Jin Guangshan, no doubt – would undoubtedly laugh themselves sick, dallying the night away with the dancers while the rest of them were forced to abuse themselves for hours just to have some peace.

Bastards.

“Fuck,” Nie Mingjue said vehemently, and Lan Qiren found to his surprise that his expression looked, if anything, even worse, his face having gone a ghastly shade of pale. “I can’t – do that.”

“Why not?” Lan Qiren asked, bewildered. Surely the former sect leader Nie had given his son the most basic education – Lan Qiren truly hoped he would not be called upon to explain the cultivation mechanics of masturbation, although he would grit his teeth and endure if necessary. “It may take several repetitions to flush it out entirely, but the drug itself will assist with – with the, uh, motivation – physically – for the infusion, that is –”

“You don’t understand,” Nie Mingjue said, and his face was now flushed, red at the cheeks as if he had a fever. “It’s not – I know what an infusion of yang energy is. It’s just – it’s not…”

He closed his eyes tightly. He was actually shaking, Lan Qiren noticed, his shoulders trembling – he was clearly very distressed by the whole thing.

“He knows,” he finally muttered. “He must have…there’s no other explanation. This was intentional, all of it. Wen Ruohan knows.”

Something about Nie Mingjue’s tone – almost fatalistic, defeated and resigned, as if he had lost some great battle that he had not even known he was fighting – made a hard tight ball of anxiety in Lan Qiren’s stomach.

“What does he know?” he asked cautiously.

Nie Mingjue laughed dully, a short bark of sound that was all bitterness. “That I can’t generate that type of yang energy on my own, Sect Leader Lan. That I’m misaligned.”

The implications of that hit Lan Qiren with all the impact of an avalanche.

Misaligned. It was one of those strange Qinghe Nie traditions, along with not disclosing private information such as the year of one’s birth – they believed that it was possible for the reincarnation wheel to err, for a man’s soul to be born in a woman’s body, or a woman in a man, or even in some cases a nebulous sort of existence that recognized neither. The substance of what they were wasn’t important, not really; the term was all-encompassing, meaning only that the physical body and the ephemeral souls and spirits did not match.

But for Nie Mingjue to say that he couldn’t generate an infusion of yang meant that the body he had been born with was that of a woman – yin-aligned, not yang-aligned, even though his stature and bearing suggested that his eight characters were likely to be heavily tilted towards yang, if not entirely yang. For a woman, giving in to the aphrodisiacal effects of the drug would aggravate the effects, not cure them; for a woman, ingesting such a drug in sufficiently large quantities could even be fatal, with the effects of the excess yin unbalancing her qi, causing –

Causing a qi deviation.

The former sect leader Nie had died of a qi deviation only two years ago. His father had died of the same.

Nie Mingjue, with his only heir a child under ten, could not risk one.

If they had been at home – if they’d been anywhere more civilized, Nie Mingjue could have summoned some doctor to help flush out the effects through a manual infusion of yang, using drugs, purges, the transfer of spiritual energy, that sort of thing. Without one, the only way to obtain a yang infusion of the strength necessary to keep the effects of a drug this powerful at bay would be through dual cultivation.

Through sex, specifically. Sex in which he was penetrated by a man.

And that, itself, was the problem. The Qinghe Nie recognized the misaligned, and some of the cultivation world followed their lead, but the majority did not. If it was ever publicized that Nie Mingjue had the body of a woman, and that he had, moreover, lost his chastity – it would be a crippling loss of face for the Nie sect, not unless he subsequently married the man who had dishonored him.

“Who can you ask?” Lan Qiren asked, his heart sinking. Between the ice storm that he’d thought had been an oversight on Wen Ruohan’s part, the tall hill with its barrier to flight, the restricted number of attendants they were able to bring, and the application of the drug in such quantity that it could affect a cultivator as strong as Lan Qiren so quickly…there were too many coincidences for this to be anything but what Nie Mingjue suspected it was: a trap designed to ensnare him in an impossible situation. “Perhaps…your attendants? You were allowed to bring two –”

“I wanted to bring people I could trust,” Nie Mingjue said dully. “With such a small number…”

Lan Qiren understood. Nie Mingjue was young, still new to his role as sect leader even after two years – there must be plenty of people both in and out of the Nie sect waiting anxiously to see him fail. For a situation in which he would have to be at close quarters with the other sect leaders, he would have wanted people that he believed would support him unreservedly.

He would have brought family.

“Too close?” Lan Qiren checked, and grimaced when Nie Mingjue nodded. Obviously engaging in incest would only make a bad situation worse, even if Nie Mingjue were willing to order such a thing, which he very obviously wasn’t. “In that case, there’s only…”

His voice trailed off.

“Servants,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice very tight. “Servants, or another sect leader.”

He swallowed, hard. Then, suddenly, before Lan Qiren could do or say anything more, he knelt down before Lan Qiren and pressed his forehead to the floor.

“Sect Leader Lan,” he said. “Please help me.”

Lan Qiren stared down at him in horror, quickly crouching to pull Nie Mingjue up again. “Me? You can’t be serious!”

“It has to be you,” Nie Mingjue said. “Fucking another sect’s servant while they were still in their employ would be as good as saying that my sect was only good to be servants themselves, and of the sect leaders…there’s no one else. Jiang Fengmian is married to a vicious shrew that would castrate him if he even thought about anyone else, Jin Guangshan is a notorious whoremonger known for his cruelty to his bedpartners – and Wen Ruohan…”

He looked up at Lan Qiren, tears glinting in his eyes.

“Sect Leader Lan, please,” he whispered. “Please. It can’t be Wen Ruohan. It can’t.”

Now it was Lan Qiren’s turn to swallow.

“I am faithful to my sect’s traditions,” he croaked. There was no rule against engaging in sexual relations in his sect, only against promiscuity, but among those who were the most faithful to the traditions of their founder, those like Lan Qiren who sought to model themselves on Lan An, such things were taken very seriously. This situation fell nowhere in the list of acceptable exceptions that the young used to explore their inclinations and manage the hormones of adolescence and early adulthood; for Lan Qiren, at this point in his life, he wished only to go to bed with the woman who would become his wife.

The one he would walk to on foot without a path, as Lan An had done, bringing gifts and an oath of eternal loyalty, binding their hands together with his forehead ribbon in a promise that would never be broken.

His dao companion, his one, the other half of his life.

Not this.

Not like this.

“I know,” Nie Mingjue said, and he sounded truly wretched. “I know what I’m asking of you. I know I have no reason to expect anything from you, much less something that may affect the rest of your life. But – please. I beg of you, please. I know what a drug like this can do, especially if combined with certain others, and I just know he’ll find a way to get those to me, too. He won’t let me have the chance to just wait it out and hope for the best – I’ll enter delirium and be unable to resist, and then I’ll wake up and find myself bound to marry the man who murdered my father. Teacher Lan, please!”

Lan Qiren’s shoulders shook. Nie Mingjue was a proud man, and rightfully so, powerful and righteous as he was; it was abominable that he should be begging on his knees for Lan Qiren to violate him because he feared the all-too-plausible alternative more. And at the end he had slipped up in his desperation and called Lan Qiren ‘Teacher’, as if he was still his student, not his peer, still that boy from not so long ago.

The worst of it was that he truly could not think of another option.

If he refused, and he knew he was well within his rights to refuse, Nie Mingjue would try to submit himself in desperation to someone else – Jiang Fengmian would reject him, claiming that Wen Ruohan would never do such a thing even though it was patently obvious that he would, and to submit in such a way to Jin Guangshan was very nearly as bad, given his greed and treatment of women. Faced with such a rejection, with his only other options being intolerable politically or personally or both, Nie Mingjue might try to leave this place contrary all reason, heading into the snow and ice and the steep steps that had been treacherous even without a blinding blizzard, but that might kill him.

He might prefer that it kill him.

“I will help,” he said, because the alternative was unthinkable, because Nie Mingjue had been his student and he couldn’t abandon him now. Nie Mingjue looked up at him, eyes wide as if with disbelief, so he repeated himself: “I will help you.” He hesitated, but only briefly. “Come to bed.”

Nie Mingjue rose to his feet unsteadily and followed him obediently to the bed.

(From his daydreams and the admittedly minimal exploration that he had done in his youth, Lan Qiren knew that he liked obedience in his lovers. He enjoyed pampering them, caring for them, but most of all he liked having them wholly yield to him and trust him, as Nie Mingjue was doing now. He liked it best when the submission was worthwhile, when it was someone brave and bold and smart and powerful, and in another time, another place, a person very much like Nie Mingjue would have been just what he wanted. But he was only doing him a favor – had only been sought out in desperation, not desire – he should not think of such things, nor of how beautiful Nie Mingjue was in the flickering candlelight.)

“Have you done anything before?” Lan Qiren asked, and was unsurprised when Nie Mingjue shook his head. “Anything at all?”

“With another person? No.”

Lan Qiren nodded, accepting it. “You should – probably get undressed.”

Nie Mingjue nodded. His gaze was averted, but his hands were sure and straightforward as he removed the various layers of clothing he wore, the visible markings of the sect leader of the Nie sect; underneath, he was as tall and broad as might be expected.

Lan Qiren put a hand on Nie Mingjue’s thigh. He flinched.

“You’re going to have to relax,” Lan Qiren said, trying to be kind. Nie Mingjue lay back on the bed and clearly made an effort, shoulders settling and muscles unclenching through sheer willpower. Lan Qiren would like very much to blame the fact that his cock hung heavy and hard between his thighs entirely on the drug he had consumed, but he wasn’t that ignorant of himself. “Would you like me to…?”

“Just get on with it,” Nie Mingjue snapped, and then amended to add, “If you would.”

To his shame, Lan Qiren’s cock twitched.

He ignored it and reached forward to touch Nie Mingjue’s body, which shivered invitingly under his hands: his shoulders, his hips, the hard planes of his belly and the surprising softness of his chest – Nie Mingjue flinched once again at that, and Lan Qiren moved away immediately – before dipping a hand down between his legs.

It was probably the drug that made Nie Mingjue warm and wet for him, he reminded himself, and the expression of surprise and the way his hips jerked up when fingers slid over his cunt was simply inexperience. And the way he bit his lower lip and tried to force himself to grind into Lan Qiren’s hand –

“Stop that,” Lan Qiren said, and Nie Mingjue obeyed at once, cheeks pinking with embarrassment. He sank back onto the bed when instructed and spread his legs wider, and Lan Qiren wanted to eat him out until he cried. The effect of the drug, he hoped. “Tell me what feels good to you.”

“It mostly feels strange,” Nie Mingjue confessed, even as Lan Qiren worked a finger into him. He was unsurprisingly tight as a vise, so tight that Lan Qiren was starting to have doubts that he would be able to fit himself inside – he was not small by any measure – but after a few moments either the drug or the sensations started to do its work and Nie Mingjue softened around him. “I don’t normally touch myself in there.”

“Can you show me what you normally do, then?”

“Is that really necessary?” Lan Qiren gave him a stern look. “…yes, Teacher Lan.”

Lan Qiren could have done without the self-knowledge that he liked being called teacher in bed, especially by a blushing former student – who was of an age to be his nephew’s dearest friend, no less – but he was stuck with that now.

Just like he was stuck with the knowledge of what Nie Mingjue looked like when he touched himself, of hearing the muffled grunt he gave when his fingers rubbed against his clit, how he arched his back and raised his hips as he pressed down on it. How tight and wet he was when Lan Qiren gave him another finger, how he hissed at the stretch and then furrowed his brow when Lan Qiren crooked his fingers, rubbing him from the inside. The way his thighs trembled.

“Are you going to fuck me at any point?” Nie Mingjue asked, a little plaintive.

“I’m not sure you’re ready,” Lan Qiren said, but he pulled open his clothing – it hadn’t occurred to him to get undressed, even if Nie Mingjue was, and the little inequality jarred his sense of righteousness even as it turned him on – and took out his cock, pressing against it Nie Mingjue’s slick cunt.

It didn’t go in.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Nie Mingjue, who had been staring at the ceiling and bracing himself, said, and pushed himself up onto his elbows, craning his neck up to look down at where they were failing to join. “Oh, well, see, that’s the problem right there. I’d assumed that I’d invited a man into my bed, not a horse.”

“My bed,” Lan Qiren reminded him, though he wasn’t quite able to keep his lips from twitching in amusement. “It might be easier if you reached completion first. It would relax you.”

“Oh, sure. No problem. Because the prospect of imminent impalement is so very sexy,” Nie Mingjue grumbled – Lan Qiren did not laugh, but it was close – and reached down, closing his eyes as he started touching himself in earnest.

Lan Qiren ground his cock into the bed as he waited, two fingers still inside and steadily stretching, his mouth dry as he listened to the slick, rhythmic sounds, as he watched Nie Mingjue’s face go steadily more slack – too slack, actually, and when Nie Mingjue opened his eyes he looked dazed. Maybe it was simply how he reacted to pleasure, or maybe it was the second drug he’d suspected that he’d been dosed with, perhaps, something to make him less vigilant.

Lan Qiren hoped it was just pleasure, but he knew that it didn’t make a difference either way to what they had to do.

Lan Qiren waited until Nie Mingjue’s hips finished shuddering – one foot twitched and nearly kicked, and he caught it with one hand and pressed it back down – before pulling out his fingers and pressing his cock up against the young man’s entrance again. It was still tight, but he was able to force it in, squeezing himself until the head had gone inside.

“Fuck,” Nie Mingjue said. He sounded half-drunk. “That’s so weird. You’re – inside of me.”

“Not yet,” Lan Qiren said, and pressed himself forward slowly, bracing himself against the bed for leverage as he did. He managed to get about halfway in before Nie Mingjue whimpered. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said. “More like – pressure. Heat. I don’t know. I can feel you.”

“Focus on cultivation,” Lan Qiren advised, which was very good advice except for the fact that Nie Mingjue said, “Yes, Teacher Lan,” and Lan Qiren’s hips involuntarily jerked forward, making Nie Mingjue groan and getting him almost all the way in.

He forced himself to slow down again, to stop. His arms were trembling where he was holding himself up, and it wasn’t with the strain – as if someone raised in the Lan sect, with their habit of handstands and other such exercises, would feel strain over something like this – but rather from the effort of restraint.

He was not going to grab Nie Mingjue by the hips, bend him in two, and start fucking him into the bed until he shouted for mercy, but it was – more difficult than he liked to admit to stop himself from doing just that. This was not a type of restraint that he was familiar with.

“I feel like I should be doing something with my hands,” Nie Mingjue said.

“You may touch my shoulders,” Lan Qiren said, and felt Nie Mingjue’s hands settle there a moment later, fingers gripping the cloth tightly. A moment later, he could felt the spiritual energy inside of Nie Mingjue starting to circulate, and he nodded, impressed that Nie Mingjue was able to find his focus even in such a situation. “Well done. Good boy.”

Nie Mingjue’s legs had ended up slung over Lan Qiren’s hips at some point in the process and he abruptly tightened them, before releasing the pressure just as abruptly a moment later.

“Would you prefer that I avoid saying that?” Lan Qiren asked, desperately trying to focus on starting his own cultivation instead of thinking about Nie Mingjue’s reaction.

“…no,” Nie Mingjue muttered, and turned his face to the side. He was blushing again. “It’s fine. You can – I like that.”

Lan Qiren put one hand on Nie Mingjue’s hips, and pulled himself halfway out, then thrust back inside in a sudden motion, making Nie Mingjue cry out in surprise.

“Cultivation,” he reminded him as he started moving his hips, more cruelty than anything else because he was having some considerable trouble thinking or focusing himself. “You can do it. You’re a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

“Y – yes, Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue said, his whole body shifting with the force of Lan Qiren’s thrusts. Amazingly, somehow, he really did start to cultivate, and then Lan Qiren finally got his act together and did the same, and suddenly their spiritual energy was intertwining, yin feeding into yang and yang spilling into yin, and it wasn’t long before that metaphor became a reality, Lan Qiren gripping tightly onto Nie Mingjue’s hips as he came. He reached down between them and rubbed Nie Mingjue’s clit, mimicking the actions he’d seen him take earlier – a little rough, circles a little careless – and a few moments later the dual cultivation did its work, pulling Nie Mingjue along, his hips jerking up again as he hit his peak once more, squeezing him from the inside.

“Fuck,” Nie Mingjue said, with feeling. “Fuck.”

“A good start,” Lan Qiren said. He was still hard, even after he’d finished inside of him. That was definitely the effect of the drug. “Make sure to draw the yang energy into your dantian. Use it to cleanse your core. Would you like to try another position for the next round?”

“Huh?” Nie Mingjue asked, the daze he was in earlier having clearly deepened, so Lan Qiren pulled out of him – Nie Mingjue whined at that – and helped him turn over so that he was on his hands and knees, his hair having fallen out of some of its braids, though not all, and falling down over his shoulders and back. “Oh, I see. Is this right?”

Lan Qiren was able to push back inside much more easily, whether from the earlier stretch or the new position. “Yes, very good,” he praised, and Nie Mingjue shivered underneath him. “Spread your legs a little more – good, good. Start cultivating again. I’m going to fuck you.”

Nie Mingjue’s cunt tightened around him when he used the crude language. Anticipation, not dread, he hoped, and matched action to word.

Having gotten the edge off with the first round, the second round took longer, Nie Mingjue reduced to shuddering and gasping almost despite himself. The new position also made balancing easier, as Lan Qiren could rely on Nie Mingjue’s own body to steady them both, and that gave him freer use of his hands: he could run them up and down Nie Mingjue’s sides, could press a hand to his belly as if he were trying to feel himself there inside. Could reach up and touch that tempting softness at his chest – this time, Nie Mingjue did not resist, too lost in sensation to really notice, although Lan Qiren did not linger – could slide his fingers down so that he could finger Nie Mingjue’s clit. Could trace around the place where they were connected, the slick dripping out and smearing across Nie Mingjue’s thighs as he fucked into him with wet sounds.

The cultivation aspect was also improved: their spiritual energies recognized each other better now, and for all its faults this mountaintop house was in fact an excellent natural source of spiritual qi. Lan Qiren could feel the energy being drawn throughout his body, strengthening him much faster than meditation or playing guqin or swordsmanship usually did, the ecstasy of spiritual pleasure accompanying the physical sensations besieging him.

Nie Mingjue begged me to do this, Lan Qiren thought hazily, his balls tightening in anticipation of another orgasm. He wondered if he could get Nie Mingjue to beg him again, although maybe this time it would be for his cock or for permission to come.

He suddenly wanted to see Nie Mingjue’s face again, currently hidden in his folded arms with his ass in the air like some bitch waiting to get bred. He wanted to fuck him for a week, never resting, until he couldn’t walk any more, and then he wanted to take him home and do it all over again. He wanted to see Nie Mingjue bent over the low table he used in his study at the Cloud Recesses, hands held obediently on his wrists behind his back, calling him teacher like the good little student he’d been as he used his body to milk Lan Qiren’s cock dry.

One of those, at least, he could have.

He pulled out again, even though he was starting to get close. “Turn,” he ordered, and Nie Mingjue did. “Hold your legs open – no, use your hands. Put them under your knees.”

Nie Mingjue obeyed. He looked obscene in that posture, as Lan Qiren had expected he would: his face was red and sweat was dripping down his forehead, drool at the corners of his mouth and eyes glassy with tears that occasionally rolled down his cheek.

Lan Qiren put his cock against him, but did not go in, just rubbed up against his cunt, marveling at how slick with his juices his cock was. “Are you in pain?” he asked again, an echo of his earlier question when he’d actually meant it as a serious question rather than a tease. “You’re crying.”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, then stuttered, “Yes. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just – a lot. Don’t stop.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you –”

“Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue whined. “Please fuck me already.”

Lan Qiren clicked his tongue. “So impatient,” he said, but he was already sinking in, their spiritual qi at once twining together again, and it wasn’t hard to reach in and tweak it, making Nie Mingjue’s hips jerk and his mouth fall open slack as he came once again. His whole body tensed, and then relaxed, and Lan Qiren used the moment to fuck him hard, hips pistoning as he thrust in and out, using his own hands to keep one of Nie Mingjue’s legs up – he’d released them when he came, hands dropping to grab at the bedding instead – and it wasn’t long before he was coming himself, buried deep inside.

Nie Mingjue was crying in earnest now, but not unhappily – tears spilling down his cheeks, but enthusiastically participating the whole while – and Lan Qiren pulled out and pressed their bodies together.

“It’s going well,” he assured him, reaching for his own cultivation to encourage his cock to recover faster. “Once or twice more. You can do it.”

Nie Mingjue nodded

“Good boy,” Lan Qiren said, enjoying the way it made Nie Mingjue both blush and pant at the same time. “Your teacher is proud of you.”

Nie Mingjue covered his face with his hands, but Lan Qiren was inside of him again by that point, and he could tell from the way Nie Mingjue bore down on him that didn’t really object to it at all.

Still, the pleasure and joy of their coupling – the physicality of sex, the way they unexpectedly suited each other in temperament and in cultivation – was tempered by the reality of their situation. After his third orgasm, or possibly fourth, Nie Mingjue started to succumb to delirium as he’d predicted at the start, and by this point there was no denying that the daze he kept slipping into was pharmacological in origin.

They had both been dosed with the aphrodisiac, that much was clear, but somehow Nie Mingjue had also received a dose of something else, something that made his eyes go increasingly vacant even as he curled his limbs around Lan Qiren, trying to increase the amount of bodily contact between them. Whatever the secondary drug was, it clearly increased his pleasure, which was good, but Lan Qiren disliked the dullness of his expression, the way that it was increasingly obvious that Nie Mingjue no longer recognized what exactly he was doing or with whom. If he’d refused to accede to Nie Mingjue’s request…

Best not to think on that, he told himself, and set himself to the task of reaching his own peak once again as quickly as possible. As much as he was repulsed by the idea of bedding a man who was clearly no longer sober, he knew that it was only through more of his yang energy that Nie Mingjue would pass through this night unscathed.

“Truly it is as they say,” a voice drawled from behind him, and Lan Qiren froze mid-thrust even as Nie Mingjue whimpered and jerked up against him. “The quick-footed ones climb up first, the early bird catches the worm – however it goes. Sect Leader Lan, I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.”

“Sect Leader Wen,” Lan Qiren said, voice stiff. “You are not welcome in my room.”

Wen Ruohan ignored him, walking forward until he was standing by Lan Qiren’s side, looking down at Nie Mingjue lying senseless on the pillow.

“Lovely girl,” he said idly, and reached down to tuck some of Nie Mingjue’s hair back behind his ear. “Do you know, I had no idea she was a woman until she fell into me at last year’s discussion conference? Her breasts pressed up against my arm, my knee between her legs – the Qinghe Nie really do play their cards close to their chests.”

“By the traditions of his clan, he’s a man,” Lan Qiren said icily, or as icily as he could with Nie Mingjue still squirming on his softening cock. “Wen Ruohan. Leave.”

“Have some shame, Sect Leader Lan. It’s my precious jade that you pilfered, after all,” Wen Ruohan scolded lightly. He skimmed two fingers down along Nie Mingjue’s cheek before pressing into his mouth, pushing down on his tongue before starting to move them in and out in a familiar motion – fucking his mouth with them. Nie Mingjue’s eyes were completely blank as he sucked on the fingers of the man who he believed killed his father, who only a shichen or two earlier he had begged on his knees to avoid. “And here I thought your Lan sect had a rule against illicit sex.”

“It isn’t illicit if I’m willing to marry him,” Lan Qiren said. His entire body was tense with rage: he hadn’t expected Wen Ruohan to admit that he’d been planning this at all, much less so causally, as if there was nothing anyone could do about it.

He was right, though. There wasn’t. Even if Lan Qiren could bring forward proof of this atrocity, no one would join hands with him to enforce any type of punishment other than the Nie sect, and the Nie and the Lan by themselves could not hope to shake the power of the Wen sect.

It was as pointless to try to make something over this as it had been over Lao Nie’s murder.

“Marry?” Wen Ruohan echoed, and then laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Tell me, is there any chance you’d share her?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Wen Ruohan asked, and he seemed almost genuinely curious. “Sect Leader Jin and I shared one of the dancers earlier; I assure you, it’s a very enjoyable experience, and most beneficial in increasing your strength.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” Lan Qiren said, his teeth grinding together painfully. “But he hates you.”

He wanted nothing more than to stand up and reach for his sword to run Wen Ruohan through for his presumption, but his cultivation, however powerful, had always been centered in music, not swordsmanship, and at any rate Wen Ruohan’s own cultivation level left his own far behind. As it was, he didn’t even dare pull out of his intimate embrace with Nie Mingjue no matter how vulnerable the position made him feel – he half suspected that if he did, Wen Ruohan would take it as an invitation to simply push him aside and replace his cock with his own.

It can’t be Wen Ruohan, Nie Mingjue had said at the start, tears in his eyes. It can’t. Please!

He stayed where he was.

“I’m not sure why you think that matters,” Wen Ruohan mused. “That bit about killing her father, hmm? Look at her, Sect Leader Lan. She wouldn’t say no even if the man fucking her was her own father.”

“Because you drugged him.”

“Because I drugged her,” Wen Ruohan agreed. “The second one was in the incense in her room, if you were curious. Why do you think I was so willing to let you two off the hook earlier? If everything had gone according to plan, she would’ve absorbed it while meditating and then succumbed to the temptation of getting herself off before retiring for the night, and after the first orgasm or two her rationality would have started slipping away. By the time I arrived, she would have been begging for me to fuck her. Me, and anyone else I chose to invite.”

Jin Guangshan, probably, Lan Qiren thought to himself, white hot fury filling his head.

“Don’t look so offended. I would’ve invited you, too.”

That was worse.

“It could have been a bonding experience,” Wen Ruohan said, then laughed. “You’re the one who’s always talking about the importance of creating ties between the Great Sects, so as to better forestall a war between us – I’m not sure what could be better than having us share our very qi with each other.”

“Sharing,” Lan Qiren said flatly. “Is that what you call gang-raping an innocent young man? Who’s probably your son’s age?”

“Younger than Wen Xu, I expect, though of course with Qinghe Nie you can never really be sure,” Wen Ruohan said, utterly indifferent. “Girls mature faster than boys, don’t they? And anyway, it’s rather hypocritical of you to raise such a protest; you’re the one balls-deep inside of her.”

Lan Qiren hadn’t thought about that, though now that he did he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had always assumed that Nie Mingjue was older than the other boys that had been his students, that the distance in ages between him and Lan Xichen was larger than might be expected, but that had been based on the fact that he was growing so fast – but Wen Ruohan was right. Because Nie Mingjue’s body was a woman’s, the growth spurt he’d had at the Cloud Recesses wouldn’t have signified that he was in the middle of his adolescent years, but at the start of them; he might have been even younger than Lan Qiren had thought, younger than his peers rather than older.

He’d already felt like an old cow eating young grass, but the feeling was abruptly magnified, and no matter that Nie Mingjue had asked him – had begged him – to do what he was doing.

“If you feel so strongly about it,” Wen Ruohan murmured, his voice too close to Lan Qiren’s ear for comfort, “I won’t even insist on having my own turn. I’d be happy with just her mouth – look at how well she’s taking my fingers.”

Lan Qiren didn’t mean to look, but he did. Wen Ruohan’s fingers were shining with spit as they dipped in and out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth, his lips swollen. Tears dripped unconsciously from his eyes.

“You could always just tell her that she needed more yang energy than you alone could provide…”

“What I do is of no concern to you,” Lan Qiren said harshly, cutting him off. “You asked if I would share; I told you that I would not. Do you intend to start something over it?”

Wen Ruohan paused.

Lan Qiren waited, his nerves strung tight. He couldn’t fight Wen Ruohan personally, one-on-one, and he had no authorization from his sect to start a war over this – nor any assurance that they would back him if he did, even though the ethics of the moment seemed clear. He was instead gambling on Wen Ruohan’s past: the other man was older than him, and remembered the wars of Lan Qiren’s grandparents’ generation. There were stories passed down about those battles, about how they had begun, how they had ended, and the role played therein by the contemporaneous members of the Lan sect. The five Great Sects had not been so at odds back then; Wen Ruohan would know the same stories.

He knew about Lan Qiren’s brother, too. He knew that the same madness of all those years ago still ran true in at least some of the current generation.

“Very well,” Wen Ruohan finally said, and withdrew his fingers entirely. “You Lan sect and your ‘one’ – tell me, was your sect founder’s wife as inappropriate a choice as you all seem to land on?”

“Lan An was a monk,” Lan Qiren said, keeping the irritation and tightness in his voice to avoid letting on his relief. “I suspect any ‘one’ would have been inappropriate. Now, as much as I enjoy discussing matters of sect history…”

“You’re somewhat otherwise occupied?” Wen Ruohan chuckled. “Yes, I suppose so. Well, let me not further encroach upon your happy time, Sect Leader Lan. I wish the two of you much joy, both now and in the future.”

From anyone else, that might have been sincere. From Wen Ruohan, it was a threat to watch themselves carefully in the future – that he hadn’t yet changed his mind about what he wanted to obtain, because he never did, not really; he only postponed the date in which it would fall into his hands. He believed all things in the world belonged to him, his acquisition of the object of his desires an inevitability, and he behaved accordingly.

Lan Qiren would have to instruct Nie Mingjue not to agree to any one-on-one meetings with Wen Ruohan in the future, however awkward conveying such a message to a peer would be. Wen Ruohan had already been daring enough to plan out the gang-rape of a fellow sect leader; he would not hesitate to try to take Nie Mingjue by force in the midst of a conference if he thought he could get away with it.

But those were concerns for the future; for the moment, he was content with Wen Ruohan leaving the room with a final chuckle and a crude suggestion about what Lan Qiren ought to do to Nie Mingjue on Wen Ruohan’s behalf – a suggestion he would not be taking.

Nie Mingjue had stopped struggling at some point in the conversation and was lying beneath him, insensate and shivering; Lan Qiren dropped his hand onto his stomach and began transferring spiritual energy directly, hoping to help counteract the effects of the drugs he’d been given.

After a while, Nie Mingjue started to stir, responding again – as much to the spiritual energy as anything else, he was obviously exhausted – and Lan Qiren was able to finally rouse himself as well. His movements this time were slow and gentle, their bodies rocking together and spiritual energy comfortably circulating between them, and when Lan Qiren finally shuddered to completion once again he could feel Nie Mingjue drawing in his energy and letting out only clean, untainted energy in return.

Lan Qiren exhaled in relief. He was more than a little exhausted himself.

“Sleep,” he instructed Nie Mingjue, who blinked at him and nodded. He grunted when Lan Qiren pulled out of him, but didn’t make a sound when he wet his sleeve and ran a few rough swipes over them both to clean them. “We’ll discuss more in the morning.”

#mdzs #lan qiren #nie mingjue #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #without a path #please read the tags on ao3 if you want to know what you're getting into #i don't use warnings on tumblr other than to direct you to ao3

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shadowturtlesstuff · 3 years

Text

Enchanted

finally finished this!!! im so happy with it, and will be writing it in thomas’s pov as soon as possible and perhaps part 2?

Sleep evades me. My mind keeps returning to last night, specifically to a certain person I had met last night. I pull the covers higher, burying my head as I finally gave into my wandering mind.

I stand alone, needing a break from my aunt Amelia. The music was beautiful, a soft sound that filled the entire room. The party itself was decorated in a magical way, the columns in the building encompassed in vines, the tables with floral centrepieces. It was a mixture of whimsy and magic, yet no one seemed happy to be here. Everyone I spoke to was forcing smiles, men faked laughter as they believed this was not a party but a way to make business deals and enforce their own reputation. It was absurd how no one was just admiring the effort people put into making this perfect. It was the same every month, I'd walk to the edge of the room and watch. To calm my nerves, to explore the different flower pieces, the musicians and the flickering candles from the chandelier. The gowns women wore only once to try and show their wealth, whilst I tended to wear the same, as it fit the magical atmosphere this room desperately tried to make people see, yet they were too blind by their greed, the need to prove themselves to everyone to just simply stand back and enjoy themselves.

My cousin Liza seemed to be in conversation with Dacina, the host of the party, someone I had spoken to a few times, each being more enjoyable. Her calming demeanour and charm always lifted my spirits. Her family organizes this ball once a month, her father hates it but makes a lot of business so it is always left to her to plan and design it. With the help of Illeana and lots of their servants they always make this place ethereal. Her brother, Thomas Cresswell, only ever shows up for a few hours then leaves, only being able to handle the faking niceties for so long. Dacina told me of his tolerance, or lack thereof, to society. She speaks highly of her brother, as I once did, yet I have never met Mr.Cresswell.

The varnished wooden floor slowly gathers marks as couples danced. How I longed to be one of those dancers, being swivelled by someone I loved. They would look at me as if I was the most magical thing in the room, with a soft smile and adoration in every word he whispers to me. I would be his equal as we spun around, the world fading into nothing as we held each other. Alas, those dreams are not likely for someone cruel enough to carve the dead.

I snap out of my fantasy as a group of older men walk towards the buffet near me. They talk loud enough so everyone can hear, shockingly talking about work. I roll my eyes at them and look away back to the dance floor. The lights above cast shadows, making the scene feel like my imagination as I sit by a fireplace to read a romance novel. If this was a novel, there would be my love interest here, watching and finding the courage to say something. There are families at the table, children clinging to mothers as the men sit and discuss whatever. My father, uncle and aunt sit together in a seemingly civil conversation. I look for Liza again, deciding I should probably stop brooding in the corner but as I look for her my attention keeps going back to the men at the buffet. Not by choice, but by their obnoxious decision to shout their conversation.

“A woman led the strike, ridiculous, she had to go,” I heard an oldish man say, followed by murmurs of agreement, “these strikes are out of hand, demanding we pay more, absurd notions.” The man is none other than Mr. Birling, a notoriously cold hearted man, much like dacianas father apparently, both of whom value money rather than people. Even their own families. The group of men who looked the same as him, slightly wrinkled face, greyish hair, miserable faces with hints of conniving schemes being plotted against each other. Friends until one of them was earning more money and was more successful, then they were enemies again.

The men were in a heated discussion about their business and from what I can dissect from their ramblings is that they fully believe themselves to be hard working men, a rarity these days, and they must do what is necessary for their companies. Meaning, budget cuts, strikes from workers, firing people, and any horrible decision in the name of money. I refrain from rolling my eyes, or going over to berate them.

“Mr. Birling would not know what a hard day's work is.” someone says quietly behind me. His voice is smooth, confident, and whilst I agree due to what I have learnt about the birling family and the conversation I had just overheard, I still wouldn't say it aloud with him being this close. Not that he pays any attention to anyone but ‘hard working men’.

I turn my head slightly, the man behind me is tall, a smirk playing at his lips. His suit is finely tailored in a dark grey, with a peach tie. He takes a step forwards and stands at my side, staring out into the crowd, a glass of half drunk champagne in his hand. I return my gaze to the crowd. “Whatever makes you think that, surely you heard him talk about how much he works,” I try to suppress my own smirk and I also sneak a glance at the strange man. He merely takes a sip of his champagne.

“Right of course, his words, I shall listen more closely next time.”

“As you should. You wouldn't want to misinterpret someone's work ethic and make a fool of yourself in front of a stranger.”

“You consider me a fool now?” he turns to me now, hands pressed against his chest in fake offence. His brown eyes meet mine as I face him. His sharp cheekbones feel familiar, but I can't place where from.

“Yes. how could you consider someone such as Mr Birling, a man with such talent and tolerance of others, a man who clearly built his company and was not handed it by his father, how could you with a straight face imply he doesn’t know hard work.” we stare at each other for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. He has such a pure laugh, we seem to be the only sound in the room. People around us stop and stare, upset two people are having fun at a party. The stranger leans against one of the columns, disrupting the vines slightly. Yet he doesn't seem to care, as he slowly starts to regain his composure from our outburst.

Mr. Birling is one of the men looking at us with full disdain. He perceives us as two kids who do not understand life, he specifically tells his accountant that there is something wrong with us if the rumours are to be believed. Children of science. Outrageous. Especially a girl. A girl, not a woman. I ignore his pathetic whining, intent on not letting him ruin my night and return my focus to the stranger. Who, I realise, is someone who enjoys science. His face is more solemn now, having also overheard Mr.Birling. He quickly recovers and plasters a smirk on his face, a spark shines in his eye and I can already tell this won't be good.

“I want to meet this ‘girl’ who led the strike, perhaps she could use some help. I mean, all they ask is fair pay,”

“But fair pay is absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. Why should the wealthy share their wealth to those who ensure it.” he finishes for me. The men that run this world will end up being the reason it fails. We share a look, full of understanding and he lets out a sigh. Now we're talking about work and politics at a party.

“Aside from those charming men, how are you enjoying the party?” He gestures to the men around us and I snort. Charming was one word for them. Being with him and trading remarks felt like passing notes to each other, telling secrets during class even though we are meant to be listening to the teacher. I can't help but think I know him, and by the look in his own face he knows me. Perhaps we met but didn't have time for a full conversation like we are now.

“Mostly entertaining, the place is spectacular as always, the people are..” I searched for a word to describe the people, as well as my family. I love them dearly but they can be insufferable. “An interesting mix. My family is dramatic, so I escaped to the edge to peace and quiet, which apparently isn't possible. "I give him a pointed look but he takes no notice.

“My family is also dramatic, and I came for peace myself but found myself captivated by you, specifically how you watched the crowd, listening, and how you curled your fists in an attempt not to go and publicly humiliate the poor man. Which, by the way, I think you should've. Would've made the whole thing worth it.” He takes a sip of his champagne and I nearly roll my eyes at him. Of course he'd want that. From what I can tell he isn't someone who enjoys society and has no problem saying it. I also think about the families in attendance and which of those are dramatic. The only person I can think of is Darci's brother, whom I've not met but heard about his nature over wine with her.

“If I was merely standing here minding my business would you still have found me captivating enough to talk to me? Or is my appeal in my anger?”

He downs the rest of the drink and straightens himself taking a step towards me. I cross my arms, impatient but he gives me a soft smile. “I've been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, I always see you here at the edge, always. My eyes find you instantly in any crowd. Transfixed, captivating. It was an added bonus to me when I saw the fierce nature in your eyes up close, I knew I was right to want to befriend you.”

Silence falls as we both take in his words. I feel bad, not being able to figure out who he is. His honesty is admirable and makes me smile, as well as blush. I can feel heat rise to my cheeks. Just as I begin to rectify the situation by asking for his name, a man comes behind

me, he’s around 40 probably, and looks at me horrendously in an attempt at a smile. I recognised him from earlier, he's one of the men that spoke with Mr Birling and that alone makes me instantly want to recoil.

“Can I help you sir?” I asked and I can hear my own clipped words, yet somehow he does not. The smile widens and he looks me up and down. Then he offers his hand to me and I realise he wants to dance. With a woman half his age, that he has never met.

“Miss Wadsworth, dance with me?” more of a common than a question. Since I am already highly aware he doesn’t like when females have opinions or say no, I refrain from rolling my eyes and just walking off from him. Instead I take a step back, so I'm by my new friend’s side and smile widely.

“I'm afraid I already promised the darling Wadsworth a dance, we are just finishing our drinks first.” As if to prove my point he drinks the last of his drink, mostly to hide his smirk. Something else the man doesn't seem to notice. His face drops, but his pride makes him believe he can stand there, waiting for me to run to him. There is an awkward silence until I feel hands reach down and take mine, they are warm and make me jump slightly at the contact. Not in a bad way, not in the way I would have if it had been the man in front of me with his gaze like fire as he looks at our joined hands as though he has a right to be mad about it. I feel my own fire burn as he stares, so I tug his hand away from the man. I need to just escape into the dreamlike nature of the dancefloor, as well as thank my saviour and learn his name.

He leads me to the dance floor, nearer the edge and his hands slip down to my waist as I find his shoulders. His touch is hesitant but reassuring. Somehow he looks calm and terrified, as though he never expected to dance with me but never wants to stop. I can't help but feel the same as we begin to move. My skirt swirls around us and we say nothing for a while as we both calm ourselves and let the music envelope us. In a way, this is as close to my daydreaming as I might ever get. Being here on the dance floor with someone who isn't twice my age and the definition of misogyny. We dance as equals, neither of us truly leading but letting each other float around each other. We're sure of our movements and demand nothing from each other. It is a weird calmness that settles. We are strangers as far as i know, and yet we dance as though we have known each other our entire lives.

“You are a delight, miss Wadsworth.” he breaks the silence, somehow louder than the music for me, yet it's quiet. Almost like he didn't mean to say it aloud.

“How do you know me?” my voice matches and i feel bad asking, but i need to know. My tone is not accusing, and his face only burrows in confusion for a second before he smirks at me. A smirk I'm seeming to become familiar with.

“My sister Dacina speaks highly of you.” my eyes must expand as he laughs softly. That's why I recognized him. He has the same structure as Dacina, sharp cheekbone and soft skin. Perfect complexion.

“So you are the infamous Thomas cresswell?” this time I smirk and his eyes widen.

“Infamous? What on earth have you heard of me?”

“Your sister has lots of opinions on you.”

“Of course she does. Whatever she has said is most likely not true.” He blurts out and I laugh at his relationship with his sister and him wanting to impress me. “Unless she told you I am utterly irresistible, charming, quick witted and incredibly smart.” winking at me he sends me into a surprising spin and my hands land on his chest. We've sped up slightly, yet our heartbeats are both faster than necessary and I can see a hint of a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

“She did mention you have an overly large ego. She'll be happy to know I agree with her.” I feel his hands tighten at my waist slightly and I watch his curls fall down in his face as he shakes his head. I'm delighted by this turn of events. Daci is wonderful, and if this is the Thomas that I get to see, not his reputation, then I shall try and keep this in my life for as long as possible. His spark in his eyes shows how he may think the same. Also, if daci, liza and ileana are with Thomas, then i might have the most fun I've ever had in my life.

His voice slides through my thoughts, but also reinforces them. “I am sure she failed to mention how big of an ego she has. Honestly, Darci is worse than I. Have you met Illeana? She will surely agree with me on this.”

“I'm sure she would, I've also heard you are a scientist, what do you study?”

“The dead. Much like you and your uncle.” There is so much certainty in his voice, no resentment or the usual tone I hear so I gift him an earnest smile.

The song ends, and we stand, hands still on each other for a second longer than we should. Just as I go to remove my hands from his chest I feel him pinch my sides lightly. Then his warm hands slip from my waist and I wish more than anything to dance again.

We go to return back to the column near the buffet, where we first spoke, and as I take a step I feel him move so he's pressed at my back, his hands finding mine. Even though we are gloved, even though no one can see our hands due to how close we are, and how many people are moving about, my heart pounds at his bold nature. I adore it, so I squeeze him and keep my head facing forward as I lead him off the dance floor. We settle back, Thomas letting go of my hand to pick up two glasses of champagne and hands me one. We both take a long sip, perhaps settling our brains or making it worse. Well see.

“You look,” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words, brows furrowed slightly as if he was reading a dictionary, “enchanting.” he finally finishes, gifting me a rare smile it seems. No longer does he smirk at me, but shows me a genuine look that I want to have painted as it is the best thing I have witnessed. Heat rises to my cheeks as I look down at my dress. Someone at least understood what I was going for, with a pale peach colour, sparkling bodice that runs along the length of the skirt. The long sleeves adorned with tiny gemstones, golden to match the accented colours of the hall. In response to Thomas I look back up at him with my own genuine smile, perhaps some of the only true smiles to be shared this evening. His suit fits him perfectly, showing off his defined features, his tie a pale peach as well. I assume Dacina helps him, as her dresses always astound me with the details. There are tiny, miniscule gems on his tie, that snake down and remind me of vines.

“You look,” I act the way he did, scanning my brain for something that fits, handsome or charming doesn't do justice but I'm sure whatever I use will only boost his ego and be used against me, so I settle with: “bedazzling.”

“Bedazzling?”

“Thomas, I study the dead, I have to look closer than one should at things, so of course I noticed your tie. Henceforth: bedazzling.” The air shifts back to our teasing tone and he smirks once again.

“You are the only one to notice, except Daci of course, nothing gets past her. Am I correct in assuming you like the tie?” Despite his teasing I feel a hint of worry as if I wouldn’t like his tie.

“I adore the tie cresswell, everyone here should be weaning ties with tiny jewels.”

His face falls as he scans the crowd, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the groups of men. “I cannot tell if you are being serious with me or not, but I agree nonetheless. The men here are awfully drab, boring, plain. It's insulting to us really. Daci puts so much time into making this beautiful and these people do not see it.” He is shaking his head. I agree, I have heard how much work goes in and despite my effort to help she insists that I do nothing but enjoy the party. I have a sneaking suspicion though that Liza helps. The flower centrepieces are her favourite, and whilst that might be a coincidence I know how stubborn and convincing she can be.

“I do. I love her parties. I always find myself standing here, watching and noticing all the changes from the month prior. Like, last month she went for more of a red theme, with red roses as the centrepieces, little red accented chairs and carpets. Whereas this month is more of a forestry vine, hence the vines around the column.” I point as though they are a secret thing you need to search for even though they are obvious. Yet he turns anyway and runs his finger down the length of it with his adorable face set at a soft smile. Thomas might have been there when she got the idea, or placed them or he might have placed them himself and is now remembering it.

My gaze finds Thomas and he looks at me, baffled, and I feel the blush creeping back up. It is not the same confused look that I get when I tell people my love of science, but one of intrigue. As if he could listen to me talk forever and not get bored. It's as if he has never thought anyone would notice such things about his family's party. “Enchanting.” is all he whispers to me. Then he clears his throat, an ever so soft shake of his head as though once again the words were meant for him and not us both.

I stare out at the crowd again. I'm sure my family will want to know where I've disappeared to, I normally do not leave them this long. Liza I'm sure will want to know why I danced with Thomas. Yet the thought of leaving him makes my legs leaden and my heart sink and anchor me right next to him. Im completely wonderstruck, and feel ill have a permanent blush, especially when i look at his stupidly handsome face, his quick smirk and small smiles that feel special. It is odd, I've only heard stories, spoken to him briefly and danced, yet I have enjoyed his company immensely and hope this never ends. I want more dances and to steal more smiles to keep forever. I want to make fun of people together, and dance.

I go to steal a glimpse of him, expecting to find him staring at the crowd like I was but his eyes are on me. “I have to leave,” his abrupt words anchor me in an entirely different way, “I mean, I want to stay and I'm sure you want my amazing presence always now Wadsworth but I have to wake early. New job. So, my darling, I shall see you tomorrow.” Thomas hesitates for half a second and begins to walk away. I watch him go and say goodnight to his sister and then leave. His words fill my head. It’s reassuring to know he enjoys my company as much as I do.

I bolt upright in my bed, the lights, music and memories falling away as I focus on the last words he said to me.

I'll see you tomorrow.

What does tomorrow mean? Does it mean he has a job where he thinks I visit? Will he be making an effort to befriend me? Does he know my family? I am so confused. How had I not caught these words sooner? Perhaps he wants to tell me he had a terrible time, that he doesn't like my presence. I'm on my feet without realising, pacing back and forth, the cold air hugging me close. I wish he was in front of me now. I wish he would whisper the words enchanting again. I wish I knew what was happening in a few hours that warranted him saying those four words. I run my hands over my face, untie my hair and let my curls fall over my shoulder, brushing away the colder ever so slightly. I'm ridiculous. Four tiny words sent me spiralling. I climb back into bed, my hair fanning out around me and the blanket returning warmth back into my system. Immediately my mind returns to Thomas, his face forever in my mind. Even if tomorrow could be the last time I see him, there is a chance that it is just the start.

Enchanting…

Those words fill me with confidence that yes, Thomas might become someone special to me. That perhaps our dance sparked something and now all I wish is that I can tell him how enchanting he is.

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @loveyatopluto @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc @the-hoofflepooff

#sjtr #hpd #efh #ctd #cresswell #thomas and audrey rose #Thomas Cresswell #Audrey Rose Wadsworth #audrey rose #kerri maniscalco #enchanted #taylor swift #stalking jack the ripper #Hunting Prince Dracula #escaping from houdini #capturing the devil

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donutloverxo · 4 years

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Hold onto me

Note - This was a request by a lovely nonnie. And my first entry to august challenge hosted by two lovely friends @navybrat81 and @stargazingfangirl18.I choose the prompt 'I don't deserve you' and 'let me love you, you sad smoll bean'. Cause that's how I feel about Steeb🥺.

Summary - You just want to take care of your sad and overworked soldier.

Warnings - light smut, angst, sad steeb.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2.3k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

Steve remembers dragging you to watch the live action remake of Cinderella as soon as it hit the theatres. And how you sweetly giggled at his giddiness calling him 'adorkable'.

Normally he would be annoyed at someone laughing at his expense, as it reminded him of himself before the serum, but not with you.

He couldn’t help but be a ‘fanboy’, another modern slang you taught him, he grew up with those movies, they were reminded him of a simpler time. The remakes weren’t nearly as good but he loved sharing the experience with you.

He was in awe of just how beautiful Cinderella’s dress was. How they took some elements from the animated movie and made them better. He cried when Cinderella’s mother said the words ‘Always be kind and have courage'. It was exactly what his Ma taught him.

Those were the principals he lived by everyday. Being kind to others and never running in the face of adversity.

But he froze when the world was crashing around him. Being attacked from all sides, so much murder, such mayhem. So many lives lost, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. What was the purpose of all this destruction.

He tried his best. To save as many as he could. To be the captain. Make the hard choices. People expected him to be brave. To be heartless and objective. To not let the missions and the lives lost affect him.

It was tiring to pretend. To put the mask on, not just his patriotic blue cowl, but the one he wore to work everyday. Being stern and grave. Yeah he was big and intimidating but underneath it all he’ll always just be the little guy.

He groaned, the steps creaking under the weight of his foot, exhausted from his long day of fighting the enemies on the battlefield, then Ross and then pushing paperwork. He hasn’t slept in three days.

But right now sleep or his rumbling stomach wasn’t his priority. All he could think about was you. How he hasn’t seen you in so long. Yeah maybe three days isn’t that long but it felt akin to an eternity to him.

Just two more floors. Somehow the creaking kept getting louder. When he moved in with you, in an apartment in the heart of Brooklyn, he felt it was old but had character. Now looking at the state of it and your neighbors, he’s having second thoughts. He can’t leave you for days or even weeks at a time in this place. There’s no way it could be safe.

He knocked on the door, his enhanced hearing picked up that you were in the shower. So he twisted the doorknob. Only to find you had left it unlocked. Again.

He sighed chugging his shoes and jacket off and crashing on the bed. A hand under his head, he stared at the little stickers of stars and planets you stuck on it, glowing a faint neon green in the dark. He patiently waited for you. Feeling better as he was surrounded by your smell. He was home.

“Oh Stevie!” You exclaimed when you saw him lying on the bed. Rushing over to him you sat next to him, kissing his forehead, cheeks, nose and then his lips. Lingering there for a minute you pulled away to see his warm smile.

“Hey doll.” He greeted caressing your cheek. You leaned into his touch, craving the warmth and the comfort it provided. “You left the door unlocked.” He said trying his best to keep his annoyance at bay.

“Oh yeah I must’ve forgot.” You shrugged.

“You can’t forget” He groaned and sternly called out your name. It was rare of him to use your name. Always opting instead to use sweet nicknames like doll or sugar. “We need to move to an apartment with better security.” He shook his head feeling his whole body ache and his muscles completely sore.

“Fine. We can discuss it I guess.” You mumbled not exactly thrilled to have him school you as soon as he got back.

“In the meantime I need you to promise me you’ll always lock the door.” He said looking at you intently.

“Yeah fine I promise.” You huffed and blew a small raspberry at him to which he frowned. “I doubt a locked door is stopping hydra though.” You quipped.

And he had to rub his temples to sooth the headache you were giving him.

His other hand was still on your face. Because yeah you were being difficult but he needed to touch you. To know that you’re tangible and really there with him.

His touch felt more calloused and harsh than it usually does. You looked at his hand to see his skin was red, some of it peeled off. It looked like it was healing. You couldn’t even imagine how bad it must’ve been just a few hours ago. “What happened here?” You cooed touching his face only to hear him hiss. You quickly shifted to turn on the bedside lamp but his hand stopped you, circling around your wrist.

“Doll don’t.” He said trying to keep the gruffness from his voice but it slipped out. There was no lying to you. You knew him in and out. “Just come here.” He requested opening his arms, hoping you’d lay your head on his chest so he could smell your hair, maybe run his hands through it. The silky texture of it always soothed him the best.

You only huffed folding your hands. “No I’ll hurt you.” You never believed the day would come that you turned down cuddling with the giant you had for a boyfriend. Who gives off heat as if he’s a furnace.

The room was dim, with the only light coming from your windows, but you could tell that he was probably pouting. Who knew captain America could be so needy? Not that you’d ever mind.

You shifted a bit towards the headboard and gently laid his head from the pillow to your lap. “You know I should be the one taking care of you right now.” You lightly scratching his scalp with your nails and playing with the short strands of his golden hair. Which somehow still seemed to shine.

“I don’t know about that. I think the man should always be taking care of his girl.” He hummed feeling dizzy and relaxed under your touch.

You scoffed “Who told you that? This isn’t a one sided relationship. As much as I like being dotted on, you deserve the world too babe.” You ranted petting his forehead “I wish you could see that.” You sighed “You don’t always have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders you know?”

He hummed again. “Well I’m not gonna burden you with it.”

And you wanted to argue. You really did. But it wasn’t the right time. You made a mental note of giving him hell for it when he seems even slightly better. To threaten to withhold your sweet kisses he loved so much if he doesn’t open up. If it comes to that.

He groaned shifting on his back and crackling his neck. You put his head back on the pillow and stood up to work on unzipping his jeans. “Hey hey buy a fella dinner first would you?” You grinned as he teased.

He lifted his hips to help you out and you put the jeans on your dresser, digging for your eucalyptus oil in it. “Aha!” You gushed to yourself when you found it and skipped over to his side instantly. You pulled up the helm of black Henley “Off with this..” You said asking for some assistance from him.

He sat up and suppressed a groan as his back muscles strained at the sudden movement. He searched for your face “You know I love you and uh... making love to you.” He muttered under his breath and was glad to you couldn’t see his flushed face. How he had no shame doing such dirty things to you but couldn’t for the life of him talk about them, he had no idea.

“But I’m just so tired. I’m sorry doll.” He said tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He had never turned you down before, he was nervous that he had let you down. He’d been letting a lot of people down lately. Even if he had the best intentions.

“No silly...” you shook your head “Just take it off” You pulled the thing and he held his arms up to pull it off. “I promise I won’t take advantage of you.” You pressed a kiss over his heart and laughed at your own incredulous statement.

He let out a chuckle too and pressed his lips to the top of your head. Finally getting to smell your beautiful scent and your coconut shampoo he loved so much.

“Will you lay on your stomach for me please?” You asked fluttering your lashes at him.

And he could only smile. You didn’t have to butter him up, he’d really do whatever you asked him to.

He laid on his taut stomach, propping his head up by putting both his hands under it. He looked at you move over his shoulder.

You poured some oil in your palms and rubbed them together to warm them up. “Um is it okay if I sit on your back?” you asked pressing your palms on his lower back.

“Have at it.” He replied.

You straddled his lower back, careful to not put too much pressure and putting your weight on your calves. “Loosen up a bit Stevie.” You purred.

You felt the knots in his back loosening up when you applied just the right amount of pressure below his neck with your thumbs. He was moaning and purring, making all sorts of sinful noises as you worked on his back.

You wondered if it’s because of the serum. You weren’t that great at it, you knew that. But all of Steve’s sense were hypersensitive. Maybe he felt your massage better because of that. It was an interesting idea.

“Do your hands hurt baby?” He drawled. You were happy to know that you were doing something right if he relaxed like that.

“Uh...” They were starting to hurt. But you needed to tend to Steve. Your hurt was nothing compared to hiss. He was out there saving the whole world everyday.

He looked over his shoulder at you sensing the hesitation in your tone. “It’s okay sweetheart. Let’s go to bed.”

You nodded putting the bottle away and climbing into bed with him. “Turn around doll” He instructed.

You laid on your side with your back pressed against his chest. You could feel his chiselled abs and the curves and dips of his torso. What you wouldn’t give to run your hands or your lips down it.

He snaked his hand up your tank and drew small circles around your navel. “This always happens when we cuddle.” He rumbled rolling his hips against yours. “You’re so soft baby” He squeezed the curve of your hip “I can’t help it.” He whispered in your ear before pulling it between his teeth.

You could only moan and try so hard not to give into him. You slapped his hip so as to stop his ministrations. “Maybe tomorrow. I want to be able to walk to work. Thank you very much.” You huffed hugging his hand, which was curled around your waist, close you and slipping it between your breasts.

You closed your eyes trying to count sheep. But sleep wouldn’t come. Not until you knew that Steve was asleep as well. “What happened on the mission Steve?” You tentatively asked. Hoping that you weren’t being too invasive. Maybe you should give him more space? You just needed him to feel light.

“You don’t have to worry about that doll.” He answered kissing your temple.

You turned around to face him so you could see the silhouette of his face. “I always worry for you Steve. I just – I don’t know – want you to feel like you can’t depend on me or trust me.”

“I do trust you.” Be stated “Alright... so we try our best to save everyone. But we can’t always do that. People get hurt.” He took a deep breathe, not used to saying these things out loud. “they call it collateral damage” he scoffed “Ends justify the means in this world. Or maybe that’s how it’s always been.” He finished.

You took in the weight of his words “I understand. But that doesn’t make it any less shitty though.”

“No it does not.” He mused. “It’s somehow worse now. I think about you. And how I need to protect you too. I don’t think I could ever bear losing you.” He confessed.

“You won’t ever lose me Stevie.” You promised.

“How did I get to be so lucky to have you? I don’t deserve you.” He wondered bringing your fingers closer to his lips.

“I don’t know, maybe people would argue you’re the lucky one.” You retorted.

“Well then they’re clearly blind.” He frowned at the thought of anyone being mean to you.

“Alright lover boy. Go to sleep now.” You said putting your head on his shoulder. “Isn’t it nice to be back in your own bed?” You asked as you nuzzled his neck.

“You have no idea doll.” He murmured.

Tags will be in the reblog! Lemme know if you wanna be tag via ask/dms or click the link in the bio!

Please note that my work is NOT to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

#shamelesshoesforchris #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x you #steve x reader #reader x steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america x you #captain america x reader #marvel x reader #chris evans x reader #Avengers x reader

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creativekat · 3 years

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PTC : part ii

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader

[ gif by @pascalsky ]

Word Count: 1,563

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: unintentional body piercing play

A/N: The response to the first part of this story was so overwhelming and we can’t thank you enough! @the-purity-pen and I are having so much fun writing this! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged on the next one! THANK YOU! Also, you can read Part One here!

It was Friday afternoon and you found yourself at the local grocery store. Often you went daily to pick up the few things you needed each night for dinner, but on Fridays you liked to shop for the whole weekend. That way you had time for any home projects and grading that you had to do. The problem was you weren’t quite sure what you were in the mood for which led to you wandering the aisles, picking things up here and there.

You had just turned into the aisle with canned fruits and vegetables and were considering getting some canned peaches to make a cobbler when you heard a familiar voice call your last name, “Hello, how are you?”

You turned to see Marcus Moreno walking toward you. You couldn’t help but smile, seeing him wearing jeans and a tee-shirt, “Did you play hooky from work today? Your secret’s safe with me, if you did.” Then tentatively you added, “And, if I’m supposed to call you Marcus, you should call me by my first name.” You gave him your name and a slight smile. You couldn’t help but notice how well his jeans fit him, not to mention how the t-shirt lovingly clung to his upper body. You suddenly became very interested in the label on a can of pineapple.

Marcus repeated your name softly as if committing it to memory. The way it rolled off his tongue made your heart skip a beat but you were busy occupying yourself with the can of pineapple. “No, no hooky today,” he laughed and the sound was so pleasant. It was different from the nervous man that had sat across from you to discuss his daughter.

Maybe it was the change of scenery or the fact that neither of you needed to be “on” while grocery shopping. “Missy is having a sleepover this weekend so I gotta stock up on some junk food,” he told you and shook his head. Somewhere deep in his mind he was mentally cursing himself for allowing a sleepover of five preteen girls to happen in his house. That definitely would have been better territory for his wife.

But Missy was making friends and that’s what mattered to him. He knew she felt left out of so many things whether it was because she didn’t have her own powers or because of being the leader of the Heroics’ kid. So her having friends that wanted to sleep over was a big deal. You were glad to hear that Missy was having a sleepover. You remembered going to a few when you were her age. You never hosted, but not because you didn’t want to, but because your parents wouldn’t allow it. Looking back their reasoning made sense, but at the time it had just felt like another punishment for being different.

You looked up from the pineapple label and smiled sympathetically, “You have my sympathies. What do you have planned for activities?” Keeping a group of pre-teen kids from getting bored, even in each others’ company would be important. When they got bored, they got creative. And that was when bad things happened. “I can give you some ideas if you want. I was a pre-teen girl once.” You bit your lip and looked away, slightly embarrassed at the fairly obvious statement.

His eyes scanned the aisle a bit, feeling like the conversation was going a bit stale. “Fruit in a can or fresh fruit? What’s your preference?” he asked as he leaned forward to grab a can of apple pie filling that was right next to you. As he leaned over, his voice was soft and velvety in your ear.

You glanced at the can in his hand, “For pie? Depends. Have you made pie before?” You didn’t want to make any assumptions. Just because he was a man didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled in the kitchen. You pictured him standing at the counter, mixing up some delicious concoction, biceps moving as he stirred, and your mouth watered at the image. Your cheeks burned instantly.

“Yeah but,” he paused to read over the can, trying to ignore his desire to look you over. “It’s been a few years. I’m not much of a cook,” he mumbled with a nervous chuckle before turning to put the can in his cart. He turned back and moved closer to you and you felt a spark of desire run down your spine. You swallowed hard as he reached around you again, quietly apologizing for the intrusion.

But his eyes on you made him miss which can he was aiming for. His hand swept at the empty spot on the shelf and ended up knocking off three other cans in rapid succession. “Shit!” he cursed under his breath as his hand reached out, his powers manifesting to stop the metallic can from falling.

You sucked your lip between your teeth fighting the urge to gasp or making any sounds revealing the pleasure his power had just elicited in you. Not only had his magnetic ability affected the cans on the shelf but it had pulled at the nipple piercings concealed beneath your shirt as well as the silver barbell that decorated your clitoris. Your nostrils flared with the effort to suppress the moan that nearly escaped your lips.

Marcus looked at you questioningly at your obvious stress, but you merely smiled in return, your eyes blazing with unanticipated need. When you finally found your voice, it was higher than normal, “Something tells me you know your way around. A kitchen, I mean.” Your face bloomed with heat and you finally had to turn completely away. You leaned into your cart, faking the need to rearrange the items in your cart.

Holding the caught can in his hand, he watched as you turned around towards your cart. He took a moment to straighten up at your words. “Uh, yeah a bit,” he said as he turned and put the can he had caught but not really wanted back onto the shelf. “My wife she, uh, she did most of the cooking and I know Missy misses it so I thought maybe a little cooking activity for the sleepover could be fun,” he rambled. When you didn’t turn around right away, he furrowed his brows and moved closer to you. “You okay?”

Your breast and clit still tingled from the stimulation they’d just received. But, of course, you couldn’t tell Marcus Moreno that. Taking a moment, you breathed in slowly through your nose then exhaled through your mouth. Finally you turned to face him, a smile on your face, “Oh yes, I’m fine.” After a moment of thought, your eyes brightened, “You could have them make their own personal pizzas!” Now that you were face to face again, you were reminded of just how handsome he was.

Marcus was eyeing you, trying to figure out what had you so flustered. He cleared his throat and nodded at your admission of being fine. He figured he’d have to take it for what it was. But the way you brightened actually took him by surprise. You were standing a lot closer than he realized and for a moment his breath was taken away.

His brain fog finally cleared and he nodded slowly. “Personal pizzas? You think they’d like that?” he questioned and you were more than happy to give a strong nod of an answer, trying anything to quelch the burning deep in the pit of your stomach.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking, again, about the brief moment of pleasure he’d given you. Your mind ran with the thoughts of what other things he might be able to do. Distractedly, you grabbed a couple cans from the shelf and placed them in your cart causing Marcus to smile. You glanced down at what you’ve just dropped in there and cringe “I bet you thought people only used mincemeat at the Holidays."

You looked at him, feeling like he could see right through you. After all, you were acting bizarre. He gave a small forced smile, trying to hide how confused he was at this interaction but laughed off your comment anyways. “It’s delicious,” he commented as he watched you. “Do you, uh,” his hand came to rub furiously at the back of his neck.

“Do you have any free time this afternoon? To, uh, I don’t know, help me find a recipe that would be easy for them?” his head dropped down as he asked but he pulled his hand from his neck and looked up at you with earnest puppy dog eyes. He figured since you were a teacher, you’d know what would be easy for their age group to follow as far as instructions.

Your eyes widened momentarily in surprise, but then you smiled, “Uhhh … I think so … I mean, yeah, I can clear my schedule.” You didn’t want to seem too eager to spend time with him. He was still Missy’s father. But, he was asking for help. There wasn’t any need to read too much into it. You arranged a time to show up at his place and tried not to stare as he walked away. Once he was clear of the aisle, you reached into the cart and put the disgusting can of fruit back on its shelf.

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urmomsstuntdouble · 3 years

Note

89 for the writing promp game? 👀👀 whichever characters u feel like it fits

oof this took a while. wasn’t sure who to write it about, and i didnt use those exact words, but. yeah. here it is!

(3rd person pov, lithuania x romano)

Nobody enjoyed world meetings. It was a known fact, and one regular humans would probably assume without knowing what transpired at such meetings- Which wasn’t much, in all honesty. And while they weren’t fun, they weren’t always bad. Sometimes they’d be in a nice city, and flights would line up with those of friends, and so forth- Today was not one of those days.

Tolvydas had stumbled off their train at three o’clock in the morning, and into their hotel bed two hours later. Their body now ran on two hours of sleep, and the conditions of the meeting didn't do much to help them stay awake. Jackets and ties were folded over the backs of several chairs, and some of the other nations held small wooden fans in death grips. Some were slumped over, and others stayed at attention. Of the other Baltic states, Estonia had removed his glasses and Latvia was clearly more focussed on his smartphone than the presentation. Tolvydas couldn’t blame them. The heat of the room seemed a cage, pressing in on them and making sweat drip down their back.

Why did the meeting have to be in Southern Europe? Tolvydas could handle the heat, but being trapped inside for an entire day- On which nothing tainted the pure azure of the sky- was a lot. A glance around told them they weren’t alone, as nearly every forehead shone with sweat. Every now and then, Tolvydas’ head touched their chest and they jerked back to attention. Their efforts were futile, though, and they’d yet to catch a single word of Paraguay’s speech.

Someone tapped their shoulder- Feliks, sitting at their left. Tolvydas looked down at them, where they’d rested their head on crossed arms.

“So bored,” they mouthed, and Tolvydas nodded. They shifted their notepad into Feliks’ line of sight and gouged the word TIRED into the paper. Feliks nodded with pink cheeks and drooping eyelids, and swiped the pen away from Tolvydas. Wish there was air conditioning. LORENZO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN AIR CONDITIONING.

Feliks giggled at that, attracting the glares of some nearby nations. Pink cheeks turned red, and they sank down a bit in their seat, folding their arms. Tolvydas sighed, and rested their head in their hands. Would it be a good idea to tape their eyes open? No, and they didn’t have any tape…shame. Tolvydas tilted their head around, looking for the host nation. Lorenzo. Romano, or Italy- They hardly ever spoke of things related to their nationhood. In fact, they only spoke as a result of social happenstance, that being Feliciano’s friendship with Feliks, and the Italy brothers shared a car, and that Tolvydas had spent much of the 90s on Feliks’ couch. A coincidence Tolvydas was fond of, actually. It was rare that nations befriended each other purely for social reasons. Even Feliks came into their life for the sake of politics.

Tolvydas looked around the room yet again, this time searching for Lorenzo. Would he be drowning in sweat too, they wondered? The answer seemed to be yes, and they bit back a smile upon seeing him. He sat hunched over the desk, with his suit jacket resting on the back of his chair. Dark circles lined both his armpits and eyes. As if cued by their staring, Lorenzo opened his water bottle and took four hearty gulps, then returned it, empty, to the desk. Tolvydas blinked, and wiped some sweat from their forehead. When they returned to their hotel room, they would get rid of all these clothes and lay on the bed with the windows open until they fell asleep.

They shuffled their papers about, searching for the weekend’s itinerary. They gave their speech the day before, but about a hundred nations still had to take their turns…According to the schedule, today’s last presenter would be Qatar. So the meeting would be over by…seven, maybe? Tolvydas pushed some air through their lips and picked at a loose thread in their shirt sleeve.

It wasn’t until about seven thirty that Qatar gave her presentation, and closing the meeting took another half hour. Once that was done, the nations milled about and spoke, as per their custom. Rare was it that they were allowed to be people- Tolvydas would never understand how people could say they ‘didn’t pay attention to politics.’ Paying attention to politics was all they could ever do. Then again, they were Lithuania, not a person.

Fortunately, many of the nations elected to move outside after the meeting ended. They fit right in with the students, bustling around the university campus. Nations fragmented here, splitting off with friends or returning to their hotels. Most importantly, though, they were stopped by people asking to take selfies. Tolvydas smiled and laughed when required, and let themself be dragged around with the other EU members.

“Where are we going?” Asked Feliks at their side, and they nodded, glancing around. Tolvydas wasn’t sure they recognized this city- They’d been to so many, it was hard to remember, and European cities started to look the same after a while.

“Not sure,” said somebody- Hungary. “I think Vene said something about a bar? I wasn’t really paying attention.” She snorted like it was punctuation, and Feliks laughed.

“Oh, Erzsi! Hey, I didn’t see you there!” Feliks launched himself at her, and was lucky that she reacted fast enough to catch him.

“Hi, Erzsebet,” Tolvydas said, suppressing a laugh.

“Hey, losers,” She said, arms clenched around Feliks’ waist. “Glad to see you here, that meeting was stuffy as hell.”

“Ugh, I know, right?” Feliks said. They righted themself, walking independent of Erzsebet again. “I was practically dying of the heatstroke.”

“I don’t think you can get heatstroke if you’re not in the sun,” Tolvydas said.

“You can,” a voice chimed in- Spain. “Trust me, summers are brutal at my place. Hey, can I ask you a question, Lithuania?” Tolvydas glanced over their shoulder, as if there was some other Lithuania he could be talking to.

“Uh, yes,” They said.

“Do you have nude beaches in your country?” Tolvydas choked on their own spit, and let out a strangled chuckle.

“Y-Yes,” They laughed, “Sorry, I didn’t expect you to ask something like that-”

“I was thinking about all the ways I’ve gotten heat stroke before,” Spain told them, holding his hands in front of his chest like a T-Rex.

“And one was at a nude beach?”

“Well, yes…” He narrowed his eyes. “More than one, actually. I don’t like nude beaches, Lithuania, because if you’re not careful you can get sunburned…I mean, you can on a regular beach, but it’s so awkward to be, like, in front of your people and putting sunscreen on your entire body, you know? And I’m a country, so it’s a lot of attention, and all that…You know?”

“Well,” Tolvydas said, “Not really, because I don’t get a lot of sun, but yeah, sort of.” They bit their lip- Since they’d been talking to Spain, they had totally lost track of where they were in the city. The university was out of sight, and Feliks was now absorbed into a conversation with Hungary and the other EU Slavs.

“Hm. You are pretty pale.” Tolvydas tucked some hair behind their ear.

“Yeah,” They said, not sure what else to say.

“Yeah,” Spain murmured, eyes darting about the street. “Where are you taking us, Feli?”

“What?!” Asked Italy. He stopped in his tracks and turned around, causing Finland to crash into him. “Oh, crap! I’m sorry, Finland.” Finland gave him a smile and assured him it was no problem.

“I said, where are you taking us?” Spain shouted, “I don’t recognize this street.”

“Umm, I actually forget?” Italy laughed, “My brother has a bar he likes that’s near here, but I don’t like it so I don’t remember what it’s called? And he’s busy now, so- Yeah. Oh, hi Lithuania! I didn't see you there, how’re you doing today?” Tolvydas started, eyes widening.

“Hi,” They said, “I’m tired, but it’s alright. You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks,” Italy said, “Though it’s really my brother’s, I…I don’t really like it that much down here, to be honest. Don’t tell him I said that. But it is nice to visit!”

“Excuse you, it’s lovely here!” Spain said, “I’m telling on you, Feli.”

“Don't!” Italy shrieked, “Please?” He turned to Spain with wide eyes. Even Tolvydas would have to oblige, and they had plenty of experience saying no to cute people. Well. Cute dogs. And Raivis. And Feliks, and Russia. Maybe they did have experience saying no to cute people after all.

“I’m only joking,” Spain said, “Besides, Lithuania here agrees with me, don’t you?”

“Uh,” Tolvydas said, “I do, yes. It’s- It’s a very nice climate you have here. And I like this street- Very, uh, very nice cobblestones.” Italy snorted, his hair falling into his eyes.

“Thanks, I’m glad you like them,” He said, though they weren’t his. Tolvydas hummed, and took a moment to really look at the street they were on. Buildings kept the sun from reaching them, but not the warmth. Storefronts beckoned here and there, with parked motorcycles at intersections and window boxes at second floor windows. Every so often they passed some graffiti, though most of it was nonsensical to Tolvydas. Not once did they see a street sign. If it weren’t for Lorenzo’s lead, Tolvydas would be completely lost.

Finally, the group made it to the bar. It was a nice, quiet place- Tolvydas felt bad for the staff. They hoped nobody would get kicked out, though it was unlikely. Who was a nation, really, if they’d never been asked to leave a bar before?

Tolvydas wound up sitting beside Spain, with Lorenzo on their other side. Neither spoke to them- Spain was discussing the art of bartending with Italy, and Lorenzo preferred glaring into his cocktail. Tolvydas wondered if they should talk to him- They’d only spoken a brief hello today, after all, and that was a formality. But he seemed annoyed, with his furrowed brow and crossed arms…And now he was looking at them.

“Why are you looking at me?” Tolvydas sat a little straighter.

“Um. I, uh, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to talk to you,” They said, mouth dry. Lorenzo bit the corner of his lip, eyebrows raised.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know, you looked, like, a bit irritated,” Tolvydas said, “S-Sorry.”

“You’re right, I am,” Lorenzo said, “Fuckin’ hate hosting world meetings. There’s so many people who are just in my space, you know? And I didn’t even realize there were so many people following me when we were on the way here.” He lifted his cocktail. Black salt rimmed the glass, and Lorenzo licked some away. “Was talking to Belgium, got distracted. But she left to go back to her hotel, so. Anyway.” He hung his head between his shoulders. “That’s a bit much, I know.”

“No,” Tolvydas said, “World meetings suck, whether you’re hosting or not…I don’t hate it but also there’s that invasion-y feeling.”

“Invasion-y feeling, yeah,” Lorenzo murmured, and licked more salt from the rim of his glass. “‘M tired.”

“Me too,” Tolvydas said. “I need to bring hair ties tomorrow.”

“That sounds useful,” Lorenzo mumbled. He took a slow drink of his cocktail, wincing at the end. “You don’t have anything to drink.” Tolvydas glanced down at the bar in front of them, and no, they didn’t. Huh, they hadn’t noticed.

“I don't,” They said, and glanced over at the bartender. A young man with veiny forearms, chatting as he shook up a new drink. His hair was greased back into a pseudo helmet.

“Giulio!” Lorenzo shouted, catching his attention. Giulio paused in his drink-making and glanced back, then nodded and went on with his business. “He’ll get you in a second.”

“Thanks,” Tolvydas murmured, “I could’ve waited.”

“Yeah, but you’re talking to me right now,” Lorenzo said. He sipped his drink again. “And I don’t want to talk to you when I’m drinking and you’re not. Then it’s not equal.”

“Fair enough,” Tolvydas said, “I can just shut up if you want me to-”

“No, we’re talking now,” Lorenzo said, “I want to talk. And it’s my country, so…yeah.” He took a drink.

“I think it’s nice here,” Tolvydas said, “Very warm.” Lorenzo hummed, then glanced up- Giulio stood at the ready, finished with his previous drink. He exchanged some words with Lorenzo, who turned to Tolvydas after a moment.

“What do you want?”

“Um- Could I please have a krambambula?” Lorenzo relayed the message, and Giulio was up to drink-mixing.

“What’s a krambambula?” Lorenzo mused, peering over the bar.

“Wine and vodka,” Tolvydas responded, “Belarus’ favorite.” Lorenzo hummed.

“Didn’t you used to be married to her or something?” Tolvydas bowed their head, letting hair fall in front of their eyes. “So you did, huh?”

“Y-Yes,” Tolvydas stammered, “Briefly, a hundred years ago-”

“She good in bed?”

“What?” Their cheeks grew warm, too warm for it to simply be the heat. “No- I mean- I don’t know, see-”

“Hey, calm down, I’m just making conversation.” Lorenzo waved a hand, “It’s none of my business, I know.”

“We, um. Never slept together,” Tolvydas said, “She doesn’t like me very much, actually.”

“Oh. That’s a shame,” Lorenzo said, and Tolvydas nodded, though they weren't sure what the shame actually was. A shame they never slept together? Maybe- Since she didn’t reciprocate their feelings, it was hard to really fantasize. They could daydream about kissing her all they wanted, but they’d still know that acting on it would be assault. So their feelings were in the process of fading away. A shame she didn’t like them very much? Eh, they would get over it. Eventually, maybe. They had time.

Giulio returned with their drink.

“Can I have a taste?” Lorenzo asked, “Never tried that before.”

“Of course,” Tolvydas said, and handed him the glass. He took a sip, and struggled to keep his face from contorting in disgust. “You don't like vodka?” Tolvydas asked, taking a swig.

“Shit’s nasty,” Lorenzo said, “Tastes like sadness. And like, we’ve all got issues or whatever, but mine aren’t so bad I need to drink vodka.” Tolvydas snorted.

“Okay. Lightweight.”

“Lightweight?!”

“Yeah, vodka’s like 95% alcohol volume.”

“Psh, whatever.” Lorenzo scoffed, and Tolvydas giggled at the sheer nonsense of it. “Why are you laughing at me?” He asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“Psh, whatever?” They repeated, “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does so,” He said, “You’re too small-brained to get it.” That stung a bit, but Tolvydas didn't mind. They understood it was a joke, though they didn’t appreciate it any more for understanding.

“Whatever,” They said, looking away. Their eyes naturally picked Feliks out of the group- He sat on the bar, legs crossed, with a glass of wine held in both hands. He’d unbuttoned his shirt to the third button. Tolvydas shook their head- It wouldn’t be very long before they were completely drunk.

“I hope Feliks doesn’t overdo it,” They thought.

“Probably will. They look like they’d be wasted after two glasses of wine,” Lorenzo commented. Tolvydas jolted- They hadn't realized they were speaking aloud.

“They’re- Yeah,” Tolvydas said, “They like parties, always have, but they get drunk too fast to enjoy it.”

“Maybe that’s why they like parties so much. ‘Cause they don’t remember what one’s like, from all the drinking,” Lorenzo said, “Toni’s like that, sort of.” Tolvydas hummed, and swirled their drink around in the glass.

“I don’t think such heavy drinking is a sign that one likes parties,” They murmured, “After all, if you like doing something, wouldn’t you want to experience as much of it as you can?” Lorenzo scoffed, and they turned their head to look at him. His arm was thrown around the back of his chair, with his chest out and facing them. Sweat still clung to his forehead- It was less oppressively hot in this bar than the meeting room, but only just.

“Part of the allure of drinking is that it can make you forget about things,” He said, “Happy people don’t develop alcohol issues. And, you know, for people like us, it’s different, seeing as how we can’t fucking die.” Tolvydas shrugged in response. They shifted in their seat, feeling the cheap leather through their pants, and took another sip of their drink. Lorenzo was correct in that one liked to drink to forget. For people like them, there were virtually no downsides, save whatever you did while you were drinking. Once, Tolvydas had set a cow on fire and didn’t find out until the next morning when, in the clutches of a hangover, they were arrested.

“I guess,” They said. Then, mind caught on the cow-arson, “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done while drunk?” Lorenzo sucked air in through his teeth.

“Done too much stupid shit to tell you off the top of my head,” He admitted, “But, uh, this one time, I drank up a town’s entire supply of wine. Bad move. Had to regrow my kidney.” Tolvydas winced, a bit less inclined to finish their drink.

“That sounds painful.”

“Yeah,” Lorenzo said, “Much like hosting the fucking world meetings.” Hosting the world meetings was terrible- It was a constant headache to have so many other nations around you, especially if it was in your capital city. Tolvydas had never had maggots in a wound before, but they imagined that was what it felt like.

“Oh, I know,” They said. It was a good thing they all shared the burden of hosting the meetings. Locations cycled through nations, such that Lithuania wouldn’t be the host country for another ten years- They’d still have to do smaller meetings, of course, like the EU and UN and such, but at least it wasn’t a world meeting. Over two hundred nations in the same city could make even the humans feel a bit off.

“I’d be better if all you people hadn’t- hadn’t fucking followed me here. I mean- I didn’t want my idiot brother to invite the entire goddamn continent.”

“I’m sorry,” Tolvydas said, “I was just going with everyone else-”

“I don’t- You know, actually, I need to continue this conversation outside,” Lorenzo said, and stood up. He said a few words to Giulio and turned around, making for the door. Tolvydas’ skin pricked- What had they done wrong? It was just a simple conversation- But of course they’d manage to screw it up. They remained on the edge of their seat, with their eyes fixed on Lorenzo, as he walked out of the bar. As he got to the door, they stood. Should they apologise? Or- Or did Lorenzo want to fight them now? They pushed away the idea, knowing it was all probably fine.

Tolvydas pulled out their wallet, and left a few euros beside their drink. They followed Lorenzo outside, stumbling when they left the bar. The moon had risen while they were in the bar. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, bathed in silver light save the faint glow of a lit cigarette. Tolvydas swallowed. While it was dark outside, the heat from the day had yet to evaporate. Tolvydas speculated that if they were to touch Lorenzo’s skin, he’d be as warm as if he were sunbathing. Right, Lorenzo- They were not here to stare at him.

“Are you okay?” Lorenzo jumped, turning around with wide eyes. His shoulders sagged when he saw them.

“Yeah,” He mumbled, “Just fuckin’ tired. Want to go home.”

“Oh,” Tolydas said, “Sorry then, I’ll- I’ll fuck off now.” They turned away, poised to return to the bar.

“No,” Lorenzo said, then bit his lips. “I mean-” He put his cigarette between his lips and took a long drag. He looked hollow for a moment before he turned his head and blew a ring with the smoke. “You smoke?”

“Uh, no, not really…not anymore.”

Lorenzo hummed. “Shame. I could teach you how to blow rings, if you did.”

“You still can,” Tolvydas said, voice paper-thin, “If you want. And if I could borrow a cigarette. World meetings are hard on the rest of us too.” Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, and pulled a pack of cigarettes out from his back pocket.

“Ah, but you’re not the host, Lithuania. And you represent your entire country.”

“You can call me Tolvydas,” They said, “I mean, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“I just offered to teach you how to blow smoke rings. I don’t do that with everyone you know,” Lorenzo said, “Maybe I’m still fucked up from the meeting…But okay, sure. Tolvydas.”

“Thanks,” They muttered, “Also yeah, sorry about your. Brother.” Lorenzo shrugged, and took another drag.

“I don't want to think about him right now…No, I want to go home…” He bit his lip, and swayed from side to side. Was he alright? Tolvydas ran through a list of all the little things they knew to do if a nation was sick. Lorenzo coughed, and they twitched, hands reaching out for him. Instead of falling or even stumbling, Lorenzo put his cigarette to his lips another time. His cheeks shone in the orange glow. When he was done, he ground the butt under his heel. Three smoke rings floated away from his mouth.

“I’m gonna go get drunk at home now…You can come if you want.” He turned on his heel, reducing the cigarette butt into a stain of ash. He had a nice gait, Tolvydas thought. A medium sized stride, and they couldn't help but notice the sway of his hips…

Several short and fast steps later, Tolvydas was by his side.

song lyric asks

#oof i thought tumblr ate this ask and i was about to be so pissed #fortunately it did not!#anyway this was fun to write #i hope you enjoy it !#hetalia #hws #hws lithuania #hws romano #my writing #my fic #ceros posting #ask #romaliet ?

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judediangelo75 · 3 years

Text

My Bride (Part 1)

Hello everyone~

So... this is going to be very different than anything I’ve written before. For starters this connects to nothing that I’ve previously written.

Two, it doesn’t really take place at Hogwarts per say. I’m including a lot of the characters from the game but that’s the closest I can say it relates to the game.

Three, it’s gonna be in parts because I’m too lazy to write a long post.

I got the idea from @makichaotic where in her headcanon there was a rumor that Talbott was a vampire.

Except Talbott is actually a vampire.

I have no clue what I’m possibly doing to be completely honest. This idea has been floating around in my mind for awhile so I have to get it out somehow.

Let me know what you think!

I also threw in David ( @that-scouse-wizard / @jd-the-anime-fan ) and Vixen ( @cleverglitteryfoxtrot ), two MC friends 😊🥰

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“Baby girl?”

Judith turned away from the full body mirror in the direction of her father’s voice. An elegant strapless and backless white silk dress hugged her short, curvy figure. Her long locs were pulled up into a high ponytail, a few hanging around her face. A dark shadow dusted over her eyelids while dark red lipstick covered her full lips.

“Yes, Papa?” came the soft reply. The older man frowned.

His daughter was beautiful.

Gorgeous even.

Though he wished she wasn’t getting dressed up for this.

Judith just recently turned 21.

As required by law, every young adult that turned 21 were to attend a ball that is hosted every year by the royal family.

Though, there was a catch.

It was for a way for vampires to find a desirable mate among the human population. If they was able to return home by sunrise, then they were free to live their life as they pleased. If not, they becomes that vampire’s wife or husband.

Most were forbidden from seeing their families and friends ever again.

Kendrick would know. He never personally saw his best friend Ava again after her ball. Who then later became their queen when the former king and queen died.

Ava’s parents passed away few years after her coronation. They never saw their precious daughter again.

Now that same fate seem to be staring the seasoned Healer in the face.

And Kendrick isn’t ready to say goodbye to his little girl.

“Papa, you’re crying,” Judith whispered, a frown forming on her painted lips. She quickly walked up to the older man to wipe away his tears. Misty gold eyes locked with concerned ones.

“You’re so beautiful, baby girl,” Kendrick whispered. Judith hugged her father tight as he said this, waiting to prolong her trip to the castle. The older man didn’t hesitate to return it, breathing in the scent he grew accustomed to from when she was a baby.

“I’ll do my best to come back home,” Judith said softly, squeezing the man who sired her. Kendrick shook his head at this.

He didn’t want her to promise him anything.

Judith was the spitting image of him. His little girl grew up into a beautiful young woman. It would take a miracle for a vampire not to take notice of her.

“Please don’t promise me anything. I don’t think my old heart can take it...” Judith pursed her lips.

“You’re not old, Papa. You don’t look a day over 25,” she said in hopes of lifting the man’s spirits. And she got what she wanted. An inaudible chuckle rumbled in the his chest.

It’s just like his daughter to try to make him smile or laugh.

If he could never see her again, he can only pray that she’s mated to a good man.

“Thank you, Judith. I... I love you, baby girl...” Judith forced herself not to cry in front of her dad.

She didn’t like how this felt like a goodbye. She didn’t want to leave her father forever...

“I love you too, Papa...” The two stayed there for a bit longer until Kendrick pulled away with a soft sigh.

“Time to go baby girl...”

-------

Judith hugged her dad’s waist tighter as they approached the looming castle.

They weren’t rich. Her father spent a good amount of his savings to buy her dress and shoes.

When he wanted to buy her a carriage to escort her to the ball, she declined. She claimed that she was more than happy to be escorted by her father on horseback. Kendrick agreed, unwilling to deny his little girl anything.

They approached the entrance slowly before stopping a foot away.

Kendrick dismounted first before helping his daughter off their horse, Nerco Di Angelo. Judith hugged her father one last time before going to pet the dark horse, who let out huff and nuzzled her face.

“I love you, Nerco. Take good care of Papa,” she whispered before kissing the star on the horse’s forehead.

The sound of someone clearing their throat sounded off behind her.

Taking a deep breath, the young woman turned to find a guard staring passively at her.

Time to go.

Without a word, the guard gestured her to come inside. Judith turned to her father.

“I love you, Papa...” It took everything within the usually stoic man not to cry again.

“I love you too, Judith. Never forget that...” Nodding sadly, Judith walked into the castle with the guard in tow.

She sent a silent prayer in hopes of seeing her dear father again.

---------

Talbott was bored.

Extraordinarily so.

He felt the eyes of his parents burning holes into him on occasion and it annoyed him to no end.

The ball started some time ago and he’s already wishing it to be morning. He himself just recently turned 21 and his parents, along with the council, are looking at him to find a bride.

If not this year, then he will continue to socialize with potential mates every year until he does. After all, his father was 25 when he finally found his mother, who recently turned 21 at that time.

Ava and Trent glanced at their disinterested son with slight worry. They knew how much the young man hated social events. He did his best to be polite to his guests but not much more. They would be lucky if he found someone on the first try.

Ava sighed. Although she was happy and grateful with the life that she has, she sometimes missed the old life she once had. Under the old king and queen, they forbade her from seeing her friends and parents.

She missed them terribly. She hoped whoever her son chose that she could help them adjust to life as a part of the royal family. She and her husband even discussed about letting their family to come to the castle. After all, they clearly saw what it did to their relationship.

Despite Trent’s evident infatuation with her, Ava hated him for choosing her. If he never laid eyes on her, she would’ve still be with her parents and dear friends. It took a few years to even consummate their marriage because Ava refused to share a bed with him. She didn’t let him drink from her.

It took Trent years to win the young woman’s heart. With a decent amount of suffering on his part. To be deprived of the one that suppose to complete him drove him to points of madness and bloodlust.

They didn’t want the same thing to happen to their son...

Glancing at her son again, she noticed that he was sitting up a little straighter. Her brows shot up to her hairline.

He found someone...

Oh dear Gods above, please allow whoever it was to love her son. She’ll do anything to make sure that they’re happy, just as long they were able to love Talbott...

-----------

‘She’s so beautiful...’

Talbott’s red eyes were trained on a young dark skin woman in a white silk dress. The dress highlighted her slim, but curvy, figure. Her hair was up in a ponytail, ending around mid-back with a few locs framing her face. Her facial features were delicate and sharp.

Her eyes.

A brilliant shade of gold that would put the coins in the treasury to shame.

Talbott felt his body flush with heat and his gums throb a bit.

He had to get to know her.

The young woman was conversing with a familiar pair. David Willows, husband to Merula Synde, and Vixen Mcmachen, wife to Barnaby Lee.

Interesting...

With no warning to his parents, Talbott got up and walked towards the trio.

David saw the prince coming and bowed.

“Your Highness,” the young man greeted. Vixen smiled and curtsied to him, giving him a cheeky wink all the meanwhile.

It was at that point Judith felt a presence behind her. Turning around, she came face to face with the Crown Prince himself.

Swiftly, Judith curtsied.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” she said, willing her voice to remain steady. She straighten and was minorly surprised to find the prince staring at her.

“Good evening, David. Rosalina. Miss,” Talbott said, taking Judith’s hand and kissing the back of it.

‘Her scent...’ Talbott’s eyes grew a little heavy, his pupils dilated. It was so inviting...

Vanilla and along with something else he couldn’t name. He also detected a faint accent in her voice, something completely unfamiliar, but far from unpleasant.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” he started slowly, curious to know the name to this enchanting woman.

David cleared his throat.

“Prince Talbott, may I introduce to you, Judith Harris. A childhood friend to Vixen and I,” he said.

“Pleasure to meet you, Judith...” The young woman did her best to suppress a shiver. The way the prince said her name...

It was like he was tasting it.

“Please, Your Highness. The pleasure is all mine,” she said, trying her best not to read too deep into how the way Talbott was staring at her. It didn’t help that he had yet to let go of her hand...

David and Vixen did their best not to smirk. Their partners so owe them a few gold coins. They were both happy to find their old friend. Especially since it’s been 3 years since David married to the love of his life and Vixen just a year after him.

What they didn’t expect was for Prince Talbott to fancy her.

They was just talked to her about their lives at the castle and their relationships. Judith was just telling them how she was doing, her archery, combat lessons and art. Just as she was telling them that she was hoping that no vampire took an interest in her, the Gods placed Prince Talbott before her.

Seems like she hasn’t quite learned her lesson about speaking certain things aloud. The Gods loved a challenge.

“May I have a dance with you, darling?” Judith sharply inhaled, willing her heart not to race.

‘It’s just a dance. Nothing more...’

“It would be an honor, Your Highness.” Talbott wanted to pout. He wished that Judith would say his name. He wants to know how it sounded like with her faint accent.

Offering his arm, Judith interloped hers in his. Saying goodbye to her old friends, they walked to the center of the dance floor. A slow song started to play.

The two took the initial position. One hand on Judith’s lower back. One hand on Talbott’s broad shoulder. Their remaining hand intertwined with each other’s. The pair moved along with the music.

‘Warm. She’s really warm and soft...’ Talbott was biting the inside of his cheek, willing his hand to stay in that one spot. His heart was beating rapidly now and he was fighting his instincts.

To pull her closer.

To inhale more of the sweet scent that clung to her skin.

To taste her full lips.

To sink his fangs into that elegant long neck, marking her as his.

He bet she tasted divine...

“Are you enjoying the ball?” Her lovely voice brought him back to the present. He cleared his throat.

“I admit, I was rather bored at first,” he admitted. Gold eyes glimmered with curiosity.

“Oh?” she inquired. He nodded before pulling her closer to satisfy his needs a little.

“But with you here, I can finally enjoy the night.” Those pretty eyes widen and pearly whites bit the plump flesh of her lower lip.

Talbott fought back a groan.

He wanted to be the one doing that...

“Oh! What a... lovely thing to say,” Judith whispered, uneasy.

She wasn’t going to deny that she felt something towards the tall handsome vampire, but she wanted to go home.

Go back home to her Papa.

And that idea seems bleaker and bleaker with the way Talbott was looking at her. She swears she can see a hint of his fangs every time he spoke.

“Is something wrong, darling,” Talbott asked.

“Oh, no! Just a little thirsty.” Judith knew she was lying through the skin of her teeth but she knew better than to openly reject the Crown Prince.

She liked her head exactly where it was, thank you very much.

“Come. Let’s get you something to drink then,” the young man smiled. Judith tried not to grimace.

‘Yup, those were definitely his fangs I saw...’ she thought to herself as Talbott led her to the refreshment table. Judith wasn’t a fan of wine and stuck with water. Talbott even hand feeding her some samplers as they converse with one another.

“Hello son.” The pair turned to the masculine voice that spoke. Judith felt her blood run cold.

The king and queen.

She really may not go home after all.

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

Ava and Trent have been watching their son curiously as he acquainted himself with a young dark skin woman.

Not once has he left her side. The two look at each other and decided to meet the woman who seem to unknowingly captivated their son. They approached the two by the refreshment table.

“Hello son.” The couple turned to them. Talbott nodded at them as the young woman curtsied.

“Mum. Dad.”

“Good evening, Your Majesties.” Ava studied the young woman closely.

She looked very familiar.

“Good evening, my love. And who might this be,” Ava asked. Talbott wrapped an arm around the short woman’s waist, causing her to flush a soft shade of red.

“Mother, Father. This is Judith Harris.” Ava inhaled sharply.

“Did... did you say Harris,” she asked softly. Could it be-

Judith shyly glanced at the royal couple, gold eyes shining.

“You’re Kendrick’s daughter, aren’t you?” Judith blinked in surprise. She knew that her father and the queen were childhood friends, but she didn’t expect her to remember him.

“Yes I am, Your Majesty...” The likeness was uncanny. She looked like the female version of her father. The queen smiled and hugged her.

Judith stiffen at the sudden hug and hesitantly hugged the queen back.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t expect a piece of my past to catch up with me...” The queen was eager to learn more about Kendrick’s little girl.

And her future daughter-in-law...

If she was Kendrick’s daughter, she shouldn’t have to worry about Talbott’s mating to her. Kendrick, although cold and aloof, was a very sweet and caring man. She’ll bet her crown that his daughter was the same exact way.

Though she didn’t like how Judith kept glancing at the entrance every once and awhile.

She understood the girl’s desire to leave but she didn’t want her son to suffer. Especially when he was already showing signs of infatuation towards her.

‘Please, all I ask is for you to give him a chance’ she silently pleaded.

-------

Talbott was growing restless.

He was happy to see that the young woman he chose was to the approval of his parents. Especially since she seem to be the daughter to a childhood friend of his mum.

But he wanted to be alone with her.

So when Judith said she wanted to get some air, he jumped at the opportunity to show her the gardens.

The walk there was silent. They reached the heart of the garden, sitting on the lip of the fountain.

“This place is breathtaking,” she whispered. Talbott bit his lip as he stared at her.

She was breathtaking.

The moonlight bathed her in its ancient glow.

Her molten gold eyes lit up like embers of a flame.

Her cheekbones, collarbones and shoulders were kissed by the moonlight itself, reflecting the slivery rays.

Her dress took on a silver light, making her take on the form of a goddess.

‘Mine...’

“Yes, it is...” Judith stiffen when she heard the response whispered against her cheek. A cool pair of lips pressed against her cheek for a chaste kiss.

“I’ll be frank with you, darling. I never would’ve thought I would find my mate tonight, but I’m glad I was wrong,” Talbott said softly before placing another kiss to her cheek.

Just as he was about to wrap his arms around her waist, Judith pulled away. She was standing, taking cautious steps backwards.

Talbott felt his heart stall, fighting back a snarl.

“I-I’m sorry, Your Highness... b-but I-I can’t be your mate...” A frown found its way on Talbott’s handsome face, as he was quick to stand with her.

“I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer, darling. I can’t live without you now that I found you,” Talbott said slowly as he approached her, trying to keep his instincts in check. He’s seen vampires being rejected by their mate, and it was never a pretty sight.

A lot of them were driven to bouts of madness and eventually had to be taken out of their misery.

He didn’t want to end up like them.

He’ll give her anything she wants, all he asks in return was her unconditional love.

Judith, feeling like cornered prey, did the only thing she could think of.

Run.

A snarl sounded out behind her, sending a cold wave of fear down her spine but she didn’t dare stop or look back. She found a garden maze and quickly ran inside, in hopes of losing the prince.

Thanks to her training, she rather light on her feet, even in heels surprisingly. Low growls and snarls filled the air all around her so she could barely tell where Talbott was.

She wanted to cry.

She didn’t ask for this.

She didn’t want to become the wife to a vampire, even if he was a prince.

All she wanted was to go home to her Papa.

She let out a scream when a hand grabbed her by the elbow, spinning her around to find glowing red eyes staring down at her.

A pair of lips descended on her soft, vulnerable ones. A sob escaped the back of her throat as she tried pushing against Talbott’s chest.

Though her efforts were futile.

Talbott pulled away to look at his mate’s teary face. Though his eyes spoke volumes of his anger, Judith never noticed the fear there as well.

The heir to the throne said nothing as he laid kisses along the length of her neck.

“Talbott, no! Please,” she cried, squirming to get away when she felt cold fangs brush against her skin.

“I’m sorry, my beloved...” was the last thing Judith heard before the pain of his fangs sinking into her neck took root in her system.

Her cry of pain was broke the peace of the night before everything fell quiet once again.

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

Kendrick watched as the morning rays peaked over the horizon, waiting.

His daughter was no where in sight.

A lone tear escaped his eye as sun made it’s way up in the sky. Accepting the fate he was given.

#hphm #hphm mc #au #alternate universe #vampire fanfiction #hphm talbott #jacob's sibling #jacob's sister #hogwarts mystery talbott #talbott winger #talbott x mc #talbott x jacob's sibling #judith harris #oc

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folderolsfollies · 3 years

Text

Sangyao Arranged Marriage.... III

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Word Count: 2.7k Rating: T Warnings: None to date (Besides discussion of canon events)

Nie Huaisang idly notes that it had taken three servants blanching and running through the halls of the Jinlintai at the sight of him freely wandering through its gilded passageways before he’s caught. He tears his gaze away from a beautiful and entirely inaccurate mural commemorating Jin victories during the Sunshot campaign. There’s Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun in front of him, pieced out in larger-than-life gold. Jin Guangyao, the hero of the Sunshot campaign, is absent from the scene.

He fully turns when he recognizes a quiet but unmistakable pair of footsteps. Jin Guangyao, alone, moves with a leopard’s prowling grace.

“San-ge, thank god you’re here! I got so lost…” he lies hurriedly before Jin Guangyao can say anything, clasping onto his arm. This close, the warm, spicy smell of cloves curls towards him. “Oh! You smell nice,” he says, entranced into losing his train of thought, and leans forward, to where the scent is deepened by the heat radiating out from Jin Guangyao’s jugular. “Have you remembered my trick with the incense?” he says, remembering frozen nights in Qinghe carefully draping his long sleeves over the incense burners. At the time, Meng Yao had kept his sleeves sensibly bound to the wrist, but Nie Huaisang had noticed the hungry way that he had stilled to watch all these invisible tricks of the gentry from out of the corner of his eyes, even back then. It had been the first time anybody had wanted to imitate Nie Huaisang. It had been the first time Nie Huaisang had felt the urge to impress someone, stirring new and strange within him.

“I will always remember your kindnesses, Nie Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao replies in the present, polite to a fault, and admirably suppressing his clear desire to ask what exactly Nie Huaisang is doing in Koi Tower. His San-ge, always so thoughtful! “The Jinlintai welcomes you.”

Nie Huaisang finally remembers his twice-stated promise, and, releasing his arm, darts backwards from him like a startled fawn.

“Jin-er-gongzi, thank you for the hospitality,” he says formally, and bows as deeply and as properly as any Lan.

Strong hands catch him from beneath the elbows before the arc of his bow is complete, and he’s hauled back into a standing position. They stand there for a long moment, with Jin Guangyao’s hands wrapped tight around his forearms, and Nie Huaisang’s hands gently draped on his arms. For a moment, Jin Guangyao’s face is startled into openness, as he looks at Huaisang with his large deer-soft eyes, and Huaisang looks back at him.

There’s a lock of Nie Huaisang’s hair, braided for the dust of summer travel, curling around Jin Guangyao’s sleeve and tickling his wrist. Jin Guangyao swiftly tucks it behind Nie Huaisang’s ear, his thin, cold thumb briefly brushing over Huaisang’s cheekbone. His fingers flex against Nie Huaisang’s scalp, briefly, before he releases him, and Huaisang beats down the brief impulse to envelop those cold hands in his own warm ones.

“Let’s go to my office,” Jin Guangyao finally says, and smiles, a small, reflexive thing.

The room Jin Guangyao brings them to is bright and well appointed, and utterly impersonal. There are no decorations. It is the office of a bureaucrat. It is the office of someone who can leave it at any time. Nie Huaisang, kneeling across from Jin Guangyao at his plain desk, feels suddenly desolate at the idea of bright Jin Guangyao entombed in this dingy room. Even in Qinghe, stark as it was, Meng Yao’s office had a few scattered effects, even if it was mostly scraps given by Nie Huaisang. Huaisang wants to give him something beautiful, something that would chisel him into the very walls.

He’s been silent too long. “San-ge, if I get you a fan, would you hang it there?” Nie Huaisang says, pointing randomly at an alcove in the corner. He’s sure to make the words sound artless, casual. Nie Huaisang knows enough to spare Jin Guangyao the sensation of pity.

It must work well enough, because Jin Guangyao says indulgently, “Of course, Huaisang.”

“Don’t just agree with me! What if it’s awful?” Nie Huaisang says.

“I doubt you would ever choose anything that was not in exquisite taste,” Jin Guangyao demurs.

For some reason, at that, Nie Huaisang flops on his elbows and sighs heavily. He thinks he sees Jin Guangyao’s lips twitch up briefly from the corner of his eyes, but when he darts a glance up at him his face is smoothed into placidity once more.

A servant comes in, bearing a tray laden with the dainty little walnut cakes Nie Huaisang favors, placing them on the table to Jin Guangyao’s polite murmur of thanks.

When she leaves, Nie Huaisang leans in, hiding them both under his fan. “Ah, San-ge, what was her name?” he asks.

“Tang Zhu,” Jin Guangyao says in response, and doesn’t ask why Nie Huaisang was curious, sparing Nie Huaisang from having to answer that he simply wanted to see how quickly he would answer, plucking facts out of his well-ordered brain. Sometimes Nie Huaisang’s thoughts spin out from him, wild and untethered and frightening; at those times, Jin Guangyao’s straight-pathed mind settles something deep within him.

When Meng Yao had first entered the Unclean Realm, there had been a long stretch of months when Nie Huaisang had been anxious and sulky about this new addition to Qinghe’s roster, the slight figure at his brother’s right side who carried no saber and who had nevertheless earned such a large portion of his brother’s respect. It had lasted until the day Huaisang had trailed him silently through the secret passageways of the realm to see him pinching off crumbs of bread for one of the stray cats that jostled around the gates. He had felt an affection tinged with the bloody edge of loneliness. He’s like me, he had thought. He could be like me.

He had looked at him then. Jin Guangyao, only two years older than Huaisang, had seemed to have a steady presence that burned brightly within him, outshining any golden core. And Nie Huaisang never really stopped looking at him.

He spreads his fan in front of his face. He has a sudden hope that Meng Yao remembers how they’d use his fan as a silent method of communication with each other back in Qinghe, the way a brisk tap meant rescue me, a shift from hand to hand meaning, watch out! Da-ge coming. When he twists his wrist he thinks with each flutter: trust me, trust me, trust me. “Jin-er-gongzi, how are you settling in?”

Jin Guangyao looks trapped between exasperation and banked amusement, and Nie Huaisang feels such a rush of nostalgic affection that it makes his teeth hurt. “It would be best if you do not refer to me as such in Koi Tower,” he says instead of replying, lightly scolding. “Our positions are dissimilar.”

Nie Huaisang tilts his head unhappily, but smiles to cover it. “Then you’ll be my San-ge. What would you like to do while I’m in here distracting you?”

“I’d like to do my work , Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, pointedly, picking up a sheaf of papers on the table.

It gives him pause. In Qinghe, Meng Yao was as familiar to him as the downbeat of his own heart; Jin Guangyao in his Lanling gold has new expressions he doesn’t know how to read. Has he been presuming too much on a friendship grown stale through time? He doesn’t know. He has to know.

“Then forgive me for encroaching on your time, San-ge,” he says, penitently. He may have pulled the words from a drama. “I can see myself out.” He stirs to leave.

“Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, and stops. Hope blooms in Nie Huaisang’s chest like a rose, flowered but barbed. Jin Guangyao’s lies are quick and fluent, easy to surface. Deliberation means he’s close to the truth. His smile is a little sad at the edges. “I can spare some time,” is what he settles on. “What brings you to Lanling?”

“Mostly, just avoiding Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, shamelessly. He feels giddy, pricked all over with excitement at the familiar cadence of the conversation. “He’s been after me to keep to a training schedule.”

“He only worries for you, you know that,” Jin Guangyao says patiently.

“Ah, I know, I know that,” Nie Huaisang says, “but this is peacetime! Surely the point of the war was to actually enjoy the rewards of peace.”

“Sometimes leadership demands sacrifice, even if it is peacetime, Huaisang,” says Jin Guangyao, offhandedly. Nie Huaisang puts his fan on the table.

Are you happy? He thinks. But then again, when he knew him best, Jin Guangyao was many things, and happy wasn’t necessarily one of them. When he thinks that he feels such a melting tenderness towards his old friend he has to hold his own hands.

“You always work very hard,” Nie Huaisang agrees. “But San-ge, shouldn’t you enjoy some of the rewards of peace too?”

“Nie Huaisang, you are not subtle,” Jin Guangyao chides, but his smile has turned more fond.

Caught out, Nie Huaisang grins back at him. “I’ve badgered Da-ge into finally letting me host a yaji for the next full moon, you should come, if you can make the time.”

“If I can make the time,” Jin Guangyao echoes neutrally.

“San-ge,” Nie Huaisang, pouting, “I’ll even sweeten the pot; should I invite someone for you?” Jin Guangyao will suggest Lan Xichen, who will be a good buffer between Da-ge and San-ge; he waits for confirmation.

Jin Guangyao looks down at his papers. “It would be a good opportunity to strengthen your relationship with some of the tributary sects. Some of the smaller sects produce fine artisans, like Laoling or Dingtao,” he says, neutrally.

Nie Huaisang tosses his hair back in exasperation. Jin Guangyao looks up again, tracing the arc of its movement. “You know that’s not what I meant, San-ge - wait, since when does Laoling produce artisans?” Laoling, a minor city kissing Lanling’s borders, produces golden maize in the summer, sticky purple jujubes in winter; it does not, to Nie Huaisang’s knowledge, produce any scholars of the Great Arts. Jin Guangyao’s smile freezes; Nie Huaisang feels triumphant. “You’ve been holding out on me, San-ge! Who’s in Laoling?”

Jin Guangyao ducks his head, affecting a modesty Nie Huaisang is sure is feigned: “Lord Qin’s eldest daughter. Now that my brother’s engagement is secure, it’s time to start thinking about my own marital duties.”

“You wish to marry... Qin Su?” Nie Huaisang asks, astonished. Qin Su is sweet, Qin Su is pretty, in a delicate fashion, and Qin Su has a winsome manner that would, Nie Huaisang imagines, make a person who cares for such things want to sweep her up in their arms. Nie Huaisang would rather be swept up, but he is not blind to the appeal.

“She is a generous and loving woman, and she would make anyone a fine wife.” says Jin Guangyao, and there is an admonishment cloaked in his even tone. There’s Jin Guangyao’s protective streak again, and it sends warmth into Nie Huaisang’s chest even as it feels odd, to hear it directed on the behalf of someone else.

“No, I know that,” says Nie Huaisang, so blankly that it seems to mollify Jin Guangyao. “But I had thought… Zewu-Jun…” he trails off, suddenly aware that he is shown more of his hand than he had planned, but helpless against the rush of curiosity. Zewu-Jun is the top cultivator of the cultivation world, the pride of Gusu Lan. Nie Huaisang could never possibly strive to his heights - it exhausts him thinking of trying.

That would be the caliber of a suitor that he would find for Jin Guangyao. That was the caliber of a suitor he had thought he had found for Jin Guangyao.

Jin Guangyao’s eyes glint, and for a second Nie Huaisang is pinned under a piercing gaze. Jin Guangyao has not looked at him like that for a long time, and there is a small, hungry part of Nie Huaisang that would take the anger, if it means having the honesty. “You should be careful about what you think, and who you tell your thoughts to,” Jin Guangyao says. There you are, Nie Huaisang thinks.

Nie Huaisang makes his mouth twist. “Ah, I’ve upset you,” he says mournfully, “I only want you to be happy.” Jin Guangyao doesn’t smile, precisely, but his gaze softens slightly.

“I’m sure you do,” he says.

But something within Nie Huaisang thrums like a badly plucked qin. So that’s the type he likes, he thinks, without knowing why. Agitated, he taps blindly at his wrist with his fan. It’s then when he realizes that to many, a betrothal to Jin Guangyao would be seen as an insult. It feels like a betrayal to remember, but a greater betrayal to have forgotten.

(Once, Da-ge and him had overheard a chef say “What a pretty child the young master is, too bad about the mother.” Da-ge had her thrown out the next day.)

“I’ll set aside your usual room, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, in lieu of asking how long Nie Huaisang is planning on staying, which is rather deft of him. Nie Huaisang squirrels the phrasing away for safekeeping and raises his hands placatingly.

“Ah, no need, no need, San-ge, I just stopped by to say hello before proceeding to Lanling! Between the two of us, it’s a little difficult going shopping in Qinghe, everybody knows Da-ge there,” he says, knowing that his face is steadily turning more flushed and batting cool air at his face with his fan.

Jin Guangyao’s face is as smooth and impassive as a creamy block of white jade. “And what would Nie-er-gongzi need in Lanling that you wouldn’t want your brother to know that you’re buying?” He tilts his head, smiling as serenely as ever.

Nie Huaisang squirms and points at him with his fan accusingly. “Ah, you’re teasing me! That’s so unfair, nobody would ever believe me if I tell them that you have a sense of humor.” He wrinkles his nose against the laughter that threatens to bubble out of him. Decorum, Huaisang.

Jin Guangyao raises his eyebrows. The dimples deepen. “And who would you plan on telling?”

Nie Huaisang grins back at him. “You know I can’t tell anyone, you’re the only person I can actually gossip with.”

“I don’t indulge in gossip, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says primly, which is an obvious lie, and has been since the day Nie Huaisang had first met him. “It’s frivolous, and detrimental to the spirit.”

“But San-ge, I’m very frivolous,” Nie Huaisang points out. “Spare a thought for us lost causes.”

“You’re not a lost cause,” Jin Guangyao says, and for a moment he looks almost angry, the raw emotion rippling across his features the way a shark fin breaches water. He calms, and smiles placatingly. “You’ve been raised to this, you and your brother both.”

Jin Guangyao lies. Huaisang knows this. But sometimes, he lies to craft the world into a better shape than it is.

Nie Huaisang smiles at him. “I’ll invite the Qin family at the end of the month; I want to help you.”

He watches Jin Guangyao come to a decision. “You’d be putting me in your debt,” he says, as if doubtful.

Nie Huaisang thrills. “No debts between us, San-ge, we’re brothers!” he says, full of innocence, and watches Jin Guangyao relax in increments - softening his brow, the corners of his eyes, the rigid line of his shoulders entombed in layers and layers of fine silk. That’s never been true, but what would the thoughtless Second Young Master know about obligation? The trick with trapping a wild animal is that you can’t let them know that you see them, or it gives the whole game away.

“I have to go now, there’s only so much time before Da-ge figures out I’m not actually at Lotus Pier,” Nie Huaisang explains, with a trace of regret. He places a hand on Jin Guangyao’s slim wrist as he moves to leave, silk and skin nearly indistinguishable to the touch. “But it was good to see you again, Yao-ge.”

Jin Guangyao blinks slowly down at the hand at his wrist, and then upwards at him. “The pleasure was mine entirely, Huaisang.”

#my fic #sangyao #we're back baby

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alj4890 · 3 years

Text

Delicate

(Olivia Nevarkis x Ethan Ramsey) (Olivia Nevarkis x Drake Walker) in a Choices The Royal Romance/Open Heart Crossover crack series.

A/N Olivia and Ethan's plans for another double date are met with two extra uninvited guests: Maxwell and Drake. Unable to believe this is the Olivia he has known all his life, Drake becomes determined to draw real her out. With Maxwell's encouragement, Drake tries to think of ways for Ethan to see Olivia's temper and find a way to win her back. Once again, we will have a flashback that shows Ethan and Olivia's first fight shortly after she arrived in Boston.

Masterlist

@jooous @krsnlove @nomadics-stuff @twinkleallnight @motorcitymademadame

Part 3

Somewhere near Boston Harbor...

Olivia's grip on the helm tightened as her attention settled on her unexpected guests.

This double date was supposed to be for four, not four plus Drake and Maxwell.

The night before had shaken her confidence. It wasn't so much in seeing Drake again, but in what he reminded her of.

The Duchess of Lythikos. As cold as the land she rules over. Offspring of Traitors. Unable to find someone to love her.

Being away from Cordonia had allowed her to see that she could live a life out from under those shadows. She could walk up to a group of people and be greeted with a smile and warm welcome instead of cautious suspicion. She could prove that she had intelligence and a stubbornness to do something worthwhile.

She could possibly find someone who would love her for herself and not for the very reputation she couldn't seem to escape.

Her gaze was caught by the man making his way toward her. She knew she was resting her hope on him to be the one who could love the woman she was.

"You didn't tell me you were an expert sailor too." Ethan teased, settling his arms around her waist.

She couldn't help but smile. "I thought by now that you would know to never underestimate me."

He chuckled while hugging her close from behind. "You're right. That's all on me."

She felt her confidence lift somewhat as they simply enjoyed being near one another.

It would have been perfect. The late October morning’s sunshine sparkled on the waves. A brisk breeze blew, gliding them on around the harbor. The land glowed with bursts of fall color between the shimmering downtown buildings.

All was right for a romantic time together.

Can one have a romantic time with an ex lover and a talkative friend in the very same boat?

Olivia could hear catches of Amanda's laughter drifting from the bow of the boat. Her eyes narrowed on Maxwell standing before her and Thomas and then Drake smirking at a story the fun loving noble was telling.

"Your friend doesn't seem to ever stop talking." Ethan commented.

"Who? Maxwell?" She snorted. "He doesn't when he has a captive audience."

Feeling a bit uneasy, she asked what story Maxwell was sharing.

"Nothing about people I have heard you mention." Ethan remarked. "He was talking about some lady at a ball with poodles."

Olivia relaxed some. At least it wasn't about her. "Penelope."

She felt Ethan shrug behind her. "I think that was one of the names he said." He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "He also told me one about you."

Her knuckles turned white on the wheel. "He did?"

"Yes." He tucked a stray curl that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. His lips brushed against it as he talked. "He told me how you helped fight terrorists while Riley was getting ready for her wedding to Liam."

She forced her grip to relax. Olivia had once shared that part of her life with him. She had even been obliged to show him her scar from her stab wound. His reaction had surprised her. There was no revulsion that her family had married her off to some vindictive wannabe king. There was no morbid curiousity about learning from a young age how to wield a dagger. Nothing except admiration at her surviving such an ordeal.

"I thought there was just the one fight during the wedding reception." He murmured, squeezing her close once more. "I didn't know you were twice a hero."

Her lips curved as she turned her head to look up at him. "Well, I didn't want to come off as a braggart."

He laughed before capturing her lips in a heated kiss. "Is this the same woman who had the nerve to tell me how to properly treat a gunshot wound a few weeks ago?"

She smiled as their mouths met again, knowing he was proud of her each time she did show how intelligent she was or shared something she had overcome. The warmth in his embrace was sweetened by the fact that she knew she could trust that type of reaction from him.

It was a heady sensation, one she hoped would never end.

*ahem* Drake cleared his throat louder a third time. "Amanda was wondering if you two were ready to eat."

"Of course." Olivia replied. She and Ethan prepared to back the mainsail while Drake returned to the bow.

******************

A short time later...

Drake could not get past how different Olivia seemed to the naked eye. It was as if that hardness that she kept in her everyday life had disappeared. This new version of her worried him.

It was a version he knew any man would fall in love with.

Her actions with Ethan had been eye opening as well. The moment she introduced the doctor to him and Maxwell, she had slipped her arm around himn...as if she was actually proud to be with Ethan.

He didn't know what to make of that other than this being beyond anything he could have imagined. The rest of their time in her apartment had consisted of him observing how comfortable the new couple was together. Their heated glances not bothering to be hidden. The light touches hinting at a longing to be alone. The happiness!

Olivia never smiles so easily! Where's the smirk? The slightly insulting, biting sarcasm?

Why did she never show me this side?

Even now, she was helping unpack a large picnic basket while exchanging private jokes with Ethan and Thomas and Amanda.

Drake had never felt more like such an outsider looking in.

Maxwell sat down next to him.

"You've got to act fast." He whispered. "Their relationship is too far advanced to have only started dating recently."

Drake's lips firmed into a thin line. That's what bothered him. They shouldn't be this close. All they did was discuss building a hospital for months. Interview candidates. Make business plans.

Could they have been falling in love during all that?

"So..." Maxwell hedged, hoping to help his friend out. "How much longer are you ladies planning on staying in America?"

Amanda blinked in surprise. She had already told her plans the night before. "Thomas and I plan on remaining here until after the new year." Her brow furrowed when Maxwell seemed surprised. "He still has the rest of the semester to teach."

Olivia shrugged. "My plans are not yet set."

"What about Lythikos?" Drake spoke up. "Are you going to leave Hana in charge indefinitely?"

Olivia's eyes collided with his. He felt a little relieved to see the flash of anger contort her features.

But then they smoothed back into one of peace.

He felt a slight chill run down his back at seeing something that looked so unnatural.

"I spoke to Hana a few days ago about it. She said she was more than happy to remain for a few more months." A proud smile formed on her lips. "Especially since I offered to host her wedding in thanks for her help."

"A winter wonderland wedding!" Amanda exclaimed. "That will be gorgeous!"

Drake grimaced that his prodding had not brought out the old Olivia but also turned to the romantic subject of weddings.

He searched for something else to talk about. Something had to break what had to be this fake version. Wasn't he doing everyone a favor by doing so? Ethan would see that she wasn't the same woman he had come to fall for. Olivia could be her old self without worry. And who knows...Drake might even be allowed back into her life.

"What else is there left to do here?" He interrupted Amanda's description of her wedding to Ethan. He gestured toward the man he was developing a definite dislike. "You've gotten the doctor you wanted to run the hospital. The funding was secured long ago. The building is nearly finished, with Riley overseeing the equipment placement and furnishings you've demanded." His eyes darted back and forth on Olivia and Ethan. "Why are you staying here?"

The plastic fork in Olivia's hand snapped in two with the sharp part of the handle stabbing her in her palm.

If not for a brief intake of breath, no one would have realized she was injured until the blood appeared.

"Olivia!" Ethan quickly pulled her hand toward him to see how deep it went. He reached for some napkins and bottled water, gently cleaning the area.

"It," she sucked in a painful breath when he pressed near it, "it isn't that bad."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Allow me to diagnose this, please."

"You're making a big deal out of nothing." She squirmed.

It wasn't so much Ethan's tending as it was everyone staring at them that was bothering her.

That and Drake trying to make her mad.

And succeeding.

"I promise." She placed her uninjured hand on Ethan's. "I will be fine."

"I know you'll live." He responded. Noticing the faint blush on her cheeks, he decided to tease her to get her mind off their audience. "Next time you decide to lose your temper, throw the fork instead of breaking it."

He watched as a reluctant smile appeared on her face.

"You're not wrong." She muttered.

Drake watched their exchange and began to see that their attraction to one another had already revealed what she did when riled. Ethan had somehow seen past it and pursued her.

"Don't encourage her to start throwing forks, Doc." Maxwell tried to lighten the tension. "We're already dodging daggers at court."

Ethan pulled a first aid kit out and began to bandage her hand. "If I've learned anything these last few months," he gently squeezed her fingers, "it's that the person she decides to throw something at most likely deserves it."

Olivia shook with suppressed laughter when he playfully winced in memory.

Drake's eyes narrowed. "I take it you know first hand what that is like?"

Ethan finished tying the ends while ordering her to keep it elevated. Settling his arm around her, he smirked over at the man he knew was an ex of hers.

"I do. I found out not too long after she moved to Boston..."

****************

Four months earlier...

Ethan stormed into the office Naveen had given Olivia.

She looked up from a set of reports and glared at the interruption. "You're late."

"I have patients." He snapped. "Just because you want a meeting doesn't mean I work on your schedule."

Her eyes narrowed at his tone. "This meeting concerns your future as a doctor. One I have put you as head of your dream hospital." The bite in her tone held enough venom to sting. "If I were you, I would watch how I speak to me."

He bent down, braced his hands in her desk, and made certain she had to look up at him. "You are not my boss yet. In fact, you will never be mine." He tossed the contract she had delivered to him by a harassed orderly on her desk. His index finger struck the papers. "According to this, I have a say in who is and who isn't hired."

"Along with Naveen and me." She snapped. "The entire council is depending on me to pick the best physicians I can find."

"And what qualifies you for such?" He gripped her desk. "That duchess title of yours?"

Olivia bristled. Her green eyes sparked with anger. "No. My own study of medicine."

"Your own study?" He scoffed. "Reading WebMD does not make you qualified, Ms. Nevarkis."

She abruptly got to her feet, causing him to stumble back. Striding past him, she shut the door when she noticed a group of interns trying to overhear their fight. With deliberate steps, she returned to her desk and ripped open one of the drawers. Yanking out the piece of paper that had come to mean more to her than anything that she had found in her family's vault, she handed it to the highly irritated doctor without a word.

Ethan unfurled it. His eyes scanned the degree in nursing she had earned from a well known medical college in Europe.

Flicking his eyes toward her, he handed it back. "So you're a nurse?"

"Not just any nurse." She corrected, stung by the condescension she could detect in his voice, "a critical care nurse. I finished my Advanced Life Support Certification before coming here."

"I see." His eyes narrowed once more. "Then as a critical care nurse, you should be the first to understand that when I head the E.R. that no meeting is worth pulling me away from the critically injured."

She blanched at the knowledge of where he had been. Sifting through her papers she found his schedule. Her fist clinched around it. "Today is not your day to work there."

"It is when the doctor who is supposed to be calls in sick!" He yelled, frustrated with her arguing with him over this. The many hours he had been working with little sleep had made her the perfect foil for his temper.

"Well, I didn't know you had taken her place!" She yelled back. "You could have sent me that information so I wouldn't send out a damn search party for you!"

"I'm an adult!" He roared. "One who is trying to treat as many patients as I can before uprooting my life for your ridiculous country!" His blue eyes burned into her green. "You are not required to know my every move!"

"I had the King of Cordonia on the phone waiting to talk to you!" She yanked her office phone's receiver, ripping it from the base, to wave in his face. "The entire council wanted to speak to you!"

A smirk tilted his lips up, causing her rage to turn into an inferno.

"Here's the thing, duchess." His voice had lowered to a more sinister tone. "I don't give a rat's ass about your council wanting to talk to me."

Before he could turn and leave her sputtering, she threw the receiver at him. It struck right in what she knew was his cold heart.

His eyes widened at her display of temper.

Her breaths came in fast as she stood before him, not in the least repentant for her actions.

As much as he hated it, a spurt of respect grew at her not backing down. In fact, she was meeting everything he threw at her with her own ways to put him in his place. That thought allowed his anger to dissipate.

Knowing he was partly responsible for this fight, he bent down and picked up her receiver and moved to place it back on her phone.

Olivia stiffened when he brushed past her. He was so close that she could smell a mixture of hand sanitizer and whatever aftershave he had used earlier that morning.

After checking to make certain her office phone still worked, he stepped back and waited for her to say something.

Recognizing an olive branch from someone with a temper similar to hers, her stance eased but remained guarded. She cut her eyes to her phone then back to him.

"Thank you." She forced herself to say.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and nodded. "I will be off tomorrow." He glanced at his contract on her desk. "If you are able to schedule another phone conference, I can be back anytime you need."

She relaxed some more. "I'll let you know."

Not knowing how to quite end this tense encounter, he gave another brief nod before opening her door.

"Did you sign the contract?" She asked, making him pause in her doorway.

"Yes." He shut the door after answering and returned to the emergency room.

A smile slowly formed on her lips before she sat down once more behind her desk.

*****************

"You threw a phone?!" Drake looked back and forth between the two. "And you still asked her out?"

"Actually, I took her to coffee the very next day." Ethan replied. "She impressed me and I decided to get to know the person she really was."

Olivia smirked at Drake. "Not everyone sees my temper as a bad thing."

“Not when it is justified.” Ethan added.

Drake folded his arms while the conversation turned to Maxwell's plans in Hollywood. He knew he was now on an unexpected playing field. Ethan was an adversary of a new ilk. He wasn't a stuffy noble or even a rough commoner. Drake only knew one thing for certain: he was going to be a difficult guy to beat to try and win Olivia back.

#ethan ramsey x olivia nevarkis #dr. ethan ramsey #olivia nevrakis #trr olivia #trr drake #drake walker x olivia nevrakis #drake walker #trr maxwell #oh ethan ramsey #choices open heart #choices the royal romance #choices crossover #choices the stories you play

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wonderlustlucas · 4 years

Text

mistletoe? oh no! - im jaebeom

⇢ prompt Why do we kiss under a mistletoe when it’s a parasitic plant that steals nutrients from its host tree? ⇢ pairing jaebeom x female reader ⇢ word count 6.9k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings swearing. alcohol. suggestive make out at the end :D ⇢ summary Six months ago, you drunkenly kissed Im Jaebeom on a beach trip with your friends. Afterward, the awkward tension kept the two of you from ever having the ‘What are we?’ talk and eventually, too much time had passed for anything to ever happen. Luckily, Pollyanna and a stupidly placed mistletoe have brought your feelings to the boiling point.—friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n happy new year’s my loves! as one last hurrah for 2019 & as part of @kwritersworld‘s holiday writing event, here is yet another idiots to lovers, christmas/nye au! here’s to a lovely new year, & new decade. i hope you all have a blessed, joyous, & prosperous year. i love you! ♥︎

You once thought that you were an introvert.

You know— someone deemed shy, with a preference to keep to themselves rather than going out of their way to interact with others. Introvert. Opposite of extrovert.

It wasn’t until you were a senior in high school did you learn new definitions for these personality categories. An introvert—according to your philosophy teacher and a TED Talk speaker shown on the projector during class—is someone who, simply put, thinks of how they feel before speaking. Extroverts, on the other hand, only identify their true feelings on a topic after they have begun discussing it.

The lesson stuck with you. Albeit your perpetual reservation from others, you were always one to argue. Smart, excellent report card over the years— but found yourself blurting your opinion out at the first chance before fully thinking it through. Now, you concluded, I suppose I’m an extrovert if that truly is what it means. This knowledge, for some strange reason, gave you a token for change. If I’m an extrovert, you thought, I must start acting one.

Now, having just been accepted into law school, you think you have hit the nail on the head when it comes to meeting both definitions of an extrovert. Park Jinyoung, on the other hand, has his doubts.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Have you really thought about what this is gonna do to your life?” Despite the genuine concern laced in his tone, Jinyoung’s words make you wince. How he manages to suck the life out of a celebratory night out for drinks truly is beyond you.

“Yes, Jinyoung,” you groan, taking a desperate sip of your coquito like it’s really going to help against his insufferableness, “I’ve only been working for this for a few years, let me change my mind now.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” he counters, leaning in close enough for you to taste his Jo Malone fragrance on your tongue. You raise a skeptical brow at him. “Have you thought about what becoming a lawyer is going to make of your life?” His words are clipped and emphasized like he is speaking to a child, trying desperately to get his point across.

“I appreciate you looking out for me and my future, Jinyoung,” you sigh, reclining back in your bar stool because sitting that close to Jinyoung for that long makes your head dizzy, “but I promise you, I have thought about this. I know I have a lot of hard work ahead of me, but it’s what I want to do. I promise.”

Jinyoung huffs, defeated, before tipping his wine glass back and chugging what is left like some sort of animal. Very not Jinyoung-like. “Well, then I guess there’s no reason to not celebrate with you,” he grins. Then, not even a beat later, “When are you gonna make time to marry Jaebeom and have a bunch of sexy little babies?”

“Aw, for crying out loud!” You howl, slapping a hand to your forehead before turning to him with a pointed glare and a pointed finger. “Okay, first of all, the fact that you used sexy and babies in the same sentence concerns me. And second, stop saying me and Jaebeom are going to get married! He doesn’t even look at me, how do you equate marriage out of that?”

“You mean, you don’t look at him. You guys had a great time when we went to the beach not even six months ago, saw each other half naked, shared a drunken kiss before bed, and then dropped all communication! What the hell is up with that?” Jinyoung has a habit of lecturing you like it’s his full-time job and it drives you absolutely insane because he’s always right.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumble, bringing your glass to your lips and taking a lengthy sip just to buy some time. “Come on, ___. My boy is out here drowning in unrequited love while you’re just all ‘Teehee! I’m a lawyer! Don’t talk to me when I’m doing lawyer tings!’ Cut the bullshit and let him take you on a date and blow your back out for Christ’s sake!”

You are physically unable to suppress your laughter, hand flying to cover your mouth and head thrown back at his comical outburst. He’s lucky you love him or else he would seriously regret that outrageously inaccurate imitation of your voice. He’s lucky you are tipsy enough to lose yourself in laughter and he’s especially lucky that he is correct, once again.

“Jinyoung,” you wheeze, letting out one more breathless giggle before flipping on the serious mode switch, “I would love to not only go out on a date with Jaebeom, but to date him. But things got awkward and so much time as passed that suddenly starting things up again would be weird. Don’t you think?”

“No!” Jinyoung yells. Half the people at the bar jump at the noise and turn to glare. You do just the same before shooting an older gentleman beside Jinyoung an apologetic look. “I just don’t think you’re drinking enough.”

“Yes,” then, a pause to ask the bartender for the check now that Jinyoung’s lectures are starting to put a downer on you, “that’s exactly it. I’m afraid to get drunk off my ass when Jaebeom’s around because I’ll do something stupid and either scare him off or bring him home and both are terrible options!”

“You’re no fun,” Jinyoung scoffs, “my two best friends, both pining after one another, but pulling the sixteen-year-old card and not talking to each other. Great! Just great.”

You laugh, hopping down from your seat and patting his knee once you have slipped on your coat. “Buy a mistletoe for the Christmas party and maybe something can be arranged.”

Jinyoung doesn’t find it funny.

For the past six years, it has been tradition for you and your friends to have a belated Christmas slash New Year’s party where Pollyanna gifts are exchanged and an excessive amount of alcohol is consumed because, well, your friends are fun. For the past three, however, you have been holding said party at Youngjae’s house, because he is the only one who has a house and houses are infinitely better for parties than apartments. Plus, Youngjae is a gracious man who welcomes the company year after year. Can’t understand why he wants nine psychopaths in his lovely little abode, but that’s not your problem.

What is your problem is the fact that there actually is a mistletoe hanging from the ceiling fan in the kitchen. You’re going to kill Jinyoung.

You once thought Choi Youngjae was the coolest person to bless the planet. Now, you’re not so sure.

It’s the first thing your eye goes to upon entering Youngjae’s outrageously beautiful row home. Usually, you need a solid ten minutes to accept the fact that you will never become a model and have as many zeroes at the end of your savings as Youngjae, spending way too much time swooning over his grey vinyl wood floors and brick fireplace and white marble countertops. This time, however, while Jinyoung and Yugyeom do the whole bro hug greeting after wiping the snow from their shoes, you stand pressed up awkwardly against the front door, crockpot of buffalo chicken dip in hand, glaring at the stupid thing from two rooms over. Before you can turn an accusing finger to Jinyoung, Youngjae has turned to welcome you.

“You made it!” He cheers, flashing that thousand-watt smile of his and easing some of the tension that has begun to build up in your nerves like plaque. “Somehow, someway,” you return, relaxing into his embrace when he curves around the precious chicken dip to offer a half hug. “You need a drink,” Youngjae decides after having evaluated the lack of excitement in your response. Following after Jinyoung and Yugyeom, he leads you into the kitchen with a lively bounce to his step. “Bambam just finished making hot toddies, or you could be the first to take from our jell-o shot Christmas tree.”

He gestures to said “tree” on his dining table, a neatly stacked pile of green, red, and blue jell-o shots and you feel awfully terrible at having to ruin its perfected assembly. “It’s beautiful,” you muse, setting the crockpot on the counter and plugging its cord into an outlet, “it would be my honor to have the first one.”

“___!” Hollers Jackson as he slides open the door from the back patio and enters the kitchen, Maggie filing in after him. He must have joined her for a smoke outside. He proceeds to do a little dance shimmy as he makes his way over to you. “Jackson, my love,” you grin, squeezing him into a tight hug after he slaps a messy kiss to your cheek. “How are you, Miss I-Got-Accepted-Into-Law-School?”

That is going to be the topic of discussion for the night, it seems, and the heat of an embarrassed blush works its way up your neck at the realization. “I’m good. Really good, actually,” you say, directing your attention to Maggie who slips around Jackson to tuck into your side, “definitely not as stressed as I was. The holidays are a nice break from everything.”

“We’re all so proud of you,” Maggie hums, leaning her head on your shoulder.

“Seriously, congratulations, again. You deserve it,” Jackson praises, reaching to squeeze your cheek. You swat his hand away in fear he will mess up the foundation you spent way too much time applying.

“Thank you, guys. I’m glad someone is happy for me,” you grumble, directing a cold glare to Jinyoung who, somehow, has already managed to fire Yugyeom up.

“What?” Bambam interjects, jumping into the conversation now that he has made his way into the room. “Didn’t you guys go out when you got accepted?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, smiling to the very expensive looking boy, “but he’s more worried than excited. Thinks I’m not considering how becoming a lawyer is going to affect my future, the stress of it, having a family, but…”

Maggie scoffs. “God, he sounds like your dad.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Ugh! Everyone, shoo! Why are we all in the kitchen? Go sit in the living room,” Youngjae hisses, grabbing Bambam by the shoulders and shoving him out of the room. Bambam makes a sound of protest, gesturing dramatically to all the food and the pot of hot toddy still on the stove.

“You can come back when there isn’t an entire crowd in here,” Youngjae counters, slapping a handful of jell-o shots into his hands, “I made Yugyeom promise to not eat all of ___’s dip, you don’t need to worry.” Bambam grumbles in response, stumbling after the others and you follow suit with a laugh.

Pausing just before the living room, Bambam stops to pass everyone a shot. “Here’s to Christmas and getting Jaebeom and ___ to kiss under the mistletoe.”

“Stop!” You whine, just as the rest ‘clink’ their cups and shout, “Cheers!” Nevertheless, down the hatch the jell-o goes and you glare at them all once they are done.

“Oh, speak of the Devil,” Yugyeom snickers just as you have ran ahead to crash down on the sofa, stretching your legs out across the chaise. Rolling over off your stomach, you turn to watch Mark, Jaebeom, and Shelby arrive, one too many gift bags and bottles of wine in hand. “Oh,” Maggie whispers from beside you, elbow nudging into your side, “look at your man.”

Funny thing is, you already are. To give you the benefit of the doubt— you were already watching the trio stumble into the room anyway, but it just so happened you stopped at Jaebeom. Before things between you got complicated, when you were just friends, he always had a way of stealing the oxygen from your lungs. Now is no different.

Dressed in black slacks, a white tee tucked in and a baby blue blazer to top it all off, Jaebeom looks nothing short of marvelous. He’s been growing his hair out, too, the black waves curling down to brush his cheekbones, screaming to be combed through with your fingers. And oh Christ, you can’t even begin to talk about the nose piercing. In the midst of your swooning, Jaebeom looks up after having deemed his sneakers clean enough to walk through Youngjae’s home, scanning the room before conveniently landing on you. The blush on both of your faces is instantaneous, hardly a second of maintaining eye contact before the embarrassment burns too hot and you turn away. Still, you can’t fight your smile.

Neither can he.

“Now the party’s started!” Mark hoots, swinging two bottles in the air like he’s asking for disaster. “Hurry and put everything down so we can play something,” Yugyeom whines from his seat across the room, pushing Jaebeom’s butt to move faster. “Patience is a virtue, Yugyeom,” Jinyoung comments, throwing a Hershey Kiss wrapper at him.

“Absolute children,” Maggie mutters. You hum in agreement.

“Do you wanna play the alphabet game?” Bambam proposes, earning a groan from Jackson. He hates the game, despite how often you all play it, claiming it takes too much brain power for a party.

“Yes! I’m down,” Shelby shouts anyway, having returned in time to hear Bambam’s question. To Jackson’s misery, you all agree as well.

“Youngjae!” Bambam shouts, waiting for him to yell back. “Grab the peppermint vodka when you come in! We’re playing the alphabet game!”

The way you all play most likely has deviated from the original rules of the game, but it works and it’s fun. Sitting in a circle, you go through the alphabet, naming something in a certain category that begins with whatever letter you’re on. For example, if you were doing fruits and were on the letter W, you could say watermelon. But, the person to your right is counting to ten, and once that time is up, you have to take a shot and the letter moves on to the next person until someone gets a word. Sounds easy, until you’re three shots in and not even halfway through the alphabet.

With Shelby collapsing down between Yugyeom and Jackson on the love seat, Youngjae on the armchair by the fireplace, and Mark on the bean bag brought down from upstairs, you realize with a rising sense of panic that the only possible seating for Jaebeom is by—

“Hey,” he says, tapping your outstretched legs, “can I sit here? You can keep your legs stretched. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, sure, sure!” You squeak, jerking to sit up and to pull your legs to your chest. However, just as he sits, he grabs your ankles to tug them back. Hesitantly, and with an appreciative smile sent his way, you hesitantly lay your legs over his lap, his arms comfortably rested over them. Oh, fuck.

Swallowing hard and trying to ignore the way your heart flutters in her chest, you turn back to your friends where the game is just starting.

“Okay, I’ll start since I’m in the middle,” Mark announces, readjusting himself in the bean bag to sit closer to the coffee table, “Yugyeom, you count. Actually, you don’t need to, I already have my word. A, as in artificial tree.”

“One word, idiot,” Youngjae scoffs, smacking the back of Mark’s head, “take a shot. Yugyeom, you go.”

The younger boy pales, panicking when Mark does as he is told. Then, he blurts, “A as in angel!”

“B as in bells!” Shelby shouts.

“C as in… Christmas,” Jackson says with a wink.

“D as in December,” Jinyoung hums nonchalantly.

“E as in eggnog!” Bambam cheers.

“F as in…” Maggie pales, trailing off. In your head, you start to count, while simultaneously trying to think of a holiday word that starts with F. “Festive!” She shouts suddenly. “Oh, shit, um… G as in… gingerbread?” You huff, relieved.

“H as in holiday,” Jaebeom says with a soft smile. All eyes are on Youngjae as he stares hopelessly at the ceiling. “I, as in…”

In your head, you count alongside Mark. “What the fuck starts with I?” Youngjae hisses, slapping his knees anxiously. The silence is deafening until Mark shouts with a sadistic grin, “TEN!” Youngjae hangs his head low before reaching for the bottle. Ironic, because Mark can’t think of a word, and neither can Yugyeom, Shelby, or Jackson. Jinyoung grins at their expense until it’s his turn. “Icicle,” he says without a beat.

“That’s not Christmas-y!” Yugyeom whines, hands thrown up dramatically. “Can you think of anything better, stupid?” Jinyoung fires back, evidently shutting him up. Poor Yugyeom, he can never win.

“J as in Jesus,” Bambam says with a laugh.

“K? Bruh, you gotta be joking,” Maggie sighs, throwing her head back against the sofa, trying to concentrate. “Ten,” you sigh sadly even though you counted to fifteen, patting her knee and Youngjae passes her the bottle. “Um, K as in…” Christ, you can’t think of anything either. Kris Kringle? No, two words, fuck.

“Ten!” Jaebeom chuckles, squeezing your calf and you quickly take a swig with a wince. The round goes all the way to Shelby, who happily yells, “Kings!”

The game drags on, keeping you all at the edge of your seats by the time U and V come around. When it comes to W, everyone has had one too many shots to be able to think quickly enough to come up with wreath. Except for Jinyoung, of course. You give up on Z, deciding there is no such word and you all let out a relieved breath at the game’s conclusion. “Does this mean we can eat now?” Jackson mumbles, far too gone for a party that has only started hardly an hour ago.

“Yes! I’m ravenous,” Bambam groans, helping his friend stand. Together, they’re the first to make way into the kitchen and you’re surprised Youngjae doesn’t chase after them to make sure they don’t knock anything over.

“Well,” Jaebeom yawns and you are suddenly mortified to realize that your legs are still casually stretched out over his lap. “That was fun.” Swinging your legs away and moving to sit up, you nod in agreement. “Very fun. Love watching you and Jinyoung outsmart us every time.”

“Hey,” he frowns, elbowing your arm now that you’re sitting upright beside him, “nobody could think of tree for T, but you did, so shush.” You turn to give him an unamused look. “That’s because Jinyoung was overthinking, and Maggie and Bam drank too much,” you laugh, standing with a stretch. Jaebeom raises an eyebrow. “What?” You ask, unsure of what that look means.

“Why does your snowman have a cape? Oh—” he starts, lifting the fabric attached to the winking snowman on your ugly sweater to find a carrot penis below the three buttons. Jaebeom breaks out into laughter, face scrunched up and head thrown back and it consequently makes you laugh, too. Well, if there was any person that was going to ask first, you’re glad it was him. “Was not expecting that,” he chuckles, wiping the tears that have accumulated at his eyes before rising to stand and oh, suddenly you feel so small with him standing so close to you like that. God, he’s beautiful, you admire. Without thinking, you brush away a tuft of hair that has fallen over his eye, just to see your favorite pair of moles. It isn’t until rosiness blooms across his cheekbones do you realize what you just did.

“Sorry,” you rush breathlessly, taking a step back and turning to make sure nobody saw that. Luckily, only Shelby and Yugyeom remain, too busy cozying up to one another to notice. “___!” Maggie shouts from the kitchen like some godsent angel whose purpose is to save you from awkward moments. “You have to come see this!”

You shoot Jaebeom an awkward smile before swinging around him and making a beeline for the kitchen. Idiot, you scold yourself before taking a deep breath and bringing a smile to your face. “What?” You hum, leaning your head on Maggie’s shoulder. All it is is a SnapChat story of someone you went to university with, a picture of an engagement ring, but you are beyond grateful she called you in. After she stops to take a selfie with you, you navigate around your friends to start a pile of food on your plate, everything from dim sum (thanks, Jackson), grilled pork belly, kimbap, bulgogi sandwiches, spaghetti (thanks, Jackson, part two), and, of course, tortilla chips with your buffalo chicken dip. Big plate for big brain.

Despite the crowdedness, thankfully you are able to avoid standing anywhere close to the mistletoe once Jaebeom enters the room only a few moments later. Finally making your way to the dining table, you let out a sigh of relief now that you don’t have to worry about anything looming above. Of course, your friends have a different idea.

“___,” Maggie purrs just as you have set your plate down, gazing at you expectantly and fluttering her lashes.

“What do you want?”

“Could you get a water for me? There’s bottles in the fridge. Pleeeaaase?” She sings. You wave her off, having already turned around. Can’t be mad at her, honestly; you forgot to grab something for yourself to drink, anyway. Pulling two bottles off the shelves and nudging the refrigerator door closed, you’re just trying to grab a potato chip from the bowl on the counter when Mark rounds the corner and trips over his own feet, coincidentally falling towards you but when you step back to avoid the red wine sloshing in his glass, Jinyoung has suddenly appeared behind you and you stumble over his foot.

It’s a good plan, you think, expecting Jaebeom to catch you like some fucking knight of shining armor and steady you just below the mistletoe, but unfortunately for them, you’re quick to reach for the counter and Jaebeom has literally just turned around in his search for silverware. Regaining your balance against the cabinets, you do not miss the group’s combined groan of disappointment and can’t help but triumphantly grin. “You okay, Mark?” You ask, spinning around and suppressing a laugh at the ‘please don’t kill me’ look in the older boy’s eyes. “Yep,” he coughs, stepping to the side as you brush past.

Dinner is tense, to say the least. Maybe it’s just you. You’re annoyed, beyond so, at your friends’ lack of maturity. Relatively speaking, yes, they are trying to help push you and Jaebeom in the right direction, but their ways of operation lack any beneficial qualities. This is your problem, and you have to deal with it yourself.

You stay quiet, for the most part, occupying your thoughts simply on eating and the approaching excitement of Pollyanna. When you all picked out of a hat a little over a month ago, you initially panicked at Bambam’s name looking back at you on the folded piece of paper. As it turned out, buying gifts for him ended up working out; first, you found matching sweaters for him and his cats, then a travel set for his Bleu de Chanel cologne, a mermaid blanket he had found an Instagram ad for and wouldn’t shut up about, and finally a gift card to his favorite Thai restaurant. What’s more exciting is finding out who has your gifts. Plus, everyone did incredibly well keeping quiet this year, managing to make it all the way without slipping who had who.

Unfortunately, your irritable emotions aren’t done for the night. After finishing your much needed, sobering meal, your goblin friends are prepared to have you and Jaebeom beneath that mistletoe if it’s the last thing they will ever do. Trying to clean up before everyone really gets trashed is an absolute nightmare, everyone taking part in the scheme of leaving just the two of you in the room, nudging him your way, asking you to help Jaebeom do this, help Jaebeom do that. It only gets worse once he realizes what they’re trying to do, curving around you like you have the plague and each time you make eye contact, you contemplate fleeing to the bathroom just to scream.

After what feels like ages spent in the stifling kitchen, you migrate back to the living room to finally, finally open gifts. Good riddance, mistletoe. At everyone’s look of general disappointment, you let out your umpteenth relieved sigh of the night and collapse back into your precious spot at the sofa. You know you’re getting old when you have only been out for two and a half hours and you’re already exhausted.

To make matters worse—or better, you can’t really tell at this point—Jaebeom also sits back down beside you. You can tell he’s anxious; he’s gone back and forth between picking at his nails and a scab on his jaw for a while now and you almost want to say something until you remember how deliberately he dodged you in the kitchen. Maybe, just maybe, a part of you had hoped he would have taken the opportunity and kissed you himself. Why would things ever be so simple?

“Alrighty, friends,” settling into his chair, Youngjae beams. “Let’s get this party started. We’ll go in the same circle as before.”

In turn, Mark flashes that boyish smile of his and leans across the table to pass a bag and small box to Jinyoung. “Ooh,” the younger boy hums excitedly, “thanks, Mark.” Next, Yugyeom hands Jackson a bag, Shelby slides a big box to Youngjae, and, breaking into a fit of laughter, Jackson ends up giving a bag right back to Yugyeom. Jinyoung passes Maggie her gift, and when Bambam rises to hand Jaebeom a hefty bag, you can’t help but miss the way he glances sadly to you before smiling gratefully at his friend and engulfing him into a hug. Suddenly, it dawns on you that there are only three other people left, and watch with an impending sense of dread as Maggie walks across the room to give Shelby her gift. Two left.

Grinning excitedly, you lean over to pass Bambam his gift bag, earning a smile in return bright enough to put the Sun out of business. Now, the moment you all have been waiting for.

Sucking in a deep breath, you turn to Jaebeom, sending all prayers to God that he will rise to hand Mark the bag in his hands.

The universe laughs.

“Ugh,” Jaebeom groans, grinning like a Cheshire cat, “you’re so far.” He places the gift bag, which, is surprisingly heavier than expected, on your lap. “Thanks, Jae,” you manage, smiling fondly at him. Behind him, Youngjae drops a box by Mark’s feet, but by now everything around you has faded into the background, leaving only you and Jaebeom floating in the midst of it all. Even though he has turned away, you can’t stop staring at him. Why’d it have to be him? What are the chances? God, something tells you you’re going to fall in love by the time the night is over.

It isn’t until the tearing of wrapping paper registers in your mind do you snap out of it, coming back to reality and quickly redirecting your attention to opening your gift.

There’s a lot to unfold here, you think with a racing heart, removing the tissue paper and finding three separate items inside. You go for the small box first. It’s a jewelry box, no doubt, but this doesn’t keep the butterflies in your stomach at bay once you lift the beige lid to reveal a rose gold bracelet, diamonds in the pattern of a constellation. There’s a small card attached to the lid, too, and flipping that over you read that it is the constellation for your zodiac sign. “Jae,” you whimper, lips curling into a pout and he laughs at your touched expression. “This is beautiful.”

“Shh! Open everything first,” he hushes, waving you off and returning to his own gift.

Sucking in a deep breath, you do as you’re told and reach for the much larger box. Tearing open the wrapping paper and lifting the lid, you find a glass dome atop a wooden base, and inside is a beautiful red and gold rose with little fairy lights surrounding it. A Beauty and the Beast replicate, without a doubt, and it is so stunning you wish you could lift the glass and feel the fake rose for yourself. A man of taste, without a doubt.

Last but not least, you grab the envelope and excitedly tear it open, because envelopes mean one of three things: 1) a card 2) tickets 3) money, all unlikely options when it comes to Pollyanna.

Well, maybe not, because inside are two passes for the art museum up in the city. “Dude,” you kick Jaebeom’s ankle and stammer out, “how did you? When did you?”

He laughs. “You mentioned wanting to go a few months ago, and I didn’t think you ever got a chance. You haven’t, right?” He sounds worried. “No, I never got to go,” swallowing past the desert dryness of your throat, “thank you, Jaebeom. Everything is so beautiful.”

“Of course, ___,” he smiles, reaching for your hand and even though it’s only a gentle squeeze he gives you, it has your heart doing somersaults. “Anything for you.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You are going through some serious torture here and still won’t make a move!

Everyone is extraordinarily jovial after opening gifts. With Christmas music filling the room with cheer and one too many drinks being mixed, holiday charades and pin the nose on Rudolph are played with high spirits and excessive competitiveness. The night is fun, without a doubt, and you try to ignore the way your friends are still trying to get you and Jaebeom under the mistletoe no matter how annoying it may be. Why can’t they do it to Yugyeom and Shelby? Sure, everyone knows they fuck but neither of them have the balls to officially ask the other out, so why are you the one targeted? Jaebeom didn’t ask for this, either.

“Fuck!” Youngjae groans when Maggie makes her shot into their cup for jingle bell beer pong. Since freshman year, you and Maggie have fought back and forth for the champion's title against Youngjae and Jackson. With this being the second win against them for the night, you get to wear the label proud until next time. “Oh, yeah, baby!” She shouts, doing a funky celebratory dance before jumping to give you a hug.

“I’m a disgrace to the Chinese community,” Jackson cries—literally—before squatting to bury his face in his knees.

“HA!” You laugh mercilessly, jumping along with Maggie in triumph. “You guys are so mean,” Mark chuckles, walking away from their own losers’ championship to see what all the commotion is about. “Just to Youngjae and Jackson,” Maggie defends, gesturing to the pair having a drunken meltdown together. You hum in agreement.

“Yugyeom and Jaebeom are playing Jinyoung and Bambam. It’s pretty intense,” Mark explains, blatantly sarcastic when you glance curiously to the other table. “They’re all so drunk, they’re literally just throwing bells at each other.” He holds up one such bell that must have strayed away from the game. You laugh, hugging your jacket closer and watching Yugyeom begin to twerk when he finally makes a shot.

“My God,” Maggie snickers, shielding her eyes and turning away from the scene to comfort the still depressed Jackson.

“So,” Mark starts, “you and Jaebeom, huh?”

You groan. “Me and Jaebeom, what?”

“I mean, those gifts he gave you were pretty cute. What’s it gonna take for you to ask him to go to the museum with you, hm?” He purrs with a rise of his dark brows. Shit, he does have a point. Why else would Jaebeom give you two passes? To bring one of your other, definitely less artsy friends to go with you?”

Mark simpers at your speechless self, knowing he’s trumped you.

Sucking in a deep breath, you hold the cold air in long enough to gather your scrambling thoughts before releasing a heavy exhale with absolutely no change to how you feel. “I’ll try,” you grumble, “why can’t he make the first move?”

Mark lets out a dry laugh. “___, are you serious?”

“Huh? What—”

“He’s been making the first move for months,” he interrupts, shaking his head at your textbook definition denseness, “you’ve just been curving him the entire time. I know you’ve been busy with law school stuff the past few months, but come on, now. You have to grab him before someone else does.”

If it weren’t for the chill of the air keeping your cheeks and the tip of your nose cold and ruddy, you know the color would have drained from your face. Embarrassed and in desperate need for some space, you quickly turn away to look in the direction of the house, where Coco scratches at the backdoor.

“I, um, I’ll be right back,” you say, voice small. Heart hammering in your chest as you jog up the steps and across the small deck, it isn’t until you have slid open the door to let Coco out and closed it behind you do you let out a shaky sigh. “Jesus Christ,” you hiss, shaking off your jacket and slinging it over a chair before moving to cower in the corner. Reaching for what little tortilla chips are left, you anxiously take the lid off your chicken dip and begin shoveling mouthfuls into your mouth. Is it true? Have you really been the one dodging Jaebeom all this time? Sure, everyone always says it, especially Jinyoung, but it has seemed like Jaebeom has been curving you, too.

Maybe he has just been giving up.

This makes your head hurt, you think, bending down to rest your forehead against the counter. The fucking gifts, man. Mark is right—the bracelet, the rose lamp, the museum tickets. How did he remember that small detail you mentioned… when did you even mention it? You can’t remember, yet he did! Jesus, all this time you’ve wasted being an absolute clown over this. You’ll have to do something about it. Tonight, you decide, looking to the clock above the stove. 11:12 PM. Forty-eight minutes until New Year’s. You’ll kiss him, and that’s when you will—

“Ahem.” Behind you, someone clears their throat and it quite literally feels as if you have jumped out of your skin. “Jesus Christ!” You jump, spinning around with a heart thumping in your chest. Your heartbeat only mildly slows once you realize it’s only Jaebeom. OnlyJaebeom, yeah. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, chuckling awkwardly. “Did I interrupt something?”

You wince, beyond humiliated he caught you mid-pep talk slash breakdown. “No, no. You’re fine, I was just, um…”

“Catching a breath?” He finishes when you trail off. Maybe he’s not so drunk, after all.

“Yeah,” you whisper, looking to your feet.

After a long moment of silence, Jaebeom clears his throat. “Listen, ___, I… I’ve been meaning to talk to you, and—”

“Wait!” You interrupt before your brain has even caught up. His eyes widen in surprise at your sudden excitement. “I need to tell you something, first.”

“Ohhh ‘kay,” he laughs nervously, stepping closer to lean against the counter beside you and his proximity suddenly makes it very hard to breathe, let alone figure out what you want to say.

“I don’t know where to start. Okay, um, first, I guess. The gifts you gave me? Amazing. Probably one of the best I’ve ever gotten. So thank you, really,” you start, rushed and out of breath. Jaebeom hums, lips tilting into an amused smirk. You don’t miss how he leans just barely closer. “Second. Mark was just talking to me, and he said something that just… fucked me up. Apparently, I’m good at school but not at catching when someone actually, truly likes me.”

At this, Jaebeom’s curiosity has peaked and his heartbeat starts to mirror your own. “I don’t know how this happened. I know we kissed over the summer, and you have been my friend for years but all of a sudden, I realized that I like you. You’re like, one of my favorite people in the world. But then things got crazy busy and I told myself I needed to concentrate, but for fuck’s sake, I’m still head over heels for you after all this time. And Mark said that if I don’t stop curving you, soon you are going to find someone else and, Jesus, I don’t think I can live with myself if I let you slip by.”

Somewhere in the middle of your ramble, Jaebeom has pressed himself to you and curled a finger through a belt loop in your jeans to keep you there against him. Even up close, he is so unbearably handsome, nose still beet red from the cold, lips cracked and face left unshaven. “So,” he whispers, raising his free hand to cup your face, “are you ready to finally stop running from me?” You offer a tiny nod, nuzzling into his hand before, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Can you kiss me?” Jaebeom doesn’t waste any time bothering to answer, tipping your chin up to meet his lips. Jaebeom’s kiss is soft, just a drawn-out peck but it’s enough to drop kick your sanity right out the door. “Tastes like buffalo chicken,” he whispers with a smile, just barely pulling back. Just as soon as he has stopped, you are fisting your hands into his jacket and tugging him back, greedily opening his mouth with yours and whimpering against him once he has caught the hint and slackened his jaw to deepen the kiss. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but kissing Jaebeom leaves you breathless, limbs weak kind of drunk on his taste and leaving you desperate for more.

“Jaebeom,” you sigh dreamily, arching into him when he drags a hand down your spine. “Fuck,” he whispers, pushing you further against the cabinets and mindlessly gyrating his hips with yours. Hands brushing past your ass to grip the back of your thighs, he orders, “Jump.” You do as he says, allowing him to help you onto the counter and you distantly pray someone doesn’t walk in on you, especially Youngjae. He’ll murder you if you knock something down.

“Can’t believe you’ve kept me waiting all this time when you kiss like that,” Jaebeom mutters, kissing along the length of your neck and groaning against your skin when your hands brush along the waistband of his pants. “Never met someone who wears an ugly sweater and still manages to be the hottest one in the room.”

Your breath hitches when his hand slips beneath your sweater, fingers brushing just over your bra and leaving fire in their wake. “Impossible,” you huff, wrapping your legs around him to pull him impossibly closer, his involuntary thrusts brushing deliciously against you, “when I say the same thing about you.” Jaebeom chuckles, returning to your mouth and cradling your jaw to meet him. You could do this forever, you think, nails digging into his arms when his hand cards through your hair and he kisses like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“God, I can’t do this when I’m not sober,” he sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and you can’t help but smile at the soft gesture. “Me too,” you admit, reaching to play with the soft hair at the back of his neck, “we can do this whenever now, though.” Jaebeom chuckles, leaning back to admire you before placing a much softer kiss on your lips. “Does that mean you’ll go out on a date with me?”

“Well, yes, of course,” you grin, sliding off the counter and cupping his face, “I meant what I said. I can’t bear the thought of not giving us a chance.”

“It’s about damn time,” Jaebeom teases, earning a light punch to his arm. “Hey! I’ve been stressed out of my mind. I was blind when it came to seeing you flirt with me.”

“I’m kidding, ___,” he chuckles, “I’m glad it took us until now. It’s a good way to start off the year, knowing I’ll meet my New Year’s Resolution and be able to bone you sooner than later.”

Your eyes widen at his words, warmth instantly blooming its way up your neck when you glance to the growing tent in his slacks and he lets out a triumphant laugh. In the midst of your embarrassed flush, the back-door slides open and none other than Jinyoung starts shouting, “Where the fuck have y’all been? Oh— shit! What happened?”

Then, not a heartbeat later, “Kiss! KIIIISSSSSSS!”

“KISS!” Maggie screams, bouncing behind Jinyoung and it isn’t until you look up do you understand. Of fucking course— the stupid mistletoe.

“Shall we, m’lady?” Jaebeom asks, voice laced with amusement. You quirk a brow at him, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him closer.

“We shall.”

Not even three hours into the new decade, Jaebeom has already met his New Year’s Resolution.

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