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yandere-sins · 3 years

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hii! may i request soft yandere akaashi x fem! reader? she is smol, sweet, and innocent. akaashi loves her so much and act so soft towards her, but he secretly manipulate her and one day when they cuddle she asked him why he never let her hangout with her friends and why he never introduce her to his friends

sorry if it's too detail, you can add or change the scene if it's too hard. thankyou so much! have a nice day!^^

Thanks for your request, sorry it took a while! ^-^

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It could have been perfect.

His arm around you, fingers drawing circles into your back. Akaashi smelled like the peachy soap you put into the bath, and his still-damp hair tickled your face when you nuzzled deeper into his shoulder. From the way that your legs were draped over his, his other hand tenderly squeezing out the tension from your shins, to the movie playing away on the big television in front of you, everything was so perfect.

You two had saved up for a bit over a year to afford a lovely city home. Akaashi had come with you to buy decorations, and you two would fetch late dinners on your way home with full IKEA bags. He always took the big and heavy ones from you, even if you complained. Last night, he asked you if you two should take the next step.

“Like a child?” you asked him, and he began to splutter, turning his face away. “Or a bird...” was his curt answer before he hid under the covers as you laughed loudly. But soon enough, even that joyful moment turned indifferent. When the lights were out and Akaashi asleep, the world seemed to slow down. Even if you were grateful for the pleasant life you had and the loving husband by your side, why was the feeling of everything being perfect so... so...

Boring?

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” you asked, filling your mouth with the popcorn that sat in a bowl on your lap.

“I’ll be working late,” he noted, giving your back soft, comforting pats. You didn’t really need him to comfort you. Working late wasn’t the end of the world for normal people. And normally, it wouldn’t be to you either.

“Ah, I see. No worries, I’ll be out with friends, so I will leave dinner in the fridge--”

Ah, you thought, feeling his hand grab your shin tightly. It’s about to be not so boring anymore.

“Which friends?” he asked, choking back the bothered undertone in his voice.

“You know, from college.” Your answer was dissatisfying, that much you could read from his face as you looked up at him, meeting his cold eyes. “Why them? You haven’t been in contact for a while. I thought you guys grew apart.”

“I thought so too, but they invited me out to drink.” Sighing, you pushed off his hand, still digging into your leg, pulling your limbs off his lap to sit properly beside him. The moment you set down the bowl of popcorn, you heard the television switch off, Akaashi taking a deep breath. Arguments weren’t so uncommon, even in a relationship as perfect as yours. Sometimes it were just the pickled vegetables he didn’t like, and sometimes it were the friends that Akaashi hated so much ever since you met him that would cause them. Either way, they were always awful for you.

“I haven’t seen them in a while! I’m excited!”

Honest emotions. That would do, right? If you were happy, so was he, right?

But he wasn’t.

Akaashi simply stared at you quietly, judging. He was scolding you with his silence, even though he wasn’t a big talker to begin with.

“You know I can’t stand them,” he snarled.

“But they are my friends, not yours.”

“It would be better if you didn’t see them.”

There was no reasoning with him when he was like that, you found. Akaashi would rather bite his tongue while arguing only his viewpoint than take up the truth he didn’t want to hear from you. There was no amount of ‘yes’ and ‘amen’ you could have plead to him that would have made him less aversed to saying ‘no’ to you in return.

“Why are you like this?” you whispered, genuinely feeling hurt. Everyone admired you for the strong bond you two shared. Your parents shed tears of joy at the wedding. Everything was so perfect, but why was it only perfect when you were unhappy?

“You never let me go out, and I haven’t even met any of your friends yet! What harm is there in spending time with my friends rather than twiddling my thumb while waiting for you to return here? What could possibly happen that would make it impossible for me to do something without you?!”

Silence. As always.

Sighing, Akaashi got up, and you felt a string of anger forming a knot in your stomach. No one liked arguments, not even you! But running from them wasn’t a solution. Running away from your partner’s feelings wasn’t something you could do when you chose to be together!

“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered as he reached for the door handle to walk out, and you sprung up, almost beggings as you pleaded, “Then please tell me!”

You were sick and tired of being left alone and snubbed. If only there was a good reason for him to act the way he did, but by all that was holy to you, you couldn’t find it. Akaashi, however, did stop, taking another deep breath before pinching his nose. If he left now, you knew it would take days for you to reconcile, you two pouting and only pretending to be fine in front of your family to keep face. Eventually, you’d just forget and move on, but that too was something you were sick and tired of, always having to swallow what happened in favor of a happy home life.

“It’s just going out with friends for a drink...” you mumbled, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Say something! you wished quietly. Anything! Just don’t go.

“It’s just going out with friends now,” Akaashi sighed, turning around to face you. Again, you were met with this cold stare of his, making it impossible to read him. Was he angry? Probably, but you wouldn’t know just from his expression. “And then? What if they want to go to a club? Will you go with them?”

Furrowing your brows, you questioned what he was going at, but now that Akaashi suddenly began stalking back to you, you were overcome with a very different type of panic. He had never advanced towards you like this, with his footsteps echoing in the silent room loudly and his body appearing to be bigger than it was just from the tension in it.

“So what’s next? Are you going to let others leer at you? Have them grab your shoulder, grind up to you on the dancefloor? Are you going to let them ask you to go to a hotel with them?”

“What?! N-No!” you stammered, unable to believe what he was suggesting.

“How will you know? What about your friends? Did you check them? What are they doing? Who are they with? If one of them has a crush on you, are you going to allow them to confess it? Are you going to run our marriage into a ditch just because they invited you out for a drink?”

Akaashi really did manage to make you ask yourself twice if this was all your fault as you heard his arguments. He made you question if there was truth behind his words or if the feeling inside of you was just the paranoia that he created.

Your relationship was so perfect, except when it wasn’t.

“Of course not...” you whispered, standing still as he laid his hands on your shoulders. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes, but you knew he was staring holes into you. All you wanted was to go out, to live a little. To experience and make memories, even if they didn’t include him. You didn’t think about these things, and you believed in yourself to not be unfaithful. But had this always been such a big concern in your relationship?

“I worry because I swore that we’d be together until death do us part! I care so much about you--I love you!” His assertion was barely meaningful to you now. After so much time at Akaashi’s side, you were sure that deep down, you loved him. You just didn’t love this perfect world you had with him. The ideal that he created.

Not, if perfect meant this.

“I’ll come home early tomorrow, and we can go to the cinema,” he tried to console you, fingers snaking under your chin to lift it. You barely returned the kiss he planted on your lips, ever-so-slightly averting your head from the affection. Akaashi paused, asserting your every move before pressing you for your answer. “Cancel your plans with them, okay?”

“Okay...” you mumbled unenthusiastically.

His touch lingered for a moment more before he finally pulled away, breathing out slowly before making his way to the kitchen. “Do you want some water?” he yelled back over his shoulder, but your answer never came. No amount of water or love could make up for how suppressed you felt by him and the conversation you just had. He loved you. He worried. It was always his feelings that mattered.

But what about you? Were your feelings irrelevant again?

Did it not matter that you felt like a caged bird by his side? That all the perfection made it truly suffocating? That everything had to be his way but never yours? He decided when you two went out and where. Akaashi was the one to put everything into motion, and you were glad if you could manage to surprise him with his present on his birthday. It was his schedule you followed, but he never asked if you were happy with how things were going. As if he didn’t care that you were bored and longing for more in life than just being by his side.

Your life could have been perfect. You two could have made it work and lived happily. But Akaashi didn’t want to work it out. He didn’t want to compromise or give you your own will. Instead, he chose to possess and monopolize you over true love and happiness.

And you were left to wonder for how long ‘perfect’ had actually just been ‘hell’.

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pet-genius · 3 years

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The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 1

This is a very lightly edited old Reddit post, that I'll publish in parts because the whole thing is like 7000 words. Analyzing Voldemort, the DE and their dynamics, Dumbledore and Harry in comparison, and individual Death Eaters. Hope you like it!

Some say Voldemort is a cartoon villain, or wizard Hitler. I think he is very realistic, and that the focus on his political aspirations ignores interesting aspects of him. I cannot prove that JKR had cults in mind when she wrote Voldemort and his followers, but this is how I read them. It’s nearly impossible to define a cult, so, for the purpose hereof, I’m going with “a group dedicated to the worship of a person”. Many cult leaders in real life present themselves merely as “god’s voice” or “the messiah”, but Voldemort specifically didn’t bother to hide behind a power higher than himself.

Tom Riddle comes from humble beginnings, like many cult leaders - he’s raised in an orphanage. He already has delusions of grandeur, only in this case they’re not delusions, because he really is magic, which makes it all the more dangerous. Look how he reacted to discovering he was a wizard, and how Harry did.

Immediately following the revelation that Lily and James did not die in a car crash, and that Harry is famous, and that he survived an attempt at his life by the worst wizard in history:

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He’d spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn’t they been turned into warty toads every time they’d tried to lock him in his cupboard? If he’d once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?

“Hagrid,” he said quietly, “I think you must have made a mistake. I don’t think I can be a wizard.”

Heart-breaking. Harry doesn’t believe he can be special, he blames himself for the way he’s treated.

This is Tom Riddle:

“I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore’s, as though trying to catch one of them lying. “Magic?” he repeated in a whisper.

“That’s right,” said Dumbledore.

“It’s... it’s magic, what I can do?”

“What is it that you can do?”

“All sorts,” breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. “I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

“I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.”

His megalomania and violent nature are already apparent, as is his preternatural control of his magic. It also hints at rudimentary legilimency.

Dumbledore spells out that young Tom Riddle equated magic with immortality and liked to collect trophies, and that Tom Riddle liked being special, as he resents the name Tom for being too common; he already lives behind a mask and only shows his true face in shock. This, and not Dumbledore’s magical prowess, is what always scared Tom. Voldemort knew Dumbledore knew what he was. That was the only tactical advantage Dumbledore had.

It’s also one of JKR’s strokes of brilliance: Dumbledore saw Tom for what Tom was, and others never did until it was too late, not because he was that clever, but because he knew from experience. Dumbledore had allowed himself to fall for a charismatic but heartless man before, and it took Ariana dying to slap him awake. Dumbledore knows good people can be led astray: It happened to him. It has nothing to do with intelligence or “goodness”. Gellert was able to give Albus exactly what Albus lacked, stuck at home taking care of Ariana: the promise of freedom and a bright future, and the companionship of an equal. Albus fell for it, despite warning signs that should have been obvious.

Later, we know Tom is chosen by a wand of yew and phoenix feather. Both yew and phoenix are associated with immortality; yew trees are very long-lived. Compare this to Harry’s wand, holly and phoenix feather: both these characters will experience death and rebirth, except Tom Riddle’s wand tree is yew, and Harry’s is holly.

From Wikipedia: “The Christian church commonly found it expedient to take over existing pre-Christian sacred sites for churches. It has also been suggested that yews were planted at religious sites as their long life was suggestive of eternity, or because, being toxic when ingested, they were seen as trees of death.” Also from Wikipedia: “Christians have identified a wealth of symbolism in the holly tree’s form. The sharpness of the leaves help to recall the crown of thorns worn by Jesus; the red berries serve as a reminder of the drops of blood that were shed for salvation; and the shape of the leaves, which resemble flames, can serve to reveal God's burning love for His people.”

The two orphans’ wildly different views of death are also apparent in their wand trees. Voldemort will murder to attain his goals; Harry will sacrifice himself. That the phoenix feather came from Fawkes is also meaningful - Dumbledore taught both magic in some capacity, but he never could defeat Voldemort, because they’re too alike. One of Harry’s advantages in this battle is the integrity of his soul, which cannot be compromised.

Next, Tom Riddle is sorted into Slytherin. For a child who is already prone to megalomania, the house values bring out the worst in him, and under Slughorn, he grows into a manipulative, cunning, ruthless young man. I’m not blaming Horace for Tom being a psychopath, but some of the particular ways his psychopathy manifested in seem to have been directly due to Slughorn’s influence. Slughorn is a blood-supremacist, who was convinced Tom must come from fine stock. Slughorn tests drinks for poison using house elves; Tom Riddle tests the effectiveness of his Horcrux’s protection on Kreacher. Slughorn emphasizes the importance of connections and outright praises Tom for knowing more than he needs to, and encourages an attitude of “it’s only wrong if you get caught.” But Slughorn, prejudiced and cunning as he is, is not violent - he is academically curious about Horcruxes, but he finds them repugnant. Tom’s heart is not so faint - at the point of asking Slughorn about Horcruxes, the diary is already a horcrux, and Tom has already murdered his father. This is how Dumbledore describes Tom’s original gang, who were the proto-Death Eaters:

As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts. Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. As you know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime.

Dumbledore explains what motivated people to join Tom: some were afraid, some ambitious, some cruel. He controlled his so-called friends, and already started framing others for his own crimes (Hagrid’s framing was followed by Morfin’s and Hokey the house elf’s).

This is followed by Tom’s attempt to become a teacher (Dumbledore spells out his motivations: He is attached to the school, he wants to study its magic, and he already wants to build himself an army). He is denied, oddly chooses to work for Borgin and Burkes, a choice fueled by the desire to trace down more items to make into Horcruxes. Through the memory of the meeting with Heptzibah Smith, we see that Tom was definitely charming when he needed to be, and knew how to make people feel good. He did not use magic to trick her into showing him her precious locket and cup: he used muggle manipulation - flattery, making an old and forlorn lady feel valuable, perhaps even flirting with her (she’s certainly flirting with him). He was pleasant enough that Ms. Smith eagerly looked forward to his visits - but as she showed him her treasures, he was caught off guard by hearing about his mother and how she sold the locket, and she saw him for what he was, although she quickly fell into denial. Sadly, she was murdered two days later.

Why rely on Horcruxes to gain immortality? Tom must have known about Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher’s Stone, and the Horcruxes require someone else to perform the resurrection ritual. Either making the Stone is so hard that it would deter Tom (unlikely), or he already expected to rely on followers who would find him and revive him - he certainly seems to have expected his followers to have searched for him earlier. Maybe Horcruxes were appealing because they require murder. In any case, this is followed by the memory of Tom asking Dumbledore for the DADA job again, a decade later. Tom has spent a decade gathering followers, and he has already changed his name to Lord Voldemort. This is reminiscent of real life cult leader David Koresh, and the leaders of the Children of God, Aum Shinrikyo, etc. The meeting between Voldemort and Albus is interesting, because it’s clear that Dumbledore had tried to teach Tom about the power of love:

“The old argument,” he said softly. “But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore.”

“Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places,” suggested Dumbledore.

This did not help. Tom never learned - how could he? At 16, he was already a murderer - who could love him now for who he was? He could never be truly loved, and he could never truly love another, and he underestimated the power of love for his entire life, leading to his downfall - twice (were that it was so simple in real life).

Voldemort is trying to obfuscate the nature of the relationship, like all cults - they never admit this is what they are.

“I am glad to hear that you consider them friends,” said Dumbledore. “I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants.”

“You are mistaken,” said Voldemort.

But LV can’t lie to Dumbledore, who changes the subject. He denies him the DADA job again, and the curse is placed on the job. LV’s ascent is due to begin in a few years. Hagrid tells the story:

Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ’em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ’cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches...

Voldemort isn’t just interested in immortality. He wants complete control. He wants everyone fearing him - even fearing his name. He has people isolated and distrustful, fearing for their lives.

But we know his reign of terror was dreadful - what I’m interested in is the way he treated his own followers. We know little about how he treated them in the first war, but we do have what Sirius had to say about Regulus’s fate:

From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It’s a lifetime of service or death.

We know the real story of Regulus’s disappearance, and it’s different. Kreacher tells us that Regulus died in the Horcrux cave - but more telling is that Regulus forbade Kreacher from telling his parents what had happened to him. Why did he feel the need to do that? This suggests that Regulus knew LV destroyed traitors’ families, which is a tactic used in cults and other abusive dynamics. We know LV would leverage Draco’s welfare against Lucius for his failure in the Department of Mysteries, too. We know also that instead of going to Dumbledore, or to his own brother, Regulus chose death – unless he was really dumb, and I don’t think he was, he must have been manipulated into believing that was his only option, or his world made no sense after his faith had shattered. So many people never readjust to life outside the cult.

Voldemort “dies” about two years after that, having successfully recruited about 400 followers (“the death eaters outnumbered us the Order 20:1” - Lupin). We can’t say if all these people were genuine Death Eaters or people who had been Imperiused or otherwise coerced, or allies like Narcissa, but that coercion is used to recruit shows that Voldemort did not take his own followers’ ambitions and wishes into account. People who use outright coercion don't suddenly draw the line at manipulation.

#death eaters #cult #death eater meta #voldemort #voldemort meta #harry potter #meta

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ieattaperecorders · 3 years

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May You Find Your Rest

Somewhere else. Two men who were not born in this reality lie in bed together, hold one another and unpack a few things. (Just 4k of cuddling and talking about feelings, really.)

Read on Ao3

---

It's dark in the small, quiet room where they sleep. Not completely, neither of them feels entirely safe in the dark anymore, so the curtain is always parted to let a sliver of light in.

Curled against Martin, Jon is warm and still and finally thinking of nothing. He's just starting to drift off when he feels him reach over and plant light, careful kisses on his cheek, on his temple, on the top of his brow. He sighs with pleasure. It would be so easy to keep drifting, to let himself sink into sleep as the one he loves kisses him softly and sweetly. But instead he opens his eyes, not really knowing why he does it.

Maybe it's the way Martin moves, slow and deliberate. Maybe there's a subtle a hitch in his breathing, something Jon senses without seeing or understanding. Something that tells him he shouldn't go to sleep. Not yet.

So he lies listening to the silence as Martin's hand moves over his side, outlining him. It nudges itself under the hem of his nightshirt, tracing the softness of his waist. Then, as if this hadn't been its destination all along, it brushes the wide, ragged scar over his stomach. A twinge (not sharp, not much more than a tingle) runs through his body. His breathing barely changes – it's not a gasp, just a slightly deeper inhalation. But Martin notices, hand hesitating, drawing back.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, and he sounds so horribly solemn.

"Not really," Jon says quietly. "Just a little sensitive. Scar tissue."

Gently, he places a hand over Martin's and presses it down into his abdomen, until it's covering the center of the scar. Jon has scars that are sensitive in other ways. Martin has learned to be careful around the thin line that cuts across his throat. Knows there are days when the chewed circles that pockmark his body itch uncontrollably, when he'll scratch himself bloody if he isn't thinking.

(In the safehouse, Martin had pulled the hand from his face and whispered don't. Had kissed his scars over and over, until he couldn't feel the itch, could only feel the gentle pressure of his lips and his kindness and love.)

He wants to say, it doesn't hurt when you touch me here. To show Martin that his body won't flinch from his touch. It wouldn't be his fault if it did. It wouldn't be either of their faults. But it doesn't, and he needs him to know that.

The hand relaxes against him. It moves in a slow arc, finding the edges of the wound, mapping and knowing it. Jon keeps his own hand in place, letting it move with his.

"I'm sorry," Martin says.

Jon brings a hand to his cheek. "So am I."

He wonders what Martin is apologizing for. For cutting the tether, letting them out? For the wound that could only be made by his hands? For not being able to let him go? No . . . Jon doubts he would be sorry for that.

Maybe it isn't an apology at all . . . maybe he's just sorry. Sorry he had to be hurt again.

"So am I," he repeats. "But it's done. We're here, now. Together, and alive. Despite it all."

Martin's head rests on the pillow, gaze turned to the side. He's subdued in a way that feels meaningful but that Jon can't identify. So he says nothing, lies still and lets his hand trail up the side of Martin's face, over his temple, around his ear. Affectionate touch, easier and less confusing than the jumble of words and questions swarming in his brain.

After a long silence, Martin says, "I wish you had trusted me."

" . . . What do you mean?"

"In the Panopticon. I just wish you'd trusted me enough to go along with the plan."

Jon frowns. "I . . . don't know if that was about trust."

"Wasn't it, though?"

"I didn't do what I did –" he pauses, rephrases. "I didn't kill Jonah because I thought you were lying, or going to betray me, or – or controlled by spiders. I didn't think your intentions were anything other than what you said. But I couldn't bear the thought of what we were doing . . . or I thought I couldn't. Clearly I could. In the end."

"Yeah. Well. Turns out both of us did things we didn't think we could," Martin says bitterly, thumb still tracing the scar.

"Funny how often that happens."

"You could have trusted that I knew what I was doing."

"But you didn't. None of us did . . . no one could in that situation."

"That includes you, you know," Martin frowns. "You kept going on about all you knew, but even you said you weren't unbiased. You don't think maybe the idea that the only way out was global euthanasia had anything to do with your own baggage?"

Another twinge, sharper this time. Without realizing, he'd pressed Martin's palm down harder than he should have, in where the nerves were still healing. He eases off.

". . . Maybe," he says eventually. "Probably. I doubt any of us were unbiased. How could we be?"

"But it was your biased plan you decided to go with. Like you always do. You always think you know better than everyone else--"

"I don't think that's entirely fair."

"It's not entirely unfair either."

He feels something stirring defensively in him. Then he stops. Assesses. "No," he says eventually. "I suppose it's not."

The hand is warm against his stomach, and he can feel the dampness of sweat just forming between their skins. It's not pleasant or unpleasant, just something he can feel, and he focuses on it for a while.

"You didn't trust me either, you know," he senses an objection coming, and he heads it off. "You were right not to. I wasn't trustworthy. You thought that I would go behind your back, and I did."

The tension that was rising deflates a little at the admission, and Martin's voice is gentle when he says, "you did."

"But I don't think you were lying when you said you trusted me." Jon adds. ". . . Do you?"

" . . . Fine, I get it. Trust is complicated and all that," Martin sighs, "it just. It hurts."

". . . I'm sorry."

Martin nods, is still for a moment, then leans forward and kisses him once. He kisses back.

"Do you regret it?"

"Which part?"

"Killing Jonah. Not waiting for us. Trying to go the other way."

Jon thinks of the hours before it happened. Of whimpering into Martin's chest, almost pleading, begging him to see. Horribly aware that Martin was as deeply set in his feelings as Jon, that there would be no budging for either of them.

He thinks of the moment he spent watching Martin's sleeping form, just before he climbed those stairs. Seeing his brow creased with unquiet dreams, and knowing that he was about to hurt him. He thinks of the terror, the dawning horror that fell over him as he saw what it all had been leading to.

"I don't know," he finally says. "I regret the pain you went through . . . I regret making you feel that."

There's a curved line trailing over Martin's forehead, just above his eye, which Jon follows with the edge of his thumb. The one on his shoulder is larger, took ages to heal, and there are more that travel down his back and arms. Places where the rubble struck him, before they both unraveled.

The scars aren't really what Jon is referring to when he talks about pain. But he supposes they're a part of it too.

". . . Do you?" he asks.

"Do I what?"

"Regret any of it?"

"I'm not sorry that I didn't let you stay in that tower and kill the entire world, if that's what you mean," he says firmly. "I'm sorry, but I'm never going to regret that."

"No . . . I wouldn't expect you to."

"I wouldn't have told the others to start if I'd known you'd already done it. But if I'd known that . . . that would've been it, right? We'd be stuck there."

"Unless the others went behind both our backs."

"What, you think Melanie wanted to stick a knife in you that badly?"

"I don't know about wanted. But I think Basira could have done it."

"Yeah . . . maybe."

". . . I'm sorry that I went behind yours."

Martin breathes into the space between their bodies, a long and expressive exhale. "I know. . . And I know you were hurting. And scared. I do know that."

"We both were."

"Yeah. Yeah . . ." he sighs. "I forgive you for it. I do. I don't want to hold onto that."

Jon finds Martin's hand in the dim light, pulls it closer to himself and kisses it. He hesitates – not sure if he should say this, should even acknowledge it – before linking their fingers together and pulling the hand back to his stomach, over the place where the knife went in.

"I don't need to forgive you for this. That is – I, I don't believe there's anything to forgive? It was what you had to do, and it was what I asked for. But . . ." he pauses, hesitates. "I know guilt can be an insidious emotion--"

"Oh, do you?" the lilt of sarcasm does not go unnoticed. Jon ignores it.

"–And I want you to know . . . if you feel like you need to be forgiven for it, you are. Entirely and unconditionally."

Martin nods, moving his hand off the scar and over around Jon's side. As he leans in for another kiss he grips him a little more firmly, his touch seems less hesitant and Jon is glad that he said something after all.

"Anyway, I was right, wasn't I?" Martin says after a moment. "We're here. We're in another world, and things are fine. It's normal. Maybe the fears are here, but it's not an apocalypse. Maybe it never will be."

That makes Jon frown. "You don't know that."

"Neither do you."

"And we never will," he says firmly. "We won't ever know the cost of what we did. Maybe it balances out. Maybe it doesn't. Either way, you and I won't have to feel it."

"At least it's normal here. You're not even an avatar," Martin says, and Jon nips back the impulse to quibble about the nature of that term. "You haven't been having the dreams, and you haven't needed a statement since we got here."

". . . I'm still feeding the Eye." It isn't until he sees the look of confusion on Martin's face that it occurs to Jon he didn't already know. "I don't have the power I once had, or the same needs," he explains. "But I feel it sometimes, using me as a conduit. It's as if the signal's fainter, but the receiver is so much more sensitive."

"Do you know it's happening, though, or are you just guessing?"

"I'm not sure how it happens, exactly. Maybe it just grazes off the fear I witness when I see something terrible on the news, or pass by someone in distress. Maybe in time it'll push me to seek out more, to force myself into other peoples' tragedies in service of the Beholding. Or maybe it never will, and I'll stay this way for the rest of my life."

Martin's brow furrows, and his voice is insistent, pushing back with some need Jon can't quite understand. "Okay, but it's not like you're actually hurting people--"

"No . . . I am," he says firmly. "And I am certain of that. It might be more subtle now . . . a lingering feeling of invasion, or paranoia. Or a trauma that would have otherwise passed leaving a decades-deep mark." He stares thoughtfully at his own thumb. "It feeds through me, and I give it strength. On some level, my existence still depends on the suffering of others. That's one consequence we can't avoid."

Martin is quiet for a long while. ". . . Guess it doesn't matter, right?" he finally says. "It's done. Can't undo it."

"No. Not any of it." He shakes his head. "It's funny, really. All my paranoia and suspicion, all my worry that the Web would slip an agent in under our nose, and the whole time I was looking in the wrong place. Seeing and seeing and never understanding."

"What do you mean?" Martin fidgets, and Jon wonders if he's said something he shouldn't have, though he can't guess what. "Looking in the wrong place?"

"I mean myself. The mark when I was a child. The lighter I could never remember. Even the tapes they sent to press on my wounds, keeping that anger fresh. All of it leading to that moment."

". . . Oh." Martin sighs. "Yeah, Jon. They manipulated you, that's what they do. They manipulated all of us."

"They did. And I was more theirs than I ever realized."

He feels Martin's fingers tapping against his side, thoughtful. After a moment, he speaks. ". . . She said that about me, too. Annabelle. That I was suited to the Web, or something."

"I imagine she'd say anything she knew would rile you up."

"She was right, though. At least a little bit . . . ." he takes the edge of Jon's sleeve between his fingers, twisting and fidgeting with it. "When we were down there, waiting, I could feel you coming through the web. The vibrations just spoke to me, I knew Basira was with you even before I saw her."

That surprises Jon. Startles him, even. He feels Martin fidget again, and in his mind he plays back what do you mean, looking in the wrong place. Notices the quiet nervousness in his voice. Considers how deep and old Martin knows his hatred of the Mother of Puppets to be.

"I always knew," he says, voice light and casual, "that there had to be a reason you'd defend anything as vile and repugnant as the common house spider."

Hearing Martin laugh, feeling that tension release in a sudden startled lungful – it's beautiful, it's a victory, and he smiles as Martin nudges into his shoulder. Halfway between a gesture of affection and a headbutt.

"Arsehole," he mutters. "It's not just that. I know I'm . . . well, I'm not always great at being direct. And maybe I can sometimes be passive-aggressive . . . ."

"Well—"

"You don't have to agree with me."

". . . Right."

"But that's sort of Web stuff, isn't it? And I – I was always good at telling Peter what he wanted to hear. I know why she said what she did."

"Mmm." Jon lifts Martins' fingers from where they're worrying at his sleeve, rolls them between his own. "You've learned that it's safer to nudge and suggest than to be direct. To make yourself look smaller than you are. I can see the . . . thematic overlap, I suppose. Imagine it drawing the attention of the Spider."

". . . Does that bother you?"

"Well I'm not worried you're some spider-controlled double agent," he says, then adds something under his breath.

". . . What was that last bit?" Martin lifts his head.

"Nothing."

"Did you just mutter ‘anymore?!"' he asks incredulously.

"My point is, we call to them in countless ways, often without knowing or wanting to," he sighs. "Besides . . . I'd hardly be in a position to judge. They had their strings on me from the start."

"That makes you a victim of them. Not an agent or an avatar."

"Martin . . . ."

"Don't ‘Martin' me, I'm right."

"Do you really think the two are incompatible? Being a victim of a power, and being a channel through which it feeds on others? After all you've seen?" his voice softens. "After all you've been through . . . after the Lonely?"

Martin goes quiet. Jon runs his fingers over his shoulder, absently stroking.

"In the end, I chose to be theirs. With it all falling down around us, I saw what they'd known I would do from the very beginning. I witnessed my fate laid out for me and instead of defying it, I ran towards it."

". . . You still regret it, don't you? Letting them out."

"I don't know, Martin. Truly, I don't," he says. A smile starts, then dies on his lips. "There's so much I regret nowadays, it's honestly hard to keep steady how I feel about most things."

A vague, hmm sound, an expression of some emotion that Jon can't guess at, though he suspects that wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. He brings both his hands up, cupping the sides of Martin's face between his palms. Martin startles, but says nothing.

"Most," Jon says, looking back at him seriously. "But I know how I feel about you. That doesn't change. And I don't regret staying with you."

The beginnings of tears form in Martin's eyes, and there is quiet in the room as Jon brings his face to his. Brushing a soft kiss over his mouth, the trails on his cheeks, the space above each closed eye. He doesn't stop until Martin shudders, swallows, and speaks again.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," Jon says. "And I'm glad that I'm here. I'm glad we're together and alive . . . whatever else comes with that."

Martin shudders again, a weak and pained sound coming out of him. It's all Jon can do not to pull Martin's face into his chest and let out a thousand desperate apologies, to self-flagellate, to beg forgiveness for ever allowing any pain to come to him. He sensibly quiets that urge, because he knows it's the last thing Martin needs. It's the last thing either of them need.

"Do you promise?" Martin whispers.

"Promise what? That I love you?" Silence follows, and Jon frowns, confused. ". . . I do promise that, if that's what you mean."

Instead of answering, Martin silently reaches between them, fumbling for Jon's hand and squeezing it tightly.

"Some nights I pretend to sleep," he says after a pause. "Or, well. Pretend's too strong a word . . . I just lie quietly in bed. But I'm waiting for you to fall asleep first."

Jon's fairly sure he lost the thread of this conversation, and he doesn't know where or how. ". . . Why?"

"Because I'm scared I'll wake up and find you gone."

"Oh. Oh, Martin . . . ."

"I don't-- it's not that I really think--" he shakes his head, "just sometimes can't let go of the thought of it, and it scares me." A wry smile crosses his face. "Which power feeds on that, you think?"

"I mean –"

"Not actually looking for an answer, Jon," he sighs, a mixture of affection and irritation. "Anyway, I think we both know which one it'd be."

He nods. Holds Martin's hand, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb. "I don't know what I can say . . . I can tell you that I won't leave, that I'll be here when you wake up. But I don't suppose that helps unless you can--" he hesitates, not wanting to say trust. It's starting to feel like a deeply troublesome word, both imprecise and emotionally weighted, the sort Jon tends to despise. ". . . believe me?"

"I don't actually think you're going to just vanish in the night someday. It's hard to explain."

"It's unlikely that we'll live to see another ritual for me to be the apocalyptic tipping point of."

"There's still more . . . ordinary things."

"Don't tell me you think I'm going to run off with one of the locals?" He raises his eyebrows, smiling, lets a teasing superiority into his voice. As if he considers the people of this reality to be below their station.

Martin doesn't laugh or smile. He gives him a look, like he's being stupid on purpose. Jon half wants to tell him it's completely involuntary.

"You don't need a bottomless coffin or an all-seeing eye to run off and martyr yourself. People do it with their own hands every day."

And now he understands. Now the thread comes back, winding itself directly around his throat.

". . . Come here," he says, though there are scant inches between them. Martin does so anyway, fitting himself into the space between Jon's arms, head tucked into his collar, legs twining with his. Jon's hands run over his shoulders, through his hair, down his back. He kisses the crown of his head over and over, pouring it all into touch and action until he can find the strength for words again.

"I love you," he whispers. "I'm not going to leave. Not that way . . . not in any way I have control over."

"Seeing his body there next to you . . . it felt like when I was coming back from the shop, and the sky went dark, and the ground started reaching and –" he swallows. "E-everything had gotten so horrible but we finally had a way out, a chance to start over. And then it was just gone again."

And Jon's heart is breaking, and he's afraid if he speaks he's going to start crying, but he can't be silent after that. So he tries.

"I'm so sorry . . . ."

"I know . . . I know." Martin sniffs. "It's not . . . I'm not looking for that. Honest. I just . . . ."

He goes quiet for a while.

"I know you were in pain," he continues. "The night before it all happened. I know – I knew that it was killing you, what we were about to do. It wasn't that I didn't care. But I told myself that someday – even if it wasn't right away, someday you'd be glad we'd done this. Because there'd be a someday."

". . . Maybe I would have been."

"And maybe you wouldn't have. I didn't know. I don't know. We'll never know. But I know you were hurting, and that's just it. Because I also know it . . . s-still hurts."

"I couldn't do that to you."

"We've both done things we thought we couldn't do," Martin says humorlessly.

"Right . . . I take your point."

"I know you feel guilty," Martin whispers, "and you – you just said that while you're alive others are suffering –"

". . . Yes."

"I know how tempting it can be. To just give in to it."

"I know you do."

"So . . . ."

Martin trails off, helpless. Jon feels helpless too. He clumsily feels for Martin's hands and brings them up against his own chest.

"Whatever else I feel, I promise you that I'm glad I'm alive," he says, holding their hands over the place where his heart still beats, steady and warm and living. "Even when it's difficult to bear it all, I'm glad that I'm alive and with you. I want to build a life together, here and now, more than anything. To take whatever chance we've got."

He wonders what Martin is looking for as his eyes trace over his face. Whatever it is he seems to find it, or maybe just trusts that it's there, because he takes a shuddering breath and nods.

". . . I believe you," he says.

"Thank you," Jon breathes deep, feeling the sharp heat behind his eyes fade as he blinks his own tears away. "And . . . I can hope that we made the right choice. Really it's all either of us can do, anymore."

"True."

They lie together in the silence. Martin slides his arms around Jon's sides, resting his head against his chest, and Jon feels the rhythm of his pulse next to his ear. His body is heavy and real, meat and bone, tangled up together with one that he loves. He feels the heat of Martin's breath as he sighs, the gentle weight, the tickle of hair, the hard ridge of skull beneath it. Abject, bloody systems of life.

". . . Martin?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you . . . for coming back."

In the dark he feels a smile against his body. ". . . Which time?"

"Any. All."

"I always will," he whispers. ". . . Thank you for staying."

"That's the deal."

"Yeah. . . yeah." Martin lets out a long, steady sigh. "That's the deal"

Jon feels Martin's limbs relax around him, grip loosening as eyes tiredly close. He twines his fingers through Martin's hair, stoking softly and sweetly as his beloved drifts. Jon doesn't close his eyes just yet, instead watches the face that rests against him slowly go slack in the moonlight. Thinking that maybe tonight, Martin will fall asleep first.

#jonmartin #tma #tma spoilers #tma finale #tma fanfic #me every time i post a new fanfic:#oh no THIS is the most self-indulgent one #every other *cuddling and talking about feelings* fic was dignified and okay #but THIS ONE oh nooooo

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Also, we talked a mill years ago about an Inuyasha AU? You wanted to make G wear the necklace etc. Which OBVIOUSLY is a fantastic idea and I really which you would, please 🤣😘💗

Okay, so this isn’t exactly the necklace bit, but it’s the most Inuyasha crossover thing I could think of at the moment! Also I’m sorry that this has been sitting in my inbox for so long! <3 Oops!

Geralt turns into a human one night a month, during the new moon.

wordcount: 1.7k

TW: emotional Geralt whump, angst with a happy ending, pining

---

“Stay in the room,” Geralt instructed, glaring Jaskier down from his place near the door. The bard nodded obediently and made a show of pulling his recently acquired book from his travel bag.

“I might go down and perform for a bit, but I promise not to bring anyone back and I promise not to start any fights.”

“I’d rather you didn’t leave the room at all,” Geralt grumbled, “But I suppose the coin wouldn’t hurt.”

“Where are you going, anyway?”

“Next town over. Nightwraith.”

“Why can’t I come with you?” the bard pouted. His lower lip stuck out slightly and his eyes crinkled so cutely that it always made the Witcher question his ‘human’ parentage; there was a siren’s power in the way he turned up his nose and fluttered his pretty lashes. “Surely I could sit incredibly high up in a very sturdy tree and watch my glorious companion in all his… glory?”

“Excellent word choice,” Geralt rolled his eyes. He hefted his swords over his shoulder and shot the bard another meaningful look. “I’ll see you in the morning. Stay. Safe.”

“Yes, Milord,” Jaskier sighed dramatically, flopping back against the pillows and opening his book. “Return to me in as few pieces as possible, dear heart.”

“Hmm.”

And with that, Geralt disappeared into the late afternoon light.

---

There had been several distinctive changes to Geralt’s physical body after the second round of experimental Trials; his hair, of course, and his ghostly-pale skin were the most obvious. His greatest secret, however, and the strangest of all the Trials’ side effects, were the temporary changes he underwent on the nights of the new moon. His Witcher strength and senses abandoned him and his body returned to its pre-Trial state. He became, for all intents and purposes, a normal human man.

He hated it. He hated himself. There was no power behind his punches on his human nights and while he remained graceful and competent with his swords, he lost his speed and dexterity. It left him feeling helpless and alone, and an onslaught of emotions (which he was usually able to suppress or ignore) flooded his mind, pulling tears from his eyes and putting a ruddy redness on his cheeks and ears that he found ugly. No doubt Jaskier would find him just as hideous. And useless…

If he couldn’t protect the bard, the handsome young human who smiled at him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be friends with a Witcher, then what good was he? Keeping Jaskier safe, keeping him alive and smiling like that, was what motivated Geralt to slump his way back to their room even when he wanted nothing more than to drop to the ground and pass out from exhaustion. Making sure Jaskier was okay (and, alright, getting his wounds fawned over and his hair washed wasn’t too bad either) was what kept him alive.

I can’t believe I forgot to keep track, Geralt berated himself as he set up his small campfire just inside the mouth of a cave. I almost revealed my secret to Jaskier.

Geralt wasn’t sure which outcome he feared more: Jaskier seeing him in his less horrible state and rejecting him completely for keeping secrets/being a true monster, or Jaskier finding his human body attractive and being even more disgusted by his Witchery appearance. Geralt wouldn’t be able to stand either outcome, so he disappeared into the woods or back to the Path (if Jaskier was stuck in a town, teaching or performing) whenever the night of the new moon arrived.

He sighed and crossed his legs, resting his elbows on his bent knees and setting his chin on one upright palm. He glanced up at Roach and grumbled out an excuse: “I just don’t want to lose him.”

Roach whinnied quietly, reproachfully, and Geralt nodded.

“You’re absolutely right, I should tell Jaskier about all of this, but if I tell him now, after travelling together for so long, he’ll think I don’t trust him. And I do trust him! I trust him as much as I trust my brothers, maybe more considering their pranks… But I don’t want to scare him off, either. I’m such a fucking coward.”

As the last light of day slipped away beneath the horizon and darkness fell, Geralt felt his hair grow coarser and heavier atop his head. His eyesight dimmed and his knowledge of the landscape - every scent and sound - disappeared from his consciousness. The scars on his skin faded away into nothing as his pupils dilated into circles, the irises shifting from honey-gold to a deep, forest green.

From a nearby bush, Geralt heard a familiar voice mutter, “Holy shit.”

He leapt to his feet and backed against the cave wall, throwing his arm across his face to hide it. “Dammit, Jaskier, I told you to stay at the inn!”

The bard took a nervous step forward, away from his hiding place, and waved bashfully. “Sorry, dear heart. Are you really- is it really you in there, Geralt?”

“Yes?” the Witcher-turned-human raised an eyebrow, lowering his arm back down to his side with no small amount of shame. “Who else would it be?”

“Well,” the bard said, taking a measured step forward. “I wasn’t sure if this was, like, a reverse-werewolf type deal. I didn’t know if you’d have the same memories as before or- or if-”

“It’s still me,” Geralt blushed, actually blushed, and dipped his head down to avoid Jaskier’s curious gaze. “I’m sorry for not telling you before, but-”

“Don’t.”

Geralt glanced back up, even more confused, his emotions playing havoc with his pulse. “I- Don’t I owe you an apology?”

“No,” Jaskier said, settling down on the rocky ground across the fire and gesturing for Geralt to join him. The flames lit up his face, highlighting the roundness of his cheeks and the softness in his eyes. So youthful, yet so determined. “If you’re still Geralt in here” - he tapped the side of his head and grinned playfully - “then you’re still my best friend.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh yeah, my Witcher is definitely in there somewhere,” Jaskier laughed brightly. The sound wound down and he wiped a tear of glee from the corner of his eye. After a long, sobering pause he asked: “So is this what you looked like before… they did all that stuff to you?”

“Before the Trials? Yes. This is what I looked like fifty years or so ago, when I was young and mortal. My shoulders are wider, of course, but that’s just old age.”

Jaskier made his way slowly around the fire, inching closer to Geralt, who had finally taken a seat on his bedroll. When the bard was right next to him, close enough for Geralt to feel their combined body heat through his shirt, he took a lock of Geralt’s hair in his hand. “It’s… it’s not as soft, like this. But it has curls! And it’s almost red!”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier looked overjoyed at the change, and every one of Geralt’s fears flashed before his eyes. He was tempted to wrench away, to fling himself up into Roach’s saddle and ride hard until they both needed a rest.

But Jaskier had begun talking again, and Geralt did his best to pay attention. “It’s different, but not bad. I think you’re only slightly more handsome when you’re a Witcher, but your eyes are a lovely shade of green and I’d love to do up your hair someday… if you’d like that. If you’d let me.”

Geralt made a startled noise and turned his head sharply, his eyes boring into Jaskier’s very soul. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course!”

“You don’t- you aren’t mad? Or scared? You don’t think I’m more approachable like this? You wouldn’t prefer me to be like this - like a human - all the time?”

Jaskier shook his head, a sadness Geralt often noticed but didn’t understand falling over his face. “Oh Geralt, you silly, silly, wonderful man. I don’t lo-” - he paused, took a deep breath, and continued - “I love you, okay? As a Witcher. Like this. I have always loved you and I will always love you, regardless of what you look like, but I fell in love with the White Wolf. The man whose reputation needed mending and whose heart… whose heart is so incredibly large despite how often the world tries to harden it.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt gasped. He clutched at his chest, the ache he felt there intensifying a hundredfold under Jaskier’s steady gaze. “I love you, too. I never thought-”

“You often don’t,” the bard teased, closing the space between them with careful, intentional slowness. “Now, keep up the good work and stop thinking entirely. Just kiss me, Geralt. Please?”

“Would you like it if I kissed you?” the Witcher asked, incredulous. Jaskier lifted one delicate hand and slid a lock of Geralt’s curly hair back behind his ear. He pressed a soft kiss to Geralt’s cheek and smiled.

“Very much, darling.”

“Alright,” Geralt breathed, closing the space between them. It felt so much more intense like this, with his heart beating as quickly as Jaskier’s, threatening to burst from his chest because it was overflowing with happiness. His hand, smooth and unblemished in its current state, cupped the peach-soft skin of the bard’s cheek. He ran his thumb over the hinge of Jaskier’s jaw, feeling the bone and joint working as their mouths moved together. When they finally pulled apart they were both beaming broadly, “Was it okay?”

“You’re very soft like this,” Jaskier noted. “But I miss your eyes and your hair… when will my Geralt return?”

“I’m still yours, Jaskier. Even when I look like this,” Geralt frowned. Jaskier took one of the Witcher’s hands in both of his and held it flat over his heart.

“I know, my dear. And I’m always yours, of course. It’s just… odd. I’ll get used to it the more often I see it, I’m sure. How long does it usually last?”

“I’ll be back to normal when the sun rises.”

“Until then?”

“Come here,” Geralt held up the corner of his blanket. Jaskier shifted so that they were cuddled together, side-by-side. “Better?”

“Now that I’m with you? Of course.”

#geraskier #geraskier ficlet #geraskier inuyasha au #idk what i'm doing anymore #stina what have we created #vaguely inuyasha based content #human geralt #getting together #first kiss #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

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theboredwritertm · 3 years

Note

"Look at you... goodness you're so cute" fic request with reader/Din, please? :D

His Reason

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: None, I don’t think. Like one curse word.

Word Count: 1,935

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written a reader insert fic, so I hope I did alright with it. Thanks for the request, anon! I’ll admit I struggled to keep the story in the same tense in some parts because of the POV. But I had fun! And I love me some soft!Mando. This is also kind of based on an idea I had for a multi-part fic, so I might include it as part of that.

Summary: Our boy, Mando, has just broken the Bounty Hunter’s Guild code, but with you currently calling Nevarro home, he can’t stand the thought of leaving you behind.

******************************************************

Din had absolutely no business dragging you into this.

He was the one who had fucked up. All he’d had to do was deliver the acquisition, just like any other job he’d done before. Only this one hadn’t been like any other job. One look at the tiny, big-eyed baby and he knew he would never be able to leave it in the hands of a bunch of Imperials. Not in good conscience. And if he was being honest with himself, a conscience was one of the few things he had left; a standard to hold himself to that hadn’t been given to him or expected of him by somebody else.

So, he’d broken the code; a code he had based his entire career on, that he relied on for his reputation, which up until this point had been practically spotless.

And now he was in a world of trouble and was somehow making a beeline directly for your door, babbling baby still in hand, and the weight of a bounty now firmly on his head, dragging along whatever stain he had earned on that once perfect reputation to taint your own. Yet, still, knowing all of this, he continued on the well-acquainted back streets to your home.

He’d known you for years, agreed to sponsor you when you’d finally decided to join the guild, had even put some of his own earnings towards your fees, and yet here he was, on a direct path to making you lose everything and all because of him. His selfishness. His need to be near you.

You’d settled in a small place on Nevarro to be closer to work, to give you a taste of what a less-chaotic life might be like in between jobs that involved chasing down dangerous fugitives. It had always given him the perfect excuse to appear on your doorstep, dropping by after collecting a bounty or picking up some new job from Greef. Never stopping by without a reason. That would be too obvious. Too needy.

That would give him away.

Yet, from the moment he had broken the code and taken back the child, he had known it would never be safe to step foot on Nevarro again. And the thought of never being able to see you again drove him to your familiar neighborhood.

As he stopped at your front door, he thought of what excuse he might use now and looked down at the bundle in his arms. He didn’t know a thing about babies. He needed someone to help keep this thing alive. At least that’s what he told himself – but what made him think you knew any better? Relying on some innate maternal instinct to kick in? You’d never had to care for any younglings, either, and you’d never mentioned wanting any, though it wasn’t exactly a conversation he had brought up with you. That topic hit a little too close to home. Because the thought of you having a child, of the two of you starting a little family of your own, was something he had thought about often in the rare, quiet moments he’d shared with you on jobs, when he’d allowed himself to daydream when you thought he might be asleep.

When you opened your door and smiled up at him like you always did when you saw him, he couldn’t deny the relief that flooded over him. Being near you always made him feel safe, a ridiculous concept given the size difference and his greater experience with weapons and fighting – he’d been the one to train you, after all – but he thought that maybe it wasn’t a physical kind of safety that you gave him. Yes, he was sure you’d lay your life down for him without hesitation, as he would do the same for you, but you made him feel safe in the same way the Mandalorians had when they’d lifted him through the doors of the smoking basement all those years ago. It was a feeling that everything was going to be alright. That he was looked after. That he might just be okay.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to drift down to the stolen package in his arms, but before you could so much as utter a question, he was pushing you back as he forced his way inside your home. With one quick glance down the street, he pushed the button to slide the door closed behind him.

“Uhh…what the hell’s going on, Din?”

You listen to the modulated sigh that huffs through his helmet.

Right. The excuse. He had been too caught up in thinking about you to even remember to come up with one.

He finds himself caught now between the usual pleasure of the way you say his name and the scramble for an acceptable excuse for bringing trouble your way. He looks at you, at the familiar curve of your face and your soft features, even as you frown up at him with eyes full of concern, and he’s suddenly reminded of his ‘why’; of his own personal reason.

“Something’s happened. How soon can you be ready to leave?”

Even as the words tumble out of his mouth, he knows he’s asking too much.

“Excuse me?” You blink up at him, confused and taken aback by what had almost sounded like a command.

His visor turns towards you in what you can only assume is a meaningful stare, but without seeing his face there’s not a lot of meaning to read. Yet, you had spent enough time with him to read his gestures. He means what he says. You don’t think there’s ever been a time where he hasn’t. In his arms the child coos. You glance down at it, getting a proper look for the first time. You’d never seen anything like it before.

“What did you do?” you ask quietly.

There’s no judgment in your tone, not that he had expected any, but there was a sharp curiosity as you bent down for a better look at what he was holding. Completely out of instinct, he hands the child over to you, surprised to find that you take it without hesitation. He watches you for a moment as you hold the baby up and pull it in close, and smiles to himself beneath his helmet at the way your face lights up when it gurgles happily.

You hug the child in close, sitting it on your hip in a way that feels oddly natural. “Look at you…goodness, you’re so cute.”

“The Imperials wanted it,” Din finally confesses.

The horrified look you direct at him is like a punch to the gut; confirmation of his own wrongdoings.

“You took it to them?”

There it is. The judgment he’d been dreading. Or maybe he was projecting, haunted by his own guilt at letting a child fall into the hands of people so evil. He fumbles for another excuse.

“I took it back.”

You stare at him, then your gaze drops and he wonders what you’re thinking, if he’s suddenly changed in your view; morphed into something monstrous beneath the armor. You had never seen him with it off, as was The Way, but he had taken it off in your presence many times before. He glances down at the strip of cloth you always keep tied around your forearm – a simple bit of clothing to the view of others, but to him a considerate accessory for, and constant reminder of, the many rendezvous you’d shared that never failed to escalate into a tangle of needy limbs and panting mouths.

“What did they want with it?” you ask, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“No idea.”

You notice the way his voice softens, his slightly hunched posture like he’s waiting for another blow. Your rejection, you realize. You try to slow things down in your mind and piece it all together.

“You’re on the run,” you guess, not a question but a calm realization.

He gives a single, silent nod.

“If you come with me, now, you will be, too. You’ll be forfeiting –”

Your sharp snort cuts through him and feeds a little more into that ever-growing guilt. You’re shaking your head at him and the rejection hits him harder than he was expecting, enough to make him realize the true gravity of his hopes.

“Whatever I’m forfeiting,” you tell him, “I gave it up the moment you showed up, Din.”

He had pictured all the ways that this could go wrong, and admittedly this reaction wasn’t one of them. He fights the urge to turn and leave, to take it all back with him out that door, to never bother you again. The thought is painful enough to keep him grounded. He remains where he is.

“Six years ago,” you continue, and he looks up, hopes renewed. “When we did our first job together. I think that’s when I knew what I’d be giving up.” You stare up at him, face soft yet serious, as you sway the baby on your hip as naturally as a nursemaid might. “For the longest time, I thought I wanted a life of peace, after everything I went through. Then you came into my life and I was willing to let go of that dream. Because I knew that if I chose you, we might not get that. And I’m okay with that.”

The room is silent. Even the child looks between the two of you, as if feeling the weight of the words being spoken, even if he can’t understand them. Din isn’t even sure that he does. He knows what he wants them to mean, but can’t allow himself to believe it just yet.

You step towards him – this soft, funny man who still managed to take you completely by surprise, and who you had slowly but completely fallen in love with, even if it had taken months initially for the internal armor to come down and let you in. Your hand comes to rest on his chest, right above where his heart beats under layers of beskar, tunic, flesh, and bone, and he wonders if you can feel how hard it's beating beneath your touch – how hard it always beats when he’s around you.

“You’ll never be able to come home again,” he warns you, looking around the space you had managed to make yours over the last few years. You chuckle and he looks back at you, and the gentle look in your eyes makes him wonder if he’s ever wanted to kiss anybody so badly in his life.

You shrug and look around at the simple dwelling – a house that had proven to be a convenient place to stay, but had never quite felt like home. You realize now, in his presence, why this is. “This place? It was getting a little cramped anyway.”

His own laugh rumbles through the modulator. “If you think this is bad, wait until you’re on the ship.”

“I’ve been on the Crest. It’s not so bad. Better company.” You grin up at him, and though you can’t see it, you sense that he’s doing the same, both struck by a sudden, inexplicable feeling of hope. He reaches out, finally, and brushes your hair back, melting in a totally un-Mandalorian-like manner when you lean into his touch.

He will think on this moment in the hard times to come, reaching back for a perfect memory to keep him grounded. But he won’t need it often. With you by his side, he feels certain he can make it through just about anything.

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian imagines #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagines #din djarin #the child

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angel-tries-to-write · 3 years

Text

No Control

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Rating: Mature Pairing: Arno Dorian x fem!reader Word count: 3694 Genre: angst but later fluff

Inspired by Hamilton, again. Enemies to lovers, but make it fast. Might contain triggers.

Since the day you two have met, your relationship couldn't be more complicated. He was snarky and sassy Sad Boi, you were mean and Miss Perfect. He considered you a bitch, you considered him a jerk. Both of you lived for the other's failures and were delighted to humiliate and belittle the other on every occasion. But never once these fights interfered with your assassin job, the Creed was always your priority. You could be professional enough to put your feelings aside and cooperate for the sake of your mission. As the time passed and you were spending more time together, you got to know each other and started to grow somewhat close.

You knew something really bad had happened the moment you saw Arno entering the room. Although you were discussing some matters with the council, no one informed you what happened and why exactly he was there. If that wasn't enough, you were told to leave. The council had to talk to Arno in private. You did leave, of course. But as soon as you were out of sight, you ran to the other side of the hideout and placed yourself in a perfect spot for eavesdropping. It wasn't comfortable at all, but it was nothing you couldn't bear.

Despite your cold and snarky attitude, you cared about Arno. And it was no fun seeing him get in trouble, even though you would say it was, to keep your reputation. You were also curious about what he did this time to earn such a reprimand. It took a lot to be scolded by the whole council themselves. When you learned what happened, you started to think about getting away.

“(Y/n), you are not supposed to be here” you heard master Mirabeau and you nearly fell out of your hiding place. Luckily you managed to compose yourself and you got out with grace and dignity.

“Oh, great. You must be happy now” Arno said harshly and you winced a little. You may have not been very nice towards him, but it didn't mean you enjoyed his failures.

“I am not” you said calmly.

“Excuse me, but the last thing I want now is your mockery” he turned around and started to leave.

“I do not plan to do that. I need to talk to you.” Despite him being clearly unwilling to listen, you followed him.

“Save it.”

“Arno, wait. I know how you feel.”

“No, you don't.”

“I used to be just like you: brash, reckless, inexperienced and I wanted to act, not think. I have done something terrible, everyone paid for my mistake. I thought I was meant to do great things, to prove my worth, to play a big role in history. I thought I could have the whole world at my feet. Then everything slipped out of my hands in a brief moment. After that, my father took me aside and said: "Let me tell you what I wish I’d known when I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story." And I realized he was right. So now I'm telling that to you. Don't let your feelings cloud your mind.”

“I do not need your smart advices” he said dryly, but he stopped and turned around to face you. “Besides, I will never believe you have done something worse than I have.”

“I straight up murdered my friends” you deadpanned. Arno looked at you, speechless and shaken. “I know what I'm talking about.”

“H-how?”

“It was a few years ago. We were just a bunch of teenaged novices. We thought we knew everything and we could do anything, just like we thought our creed says. I was in charge of them, due to my family being a very important part of the Brotherhood. I was the best of them, as well. Apparently also the luckiest. We decided to break into the Templars' quarters and prove our worth. As you can guess, we were slaughtered due to our miscalculation and carelessness. I was the only one surviving, because I was badly injuried and they thought I died right away, so they did not finish their job. Also because someone overheard the conversation between the two Templars and told my father who came to save me personally. He found me sitting among the bodies of my friends and enemies, badly injuried and completely shocked, terrified and devastated. I still can remember how wet my robes were, or that I was slipping on my own blood while trying to get out, or that the pain of my wound was nothing compared to pain in my heart. I knew I had failed everyone. Besides me, only two girls did not die right away. I personally ended the suffering of one, due to her nasty fatal wound, they just gutted her, but she did not die and begged me to kill her. The second one died two days later, when I was fighting for my life with my wound and a fever. That day has changed me forever. That day I understood that it is so easy to die and there is nothing noble in it. It is way harder to live with consequences of my decisions. The Brotherhood lost eight apprentices that day. I lost eight of my friends and myself. I might stand here being an assassin after all, but I am just a mere shadow of the one I used to be. My wounds almost made me disabled, it's a miracle I can walk, the doctors couldn't believe it would ever happen. But I still feel the pain that reminds me of my horrible mistake and the toughest lesson of my life I had learned. I am useless at fight or free running, therefore I mastered stealth and disguise. But it's like having a hypersensitive hearing while being blind. I merely make up for what I don't have anymore. I also do my best trying to find the Piece of Eden. Not only because Brotherhood needs to keep it safe, but also because it can heal me. I know the location of one Piece, but it is safely hidden far away and it does not attract any unwanted attention. The one in Paris, however, is being searched for by both Assassins and Templars. So I decided to ignore my personal needs for the greater good and focus on looking for the one that is needed to be found, instead of getting the easy option and going for the one I have found already” you concluded, subconsciously clutching the clothes on your lower abdomen. The familiar jab was present there, as usual. The painful memory of your past and a lesson for the future. Arno was looking at you in dead silence.

“I am sorry” he said finally, his voice was soft and quiet.

“Don't be. I get what I deserve. Remember my story and learn from my mistakes. Do not repeat them. Respect life and death” you warned him.

“No, I am sorry for thinking you were just mean, grumpy and selfish” he explained. “I would not be happy myself if I had to live in constant pain and with such memories.”

“I got used to it” you shrugged. “Though I admit, I would rather have my friends alive and punished by the council instead of this.”

“I am going to help you find that Piece of Eden. You deserve to be redeemed and cured” Arno promised and you smiled a little.

“Thank you. That means a lot” you bowed your head in a gesture of appreciation.

“Good to hear you are a responsible man, monsieur (mister) Dorian. I always knew you are a lot like your father, after all” spoke Mirabeau, approaching the two of you, he looked at Arno, then at you and noticed your gesture. “You should rest, my child” he put his hand on your shoulder.

“I'm fine” you protested.

“My brother would kill me for not taking care of you” the older man reminded you.

“He should have taken care of himself, then he could be taking care of me in person instead of lying in grave” you growled angrily, then hissed when the pain in your old wound strengthened. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax, knowing that stress was making everything worse. “I apologize. You are right, I shall get some rest, uncle” you said quietly and headed to exit.

“Let me help” said Arno and followed you.

“There is no need” you answered, but grabbed his arm for support, when the jolt of pain almost made you bend over.

“Sure.”

“I'm serious, I- gah” you stopped walking, waiting for pain to ease. Arno didn't ask for the second time, he simply caught you and lifted you bridal style. As much as you hated to admit, you needed this.

“You never mentioned that you and Mirabeau are related” he spoke after a while.

“I did. I told you that my family is meaningful in Brotherhood. I just didn't mention him specifically” you said like it was nothing. Well, to you it was.

“So? Care to explain?”

“My father was his younger brother, that's the big secret” you sighed. “As you can guess, I would rather keep that information in private. I do not want anyone to think that I am somehow privileged, because I'm not.”

“Understandable.”

Arno carried you all the way to your apartment, then helped you to undress to the point you were comfortable, then carried you to bed. He was way more nice than you would expect. Maybe you judged him too soon and Bellec was just an old, grumpy man who wanted Arno to be like his father? You took his hand as he sat by your bed.

“Merci (thank you). You didn't have to do that” you said, looking at him. “Especially after all these things I have told you.”

“You are not as bad as I thought. And not as bad as you think. I guess that if I can put up with Bellec, I can be friends with you as well” he shrugged. “Unless you don't want to.”

“No, I... that would be nice. You are not that bad yourself” you chuckled softly. “But for now there is nothing else you can do, so if you have something else to do, I do not keep you.”

He didn't, so you talked for a few hours. You learned about Élise, monsieur de la Serre and all the funny stories about Arno's childhood. In exchange you told him about yours, about growing up in the Assassin Brotherhood and learning all the tenants of the Creed from the very first day of your life. That day both of you learned a lot about each other and though you hadn't known that, you started to develop feelings for the man.

Therefore after some time you knew that sooner or later you would end up in Arno's bed somehow. Of course, there was always Élise, whom he loved deeply, so you would never make the first move. But when she told him that she was willing to sacrifice everything to stop Germain and she didn't need his help, well, the problem sort of solved itself. Since Arno's banishment from the Brotherhood, you were following him discreetly from time to time to make sure he was doing fine. But suddenly he disappeared and that was very unlike him. You established that he wasn't leaving Le Café Théâtre anymore, so one day you decided to pay him a visit. The first day he was so drunk that he didn't even recognize you, but when you came back the next day, he wasn't completely drunk yet. He must have worked, after all, the Café still belonged to him and it required his attention from time to time. Therefore, he was still in a pretty good state when you came, you could actually talk to him.

“How are you doing, Arno?” you asked softly, taking your hood off and closing the window behind. You approached the desk he was sitting at.

“Go away.”

“No.”

“(Y/n)” he stood up, intending to leave. You stepped closer and hugged him, snaking your arms around his chest and waist.

“You are not alone, Arno” you whispered, holding him tightly. “No matter what you think, I will never leave you on your own.”

“I don't need your pity” he hissed, trying to push you away.

“I do not pity you. I care. I genuinely care about you.”

“Let me go. I need more wine.”

“No, you have had enough. You should go to sleep” you pulled away and started to pushing him in the right direction. “Come, let me take care of you.”

“I don't want to” he protested, but obeyed when you lead him to bed. You were gentle but firm. The man sat on the bed, accidentally pulling you closer and making you lose your balance, so you ended up straddling him. Your lips were way closer than should be.

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly, sort of curious where it would lead, while knowing very well that you shouldn't let him do what you thought he intended.

“I don't know” he answered honestly. Then he put his hand on your cheek, caressing it gently. Just to kiss you shortly after. And you knew fully well he was drunk and you shouldn't do that, but you kissed him back anyway. He pulled away shortly after. “I shouldn't.”

“I know.”

“I... Élise... I can't-”

“I know. But I am here for you anyway and no one will know.”

That was enough for him to kiss you again. It was wrong in every way, he was a traitor to your Creed, he loved another girl and she was a Templar. You knew he didn't feel about you the same way you felt about him, but you couldn't stop him. You didn’t want him to stop. Your discarded coat quickly fell to the floor with your weapons. His skilled hands quickly started to undress you further and you didn't resist. You started to take off his clothes yourself and you stopped him only the moment he wanted to get rid of your pants.

“Wait” you panted, holding his hand back.

“What's wrong?” Arno asked with concern. He might have been drunk, but not enough to not realize something wasn't right. His lips and fingers kept touching your skin.

“Remember how I told you about that wound I got as a novice?” you shivered as he decided to focus on the one of your breasts.

“Sure. This is it?” he asked and you nodded. “You got hurt there?” the man asked with disbelief, touching your sex through the thick fabric of your pants and even this gentle touch made you shiver.

“Not exactly” you helped him take off the rest of your clothes and let him see the large scar blemishing the soft skin of your stomach.

“It does look awful” he admitted, looking at the scar. “How did you even get that?”

“I was just stabbed there” you pointed a spot with your two fingers. “It was a miracle that the sword didn't even touch my vital organs. It slid right between intestines and above the bladder, one wrong move and I would die. But it cut the uterus pretty badly, amputating one of the ovaries. The doctors had to cut me open even more to even sew the wound and stop the bleeding” you traced the scar with your fingertips. “It didn't heal well, so it still causes me pain and if I ever miraculously get pregnant, it will probably kill me, because the growing baby might tear the scar apart. This is why finding a Piece of Eden is my only hope” you sighed, closing your eyes to avoid looking at the scar. But you quickly opened them again, as you felt the soft kiss on the side of the old injury.

“We are going to find it and heal your wound” Arno murmured, leaving butterfly kisses on your scar. He was getting lower and lower, and when he reached his destination, you nearly screamed. Apparently he was very skilled not only in combat or free running, but also in bed. He wasn't your first partner, but he was definitely the best.

When he finished, you couldn't calm down for a while, lying in his bed completely vulnerable. You looked at him with love and trust, both very unique to your everyday self. You were never as open and honest as you were that moment. He climbed up your body and captured your lips in a gentle yet sensual kiss. You buried your fingers in his messy hair and took off the hair tie. It was something you wanted to do for a while, you were curious how he would look like with loosened hair and you had to admit, he still looked good. It was giving him a little feral vibes, but these suited him well, especially when he had those wild glimpses in his eyes and looked at you with predatory hunger.

“Do you really want this?” you asked him, caressing his cheek.

“I do. It makes me forget the pain” he answered honestly and kissed you. “And you? Do you want this?”

“Yes” you answered and kissed him back. Upon hearing such a clear consent none of you had further doubts. Arno might have been drunk, but he was clearly making sure he was gentle enough and that you are comfortable with anything he did. And you were more than happy at his actions. You spend with him the rest of the day and when the night had come, you fell asleep in each other arms.

You woke up in the morning very suddenly, alone in the bed. At first you thought that maybe Arno had left you, but then you had heard his voice.

“...and what am I supposed to do? Pretend nothing happened?”

“No, but if you forgot that Templar girl, we would be able to show you the right path” said the other, male voice.

“I do not want to forget Élise. Besides, don't you see how pathetic it looks?”

“Pathetic?”

“Taking her because Élise left me? Isn't it pathetic?”

“If you think of it this way, then sure, it is. But I bet (Y/n) would never think like that.” Suddenly you realized it was one of Arno's friends, probably the one who was always carrying his axe.

“Right. She is too good for it.”

“Now you sound like a lovesick boy.”

“Ha, ha, very funny” it was the usual, sarcastic Arno.

“Look, whatever you are going to do, you should decide quickly. (Y/n) is still bound to the Brotherhood and she leaves for a mission soon. Time is running out.”

“Go away. Your advices suck.”

“As you wish. But think of it” the man said and left. Arno closed the window and got back to the bed. He took off his pants and slipped under the blankets, snuggling with you.

“He knows nothing” he muttered into your hair, pressing your body to his. You pretended to stir and wake up, you didn't want him to know you've heard that conversation.

“Hi” you smiled, looking at him.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up” Arno smiled sheepishly.

“It's alright. I wish I could wake up like this every morning” you smiled and kissed him softly.

“Who you are and what did you do to (Y/n)?” he chuckled and kissed you back.

“I feel too good to be salty” you looked at him with happiness radiating from your face.

“Why wouldn't we stay like this forever then?” he asked and your heart skipped a beat. It was the most wonderful thing you could imagine, but at the same time it was equally problematic.

“Are you sure you would like this? I thought it was nothing serious.”

”Positive. I need to take a charge of my life.“

“But Élise...”

“I should stop thinking about Élise. She told me she does not need me, I can live without her either” he answered calmly, but you could see his emotions buzzing.

“Why the sudden change?”

“Last night was really... something. I... well, let's say I realized that life doesn't end with Élise.”

“Or maybe you like to break the rules a little too much?” you smirked.

“You are not that innocent yourself” he looked at you and smirked too.

“I never said I was.”

After some time, when you were sure Arno was asleep, you carefully got out of bed, washed up quickly and dressed up. Then you sat by Arno's desk and wrote him a letter.

My Dearest Arno,

I wish I could stay with you for longer, but my duties call. I feel terrible disappearing like that, while you still are lovely asleep, but I have no other choice. I am deeply sorry for this.

I never hoped for anything like this to happen, after all you have always seen only Élise. I do not feel surprised, she is beautiful, smart and so amazing, that I could date her myself (do not tell her that though, she should not know). What happened between us, happened anyway and I am thrilled. I have to inform you that I had dreamed about it for a very long time.

As you may know by now, I have feelings for you. These might not be as strong as yours about Élise, but I still deeply care about you. I am thrilled that I could make you feel better, even if it was for a moment. I really hope that the next time when we see each other, you will be happier than you are now.

If you need some more time, I will give you all the time. I have a lot of it, I can wait as long as you need me to.

Forever yours,

(Y/n)

You left the letter on the desk and silently left Le Café Théâtre. Then you left for your mission, hoping that it wasn't your last meeting.

#assassin's creed #arno dorian #arno dorian x reader #my fic

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messifangirl · 3 years

Note

I... I kinda want to know more about the Cressi waiter and Royalty AUs? They sound like incredible stories. Is vampire/werewolf the one you have a chapter posted? Could you show something more, pretty please?

(Adding a cut!)

The Waiter AU I actually wrote way back in the day. It’s Like A Fairy Tale (5.5k) But I always wanted to write a follow up to it and I have a lot of notes and pieces the sequel. Here’s some:

Cristiano rolls his eyes. "Nothing's wrong," he says. "I just feel like..." He lowers his voice. "Like, I'm chasing him." It sounds silly to say it out loud, and Cristiano's fears are proved right by Marcelo's response.

Marcelo laughs. "Good! It's about time somebody made you work for it." He slaps Cristiano on the arm, laughing again and turning back to his bag. "I like him even more now. Make sure he stops by after the game so I can say hi." He fist bumps Sergio and heads towards the exit.

Sergio watches him leave before focusing on Cristiano. "So it's a little unusual for you. And you're chasing him. But... He's worth it, right Cris?" He widens his eyes imploringly and bites his lip. "I mean, you love him." He flicks his eyes around the room to see if anyone overheard him before turning his attention back to Cristiano. "Right? You've always loved him. He was your first kiss!"

Cristiano's smile dims a little. "Sergio," he says, exhaling and tilting his head back. "It's not that easy, okay?"

And this really isn't a conversation he wants to be having here.

Or at all.

A few seats down, Fabio catches his eye and looks at him questioningly--ready to save him from Sergio if necessary. Cristiano gives a quick shake, indicating everything is fine.

"What do you mean?" Sergio asks, crestfallen. He sits down on the bench in front of Cristiano as if his knees can't hold him up anymore. A hand darts to his waist to fidget with his towel. "You don't love him anymore?" His voice wobbles.

"Sergio," Cristiano starts, rubbing a hand across his face. He takes a deep breath. "I *did* love him. Once. As a child... But it's been fifteen years. And sure, I like him. But I like the idea of him—I liked who he was, and of course I like the look of him now. That's not the point, of course... But things have changed for the both of us... He doesn't know me, and I don't know him. Not really.”

Sergio's still looking up at him with sad eyes. "But..."

Cristiano huffs. "All I'm saying is, we're taking things slow, okay? And it's a little hard, what with our schedule, and the fact that he works two jobs." He shuts his eyes and pictures Leo's face, imagines stroking his cheek and seeing that gorgeous smile. "But yes," he says quietly, opening his eyes again. "I think he's worth it."

The Royalty AU is actually a fairly new idea. Royalty AU has always been one of my fav AUs to read in other fandoms but because I’ve reread kkslover9′s A Tale of Two Princes a thousand times and it is sooooo good, I never really thought to try my own. Until now. It’s still very much in the works and being outlined, and I just completely decided to rewrite the beginning so I don’t want to give you anything that won’t make it into the final, but here’s a little haha.

"It's your duty," Sergio says quietly. "We're all required to do our part. Mine, since I was a child, has been to follow your every step and keep you safe from all harm." He claps a hand on Cristiano's shoulder. "And yours is to lead your people when the time comes. You've already proved your worth in battle, and your men will follow you anywhere. But you've been raised since birth with the expectation to one day take the throne when His Majesty passes. And despite your feelings about what's happening today, I know that you're aware of your responsibilities."

Cristiano's jaw tightens but he forces himself to relax. "Of course you're right," he says, shifting to lean against the wall as well. "I'm just..." He trails off and swallows his frustration down until he can find the words. "I would have preferred Prince Koke over some savage from Barcelona," he adds with a huff. "At least I've met Koke and he's not terrible to look at."

"Koke?" Sergio scoffs. "We both know that you could never be interested in a man who never picked up the sword." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Now, on the other hand, they say Prince Lionel--like you--has commanded Barcelona's armies for years. He's the second son and barely ever attended court. And when he did return home, it was never without a trophy from battle. Apparently, his skill with the sword is unmatched. They call him La Pulga." He quirks his lips. "Think he'd be up for a bout? I'd love to see if what they say is true. And if so, test myself against the best."

Cristiano ignores him. "La Pulga? He's going to be hideous," he murmurs. "I just know it. Probably some uncivilized creature who's disgustingly bloodthirsty and unfit to be seen in our company." He stares down toward the courtyard again, and shudders. "I don't even want to think about it."

The Vampire/Werewolf one is the one I posted a chapter of, yes. It was inspired by some art @detodores did for Cressi week a while back. Here’s some not yet posted :)

The vampire--Leo--looks away, seeming embarrassed. "Yes, but... I'm sorry, it's just feeding is usually just such a private process." He opens his mouth and then closes it like he's rethinking his words. "I fed from two of the wolves from the other pack. They were the ones that volunteered, and I will not betray their names," he says warningly.

"So it did not have to be from all of them?" Cristiano asks, his worries about how much the vampire needed to drink coming to the surface. On the other hand, he's grateful that the rest of his pack can be kept safe and be spared the entire process.

"I realize you are just curious," Leo says with a blink, "however you should be aware that you have just implied I am very promiscuous." He doesn't quite look at Cristiano. "As I said, it is a private process. It can be very... sensual."

Cristiano's cheeks flush as he realizes his misstep. "You're saying it's like fucking," he says, envisioning throttling Sergio for sending him in to do this. Wolves are not shy of their bodies, with the constant shifting leading to the necessity of nudity, but anything leading to actual sexual acts is much rarer and much more sacred.

Leo has no reaction to the crude word. "It can be. Or, it can be simply... meaningful." He sighs. "Blood given is very different from blood taken, despite what you have read or what they show in movies and shows these days. It's about a connection with someone, as well as being about nourishment."

"So it doesn't hurt?" Cristiano asks then, not really wanting to explore this any more than he has to. He's grateful to turn away from the mention of sex and into something else. Of course, he's also somewhat incredulous that such a thing is painless.

"I can make it hurt," Leo says, eyes still not looking at Cristiano. "But I do not. There's no point." He tilts his head as if in thought. "I can not speak for others of my kind. If you are bitten by another vampire, it may not be as I have described."

"So you're not a monster," Cristiano says skeptically, thinking back to the tales of Dracula and trying to replace them with something like a sparkling Edward Cullen.

"Oh, no," Leo says, interrupting his thoughts. "Make no mistake. I am most definitely a monster." He smiles again, and this time, shows two large fangs jutting down from the top of his mouth. They're as white as the rest of him, looking sharp and pointy and dangerous. "Even in this," he pauses and sounds frustrated, "weakened state. I would not call myself anything other than a monster."

"You've killed people then," Cristiano ventures, easing the pressure on his heels even as the conversation does nothing to ease his anxiety.

"Haven't you?" Leo asks, sounding tired again. "The world is not always kind to monsters, is it? And I've lived a very long time. I've had to eat. Had to survive." He closes his eyes again, black lashes stark against his pale skin. "Humans have always been so fragile... It's why I thought working with the wolves would be so beneficial. A way to take humans out of the equation entirely."

"And now your wolves have abandoned you," Cristiano says flatly. "Left you here, in our territory, to die. Because they certainly know we have you. They've had a month to figure that out. And still, they did nothing." He doesn't know why he's trying to drive this point home. Maybe because he hates those wolves and wants Leo to hate them too.

Leo does not reply.

#fic #my fic #football fandom #football fanfiction #football rpf #cressi #waiter au #royalty au #vampire au #my writing #tocadoguara

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wallgirl · 3 years

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The Little Nereid Part 4

4400 words, part four of a nine part fanfiction (it just keeps changing tbh)

Poseidon x OC

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful.

Categories: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending; no NSFW content

---

It was nearly noon the next day when a gentle rap sounded on Dynamene's bedroom door.

"Dynamene, are you awake?" Actaea's hesitant voice came through the door. "You haven't been out all day. Are you feeling okay?"

Dynamene turned over from where she had wrapped herself up in her blankets. Her eyes felt like sandpaper after all the crying she had done the night before. "Everything's okay, Actaea. I just don't feel so well. I think I'm going to stay in bed today." She didn't have the energy to force herself to sound happier than she felt.

"Okay. The rest of us are going to go seaing this afternoon. If you're feeling better, you should come with. I'll let you rest now."

Dynamene's gloomy expression didn't change. "Okay. Thank you, Actaea."

Actaea's footsteps disappeared away from the other side of the door, and Dynamene buried her face back into her pillow.

After everything that she had heard last night, she couldn't bring herself to leave her room. She couldn't bear the thought of being out in the palace, pretending that everything was fine to her sisters, and chancing the possibility of having to face him. Here in her room, she could indulge in her misery without anyone else having to know. She sighed and sat up reluctantly, untangling herself from her bedding. With slow steps she crossed over to the window and drew the curtain back.

It was another day of fine weather; Hera's prediction had been right. The sun was shining as clearly as ever, and the birds and the ocean were following the normal routine; birds circling the beach for a meal, and the waves ebbing and flowing to the beat of the ocean's heart.

Dynamene pulled the curtain back over and wandered aimlessly to her boudoir, staring at her shadowed reflection. She looked every inch as miserable as she felt, and that just made her more upset.

What right did she have, honestly, to be so upset, especially after eavesdropping on a conversation not meant for her ears? She had done this to herself. She had taken the risk, knowing that whatever words that Poseidon and Hera exchanged could hurt her feelings, and now she was dealing with the repercussions.

As far as Poseidon's views on his connection with the Nereids... It wasn't like they were unexpected either. Dynamene had lived in his palace for a thousand years. Never once had they had a true conversation, or anything more than him giving orders and her acknowledging his demands. He was cold. He was unfeeling. He was a god so far removed from the feelings of other beings, even those of other deities and supernatural beings, that no one else dared to approach him. She was starting to realize that maybe they had the right idea in staying away.

Why had someone as despicable as him been on her mind so much in the first place?

"What are you doing to yourself?" She asked her reflection in disappointment. "You're not a child anymore. You can't just keep sulking in your room, especially when you've brought your misery on yourself. You're going to worry your family." She sighed and returned to her bed, burying herself back under the covers. She would get some more sleep, then she would take a warm bath and face the world again. Everything would be fine. It would just take a little time.

Meanwhile, Actaea had returned to the room where the other sisters were setting up for lunch, and where Ianeira was waiting with a troubled expression.

"Is she alright?" Ianeira asked as Actaea approached.

"To be quite honest, I'm not sure," Actaea sighed. "She sounded completely lifeless when I spoke to her. She said she wasn't feeling well, but we all know that's a lie. She's been acting strange since her birthday."

"More specifically, once we received word that Hera was visiting." Ianeira took a moment to ponder. "Do you think Lady Hera might've said something privately to her last night?"

"What cause would she have had to speak to her? They're barely acquainted. She gave Dynamene her blessing in front of all the rest of us with no problem. And as far as I know, Dyna has done nothing to provoke Lady Hera's ire."

"Maybe it's far-fetched, but... What about Lord Poseidon? You remember how she ran from his rooms; that look in her eyes. Do you think..." Ianeira's words halted, and she gave a sharp inhale of realization. Her eyes snapped up to meet her sister's. "Actaea..."

Actaea gave her a knowing look and leaned closer. "I'll tell you this in confidence," she said lowly. "She was worried about the subjects that Hera might broach with Poseidon when she came. I'll give you one guess as to why."

Ianeira exhaled deeply. "I've been blind."

"Oh, come now. It's only become more noticeable this past decade or so, dearest older sister," Actaea sighed impatiently. "Dynamene isn't a child anymore, after all."

"I know. It's just..." Ianeira pursed her lips. "Perhaps I didn't want to believe it. I guess I wanted to believe that it was just a healthy sense of fear making her act the way she's been."

"That may have been the case in the past, but it seems things are changing rapidly."

"He wouldn't. We know he wouldn't."

"I'm sure Dynamene knows that as well. That doesn't often sway the heart, unfortunately. We'll have to keep an eye on things; all of us."

"I agree," Ianeira nodded somberly. "For Dynamene's sake."

"For Dynamene's sake."

They exchanged a meaningful look once more before joining the rest of their sisters at the table.

It was many hours later that Dynamene finally woke up. Stretching slowly, she looked over at the curtain-covered window. No more sunlight was filtering through; the room was nearly completely dark. It seemed she had managed to sleep the rest of the day away.

She stood on the cold marble floor, giving one last stretch and a rousing shake of her head before crossing to her dresser for clean clothes. Her sisters had almost certainly left and returned from their seaing excursion by now. Dynamene squinted at the clock on her boudoir. It was well past the afternoon now; the last of the sunset was probably fading over the horizon.

Clad in fresh robes, she left her room and quietly made her way through the palace towards the kitchens. She could hear her sisters conversing and enjoying their free time in various rooms as she passed, but she crept by as best she could without notice. She was feeling more like herself now, but she still wasn't ready to be bombarded with the questions her sisters would undoubtedly have.

After fetching an apple from the pantry, she emerged from the palace and made her way down to the beach. A gentle ocean breeze brushed the stray hairs back from her face, and she smiled lightly at the scent of the seawater. No matter her troubles, she would always be able to count on the ocean to wash them away.

She chose a spot next to a group of tide pools to sit, tucking her peplos beneath her and gazing out at the vast, black ocean. She imagined her worries being washed away by each drag of the waves, pulling them from the sand and casting them out into the unknown.

"Dynamene, Dynamene," soft voices came, and she looked down at the tide pools. A few fish that had been trapped within were swimming about in tidy circles. "What troubles you?"

Dynamene smiled sadly. "Nothing, little friends. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Never. We're always glad for the company of a Nereid," they answered, their scales shimmering faintly in the moonlight.

Dynamene watched them warmly. All Nereids, as spirits of the sea, had the ability to communicate with sea life. In return, the sea life held them in high regards, considering them protectors and ambassadors of the ocean and all within. "You know," she ventured, drawing her knees up to her chest. "The gods of Olympus are mysterious, even to those who've known them for a millennia. Do you think that, maybe, they're just so far removed from other beings that it's impossible to form a connection with one?"

"The gods of Olympus are proud to a fault," a minnow responded. "They justify their actions with empty motives, chasing pleasure and recognition just as any mortal."

"You see, the gods have the same minds as mortals, but they trick themselves into thinking that their supernatural gifts have made them entirely different beings," a tiny crab added, crawling out of the pool to rest upon her foot. "They are just as infallible as humans, and in many ways much more destructive, especially to themselves."

"Mm," Dynamene hummed thoughtfully. "Thinking back now on all my experiences with the gods... Your words strike me as true, friends." She considered the waves for several moments. "You're right. I guess even with their power... They are just people with faults like anyone else." She lifted her hand, guiding a little stream of water from the ocean to the tide pool. "Thank you for your insights. Here you are; you can return to the ocean now."

The sea life that had been confined to the tide pool took advantage of the stream to return to the sea, their little voices thanking her many times over.

Dynamene sighed and leaned back on her arms, taking a few minutes to absorb the wise words the animals had shared with her. It all made sense; so much so that she began to wonder if, deep down, she hadn't had the same suspicions about the gods all along. Of course, in a position like hers, as a servant to one of the top three, such thoughts could be perilous to acknowledge. Keeping them tucked away to herself was the safe choice.

A strange shift in the air made her start. She quickly righted herself and turned around, feeling a presence approaching.

From the base of the stairs approached a familiar figure, a sight that she found her heart both leaping at and shirking from.

Poseidon was walking towards her, the moonlight casting a white glow on the side of his body not shadowed by the rocky bluffs. The points of his trident caught the moonlight on their sharp edges. His expression was somber.

No; as he came closer and Dynamene could make his face out more clearly, she saw it was one of anger. Him seeking her out at this hour with such an expression quickly made it clear as to why he was here; he must have found her out.

She scrambled to her feet and backed away towards the ocean, the cold water lapping at her feet. "Lord Poseidon," she ventured in a small voice hardly audible over the waves. "I didn't expect to see you out here so late..."

He halted ten feet from her. The breeze from the waves caught the white wrap that flowed from his waist, its waving fabric juxtaposed against the sharp silhouette of his body. His hair was lightly tousled from the wind as well, that stray lock of hair that had always captured her attention blown back from his face.

Now she was seeing him as he was. A beautiful, terrible, apathetic man with no warmth to spare nor kindness to show. His beauty was as empty as his soul, and in that moment, she hated him for it.

Her resentment lit an indignant fire in her veins that gave her a surge of courage. She hated him enough that she did not fear him, and she met his gaze full-on, her back straightening, hands loose at her sides.

"It seems you have overstepped the boundaries that servants under a god should observe," he said. In the shadows, his eyes were dark and cold, reminding Dynamene of an obsidian pendant Thoe had once fawned over.

"Eavesdropping is treason," he stated simply. "A betrayal of the faith a master should be able to have in his servant."

"I have, my lord. I give you no pretenses, nor excuses," Dynamene responded, her gaze falling slightly.

"It is," Dynamene whispered. She looked back up at Poseidon. No matter how she felt about him in the moment, she couldn't ignore the twinge of guilt that she still felt at having broken the trust he'd had in her.

Wait, trust? Faith?

What did he know of such things?

"I will heartily accept any punishment you dole to me, Lord Poseidon," she said softly, eyes still searching his face. "But I wonder if you could shed some light on a lowly sea-nymph like me."

His expression changed slightly at that. He remained silent, though, and Dynamene took it as permission to continue.

"You see, I have to wonder... Did you really have faith in me, in the truest sense of the word?" She whispered, clasping her hands to her chest.

These words seemed to have rather blindsided Poseidon, because he blinked. Something told her that this was not something he'd ever considered. Before this moment, he'd never had to. Then his brow furrowed; not in anger, necessarily, but in concentration. No matter what answer he gave, it would be wrong. He could not say yes; if that were the case, he would not hold meetings with his siblings in privacy. He could not say no; he had let his guard down and allowed the possibility of someone eavesdropping to become a reality.

"Because I've always had faith in you, Lord Poseidon," Dynamene continued, her knuckles white from how hard she was clutching her hands together. She could hardly get the words out. "I have always trusted you, and believed in you. I would blindly follow you to the ends of the Earth and jump off if I thought you wanted it; If I thought you expected it. I am a fallible being, just a sea-nymph. I could never reach the standards that I know you hold your fellow gods to. But I'd like to think that, maybe, in some point over the millennia I have served you..." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Maybe, though I've now broken your trust, you had some faith in me, even as your lowly sea-nymph servant."

She prepared to be smited. One blow of his trident was all it would take to end her life, and she was braced for it. An ineffective servant was one Poseidon had no need of. Her fate was inevitable, and she apologized silently to her sisters. I'm sorry I failed you.

But the moments went by, and still Dynamene's heart continued to beat.

Once a minute had nearly passed, she slowly opened her eyes.

Poseidon was no longer looking at her, but at the ocean. The trident had vanished from his grip. His expression had returned to one of indifference, but there was something turning in his eyes. She knew he was deep in thought, but about what, she had no idea.

"The ocean," he began rather slowly. "It is the driving force of all life. As a Nereid, you know this."

She blinked at him in amazement.

"I am the master of it. No one knows the water, or the life within it, as well as I do. This is the way it has been, and this is the way it will always be." His gaze slowly shifted back to her. "Everything that happens concerning the ocean, from the ebb of the tide to the respiration of the fish... I feel it all." He turned to face her head-on once more. "Come here."

She cautiously stepped forward, captivated by his words despite herself. She had no idea what to expect next.

He continued to look down at her. "You Nereids are part of the ocean. The personification of the water's soul. As such, I can feel your presence as well."

Dynamene's heart skipped a beat. Was this how he knew that she had been listening in on his conversation with Hera?

"Even in this, your humanoid form, seawater flows through your body." He reached out and took her hand, and Dynamene immediately tensed up from the unexpected contact. She could feel that strange electricity coursing through her veins once more. "Every time your heart beats, I can sense it." His fingers lingered on her wrist, and she could feel her pulse pressing against his skin. His hand was large, much bigger than hers, but the fingers were rather long and graceful, and she could feel faint calluses from wielding his trident on his palm.

For the first time since she'd met him, he seemed like a real flesh-and-blood being.

Dynamene stared at him in shock. Then came a jarring and humiliating realization. Every time her heart had pounded in his presence, all the times her heart had skipped a beat from his gaze, and that moment when he had handed her the bracelet and she thought she might faint... He knew them all. Now it made sense, the way he'd stared at her after gifting her her present. He could hear her heart beating fast in excitement.

He could hear her feelings for him.

She was so embarrassed. How could she have been so foolish as to think she could ever hide the way he made her felt? It had to have been written all over her face as well. She felt her face prickling with humiliation, and she looked down at the pebbles washed ashore by the waves. Maybe she really was still a child after all.

Poseidon released her hand and said nothing. They remained standing there, unmoving, as Dynamene slowly forced herself to gather her wits and say something, anything. A sudden question came to mind.

"Then..." She said, swallowing the crack in her voice. "You're a being of the ocean to some extent too, right? If you're so deeply entwined with it... How come I can't... hear your presence? Is it because seawater doesn't run through your veins as well?"

"You can, if you have enough power and practice. As a Nereid, you should be able to." This time, he held out his own hand.

Dynamene stared at it hesitantly before reaching out and gently grasping it. The moonlight turned the backs of their hands, one big, one small, the same pale hue. Poseidon closed his eyes, and she followed suit.

For a moment, she felt nothing. She concentrated, searching for something in the darkness...

Then she found it. A steady beat, just like any other man's, strong and constant. And along with his heartbeat was something more. No... much more. The more she focused, the more she sensed. She could feel the rumbling of the ocean's currents and see all the sea life flickering by. She felt the heat from the thermal vents deep down on the ocean floor, and smelled the algae and seaweed that had washed up on shore. It was as if he was a conductor for all the energy in the ocean, and their physical connection was wiring it through to her.

The man she'd thought was completely empty was teeming with life force, not just that of his own, but of that of every being in the ocean.

Shocked, she opened her eyes. He slowly opened his as well, staring at her. "That is but a fraction of what I can sense. It's only this strong from a certain distance, but that's all that's necessary. Nothing around me escapes my notice."

The knowledge of all this was a lot for Dynamene to take in. Her eyes darted back and forth, as if searching for something to help her absorb and make sense of all this. Was this what he was really thinking about during all those moments that he seemed to be staring off into space? No wonder he was prone to leaving suddenly and without explanation. Since he could sense what was going on nearby in his watery realm, he knew when there was conflict before anyone else at the palace did.

"All this means you must've been able to tell I was there while you were speaking to Lady Hera," Dynamene whispered, staring down at their clasped hands. "But I... I don't understand. Why didn't you make it known then, that you knew I was listening?"

Poseidon didn't respond, instead scrutinizing her face. As much as she knew that she should release his hand, she couldn't bear to let go just yet.

"There was no need to cause a scene." His gaze had shifted back to the ocean. "My bull-headed sister is troublesome enough without dealing with her rage at an errant servant."

Dynamene's face turned pink with embarrassment, but she had to concede that much to him. It was true. "Then... I have to thank you," she whispered. He looked back into her eyes once more, and she found herself drinking in the sight of those beautiful eyes. It was true that they were dark and cold and distant, but now she had begun to see something else within them. Now, it was as if he was truly seeing her. No longer was he looking through her, like a meaningless ghost. His eyes were fixed on her own, acknowledging her and listening to what she had to say. And the more she stared, the deeper she found herself falling into them, as if they were an ocean in themselves.

Falling, sinking, further and further...

"If Hera had known that I was there, I'm sure she wouldn't have been nearly as forgiving," Dynamene murmured, trying to break free of the spell he'd unknowingly cast on her. "And I'm guessing you haven't told her at all, as I'm still standing here and not dead or turned into some hideous creature."

"Telling her would do no good. I don't desire anymore damage done to my palace. The balcony was enough," he said flatly. "And I know you and the rest of the Nereids are no fools. You know why my sister visits."

Dynamene's heart fell once more at the mention of Hera's motives. "Yes, I must say we have figured it out," she mumbled.

"Tell me this. If you know why Hera comes, and what we talk about, why did you feel the need to listen in?" He inquired. His eyes drilled into her.

Her gaze fell back to the ground, and her blush deepened. As if you don't know... Then again, perhaps you truly don't. But... Please don't make me say it.

"Dynamene!" A familiar voice called out, echoing from high above the rocky bluffs.

She jumped and quickly turned towards the source of the voice, letting go of Poseidon's hand. "Actaea? She must have gone to check on me and realized I was missing..."

"You've been out here long enough," Poseidon responded. "It's getting late; return to the palace now."

Dynamene looked back at him, with his moon-bleached hair drifting about his eyes, and was reluctant to follow his words. Of course this would happen just as she had finally seen through the impenetrable wall he always kept up. She wanted to stay, even if just a moment longer. She wanted to talk to him and continue to get to know him. She wanted to keep learning just what went on in that closed mind of his. She wanted to keep listening to the calm, stoic cadence of his voice. She wanted to take his strong hand once more and feel his heartbeat, just as he could feel hers. No, she wanted to step closer and bridge the gap between them, pressing herself to his chest and listening to his heartbeat as close as she could get.

She wanted to stay here forever, just the two of them on the beach in the calm, black night, her looking at him and he, at long last, finally looking back at her.

Her feelings had for him had returned, but now they felt different. No longer did the sensations that they caused scare her. Now she just wanted more, more than she could take in. She wanted to feel this connection to him always.

"Dynamene! Are you down there?" Actaea's voice had gotten closer now; she must be descending the steps to the beach.

Poseidon turned away to look out at the vast darkness of the ocean and sky. Without quite knowing why, or what she expected to come of it, Dynamene reached quickly for his hand one last time. She saw his gaze flicker towards the movement...

But she couldn't bring herself to complete the gesture, and she drew her hand back just as quickly as she had reached out. Before she could bring herself to regret her withdrawal, she turned back towards the stairs and began the careful ascent over rock and sand towards them.

"Dynamene! There you are." Actaea emerged from the valley with a lantern in one hand, relief all over her face. "I went to check on you before bed, and you weren't there. I was afraid you'd..."

"No, no, I'm just fine, Actaea," Dynamene answered quickly, putting her hands on her sister's shoulders. "I was just taking in the night air. I'm feeling a lot better now, so you don't need to worry. I think I just needed some time to decompress for a bit."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it," Actaea sighed, embracing her younger sister. "We've all been concerned for you. If a night stroll on the beach is what you needed to feel better, then you're free to stroll as late as you want."

"Actually, I was just about to turn in for the night anyways. It is getting late," Dynamene continued rather shyly, remembering Poseidon's order. "Should we go back together?"

"That sounds fabulous," Actaea smiled, smoothing back Dynamene's bangs. "After you."

Dynamene returned her smile with the same old brightness that she'd recently lost, before continuing back up the stairs.

Actaea stared after her for a second before setting down the lantern and turning back to dismount the last few stairs to the beach.

Poseidon's figure hadn't moved as he continued to watch the waves roll in and out. Actaea's face stiffened, but she remained still and silent. She continued to watch the god for a moment, thoughts churning, before taking back up the lantern and following her youngest sister's lead back to the palace.

---

Author’s notes: This chapter definitely took me the longest of any thus far. I ended up rewriting some paragraphs because I found myself going off track from my original vision. I had a “wait, wtf are you writing here” moment, which I guess was ultimately necessary to get myself back on track.

So Poseidon isn’t such an empty person after all? maybe Man, all it takes is a hint of brooding vulnerability and the teenage girls come running lol I don’t mean to slander Dynamene, she’s just a girl having her first love and not knowing what to do about it. Things aren’t much easier when your first love is fuCKING POSEIDON

Anyways, how old is Dynamene? Good question. Nereids age at a rate of about 145 years being equivalent to 1 human year. Dynamene was the equivalent of about a nine year old when she came with her sisters to the palace. She’s close to 16 in human years now, so she was probably born around 2300 years prior to this fanfiction. Imagine living that long and still not being full-grown 😭😭😭

Dynamene’s oldest sister, Ianeira, is physiologically equivalent to a human 25 year old, so she would be about 3600 years old. Talk about an age gap between siblings!

#record of ragnarok #poseidon x oc #record of ragnarok poseidon #poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie #fanfiction

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xenteaart · 4 years

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Apocalypse Chronicles

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: Getting stuck in the apocalypse certainly has its ups and downs, and this is somewhat of a dairy with little glimpses into the life you two had.

Warnings: mentions of vomit

Note: This is sort of a part 2 to this fic. Also you can check out my other fics on this Commission AU right here!

Hopefully, this is a rollercoaster.

Day 548.

You and Five were currently on your way… somewhere. You rarely had any particular destination in mind, if you were being honest. Mainly, you were just moving from one place to another, seeking shelter and looking for food and other essentials such as clothes, medical supplies and many other things, most of which were really hard to come by.

It’s been a very long day, and a fairly hard one as well because the weather seemed to get harsher with each passing mile and moving one foot in front of the other was beginning to feel like an impossible task. So, since all of your focus and concentration went into walking, naturally, you’d stopped listening to what Five was saying about thirty minutes ago. Funnily enough, it took him that long to notice you completely zoning out and ignoring his passionate ranting.

“Hey! Have you been listening?” he asked bitterly, mostly just annoyed by the fact he’d been wasting his breath.

You quickly snapped out of your daze and blinked a few times.

“Charming.” Five added as he rolled his eyes. It was this very moment when you realized something and couldn’t help but smile widely, and he raised one eyebrow in confusion as to what could be making you so happy right now.

“Your voice is starting to crack,” you pointed out. He clearly didn’t expect you to say that, and it caught him completely off guard, making him forget he was mad at you mere seconds ago.

“My boy is turning into a man!” you exclaimed; tenderness, pride and just a tiny bit of sarcasm radiating from your voice. Five shook his head and scoffed at your observation as he was trying to conceal his embarrassment; rather unsuccessfully, you must say.

Getting stuck with a slightly older girl and going through puberty was, in his opinion, beyond humiliating.

You wrapped your arm around his shoulder and squeezed it lightly, pulling him closer as the sound of your joyful giggling was filling the air.

“Can’t wait till you start getting facial hair too,” you teased him and immediately felt his elbow kick your ribcage, the impact too mild to leave a bruise but certainly sudden enough to make you go “ouch!”

Day 1325.

“Five Hargreeves, you may wanna propose to me right now,” you screamed from a distance as you were still rummaging through the ruins of what used to be a grocery store. Oh, you knew he was going to love this.

After spending almost 4 years by Five’s side, you’ve come to know an impressive amount of facts about him, most of which were mundane and in the grand scheme of things, he would say, insignificant. But you didn’t see them as such and kept them all in mind, waiting for the right moment, and today was your lucky day.

“What?” he yelled back, a little confused by your assumption that seemingly came out of nowhere. Not that he didn’t like your company but marriage wasn’t on his to-do list quite yet.

As you awkwardly climbed over the debris, obviously carrying something in your hands but trying to hide it underneath your ill-fitted parka, you said, “Close your eyes.”

Five seemed hesitant, so you insisted.

“Come on, I know you don’t like surprises but it’s the nice kind, I promise.”

He finally complied and exhaled loudly as a means of communicating his growing impatience. You promptly pulled out a coffee pack from under your clothes, swept the dust off its surface in one quick motion and handed it over to Five.

“Look.”

“No way,” he opened his mouth, sincerely shocked you had managed to find something whole and completely untouched. And it happened to be coffee.

“I think I deserve at least a kiss on the cheek, wouldn't you say?” you grinned at how fast Five’s expression turned from grumpy and tired to excited and grateful.

In no time his tight grip found your waist, and he effortlessly spun you around, making you squeak in surprise as you clawed into his shoulders for support instinctively. His movements were smooth and confident as if you were light as a feather or rather weighed nothing at all, and you caught yourself really enjoying the warmth of his hands on your skin.

“You deserve a lot more than that,” Five replied with a sigh as he put you down carefully, his tone suddenly losing its playfulness and blossoming with something a titch more unexpected, and if you had to put a name on it, “affection” would be the most fitting.

Fortunately, the smudges of dirt on your skin were doing a very good job at hiding just how red your cheeks turned at the comment.

Day 1557.

“God, do you ever shut up?” Five snarled irritably, interrupting you mid-sentence, and your jaw dropped in shock. You could have sworn it felt exactly what getting stabbed in the stomach would feel like.

You were a very short-tempered individual and in any other context you would have snapped back, making some scathing comment and walking away with your chin up. This time - not a single word left your mouth as you were paralyzed by Five’s unfiltered hostility. You felt your eyes burn and immediately turned away to wipe away the tear rolling down your cheek, too proud to let him see how much it hurt.

In your defence, you weren’t much of a talker before the apocalypse but it didn’t take you long to find out that being locked up in your own head in a deathly quiet world was not a good way to spend your days. So you kept talking, for both Five’s and your own sanity. It made things feel less real, however paradoxical it may sound. But, more importantly, it was a gesture of care.

You spent the rest of the day without saying a word, and, to your disappointment, Five wasn’t willing to break the silence either. Not talking, however, didn’t mean not looking after each other, and you, of course, made him dinner while he organized a safe place for you both to spend the night.

Since there was never a roof over your heads, you tended to sleep very close to each other, exchanging body heat to keep each other warm. At first, it was only a safety precaution but the habit slowly transformed into something more meaningful, somewhat of a necessity to know and feel that the other was still alive and breathing, still there, safe and sound.

As the two of you were lying in your improvised bed, which was essentially just a few layers of blankets on the hard and unfriendly concrete, you felt Five’s hot breath against the back of your neck as he cuddled you from behind. The big spoon.

“I deeply regret saying that,” Five whispered and sighed in frustration at his own self. He knew he royally fucked up.

“Please, don’t ever stop talking. I need it and I need you, okay?” he uttered so quietly that it was almost inaudible but you caught every word.

You clenched your teeth.

“Okay.”

Day 1866.

Birthdays were never a happy event in the apocalypse and you only kept track of them in order to know your own age.

Every birthday was nothing but another reminder of how much time you’ve spent trapped in this nightmare, and there was truly nothing either of you wished to celebrate.

However, this time you decided to make an exception. Five was turning eighteen and, despite the fact that your circumstances were far from perfect, it was a big day nevertheless.

To say you had limited resources would be saying nothing at all. No cake, no candles, no decorations, no anything to create an environment for having fun, and the only thing at your disposal was your contagious enthusiasm. It wasn’t much but it was surely something.

“Wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty,” you whispered into Five’s ear as you tapped on his shoulder, gently breaking him out of his sleep. He murmured something incoherent and placed his hand over his eyes, trying to escape the bright and intrusive daylight.

“Come on, I’ve made you a birthday breakfast,” which wasn’t at all different from any other breakfast but you believed a sprinkle of love that you so thoughtfully added was definitely going to make it taste a bit less like wet cardboard.

“We have plans for today,” you stated proudly as you were waiting for Five to get up. He glanced at you suspiciously, and you were quick to reassure him.

“You can do your clever math things till evening but after that we’re celebrating. There are two bottles of wine that you didn’t know about, and we’re going to drink them and dance. But not ball dance, properly drunk dance. No sadness allowed. Instructions clear?”

Five nodded, feeling a weary yet content and cheerful smile touch the corners of his lips.

Maybe, it wasn’t going to be a shit day, after all.

Day 2587.

“Come on, don’t you dare die on me, you idiot,” Five hissed after pressing his lips against your forehead and coming to a disturbing conclusion that your fever was only getting worse.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you laughed weakly as you looked up at him, and in less than a second a violent wave of nausea washed over your body and swallowed you whole, leaving you with very little chances to escape the overwhelming feeling. You’d been throwing up non-stop the entire day, and the severe dehydration you were suffering was becoming a genuine concern.

The two of you didn’t have the luxury of medicine, and most days you were doing just fine. This time, however, sleeping it off didn’t seem to be doing it for you, and Five was beginning to panic.

“Don’t say that,” Five said coldly, and you winced at the sudden change of mood, almost offended that he wasn’t trying to distract you from your mysterious illness with humor.

“I’m just worried about you,” he clarified as he noticed a gleam of sadness in your eyes.

It was absolutely killing him to see you like that - in pain, sick and exhausted, and he simply couldn’t afford to have “sad” on the list as well.

If there was one thing that Five despised more than anything else in this world, it would be helplessness, and now, as he was facing the invisible enemy that was threatening to take you away, he was feeling exactly that. Helpless. Useless.

You closed your eyes and tried to breathe through another urge to vomit, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth loudly, but the agonizing sensation didn’t seem to have any compassion or mercy for you.

“Okay, I can’t hold it back any longer,” you warned, and Five nodded in silent understanding.

He’d been sitting by your side and holding your hair all day, thoughtfully keeping it away from your face while you were restlessly puking your guts out, and, as you were doing so, not a single muscle on his face cringed in disgust. The only thing that was truly bothering him about this marathon of vomiting was how soon you were going to recover from it.

Thankfully, your immune system was strong enough to get you back on your feet without any external assistance, and you began to get better eventually. But even during your weeks of sickness there wasn’t a single day when you didn’t feel loved and cared for, and the precious moments of Five holding your hand during your feverish nightmares were going to be imprinted on your mind forever.

#five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #number five x you #five hargreeves x you #tua #The Umbrella Academy #number five #five hargreeves #my fic #my writing #tua fic #tua fanfic #Umbrella Academy #reader insert

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thatsamericano · 3 years

Text

Pink Sky up on the Roof

Pairing: America/Romano

Rating: Teen, only for cursing. No warnings.

Word Count: 1409

Summary: When the world meeting has a short break, Romano goes up to the roof to smoke a cigarette and watch the sunset. America joins him, and they have a meaningful conversation, just like they did the first time they sat on a roof together nearly a century ago.

A/N: Written for day 7 “sunrise/sunset” of @aphrarepairweek2021. The fic is loosely based on “It’s Nice to Have a Friend” by Taylor Swift, and the title is taken from the song too.

Romano sat on the roof of the building where the world conference was being held, and he leisurely smoked a cigarette and gazed down at the view of his people bustling along the Piazza del Popolo. The sky had turned into a warm palette of orange and pink, and he could see the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica in the distance.

A sudden noise made him turn to the left. He relaxed when he saw it was just America.

America grinned. “Hey, Vinny. Wasn’t expecting to see you up here.”

Savino turned to look back over the horizon and took a draw of his cigarette. “I needed a smoke break. You?”

He heard America’s footsteps scuffing along the concrete, then heard Alfred sitting down next to him on his left side. “I needed a break in general. I just checked my phone, and I’ve gotten 52 emails since lunch.”

“Fifty-two? That seems excessive.”

“Forty-eight of them were from various government officials.” America sighed. “They give me so much work, but most of the time it’s just paper pushing. They never let me do anything substantial, but then of course, they blame me the second anything goes wrong.”

It was rare to see America like this. Usually he projected so much optimism, especially about himself and his people, that one would never suspect he might feel cynical or disappointed with his own government. Alfred kept any sadness close to the vest, but Romano knew him better than most other nations did. They’d lived together, after all.

“You don’t deserve to be treated like that. Next time one of them blames you for shit that isn’t your fault, you ought to tell them to fuck off.”

Alfred laughed. “You know, sometimes I wish I could.” He scooted close enough to bump shoulders with Savino. “But thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

“Don’t mention it.” Savino forced himself to act casual, as if the fact that Fredo was technically touching him now wasn’t bringing to life feelings that should have died a long time ago. Or that, frankly, should have never existed in the first place.

A couple minutes of silence followed. Alfred seemed to be contemplating something deeply, and Savino was content to let him.

Suddenly, Alfred let out a laugh. “You know, this kind of reminds me of that time we hung out on a roof before. Do you remember? It was about a week after you moved in with me.”

Savino cast his mind back to an evening long ago on a different rooftop much closer to the ground, with only the view of an unfamiliar backyard instead of his home. He’d felt so lonely and lost back then. “I remember.”

“Before you told me what was going on with you, I just figured you hated me. It really surprised me when you shared all of that.”

“I needed someone to talk to,” he admitted quietly. He put out his cigarette and smirked over at Alfred. “And you asked me if I knew how to make Italian food.” Alfredo had said a lot of goofy things over the years, but that had to be by far one of the stupidest.

Alfred’s face now matched the pink sky. “But it worked, didn’t it? You realized you had more choices than you’d thought, and that all that stuff about you not being capable compared to your brother wasn’t true. In just one night, we went from you thinking I was an annoying jackass you had to live with to actually being friends.”

“You’re right. Asking me that did work, ridiculous as the question was.” Something had changed in him that night, and he had begun to see Alfred differently, just as Alfred had said. After that night, Romano slowly became comfortable being in America’s presence in a way he wasn’t with most people. Living together had worked so well that part of him regretted having to move away, and not just because of the sad look on Alfred’s face on the day he said goodbye.

But sitting next to Alfred posed a danger that scared him far more than falling off this building would. The longer he sat with America, talking about the past and the present, the harder it became to suppress the urge to grab America’s hand, which was resting a few precarious centimeters away from him. Yet holding Alfred’s hand would require an explanation Savino wasn’t prepared to give, and Savino was even less prepared for Alfred’s potential reaction to receiving any kind of romantic overture from him.

It was best for him to keep his feelings locked up inside, just as it had been for nearly a century.

Alfred swallowed so heavily that Savino could see his Adam’s apple move, then stared out at the city underneath them. “That night meant a lot to me. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I think part of it was that I just liked being close to you.”

“You must have, since you followed me out onto the roof,” Savino joked. He felt a little uneasy at the abrupt mood change. Why was Alfredo acting so nervous all of a sudden?

“I… I still like being close to you. Only, I think I’d like to be even closer, if that’s okay.”

America’s words were cryptic, and they didn’t make much sense at first. Romano frowned as he puzzled them over, but right as he was about to ask Alfred what the hell he was trying to say, he felt a touch, featherlight, and barely there. He glanced down and saw Alfred’s pinky hesitantly brushing the side of his hand.

A smile broke out on his face as he took Alfred’s hand. “It’s okay, Fredo.”

Alfred laced their fingers together, but he looked worried, as if he wasn’t sure if that was allowed. “It is?”

“Absolutely. If I didn’t want this, I would’ve told you, wouldn’t I?”

Alfred grinned in that so bright it almost hurt to look at way that Savino loved so much. “Oh, that’s good. I’m glad.”

His heart was hammering inside his chest, and just the idea of saying it made Savino feel incredibly vulnerable and embarrassed. But he would’ve regretted not saying it more, so he avoided direct eye contact just to get the words out of his mouth. “If, um, if you wanted to kiss me, that would be okay too.”

America’s smile somehow got even bigger as he started to lean in, and Romano closed his eyes.

Alfred tasted faintly of leftover soft drink, and his glasses were pressed into the corner of Savino’s eye. His kiss was clumsy, like he hadn’t ever done this before, but Savino didn’t mind. Alfred’s free hand was cupping his cheek, and when he pulled away, Savino couldn’t help whining in protest.

Alfred chuckled. “God, Vinny, I could look at you forever.”

Savino opened his eyes to squint at him skeptically. “Really? Even with all that gorgeous scenery right in front of you?” He gestured out to the view that Alfred was ignoring in favor of staring at him with an unbelievably sappy gleam in his eyes.

“Even then.”

America was so damn sincere that Romano just had to kiss him again. But only a couple seconds later, both of their cell phones went off.

Alfred pouted when Romano pulled away to check his phone messages. “It’s Germany. Apparently, the meeting was supposed to resume five minutes ago, and everyone is wondering where the fuck we are.”

“Can’t we just skip? Making out with you is way more important than whatever the rest of today’s presentations are.”

“I wish we could, but that would probably lead to too many questions we don’t want to answer. Not just from the other countries, but from our bosses too.”

“Fine. We’ll go be ‘responsible representatives.’ But you owe me lots of kisses after this meeting is done.”

Romano rolled his eyes as America stood up and helped pull him up too, but he was pleased that Alfred wanted this to continue. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you, tesoro.”

Alfred swung their hands back and forth as they walked to the door that led back into the building. He only let go for a couple seconds to open the door for both of them, then started holding Savino’s hand again with a firmness and certainty that made it clear he wouldn’t let anything or anyone pry them apart.

#hetalia #aphrarepairweek2021 #aphrarepairweek #romerica #hws america #hws romano #hws south italy #aph america #aph romano #aph south italy #hetalia fanfic #hetalia fanfiction #hws fanfic #hws fanfiction #aph fanfic #aph fanfiction #my writing #original post

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jeonsjiddies · 4 years

Text

and then came you | pjm (m)

summary - Jimin was having a harder time getting over his unrequited love than he’d like to admit. He was desperate to escape the longing in his chest; he was searching for something to make him feel alive again. Jimin was about to give up hope that he’d ever find anything meaningful to cling to again, and then came you.

rating- explicit 18+

word count- 7551

pairing- jimin x reader

genre- fluff, smut, angst

Warnings - a little angsty/ a little heartbreak at the beginning, some sexual harassment ( from an ex), mentions of cheating, thigh riding, ice play, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight dom!jimin, Oral (female receiving)

a/n - while this story can stand alone, it is based off the 8 letters AU, which can be found here. :) as usual, all the thanks in the world to @sweetnspicy93 for all your help and thank you for urging me to give 8 letters Jimin his own happy ending.

Jimin knew it was a bad idea, but he’d done it anyway. He would’ve done anything for the girl with the soft eyes and the bright smile, the girl who was now Namjoon’s. Jimin thought his crush was small enough that he’d be able to assist in making Namjoon jealous and walk away unscathed. At least she would be happy. That would be enough for Jimin. Or so he thought.

Jimin’s mind wandered back to the way she looked on top of him, grinding her hips into his. His cock stirred at the memory. Of course, it had all been a show, strategically designed to make her roommate and crush jealous. That didn’t stop Jimin’s heart from slipping a beat when her core ground down onto his member. It didn’t stop Jimin from melting when she’d giggled and covered her face to hide it. Jimin knew it wasn’t real, he’d laughed off his boner, but he let himself enjoy the feeling of her skin under his tongue, the soft noises he drew from her which he knew weren’t completely fake.

He felt empty, lost. Maybe he was being dramatic, but Jimin felt like he needed purpose. He’d feigned happiness when he saw her tucked into Namjoon’s loving embrace, congratulating the new couple as pieces of his heart chipped away and fell into the black hole of his chest. It seemed like his desire to do anything had faded away as quickly as his grasp on her. Now, he moped about his apartment, listening to the dull roar of the rain outside. It had been weeks since Namjoon had finally cracked and claimed her as his own, and Jimin was tired of feeling so… tired, dejected, lonely.

Jimin decided he needed a change of scenery. The messy apartment with the dingy walls he had been cooped up in for weeks wasn’t doing anything to help him, he needed a fresh start. He didn’t give himself time to think about it, only packed a bag and scurried out the door, through the pouring rain to his car. He didn’t have a real plan, just decided to hit the open road and let his gut guide him until he found a place to explore. He drove through the rain, letting his excitement seep through his bones as he made random turns and took unplanned exits to get to his unknown adventure.

Jimin drove for a few hours, deciding no matter where he went he wasn’t going to escape the dastardly rain. He took the next exit he saw, something in his chest guiding him towards the small town it led to. Near the exit he saw a sign illuminated promising a hotel room for only $35 a night. Jimin, having nothing to lose, pulled into the parking lot. Entering the building and shaking the rain from his dripping hair, he looked around to find the front lobby devoid of any life.

“Hello?” He called out.

You didn’t hear him enter the building and couldn't see anything past the stack of boxes you were balancing. He didn’t see you coming around the corner. You tripped over a flipped up rug and went tumbling forward, boxes flying out of your hands and landing haphazardly on the tile floor, contents spilling out and rolling in different directions. You would’ve splattered on the floor much like the contents of the boxes had it not been for the beautiful stranger who currently cradled you in his strong arms. Your palms were pressed flat against his chest, and you could feel the toned muscle under your fingertips. Your gaze traveled up his neck and face until your eyes locked with the deep brown pools of his. Though they were a dark color, they shone with the intensity of the sun, bright and vivid, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at. Your mouth hung open in shock for a moment at how gorgeous this man was before you came to your senses, stumbling back and out of his grip.

“I am so so sorry! Are you alright?” You questioned, skimming over his body for any obvious signs of injury. You sighed in relief when you found none.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” He wondered, eyes searching yours.

“Yes, thanks to you. Thank you. For catching me.” You giggled nervously.

“It’s not every day a beautiful girl throws herself into my arms. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” He winked playfully.

You blushed and looked down to hide it and squeaked in surprise, scrambling to collect the contents of the boxes. Jimin leaned down to help you, collecting items and tucking them safely in the box before lifting it and following you to the counter where the both of you set them down.

“Thank you, again.” you smiled, taking your place behind the desk. “Were you looking for a room?”

“Yes, please.” he grinned back at you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

Your eyes lingered on the action a little longer than was socially acceptable before you shook yourself back to reality and searched the old, worn down computer system for available rooms.

“Okay, I’ve got a double queen and a single king available. Which would you prefer? They’re both non-smoking rooms.” you smiled politely.

“The single king, it’s only me.” Jimin sighed, his sunshine filled eyes dimming a bit.

“Okay!” you tried not to show your concern, but selected the room and input your employee discount.

“How many nights?” you asked, glancing back up at him.

“Ummm…” he trailed off, looking away as he thought carefully. “Let’s go with seven. For now.”

“Okay, a one week stay…” your fingers tapped at the keys, and you rung up his total.

“Okay that will be $187.25. Cash or card?” you smiled sweetly.

“That doesn’t sound right… it’s for 7 nights right? $35 a night?” he confirmed.

“I, um, put my employee discount in for you…” you admitted shyly, avoiding his gaze. “It made it $25 a night, plus tax. We’re allowed to give the employee price to friends and family and I was thankful for your help.”

Jimin watched you for a moment, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he appraised you.

“Thank you. That’s… really sweet. Probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” his voice lowered at the end, as if that part was a secret.

“Well, you helped me. I helped you.” you shrugged, trying to play it off and hoping he wouldn’t notice the blaze in your cheeks.

Your hands brushed when he handed over his card and you audibly gasped at the shockwave that shot through you when his skin met yours. His mouth parted in shock as well and you both locked eyes for a moment. One heartbeat passed. Two. The only sound in the lobby was both of you sucking in shaky breaths.

You gulped, pulling your hand away and swiping his card through the reader. You handed it and a receipt back to him, careful not to touch him again and smiled the most professional smile you could muster. You reached behind you and pulled the corresponding keycard out of its slot and handed it over as well.

“Room 318. If you need anything, you can call me. The front desk number is 0. I’ll be here until 7am, but if you find that Mina is a little too… blunt?..for your taste, I’m actually right down the hall in 338.” you explained.

You weren’t sure why you told him that, you never offered that information to any other customers. Something about him just pulled you in. You wanted to protect him. You wanted to know what was going on in his mind, what could possibly be dimming those glittering eyes. You were enamoured by him, intrigued, fascinated really.

“Thank you for the heads up…” he trailed off, eyes scanning your shirt for a name badge.

“Y/N. And you?” you offered.

“Jimin.” he beamed at you, causing your heart to skip a beat for probably the 92nd time since you’d laid eyes on him.

“It’s very nice to meet you Jimin. I hope you enjoy your stay.” you told him sincerely.

“I think I will.” he winked, making his way down the hallway towards his room.

*** Jimin couldn’t sleep. He was used to tossing and turning and lying awake until the sun came up, he was no stranger to the way his mind whirled when the silence crept in. He kept himself busy during the day, but when the sun went down, the restlessness set in. Jimin hated the silence. He hated being alone. He glanced at the clock, it was midnight. He sighed and shoved himself out of bed, slipping on his shoes and making his way down to the coffee bar he’d spotted earlier.

He filled two cups, fixing one the way he liked it and leaving the other black, but grabbing a couple of cream and sugar packets to bring with him. He peered around the corner to see if you were busy before he entered the lobby. You were sat on a stool behind the desk, head leaning on your hand as you struggled to stay awake. Jimin smiled, turning the corner and setting the coffee in front of you.

“Looks like you might need this more than I do.” he grinned, taking a sip of his own. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it so I just brought the extras to you.”

“Oh my gosh. My hero.” you cooed, ripping open the sugar and creamers and dumping them in before taking a sip.

Your head lolled back blissfully and you moaned quietly. Jimin’s eyes widened at the unexpected lewd sound rolling off your pink lips and had to discreetly adjust himself before you noticed the way his sweats got a little tighter.

“You saved my life. How can I ever repay you?” you giggled.

“Keep me company? I can’t sleep.” he whined.

“I’m not going anywhere until 7. You’re welcome to hang out with me here.” you offered.

Jimin hopped up on the desk, swinging his legs back and forth as he peered down at you. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Where are you from?” you asked him.

“Just a few hours south of here.” he answered. “I couldn’t get far in the rain.”

“Oh, you aren’t to your destination yet? Why did you book seven days then?” you wondered aloud.

“I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I just wanted to leave for a while. I had nothing holding me there anymore, and I thought a change of scenery would be nice. So I just kinda went where I felt like going and ended up here.” he shrugged.

“Your grand adventure led you to our little town?” you laughed.

“It’s got it’s charms.” he smirked.

You bit your lip and looked down, willing the blush on your cheeks to chill out. Jimin chuckled, the vibrations of his body shaking your desk.

“So what do you plan on doing now that you’re here?” you asked.

“I don’t really have a plan. I just felt kind of suffocated and needed to get out of my dingy apartment and that stupid town.” he left off the part about how SHE was everywhere he went when he did venture outside his apartment, and how every time he saw her hand laced with Namjoons bile rose in his throat.

“Well, on behalf of our tiny town, welcome. I hope you find what you’re searching for.” you smiled.

Jimin stayed perched on your desk for hours, until the sun started streaming through the blinds in the lobby, filling the room with a soft glow. In your opinion, though, the light wafting through the space couldn’t dare compare to the light that came from Jimin. When his head was thrown back and his body shook and his smile reached from ear to ear while giggles and chuckles fell from his pillowy lips, Jimin shone brighter than the sun could ever hope to.

You both got more comfortable as the night went on, delving into deeper topics, more personal ones. You told each other stories, shared your hopes for the future, It honestly felt like you’d known him your whole life. The conversation flowed easily, there weren’t any awkward pauses or times when neither of you could fill the silence, unsure of what to say. It was easy with Jimin. Being around him made you feel lighter, less broken. Like the light inside of him was seeping out and filling you with hope too.

You could tell there was something on his mind, something plaguing him. Who else stays up talking to a hotel clerk until the wee hours of the morning? He was running from something when he left without a plan, but he didn’t offer much information on it. Despite the darkness that sometimes threatened to break through his cheery exterior, Jimin was just… bright. It was who he was, a part of him. He was warm, friendly, and welcoming.

Neither of you had realized the time until the front door of the lobby swung open and Mina shuffled through, her ever-present scowl plastered on her weathered face. She glared at Jimin the moment she saw him. His eyes widened in fear and he slipped his bottom off of the desk, backing away from it. You sent him a look that said ‘I told you so.’

“Shifts over. Go.” she grunted, pointing her disappointed gaze at you.

You nodded quietly, gathering your purse and walking over to Jimin, who was almost cowering in the corner. You nodded for him to follow you out of the lobby and only spoke once you were out of earshot.

“See what I mean?” you giggled.

“She’s terrifying.” he whisper-hissed.

“She’s old and everything hurts. I’d probably be mean if I had to work here at her age too.” you shrugged, “but yeah if you need anything come find me. She definitely didn’t like the way you were sitting on the desk.”

Jimin nodded, covering his mouth as he stifled a yawn. You laughed.

“Did I wear you out talking your ear off?” you teased.

“No, that was the most fun I’ve had in a while to be honest.” he chuckled.

“Happy to help.” you smiled shyly, pausing in front of his room with him.

He hovered by the door but made no move to go in. You didn’t make a move to leave either. You both laughed at how ridiculous you were being. You placed your hand on his arm.

“Goodnight Jimin, sleep well.”

Suddenly, Jimin pulled you towards him, his arms wrapping tightly around your frame, head resting in the crook of your neck. You melted into his embrace, allowing your arms to circle around his body as well.

“Thank you for keeping me company.” he quietly spoke, warm breath hitting your ear and making you shiver.

“Any time, Jimin.” you answered back just as quietly.

He pulled back and sent you a smile before he slipped inside his room. You slowly made your way back to yours, every inch of your skin tingling, relishing the way it felt to be held by him, even for just a moment. In the arms of his stranger was the first time you’d ever felt like you were home.

You and Jimin had developed a nightly routine. Each night, he’d show up around midnight and perch himself on your desk, gifting you a cup of coffee (which he tailored to your tastes now.) The two of you would talk and laugh and just enjoy each other’s presence throughout the night. Maybe you should’ve gotten bored spending so much time together but you never ran out of things to talk about.

It felt like he’d always been there and he always would be. Even Mina seemed to get used to seeing Jimin when she arrived. She wasn’t friendly but she’d stopped sending him evil looks, which was quite the compliment from her. You found yourself looking forward to work rather than dreading it. Your favorite part of each day was the time you got to spend with Jimin. On the 4th night of this routine, Jimin wrapped you up in your nightly hug. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t wait all night for this part, longing to be wrapped up in his embrace, however fleeting the moment may be.

That night, Jimin surprised you. When he pulled away from your hug you felt his pillowy soft lips rest upon your cheek in a chaste kiss. The moment was over before you had time to process what was happening and Jimin smiled innocently at you.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”

You stood frozen in place, letting your hand come up to touch your cheek where his lips had just been. His lips were so soft, so plush, and you longed to feel them against your own. Your cheek burned in the best way where the lingering heat from his lips stayed. You couldn’t stop the goofy smile from spreading across your face.

That was until you rounded the corner to get to your room and walked face first into the chest of the man you despised more than anything else. Your ex boyfriend, Stuart, loomed over your like a predator stalking it’s prey, using his large body mass to trap you against the wall. He reeked of alcohol and you rolled your eyes at the familiar scent.

“What are you doing here? Get off of me.” You hissed.

“Awww don’t sound so disappointed, Y/N. Don’t you miss me?” He cooed, one finger sliding it’s way up the side of your face.

“No.” You spit. “Get the fuck off of me.”

“Come on baby… don’t you want to have a little fun?” He smirked and your stomach threatened to release your midnight snack all over his button up shirt.

“Let me get one thing through your thick ass skull, I will NEVER touch you again. Do you understand?” You hissed through gritted teeth

“Don’t be like this. Just unlock the door. We can go in your room and play around like we used to. You used to like it when I showed up like this.”

“That was before I found out you were fucking half the town behind my back.” You threw back at him. “If you think I’ll ever get with you again you’re insane.”

“Quit playing hard to get and open the fucking door.” He growled.

“I believe she said no.”

Your gaze snapped to the voice that had just spoken, your eyes landing on Jimin, who was carrying his ice bucket. His eyes were swimming with concern for you but he stood tall and held his ground, refusing to be intimidated by the giant drunk moron who had you pinned to the wall.

“This isn’t any of your business. Fuck off.” Stuart hissed.

“Actually it kind of is. You’re sexually harassing my friend.” Jimin spoke evenly, keeping a calm persona.

“You know this clown?” Stuart asked you.

“Yeah. He’s my friend.” You shrugged.

“You little slut, you’re letting him hit it aren’t you? Bitching at me for having a little fun but you’ll bust it open for anyone huh?” Stuart goaded you.

“Well Stuart, I don’t really think that’s any of your business.” You growled.

“If you’ll put out for him you better put out for me.” He hissed.

Jimin’s fist connected with Stuart’s jaw before you could reply or react. Stuart stumbled back in surprise and Jimin took the opportunity to grab your hand and sprint down the hallway with you in tow. A roar of rage sounded from behind the two of you which only fueled your legs to move faster. Nearing a T in the hallway, you made a split second decision to shove Jimin into the supply closet and shut the door.

Stuart wasn’t smart enough, especially while drunk, to think of that as an option and you strained your ears to listen as his footsteps clomped past the storage closet, pausing before retreating down the hallway. You let out a sigh of relief, looking up to meet Jimin’s gaze. It was then that you realized how close you were. Your noses almost touching, you could feel his ragged breaths against your skin. You told yourself it was from the running.

“Are you okay?” He whispered.

“Yes, thanks to you. You keep rescuing me.” You grinned.

“Well, call me Prince Charming then.” He laughed quietly. “Do you think he’s gone?”

“I’m not sure. We should probably wait it out.” You sighed.

“Why don’t you call the police?” Jimin wondered.

“His dads the sheriff. He won’t do anything.” You huffed.

Jimin shifted, trying to maneuver around you to set down the ice bucket he was holding. He opted to place it on the floor, bending down to set it beside the two of you. He misjudged the space between your bodies as he stood up, stumbling forward a little, his face ended up in your cleavage, his lips brushing against your cloth covered nipple. He froze in shock, unable to peel himself from your breast. His breath circled your nub, damp and warm. You let out a breathy moan at the feeling and your eyes immediately widened in panic.

Jimin straightened his posture, eyes locked on yours and lips parted in amazement. Neither of you spoke or dared to move. You could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly, brushing against your own each time in the cramped space. Jimin could feel his cock stirring to attention in his sweats and decided it was time to check if the coast was clear. He cleared his throat and opened the closet door, slipping his head out and checking both directions.

“I don’t see him anymore.” Jimin told you quietly.

You nodded and followed him towards your room. You paused in front of his, shaking with anxiety when he looked at you in confusion.

“Jimin… I’m scared. Can I… can I stay with you? I’m worried he’s going to come back and I-“ you rambled bit Jimin put you out of your misery.

“Of course, come on.” He unlocked the door and ushered you inside.

You followed him inside, thanking him quietly and following him like a lost puppy to the middle of the room.

“Make yourself comfortable. Do you want me to turn on a movie?” He asked. “Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“I’m okay, but I won’t turn down the movie.” You smiled gratefully.

Jimin flipped on the tv and sat at the opposite side of the bed, careful to give you room and made sure he was under the covers so you couldn’t see his semi. You got under the blankets too, but still shivered in the cold of his room.

“Are you still cold? I don’t think I have a clean sweater…” he thought out loud, wracking his brain for ideas.

“It’s fine! I’ll warm up soon.” You assured him.

Things shifted back to normal for the most part, but there was a lingering tension in the air neither of you were willing to talk about. You fell into easy conversation about the movie, giggling and poking fun at the plot holes together. You continued to shiver despite your best efforts not to show how cold you were. Jimin sighed.

“Come here.” He instructed.

“Hmm?” You questioned.

“Come over here and let me warm you up, you’re making me feel bad.” Jimin motioned for you to join him on his side of the bed.

“Really I’m fine-“ you began but the look on Jimin’s face had you obeying his command in an instant, crawling your way over to him and snuggling up beside him as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled the blanket up to cover you both, trapping the heat of both of your bodies.

The hotel mattress was lumpy and uneven, but you’d never been more comfortable in your life. Jimin’s arm wrapped around your shoulder so it wasn’t sandwiched between the two of you and you molded yourself against his side even closer. Your bodies fit perfectly together and it made your heart beat faster than normal. You only hoped Jimin couldn’t hear it. When the movie ended, Jimin switched off the tv and laid down. You followed suit, pressing your body up against his and resting your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest.

“Tell me something I don’t already know about you.” you requested, voice soft in an attempt not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

“What haven’t I told you yet?” Jimin chuckles to himself.

“What’s the real reason you’re here?” you pondered, bracing yourself for him to close himself off.

Jimin sighed, and you were about to apologize and change the subject when he nodded, glancing over at you.

“Actually, I was kind of running away. I had this friend, and I liked her but she liked her roommate. He likes her too but wasn’t doing anything about it, so we fake dated to make him jealous. I know it’s immature but he needed a push. I wanted her to be happy but didn’t realize how I’d feel seeing them together all the time. It’s actually kind of nice, I haven’t thought about her in days.” Jimin explained.

“I’m sorry Jimin. You’re a wonderful guy and you deserve someone who appreciates you.” You told him, eyes searching his face.

“Thank you.” He scrunched his nose up in that cute way that made your heart clench. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

You wracked your brain for information you hadn’t already provided to Jimin during your nightly talks. You noticed then that Jimin was shifting beside you, growing antsy with the vulnerability of the conversation, you assumed. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you threw out the first thing you could think of.

“Hmmm… I can touch my nose with my tongue.” you lied with the best straight face you could muster.

“No way. Show me.” Jimin laughed, turning to watch you.

You stuck your tongue out and tried your hardest to push it far enough to touch the tip of your nose, but failed miserably. You refused to give up and kept trying, making silly faces while attempting to reach. Jimin couldn’t control the laughter bubbling from deep in his belly at your ridiculous antics.

His smile reached both ears, and Jimin watched you make a fool of yourself, realizing that he hadn’t felt so light and carefree in the longest time, even before the incident with Namjoon and his new girlfriend. Something about being near you just made Jimin turn into a version of himself that he actually liked. Being around you made him feel like it might actually be okay.

The two of you shared hushed whispers for a while, Jimin absentmindedly drawing shapes on the soft flesh of your hand that rest on his chest. The whispers died down and you were left with the quiet humming of the air conditioning kicking on and off periodically and the sound of Jimin’s even breathing. You lifted your head to see if he was asleep and watched his chest move with each inhale. You allowed yourself to study his features up close. You couldn’t help yourself, reaching out and letting your fingers brush against the skin of his jaw, a featherlight touch in the hopes of not waking him.

Jimin stirred slightly and you held your breath, ceasing all body movements. You watched his eyes flutter before stilling. He snuggled farther into the blanket and sighed happily. You waited a few moments before returning to your exploration. Your fingers danced lightly towards his lips, letting yourself marvel at how full and soft they were. Your thumb brushed against the tender flesh, and Jimin’s tongue darted out to wet them. You removed your fingers from his warm, now wet mouth.

His eyelashes fanned across his cheeks delicately, and you gently ran a finger along them, watching them flutter under your touch. You sighed, completely in awe of how beautiful the man next to you truly was. He was painfully attractive, that was a given. But he was also smart, funny, kind, open. You found yourself idly wondering how anyone could pass him up, but you were honestly not upset that she had. It was a stupid daydream, you knew that. There was no way he was into you. But you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining what it might be like to show Jimin the kind of love he’d been missing, the kind he was so clearly desperate to find.

If anyone deserved to feel raw, unconditional love, you had no doubt that Jimin did. He was so sweet and friendly and had so much love to give in return. You wanted to watch those eyes light up, see how brightly he could shine when properly adored. You wanted to be that for him. He shuffled in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath and his arms reached out, seeking your warmth. He brought you flush against him, enveloping you in his warm embrace. You smiled to yourself and carded your fingers through his silky hair.

You let yourself melt into his hold, feeling welcome and needed and wanted. You began fading in and out of consciousness, the comfort and safety of having Jimin so close putting your mind at ease. You fell asleep to the sound of his strong, steady heartbeat, which sounded a lot like your new favorite song.

You woke up before Jimin, the sunlight finding its way through the thin curtain that covered the large window of his hotel room. You blinked a few times and tried to sit up, but Jimin’s arms instinctively wrapped around you tighter, holding you in place against his firm body. You grinned, snuggling back into his embrace and pressing yourself up against him. That’s when you felt something hard pressing against your backside. You experimentally wiggled your hips against Jimin’s, wondering if it was what you thought it was. His sleepy moan and the friction against your bottom proved your suspicions correct.

Your eyes widened and you bit your lip as arousal pooled in between your legs. Jimin’s rock hard cock pressed against your backside made your head spin. You attempted to remove yourself from his grasp but that only made him hug you closer, effectively pressing his erection against you more. You whimpered quietly, torn between not disturbing Jimin and relieving the ache between your thighs. You pushed your bottom farther into him, hoping to gain a little friction. Suddenly, his hand gripped down on your hip, stilling your movements.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, his morning voice raspy and deep.

“I...uh….” you gulped, heat flooding to your cheeks at having been caught grinding against him.

You tried to flee, but Jimin’s firm grip on your hip didn’t lessen, his fingers dug into your skin deliciously.

“It looks like you were grinding your pretty little ass on my cock.” He purred, his hand sliding from your hip to grasp the fleshy globe of your bottom, giving it a rough squeeze.

“Ah, fuck.” You squeaked out at his possessive actions, you leaned into his touch and brought a chuckle from him.

“Hmmmm… you like that?” He chuckled, “you like when I touch you?”

“Yes.” You gasped as his hands traveled farther up to cup your breast, giving it a light squeeze.

“So needy. Why don’t you do something about it?” He prodded.

Your brain was fuzzy, you weren’t even registering his words. You didn’t think about what you were doing, you just let your body take control as you turned around then swung a leg over his lap and straddled him. Jimin’s words died in his throat and his mouth hung open in shock. You didn’t let yourself think or slow down, knowing you’d chicken out if you did. You pressed your lips to his in a needy kiss, which he reciprocated after he processed that it was happening.

His hands found purchase in your hair, tugging gently as his tongue explored your mouth. You moaned into his mouth when his free hand pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers. You began to grind your hips down onto his, delighting in the way his cock felt dragging up and down your clothed folds. Jimin groaned, letting his head fall back and hit the headboard with a quiet thud before he lifted it and grabbed your hips, holding them still.

“Wait, wait.” he panted.

“What’s wrong?” your hips stilled, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

“It’s uh, been a while, and if you do that I’m going to cum in my pants.” he admitted sheepishly.

You bit your lip to hide your giggle when an idea flashed in your mind. You moved your hips so you were straddling his thigh rather than his crotch. You began to rock your hips again and Jimin’s eyes darkened as he stared at the spot where your sex met his thigh.

“Holy shit, you look so sexy right now…” he hummed thoughtfully, his hands coming to rest on your hips again only to grind you down harder on his toned muscle.

The arousal pooling between your legs was soaking through your clothing, and you were certain Jimin would feel it soaking his flimsy sweats soon. You whimpered at the friction on your clit and when Jimin tensed his thigh it sent a wave of pleasure through you.

His fingers found the edge of your shirt and he glanced at your face to make sure it was okay. When you nodded, he lifted it off of your frame and tossed it aside. He licked his lips as he surveyed your skimpy bra. His lips attached themselves to the tops of your breast while his hands slipped behind you to unclasp the fabric preventing him from seeing all of your upper half. The bra fell off your shoulders and Jimin whisked it away, taking a moment to admire your breasts.

“I think I might have died if I didn’t get a chance to have a proper taste of these.” he hummed, eyes flicking up to yours as a smirk graced his lips.

“Fuck, Jimin.” You whimpered pathetically as electricity shot to your core.

Almost immediately, his lips were on your nipples.His soft, plump lips sucked at your sensitive nub, his teeth gently scraping along the flesh. Your movements on his thigh stuttered, your mind going blank at the shivers coursing through you. His tongue darted out and swirled around your nipple, before he moved his delicious assault to the other breast. This time, he bit down, pulling the nub between his teeth. You yelped, arching your body closer to him as the sinfully pleasurable pain raced through your veins.

Jimin smirked against your skin, biting and soothing it with the flat of his tongue afterwards. He blew cold air against the red marks on your breasts, and you shivered. Your hips picked up speed the closer you got to letting go and Jimin sensed you were near your high. His fingers dipped past the waistband of your pants and panties, and he began rubbing your clit harshly, until you were just about to fly off the edge, then he ripped his hand away and held you still.

“What the fuck?!” you whined.

“You don’t cum until I say you do.” he growled, “you were a very bad girl, rubbing up against me and teasing me, using me for your own pleasure. So fucking sexy.”

You whined, trying to rock your hips against him once more, but Jimin was stronger than you. He grabbed your waist and flipped you over so he was hovering above you. The tips of his fingers teasing at your waistband. Your breath caught in your throat, the palpable tension growing thicker with each passing moment. He quickly discarded his own shirt, giving you the most glorious view of his toned chest and stomach.

You made no attempt to disguise the way you ogled him. You licked your lips seductively as your eyes raked over his body, drinking him in. You reached up to let your hands rake down his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his abs and brushing over his nipples on the way down. His body jerked and you smiled to yourself. Your perusal of his body came to rest at the elastic in his sweats.

“Someone’s eager.” Jimin quipped.

“Someone might not be so eager if she’d been allowed to cum.” you huffed, tugging the sweats and boxers down in one smooth motion.

Jimin laughed, standing up and kicking the clothing off of his body before crawling back onto the bed.

“Mouthy little slut. Don’t you know only good girls get to cum?” he shot back, pressing you flat against the mattress and kissing down your neck.

You squirmed under his touch while he worked his way down your body, stopping just above your aching sex. He placed a soft kiss to your clothed folds, making your body react and arch closer, seeking relief. He chuckled to himself and shed you of any remaining clothing. The contrast of the cool air meeting your aching heat caused a shiver to rip through your body. Something lit up in Jimin’s eyes and he removed himself from the bed and walked over to the mini fridge, opening the freezer compartment. You watched curiously as he returned with the small ice bucket he’d filled before finding you last night.

“Feeling thirsty?” you joked.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, shooting you a half-smile before taking an icecube and running it over your already hard nipple. You cried out, the stark contrast of his warm hands with the freezing cold of the icecube was divine. You watched as it slowly melted, water droplets rolling off your body and falling onto the bed.

“Jimin…” you whimpered.

“Mmm?” he smirked, repeating the action on the other breast.

Your back arched, seeking more from the man above you. He was playing you like an instrument, and he knew all the right notes. You were putty in his hands, and he knew it. It stroked his ego more than you would’ve cared for but at this point you would’ve done anything to get some attention on your sodden pussy.

Jimin popped an icecube in his mouth and moved up to kiss you. It rolled around between your tongues until it melted between your combined heat. Jimin kissed the tip of your nose before moving his face down between your legs. He pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and the coldness from the icecube that he’d just had in his mouth stunned you. He left your clit to tease along your folds, letting his tongue dart experimentally inside your heat.

You groaned,writhing underneath his ministrations. He flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit quickly, building the heat in your belly as he moved. He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them and hitting that delicious spot with every pump. He paused for a moment, and suddenly there was something very cold and very wet pressing against your walls.

You gasped, the ice pressing against you as Jimin moved it in and out with his tongue. The melting liquid joined your slick and spilled out of your hole while Jimin flicked his tongue, and the remaining ice against that spot that drove you wild. Once the ice was gone, and you were panting enough for Jimin’s liking, he doubled down on his efforts, tongue pressing against your walls and fingers working beside it while his other hand worked your clit in small, deliberate circles.

Jimin pulled away abruptly, and you nearly began crying as another orgasm slipped away.You groaned in frustration, reaching down to play with your own clit but Jimin caught your wrists and clicked his tongue.

“Nuh uh, darling. What did I say? You don’t cum unless I tell you to.” he purred, licking a bold stripe along the veins in your wrist, which was strangely erotic. “I want you to beg for it.”

“What?” you hissed.

“Beg me to cum. Beg for my cock.” he smirked.

You sighed audibly, and Jimin just watched you, the smirk still pasted on his stupidly handsome face.

“Please…” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what was that darling?” Jimin chuckled. “I can’t hear you.”

“Please fuck me, Jimin. I need to cum. Please!” you whined, all of your pride flying out the window as your pussy clenched around nothing.

“That’s my good girl.” he cooed.

“Please hurry.” you whined.

“Shit. I don’t… I don’t have a condom.” Jimin realized out loud, shoulders slumping.

“I have an IUD and I’m clean.” you panted, fingers wrapping around his neck and bringing him to meet your lips. “Are you?”

“I’m clean,” he assured.

“Then fuck me.” you whispered, nibbling on his ear.

Jimin wasted no time obliging your request. He lined himself up with your entrance and slid in smoothly, aided by your dripping arousal, courtesy of your two denied orgasms and the skills of his tongue. Jimin bottomed out, both of you emitting a low groan. Jimin wasn’t super long, but his girth more than made up for it, as well as his ability to move his hips in the most delectable ways. He filled you up perfectly, hitting spots inside you that you were unaware even existed.

“Jimin.” you moaned, clawing at his back as he thrust in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

“Say it again.” he whispered, hips picking up speed.

“Jimin.” you repeated.

“Louder.” he growled, snapping his hips in and out of you with vigor.

“Fuck! Jimin!” you cried.

Jimin pounded in and out of you, causing your body to bounce with each movement of his hips. He loved the way your breasts bounced and the way you bit down harshly on your lip, overwhelmed with pleasure. His head fell into your neck as he pistoned his hips against yours, one hand sneaking between your joined bodies to expertly rub at your clit. You could no longer form a coherent sentence,gibberish falling from your lips as the familiar fire built deep inside you.

“Jimin.” you warned, your cunt clenching around him.

“Are you gonna cum for me? Cum all over my cock? Do it, baby. Cum for me.” he coaxed.

His teeth sinking into your neck was the last push you needed before you were careening off the edge. Your body trembled at the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced in your life. White dots clouded your vision and you screamed so loud your throat felt raw. Jimin came soon after you, working you both through your shared euphoria. His thrusts slowed and he stilled inside you, breathing as heavy as your own.

“Holy shit.” he groaned, and you could feel his muscles shaking just as much as your own.

He pulled out of you, watching in awe as his cum seeped out of your beaten hole. He slid a finger along your folds, gathering his seed and bringing it up to your lips. You obediently opened your mouth, wrapping your tongue around his fingers and sucking them clean, the taste of your own slick combined with his cum coating your tongue. Jimin shivered at the sight.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” he sighed breathlessly.

He stood up, walking into the bathroom to dampen a towel with warm water and bring it back to the bed, gently cleaning you up. You bit your lip, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze. He made his way back into the bed, snuggling up next to you and pulling you into his arms. He watched your expressions and you watched him. You both giggled nervously.

“Do you maybe… want to go out sometime?” he asked, teeth raking over his bottom lip nervously.

“I’d like that.” you giggled, hiding your face in his chest.

You both lay there in comfortable silence, holding each other while your breathing returned to normal. You nodded off, spent from the activities of the morning, and it was Jimin’s turn to watch your peaceful face as you slept. His eyes trailed over your features, adoration and a tinge of something more filling him. True, Jimin had arrived in this small town running away from something. He was searching for something to make him feel anything but the jealousy and pain that had settled deep in his chest. Jimin felt like he was running toward something now, a possibility of the two of you. He knew he wasn’t “fixed”, but he felt good with you, whole with you.

Jimin knew both of you had a lot of learning to do, and a long way to go and a long way to grow, but he couldn’t stop the excitement bubbling in his chest because for the first time in what seemed like forever, Jimin was happy. Truly, unabashedly happy. He’d started this journey of his running. He thought he’d never recover from the darkness that had taken him over. He thought he’d never find joy again. Jimin had gone desperately searching for something to give him hope.

And then came you.

#bts #bts smut #park jimin #park jimin smut #jimin #jimin smut #jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin imagine #jimin one shot #park jimin imagine #park jimin one shot

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apriorisea · 4 years

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What do you think each of the boys top “love languages” are? (Acts of service, words of affirmation, etc)? You write so well, love ur blog 💛

-- Hi!! Thank you so much for your sweet words^^ That’s so nice of you. Also, wow, this is such a great question!!! I love thinking about how to categorize personalities, so I really enjoyed pondering this for a while 🤔😅Eventually I just went with what made the most sense to me, but undoubtedly these opinions could change over time. And, of course, these are just *my* thoughts, so I’d really love to hear from everyone whether they agree or disagree and why~ Thanks again and I hope you are having a great day/night 💜💕

BANGTAN LOVE LANGUAGES

Seokjin: Quality Time -I think you could make a strong argument that he is also “words of affirmation,” especially given how much he courts praise (worldwide handsome, my handsome face, yes I’m handsome, etc etc), but.....I would also say that exact reason is why it’s not his love language. I think his personality is such that if it were his true love language, he wouldn’t be so bold about asking for it or encouraging it. So....for me, the thing that really makes sense for Mr. Worldwide Handsome himself is quality time. Of the 7 of them, Jin had the most opportunity to experience a “normal life.” He was already a college student by the time he was recruited, so I have always felt that, for him, the magnitude of their fame and the ways it changed his life has been a little bittersweet. No matter how grateful he is for his life and proud of his work and happy to be what he is, I can’t help but feel that he mourns the loss of that normalcy in a deeper way than the others. Therefore, I think it truly means the most to him when he is able to spend free, unbothered, private, and significant time with people he cares about. The ability to set down the title of “BTS’ Jin” for just a moment and be relaxed in company where he feels completely comfortable and cared for and normal is a dream situation for him.

Yoongi: Physical Touch -So Yoongi is, in my opinion, the most empathetic member of the group---the one who is always silently watching, listening, observing, and then handling whatever comes up. He is painfully aware of the needs of every person around him and doesn’t hesitate to step up and fill those needs where he can, and if he can’t do it alone, he helps the person find the solution elsewhere. Because of this, I think he’s very well versed in giving love in the form of words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time, and even occasionally giving gifts. However, I think the way he craves affection is through physical touch. Words of affirmation is a close second to me, but I think, genuinely, when he is as in-tune to the emotions and needs of others sometimes he just needs someone to hold his hand. I also think that, for him, physical touch and quality time kind of come hand-in-hand (no pun intended): his idea of being loved is sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with someone who loves him for a long period of time. Someone who will cuddle him and hold his hand and hug him when he’s tired and stressed, when he can’t sleep at night, when he is too overwhelmed to even work. Being in a loving, comfortable environment to him means being in one where puppy-piles on the couch aren’t unheard of, where it’s not strange to bustle around the kitchen bumping into each other, and where a touch on the arm is as commonplace as a smile.

Hoseok: Acts of Service -J-Hope is the toughest one for me, for reasons that I can’t quite explain. I think he plays such an important role in the group that has so many nuances I can’t really pin any one love language on him---except, for some reason, the one that sticks out the most to me is acts of service. For someone who has, by his own admission, worked very hard to cultivate and embody a particular persona (one that is happy and carefree and positive), I can see him being really moved by having someone quietly do things for him that make his life easier. Making him a meal after a hard rehearsal, unpacking his things for him after a long tour, doing the dishes or taking out the trash so he doesn’t have to worry about it, etc etc. Doing the hard or tedious or daunting things for him so he has a chance to just relax, to put down the persona for just a moment and be babied a little.

Namjoon: Words of Affirmation -Words mean the most to Namjoon. He has intentionally surrounded himself with words his whole life: lyrics, languages, poetry, literature. He probably also enjoys an act of service or an odd hour or two doing something Namjoony (museums, nature, etc) with someone he loves, but I think, when it comes right down to it, Namjoon communicates most and best with words. However, while others need words to praise them or acknowledge them, sometimes I think Namjoon simply craves conversation that stimulates his incredibly high level of intelligence. Sometimes, he just needs someone with whom he can discuss his deepest thoughts, opinions, philosophies, ideas, fears---and who will then affirm everything he has said; not necessarily agree, but just affirm that his thoughts are valid and interesting and provoking, to vibe with him on a similar level. Also, I think he really appreciates being told that his music, his actions, his life has had a positive impact on others. And, of course, I think he, who was mocked early on for his appearance, really thrills at being complimented for things beyond just his intellect and talent.

Jimin: Receiving Gifts -I know, I know: the cuddle monster of BTS is surely a “physical touch” person, right?? And if not that, then certainly the highly self-critical, sensitive, classically trained performer would surely crave “words of affirmation” the most, right?? ..........I won’t actually argue much against either of those, because I think Jimin, more than the rest of them, could probably easily fall into multiple categories. Does he love cuddling/hugging/physical closeness? Absolutely. Does he adore receiving praise or affirmation? Definitely. But here’s what I think about Jimin: he is one of the most empathetic people in the group. He’s caring, he’s observant---he’s completely willing to do whatever it takes to make the people around him KNOW they are loved. He’s intuitive and highly aware of the needs of others and acts on that intuition in a pretty selfless way. Because of this, I think it means a LOT to him when someone takes the time to buy or acquire something that he either needs or wants. It’s a sign that someone else has been listening or watching him as closely as he listens to and watches others. I think he is the sort of person who appreciates gifts (especially random ones) because it shows that the other person saw something that reminded them of him, totally at random or totally unprompted. (but yes, also physical touch and words of affirmation)

Taehyung: Words of Affirmation -Honestly, he is the only one I feel most certain about. Taehyung needs to be told that he is doing well; more than that, he needs to be listened to. Some could argue that being listened to is more “quality time” (and I wouldn’t necessarily disagree) but I feel like hearing the right words and being able to comfortably say the right words to someone who is paying close attention are extremely similar. Taehyung seems to live off the praise of those who mean the most to him. Whenever he learns a new skill (painting, composing, ‘playing’ the violin) he wants to show the world: he wants to be told he has done well. He also very much dislikes being ignored or forgotten or spoken over---all very normal things to be irritated about, but they really seem to dig at him. I could get into a whole discourse about why I think this is (his position in the group, his history within the group, his particular personality etc etc), but for now I’ll just leave it with this: Taehyung is the sort of person who loves to cuddle, loves to receive thoughtful gifts, and enjoys spending time with those he loves---but what he needs most is to hear good things about himself and his accomplishments, to be reassured, to be recognized, and to be heard.

Jungkook: Quality Time -Here’s my thinking: as the baby of the group, as the precious maknae that was raised by these 6 other men, Jungkook received (and still receives and will continue to receive) all the physical touch (cuddling, hugs, hand-holding, playing with his hair, etc etc) and words of affirmation ( “golden maknae”, he’s the coolest, everything he does is great, so handsome, talented, etc etc) a person could ever possibly want. He’s literally never lacked those things; he has ALWAYS had at least 6 other people to snuggle him and praise him (nevermind the millions of ARMY that would kill to do the same 😂). At the opposite end of the same stick, since he is the youngest I don’t think receiving gifts is anything new or special to him; plus he seems very much the sort of person who RELISHES his ability to provide for himself (see: his fancy car, apartment, etc). He’s also been raised in an environment where things are done for him as a matter of course, so acts of service doesn’t seem to fit either. Therefore, I think one thing that means the most to him is quality time. Actually, quite similar to his hyung-nim and best buddy Jin, I think he also genuinely craves any opportunity to spend quiet, private, meaningful time with those he cares about (although for an opposite reason: Jin aches for a life he used to have, Jungkook yearns for a life he never had a chance to experience). This is also why I think he’s always very vocal about how much he loves and misses ARMY: the time spent at concerts/performances is quality time to him, an opportunity to spend time with some of the people he loves the most.

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

Text

[It’s a bit late but here’s a quick oneshot for JGY&JZX’s birthday]

[Masterpost of my other writing]

Jin Guangyao’s hands are fighting hard to twitch in barely-restrained frustration.

It’s been a long week leading up to tonight, and tonight has been unending. He makes a tired mental note to start the next banquet at least two hours earlier than this one in an attempt to ensure it won’t end the following morning, but he already knows all that will accomplish is a banquet that’s two hours longer.

He straightens out of the bow he’d just offered to the last Sect Leader departing the hall to return to the guest quarters and turns away from the temptation of the path that leads to the private residences to instead return inside. The servants who had stayed awake through the night to tend to the guests have already been dismissed, but those who will clean the hall first thing this morning haven’t yet arrived to receive their assignments, so he sits down to wait in the silence.

It echoes in the too-large space, his breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric the only sounds that break it. He knows he should feel satisfied, accomplished. The banquet had, for once, gone without a hitch. Even Jin Guangshan hadn’t found anything to complain about once he was deeply enough in his cups, which was a victory in and of itself. No one had embarrassed themselves or their family too badly, and certainly not in ways that couldn’t be explained away with the expensive alcohol that Jin Guangyao had liberally plied them all with.

The only feeling he can muster, though, is ‘tired’. He’s tired. All he can think of is his bed with a sort of longing he usually reserves for Lan Xichen when he allows himself to indulge in wishing for him. He can practically feel the soft caress of it, the covers silky smooth against his skin and his pillow soft under his head. It would be so easy to sink into it and close his eyes, embrace unconsciousness for a precious pair of hours before he’ll have to be up and tending to whatever will be needed from him next.

He’s roused from his half-asleep daydreaming about his bed by the arrival of the morning’s servants and he stands, brushing himself off and painting his smile back onto his aching lips as he gives them their tasks as politely as he can, with ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s falling from his lips far more often than they should. But none of the gentry are around to hear him, and the servants appreciate his understanding of their job, so he just lets it happen. And then, mercifully, he can leave the hall. He leaves at a sedate pace because it’s the only pace he’s capable of maintaining. He holds his posture correctly because he will never feel relaxed enough in Jinlintai not to.

Approaching the door to his chambers at long last, he finds that for the first time in his life he’s dismayed to see Lan Xichen.

“Er-ge,” he greets, fatigue feathering the edges of the call. “Are you alright?”

“A-Yao.” Lan Xichen is already smiling as he turns to face him but it fades quickly into concern as they go through their usual dance - he starts a bow, Lan Xichen puts his hand under his arms to stop him and offers him that smile that Jin Guangyao would move mountains for. “Have you slept yet?” he asks as they drop their hands, lingering as long in the embrace as possible before they part, as is their wont.

“Was there something I could help you with, er-ge?” Jin Guangyao replies smoothly, pointedly not answering the question. Even as exhausted as he is if there’s one person in the world he would set it aside for without question, it’s Lan Xichen.

“Nothing urgent, I merely wanted to see you before the day truly begins. I feel I rarely get a chance to speak with you properly and this seemed the best opportunity.”

Jin Guangyao smiles softly, the smile that’s only for Lan Xichen, as he reaches out to open the door to his chambers and gesture for Lan Xichen to enter. “It is true that I will be busy for the remainder of the day after breakfast has been delivered to everyone. I will be ensuring that those guests who wish to leave may do so easily and that those who wish to stay will have everything they need to be comfortable. This is the best time to discuss anything you would like to with me.”

He follows Lan Xichen into the room and thinks longingly of combining his two greatest desires - truly the only thing better than falling into his bed would be falling into his bed which already also contains Lan Xichen - but he remains outwardly calm and poised as he settles in to begin preparing tea for the both of them. His hands tremble ever so slightly on the teapot but it doesn’t affect his pouring so he lets it slide.

It takes much more effort to keep his attention on the conversation than he’s used to expending when talking with Lan Xichen. Normally, of course, he has no trouble whatsoever devoting himself entirely to his companion when they’re in the same space and it’s everyone else that must work extra hard to earn the pleasure of his attention, which he still only gives them when it becomes absolutely necessary no matter how hard they try.

Today, however, the familiar cadences of Lan Xichen’s soothing tones are threatening to put him straight to sleep and he struggles to think of anything meaningful to add to their conversation. It is, thankfully, a relatively light one, nothing but small talk and some gentle flirtations. They’ve done this too many times to count by now, which is what saves him. The back-and-forth of it is familiar enough that he can manage to fumble his way through it gracefully enough to pass muster, to avoid alerting Lan Xichen to his condition.

They’re just discussing what the pair of them may do together during his next visit to Cloud Recesses when there’s a knock at the door and Jin Guangyao’s stomach sinks. He offers Lan Xichen an apologetic smile as he rises and crosses to the door, opening it to find a servant waiting, her head already bowed too low to see her face.

“Lianfang-Zun,” she greets softly, “this one is here to remind Lianfang-Zun at his request that it is time to prepare to bid farewell to those guests who are taking their leave.”

“Yes, thank you. You may return to your duties,” he replies with a smile. Always with a smile. The young woman bows and backs away, and Jin Guangyao must stand staring at the spot where she had been for a moment too long because Lan Xichen comes to stand behind him, radiating concern.

“A-Yao? Are you alright?”

“Of course,” he smiles. Keep smiling. “My apologies, er-ge, but I must return to my duties for the day.”

“Of course,” Lan Xichen parrots, still looking at him with that searching gaze. “May I return this evening?”

“I will be returning after supper, you are always welcome to join me er-ge.”

“Alright,” Lan Xichen agrees quietly, and there’s still a note of suspicion in his voice but he departs without further questioning or any fanfare. Jin Guangyao allows himself the space of three deep, slow breaths to close his eyes and pretend like that’s enough rest before he rallies to change his clothes and leave his rooms again to begin another long day of duties.

By the time he returns to his rooms in the evening - after leaving the evening meal the moment it was socially acceptable to do so but long before it was truly over - he feels hardly more alive than a fierce corpse. The stress of the preceding week and the lack of rest drag heavily at every possible part of him as he walks slowly. He hopes he simply looks sedate, composed, and/or relaxed rather than the truth, which is that he fears if he moves too quickly he’ll just pass out right there in the walkway. He rounds the corner at long last to come to the front of his own pavilion and squints a bit at the figure waiting by his door, forcing his blurry eyes to focus.

“Er-ge,” he greets, abruptly remembering that he had told Lan Xichen he could return. He’d forgotten amongst trying to accomplish everything else on his list while also trying to keep his exhaustion from negatively affecting his performance. “Would you like to come in for tea?”

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen replies and he sounds disapproving - why does he sound disapproving? Jin Guangyao frantically rifles through his mental to-do lists for the day, trying to remember if there was something he was supposed to do for the other but hadn’t done, or if any of the things he had done could be blamed for the censure in his voice.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t slept.”

Ah.

“That is correct,” he sighs, because lying to Lan Xichen is something he will only do under absolute dire duress, he’s made that promise to himself many a time already and he’s not about to let a bit of sleep deprivation make him break his word. “Would you like to come in for tea?”

“Would I - A-Yao,” Lan Xichen returns, now sounding thoroughly scandalized. “You haven’t slept in two days and yet you still wish to ask me inside for tea?”

“I do not wish to be a poor host,” he replies rather matter-of-factly, punctuating the assertion with a sudden buckling of his knees that would have turned him into a boneless heap on the ground if not for Lan Xichen’s arms around him.

----

Jin Guangyao wakes slowly to a thoroughly unfamiliar sensation. He wants to wake up faster, to figure out just what the hell is going on, but his mind is uncomfortably sluggish, dipping in and out of uncomfortable dreams and a half-wakefulness that is somehow more disorienting than the eerie kaleidoscope of his dreams. He refuses to let the confusion of his own mind drag him back under, though, because the confusion of what’s happening physically is much more pressing.

There’s a gentle touch on his temple for a brief moment before it’s gone again, and then it returns in precisely the same spot. The touch is slow, rhythmic, and too firm to be the brush of an errant lock of hair against his skin, or a breath. It must be another person, though, because he’s not moving, and whatever is touching him must be being manipulated by someone or something else to move so fluidly. He’s at a loss to figure out what it is and he quickly grows frustrated with trying when his eyes won’t cooperate and just open so he can see what’s happening.

“Shh, you’re alright,” a voice murmurs at his side and that, at least, he recognizes. Lan Xichen.

They don’t often speak of those weeks they’d been on the run from the Wen, but Jin Guangyao will never in this life forget the way it made him feel to wake from nightmares only to hear Lan Xichen soothing him like this. He turns his head a bit towards that familiar voice and he just knows that Lan Xichen is smiling, can tell simply by the rustle of his robes, by the way the bed dips ever so slightly under the readjusted weight of his arm on the mattress. The touch on his temple leaves only for a fingertip to brush against his eyelids next, gentle sweeps across the thin skin of first one and then the other, and ah, there they are. Now that he knows where his eyes are and what they feel like to be touched he can force them open. It takes a monumental effort, but at least they’re open.

Once he’s pretty sure his eyes are going to stay open it takes another long moment for them to focus, but when they do he finds Lan Xichen sitting on the ground next to his bed facing him, his nearer arm resting on top of the covers at his side so he can resume gently stroking his temple with the back of his index finger. Mystery solved.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen sighs softly, soft reproach and tenderness suffusing his voice in equal measure. “What am I to do with you, hm?”

“Does Lan-gege not wish to hold his A-Yao?” he teases, his voice crackling and raspy with exhaustion in his throat. It might ruin the flirtatious effect a bit but he refuses to acknowledge it.

“I do, as frequently as A-Yao will allow. But these circumstances are a bit less than ideal, don’t you think?”

“If one does not wish to play the hero and catch fainting lovers every once in a while one should specify such preferences before it becomes necessary.”

That, at least, earns him a chuckle even as Lan Xichen tips his head back to close his eyes for a moment and sigh.

“Perhaps I am biased but I, personally, do not think a birthday banquet for your brother is worth working yourself to collapse,” Lan Xichen murmurs once he’s looking at him again, finger still moving hypnotically against his temple. “It was splendid, everything was accomplished to perfection, but I do not think it was worth your health like this.”

Jin Guangyao sighs at that and forces himself to stop staring at Lan Xichen to instead look up unseeingly towards the ceiling overhead. Lan Xichen leans in to press a kiss to his temple in place of the stroking of his finger before he straightens again. He’s waiting - Jin Guangyao can feel the expectation in his silence. He even knows what he’s waiting for, he just doesn’t know if he’s prepared to give it to him.

“I needed to meet my father’s expectations,” he finally supplies. A truth, but not the one he knows will properly answer Lan Xichen’s unasked question.

“His demands come with too high a price, then.” A long, weighty pause and then, because it’s Lan Xichen, he somehow knows precisely what to ask to get to the heart of the matter. “Will such expenses be spared for yours?”

“For my what?” Jin Guangyao replies numbly, playing dumb to earn himself a few more seconds.

“A-Yao.”

“A-Yao is tired, Lan-gege must ask his questions some other time,” he replies stubbornly. “There is entirely too much talking and not enough kissing happening at the moment for my liking.”

“A-Yao must tell Lan-gege what this one can do to spoil him just as richly when the appropriate day arrives,” Lan Xichen hums into a kiss to his cheek. Jin Guangyao turns his head from it but Lan Xichen only dips down to press his lips to the jump of his pulse just under his ear, undeterred in his gentle affections by the sudden souring of Jin Guangyao’s mood.

“Nothing,” he replies, too short, but Lan Xichen is, as ever, entirely too patient for his own good.

“Nothing, hm? Is it because we don’t have enough time to prepare? I’m sure I can find something lavish to treat you to even on short notice. When is it, A-Yao? In a month? Two?”

“Yesterday.”

Lan Xichen’s lips freeze on his neck and Jin Guangyao takes the opportunity to turn onto his opposite side, putting his back to Lan Xichen and his kindness that makes him ache in ways both good and bad.

“So I suppose you have plenty of time to prepare. Nearly a full year, you’re only short a day,” he adds without turning when Lan Xichen says nothing else.

“You...planned and executed a massive celebration for your brother on the birthday that you..share?”

“Per my father’s instructions, yes. I’m tired, er-ge, must we discuss this now?”

Lan Xichen, to his credit, says nothing. There’s really nothing to say, is the thing, and despite all the small talk the two of them often indulge in, Lan Xichen is not actually given to say unnecessary things. Anything casual they discuss is because they both delight in conversation and that gives the pleasantries their meaning. But here, now, with nothing to say that could help the situation and only things that could drive the thorn further into his pride, Lan Xichen is quiet even as he stands and slips onto the bed behind him.

This is familiar, at least. The sting of rejection that he hasn’t yet turned into fuel for his ambitions is burning in his chest but Lan Xichen is already laying himself behind him, holding him to his chest and stroking his hair as he nuzzles in close. Ever since he had first allowed Lan Xichen close to him like this that morning on the run this has apparently been Lan Xichen’s favorite way to hold him. He tangles their legs together and curls the arm pinned beneath them around Jin Guangyao’s chest, hand splayed over where his heart beats steadily in his chest as he uses the other hand to brush his hair back from his face with gentle passes of his palm. He pauses in his caressing only to lean forward and kiss his temple, his cheek, the curve of his ear, the back of his neck, resuming the slow passes of his hand as soon as he’s done for the moment.

“You should go back to sleep, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen whispers after the worst of the tension has bled out of Jin Guangyao’s muscles to be replaced with trembling exhaustion. “I will be here, I have already told the healer that I will tend to you until you wake feeling that you have recovered, whenever that will be. Rest.”

“I have things to do tomorrow,” Jin Guangyao sighs without an ounce of fight in him.

“If grown men cannot tend to themselves for a single day in a place as thoroughly staffed with servants as Jinlintai then they should not be trusted to run their Sects,” Lan Xichen replies implacably, his tone almost mild enough to hide the glint of steel beneath the surface. Almost. “I daresay they can request their own meals and entertainments for a day while you sleep.”

“My father-”

“Is in another drunken stupor,” Lan Xichen interrupts, a shocking amount of disdain (for him) laced through his voice now; he’s not even trying to hide it. Jin Guangyao sort of loves him for it. “When he is sober enough to hear it the healer will explain your condition should he attempt to send for you. Rest.”

Jin Guangyao knows he should protest, he should tell him that Jin Guangshan will only accuse him of being weak if he doesn’t fulfil his duties, no matter how tired he is. But Lan Xichen is like a furnace against his back, warm and soothing, the rhythm of his breathing and his heartbeat slow and easy and already lulling him to sleep. The hand in his hair is unnecessary but so comforting that Jin Guangyao nearly cries with it. He chooses to close his burning eyes instead, and he drops off to sleep almost immediately.

#The untamed fanfic #Xiyao #Lan Xichen #Jin Guangyao #Meng Yao #I'm bouncing back and forth between writing a few extra scenes for the fixit AU but this scene wouldn't leave my head #so i'm flinging it out into the world in the hopes that i'll help me write something else haha

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