#mountain crush monday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

minisugakoobies · 5 months

Text

Hideaway | KHJ

Pairing: Hongjoong x Gender Neutral Reader (AFAB) Genre: smut, crack, strangers to lovers, Frat Bro!AU Rating: M (18+) Warnings: smoking/edibles, stoner!hongjoong agenda, woosan side pairing, oral fixation (as in the author reader is obsessed with joong's mouth), to be fair it's a very filthy mouth, dry humping, biting/marking, tit pinching/sucking, fingering, hongjoong goes downtown & eats it like a vulture, aka cunnilingus, wet & messy, cum eating, a tiny bit of exhibitionism, accidental voyeurism Word Count: 7.1K Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: When your friend keeps dragging you to frat parties, all you want to do is find a place to hide and get high. You definitely don't expect to meet a man with a devilish smile and an even more wicked tongue.

A/N: Hello I'm back with more Ateez! This one's a very self-indulgent fic about getting high with Hongjoong. It all stemmed from discussions with @kiestrokes about what a gorgeous mouth Joong has 🥴 Lokie, I hope you enjoy what you've wrought 😜💕

Unbeta'd as usual. Like this fic? Want me to keep writing Ateez? Please let me know!

ATZ Masterlist 🍃 Main Masterlist

One hour. That’s all San asked of you. Go to a party with him for one hour, because his crush was going to be there, and he needed your support. As his best friend and roommate, how could you say no?

Two hours into the party, you’re wishing you’d put your foot down. You’re worn out from art studio this week, where it had been your turn to face group critique. Honestly, after that experience, you really don’t want to be around other people for a while. You long to crash on your couch with a stash of junk food and video games and not move until class on Monday. Instead, you’re holding up a wall in a frat house, watching your best friend dance with Wooyoung, the Alpha Tau Zeta brother who’d caught San’s eye.

You’re happy for San, truly, but a bit surprised at how quickly things escalated from “OMG he’s so cute, do you think he’d dance with me?” to Wooyoung climbing your friend like the mountain he is. San looks completely lovestruck as the other man wraps his arms around his shoulders, and you sigh, resigned to your fate.

San had promised that you’d leave together, saying he’d treat you to your favorite waffles at your favorite diner after the party, and you’d agreed, but now that means you’re stuck here for god knows how much longer. You could find him and tell him you changed your mind and you’re gonna go. He’d say okay, but he’d say it with that pout of his, and as long as you’ve known San, that pout has owned your weak ass, so there’s really no point. You’ll just wait.

However, hovering like a third wheel isn’t your idea of a good time, so you decide to find somewhere else to hang out. The room is packed with couples grinding, and you weave around them carefully, trying to avoid the beer sloshing about as a girl beside you really puts her back into it. The kitchen is just as cramped as the living room, a beer pong match taking up most of the space, so you keep wandering, until you come to the foyer, where there’s a staircase to the second floor. Wanting to put as much distance between yourself and the loud music, you start to climb.

It’s much less crowded upstairs. There are a few people scattered along the hallway, talking in small groups, or heading into the bedrooms, all of which have closed doors. You’re a little afraid of what you might walk in on if you open one, so you keep moving, hoping to find a quiet spot to sit and hide.

Instead, as you round a corner, you come to a dead end. But to your left, there’s a window that’s cracked ajar, night breeze just teasing you with enticing coolness after the rank humidity of the dance floor. You press your palms to the glass, peeking out. It looks like the window opens onto the roof of the back porch.

Gently, you lift the sash until you can stick your head out. The roof is flat, not sloped. It’s fairly dark, with only the moon above and the string lights crisscrossing the yard providing a pale glow. And, most blessedly, it is devoid of other people.

As quickly as you can, you shimmy out the window.

The backyard is dotted with kiddie pools still full of jello from the last wrestling tournament. In between the pools, the ground is a squishy mess of colorful gelatin and disgusting mud, which means that there are very few partygoers outside right now, besides a handful that you can hear beneath you, hanging out on the porch. But they can’t see you, so you can live with that.

Settling with your back pressed to the brick wall, you take a deep breath, relaxing. Even though it’s so late in the fall that the weather is already flirting with winter, it’s a nice night to be outside. The air is crisp, but you’re plenty warm in your sweater and jeans, toes tapping idly inside your boots. The moon plays hide and seek behind some passing clouds while you observe contentedly.

“No one’s supposed to be out here.”

“Fuck!” You jump, so surprised to hear someone address you. The voice came from the shadows of the opposite corner of the roof, where another window mirrors the one you came through.

There’s a short burst of laughter, and then someone leans into the light.

Reddish-orange hair hangs over a dark brow, above eyes scrunched nearly closed in glee, further expressed by a full bottom lip twisting upwards in a smirk. As you will your racing heart to ease off, a guy you’ve never seen before carefully steps across the roof. He’s wearing an oversized t-shirt over a long-sleeved striped shirt and jeans. His shirt doesn’t have any letters on it, but he must be a brother here if he’s trying to tell you what to do.

He’s almost unfairly gorgeous, this stranger who scared you nearly to death, and he’s laughing at you.

You attempt to recover your cool, leaning back against the wall again. “I didn’t see a sign.”

“It’s kind of unsaid.”

“Well, it kind of needs to be said,” you shoot back a little snappily, annoyed that your peace has been shattered. “You’re out here, too, you know.”

“I live here.”

“So that’s fine, then?”

He grins, a wicked thing that has your neck flaming with sudden heat, and slides further out of the darkness, until he’s about an arms-length away. “Ok if I sit here?”

“I mean, if unspoken rules don’t stop you, what’s me literally saying ‘no’ gonna do?”

Another quick ratatat of laughter. “You’re funny.” He drops down beside you, tipping his head back to rest against the wall.

You don’t say anything to his comment, waiting for him to say something else. Like explain why he’s out here or who he is to tell you where you can’t be or anything. A minute passes, then another. You hear the people on the porch heading back into the party and then there’s only the dull thumping of the music inside and the sound of the crickets chirping in the yard.

You wonder if you should say something to the stranger, maybe explain why you’re out here, but he seems pretty content to sit quietly, and if he’s happy to remain silent, so are you. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to actually kick you off the roof, so you release the tension in your shoulders, inhaling deeply again, and match his pose, staring up at the sky.

The wind stirs, brushing your cheek with gentle fingers.

“Not into parties?”

You glance over when he finally speaks. His profile is striking - sharp jawline, straight nose with just the slightest upturn. It makes you wish you had your sketchbook with you. He’d make a lovely model right now, pretty face lit by the soft luminescence of the moon.

“It’s not that. Just been a long week. I was planning on a quiet night in. But my roommate had other ideas.”

“And now you’re stuck here, waiting for them?”

You nod. The stranger hums.

“Yeah, I can sympathize. Kinda hard to have a quiet night here, like… all the time.”

It’s your turn to hum. “But… did you not know what you were signing up for when you joined a fraternity?”

He laughs again. You’re starting to really like the sound. “Do I need to remind you that you’re not supposed to be out here?”

“Do I need to remind you?”

“Fair.”

Another comfortable silence. This is your type of stranger - one who respects the sanctity of quiet moments. After a few more minutes, you decide, fuck it, and reach into your crossbody, pulling out your vape pen. You’re not going to get high high while you wait for San, not the way you had planned to do if you were at home melding with the couch, but you can at least take the edge off.

But before you do, you hold the pen out to the stranger. “Want a hit?”

He raises an eyebrow, nods.

Your gaze lingers maybe a few seconds too long as his lips wrap around the mouthpiece, drawing the smoke into his lungs and holding it there for a few seconds. He hands the pen back with an exhaled thanks.

You take your turn, tipping your face up to momentarily blot out the stars with smoke. The light cherry flavor hangs on your tongue while you hand the pen back over without asking. The stranger takes another lungful.

“So… do you have a name?”

“Of course I do,” you reply. Dumb questions get dumb answers. “Do you?”

His lips curl into a bright smile. “I do.”

Another pass. You check your phone, just to make sure San hasn’t sent you any messages. He hasn’t. He’s probably affixed to Wooyoung’s gorgeous face by now.

“Hongjoong,” the stranger says after another inhale. “I’m Hongjoong.”

“Nice to meet you, Hongjoong. Thanks for not throwing me off your roof.”

“Thanks for the tokes.”

He grins at you again, full teeth, and you can’t help but beam back. He really is rather cute -

“Hongjoong! Are you out here again?”

One of the brothers you’d seen playing pong earlier has his head out the window behind Hongjoong.

“Yeah, I’m here. What’s up, ‘Hwa?”

The other man looks past Hongjoong, squinting into the darkness. “Is someone out there with you? You know no one’s suppo-”

“Seonghwa. What do you need?” Hongjoong’s tone shifts, becoming a little authoritative.

“You better get in here. Mingi’s trying to get everyone to go streaking again.”

“So?” Your pen is still in Hongjoong’s hand, heading to his lips as he takes another puff. “He’s always trying to do that. No one ever agrees.”

“So, I guess he thought the best way to convince everyone was by going first. He’s currently doing naked laps around the beer pong table.” Seonghwa frowns. “It’s really throwing off my game.”

Hongjoong sighs, an exceptionally weary sound. Rising to his feet, he brushes off his jeans. “I better go put a stop to that.” He glances down at you. “If anyone tries to kick you off here, just tell them I said you have my permission.”

“And I need that?”

The smirk returns. And then he has the audacity to wink. Before you can catch your breath, he’s climbing back through the window.

Silence envelops you again. You lift your pen to your lips one more time before tucking it away.

The minutes tick by.

When the clouds drifting across the stars start to look like tantalizing wisps of cotton candy, seemingly close enough that you could reach out and grab some, your stomach lets out a growl. Maybe you should go grab San away and tell him it’s time to bounce. You’ve done your time. There’s a perfectly golden waffle just waiting for you to drown with syrup at the diner.

Besides, you can’t wait out here all night for cute boys who may or may not return. As much as you might want to.

“Again?”

Two weeks have come and gone since San dragged you to ATZ. And now here he is, knocking on your bedroom door and giving you his best puppy dog eyes as he informs you that Wooyoung’s invited him to another party tonight.

“Do you really need me to go? I thought you guys were hitting it off.” The two of them had been exchanging texts like crazy, and had gone on a date last weekend. You hadn’t seen your best friend this giddy in ages.

“We are. He’s amazing,” San sighs, a faraway look in his eyes. “But I need you there so I have a reason to leave. I don’t want him to think I’m easy.”

You try, you really, really do, but you can’t stop the laughter that bursts out of you. San has proudly called himself a slut on more than one occasion. In the three years you’ve been besties, you’ve never known him to deny himself some dick.

“Stop laughing!” San puffs his bottom lip. “I’m serious. I really like him, and I want to take it slow.”

“That’s so sweet,” you coo, pinching his cheeks. He ducks his head with a tiny “aish,” but you know he’s not mad. “But why can’t you just make up a reason not to stay?”

The pout returns. “Because he’s hot and I’m weak. Please, help me out?”

Sighing, you cross your arms. He’s not the only one without a backbone. “Maybe. What’s in it for me?”

“I knew you’d ask that.” With a grin, he holds out a small ziploc baggie. “Here.” He tosses it your way.

It’s a brownie. You grin. “Oh honey, you baked!”

San returns your smile. “The batch came out a bit stronger than usual, so that’s why it’s just a little square. Half of that is probably enough for you. But if you go with me tonight, I’ll let you have the rest of the pan.”

And just like that, you find yourself at another party packed full of people. This time, the beer pong table has been replaced with a giant ice luge, with coeds lining up to take their turns slurping jungle juice off the frozen display. You give the luge a wide berth, not wanting the sticky liquid to splash the boots you’re wearing. All the seats in the living room are occupied, and dancers are taking up all the open space left, so again you head upstairs.

Unlike the last time you were here, the roof does not provide you an escape, thanks to the chilly autumn rain that simply won’t let up tonight. It’s like the universe doesn’t want you pulling a Houdini this time. At least you have your brownie with you. You just need to find somewhere to enjoy it while you wait for San.

The doors to all the rooms on the second floor are closed, so you keep moving, climbing up to the third floor. No one’s in the hallway up here, and there’s a room with the door wide open, so you peek your head in.

Rows of books line shelves built into the two of the walls, The third has a fireplace, unlit, with photos of the fraternity brothers hanging above the mantle. There’s a rather nice overstuffed couch and a pair of high-backed chairs facing the fireplace.

“These frat boys live like kings,” you murmur to yourself, creeping forward to examine the portraits. Your eye is immediately drawn to one in particular, a redheaded man with a bright smile, whose photo bears the title “President.”

“I’m having the strangest sense of déjà vu,” a voice suddenly declares.

Whirling, you find the same man watching you from the doorway. Tonight, he’s wearing a white shirt decorated with big red hearts, unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and a pair of tight jeans. And that sexy smirk of his.

You frown, clutching your racing heart. “Do you enjoy sneaking up on people like that?”

“Only when they’re somewhere they shouldn’t be.” Hongjoong taps a sign on the door, which declares in extremely big, bold font: ATZ ONLY - KEEP OUT. “It’s clearly stated that this room is off limits. So what’s your excuse tonight?” Though his words are sharp, the gleam in his eye is playful.

Your lips twitch. “That sign probably would’ve worked better if the door had been closed.” You give him an appraising look. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs making sure your brothers keep their clothes on or whatever?”

While he huffs in amusement, you wander over to one of the walls of books, running your fingers along their spines. They’re all labeled with a year. Grabbing last year’s, you let it fall open to a random page of photos. Wow, some of the brothers appear to be really allergic to shirts -

Hongjoong snatches the album from your hands, closing it with a snap. “That’s private,” he informs you, slipping the book back into its slot. “And don’t try to change the subject. No one’s allowed in here but myself and my brothers. So come on.” He jerks his head towards the door.

“Counteroffer,” you say, producing your brownie from your bag.

Hongjoong pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “What is that?”

“A brownie.”

His eyes narrow a little. “Would you say there’s anything special about that brownie?”

You nod. Hongjoong glances out into the hallway. Then he closes the door.

“You’re awfully easy to bribe,” you inform him as the two of you settle on the couch, you in one corner, him taking the spot next to you. Carefully, you pull the brownie apart, handing him half.

“Don’t tell anyone. Can’t have my reputation getting ruined.” He holds his half up. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you giggle, tapping your half against his before taking a bite.

Hongjoong devours his brownie in mere seconds. A bit of chocolate clings to his lower lip, his tongue flicking out to capture it, and you force yourself to focus on the remainder of your half, so you’re not just sitting there staring openly at his pretty mouth, as much as you’d like to.

“So, is this your thing? Going to parties just to hide and get high?”

“Ha, no. Not normally. But my roommate keeps insisting that I come with him.”

“And where is your roommate now?”

You snort, licking crumbs from your fingertips. “Probably suctioned to Wooyoung’s face.”

Hongjoong laughs. “Ah, you’re friends with San? He seems like a great guy, from what Woo’s told us.”

“Woo talks about him?” You can’t wait to tell San. You can hear his bashful giggles now.

“Yeah. He won’t shut up about him, actually. It’s nice, but it’s also annoying as fuck.” Hongjoong winces. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be so blunt.”

“No, it’s fine, I get it. I love San, but I can only take so much puppy love before I get nauseous.”

“Exactly.” Hongjoong grins. He sinks down further into the couch, legs spreading open as he gets more comfortable.

The two of you are quiet for a moment, long enough for your brain to start asking questions. Is he planning on staying here with you? You’d kinda figured he’d eat the brownie and then go. Shouldn’t he be down at the party, if he’s the president of the frat?

“You know, you don’t have to babysit me. I’m not gonna do anything in here but melt into the couch for a little while.”

Hongjoong shrugs. His left hand plays in the rip above the knee in his jeans. “It’s not that I’m afraid you’re gonna do something. It’s just…” he trails off for a few seconds, lost in thought. “I’m not in a party mood tonight. You might not have been trying to hide, but I was.”

“Oh. Shit. Do you - would you rather that I leave, so you can be alone?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, you can stay. If you want to. I don’t mind your company.”

“Oh,” you say again, in surprise. Something flutters in your chest when he looks at you. “Okay.”

Hongjoong’s fingers return to the tear in his jeans, picking at the strings. “So… do I get to learn your name tonight?”

Oh, right. You’d never actually introduced yourself on the roof.

He peers at you, clearly waiting for your answer, and the flutter gets stronger. What is it about his gaze that makes you want to tease him?

“I don’t know,” you sigh, tilting your head as you look at him. “Have you earned it?”

His eyebrow quirks slightly. “Didn’t know I had to.”

You merely shrug, biting back a grin. He focuses on the wall opposite the couch, mulling over your words, while you sit beside him, primly arranging your skirt over your tights-covered thighs. The couch is ridiculously cushy and you’re already starting to relax into it.

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll just go downstairs and find San,” he says after a moment.

“That’s cheating!”

“Oh, does that upset the rule breaker?” He clutches his chest in mock horror, grinning when you laugh. “Excuse the fuck out of me.”

“I’m not a rule breaker. I just…” you falter for an explanation.

“Don’t care for parties and prefer pot over people.”

Hongjoong cracks up at the face you make in response to his too correct reading of you.

“You’re doing a terrible job of earning my name, just for your information,” you sniff, but when he laughs harder, bumping his shoulder into yours, you cave, giggling. He doesn’t move away when the laughter tapers off.

You make a little small talk. The usual stuff - what’s your major, where are you from, etc. He’s a music production major and apparently spends all his time in the studio, on the opposite side of campus from where your art studio is located. No wonder you’ve never seen him around before.

Eventually the room falls silent again. If it weren’t for the thumping coming through the floor, you could almost forget there are other people in the house. You let your eyes fall shut for a moment, ears straining to make out the music drifting from the first floor. It’s only the drums and bass that you can catch, something pulsating and rhythmic. Hypnotic, lulling you further into relaxation.

That’s when you feel it. That telltale body buzz that starts in your feet and spreads all over. Your thoughts become a little floaty, each one drifting away before you can really grasp them, and you turn to Hongjoong.

“I think I found the drugs,” you giggle.

Hongjoong lets out a single “ha” from deep in his chest, and then he hums. You let your head fall back against the couch and close your eyes.

“Oh shit, there they are,” you hear Hongjoong say, with another laugh, and you start to giggle again, and when you look at him, he’s watching you, and you wonder what it would be like to kiss him right now, with his face so close to yours. His lips look very kissable, meant to be nibbled and sucked. You long to, biting your own lip as you fantasize about his taste.

Hongjoong sighs. “Damn, I feel good. Thank you. You’re officially my favorite trespasser.”

“Is that a long list?”

His grin widens. “Longer than you’d think.” His eyelids lower a little as he leans closer. The air feels like it’s heating up around you now. Your skin tingles from your high, and it only increases when Hongjoong’s fingers cup your chin. “Can I kiss you?”

“Why?” is what flies out of your mouth in surprise, even though you’re dying to feel his lips on yours.

“Because I like kissing pretty people when I’m high.”

Heat pools in your belly, and you shift on the couch, reaching for him. As your fingers twist in his shirt, your mouths connect. It’s a slow, wet kiss, tongues warm against each other, rolling over and around. Messy, but neither of you care, both lost in the sensation.

When his arms wrap around your back, you slip into his lap, straddling his thighs. His head tilts up to greedily chase your mouth, and you tug his bottom lip with your teeth, shivering at the way he groans. His fingers dig into your shoulder blades as he pulls you down on top of him, so there’s no distance between you, just clothing and heat between you.

Hongjoong nudges your face with his, getting you to turn your head so he can nibble on your earlobe. His hands fondle your ass beneath your skirt, grabbing and pinching the ample flesh through your tights, while his mouth ripples down your cheek and neck, covering your skin in soft kisses, before finding your lips again.

It’s been too long since you’ve made out with someone like this. The last few people you kissed with all treated it like an annoying chore, something perfunctory that had to be performed in order to get what they really wanted. Hongjoong holds you like you’re something to be slowly explored, something to be savored, not just used.

“Feeling good?” He leans back for a second, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he peers at you. His face is flushed, lips darkened from your nipping, and the rather fucked out sight of him has you clutching at his shoulders, desperately pulling his mouth back onto yours.

“So good,” you moan when you come up for air, rolling your hips. He feels so amazing underneath you, hard cock bulging obscenely in his jeans, that you can’t help yourself, humping away mindlessly while you kiss, whining slightly when you can’t quite find the right angle to ease the aching in your clit.

Hongjoong laughs into your mouth, fingers sliding up to grab your hips. “Slow it down, baby,” he whispers, pressing more kisses along your jawline. With his strong grip, he takes control, guiding you back and forth, slower, but more forcefully, his own hips moving to grind himself up into you. “‘M not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Your whole body shudders at his words. With another pitiful whimper, you snake your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers into his hair as your mouth dives for his again.

Take your time. If he insists. With his encouragement, you lose yourself in the languorous pace he’s set, soaking panties rubbing on the rough denim below, friction building, a wave that never crests, just rolls on and on. You know you could do this for hours, make out and dry hump like this, without coming. It takes you much longer to come when you’re stoned, but the orgasms are so intense that it’s always worth it.

Your fingers brush over his neck and he shudders beneath you. Intrigued, you lower your mouth to his collarbones, picking a spot exposed by his open shirt, and gently bite down. He groans brokenly, hips jerking upwards, and you lick at the same spot a few times, lazy, slow strokes, before sucking, painting his skin with a love mark.

“Fuck,” he hisses, bucking again, with renewed urgency. Giggling, you sign your work with a light nuzzle before he grabs your chin, frantically bringing your face to his for more kisses, wet and filthy and so sensual that you feel like you’re nearly going feral with desire.

“Hongjoong,” you whine, needing more of him, greedy hands lacing into his hair. Your sense of touch is so heightened right now that the strands feel like silk wrapping around your fingertips.

As you moan again, Hongjoong’s hand travels to your neck, fingers playing there, curling and uncurling. “When you say my name like that, you know what it makes me wanna do?”

“Wha-what?” Your thighs are starting to get damp, covered in slickness from the sound of his husky voice. You grind down harder, gasping in pleasure when he meets your movements with a powerful thrust of his own.

“Sit you on my cock and fuck you stupid.” He bites his lip, looking down at your chest as it jiggles under your sweater. “Let you ride it. Could you do that for me? Ride it real good?”

“Fuck yes!” There’s no hesitation in your answer. It’s all you want right now, to feel him all over you and inside you. Yes, of course you’d be so good for him, because you know he’d be good to you. Even though you’ve only really just met him, you feel it in your soul.

“I bet you would. Ride it like a fuckin’ champ. Make it bouncy.” His right hand squeezes your ass, making you squeal into his kiss.

A dreamlike haze hangs over everything now. You stare open-mouthed while his left hand fondles your breast over your sweater. Then he tugs your top up and your bra down, far enough for the cool air to kiss your exposed skin. His deft fingers pinch your nipple sharply for a few painfully pleasurable seconds before his hot tongue replaces them, and your drug-and-lust-addled brain wonders dumbly for a moment who let out such a shameless mewl before you recognize that it was you.

Time stretches in that surreal way that it does when you’re high, making every minute feel like an eternity. Hongjoong laves his tongue over your other nipple, sucking the pert bud into his mouth, and you keen, head lolling back while pleasure ripples through you. His tongue is magic. You bet he gives good head. You hope you find out.

Unfortunately, though, while you’re wondering what his mouth would feel like on your cunt, time has not actually stopped, and there is still a party going on. Which you are rudely reminded of when it suddenly spills over into the room, popping the little bubble that you and Hongjoong have been hiding in.

“Don’t worry, no one’s ever in- oh, shit!”

A loud curse draws your attention away from Hongjoong’s tongue and to the tall brother standing in the doorway, frozen like a deer. There’s a cute coed holding his hand, peeking around him to see what made him yell.

“Yunho, what the fuck, man?” Hongjoong groans, a scowl twisting his kiss-swollen lips. “Get out!”

You’re moving sluggishly, brain lagging with arousal and what you’re recognizing is a lot of THC for such a small brownie, but Hongjoong seems to have more of his wits about him, as he carefully lets go of your sweater so you’re covered again. He doesn’t try to slide you from his lap, just places his hands on your waist to keep you steady.

Tall guy’s sputtering now. “I-I’m sorry, the door wasn’t locked, and - “

“It’s fine, Yun, just go, all right?” Hongjoong glances at you. “You okay?”

If you were sober, you’d probably be horrifically embarrassed to be caught tits-out. Might even run for the door so you could go home and hide for the rest of the weekend or month or year. But between the brownie and the man currently checking in with you, you’re feeling too good right now to really give a shit what anyone else thinks.

You nod at Hongjoong’s question, beaming happily. A crooked smile spreads across Hongjoong’s face, his thumbs etching tiny circles into your sides.

“Hongjoong?” Yunho’s basically a statue at this point, completely immovable in the doorway. “I know we’re not supposed to let anyone else in here, but seeing as how you have someone else in here, uh… am I gonna get in trouble for this?”

“If I say no, will you fuckin’ leave already?” Hongjoong glares at the other man, and it does not escape your attention how sexy he looks when he’s mad.

“I don’t know. I mean, we’ll leave, but I don’t know if you’re just saying that to get me t-”

“Get out!”

Your sudden shout snaps Yunho into action. He slams the door shut, leaving you alone with Hongjoong, who is gawking at you with his mouth hanging open. Oops. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that.

“Sorry,” you apologize, cringing. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“No, that was so hot,” Hongjoong declares, leaning forward to kiss you eagerly.

“Yeah?” you pant against his lips in surprise.

He nods, nose jostling yours, and kisses you again, and again, until you’re dizzy, needing oxygen, but you’re unwilling to tear yourself away from his mouth. All you want is to lose yourself in him again, crawl back into that heat from before.

Just as you feel it starting to happen, he pulls away.

“We should probably lock the door,” he says, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are studying your face carefully, you realize, looking for any signs of objection. For some reason, that just makes your answer even more affirmative.

“Good idea,” you reply, slipping off his lap and crossing the room in three quick steps. You shoot him a glance over your shoulder as you twist the lock. Either the pot is slowing his reactions as much as it’s slown yours, or he doesn’t care that you catch him openly staring at your ass. He grips his cock through his jeans, hand flexing as he squeezes slightly.

His gaze is too intense even from across the room. It makes you shy, has you lowering your head as you return to the couch. His fingers slide under your chin, tilt your face up to meet his ravenous lips as he guides you onto your back.

Your boots hit the floor one after the other, followed by his sneakers. One of his arms props him up over you. His other hand grips your thigh, spreading your legs apart, allowing him to slot himself in between. He swallows your sigh when his fingers roam inwards, slipping against your core.

“Damn, baby, did I do all this?” he asks, rubbing at the dampness seeping through the layers of your panties and tights.

You pluck at the buttons on his shirt, palms skimming over the warm skin that’s revealed beneath. He hisses quietly when you brush over his stomach. Seems it’s not just his neck that’s sensitive. Good to know.

“Yes,” you nod, squirming slightly when he drops his hand to cup you. His thumb applies a bit of pressure so achingly near your clit that you whine, almost as loudly as you’d yelled before. “Please tell me you’re gonna do something about it.”

He smirks then, that maddeningly taunting smile of his. The one that tells you not to be fooled by his quiet demeanor. The one that tells you he’s trouble. “As soon as you tell me your name.”

His hand drags frustratingly slowly upwards, spreading your slickness as it goes, making you whimper. “Hongjoong!”

“No, that’s my name.” His fingertips are crawling now, moving closer and closer to the waistband of your tights, one millimeter at a time.

The anticipation is driving you insane. And it seems you’re not the only one enjoying it, judging by the way he’s rutting his bulge into your thigh.

“Don’t tease,” you complain, pouting.

“But that’s my favorite part,” he shoots back, grinning madly. Fuck. He’s trouble for sure.

His fingers trace shapes over your hips, back and forth, long lines that have you huffing in frustration. Then he curls them under the waistband, pulling them down, just the tiniest fraction of an inch, then another, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip as he looks at you, and then -

He stops.

You groan, head tossing back to bounce against the arm of the couch.

“YN, my name is YN, fuck, I yield!”

“That didn’t take long,” he gloats. “So desperate for me. I love it.”

If you weren’t still high, you might be embarrassed. Instead, you’re brazen, whimpering in agreement. You want him, just like he wants you, why bother to hide it?

He finally releases you from your misery by rolling down all that annoying clothing that separates you from him, tossing it onto the floor. A gentle scrape of his fingernails on your bare skin has you trembling, begging for more of his touch. He obliges, lowering his mouth to leave hot-breathed kisses on your thighs.

“Y’know what else I like to do when I’m high?” he asks, watching you with hooded eyes. His hands haven’t stopped moving, are languidly pushing your skirt up to your waist.

“What?”

“Eat pussy.” He licks his lips. “Wanna eat you, baby. Can I?”

“Please,” you groan, reaching for your skirt, pulling it up as far as you can, baring yourself to him. He grins, fingers spreading you open, and you twitch as the little puffs of his delighted laughter swirl over your sensitive skin.

Hongjoong flattens his tongue, dragging it up and down a few times. You keen, fingers digging into the wool of your skirt, clutching the material tightly, when he keeps moving up, circling your clit, before he undulates his tongue, making the tiny nub bounce. Then he switches back to licking stripes, pressing the taut muscle more firmly against you with each pass.

You feel like your entire body is pulsating in time with your clit. “Oh my god.”

“You’re so wet,” he groans happily, lapping without restraint at your pussy, sloppy and loud. “Could fuckin’ drown down here.”

His mouth. It’s sinful, how good he is with it, the way he kisses your folds and sucks on your clit. Uses it to say the filthiest things, keeping up a running commentary:

Look at you, dripping all over the place. Such a mess, baby. Let’s see how much wetter you can get.

Could eat this pretty pussy for hours and never get my fill. Got me so greedy.

Mmmph, love the way you taste. Bet you’re even sweeter when you come.

You don’t catch every word, given the way he mumbles them into your cunt, but you hear enough to have you babbling in response, chanting his name and praising his skills over and over.

When your words dissolve into moans, Hongjoong changes it up, adding his fingers to the mix. His mouth seals around your clit while he strokes inside you, warm walls spreading to allow his lithe digits to plunge in and out. Then he thrusts his tongue into your clenching hole, using his fingertips to roll your thrumming nub around, lightly squeezing as he fucks you with his mouth.

“Hongjoong!” You’re losing your mind, your entire body vibrating with pleasure. “Holy shit, please!” Can’t even finish your sentence, your foggy brain too busy focusing on holding your head up so you can watch him. Drool runs from the corner of your mouth, lips slack as you pant wildly.

He laughs, popping off your clit with a loud slurp. “Please what?” He nuzzles his face against your thigh, kissing it gently. “What do you need?”

“I - I need…” You break off with a sudden mewl as he presses insistently into that soft spot on your inner walls, like he’s trying to leave an impression of his fingertip. “Oh fuck, right there, don’t stop!”

“Don’t worry, I got you,” he vows, catching your eye. His face is a mess, hair damp with sweat, a shiny layer of your arousal smeared all over his mouth and chin. His hips keep rolling into the couch beneath him, and his voice wobbles a little as he speaks, but his gaze is unwavering. “Just lie back and let me do my thing. I’ll get you there.”

He drops his mouth to your cunt again, and keeps his word.

Time expands again as the tension inside you snaps. Your orgasm pulsates through you, flowing like a wave through your tingling body, wiping away all coherent thought, even turning your vision white for a few long seconds. Hongjoong’s fingers continue to massage your g-spot while his tongue still flutters over your clit, and you slowly come back to yourself, inhaling deeply before sobbing his name.

He lifts his head momentarily to observe the results of his hard work. “That’s it, baby. Let go,” he murmurs, tongue skimming down to lap at your release. Lost in ecstasy, you thread your hand through his hair, tugging his face closer to your cunt, and ride out your high on his tongue, hips bucking erratically. He voices his approval with a guttural moan.

Like any other time you’re high, you come for several minutes, shaking and twitching, panting and moaning. When your pelvis finally ceases moving and your fingers release their grip on his hair, Hongjoong pulls away. He doesn’t sit up, just lays his cheek on your hip, dark eyes scanning your face.

“I was right. You taste sweet when you cum.”

Jesus. That mouth. You start to giggle, flustered by his statement, both embarrassed and pleased, and he joins you, head bouncing slightly on your shaking stomach. Suddenly you’re overwhelmed by the need to feel him on top of you, to let his weight press you down, anchor you to reality, so with frantic hands you guide him back up to your waiting mouth.

His kisses are slower now, softer. He’s still hard beneath his jeans, grinding into you, but it’s not as desperate as it was when he was humping the couch. You slide your hands down his chest, down his stomach, down to where the buttons on this waistband lay.

Hongjoong ignores your little cry of protest when he suddenly draws away, sitting back on his heels and peering down, glimmering eyes merrily taking in the state of you.

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells you, and you believe him. “I’m glad you broke in here tonight.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “I didn’t break - you know what? Not important.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, staring pointedly at his crotch. “Don’t you need help with that? I’m more than happy to return the favor.”

He smirks. “The party’s not over yet. We’ll get there.” Your stomach somersaults at the promise laced into his voice. “But speaking of parties…”

Right. Holy shit, there’s still an entire frat partying right outside these walls. Hongjoong’s unbelievable tongue managed to make you forget that for a while.

“I should probably go downstairs and check on things,” he finishes with a sigh, buttoning his shirt up halfway.

It’s strange, you’re still basking in the afterglow of your climax, and yet you can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.

It’s just like when you get really high and then eat an entire convenience store’s worth of snacks. Weed makes you insatiable. Hongjoong just gave you an earth-shattering orgasm and you’re already dying for more.

Maybe you should thank him and let the moment be what it was.

“Right. Of course.” Begrudgingly, you let him go of him. He rises slowly, stretching and rolling his neck. “Um. That was great. I guess… I guess I’ll see you around?”

Hongjoong laughs, gesturing for you to stand. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”

Your heart pounds a quick beat at his smile.

“Why?” you inquire. “Worried I’ll learn all of Alpha Tau’s deepest darkest secrets if I stay here alone? Think you need to keep an eye on me?”

“Nah,” he replies, grabbing your hand. You let him tug you to your feet, let him pull hard enough that you crash into him, your palms landing on his chest while he slings his arm around your back to catch you. “I just want to keep my hands on you.”

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong smut #hongjoong fanfic #kim hongjoong fanfic #fic: hideaway

685 notes · View notes

gxhaode · 11 months

Text

Anonymously Famous

pairing: choi yeonjun x female reader

genre: comedy, fluff, non idol!au, college!au, slight angst

synopsis: In the ordinary life of an 18-year-old, where school days were dull and repetitive, a remarkable secret was hidden. Unlike your peers, you possessed a unique gift—a mesmerizing voice that enchanted millions as a famous singer-songwriter. Despite the adoration and fame, you remained anonymous, with no one knowing your true face or name. This added complexity to your already challenging double life.

While navigating the demands of fame and concealing your true self, a twist of fate revealed that your crush was a devoted fan of your music. The discovery thrilled and frightened you, as you grappled with the dilemma of how to explore this connection without exposing your secret.

As you wrestled with conflicting emotions, seeking solace in the unwavering support of your quirky and devoted friends, the boundaries of your two worlds began to blur. The challenges of managing your public image and guarding your true self grew ever more daunting, even as the allure of a genuine connection with your crush beckoned. Every interaction became fraught with the weight of secrets, as you tiptoed the fine line between preserving your carefully constructed identity and indulging the sparks of romance that danced between you.

Featuring: txt, enhypen, aespa

warnings: kys jokes, swearing

Schedule: Monday-Wednesday

Taglist: OPEN

Socials:

⋆｡°✩| y/ns managers, yeonjun’s kids

Chapters:

1#★-snort flour

2#☆-violating a cola can

3#★-taehyun im scared

4#☆-YOUVE ANGERED IT

5#★-zimzalabim TF OUTTA HERE

6#☆-hes jake sized

7#★-kys.

8#☆-bad indigestion?

9#★-tired yeonjun=hinged yeonjun

10#☆-Space Mountain

11#★-SOOBIN QUESTION TIME

12#☆-soobout

13#★-denial is a river in egypt

14#☆-*twirls hair* and then what aha

15#★-bitch try me

16#☆-resting bitch face (Written)

17#★-smooshin booties

18#☆-declog urself girl

19#★-deal(Written)

20#☆-extra long baguette

21#★- Taehyuns glitching

22#☆-Sunghoon’s inner manager has been unleashed

23#★-I CHOOSE PAVEMENT

24#☆-🤨🦶🏻🖕🏻

25#★-im too sober for this shit

26#☆-JYP PAPI?

27#★Life360

28#☆WHO IS THAT AT ATTRACTIVE FUCKER

tba

Taglist: @suzirumas @soobsfairy444 @hwaseyes @emohazuzworld @captivq @aestheticsluut @sserafimez @sohnfile @melodymyangel @s00buwu @lixie-phoria @tocupid @samisubi @cookiehaos @mackjestic @sunnyglower @blamemef0rit @choijxn @vocaloshin @en-dream @l0ve-joy @a-l-i-y-a @mrowwww @axo-l0tl @n034sy @flowerbe0m @il0vebeomgyu @j-3-nnie @rosabella1009 @loveliestsong @unclassifiedwhore @salsateriyniki @tae-ology @woniesyn @fanfangying1304 @calumsfringe @pikapikapikaachuu @lily-loves-kpop @mochijjunie @enhaqle @cheekycountesschoi @run2seob @yunwonie @cheesemonky @staryuyu @ye0nvibezzn @hanniemylovelyquokka @bee-the-loser @hyunfm

#txt au #txt reactions #txt smau #yeonjun au #yeonjun smau #enhypen #aespa #enhypen smau #aespa smau #yeonjun reactions #kpop smau #kpop bg #kpop fanfic #kpop reactions #kpop au

837 notes · View notes

ghostjunksickness · 10 months

Text

Ghost Junk Sickness takes place in a galaxy far from our own. A majority of the story happens on the planet struck by the catastrophe 5 years ago, June7. It’s a post apocalyptic world on the struggle to recovery, covered with outlaws and bounty hunters who’ve claimed it as their own. GJS is a comic about two bounty hunters with an unstable dynamic who are pushed to pursue the deadly and elusive bounty dubbed The Ghost.

If you like:

⭐️Dumpster fire bounty hunter with a history of angry exes and poor life choices

⭐️Cinnamon roll thembo with weird arm powers

⭐️Lady that could crush you in her hands in a good way

⭐️Lady that could crush you in her hands in a bad way

⭐️Eldrich abomination here to steal your soul and look cute doing it

Check it out here! Ghost Junk Sickness updates mondays and fridays, and has a hefty backlog for you to sit back, dive in, and enjoy this roller coaster of a story! There's also a patreon with mountains of extras, including works that haven't seen the light of day! 😎

95 notes · View notes

abronzeagegod · 4 months

Text

Dead Letters, Missing Wife

Dead Letter #0 & 1 Marriage Certificate and 'Come Find Me'

[a cleaned up and longer version of this post and prompt]

You had just turned 18 over the weekend. Reaching the age of majority or whatever. Sunday birthdays are whatever, you have the day off of school and responsibilities but the looming threat of Monday hangs over the entire day.

At least with this Monday you have the joy of looking forward to belated birthday letters and things being delivered to you since the mail doesn't go on Sundays.

Sure enough after school there was a small stack of letters for you.

Grandma, aunts, uncles, your one weird cousin that lives in the mountains.

All birthday wishes and greetings. I was nice.

Then there was a large, thick envelope that said, "Department of Recognition, Vows, and Contracts."

You carefully tear along the edge of the large envelope and open it. Two things are there. One is something that looks like what you imagine your eventual college diploma would look like. Thick, impressive paper that almost feels laminated, some kind of fun calligraphy across it. There was also a piece of paper.

The paper was forgotten about at first.

The certificate, was a marriage certificate. For you and your first crush, your best friend at 6 years old, Siobhan.

There was your name and Siobhan Winters.

"This certificate recognizes the wedding vows exchanged between these two parties as complete and binding upon the youngest reaching their age of majority."

The memories come flooding back. You hadn't thought of Siobhan in years. Hell, you haven't even seen them in twice as long.

You were a demanding six year old. It was something about you that you were just adamant that this was how things were and how they were supposed to be. And seeing Siobhan, a cute little kid with long blonde hair that was so blonde it was almost white, big green eyes, and just this quiet demeanor to everyone but you, of course she was the one that you figured out what the terms "crush" and "fall in love" and everything meant. Those words were just words, descriptions of parents and grandparents and why they were together for so long, but Siobhan was the person that made the definition real and gave it tangibility and form for you.

She was your best friend but that wasn't quite enough for you at six years old. You dragged her to the pond out back of the neighborhood. The pond was on the edge of a small wood, really nothing more than a copse of trees and wilderness in the suburban sprawl, but it felt like a great and terrible wood when you were that small.

You donned a veil because there was something Traditional, and Correct, about hiding your face from your best friend/crush. You didn't have a ring but you did spend your allowance on candy at the corner shop, and in your haul were two candy rings.

There were somethings about weddings that you know, but you don't know much.

You know there was a veil, that was very important. You know there were rings. You know there were vows and witnesses.

There were vows, you know that for a fact. You just can't quite remember, now, what they were. Siobhan said them with such gravitas and meaning and weight to them that you still feel the shivers up your spine when you think about it.

The frogs were your witnesses.

The ring pops were the binding rings, exchanged with words of devotion.

Siobhan lifted your veil, and pulled you into a hug.

As far as the two of you were concerned, you were married!

The frogs croaked in happiness.

Apparently, the Department of Recognition, Vows, and Contracts also thought that the marriage was real. And as the younger of the two, you were the last one to reach the age of majority, and the marriage certificate was mailed to you.

As if that answered any questions.

The nostalgia calls after you and you want to remember Siobhan as they were and not the hazy memories of childhood.

You immediately start digging through your old year books, or whatever the grade school equivalent of a year books was.

It was only then that you recall that Siobhan never made it to picture day in kindergarten.

Nor did she make it to picture day the year after, or the year after, or any year until she moved away in sixth grade.

Puzzled, intrigued, and now even more confused, you head downstairs where you find your mom working hard on a crossword puzzle.

"Hey, what's a four letter word for black and white?" she asks.

"Oreo," you answer without really thinking about it. "Hey, do you remember my friend Siobhan? From kindergarten and grade school?"

Your mom finishes filling in your answer, looking pleased with herself for having most of the puzzle finished. "Was that the weird one with the cape and the glasses?"

"No, that was Steph."

"Oh yeah, she really loved random trivia, didn't she?"

"Yup."

"Siobhan was the one that was always looking for dinosaur bones in everyone's backyard?"

"That's Joel. No, Siobhan. She came over all the time, we would go play in the backyard, and went to the park together like every day. You didn't like her dad like at all. One day after kindergarten I demanded that I was gonna make her my wife and did a little ceremony out by the pond."

"Oh! Right!" Your mom looks up at you, lost in memory for a second. "Lived across the street, wild black hair, always asked if we had Cheetos."

"No. Mom. That was Matt. Siobhan. Cute kid, always seemed to be the smallest kid in class. Green eyes that had a look you called 'an old soul with the million yard stare'. Platinum blonde hair that was almost grey in a very long braid all the time."

Your mom makes eye contact with you but she doesn't seem to see you. "You never had a friend like that," she says in a strange, almost monotone.

Confused and a little weirded out, you decide to drop it, and head back up to your room. If you mom wasn't going to help you then perhaps the internet would. You don't like to brag, but you're extremely adept at Facebook stalking and finding people.

One time, at your part time job over the summer, you had a really weird coworker that you only knew for three days, lied about almost everything, and then was fired for being outrageously high on the clock. They claimed that they were getting a job in a small town in Alaska as a Fire Marshall and promptly disappeared.

All you had to find them was their first name and the fact that they worked at the same place you did for a very short amount of time.

It took you only a couple of days to find them. They did not move to Alaska, they went one town over and bounced around between barbacking jobs and running a mildly successful etsy shop.

So you use all the skills that you possess and try to reach out to all sorts of people to find someone with a shared memory of Siobhan. Friends, teachers, people you shared classes with that you'd rather never speak to again.

Every. Single. Response. "You never had a friend like that."

This went from being some weird, intriguing mystery, to something vaguely sinister, and deeply creepy.

No one seemed to remember Siobhan except for you. You remember them now, perfectly. Your first crush. The first person you ever developed feelings for, as real and as deep as any 6 year old possibly could develop.

You remember her vividly. Hugging her was the best. She was shy and didn't like to be touched too much, so when she did let you hug her it was the best. It was like hugging a piece of glass. Sharp, beautiful, and fragile. You always felt that if you hugged her too tightly she was shatter.

There was no way you could let this rest now. No way that you could let this end now.

You call the government office that issued you the certificate of marriage. Or at least. You tried to contact the government office.

The website listed no such department, neither locally nor federally.

You called city hall and they transferred you to a dead line.

Out of desperation you called the post office to see where the letter came from.

"Hello," you say for the fifth time this particular call after being transferred too many times. "I was hoping that you could help me track down who sent me a letter and not transfer me to someone else. I received a marriage certificate with my name and information but I can't find anyone who would have sent this to me, the department seemingly doesn't exist."

The deep, bored, and phlegmy voice asked simply, "And your spouse?"

"Siobhan Winters, I can't find any record of her either!" you say, perhaps too loudly, but your frustration is overwhelming you.

"Oh. You got a dead letter. Undeliverable since Siobhan Winters ain't here. But if your her spouse w can send you all the stuff we got sitting here for her. Do you accept?"

"Yes! Wait. What? What do you mean?"

"Everything will be delivered to you in the next two to three business days, thank you for contacting the Dead Letter Office. You have a pleasant day."

You couldn't do anything else before he hung up. You stare at the phone for a while before putting it down.

All you can do is wait for the dead letters to make it to you.

When the letters finally arrived there were boxes full. At least six boxes full of mail, and a few packages. It would take you, by rough estimate, at least three days to go through it all. Even if half of it was spam mail, it would take forever.

But on top of one of the boxes that you just found outside your front door, seemingly delivered before the sun rose, was a letter. It was addressed to you, sort of.

"To the spouse of Siobhan Winters"

That was you, by all accounts.

The letter was sealed with wax, and seemingly made out of heavy parchment, like some kind of ancient letter.

You opened it first.

"To my love,

I fear I must apologize for a great many things. I never wished to abandon you or break our vows, but there are actions I must take, deeds that must be done, purposes I must fulfill. If you have found this, found me, then I am sure you have many questions.

If you must search me out, then you can find my trail starting at our favorite place.

I love you still. I love you forever.

I still remember our vows and will endeavor to never corrupt or break them.

Please find me.

I miss you.

I need you.

I am so afraid.

Yours till the end of time,

Siobhan Winters"

You carefully fold the letter, and hold it close to you for a second.

It seems like you have to go out and find your wife.

You bring all the boxes inside, carefully put them in your bedroom where space is already running low. Your parents, barely awake and carefully sipping coffee watch you with mild confusion and interest.

"Everything good?" your dad asked as you carried in the last box.

"Mix up with the post office. A bunch of unsent mail finally made it my way," you half explain.

"Ok..."

With all of the boxes in your room you start to unpack and sort them.

There were hundreds if not thousands of spam mail for Siobhan. It seems that the only people that remember her are you and the person in charge of trying to sell HelloFresh boxes.

There seemed to be four serious piles of mail by the time that you finish sorting all six boxes.

The first pile, the biggest one, was spam mail. The one inexhaustible truth in the universe.

They were all addressed to Siobhan Winters, but seemingly were listed under a couple dozen addresses all over the country. There was something there, a code or a pattern in Siobhan's movements. But you don't quite have the brain power to think that one through.

The second pile were bills. None of them were overdue, but just notices for the stopping and starting of service. This felt like a pattern too, one that you could combine with the spam mail to really track where Siobhan had been over the course of the years she's been gone.

But that wasn't the important thing, yet.

Because the third and forth piles were much more interesting, and they were all addressed to "The Spouse of Siobhan Winters".

There were letters, all extremely similar to the first one you opened, all addressed the same, all sealed similarly.

Then there were packages. They were of various sizes but most of them were pretty small.

This was a mystery and an adventure, so you wanted to start at the end. Find Siobhan right away and then work through the rest.

After carefully looking over each letter you see that there were small numbers written on the back of each letter and package, right near the seal.

You couldn't make out the exact details of the seal in the dark purple wax, but you realize that it was probably a tower of some kind with some squiggly line accents.

The last letter, one with the number 60 on it, was the highest one you found, so you opened that one first.

Answers to start, adventure later.

"My love,

There is an order and a reason for this. It may be difficult, and it may change you in ways that you cannot see or predict. I say this now, here, that the road is long and difficult, for the better and the worse, and the changes are fundamental and total and incomprehensible until you go through it.

I do not want to discourage you from this journey.

I want you to be prepared.

You cannot remain, the act of searching has already started and changed you. There is no going back.

If you stop I would not blame you, nor would I intrude upon the peace you would inevitably seek and find. I would weep for the loss.

If you do wish to continue, you must know that there is an order, a reason, and a pattern to the journey. You cannot jump to the end, even though I recall you desperately reading the last chapters of books in school because you needed to know if there was a happy ending. This is not a story you can skip to the end.

I'm sorry.

The journey will be long and will alter everything for you. In the end there will be a choice, for you to make alone.

I'm sorry that all you have of me are these dead letters. But if you follow them in order, if you undergo the journey with me, after me, you will understand.

Yours for all time,

Siobhan"

You close the letter and sit on your bed.

After all this time she still remembers you so clearly it seemed. You still look up the plot summary of movies and TV shows before you start watching them. You'll spoil yourself left and right on things to make sure that they aren't going to end badly or not be worth the time investment.

It seems that this is not something that you can skip to the end of, this is a journey that you will have to take from the beginning.

There were so many letters and packages.

And you had a feeling that many of these things would have you going to wildly different places.

You grab your bag, stuff in some snacks and a bottle of water, and grab letter number 2.

If this is how it has to be, then you're going to start walking to the old pond where the two of you got married in kindergarten.

i have a kofi

#dead letters missing wife #i have some ideas going forward but before i went further i had to double back and clean some stuff up #work has also been killing me so time is precious #i'm working on like 4 other writing projects at the same time too #my fiction #writeblr #writers on tumblr

21 notes · View notes

eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 months

Text

The Waves are Rising and Rising

|Beginning| |Previous|

Chapter 8

Breaking news, Jinlintai continues to be the fucking worst. Chapter 9 will post on Monday!

--//--

The Phoenix Mountain hunt is such an exhausting exercise in constant de-escalation that, by the end of it, Jin Guangyao half wishes he’d never planned at all. It’s supposed to be his chance to prove himself to the cultivation world; he’s earned himself a title and a reputation as a war hero, and now it’s his chance to show them that he’s more than just a blade, that he deserves to be up in the lofty clouds among the gentry.

In short, he has proved his martial prowess. Now it is the far more perilous opportunity to prove his social prowess.

The lead up is a frenzy of activity, and whilst he knows that he thrives under pressure and genuinely enjoys challenges, he barely has time to sleep and eat and by the day of the hunt he is frantically circling his tiny flicker of qi around his body just to keep himself on his feet.

Thankfully, he has no dual cultivation sessions to worry about — when his sworn brothers arrive a day early to get settled in, the most that is expected of him is playing Song of Cleansing, partly to keep up appearances, partly because even just a small amount of help is better than none at all to tide Nie Mingjue over. Getting to spend a few golden hours with Lan Xichen is a little oasis in the mess of the rest of his day, and even Nie Mingjue’s quiet, stern presence doesn’t ruin it. The man is actually surprisingly… well, cordial isn’t the right word, but he’s not outright aggressive, and he doesn’t glare at Jin Guangyao outside of his usual resting face, so Jin Guangyao takes that as a win.

In a pattern that Jin Guangyao is coming to recognise with deep exasperation, everything is going fine until Wei Wuxian decides to open his big irritating mouth.

The opening ceremony traditionally involves all participants shooting for their place in the hunt. It had been Jin Zixun’s suggestion to up the ante by involving the Wen prisoners, and no one had made a fuss about it (Jin Zixuan’s shot had been showy and arrogant but not out of the realms of normal behaviour in such ceremonies) until Wei Wuxian had stepped up to the plate for his turn.

He’d had the audacity to publicly ask Lan Wangji for his forehead ribbon (Jin Guangyao had heard Lan Xichen, sitting behind him on the dias, suck in a sharp outraged breath, even as his own stomach had clenched in horror), and when he had naturally been refused, he’d blindfolded himself with his own arm wrapping, immediately usurping Jin Zixuan’s arrogance by a thousandfold by shooting five arrows over the heads of the prisoners, and then even turning to tip Lan Wangji a wink, making it clear exactly who he was showing off for.

As the entire ceremony area erupts into clapping (Nie Mingjue’s utterly deafening claps both audible and identifiable over the din, which is oddly endearing, it’s rare that the man shows active enthusiasm), Jin Guangyao sees nothing but his father’s barely concealed wrath in his peripheral vision. It is, naturally, up to him to save face for the Jin clan.

“Well, of course everyone here is welcome to join in the hunt — the archery contest was just a warm up!” Jin Guangyao smiles and laughs around at the assembled crowd, and both his cheeks and feet ache. “Now that Wei Wuxian has so impressively demonstrated his skills, let us consider the rest of the opening ceremony cancelled, and proceed onto the hunt itself?”

Jin Guangyao fumes, but he’s far too good at what he does to ever let that show externally. One stupid man had decided to show off for his crush, and now all his hard work for the opening ceremony has utterly gone to waste.

Cancelled.

Jin Guangyao smiles and nods politely at the disciples as the wave of them sweep out of the ceremony area and into the mountain, and he is allowed a brief reprieve when Lan Xichen calls him over to come sit with himself and Nie Mingjue. The raised seating area is designed for the sect leaders, and guests of sect leaders, to sit and socialise whilst their disciples participate in the hunt, but Jiang Wanyin flees the small talk after less than five minutes to join the others in the mountains, and not long after Jin Guangshan leaves in the opposite direction, back to Koi Tower, accompanied by two serving girls.

Jin-furen watches after him for a few seconds, before quickly covering over her anger and humiliation with a bright, brittle smile, and inviting Jiang Yanli to walk with her. Jin Guangyao has been privy to enough conversations between Jin-furen and her son to suspect that they may coincidentally bump into Jin Zixuan whilst on their walk, and that Jin-furen may coincidentally be called away to attend to something. With most couples, there might be a concern about the two of them requiring a chaperone, but…

Well. No one’s worried about that with Jin Zixuan. Jin Guangyao has only known him for around a year but from that short period of observation it seems he’s about as amorously assertive as a panda.

With the seating area abruptly emptied besides a few servants milling around with not much more to do than hold wine and try not to fall asleep, it’s… surprisingly comfortable. Jin Guangyao hadn’t been expecting to find social events with his sworn brothers (well, Nie Mingjue specifically) an actually pleasant experience.

“That Wei Wuxian certainly has some face, pulling a stunt like that,” Nie Mingjue mutters, shaking his head. “And asking for your brother’s ribbon, too,” he leans sideways and bumps Lan Xichen’s arm companionably with his own, “will Wangji be alright?”

Lan Xichen’s smile grows a little tighter at the corners, the only thing that betrays the real emotion behind it. “This is not the first time that Wei-gongzi has done something audacious to try and get Wangji’s attention, but this is the first time he has been so… public.”

Jin Guangyao shifts on his cushion, trying in vain to find a way of sitting that doesn’t make his knees and hips ache, and when his sworn brothers glance at him, he covers it by leaning forwards to pick up a cup of tea from the table in front of him. “Ah, I am sure that everyone will be distracted by the challenge of the hunt, and the whole thing will blow over in no time, er-ge.”

“I am not certain if he truly knows what he is doing to Wangji, when he acts like this,” Lan Xichen murmurs. “And I do not know what would be worse — if he genuinely has no idea, or if he does know and keeps acting like this anyway.”

Under the cover of the table and the thick material of their wide silk sleeves, Jin Guangyao slips his hand into Lan Xichen’s and squeezes.

“Da-ge, did you want to join in the hunt?” Jin Guangyao asks. “I had a particularly fearsome yaoguai hidden on the easternmost peak, if you wished for a challenge.”

Nie Mingjue blinks at him, and if Jin Guangyao is reading him right, he actually seems… touched that Jin Guangyao thought of him. Which is ridiculous, as the host and hunt planner, it’s Jin Guangyao’s job to make certain that there are enough beasts and prey for everyone.

But that doesn’t stop it feeling good.

Nie Mingjue glances to Lan Xichen, the corner of his mouth tipping up in a smile. “It’s been quite a while since we’ve gone on a night hunt together, do you want to come and help me face this particular challenge? I owe you payback after last time you stole my kill.”

“Stole your kill?” Lan Xichen gives a gentlemanly chuckle, raising an eyebrow. “If by that you mean saved your life, then certainly, you are welcome to try to pay it back.”

They both turn and look at Jin Guangyao, who had been quietly wrestling his aching desperation not to be left out into a small enough size that he can repress it and only feel the acidic tang of its misery in his throat. He isn’t powerful enough to fight such a creature — he wasn’t before their last dual cultivation session, and he certainly is not now he’s had such a setback in his golden core. He will be nothing but a liability to them.

“Will you come with us, A-Yao?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Ah, my apologies, da-ge, er-ge,” Jin Guangyao forces a smile onto his face. He knew this would happen when he suggested the yaoguai, and he did it anyway, because he’s a good host, and a good sworn brother, and he will prove himself to Nie Mingjue. “I am the overseer of the hunt, and as such I will be much too busy to participate myself.”

“Lianfang-zun?”

Jin Guangyao turns towards the voice, then quickly stands when he sees that it belongs to an Ouyang disciple in a small crowd of disciples from other sects.

“Good day, is there something that I can do to help?” He asks, even as anxiety starts to rise inside of him and his feet and knees violently protest how quickly he stood up.

The Ouyang man seems to have been appointed the spokesperson. He glances back awkwardly at his companions, who urge him forward. “Well… there isn’t any prey.”

On reflex, Jin Guangyao smiles wider. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand. We made certain there was sufficient prey in every area, and at such an early point in the hunt, they can’t possibly…”

He trails off as the disciples all exchange looks. Clearly there’s some other factor here.

“It’s that Wei Wuxian!” One of them blurts. “He’s using his wicked tricks to lure all the prey into Jiang nets.”

Several of the other disciples, emboldened now, corroborate that they’ve heard flute music in the forest and seen the distinctive swathes of black smoke that are indicative of demonic cultivation.

Jin Guangyao keeps smiling. He makes reassurances that he will fix this, that he will investigate and see this made right, and in his mind he imagines putting his hands around Wei Wuxian’s neck and throttling him.

The group of disgruntled disciples trot off — mollified when Jin Guangyao gestures them over to the food and drink that was supposed to be for the sect leaders who have nearly all left — and Jin Guangyao allows himself a moment to pull himself together.

“Da-ge, er-ge,” he says turning to face his sworn brothers, “I regret that I-”

“We’ll come with you,” Nie Mingjue says immediately.

Jin Guangyao blinks. “But… the hunt?”

“If what they’ve said is true, it doesn’t sound like there’s much of a hunt left.”

“Let us help you, A-Yao.” Lan Xichen insists gently. “And if there is no real problem and this has all been overblown, then da-ge and I can go on to hunt the yaoguai afterwards.”

Jin Guangyao swallows back the mortification, and tries to allow himself the relief that follows on its heels. If Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen come with him, then he need not worry about the potential threat of the beasts in the mountain hunt area, and people tend to be less comfortable showing him open disrespect when he has a very tall, broad sect leader behind each shoulder.

The three of them set off on their swords. It’s necessary to fly, to be able to properly canvass the hunting area, and whilst Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen keep sharp, close eyes on him as he steps onto Hensheng, he’s proud that he has enough spiritual energy to fly smoothly and at a reasonable height, even if it’s not as easy and effortless as his sworn brothers make it look and the strain makes sweat prickle on his scalp under his hat.

The mountain is full of activity, swarming with it, but it is, unfortunately, clear to see that the disciples were not lying or exaggerating. The prey is scarce, the vast majority of it already captured in Jiang spirit nets.

Gods-fucking-dammnit, Wei Wuxian.

“He works fast, I’ll give him that,” Nie Mingjue says with a low whistle.

“It’s an effective strategy,” Lan Xichen admits.

“Not really conducive to a fair and sporting competition though.”

“Whilst there is no specific rule against what he’s doing, I suspect that there might be by the end of today.”

“There,” Jin Guangyao gestures to a clearing where a group of people appear to be gathered; most of them are in Jin golds and creams, but, next to a woman in pale aquatic blue, there stands a man in Wei Wuxian’s ubiquitous, distinctive red and black.

The three of them descend and touch down on the ground (Lan Xichen pre-emptively cups a hand under his elbow as he steps off Hensheng so that he doesn’t stumble, in a move that from anyone else would feel patronising, but from him just feels kind) to see a scene of agitation and barely restrained violence. Jin Zixun and Wei Wuxian are at the centre of it, of course, and around its edges are Jin-furen, Jiang Yanli, Lan Wangji, and Jin Zixuan. It is not too difficult to guess what the point of contention might have been between such a mismatched crowd.

“You!” Jin-furen barks as she spots him, and immediately marches over. Jin Guangyao fights the urge to cringe away (and a brief urge to duck behind his sworn brothers) and steps up to meet her halfway, hoping his smile doesn’t convey too much of his anxiety.

“Is there a problem, muqin?” Jin Guangyao asks. He hates calling her that (she certainly is not his mother) and she hates it when he calls her that, but etiquette is etiquette, and any other term would be an insult, regardless of their personal feelings about it, especially in front of such important guests. “How can this humble one help you?”

“You useless little toad!” Jin-furen hisses. “Idiot! Fool! You cannot be trusted with a single thing! The hunt is ruined, there is no more prey, you did not bring enough to the mountain.”

“Please do not worry yourself, muqin,” Jin Guangyao says between his teeth, smile so wooden it’s starting to make his jaw ache. “This one factored into the planning considerations that there would be so many venerable cultivators taking part in the hunt and made certain there was an extended area with some extra beasts, in case the prey was defeated too quickly. This one will simply ensure-”

“It’s too late! Our guests are already bored and furious! What do you have to say-”

“Jin-furen, enough.”

Jin Guangyao freezes at the sound of Nie Mingjue’s voice. Surprisingly, Jin-furen does too, her tirade trailing off as she stares up at him. Nie Mingjue’s standing almost directly behind Jin Guangyao, so he gets to watch as her face contorts, trying to decide how to respond.

Nie Mingjue takes a step forward, arms folding. “You have made him aware of the problem, and he has proposed a solution that will take care of it. Why the hell are you still wasting his time? Just let him go and fix it.”

“If da-ge and I help A-Yao to extend the hunt area, then it won’t take long at all, and no one will be greatly inconvenienced,” Lan Xichen adds, somewhat more diplomatically.

A charged silence reigns in the clearing. Jin Guangyao chances a glance around; Jin Zixun looks… constipated, clearly still spoiling for the fight that has just slipped through his fingers; Jiang Yanli, stood with Wei Wuxian, is watching the whole scene with wide, anxious eyes, and Lan Wangji, on Wei Wuxian’s other side, has his gaze fixed on Lan Xichen, ready to take his cue on the situation; Wei Wuxian himself is red-eyed and slumped against Jiang Yanli’s side, trembling with some powerful emotion; and across from them all stands Jin Zixuan, looking about as obtuse and awkward as he ever does.

Jin-furen stares at Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, and for several seconds her shock prevents her from responding. And then her mouth wobbles into an unconvincing smile, and she laughs. “Ah… of course. Of course.” She twitches her head in Jin Guangyao’s direction and her smile turns downright poisonous. “What are you waiting for? Go. Do your job.”

Jin Guangyao bends to give a bow that’s considerably deeper than etiquette demands, and hurries away as fast as his twinging knee will allow him, ears ringing and mind racing and adrenaline pumping through his system. Did Nie Mingjue just save him? Or did he just condemn him to something worse later, when Jin-furen is able to find him alone? Nausea rises in his throat at the prospect of what will likely await him once they all return to Jinlintai.

“A-Yao?”

And there it is, the humiliation rising after the initial animal fear has abated; if it weren’t awful enough having his brother and cousin and other gentry members that are supposed to be his peers witness Jin-furen abasing him, his own sworn brothers did — sworn brothers who have a tendency to try and benevolently meddle when they think there’s a problem (or, at least, he has one sworn brother who might, and the other could likely be convinced). There’s a clawing, desperate feeling in his chest that wants to drag tears from his eyes and sobs from the deepest part of him, but he shoves it down and down until he’s able to smile.

Jin Guangyao pivots on a heel and turns to find Lan Xichen following him, and Nie Mingjue following him. “Er-ge,” he says, he clears his throat when his voice catches, “da-ge. Thank you for the offer of help, but I have this under control. Please return to the hunt, and I will meet you both later back in Jinlintai for the feast.”

“Are you certain?” Lan Xichen asks, clearly reluctant.

It’s sweet. Jin Guangyao reminds himself how much he loves his er-ge as he counts to shi in his head. “Yes, er-ge. Thank you again for the offer to help, but I will be fine. I will see you both later.”

He tugs Hensheng from his sword belt and steps onto her before there can be any more protests, and flies off. He doesn’t actually need to be there in person, but he just cannot hold himself together if he spends any more time in that clearing; he breathes the cool fresh mountain air in deep gulps, and the clawing feeling trying to drive him to tears settles a little. Woodenly, he directs the Jin servants to open up the fenced and gated zones to extend the hunting area, then tells them to spread the word throughout the mountain that there is more prey available now.

And then, refusing to acknowledge the aching of his back and feet and the pounding in his head, he flies back to Jinlintai. There’s not much more he can do for the hunt now, but there’s a banquet afterwards and there are still so many elements that need supervising, so many tiny details that could go wrong. If he can make sure that the banquet goes perfectly, maybe the guests will remember this not as a subpar failure that Wei Wuxian messed up, but as an enjoyable evening at the end of a busy day.

The afternoon passes in a daze. He greets people as they arrive, flitting between the top of the steps and the banquet hall, ignoring the sickening vertigo that still haunts him when he sees the yawning view from such a height, as well as the protests of his aching, aching feet. When Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji arrive, Lan Xichen attempts to convince him to sit for a while (because he’s wonderful and Jin Guangyao adores him), but he’s too busy for that, unfortunately. He consoles himself with the idea that so long as he is in public, so long as he is seen, Jin-furen is unlikely to attempt to exact her revenge, so he will play the charismatic host until his legs give out.

He opens the banquet officially with a toast to the Jiang sect, to celebrate their win on the hunting ground, and though he’s never cared much for young Jiang Wanyin, the bright and honestly delighted grin that he flashes around the room as he raises his cup is… kind of sweet.

Jin Guangyao is just settling in to the possibility of this event actually not being an entire disaster when he notices his odious fucking cousin making his way across the hall, cup of wine in each hand, with the kind of smile that does not bode well for anyone.

Especially when Lan Xichen appears to be his target.

Jin Guangyao scrambles around the dais his father’s throne sits on, and all but breaks into a jog trying to intervene, though he’s too slow; Jin Zixun is grinning lazily, tilting his head at Lan Xichen, who is returning his grin with a tight, narrow-eyed smile that conveys with everything besides words a deep and intense urge to punch him in the face.

It is incredibly unfortunate that Jin Guangyao cannot allow that to happen (his brain brings up a vivid imagining of it, in slow motion and from every angle, and he tucks it away to… examine more thoroughly in the privacy of his own room later). He places himself between them and does his best to diffuse the tension. “Ah, tang-xiong, the Lan clan has a specific precept against consuming alcohol, it would not be proper for Zewu-jun to accept your toast, but he means no offence to you.”

Lan Xichen’s smile twitches at the corner in a way that indicates he does, in fact, mean a great deal of offence, but thankfully he does nothing besides incline his head to indicate Jin Guangyao is correct.

“Ah, but the Jin clan and the Lan clan are such close friends,” Jin Zixun protests, voice turning sickly sweet, “sure he cannot protest just one drink.”

The way that Jin Zixun’s grin widens as he says close friends, the way he glances a little too quickly between Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen — does he know? Does he suspect something? There’s no way he could possibly know, there is no record of what they’re doing, there’s no evidence to find, he can’t possibly-

Lan Xichen, still practically glaring at Jin Zixun (Jin Guangyao has no idea how he’s enduring it), reaches out a hand and takes the proffered cup. Holding eye contact, he tips the wine into his mouth with a sharp, graceful jerk of his wrist, then places the cup back in Jin Zixun’s hand. He lifts his eyebrows expectantly, as if to say, satisfied?

Jin Zixun turns away with a sneer, and Jin Guangyao does his best not to let his shoulders sag in relief. He sees Lan Xichen glance around, sees his gaze meet Nie Mingjue’s — Nie Mingjue, who Jin Guangyao hadn’t even considered in this altercation, whose nostrils are flared and mouth is pinched tight, clearly holding himself back from intervening, thank the gods — sees the little shake of his head, telling him it’s not worth it.

Unfortunately, Jin Zixun chooses Lan Wangji as his next target.

Fortunately for the short term, though unfortunately for the long term, Wei Wuxian intervenes before Jin Guangyao can, snatching the cup from Jin Zixun’s hand and throwing his head back borderline indecently to drink it. Lan Wangji watches him, eyes huge.

“I need to talk to you,” Wei Wuxian says to Jin Zixun, setting the cup down on Lan Wangji’s table with a loud clack, apparently heedless of the fact that its occupant is staring at him like he wants to bend him over said table and commit a public indecency.

Jin Zixun rolls his eyes. “It will have to wait until after the banquet. I’m busy.”

“I just have one question, it won’t take long,” Wei Wuxian insists. He’s not quite crossed the line to outright impolite, but he’s toeing it. “I need to know the whereabouts of a Wen prisoner that I found out today was supposed to be under your… care.”

“Ha. How am I supposed to remember the names of all those Wen-dogs? I told you, it will have to wait.”

“His name is Wen Ning. He helped me during the war, I owe him a debt. Please, this is a matter of some urgency.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes are wide and it’s clear that he is holding onto his temper with a very thin tether. Jin Guangyao prays his cousin makes a sensible choice, but being sensible has never been Jin Zixun’s strong suit.

As if to demonstrate, he leans forward into Wei Wuxian’s space and says, loudly and slowly, “It. Will. Have. To. Wait.”

Wei Wuxian’s posture goes stiff and furious. From where Jin Guangyao is standing, he can see the man’s eyes starting to grow red, the way his mouth is curling into a snarl. He opens his mouth-

And someone else’s voice speaks.

“Jin-er-gongzi, come on, this just sounds like a stupid administrative screw up,” says Nie Mingjue, leaning forwards in his seat with an exasperated expression, and there was no way Jin Guangyao could have predicted that. “For gods’ sake, stop being obtuse and just point him to whoever has the paperwork he needs so we can get on with dinner. I’m hungry after that hunt.”

Jin Zixun gapes, and he’s not alone — Jin Guangyao is pretty sure his own mouth is hanging open, and Wei Wuxian is frozen in shock that Nie Mingjue — Chifeng-zun! — would take his side. The whole hall has gone silent. Nie Mingjue settles back in his seat, folding his arms. Briefly, he glances to his side at Nie Huaisang; the majority of his brother’s face is covered by his fan, but he is watching the whole interaction intently.

What is going on?

“I… I…” Jin Zixun blusters. “Well, I don’t know who this Wen Ning is, or where he’s been or what’s become of him! How am I supposed to know who’ll have the fucking paperwork for him?”

Wei Wuxian recovers quickly, to his credit. “Don’t know what’s become of him? How about I give you a clue then — I heard that you used him as bait in a night hunt. I heard that you tried to force him and his people to carry spirit lures when you were trying to capture the Bat King, and when they refused, you beat him to a pulp! Does that jog your memory?”

Gasps and whispers echo around the hall. Jin Guangyao fights to keep his face neutral; it would be a lie to say he had no idea that Jin Zixun was mistreating the Wen prisoners — simply because he knows that his cousin is a violent oaf with a tendency to misuse his power, and a man comfortable with abusing someone who is supposed to be his peer in a public setting is definitely more than comfortable abusing prisoners of war in an out-of-the-way camp out near Qiongqi Pass. Jin Guangyao may not have known the specifics, but he’s hardly surprised.

“Jin-er-gongzi,” Nie Mingjue growls and — oh gods, he’s on his feet now, rounding his table with a thunderous expression, “is this true?”

“No!” Jin Zixun blurts, backing away. And then he adds quickly enough that Jin Guangyao is almost as exasperated as he is horrified at how quickly his perfectly planned out banquet is going to hell — “And even if it was, who cares! What does it matter! They’re just Wen-dogs!”

“It matters because this is not what we agreed would happen. We said that the combatants would be executed, and the non-combatants would be used as labourers. If you're using the prisoners as bait in night hunts and beating them to a pulp, clearly the Jin sect does not need these resources!" Nie Mingjue gestures sharply in Lan Xichen's direction, "Pass these labourers onto where they’re actually needed — the Lans are still rebuilding, they could do with the help!"

Whispers turn to murmurs around the room. Nie Mingjue has made a fair point, one that Jin Guangyao would be impressed with if he weren't part of the sect being accused of willfully breaking political agreements. He can already hear Yao-zongzhu starting up on one of his usual aggrieved tirades; since the war the man has been an insufferable sycophant whenever he's been in Jinlintai, but it seems that something in the air has changed, because now he’s boldly reminding everyone around him that his sect was destroyed by the Wens, too! Doesn’t he deserve additional labour? Interestingly, Jiang Wanyin — the leader of a sect who absolutely should receive reparations in the form of labour — has kept his mouth firmly shut.

Lan Xichen’s expression stays neutral but, standing relatively close to him, Jin Guangyao can see the strain around his eyes. Nie Mingjue may be right, but no sect appreciates having the whole jianghu publicly reminded of how low they've been brought in the wake of the Wens' destruction.

"Whilst rebuilding efforts are proceeding well, I cannot deny that we would benefit from some…" Lan Xichen’s smile turns a little awkward, "help."

Help. And that is how they will see it — the Lan do not believe in indentured slavery (at least not in the same way the other sects do, though Jin Guangyao has heard enough about Lan Xichen’s mother to know they have a very particular way of approaching the punishment of those they consider evildoers), so if they are granted custody of the Wens, it is likely some agreement will be reached in exchange for their labour. Jin Guangyao glances anxiously towards his father; he will take it as a personal slight to lose valuable prisoners to a sect who, in his mind, would be basically freeing them.

Jin Guangshan is smiling insofar as he is baring his teeth and his mouth is curved up, yet his face is full of nothing but anger. Jin Guangyao resists the urge to hide behind Lan Xichen and clutch at his robes, the way he'd done in Nightless City when Nie Mingjue had raged at him, and in a strange twist of fate, at this point even hiding behind Nie Mingjue himself seems like a safer prospect than standing in the eyeline of his father in this kind of mood.

"Of course, of course!" Jin Guangshan says, "Never let it be said that the Jin clan does not help its allies! Whatever resources you need, Zewu-jun, just say the word. In fact, perhaps it might be best if the Lan sect were in charge of distributing such resources entirely."

It's a ploy. It's so obviously a ploy that Jin Guangyao has to clench his fist inside his sleeve to avoid grimacing in second-hand embarrassment. Jin Guangshan is trying to call Lan Xichen’s bluff, to get him to admit that it's far too big a job to take on whilst they're trying to focus on rebuilding — to admit that the Lan clan is weak and unstable, and therefore allow the Jin to keep full control over the Wen prisoners. A more contrary, hot-headed sect leader might refuse to cave, accepting the burden and dooming his sect to struggle to keep their heads above water in such a tumultuous time, but Lan Xichen has a cool head on his shoulders and can't be baited so easily, and certainly would never take such a risk to his people purely for the sake of pride.

He will have to admit he cannot and concede weakness. Jin Guangyao can see Nie Mingjue coming to the very same conclusion, can see the moment Nie Mingjue decides this is unacceptable and makes up his mind to intervene.

"Fuqin," Jin Guangyao jumps in, before Nie Mingjue can open his big angry mouth and say something he can't take back, "what if-"

"No need to bother Zewu-jun with this," says Wei Wuxian, stepping cooly back into the centre of the conversation, temper clearly tamed for now. "I started it, I'll finish it. If Jin-zongzhu can get someone to get the paperwork ready, I can go now and collect Wen Ning and the others — I'll be responsible for finding the best place to send them."

"Wei Wuxian!" Jiang Wanyin hisses, fury in his eyes but pale-faced; Jin Guangyao can't blame him at all.

"I will help Wei Ying."

In what feels like perfect synchronisation, everyone in the hall turns to look at Lan Wangji. He has stood to his feet, expression as solemn and serious as ever.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian whispers disbelievingly.

(Using each other's personal names in the middle of an inter-sect banquet! Jin Guangyao's skin prickles at how indiscreet they are.)

"I will help. Wei Ying cannot do this alone."

"Oh!" Wei Wuxian perks up in sudden understanding. "Lan Zhan, you are so good at politics! Yes, if both the Lan and Jiang sects are involved, that reduces the burden on both of them but means they both get the help they need! Right?"

For the first time possibly ever, Jin Guangyao actually feels bad for Lan Wangji, who is clearly trying to communicate desperate yearning through his intense stare, but Wei Wuxian is apparently only understanding it as… political zeal?

Gods help them both.

When Jin Guangshan doesn’t immediately shoot the idea down (it would be a bad look if he did, Ouyang-zongzhu is already muttering about 'upright, righteous Hanguang-jun' and the collective members of the hall seem to be in favour of this proposed arrangement), Jin Guangyao decides that enough is enough and someone needs to wrestle this banquet back under control.

He sends Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji off with a servant to find whichever administrator has the records that are relevant to the Wen prisoners, and by the time he returns, the banquet has more or less settled again because someone with excellent timing has brought out the food (Jin Guangyao will have to investigate amongst the servants to find out who, he believes that reward-based discipline is more effective than punishment, especially given the attitudes of the rest of his family).

By the end of the day Jin Guangyao is dead on his feet, has a headache building behind one eye socket, and has spent a good few hours going about in damp robes because, when Jin Guangyao had brought him his evening tea, Jin Guangshan had thrown it back at him.

"You said Nie Mingjue wouldn’t be a problem!"

Jin Guangyao had expected his father would be in a foul mood, but that doesn’t stop the way his back twinges as he crouches to pick up the cup. "My apologies, fuqin. Chifeng-zun has never expressed any interest in our treatment of the Wen prisoners prior to this point — I am not certain why he has suddenly taken an interest now. It was uncharacteristic of him."

Jin Guangshan had narrowed his eyes at him. "All that time you're spending with him nowadays and you can't even guess his political opinions? What's the use of it? What's the use of you?"

Dread pools in Jin Guangyao’s stomach and he scrambles to kowtow, even as pain spikes through his knees. "This humble one begs your forgiveness, I will do better, I-"

"No need," Jin Guangshan sneers. "I think it's time we deal with Nie Mingjue more permanently."

Jin Guangyao stares down at his own hands pressed flat against the marble floor, mind racing, blood pounding in his ears. "Fuqin?" He chokes out.

"I think you know exactly what I mean."

He forces himself to at least appear calm, even if he feels like he's about to throw up. He absolutely cannot show weakness here. If his father suspects for even one moment that he feels any kind of reluctance around the prospect of ‘dealing with Nie Mingjue more permanently’, he will pounce on it like a hunting hound scenting blood. He needs to reason purely pragmatically. He cannot allow any emotion to slip through.

“If fuqin would allow this humble one to make a suggestion?” He says, keeping his eyes demurely fixed down on the floor but lifting his head a little so his father can better hear him.

“Fine,” Jin Guangshan says, his tone bored.

“Chifeng-zun may be known for his temper, but he is an expert tactician, and for the most part does not make rash or risky decisions regarding his sect in political situations. However, today he very publicly disagreed with the Jin sect, and aligned himself with Wei-gongzi, who has a reputation for being disrespectful and stirring up trouble wherever he goes. Everyone knows that he hates the Wens for what happened to his father, and he’s never had any sort of positive relationship with Wei-gongzi, so why would he choose such a risky topic to speak out about?”

“Why indeed,” Jin Guangshan murmurs.

He’s curious. Good. A flicker of hope stirs in Jin Guangyao’s heart.

“Initially he advocated for all of the Wen prisoners to be executed, so there is no reason for him to care about their welfare now. I believe there must be some motivating factor we are missing — and anything that could persuade him to take this kind of political risk would be an incredibly valuable piece of information to use against him.”

Jin Guangyao risks a glance up; his father is staring thoughtfully into the distance, lips pursed. “And you believe you can be the one to find this information?” He asks, without looking down.

“I believe I can.”

He would be trading Nie Mingjue’s trust for Nie Mingjue’s life, and the thought makes his heart ache, but at the end of the day Nie Mingjue would still be alive — and Jin Guangyao has done far worse already to keep Nie Mingjue alive. He can work out the details at a later date; he can lie and cheat when he has the time to think it through properly, for now he just needs to persuade his father that his sworn brother doesn’t need to die. Everything else is manageable.

Jin Guangshan finally looks down, running his fingertips absently over the ornately carved armrest as he studies Jin Guangyao’s face. “Very well.” He says, and Jin Guangyao uses every ounce of his willpower to stop himself sagging in relief.

“You know what the consequences will be if you fail,” Jin Guangshan calls as Jin Guangyao makes his hasty exit, and because he is facing away from his father, he allows himself a moment to close his eyes and shudder.

--//--

If one good thing comes out of the Phoenix Mountain hunt, it is that Jin Zixuan (somehow?) managed to make enough of a positive impression on Jiang Yanli that she agrees to a longer visit at Jinlintai, and he apparently must continue to make a positive impression, as she agrees to reinstate their engagement without Jin Guangyao having to employ any of the subtle methods of political pressure he and his father have discussed.

It seems that she genuinely just… likes him.

Apparently there’s no accounting for taste.

Jin-furen wants primary control over planning what will no doubt be the biggest, gaudiest wedding of the generation (alongside Jiang Wanyin, who is doing his best to keep up with her demands), but she is quite happy to use Jin Guangyao as a dogsbody for the parts of it that she’s not interested in. Even if Lan Xichen hadn’t asked for them to take a break with dual cultivation, Jin Guangyao would likely have needed one, because he is run just as ragged as with the Phoenix Mountain hunt.

Thankfully, unlike the Phoenix Mountain hunt, there are no diplomatic incidents and everyone seems to be on their best behaviour throughout the whole event. Jin Zixuan is far too besotted with his new wife to stick his foot in his mouth, Jin Zixun has been extensively and very creatively threatened by Jin-furen regarding what exactly will happen to him and his chances of carrying on the bloodline if he dares to start a fight, and even Wei Wuxian keeps his usual drunken mayhem to a minimum, clearly invested in making sure his beloved shi-jie’s big day goes smoothly.

The general opinion of the jianghu seems to be that Wei Wuxian’s new restraint must be due to how much time he has been spending around the Lans — particularly Lan Wangji — fulfilling the responsibility he swore to uphold in regards to dealing with the Wen prisoners. Jin Guangyao has been kept updated by Lan Xichen as to how it has been going, and it is impressive how much they have managed to achieve in just the few months they have been working together.

Less officially, Lan Xichen has also cheerfully been updating him on how things are going personally between his brother and Wei Wuxian, and… well. Those two make Jin Zixuan look suave.

Jin Zixuan who, against all odds, in a few short years has gone from the least likely young master in his generation to find romantic success, to utterly outstripping everyone else by unexpectedly falling in love, getting married, and having an heir on the way, if Jin Guangyao is not mistaken (there are very few reasons why a wedding might be moved a month earlier at rather short notice).

And whilst his brother gets to bask in newlywed bliss, Jin Guangyao works himself to the bone, tries to avoid his family’s wrath, and absolutely definitely does not count down the days until his next trip to Qinghe.

|NEXT|

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #The Waves are Rising and Rising #Jin Guangyao #Nie Mingjue #Lan Xichen

16 notes · View notes

stalkedbytrains · 3 months

Text

Dead Letters, Missing Wife

Dead Letter #1

At least with this Monday you have the joy of looking forward to belated birthday letters and things being delivered to you since the mail doesn't go on Sundays.

Sure enough after school there was a small stack of letters for you.

Grandma, aunts, uncles, your one weird cousin that lives in the mountains.

All birthday wishes and greetings. It was nice.

Then there was a large, thick envelope that said, "Department of Recognition, Vows, and Contracts."

The paper was forgotten about at first.

The certificate, was a marriage certificate. For you and your first crush, your best friend at 6 years old, Siobhan.

There was your name and Siobhan Winters.

"This certificate recognizes the wedding vows exchanged between these two parties as complete and binding upon the youngest reaching their age of majority."

The memories come flooding back. You hadn't thought of Siobhan in years. Hell, you haven't even seen them in twice as long.

There were some things about weddings that you know, but you don't know much.