#the answer is i have Many Feelings evidently
Anyways, I will continue to stand on my soapbox and scream about how I refuse to believe no one in the ADA cares when Dazai tries to kill himself.
They're used to it, and yeah, they don't bat an eye when he throws himself into rivers, but they do care.
so here's some headcanons about that under the cut because i hate how the show plays his very real issues for comedy
No one mentions how stressed out everyone gets when the phone rings after Dazai's been gone for a couple of days. It's to a point they rotate who answers, because no one wants to be the one to find out if he's in the ER, or worse.
Dazai isn't allowed to carry firearms without supervision, and it's been like that from the second his suicidal ideation became evident to the ADA.
If more than three days go by without Dazai having shown up in the office, Kunikida will drop everything to go find him. He claims it's because "he needs to be at work, these random disapperences are highly unprofessional" but everyone knows it's really because he's worried.
Everyone in the ADA has a key to Dazai's apartment so they can drop by and check on him when the need arises. At least once a week, someone will drop by. These little visits take many forms. Fukuzawa's visits tend to involve chess games, when Ranpo drops by they make fun of bad mystery movies, Yosana drags him out to bars, when Atushi and Kyoka are over they always seem to end up out at parks or just wandering around the city as a group. Kunikida tries to keep his visits short, but he often finds Dazai dragging him around Yokohama just to bother him. They both refuse to admit how much they enjoy the time they spend just hanging out.
When things get particularly bad, Dazai sometimes just turns up at Fukuzawa's apartment in the middle of the night. He doesn't question it, just grabs him some water and lets him talk about what's bothering him.
Yosano leaves fresh bandages on Dazai's desk every week and makes sure to change his every time he goes in for treatments.
Kyoka noticed Dazai was being way quieter than usual one day, and left a bunny keychain she owned on his desk because it always made her happy and she figured it might help him. Dazai has kept it in his pocket ever since.
If Ranpo notices Dazai getting worse than usual he'll drag him out to convenience stores to get snacks with him so he's away from the noise and hecticness of the Agency.
Atsushi will write Dazai's reports for him if he notices he's having a hard time. He knows it isn't much but he figures it's at least some small way to help him, even if he probably doesn't notice he's doing it.
If he makes a serious or near successful attempt, especially if it ends up with him in the hospital, the ADA will take turns talking with him, staying in his room, just being around him.
Naomi sometimes steals his jacket to make sure it gets washed after he's throw himself in the river.
No one talks about how he's gotten less actively suicidal the longer he's been in the Agency, how his attempts went from every day to maybe a couple times a month, how he talks about suicide less. They may not mention it, but everyone is proud of him.
Dazai never mentions these things to any of them, partly because he isn't sure how to bring it up, but he does appreciate it. He isn't used to having people care about him enough to put measures in place to make sure he doesn't hurt himself, or check up on him when he does. It's a strange feeling for him, being wanted, being cared for like this. But it's not an unwelcome one. He appreciates their efforts more than he can put into words, and he's taking steps so they don't have to worry about him as much. He's never to fully stop trying to kill himself, but he is trying to do it less on company time, and that's something, at least.
38 notes · View notes
In some ways, it seems to me like 911 has reached a fork in the road in S5 where they can either go in Buddie's direction or not. But maybe that's just me. Do you think that they CAN continue to keep the show in this indefinite state with Buddie for the sake of keeping all fans? At what point will Buddie be slow-burned out of existence?
Hi love, thank you so much for the ask!
That's such a good question. TBH, ever since ep 309 aired, I've had this feeling, like now, now they must decide. Because in that ep the flirtation was so evident, it was barely subtextual anymore. And then the end of s3 brought with it Buck's final closure with Abby, so once more I was left with the feeling that this is the crossroads on his journey and s4 must bring with it a decision. This was followed by the freaking epic lovers cinematography of 413, that also left me with the feeling that the decision must be made now! And here we are, after ep 505 has aired, and I still have this feeling...
Which is to say, I guess it's hard to know where the fork in the road is because we honestly don't know what the road overall looks like, where it's leading, how do the people navigating us on it see it... It's hard to say also because this road isn't set in stone. It's a road that can be redefined at any minute. Meaning, maybe Tim has settled for Buddie already and we're just watching it unfold, or maybe he never will "turn them gay" for fear of homophobic reactions, or maybe right now Tim isn't leaning towards Buddie, but he's keeping the option open, he's still adding stones to that possible path because he knows some day he might change direction and decide to travel towards that Buddie canon destination.
We just don't know. But the good news (if you're so inclined) is that I don't think there is a moment when a really good ship can be slow-burned out of existence. When a ship has that chemistry and potential, when they've both got a place on the show, and there's a lot of fans who want the ship and love the characters, I think that option, temptation even, to let them finally materialize is always there for showrunners. So as long as 911 is on the air, no matter how many turns the road may take along the seasons, there is always the option of allowing Buddie to finally go canon. As an idea, even during its very final ep, similar to what the show 'Hannibal' did. (though I honestly hope that we do get canon Buddie and that it happens at an earlier stage than the show finale)
I hope this answer was helpful! Thank you for the ask and for how kind you always are! Hope you're having a great day! xoxox
(I’ll reply to all my asks, please bear with me!)
51 notes · View notes
Hii, I love your analysis on SNS. I just wanted to know that what do you think sasuke meant in the last scene when Naruto was returning his head band, when he was talking about praying??? Like the whole dialogue??? Some people are saying he is considering naruto's love for him as a prayer or he was talking about conviction of Shinobi??? I am really confused 😃
Hi. I would have answered this sooner, but it's difficult when workload gets heavy. In any case, nothing can keep me away for very long from Naruto so here I am.
You touched a sensitive nerve there. Sasuke describing his love for Naruto as a prayer?
A lot of SNS fans find it difficult to describe Naruto and Sasuke's relationship. I do too. I mean yeah, it's romantic love, sure. But more than the conventional meaning of it. It is hella devotional and all consuming, it is like a religion. Their love transcends the conventional understanding of love. This panel is a good example of it. Among many in SNS.
There have been whole ass movements in literature that were founded on the element of devotion, the parallels between religion and romantic love have been used as an effective tool to portray passionate and deep emotions in many Asian articles of literature and cinema. Bhakti movement is a good example of it. Rumi is another. Try this piece of poetry by Rumi for size.
"This love is not a short-lived fancy. It is the daily prayer, the year-after-year fast. I live it, like an act of worship, till the end of my life."
Sound familiar? It's this element of deeply felt devotion in this 'feeling' they both talk of, that sets them apart from lesser beings like the rest of us.
I wondered why Kishimoto made Sasuke call it prayer. It's an interesting choice of word, and given it's a significantly conclusive panel, you know Kishi did it for a reason.
A prayer is something you do even when you have no evidence or proof it will work.
Like a religion. That's how Sasuke sees his feelings for Naruto. That all this love that he carries for him is like a prayer, that Sasuke will keep loving Naruto no matter what happens. It's bottomless, beyond the limit of mere definitions.
Sasuke loves him.
And Naruto loves him too. Beyond reason. Also like a religion, like an unshakeable faith.
Even though he has good reasons to protect and support Sasuke, I think there are very few things that he wouldn't forgive when it comes to Sasuke. And he wouldn't forgive anyone who hurts Sasuke.
When Naruto admits that every time he saw Sasuke carrying all his burden, he felt pain and wanted to share it, Sasuke realizes that Naruto feels the same way he feels for Naruto. But where Sasuke is aware of his feelings for Naruto, Naruto hasn't completely understood them yet.
But it's enough for Sasuke to understand. This admission from Naruto is the trigger that leads Sasuke to finally admit his own feelings towards Naruto.
It's curious to see how Kishimoto still doesn't define these 'feelings'. But he uses this word in text frequently. I mean sure, Kishimoto obviously cannot say it outright. But like everything else in SNS, he finds a way to say something significant without using the exact words. But he also mindfully provides more than enough subtext to justify it.
I have written more specifically about it here,
Sasuke finally understands the nature of Naruto's feelings towards him. Kishimoto deliberately skirts away from explicitly explaining this 'feeling', if they were brotherly, there would have been no reason to do it. It doesn't matter, we get it. And Sasuke gets it.
This 'feeling' is so all encompassing, that Sasuke thinks of it as the guiding light to redemption.
His love for Naruto is bigger than the deep turmoil and bitterness inside him. Naruto never left his side, not once. So Sasuke decides to take Naruto's hand (doesn't the visual imagery suggest it?), and join him in his new goal. Ideologically, they have different theories about war and revolution, village and Hokage, which are central to the ethical tussle in the narrative. It's not like Sasuke decides one theory is better than the other. No. His change of heart is not a capitulation. It's a choice. Made by Sasuke. For love. Because nothing is bigger than his love for Naruto. Which he now realises.
The sense I got from this panel was that even though Sasuke loves Naruto, he is aware of all the roadblocks in the way of their union, namely, the expectations of people. Being the most powerful shinobis in the entire Ninja world, they now carry the responsibility of rebuilding the world after a devastating war. But Sasuke decides to keep faith regardless because that's how faith works. He decides to join Naruto in his goal of uniting all the shinobis.
Conviction of shinobi never meant much for Sasuke. In contrast with Naruto. Kishi waxed eloquent about being an ideal shinobi when it came to Naruto but with Sasuke, it was always about avenging his family, bringing a revolution, righting a few wrongs. And the path he took for it was obviously different from what a typical ideal shinobi would take. It's basically the central conflict discussed in chapter 696.
Since there isn't any subtext for it, I won't say it is because Sasuke considers a shinobi's conviction all important in Naruto Manga.
He is still expecting to finally settle things between them. This is all very deliberately subtle wording, and may seem ambiguous or confusing. But with subtext, all this text makes perfect sense. It's really about them as individuals and their bond, not about some amorphous theory about being a shinobi.
Which finally brings me to my last panel.
This stupid panel. It just didn't feel such a lengthy, eloquent and deeply emotional monologue would have led to something this dry and incongruent. Anti climactic af. It really feels like it should have said something more emotionally conclusive. But well, it's a show about ninjas at the end of the day.
Still, Kishi is a cruel mistress.
33 notes · View notes
Hey!! could you make a imagine where reader and stiles have a brother sister realtionship and reader just broke up with her boyfriend and he comfort her ❤
Break Up With Your Boyfriend I’m Laughing
Summary: based on the request ^^^
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader (platonic)
Warnings: mentions and aftermath of a breakup, brief angst, Stiles being a supportive friend, mentions of cheating, mentions and hopes of murder, fluff, it’s short so sorry
Word Count: 546
“Hey, are you okay?” The redness surrounding your eyes said otherwise, but you simply wiped behind your eyes and nodded, not convincing Stiles in the slightest. He was worried, you hadn’t been showing up to school, or answering text, you had dropped off the radar of the pack and he had it in his every intention to uncover why you had dug yourself into an antisocial hole.
There was nothing romantic about his motivation to pursue and care for you; the two of you were friends, and then some, like family. He was the only child, but he didn’t feel like it, not when really despite the scientific evidence that suggested otherwise, you were his sister. Since the sandpit he had protected you from the bullies and help you patch yourself up when you scratched your knees, and he was still here, the two of you were just older with different arising problems.
“You know what I am? I’m a single woman, me and that cheating jerk off are over. He broke up with me because he thought I was cheating on him with you. Can you believe that, it’s mental right? And now I’m all alone, because no one wants me like that, I’m just a side piece until they can find something better.” He walked further into your room, sitting on the bed beside you as he rubbed your shoulder, a frown contorting his features. It was comforting for him too as you sunk into the contact, allowing him to do so, enjoying his efforts to make you feel a little better, but it still wasn't enough.
“Will it make you feel better if I kill him? Cause it’ll make me feel better and I can’t think of anything else but that right now.” He rambled, wishing that he had some kind of supernatural strength to scare the crap out of that dick that you had been dating, but alas he didn’t. He was a simple human trying to make his way in this crazy town, his urgency to murder made you laugh, but you crumbled a little as the emotion triggered another wave of sadness over you.
“It won’t. Just tell everyone that I broke up with him would you? Can't have him killing my reputation because if he does then you may as well kill me." Quirking your eyebrow at your old friend, you watched as his face stifled, containing the urgency to laugh as he endorsed the contents of what you said. It was clear that he was holding in his amusement as the dimples on his face began to become strongly defined until they blew up and he could not help himself but question you.
"What reputation?" He half cackled are you, and soon you found yourself falling down into the trap of laughing alongside him, as he pulled you into his side, rubbing soothing circles upon your shoulder. “Hey is that my jersey?” He pointed at what you were wearing with a frown, recognising the number 24 written in white upon the burgundy material. You answered with a shrug as you grabbed the remote of the TV and went straight to Disney plus, playing one Star Wars movie of many that the two of you would watch that night.
31 notes · View notes
Whumptober Day 21: That’s where the blood’s supposed to be
(Bleeding thru the bandages, pressure, blood-matted hair)
This was originally going to be an entirely different thing with Time and Legend, then I was like “wait. I just did them yesterday. shoot.” So this is what came out instead. Last minute. Aheh.
Wind shifted uncomfortably on the hard stone floor, wincing as his legs ached. He’d move into a more comfortable position, but there wasn’t a more comfortable position. Just cold hard stone that made him sore no matter how he sat.
He’d paced around the windowless room at first, poking suspicious corners, kicking bars that looked like they might’ve been loose. But the structure was annoyingly sturdy and it soon became evident there wasn’t any way to slip out.
So he sat down and played with the edge of his tunic, and tried not to worry.
He’d been captured by some gangly guys in red suits, and while Wind could certainly handle himself in a fight, he’d been alone and outnumbered. He knew he shouldn’t have wandered away from the group, but Wild has said the ocean was really close and he hadn’t seen it in so long. So he’d slipped away when they made camp, promising himself he just wanted a look.
...and got promptly ambushed and dumped in here.
They hadn’t even done anything to him, just tied him up and put him in a cell. No taunts, no pressing for information, nothing. He’d slipped the ropes hours ago, but nobody had even noticed.
So he was left to just sit and wait. Which wasn’t one of his strong suits.
He really hoped the others would come soon. Wind knew he was capable, but he was in an unfamiliar world against unfamiliar enemies, and he had no clue what they wanted. For all he knew they’d just left him here to die.
He was almost relieved when a clanging noise caught his attention and the door finally opened. One of the bigger red-suited guys came in, closely followed by a more regular one.
Wind opened his mouth to demand some answers, but gasped instead when he saw what was held limply in their grasp.
Wild was on his knees being dragged between them, tunic torn and bloody as his hair hung in a messy curtain over his face. He was unconscious, or very close to it, because he didn’t even react when the large man threw him into the cell next to Wind.
Wind jumped up and ran to his side, trying not to panic at the large amount of red staining his friend’s shirt. “Wild?! Wild are you okay?” He pushed some hair out of his face, and felt his worry grow when the champion didn’t answer.
Wind glared over at the red suits, balling his fists up. “What did you do to him?!”
The smaller one laughed, and Wind was sure there were smirking at him from under their weird masks. They didn’t answer him, simply exiting the cell and slamming the door shut behind them.
Wind could feel his heart start to pound as he took in Wild’s injuries, none of which looked too life-threatening. But there were so many of them. They littered his chest and shoulders, and there were multiple thin slices on his face as well. He’d obviously been hit on the head at one point too, and his usually golden blond hair was matted with drying blood.
Wind swallowed. There was a lot of blood.
“Wild?” He asked again, voice shaky. “Can you hear me?”
The champion let out a faint groan, and his eyes cracked open, thin lines of azure visible.
“Yeah...” he whispered, and Wind felt his panic abate a little. “glad you’re okay sailor...”
“Glad I’m okay?!” Wind shouted. “I’m not the one bleeding all over the place! Why did they do this to you Wild? Who even are these guys?!”
The champion sighed shakily, and Wind felt a pang of guilt for yelling at him. “Sorry,” he said, sitting down on the floor. “How’d you get here? Did you follow me?”
Wild nodded. “I saw you sneak off... figured you’d... be fine, but when you didn’t come back... I went looking... and the Yiga caught...” he coughed into his arm. “...caught me.”
He winced and put a hand around his waist, blood pooling under his fingers
Wind sucked in a short breath, and shrugged out of his blue outer tunic. He pressed it tightly on what looked to be the deepest cuts on Wild’s chest, wincing as the blue started to stain red. Then he carefully lifted the champion’s head into his lap and began picking out some of the dried blood in his hair.
“The yiga...” Wind mused to himself, trying to keep his mind off all the blood. “Didn’t you and Cap run into one of them one time?”
Wild hummed in agreement. “Yeah. They’re... out for my blood. Hate the hero. And... royal family.”
Wind frowned. That would’ve been nice to know before they’d landed in Wild’s time. “So why didn’t they just kill you? Why bother with capture?” Wild let out a short laugh, and Wind noticed a hard light in his eyes.
“They want to make it last.”
Wind’s eyes widened, but Wild’s serious expression suddenly changed into a grin. “Doesn’t matter though...” he said smugly. “Twi an’ Four... saw what happened... They’ll be here any time now...”
Wind brightened up. “That’s great! We just have to hang on until then.” Wild smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but coughed instead. He blinked, and looked down at his stomach. There was a concerning amount of red staining through Wind’s tunic that wasn’t there a moment ago.
“Huh.” he said hazily. “The yiga... uh... might’ve done too... much...”
Wild’s eyes began to drift close and Wind felt his earlier panic return full force. “Wild! Wild stay awake, you only have to last a little longer!”
Wild coughed again, and a thin trail of blood dripped down his chin. Anger burned through Wind’s gut, and he looked over at the bars blocking the door.
“Hey you yiga creeps!” he yelled. “I thought you wanted him to last! You did too much, come help him!” Wind’s voice echoed in the hallway, but no Yiga came to the cell. The sailor squeezed his eyes shut, hands shaking.
“He’s dying!” a sob punctuated the last word.
Wild’s breath was growing thin, and Wind desperately pressed his soaked tunic tighter around him, tears dripping down his nose.
“Come on champion don’t die, don’t die, the others are coming, don’t die don’t die don’t die-“
A loud booming noise sounded in the distance, and Wind snapped his head up. Shouts echoed down the hall, and Wind felt hope rise in his chest.
“Just a little longer Wild... please stay alive,” he pleaded, throat tight.
Wild didn’t answer.
15 notes · View notes
van dyck paintings which make all my bones fall out compilation
88 notes · View notes
Your majesty, may I humbly inquire if/how you would imagine a reunion of Ivan and Fedyor after the events of season 1?
Also on AO3.
Ivan wakes up on the far side of the Shadow Fold with very little memory of how he arrived there. He lies flat on his back beneath the cold white sun, which drills into his head like a blade, and at last, after a great effort, he vaguely recalls sunlight of another sort, wild and fey, bursting from Alina Starkov’s hands on the deck of the skiff as everything else went to hell. He remembers the Zemeni brat getting a lucky jump on him and shoving him over the rail, and then falling. Swirling, hungry shadows, shrieking volcra, running with his arms flung over his head, knowing only that he wasn’t dying like this, that he had to survive. In that, at least, he has succeeded. His kefta is torn and filthy, his lips are cracked and bloody, his face is striped with an ugly wound that might scar, he reeks of monstrous ichor, and he may or may not have just witnessed the entire city of Novokribirsk being scoured clean off the map, but Ivan Kaminsky is alive.
After a while he sits up, retching and forcing down the reel of dizziness. He squats on his haunches and tries to focus enough to heal his own wounds. Healers and Heartrenders can learn each other’s craft, but Ivan got complacent with Fedyor always around to do it for him, safe in the luxurious privacy of their bedroom at the Little Palace after another hard campaign. As the general’s right-hand man, he is more often on the front lines, and it became an enjoyably erotic exercise for Fedyor to tenderly patch him up, even if the Second Army Healers had already seen to most of it. I do not mend things, Ivan thinks, looking at the rough results of his efforts. I break them.
With a groan, Ivan forces himself all the way to his feet, looks down at his hand, and discovers that his amplifier is still there, the bear claw that was a valued gift from General Kirigan. No, not Kirigan – there was something else about who Aleksander really is, something Ivan needs to remember, but he can’t. But the bear claw was how he took down all those diplomats at once, something that doesn’t bother him, exactly, but what he still needs to reckon with. So, in his usual tidy, methodical fashion, he does so. They were representatives of cruel, greedy, incompetent governments who all want the Grisha dead or exploited, and while they might have been unarmed civilians, how many unarmed Ravkan children have died cowering in the dark because of their soldiers? As for Novokribirsk –
Ivan closes his eyes hard. He knows that one is harder to explain away, but at the end, he still can see the cold, merciless logic of it. West Ravka was a nest of traitors, and General Zlatan wanted every single person on that skiff dead. There is a certain sordid sense, there always has been, in inflicting one strategically planned atrocity to ensure the compliance of the rest. He knows that Fedyor will be upset. He has a soft heart, and having grown up near Kribirsk, he will have heard stories of its Western Ravkan counterpart and the separated families who lived there, dreamed of visiting when the Fold was banished. That –
Fedyor. Ivan freezes.
He doesn’t know where Fedyor is.
He doesn’t know if Fedyor is alive.
Frantically, he searches out through the network of the world, the meshed echo of heartbeats and living creatures that has always been a Heartrender’s particular soundscape, the extra dimension of humanity that he learned to experience as a child long before he had a name for it. Of course he can’t find Fedyor if he isn’t relatively nearby, but Ivan has always believed that no distance, no matter how great, could truly separate them for long. He just needs to start in one direction and work it down. He can’t stop. In all likelihood, Kirigan is dead now. Someone needs to muster the Grisha and rally them against the Fjerdans, the Shu Han, the Kerch, everyone else who will be swooping in to take advantage of Ravka’s stunning weakness. No more Black General. No one to keep them all safe.
Cold panic twists into Ivan’s heart like a railroad nail. It’s not that he didn’t know that Aleksander has – had – that deep ruthless streak, but he understood it. He just wanted to keep safe what he loved, even if it has twisted and calcified into something else, something still darker. Ivan Kaminsky loves two things: Ravka and Fedyor. He doesn’t need anything else. And he too will burn the world down if it means keeping them safe. If that makes him the new Black General, though he would not presume, so be it. Someone needs to do the dirty work.
Ivan grits his teeth, and ventures into the unknown.
It takes a few weeks, searching painfully and slowly down the coast, pelted with wild rumors of Novokribirsk’s horrifying fate and what awaits them now, trying to shut his ears to all of it, until he finally makes it to Os Kervo, on the shores of the True Sea. There is a ship with the Grisha banner in port, and as he gets closer, Ivan knows with a searing jolt that this is it, Fedyor is here somewhere, he is here. He follows heartbeats, stumbling through the streets and pushing people aside, ignoring their dirty looks and their curses. Some of them halt when they catch sight of the black embroidery still faintly visible on his filthy kefta, but others don’t look twice. Until he staggers down to the dock, and –
There he is. It drives the scanty breath out of Ivan’s lungs at a blow. He could stand here forever, looking and looking. But eventually, in a whisper, he has to speak.
Fedyor whirls around and stares. He looks like a man who can’t believe his own eyes, who has not even allowed himself to think about the worst, has shut himself down to avoid the prospect. He looks older and colder and harder than Ivan’s sweet Fedya, the man he left behind not the same as the one that greets him now, but it is still him. He doesn’t bother with words. He closes the distance between them in three strides, throws his arms around Ivan’s neck, and kisses him savagely.
Ivan doesn’t give a shit that they’re in public, that everyone can see them, that he himself is weak in the knees and can feel tears running down his unshaven cheeks, the taste of the salt mingling in their kiss. They sway on the spot, unwilling to let go of each other in case they evaporate, until Fedyor finally whispers, “Below. Now.”
They stumble onto the ship and into one of the tiny berths, barely large enough for Ivan to stand upright, but he doesn’t care. Fedyor strips him out of the tattered remains of his kefta and sets to work, as Ivan closes his battered eyes and lets himself sink into the sheer, unbelievable joy of his lover’s familiar touch, the restored wholeness of their two halves. But of course, the illusion that nothing has changed cannot last forever. As he smooths his fingers over the deepest of the volcra gashes, Fedyor says, “Vanya, what happened?”
Ivan stares at the low ceiling of the bunk. He doesn’t know if he can put it into words, doesn’t know if he wants Fedyor to know everything, even as he doesn’t think he can justly keep it from him. He does his best to provide a terse, clinical summary of the events on the skiff, and reaches out to grab Fedyor’s hand before confirming the truth about Novokribirsk. “It’ll be all right,” he says urgently. “As long as there’s you and me.”
Fedyor stares at him. His dark eyes look huge and terrified. “You think that’s all right?”
“No. Not exactly, I just – ” Ivan has never been the best with words, and they are once more cruelly failing him. He puts his other hand on Fedyor’s cheek, turning his face back to him. “I need you to understand that we’re at war. War, Fedya, in a way we never have been before. All the others, they hated us, but Kirigan kept them at bay. Now there’s nothing. They’re all coming for us. Novokribirsk is only the start.”
“And whose fault is it,” Fedyor asks flatly, “that that happened? If Kirigan hadn’t gone mad with trying to expand the Fold, with Alina Starkov – things were stable before! Not good, maybe, but predictable! Constant! Now this – ”
“It was a stalemate before!” Ivan crawls out of the bunk and kneels in front of Fedyor, looking up at him imploringly. “They were trying to smoke us out, wait for us to make a mistake, so they could pounce on us and tear Ravka to pieces! Fedya – look at me, Fedya, darling, Fedya, my heart. Look at me. I will keep us safe. I will keep you safe.”
Fedyor looks at him mutely, tears running down his own cheeks, catching on the dimples that Ivan has always found so irresistible (even if he does an excellent job of pretending otherwise). Finally, with no other option, Fedyor nods slowly, his hands still knotted tightly with Ivan’s. He lets Ivan hold him, and Ivan does so ferociously, wrapping him in his arms and resting his head on Fedyor’s mussed hair and swearing in the dark that he will slaughter the Sun Summoner himself if need be, whatever needs to be done to keep Fedyor Kaminsky alive and whole and happy. Nothing else matters now. Not really.
After that, Fedyor lets Ivan tend to him, and opens up a little, and says that he found Nina Zenik in, of all places, a port city in the company of a Fjerdan drüskelle. She wanted to insist, improbably, that this witch hunter had changed for the better in the course of a few weeks, but Fedyor didn’t believe it. Ivan is comforted to hear him say this, that not all of Fedyor’s old certainties have totally dissolved, that he still trusts their enemies are their enemies. The drüskelle has been shipped off to Kerch, after Nina accused him of slaving in what Fedyor thinks was a calculated ploy to keep the big blond bastard out of the hands of the Grisha. “I don’t understand, Vanya,” he says, his head on Ivan’s bare chest as they lie together in the narrow bunk, naked except for the furs piled on top. “He hurt her, he captured her, he would have killed her as soon as he remembered. Why would she defend him?”
We all defend the things we love, even when they hurt us. Ivan doesn’t say this aloud. He doesn’t want to believe any more than Fedyor does that Nina improbably found the one good apple of an otherwise bad lot. It is easier to think of the Fjerdans as a faceless mass of ice-cold holy warriors, especially since they will be licking their chops at the downfall of the Black General, their archenemy and the king of the Grisha demons. “We do stupid things for the people we think we care about,” he says instead. “And Nina is young. Impressionable. She will learn the truth soon enough.”
Fedyor doesn’t answer, his fingers tracing light circles around Ivan’s collarbone. Finally, he shifts on top of him, his mouth finding Ivan’s with something close to desperation. After they pull back from the kiss, he says, “Promise me that we won’t lose each other again, Vanya. Whatever comes next. We have to do it together. Please?”
Ivan looks at the face of this man he loves so much and so well, who needs to hear this sweet lie no matter whether it is true. And with his own heart, closed and guarded as he generally keeps it, he wants to believe it too. He does. He does. He does.
If only it could make it so. If only he could be sure.
“Promise,” he whispers. “Promise.”
44 notes · View notes
i am constantly trying to figure out whether i am autistic or if my adhd and ocd just interact with each other in a very specific way that makes me relate to certain autistic things
2 notes · View notes
I read last chapter and you write them as friends? Didn’t Kacchan bully him? I love your fic (sorry for bad english!)
your english is fine! i hope i will answer your question.
Bakugou did bully Midoriya, I do not deny or defend that. I maintain my position that Bakugou and Midoriya were friends without parental guidance.
What I mean by “without parental guidance” is that I believe that Bakugou and Midoriya’s parents had little to nothing to do with the fact that Bakugou and Midoriya are childhood friends.
It is very common in bkdk fics and fanon to say that Mitsuki (Bakugou) and Inko (Midoriya) were once classmates or friends and that is why their sons were close. Although this is a nice theory, I’ve never seen a shred of canon evidence to support it.
This has a lot to do with headcanons and my interpretation as a writer and reader so I can’t claim any real knowledge as my position is almost just as much fanon as the ones I just mentioned.
Why do I think that?
Well, let’s go all the way back.
(from BNHA chapter 9)
As a writer and reader, this part really caught my attention. Midoriya flat out states why he and Bakugou were friends:
It would have been easy (perhaps easier) for Horikoshi to say that their moms/parents were somehow involved with each other and that meant they had to play or be around each other. It would have added to the power imbalance and control Bakugou had over the situation when he became a bully.
But Horikoshi didn’t. Midoriya claimed they were friends due to the fact that they “grew up in the same neighborhood”.
In fact, in almost all the mentions of Midoriya’s relationship with Bakugou, there is no mention of their parents that I can recall.
Now, I don’t know if you’ve had to dive into a lot of BNHA lore and breaking apart certain Japanese systems along with the general grid and knowing where characters are from, I have (can’t say I’ve done the best job but I just write fanfic so oh well) My point is that Bakugou and Midoriya both grew up in the same houses, same neighborhood, of Shizuoka Prefecture. Which, for those that want to save a google trip, has a population of 3.7 million people in a density of about 485 people per kilometer (squared). For those that don’t wanna do math: it’s a lot of people. It’s about the population of Los Angeles, USA.
But you might ask yourself: Road, why is the population important in taking into consideration why they are childhood friends?
Because it means there were a lot of kids growing up. They weren’t the only two kids in the entire playground. They weren’t the only two kids prowling around. They had other options.
And I can hear some people already yelling about how Midoriya just stuck to Bakugou like glue and I’m going to shut you down right now and state that it’s (painfully) obvious that both Midoriya and Bakugou were in daycare long before quirks were involved and an imbalance took place.
There is a certain element in that, yes, Midoriya did stick to Bakugou like glue. He refused to give up once on Bakugou. But again, note that Midoriya doesn’t only mention Bakugou as someone he idolizes. Bakugou is a childhood friend that Midoriya idolizes.
Bakugou being Midoriya’s childhood friend (and, likely, best friend for them both) comes first.
Here’s another thing: Bakugou never once denies being Midoriya’s childhood friend. He often regards Midoriya as being annoying or useless but Bakugou never denies that they were friends. He never flat out says that they didn’t have times they didn’t get along, and that they didn’t have moments where they were friendly.
If anything, canon supports the idea that, without guidance, without quirks, Bakugou and Midoriya were friends before things went south for them.
There are a ton of flashbacks regarding Midoriya and Bakugou’s relationship and what strikes me a lot of the time is that Midoriya and Bakugou were alone. Evidentally by choice, and playing with each other.
As a writer, and a fic writer, I prey on this specifically because it allows for the phrase “They were once best friends” to be used and supported. Their relationship took a bad turn once everyone dehumanized them both and set a power imbalance that fed into Bakugou’s superiority complex, anger, and frustration along with pushing Midoriya down and kicking him there.
My point is that I write them as friends that had something bad happen to them (I’d say more around age 8-14, 14 being the worst of their relationship) but they had a time where they were truly friends. Without parents telling them to get along, without outside influences, they enjoyed each other’s company and can’t deny their friendship.
Bakugou did end up breaking a lot of that relationship, but it is that breaking that proves the depth of their relationship for me. If there was nothing, only idolization, Midoriya would not have clung to him so desperately. There has to be something to break in order for Bakugou to break it.
tl;dr: Bakugou did bully him, but I see more into their relationship and recognize that they liked each other from an early age and sought friendship with each other before quirks or parents. Bakugou and Midoriya genuinely enjoyed/enjoy each other’s company and that is why BAL shines a light into what good must have existed before their relationship became volatile.
442 notes · View notes
I don’t appreciate being sucked back into D:BH hell I thought I moved on from this
2 notes · View notes
David isn't token evil, he's just a mutant and so people hate him for existing, and there's the whole "leader of the youth division of a group of mutants commonly described as terrorist" thing that has the law getting on his ass about stuff all the time.
why do i feel like poison ivy would love david
(but seriously i feel like the whole team is super unconcerned with this. the feds are on his ass again? about as intimidating as a teacher giving you shit on an essay you turned in for an elective class. they have a HULKLING. they don’t care.
also, the team is family, and they can snipe and poke and insult each other all they want, but the MOMENT someone from the outside tries? no. not happening. even Billy will join the fray, okay, and that’s saying something because he and David don’t always get along but David is their terrorist, you evil corporate/government goons, BACK OFF)
5 notes · View notes
a/n: he’s not wearing glasses in this one.
word count: 3.9k
genre: smut, nsfw, college AU
warnings: taboo rs, slapping, spanking, choking, face fucking, brat taming (kind of), slight degradation, creampie, age gap (nanami reaching 40)
pairing: professor!nanami x f!reader
summary: professor nanami calls you to his office to ‘talk’ about your terrible performance in his class.
maybe you went too far.
or else you wouldn’t have ended up in his office.
but is this the outcome you coveted? yes.
the door creaks behind you before it closes again as you sit and wait in front of the big wooden desk. you were kind of excited when he told you to come and see him at his office earlier but now you’re having a whirlwind of emotions making your stomach churn and you don’t dare to look around to face him– even though he’s going to be sitting in front of you in a moment.
his shoes clack against the floor as he strides and sits on his chair. the air in the room feels dense when the male doesn’t say anything; as if you’re not in his presence to begin with.
he looks exasperated. a long, deep breath is emitted through his nostrils as he loosens up his tie from the collar. you only gawk at him in awe as he does so, but quickly snap out when he finally shifts his gaze at you.
“so, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he finally breaks the silence. the deep, husky tone of his voice fills your ear and you hope he doesn’t notice your thighs press against each other almost immediately.
“tell you.. what?” you mentally slap yourself. you’re clearly aware of what he’s insinuating but you’re suddenly lost for words. there’s a huge difference between seeing him in class and being alone together with him. it’s even more nerve wrecking than you imagined and oh god, is his ac broken? because it suddenly feels hot.
nanami raises a brow, evidently unamused. “i had the courtesy to make time for you when i should be having brunch now so i don’t appreciate you playing coy.”
you gulp audibly, “i’m sorry, sir.”
“if it’s not clear to you yet, i’m talking about your grades.” he opens the drawer under his desk and pulls out a pile of paper before slamming it in front of you. you blink in surprise and flip through the pages, though you know you don’t need to see it when you already know what lies on them. there are a lot of red circles on the papers, namely yours, with huge unpleasant numbers on the corner ranging from 12% to 25%.
then he takes out another file which you realize as your student record throughout your semester and the subjects you currently take.
“i find it odd that you scored well for your other courses.” he skims through the pages. “you certainly didn’t cheat, i can tell.”
“no, of course not.”
“then, what’s the problem here?” his tired eyes bore into you as he waits for you to answer or come up with whatever excuse.
“you’re doing it on purpose.” he snaps.
it’s as if time comes to a stop. your cheeks heat up with humiliation and you can’t bring yourself to continue to look at him in the eyes. although you’re aware that your silence means compliance, you’re still jumbling up words in your head to deny his assumption.
“are you going to tell me i’m wrong?”
“yes– i-i mean–” you stammer.
“then enlighten me.” he glances at the branded watch donned on his left wrist. “we have time.”
you shake your head, “i have another class soon.”
“skip it.” he quickly retorts. “i’m sure you have no problems with that. your grades are doing well for that one, but certainly not mine.”
sweat starts to form on your palms as you look down on your thighs, purposely avoiding his eyes that hold nothing but so much intensity. you’re weighing between two options; to keep on bluffing or come clean. you don’t think that nanami would let you get off the hook if you keep on lying and you’d definitely be bombarded with more questions, yet the outcome of the latter would be so embarrassing and you don’t know if you can live it down for the rest of the semester.
you’ve fantasized about being alone with him but.. not particularly this way.
gathering courage and taking a deep breath, you decide it’s best to just tell him the truth.
“you’re right,” you feel your ears burning, hands clammy. “i purposely failed your class.”
lifting up your head, you see the male grinning lopsidedly in his seat. maybe he’s pleased that you’re not wasting his time anymore, you’re not sure, he’s not easy to read.
“wasn’t that easy?” he folds his arms in front of his chest. “i have my own speculation but i wanna hear why you did it.”
“um,” you look down to your hands again, also half wondering what kind of bold assumption he has in mind. “i was dared by my friend.”
“wrong,” he scoffs. “and look at me while you’re talking.”
you sigh defeatedly and nervously fix your gaze. if you’ve learned one thing now, it’s that your professor doesn’t have tolerance for bullshit and he knows one when he hears one.
“i-i did it for.. attention.”
“my attention?” he emphasizes, maintaining his stoic persona to mask his amusement of finding out that his speculation turns out to be indeed true.
you purse your lips in a thin line, nodding your head quietly. nanami remains to stare at you as he ponders in silence. you can hear your heart beating rapidly in your ears and you want to break eye contact so badly but you’re certain it wouldn’t be wise.
“all that, just for a crumb of my attention?” he spits with a hint of venom in his voice. “are you happy with what you did?”
well, you’ve imagined him punishing you on his desk, fuck you raw or spank you with his belt until your ass turns red– not some serious interrogation.
nanami props his elbows on the table, hands clasped under his chin to keep his head up. the air around him becomes even more threatening but it somehow manages you to feel even more aroused, making your toes curl in your shoes. you definitely need to get out soon.
“you know, if i have even one student failing my class, i could get into trouble and be questioned for my performance.” he starts. “to have you doing that for your own selfish incentive is unacceptable, don’t you think?”
“i’m sorry.” you mumble with meek.
“besides that, you might have to retake this course again for your next semester and it’ll waste your time– or..?”
you stay silent to let him continue.
“or you were intending to be in my class again so you can see me?”
“y-yes.” you bashfully admit after one silent moment, knowing that lying will take you nowhere. “i’m sorry, sir.”
nanami chuckles, finding your naivety to be rather entertaining. never has he ever met a student like you, outwardly expressing their interest in him by failing their paper. he’s not too sure what you’re trying to get out of him but maybe he can put one and one together. it’s pretty common that younger women have an attraction to older men like him and your classmates are.. well, not exactly the best looking either.
“are you?” he smirks cynically. “do you have any idea how many students i have to monitor? how tiring my job can be?”
“yes. it was inconsiderate of me. i’m sor–”
“show me.” nanami cuts you off and leans back on his chair. maybe he can push you a little bit, he thinks. you owe him this anyway.
you blink, perplexed. “what?”
“you kept saying sorry.” he undoes two of the buttons on his blue dress shirt and spreads his legs apart. “talk is cheap. show me.”
you do a double take as he taps his thigh and waits for you to come over. you have the faintest idea of what he’s implying but your body freezes and your brain short-circuits as if paralyzed.
“you chose to lie again? you’re not really sorry, are you?”
“no, no! that’s not it. i just..”
an ongoing battle takes place in your mind– sure that this is a part of your deepest, darkest fantasy yet you’re just baffled over how quick nanami catches on to it. now that your debaucherous dream has become a vivid reality, you don’t know which is the right step to take.
“but if not now, when?” a soft voice in your head whispers. if desire could embody a voice, you think this is it. gentle, yet seductive as if it attempts to give you a push to pluck and have a taste of the forbidden fruit.
“how much longer do you have to touch yourself to the thoughts of your professor before you go to bed?”
“although this could be a one time thing, at least you’d know how it feels like.”
you slowly get up from your seat and make your way towards him. nanami’s eyes trail up at you, down to the floor then back up at you; gesturing you to get on your knees.
you settle between his thick thighs and look up at him timidly through your lashes before you bring your hands to undo his belt.
“no hands.” he quickly demands.
you lick your lips as you figure the structure of the belt and how you’re going to take it off without the aid of your hands. the taste of cold metal and leather instantly invades your palate as you feebly use your teeth to tug the front loop of his belt. your head shifts awkwardly side to side until you finally get to catch the buckle between your teeth, pulling it hard before the belt soon unfastens.
nanami only observes you indifferently from above, yet the large tent in front of you doesn’t conceal the excitement he currently possesses.
you take a deep breath before you continue on succeeding your quest. you twist your neck as you find and tug on the fabric loop that holds the button.
“i know you’re a smart girl.” he praises as he rests his hand on top of your head while you struggle to lift up the zipper with your tongue and grasp it between your teeth. the simple praise inflates your confidence and you become more eager to complete your task so you can claim your awaiting prize.
with valiantness, you finally lock eyes with him as you pull down his zipper completely to reveal the huge bulge pressing against the fabric of his briefs and the tip slightly poking out from the top.
“hm? you still have to take it out, no?” he smirks as he notices you gape at the outline of his cock.
you quickly pull yourself together and lean back up to the stretchy band on his waist. he hisses when he feels your tongue purposely graze against the flushed tip before you pull down the briefs by force to reveal the one thing you’ve been desiring for so long.
you press your thighs together as a dull ache forms in your core from the sight of his thick cock standing proudly in front of you. it’s nothing like you’ve ever imagined– it’s better and you’ve finally found it worth going through all that trouble of failing his class (and using your mouth to take off his pants).
“this is what you want, isn’t it?” he sneers, titling up your chin with his fingers, brushing your lips with his thumb and pulling the bottom lip apart so he can see a row of teeth.
“y-yes, sir.” you gulp and breathe as you wait for his next command.
nanami’s lips tug into a conceited smirk, “suck.”
leaning down your head to the base, you flatten your tongue underneath the shaft and slowly drag upwards in favor of reveling the veins on his hard cock. nanami lets out a sigh of content when he feels your tongue licking his tip and his hand tugs on your locks by reflex. you look at him as you wrap your lips around the tip, slobbering the tip with your saliva and his precum.
“fuck.” he curses under his breath and his head falls back when the warmth of your mouth finally engulfs his throbbing cock as you take most of the length inside your mouth.
you hollow your cheeks together, head bobbing up and down as you struggle to take more of his cock that you nearly choke whenever the tip hits the back of your throat, but the hand on top of your head grabs a fistful of your hair and he pushes your head down to sink all his length inside your mouth deeper. when you want to pull away, he only holds you in place and remains his cock down your throat.
“through your nose.” he mutters. tears start to well in your eyes while your saliva just trickles down to his balls as he screws his eyes shut and relishes in the pleasure that washes throughout his body. “i needed this so bad, you know?”
your whines only give him more stimulation and his hips jerk in response, “just wouldn’t think that a student– fuck– out of all people would choke on my dick.” he lets out a sardonic chuckle as if something just crossed his mind. “it’s wrong, but that’s what makes it feel so good, isn’t it?”
nanami keeps you in the position as he ruts his hips slowly into your throat. his eyes are closed in concentration and his lips part slightly in fast and short pants. you work on your gag reflex as you let him fuck your mouth, enduring the sharp sting on your scalp when he tugs your hair harder– at least you know you’re making him feel good.
“if i cum in your mouth, you’d gladly swallow, won’t you?”
you can feel his cock twitching when you let out a choke of assent from your throat but you splutter as soon as nanami abruptly pulls away his cock because of a sudden knock on the door that startles the both of you.
“get under the desk.” he urges and you quickly crawl to hide while he coughs and inches closer to his desk. “come in.”
you hear the door open followed by echoes of footsteps before it comes to a halt in front of his desk.
“didn’t i tell you to contact me before seeing me?” his voice is laced with irritation yet collected as he speaks. you can imagine the agitated look on his face, thinking it would be only natural for anyone to assume that he’s already having a bad day. and to them, interrupting the peak of his orgasm is most definitely not it.
without a second thought, you take back his dick inside your mouth. a spur of triumph swells in your chest when you feel his body jolts in surprise. you think it’s only fair since he has choked you with his cock and what perfect timing to carry out your petty vengeance when the man is busy advising his student.
however, nanami shifts on his seat to give you more access to take more length of his cock. he tries to stay composed as he feels your tongue gliding up and down his shaft but once the wet muscle prods against the slit, he emits an oddly sharp exhale. you can hear him almost stammering as he speaks and the way his tone changes to conceal the squelching sounds you elicit from underneath the table as you please his cock with zeal.
“so, i want you to fix the mistake and hmm..,” his hands ball into fists on the table as he takes a deep breath. “show me in class tomorrow.”
“sure. uh, are you okay, sir?” you hear the voice say. “you don’t look well.”
his eye twitches when your tongue wraps around his balls, taking one inside your mouth to suck harshly.
“yeah, fine.” he clears his throat. “thanks for asking.”
nanami only watches as his student turns to walk towards the door until the door closes behind him. once he’s sure that the student has left the door, he finally leans back on his chair in relief.
“fuck.” he groans, glancing down at you as you look up at him innocently with doe eyes and your swollen lips wrapped prettily around his balls. yet, he looks dissatisfied more than anything.
nanami grabs your arm and drags you out from under his desk until you’re on your feet, “i never took you as a fucking brat.” he lifts up your skirt and bites back a groan once he sees the damp patch on your panties. “did you touch yourself?”
you hum a ‘mhm’, feigning guiltlessness as he grazes his fingers on your inner thighs.
“you’re just asking for me to touch you here, hm?” shivers run up your spine when his thumb ghosts over your wet slit and up to your clit.
“y-yes.” your breath hitches.
“begging for me to push your head on the table and ram my cock inside you?” he muses, pressing on your clit as he watches you squirm. “is that what you want?”
“please–” you roll your hips slightly to soothe the ache on his thumb but a hand comes down harshly on your ass, gesturing for you to stop in a fierce manner.
nanami chuckles mockingly, “well, that’s what exactly you’re not going to get.”
a whine elicits from your lips when he draws back his hands to his thighs and you glance at his dick; still throbbing and leaking precum from the florid tip. well, at least he hasn’t put it back inside his pants, so you still have a chance.
“come on. you haven’t shown me how much you’re sorry.”
with your inhibitions already flew out of the window, you stand in between his thighs, hoist the skirt to your waist and tug your panties to the side before squatting down to smear your slick on his dick. sparks of arousal swim through you as you grind your clit on the tip before you sink down, gasping as his thick cock stretches your cunt and down until you’re filled to the brim.
you glance at the male expectantly, waiting for him to move but he raises a questioning brow at you, “if you want something, work for it.”
not exactly what you sought for, but it should suffice. you begin to gyrate your hips slowly, adjusting to his size before you can pick up the pace. you fight the urge to hold onto him for leverage, in fear he wouldn’t appreciate the crumple on his expensive dress shirt later.
as you become more delirious, you start to hump his cock vigorously, whining like a bitch in heat as you feel every vein and ridges on his cock brushing deliciously against your walls. nanami lifts the hem of your shirt and brings it up to your mouth and you quickly catch it between your teeth.
“the door isn’t locked, you know.” he muses, staring at your bouncing tits with half lidded eyes; mesmerized and thick with lust. “what’s going to happen if someone comes in and sees you bouncing on her professor’s cock like a little whore?”
a low, guttural sound rips from his throat when he feels your walls clenching around him in response.
“you’d like that, don’t you?” he smirks, tugging your bra down slightly and brushes his thumb against the erected nipple, making you mewl through the fabric in your mouth.
“you know you’re not supposed to do this but,” he brings up his thumb to caress your cheek. “you’re just so eager to please me, aren’t you?”
you sniffle in response, hands clutching on his solid thighs as you melt into his soft gaze before it’s gone in an instant.
“but i don’t like brats.” he sneers, drawing his hand away to slap your breast. “i don’t like people making my job harder. are you a brat?”
you shake your head, he slaps again.
“you act like one. stop lying.”
nanami tugs down the shirt from your mouth, a part of the fabric already drenched with your drool. his large hand circles around your throat while the other grips your hip firmly to roll your hip even faster on his dick.
“oh– feels good–!” you moan wantonly, eyes rolling back as you let him control your body and assert his dominance over you.
“fuck it does.” he presses your throat tighter on the sides, restricting air from entering your lungs but your walls squeeze harder in retaliation.
“bratty little bitch. clamping down on me like that.” he grits out and slaps across your face. what seems to be a rather harsh form of treatment, the pleasure filled sting and the lack of oxygen only fuel your arousal that you don’t even notice the way you hump on his cock has become more rapturous.
“getting off to this?” nanami slaps your other cheek before he lets go of his grip around your neck and you’re finally able to breathe air again. yet, he doesn’t spare you time to gather yourself before he promptly lifts up your hips and starts to pound inside your cunt relentlessly.
the position causes you to tip to the front and you immediately hold on to him; face burying on the crook of his neck while his cologne fills your senses and sends you into a state of frenzy.
“you like me using your tight cunt like that?” nanami grabs your ass for leverage, the angle allows him to fuck you so deep that you’re able to feel his cockhead kissing your cervix with each thrust.
“y-yes–!” you cry, the pressure in your stomach building up as you inch closer to an orgasm.
“like it when i use you to take out my frustrations?” he spanks the meaty flesh; walls clenching tighter on his fat cock and more slick dripping down his balls. “you just want to be my little cocksleeve, don’t you?”
“yesyesyes– please–!” your body starts to tremble above him. “w-wanna cum–”
“then fucking cum.” nanami rams into your cunny faster, abusing the spongy walls until the pressure snaps and tips you over the edge. you moan breathlessly into his neck, while your pussy gushes and creams around his cock.
“that’s a good girl,” he fucks you through your high, grunting and panting as he pushes through the pulsing walls in order to chase his high. “and good girls get rewarded, right?”
you hum in agreement, still dazed and swimming in ecstasy as you gawk at him with heavy lidded eyes; the sweat glistening his forehead and sharp eyes focusing on where your bodies join.
“then you’re gonna get some huge load in this pretty pussy.” his pace begins to stutter, nails digging deeper into your skin before his cock twitches and his hips freeze as he paints your insides white with cum.
both exhausted bodies rest against each other, chests heaving as you and nanami take time to regain composure and come down from your highs. he lifts you up slightly to take out his spent cock and he tugs back your panties in place, not minding the cum that dribbles from your quivering hole.
your legs tremble once you get off of him that you have to force yourself to find your footing as you fix your skirt while the older male pulls back his pants in place.
“do your best for your next papers, no more of that bullshit.” he fastens his buttons and straightens his tie before raising his hands to brush against his sleek, light brown hair that’s mixed with a few strands of grey. “but if you have any problems, just come and see me in my office.”
nanami falls quiet for a brief second to contemplate and you straighten your back when you once again meet his icy gaze, “after hours.”
enjoyed this piece? wanna buy me coffee? :)
duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.
7K notes · View notes
swipe right - jjk | m
“ i wanna ruin our friendship. we should be lovers instead. i don't know how to say this, cause you're really my dearest friend “ - jenny, studio killers
♡ summary- after a horrible breakup, you sign back up for tinder and ironically match with your best friend, jungkook. a date for fun is harmless, right?
♡ genre- best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, jk is a minecraft streamer, brother namjoon, brother-in-law jimin, namjoon is kind of a himbo stay at home dad ngl, ex-boyfriend seokjin (mentioned but doesnt show up)
♡ word count- 9k
♡ warnings- mentions of a bad breakup (smh seokjin wtf??), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (u know the business folx), oral sex (m receiving), teasing, SO MUCH BODY WORSHIP, jk is a simp, slight dirty talk, lots of just talking during sex yall it happens, creampie, cum play, praise praise body worship praise, did i mention body worship, tit-fucking, cum eating, i think thats all.
♡ a/n - helloooo and thank you for your wait for this fic! i’m so happy its done and i loved writing it! it’s a little bit different feel for my usual style of writing (smut-wise) so please tell me your thoughts! i didn’t use dom/sub themes OR a daddy kink LMAOOOO praise me please. i hope you enjoy!! pls feel free to comment, chat, message, carrier pigeon, email, mail, WHATEVER U WANT, me. i love u babies. thank you to @kimtaehyunq for the sexy banner. and for @xjoonchildx @ladyartemesia @untaemedqueen for the writing support and idea generation. i would be nothing without my council. and thank you to my beta editors @hobi-gif and @ughseoks and @hongism for the perusal and help in writing this!
Jungkook is the person you call when your world falls apart.
He answers, voice raspy from the late hour, and the second he asks you what’s wrong, the downpour of torrential tears you’ve been holding back finally escapes and you’re sobbing through the phone that you just lost the love of your life—that he left and with little effort on his part, and a lot on yours.
Jungkook listens to you—his heart aching deep in his chest at hearing the utter heartbreak that’s clear in your voice. You’ve never been hurt like this, and he’s desperate to hold you, to make it go away. He wants to drive over to Seokjin’s house and throw a left hook into his stupid, handsome face for making you feel you weren’t worth it.
Because if there’s anything in the world that Jungkook knows, it’s that you’re worth it. You’re worth everything. Add up all the money and all the gold in the entire world, and it still doesn’t meet a fraction of what you’re worth to him.
“Where are you?” He asks as he cradles the phone against one arm and pulls on his jeans.
You sniffle. “Jungkook, it’s 3 am.”
“So? I was up playing Minecraft,” He lies. “Where are you?”
You can’t help but laugh the tiniest bit, a sliver of warmth wrapping itself around your raw and exposed heart. Like a balm to a flesh wound. It doesn’t heal it, not yet.
“I’m at our park.”
Jungkook smiles as he grips the phone back in his hand. The park. The place you and Jungkook spent your childhood playing make-believe games, and formative teenage years loitering around smoking clove cigarettes to look cool.
“Give me five minutes, okay?”
You nod, even though he can’t see you.
Jungkook arrives with two minutes to spare. His beat up Nissan that he insists is “vintage” and “priceless” idles next to you.
He can see you through the darkened glass of your car—your mascara is running down your face, tears streaked through your flawlessly applied makeup.
You still look so beautiful.
And it angers Jungkook that all that time you spent looking good for Seokjin meant nothing to him.
He motions for you to come over, pats the passenger seat next to him and smiles as he watches you open the door and slide into the security of his familiar car.
“You cleaned your car,” you murmur as you notice a severe lack of McDonald’s trash.
He sniffs haughtily.
“The trash added character.”
Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to respond. Instead, he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling you as close to him as he can get you. The instant his arms wrap around your body, the floodgates open again and your once-quieted tears turn back into full-fledged sobs.
“I loved him,” you gasp through the pain in your throat.
He rubs your back, pats your hair gently, soothing you the way he has for years now. Through every breakup, through every family fight with your older brother Namjoon, through all the mean girls in high school. Jungkook is the north star—always consistent, always guiding you back to safety.
“I know, babe,” he sighs. “You deserve someone who’s going to treat you right, who’s not just going to give up when things get hard.”
You choke back a cry against his Patagonia hoodie and bury your face further into the crook of his neck. He smells like Old Spice and the shampoo he uses, along with the smell of laundry soap you buy for him—he uses dish soap when he runs out and nearly broke his washing machine last time.
“I thought he was the one. I’m so stupid.”
Jungkook swallows hard. Tonight is about comforting you, not about feeling sorry for himself that you’re his best friend and not his girlfriend. He can’t help but think of what kind of life he would give you. He knows it’s one that wouldn’t end with you crying in a parking lot at 3 AM.
“You’re not stupid, you just loved him. And there’s nothing stupid about loving someone, even if it doesn’t work out,” he sighs as he cradles your head against him. It feels right having you there, pressed up against him and seeking comfort from the solace of his arms.
“Let’s go get a milkshake, yeah?” He asks as you pull your head up and look at him with sad, glassy eyes.
“Yeah,” you nod after a moment of staring.
Jungkook’s eyes sparkle with love, with hope. It makes the desperate, alone feeling inside you—disappear. Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your forehead and then starts the shaky ignition of his car, that takes three cranks of the key before it turns over.
He sends you a look, a laugh evident on your face.
“Don’t even start,” he warns. “The engine is fine.”
“Whatever you say,” you snort as you wipe an errant tear from your face.
“It’s a certified classic car! I could get millions for this baby!”
As the weeks pass, the pain of losing Seokjin becomes further and further from your mind. You can get through the day without crying anytime you see something that reminds you of him and even start flirting with others without feeling like you’re cheating.
You just still haven’t reached the point where dating someone else even feels possible. You’re terrified of allowing someone close to you, letting them into a place where you’re inviting them to possibly hurt you. You’re not sure your heart is ready for it.
“I think you’re just scared,” your older brother Namjoon states as he warms up a bottle of milk in boiling water.
He cradles his new baby in one arm while the other works at the bottle of milk.
“I’m not scared,” you huff. “I just don’t think it’s the right time.”
Namjoon sighs and hands the gurgling newborn baby off to you and readies the bottle for you to feed your new niece, Jisoo.
“Look, Seokjin sucks, okay? I know you two were together for some time, but in the end, he wasn’t the right one for you. There’s someone out there who is the right one for you. You know how many shit frogs I had to kiss before I got my prince?”
You make a face as you feed Jisoo, who happily sucks and gazes at the lights above.
“You call Jimin a prince?”
Namjoon sighs dreamily as he watches the baby and thinks of his husband.
“The dreamiest prince,” he breathes, eyes closed in bliss. “But back to your problems. I think you should get back out there. Go on some dates, meet some people. No one is telling you to fall in love and get married tomorrow. Just go have some fun.”
You allow Namjoon’s words to mull through your mind. What could be the harm in joining a few dating sites, perhaps spending some time at the gym or grocery store flirting with someone cute?
“Fine,” you say. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good. I can’t be the only one giving our parents grand-babies. Soo needs a cousin.”
You smile down at the tiny bundle in your arms and imagine a future where you have a baby of your own.
“Okay, I’m not trying to get knocked up, Joon.”
“Whatever,” he sighs. “Help me choose a wall color for me and Jimin’s new master bathroom.”
Tinder’s changed since the last time you used it, years ago. It’s gone from any semblance of dating to strictly an app used to get laid.
It’s discouraging swiping through all the obvious fuckboys. Sure, a quick and easy lay sounds great, but you’re also trying to go out and enjoy real, traditional dates, and it seems none of these guys want to step foot outside of a bedroom.
The swiping left becomes almost monotonous. You’re sitting on your couch, watching some documentary about serial killers, when a startling profile pops up on your Tinder feed.
The picture that pops up is... Jungkook. You can’t stop the bubble of laughter that leaps from your chest. His profile is so authentically Jungkook that you’re swiping right before you even know it.
Your brain doesn’t even comprehend what a match with Jungkook means, really. You’re still laughing as you click on the bubble to message him and send him as many laugh emojis as you can.
“Hey guys, what’s up, Kookie here with another Let’s Play Minecraft video for ya. Be sure to like and subscribe if you enjoy this kind of content.”
Jungkook’s headset is firmly wrapped around his head, mic next to his mouth and hands at the ready on his mouse and keyboard. He’s set and in the zone.
The game is well into play when the familiar chime of his phone goes off. It’s a Tinder notification—he can tell by the sound. He can’t help but roll his eyes, wondering what sort of boring conversation he’s meant to have with a girl who will probably ghost him, anyway.
He lazily lifts his phone and glances at the notification, before dropping it back to the desk.
His hand freezes on his mouse as he finally comprehends what he just read.
He just matched with YOU.
His best friend.
His secret, lifelong crush.
He sputters something into the microphone and stops recording his game, wildly grasping for the phone and unlocking it.
YN: 😂😂😂😂 is your bio a Minecraft pickup line?!
He pauses, attempts to collect his thoughts, before desperately typing on his screen.
JUNGKOOK: Why? 😉😏 did it work?
You spend the rest of your night jokingly flirting with Jungkook, sending GIFs and emojis in between the silly lines you’re using on each other.
Right before you’re about to head to sleep, Jungkook sends one last message.
JUNGKOOK: What if we went on a date lolol. Haha jk. Unless?? 👀👀👀
Your thumbs hover over the keys to your phone.
A date with Jungkook? Even though you matched with him, you’ve never thought of a date with your childhood best friend.
YN: alright, it’s only fair since we matched 😝 show me how you treat these tinder ladies
“I have a date with Jungkook tonight,” you tell your brother, Namjoon, over the phone.
Over the crying of your newborn niece, you hear Namjoon splutter in confusion.
“You what!?” He nearly screams. “Jeon Jungkook? Like... the annoying kid you’ve been friends with since fourth grade?”
“He’s not annoying! He’s my best friend. We ironically matched on Tinder and… Well, why the fuck not? Nothing serious is going to happen. We’ll go out and have a story to tell about how incompatible we are.”
Namjoon doesn’t reply. Instead, you hear him speak to his husband.
“She’s going on a date with Jungkook,” he says over the muffle of his hand on the receiver.
There’s a shuffle, and the dulcet voice of your brother-in-law, Jimin, comes over the line.
“Girl,” he starts. “What the fuck?”
You chuckle as you move about your closet, trying to decide what’s appropriate to wear on a date with your best friend.
“Mm-hmm,” Jimin tuts. “You know the boy is in love with you.”
“Okay, Chim, you’ve been spending too much time cooped up with my brother. It’s affecting your grip on reality.”
“Sure, honey. I just tell it like it is. Don’t break his heart.”
You roll your eyes.
“I won’t break his heart because there’s nothing there, Jimin.”
“I’ll be expecting your call later.”
“Yes, dad. Love you guys.”
“We love you too, sweetheart. But really, don’t break that poor boy’s heart.”
You open your mouth to retort yet another reassurance that there’s nothing to break, but the line goes dead.
“Fucking Jimin,” you mutter as you throw your phone to the bed.
You can’t allow yourself to think that Jungkook might have feelings for you. It’s totally out of the questions. He’s your best friend. The guy who shoves Cheetos up his nose to make you laugh and falls asleep during every movie night with his face in the popcorn bowl. He’s just Jungkook. This date is just a funny way to hang out.
So, why do you care so much about what you wear?
You’re still standing in front of your closet, attempting to find something respectable to wear. It doesn’t matter that the last time Jungkook saw you; it was with mascara streaming down your face and a hoodie from Namjoon’s college swimming days and ripped leggings. Jungkook has seen you in nearly everything you wear, so your indecisiveness gives you pause.
Do you want Jungkook to be attracted to you? Do you want to do your best to look as presentable as you would for a normal date?
The thudding of your heart tells you that maybe you’re more interested in this being a date than you’re allowing yourself to believe.
You shake all thoughts off.
No, you won’t allow yourself to overthink a night that should just be fun.
You settle for a fitted and simple summer dress, tights and heels. Simple, easy, respectable but also showing enough cleavage and sculpt of your ass to ensure you look more dressed up than not.
With one last look in the mirror, you’re ready.
JUNGKOOK: I’m outside!
ME: See you soon!
Jungkook taps his foot anxiously as he sits on the bench outside your apartment. His tight black jeans feel like a second skin on his legs, and the black button-down shirt he’s tucked in makes him rethink his choice of outfit.
Is he too casual?
He’s never really worn something like this around you. This is what Jungkook wears when he wants to seduce. This is what every girl he’s desperately wished was you got to see. The girls who swooned over his messy hair, the way his jeans display his toned thighs, the peek of skin at his throat.
Maybe it’s too much.
Maybe he’s afraid he’ll scare you away.
Maybe he’s afraid you won’t like it.
He’s given no chance to ruminate anymore because you’re exiting the building and walking straight towards him.
He doesn’t think he remembers how to breathe.
It’s as if you walk towards him in slow motion. Angels chorus around him and the setting sun sparkles on your face like a spotlight. There’s nothing in the world anymore, nothing but you.
You’re the most beautiful human he’s ever seen in his life.
“Hi,” you smile as you approach him.
He continues to stare, eyes traveling over the soft curves of your cheeks and jaw, trailing down to the way your dress clings just right to each dip of your body. His throat goes dry.
You are without a doubt the girl of his dreams.
It pushes him out of his reverie, eyes widening as he realizes he’s been staring at you for maybe a few minutes too long to play off as normal.
“Hey!” He coughs, attempting to right himself.
“You okay?” You ask, eyebrow lifted in concern.
“Yeah! Yup! Totally! I’m okay—a-okay, absolutely great.” He internally slaps himself.
“You clean up nice,” you smile as your eyes elevate up and down the lean form of his body.
“Oh?” He asks, taken aback.
In his daze, he never even realized what you’re thinking about him, rather only how intensely he was thinking about you.
“This must be the Jungkook that all the girls in college couldn’t stop begging me to hook them up with.”
His cheeks flame with sudden embarrassment, hand moving to the back of his neck to rub it awkwardly.
“Ha, yeah,” he swallows. “You look r-really nice too. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress since your brother’s wedding.”
The smile that he’s rewarded with nearly knocks him on his ass. “Thanks! It’s fun to dress up cute again. Jin hated this dress.”
A stab of pain eeks its way into Jungkook’s heart. Seokjin. God, how he hates that man.
“Well, uh, you can wear whatever you want with me!” He assures.
You loop your arm around Jungkook’s, saddling up to his side as you look at him expectantly.
“Well, are we going?”
Jungkook can’t help but smile at the sparkle in your eye, the way you peer up at him with those soft, cherry lips. He wants to capture them with his own, kiss you until you don’t remember Seokjin’s name ever again.
But he resists.
You never thought you’d admit it to yourself. You never even thought it could happen.
But the date is everything you’ve ever wanted, and more.
Jungkook is still Jungkook, still just as silly and easy to talk to as he always is.
But he’s also charming. Flirtatious, even. He holds doors open for you; he rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you towards your table at dinner. He feeds you bites of his dessert and lets his eyes linger on the way your lips look wrapped around his fork.
Jungkook treats you the way you’ve always wanted to be treated. Like someone he wants to cherish for the rest of your combined lives. Someone he wants to take care of, build a future with, enjoy life with.
And as much as it thrills you, it absolutely frightens you.
It’s when you’re walking down the small river trail together that Jungkook slips his hand into yours and laces your fingers together. The once-steady beat of your heart becomes erratic. He continues chatting—as if holding your hand was a subconscious act for him. He’s knee deep in a story of his Minecraft server when you stop walking, causing him to pause.
“What’s up?” He asks curiously.
Your eyes glitter with anticipation, with fear, as you stare at the gorgeous man before you. He looks like a full course meal in his tight jeans and he makes you feel like a princess. You can suddenly see doing life by his side—no longer his platonic best friend, but as his lover and lifelong partner.
You say nothing. Instead, you simply close the space between you two by grabbing the buttons of his shirt and tugging his lips onto yours.
Jungkook is still for a second as he battles the surprise, but jumps into action and cups your face with his hands, deepening the kiss by pushing his tongue past your lips and swirling it around your own.
Your bodies press close together. He can feel your breasts against his chest and he desperately wants to rip the dress off your body and worship you like he’s always wanted to.
As soon as the kiss started, it’s over. You’re pulling away with eyes wide with fear.
“I’m sorry, I—I need to go,” you stammer awkwardly.
Jungkook’s heart drops to his stomach.
“What? We were going to get ice cream?”
You can feel tears building in the corners of your eyes. You’re so confused, so unsure of what you’re feeling. You want to stay and kiss Jungkook until you’re clawing at the clothing on his body, pressing kisses to the firm column of his neck. You want to run far away, too scared to admit it to him you’re sure you could love him for the rest of his life.
You can’t lose that friendship. You can’t risk everything you love about Jungkook. He’ll only hurt you the way every boyfriend ever has.
“I don’t really feel well,” you swallow hard as you lie. Jungkook always knows when you’re lying.
His body stiffens.
“Okay, let me walk you home.”
You shake your head, already moving away from the man.
“It’s fine. We’re nearby. I’ll just run or something.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but you’ve already turned face and started running the direction away from him.
Jungkook watches, misty-eyed, as the girl of his dreams runs further and further away from him.
You’re sobbing as you finally reach home, out of breath and confused. The phone call to Namjoon is quick.
“Yo,” he says cooly as he answers the phone. His tone changes when he hears your whimpering sobs on the other end.
“Joonie,” you whisper. “I fucked up.”
“Oh god,” Namjoon quickly shuffles and calls his husband over, before putting the phone on speaker.
“What’s happened, baby?” Jimin’s sweet voice asks.
“I—I kissed him,” you sob, holding yourself close in the comfort of the elevator.
Namjoon and Jimin look at each other with knowing looks.
“We’re on our way over.”
Jimin knows the first order of business is to stop the crying. He places sleeping baby Jisoo in your arms, which quiets your whimpers enough as you cling to the tiny baby. He knows your weakness is sleeping babies.
Namjoon looks on anxiously, hates seeing his little sister upset and with no way to make it better.
Jimin’s been asked to take the lead on this, because he knows his husband's response is to cry as well—he gets emotional anytime he sees her cry. Namjoon agreed, knowing Jimin was better suited for the conversation.
“Tell us what happened,” Jimin asks quietly. You’re rocking the baby gently, sobs turned to sniffles. “Did something go wrong on the date?”
Your eyes peer up at your brother-in-law’s, a wounded look that makes Jimin feel sad. Namjoon clenches beside him, and Jimin lays a hand on his lap to soothe the protective brother.
“No,” you whisper. “That’s the thing. It was an amazing date.”
Jimin watches you curiously, but remains silent to let you continue.
“We had dinner, and we played arcade games and we walked around. And he was so… fuck, he was perfect. It was like dating the guy of my dreams.”
Jimin nods knowingly.
“And it surprised you how much you liked him.”
“Yeah,” you sniffle. “At the end, he was holding my hand and just talking about normal, stupid Jungkook shit, but this time it felt like more. Like, I felt in my heart that I wanted to be the one he always talked to about it. I wanted to be the one he came home to at night.”
Jimin pats your cheek lovingly, the care for his sister-in-law clear in his gaze.
“You don’t just like him, honey. I think you might even love him.”
You pull baby Jisoo tighter into your grasp and nod, pathetic tears slipping down your face.
“I just left him. Like, I ran away from him like an asshole.”
Namjoon grunts and takes a spot next to Jimin. “If he loves you, which I’m sure he does, he’ll still be waiting for you.”
Jimin nods and rests a hand on his husband's back. “But you better have one hell of an apology.”
Jungkook doesn’t answer your phone calls. He doesn’t respond to your texts, snapchats or Instagram DM’s. He doesn’t even look at the TikToks you sent him! It’s becoming infuriating to get in touch with him.
You take matters into your own hands and storm to his apartment after work, the rising tension in your shoulders and stomach full of rocks an indicator of your anxiety about the future of this relationship.
Jungkook opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats. All the carefully crafted words exit your mind at light
speed and you’re left gasping, wide-eyed at the chiseled body of your best friend.
“Can I help you?” He asks, tone flat.
You push past him into the apartment you know so well. “Yeah, you could start by answering your phone.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes and closes the door, then heads back towards the large gaming setup in the living room.
“My apologies for not responding to the girl who literally ran away from me on a date.”
Your cheeks heat uncomfortably as you stand in the center of his living room, arms crossed over your chest.
“Jungkook, listen. I’m—”
“Please,” he shakes his head as he sits down at the impressive gaming chair. “Save the apologies. I get it.”
“You don’t get it!” You say, exasperated. “You don’t get any of it! That’s why I’m here.”
Jungkook narrows a look at you then stands from his chair. Slowly, he makes his way towards you and stands inches from your face. The proximity of his bare, toned chest to your body makes your throat dry.
“No, you don’t get it.” His voice is threateningly quiet, completely different from his usual chipper tone.
“Jungkook, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” He quirks his head sarcastically, and you’re struck by the sharp lines of his jaw. “Sorry for running away from the date? Sorry for going on a date? Sorry for making me feel like I had a fucking chance when you kissed me?”
You swallow hard and open your mouth to reply, but he cuts you off.
“I’m sorry too. For giving myself way too much hope that this could ever be something. I’m sorry for myself for thinking you’d at least respect me enough to reject me politely.”
“You always had a chance!” You can feel tears building in your eyes and Jungkook feels his heart pound in his chest like a drum.
He scoffs, a harsh and mirthless laugh. “Clearly not.”
“I just—,” you start. “I never saw you like that before and suddenly you became everything I’ve ever dreamed of. It was like getting hit by a train, Kook! Suddenly my best friend turned into the man of my dreams.”
He shakes his head, stepping back away from you.
“I really find it hard to believe you,” he whispers. “I can’t let myself hope.”
“Jungkook, please,” you beg as tears start slipping down your face. “Please believe me.”
“Just leave,” he sighs. “I hate making you cry.”
You want so badly to wrap yourself in his arms, cry into his chest like you always do when you’re hurt. But you stand still, frozen in your shame and embarrassment of hurting your best friend so badly.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, before you spin around as quickly as you can and leave Jungkook’s apartment in a flurry.
He watches as the door slams behind you, eyes full of sadness and regret. As much as he wants to believe you, have faith in every word you said, he can’t allow himself to get his hopes up again.
He can’t watch you run away from him again.
“Welcome back to Kookie’s Wild Weekly Walkthrough!” Jungkook cheers as enthusiastically as he can through his microphone. “The weekly segment where I react to your Minecraft worlds!”
Jungkook needed to dive back into streaming to take his mind off of you. He hasn’t left his apartment in days, only subsisting on takeout and coffee. At least he was making more money and his subscribers didn’t seem to mind the up-tick in content.
“Tonight I’ll be walking through a creation sent by,” he squints at the username. “‘Kookiesgal95’ Aww that’s cute.”
He readies the content and starts his camera as he watches the YouTube link. His subscribers love his reaction videos—it’s a highly requested segment.
The video starts off easily, a generic Minecraft world that looks like a park.
The voice that reverberates through his headphones makes him pause the video quickly, wide-eyed with recognition.
It’s you. He’d know that voice from a million others.
Shit. He’s going to have to edit so much of this clip. He’s staring at the screen as if he’s just seen a ghost.
Unsteadily, he clicks play again and watches as you lead him through your Minecraft creation.
“I wanted to recreate something for someone very special in my life.”
Jungkook doesn’t even bother to react to this anymore. This entire video is going to be worthless—there’s nothing he can say.
The video pans around the Minecraft setup and he can see what looks like handmade swings and merry go rounds.
“It took me a really long time to do this and an embarrassing amount of help from some twelve-year-olds on the internet.”
He laughs and is stunned by the wet tears rolling down his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he was crying.
“I re-created a park that is really special to my best friend and I.”
He feels his chest tighten and relax. The park.
“This is the spot where he held me when my dog died when I was nine. I still miss that dog.”
The view is on a spot next to a blocky oak tree. Jungkook remembers that day, remembers your heartbroken sobs as he whispered words of comfort to you. He misses that dog, too.
“This is where he and my brother got in a fight when we were eleven, because my brother called me a stupid-head. My best friend has always been protective of me, even from my own big brother.”
He can still remember pushing Namjoon around after hearing him call you names. He pushed Namjoon over and threatened to use his “big muscles” if he did it again.
The camera pans to an enormous structure, rather sloppily made, of a slide and monkey bars.
“This is where we first shared a joint in high school. I coughed a lung up and he ran down the street to a gas station at ten pm to get me a bottle of water even though I told him I was okay,”
The memory of the bewildered 7-11 employee plays through his mind. The man watched as a very stoned, very out of breath, Jungkook paid for a bottle of water in coins.
The video continues playing, moves towards what appears to be a parking lot made of cobblestone blocks.
“This is where he held me when my world fell apart.”
The break-up. The way you cried and cried and cried in his arms and he held you as if you were the only thing left on Earth.
“This is where he reminded me I’m worthy of love, that I’m not broken. This is where he held me like I was delicate, but treated me like I was unbreakable.”
His tears don’t stop. Jungkook feels his heart thundering in his chest like a summer storm.
He can hear your sniffles through the recording of the video—you were crying too. It pans around to the swing set.
“And this is where I’ll tell him everything, tonight. Where I’ll tell him how deeply I love him and how I want to make him the happiest guy in the world. In all of Minecraft and beyond. I hope he comes.”
Jungkook doesn’t even bother turning his camera off.
Instead, he’s running to change out of his three-day-old clothes and bolt out the door.
The creaky, rusty metal of the swing set is deafeningly loud in the silence of your park.
It’s dark, just a few street lights around to illuminate the perimeter, but it’s otherwise only lit by the moon.
It’s getting cold. You shiver in your hoodie and kick at the dirt under your swing.
Maybe he didn’t see the video. Maybe he wasn’t going to show.
Maybe it was too late.
You spent hours working on the Minecraft world, staying up at all hours of the night to build and craft a poor re-creation of this park. The twelve-year-olds on Reddit had been invaluable and Namjoon definitely made fun of you for your creative assistants. But it had all been worth it.
“Fuck,” you speak out loud to no one, as you try to warm your hands in the pockets of your sweater. “It’s cold.”
“You should have brought a jacket.”
The sudden voice from behind startles you. You hop off the swing and whip around to face down the intruder.
He looks so good. He’s wearing a thick coat and tight jeans. Your eyes take a delicious journey from head to toe.
He can’t help but preen at your blatant appreciation. He enjoys knowing you’re attracted to him, at least physically.
He nods and takes a nervous step towards you. He’s still far away, more than an arm's-reach away. You’re desperate to bring him closer, to pull him tight against your body and wrap yourself around him. You never want to be without his gentle touch again.
“I felt pretty compelled to come after you made all this in Minecraft for me.” He cracks a wry smile, a boy-ish grin that makes your heart flutter.
“It took me twenty-five hours and some teenagers to help.”
He laughs, a beautiful sound that warms you. “I’m sure they were ecstatic to help.”
You chew at the inside of your cheek, nervous at what he thinks about your in-game confession.
“Did you mean it?” He asks. He steps closer—one more step.
His eyes are searching yours for the truth, desperately diving into the depths for validity.
“Why did you run away?” Another step.
You swallow hard, heavy tears brimming in your eyes.
“You went from being the silly best friend to being the person I could spend the rest of my life with. It all hit me. It’s always been you.”
One more step and now he’s just within your reach. If you stuck your hand out, your fingers would graze the soft puff of his coat, the delicate skin of his neck.
“I’ve always felt that way about you. I never thought you’d feel the same.”
You smile softly, timidly. “It just took me a little while longer to realize it.”
All at once, Jungkook closes the gap and holds you gently by your cheeks. His thumbs wipe at the moisture under your eyes.
“I promise to never make you cry again,” he whispers reverently.
“And I promise to never run away from you again.”
Jungkook smiles at that, cradling your face like you’re the most expensive and precious jewel.
“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, somewhat unsure of himself.
“I would like it if you would.”
As Jungkook presses his cold, plush lips to your own, you make a promise to yourself to never go a day without kissing him again.
“I can’t believe you’re in my bedroom,” Jungkook murmurs as he kisses at your face. After the park, Jungkook loaded you into his priceless Nissan and scurried home. You could hardly keep your hands off him as he drove you back to his place—reaching and caressing the spots on his body you’re dying to become familiar with.
“I’ve been in your bedroom before,” you remind him as he tugs up the hoodie you’re wearing.
“God, don’t be so semantic when I’m trying to fuck you,” he says before throwing the hoodie to a corner of the room. “You know what I mean.”
Jungkook kisses you again, all lips and teeth and tongue. He kisses you like you’re the last breath of air, and he’s greedy for every bit. He grips your hips, not too tight, and brings your body against his. You can feel him grow in hardness in his too tight, and it feels like bliss.
Teasingly, you grind your hips against his, making him shudder with desire.
“I want you,” he whines as he nibbles at your lip.
“Really? I couldn’t tell.”
He opens his eyes to level a look at you, pulling his mouth away from yours.
“You’re such a little smartass.”
His hands become feverish on your jeans, tugging apart the button and flicking down the fly. He pushes them down quickly, and you kick them off carelessly.
He can’t stop looking at you in your bra and panties, standing at the foot of his bed.
“Holy shit, okay, this is happening, right? Like, this is real?”
You smirk, pleased with Jungkook’s obvious excitement.
“Let me prove it’s not just a dream.”
Softly, you spin Jungkook around and push him down to sit on his bed. He complies easily, eyes wide and excited.
“If this is a dream, would you be able to feel this?” You ask as you unbuckle his belt and open his jeans. He doesn’t reply, simply watches you as you tug his jeans down to his thighs.
His cock strains hard against his tight boxers, and you run a teasing finger over the obvious bulge.
“Oh fuck,” he breathes.
“Feels pretty real, huh?”
Your delicate hands gently tug at the waistband of his boxers and easily work them down enough to free the length of his cock. It springs out easily and your eyes widen at the impressive size. You assumed he would be at least average, but you’re looking at something definitely more.
“Oh wow,” you whisper. “You’re fucking huge.”
Jungkook grins. “All for you, baby.” The cockiness is palpable.
One solid grip around him wipes the presumptuous smile off his face, replaced with a gasping, shuddering moan.
“How about this? Not a dream?”
He struggles to find his voice, instead he’s gulping for air like a fish out of water.
“That’s what I thought,” you whisper before settling into a position on your knees. “I’ll admit, I’ve dreamt about this too. I always felt so ashamed for dreaming about sucking my best friend's cock.”
You press soft kisses to the head of his length, teasing the sensitive areas at the tip before kissing up and down the length.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
His evident desire for you encourages you, and your tongue swipes at the crown of his tip and swirls around it gently.
“Oh my god.” His eyes shutter closed and you trace the veins in his dick with your tongue.
“This h-has to be a dreeeaaaaam,” he whines as you make an exceptionally long stripe with the flat of your tongue.
You pull off for a moment, humming. He springs his eyes open and watches as you reach behind your back and unsnap your bra. Your breasts escape with a bounce and his eyes widen, nearly bulging out of their sockets.
“What the fuck,” he whines. “You have the most amazing tits.”
He reaches out to grasp them and you slap them away playfully.
“Not yet,” you smirk. “Still trying to convince you you’re not asleep.”
He sucks in his breath and puts his hands back to the bed to steady himself, eyes never leaving yours (except to stare at the luscious curves of your body).
Grasping your breasts in both hands, you smash them together lightly in an elaborate show of what Jungkook wants most. You lean over his body and place the throbbing thickness of his cock in between your tits, allowing him to feel just how soft and warm they are.
“Shit!” He yelps, grabbing his sheets in a tight fist. “Are you really tit-fucking me right now?!”
Slowly, you lift your body up and down, allowing his cock to feel each stroke of your breasts. You nod at his question and continue to pump up and down.
He whines and shakes his head, already feeling so close to the edge. His cock is slick from your teasing licks and the pressure of your tits surrounding him had his mind spinning with desire.
“Ahhh, I’m so fucking close,” he warns.
You continue, speeding up the friction and pressure of your strokes.
“I want you to cum on me, Kook,” you whisper encouragingly. “Cum on my tits, please?”
Jungkook feels like he’s a wire about to snap, and your thick, sultry voice and incredibly perfect breasts are the snips that breaks him apart.
“Oh, shit,” he grunts. “Gonna paint your titties white, baby.”
His moans echo around the walls of his bedroom, small gasps of pleasure and your name escaping his perfectly plump pout.
His hot load splatters on your chest, and you stroke him through each pulse of his cock. You’re slippery with his seed now, and when you pull away from his spent length, you make a show of rubbing in his cum over your chest.
“Okay, definitely not dreaming,” he says in a daze as he watches you lift a wet finger to your mouth, popping it in to clean it off. “Who knew you were so fucking kinky?”
His confidence grows as he catches his breath. He can’t believe he’s sitting on his bed with you on your knees, breasts covered in his load. You’re suckling the cum off your finger like it’s his cock, and he’s desperate for more.
“There are lots of things you don’t know about me,” you shrug.
Swiftly, he grabs you gently by your bicep and pulls you close, sucking at your lips until you’re both standing.
“I plan to find out everything.”
Suddenly, you’re switching positions and Jungkook is pushing you down into the bed. You lay flat in the center, body relaxed and eager for your best friend.
“What are you doing?” You ask. He’s still standing at the end of the bed, watching you get comfortable. Once he’s satisfied that you’re lying exactly how you want, he settles himself by your feet.
“Worshipping you,” he says as he lifts an ankle and presses gentle kisses to your calf. “Showing you how much I adore you.” More kisses, soft and sweet. “Showing you how I plan on treating you for the rest of your life.”
He takes his time, lavishing your legs with his mouth. He kisses and sucks at any spot, sexual or not. He mouths at the roundness of your knees, your firm hamstrings. He presses his love into the skin of your thighs, mouthing his praises with each kiss.
He reaches the dip of your hips and he gently kisses your exposed skin as he tugs your cotton panties off you.
“I have loved every inch of you since before I can remember,” he praises as his lips skim over the mound of your cunt. “And I don’t plan on stopping soon.”
Your body feels like it’s on fire, as if Jungkook lights a match at every spot his lips press against. Your eyes close, and you allow Jungkook to continue his pious worship of your body.
He teases around your folds, kissing your labia ever so gently—making you gasp. He doesn’t linger long, only kisses you enough to stir the licking flames of heat in your belly.
He kisses at your stomach, gently nibbling and laving at the softness there. You try to hide from him, try to hide your insecurities of your body in his thorough exploration, but he moves your hands.
“I know you don’t like this part of your body,” he murmurs. His voice is so soft, so pure and sincere. “But I do. I love everything about you.”
His tongue swirls around your belly button, making you gasp at the ticklish sensation.
“You’re so pretty. So perfect.”
He continues upwards, lips now trailing to your full breasts. He takes his time there, licking and kissing and flicking at your nipples with his tongue. It feels exhilarating—Jungkook’s mouth feels like everything you want it to feel like. His tongue is warm, and he bites with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the bed into his embrace.
His hands explore, taking stock of every millimeter of skin he can find. He wants to memorize every freckle, every bump, every scar and line. Your body is his paradise, and all he can think of is you, you, you.
One hand travels down your body as he moves his lips up your neck. It snakes down your stomach and deftly slides over your soaked core. You whine as you feel his fingers part your folds and dip into the wetness.
“So wet,” he says out loud, verbalizing every tantalizing detail of your body. “So perfect.”
His lips are finally at your own and you kiss him passionately, tongue swirling around his as he slides his two fingers past your clit and into your drenched hole. You gasp against his mouth, eyes widening as he slowly scissors his fingers into you and pumps slowly. It’s almost teasing, the way he fucks his fingers in you. Slow, firm movements with his powerful hands.
“Jungkook!” You gasp. He doesn’t reply, instead he bites at your lip and tugs, then trails his hot mouth back down to your nipples. He can’t get enough of your breasts and the slightly salty taste of him still lingering.
“You feel so good,” he says as he speeds his fingers up minutely. “So tight and wet for me.”
Your hips writhe in need. He’s giving you what you need, but not enough. You need more, more. You want to feel him, all of him, spearing you open.
“Please, Kook,” you groan. “I need you.”
He laughs softly against your nipple and sucks extra hard, letting it pop out of his mouth audibly.
“And I need you, my love.”
“Fuck me, please.” You’re desperate, thighs quaking from the slow teasing. “I want you to fuck me, Jungkook.”
Chills shudder down Jungkook’s spine and he’s powerless to say no, not when you demand it so well.
“With pleasure,” he agrees. He pulls his fingers from within you and copies your move, sliding them into his mouth to suck your essence off.
He’s never looked sexier. His eyes are dark chocolate pools of burning intensity, and you feel your breath become shaky as you watch him clean his fingers with precision.
After he’s deemed his fingers sufficiently clean, he settles himself between your legs. Easily, he lifts your hips and shoves a pillow underneath, elevating you to a more comfortable position. He grabs your legs and tosses each over his shoulders so they’re higher in the air.
“I’m going to fuck you so good, baby,” he promises as he rubs the tip of his cock on your soppy slit. “Condom?”
You shake your head, appreciative of his question but desperate to feel him completely.
“Birth control. Regularly tested. Haven’t had sex in a while,” you blurt out. “You good?”
He nods in agreement. “Same. Well, except the birth control. But, I’d take it if they made it for men.”
“Jungkook!” You whine. Your best friend is so easily sidetracked. “Please, can you fuck me?”
He grins. “Tsk, someone is impatient.”
A low moan is rumbling in your chest as he continues to rub his thick cock at your entrance.
“I swear to god, you’re the biggest tease.”
“Oh, I’m definitely the biggest.”
Before you can react, he’s pushing past your entrance and sliding deep in your walls. Your position makes his cock feel deep, and he bottoms out and stills there, eyes closed in bliss.
“Holy shit,” he gasps. “This is absolutely the best pussy I’ve ever felt.”
You wiggle your hips as you get used to the sensation of the delicious stretch.
“Please don’t tell me how many pussies you’ve felt when you’re balls deep inside of me.”
Jungkook turns his head and kisses at your legs resting on his shoulders, lavishing them with his praise once more as he keeps his cock buried inside your tight heat.
“Yours is the only one that matters. The only pussy I’ll ever be in for the rest of my life.”
“That’s a good answer,” you smile. “Now, fuck me, lover boy.”
Jungkook winks and grips your hips with his hands. He swiftly pulls out, enamored with the way his cock is already covered in your creamy essence, then eagerly pushes back in. He sets a pace and soon the sound of skin clapping on skin echoes around the room.
“Oh god!” You’re moaning loudly, unabashedly. You’re thankful that Jungkook’s old roommate, Yoongi, moved out to live with his boyfriend Hoseok months ago. He’d definitely complain about the noise for months. “Fuck, Jungkook, you feel so good.”
Jungkook fucks into you with ferocity, speed and power gradually rising as he feels his core tighten with the coming anticipation of release.
“Mmm, you look so fucking sexy like this,” he murmurs. “Getting fucked by your best friend’s fat cock.”
He moves a hand from your hip, trails it up your body to squeeze at your breast, before he’s cupping your face once again. His hips snap against yours and he loves the way your mouth utters little squeaks and gasps with each deep thrust into you.
“God, my beautiful girl,” he groans. “Can’t wait to cum in this pussy, shit, you got me so fucking close.”
You open your mouth desperately and Jungkook easily slips his thumb in. You latch on quickly and suck, tongue swirling around the tip like you’re sucking another cock. It nearly sends him over the edge and the speed of his hips matches his desperate need for more.
“Fucking hell,” he bites back. He can feel his belly tighten, driven further and further to the edge by the constricting wetness of your cunt.
He pulls his thumb out and moves it down to where his cock spears into you, allowing your spit to swirl with his thumb around your clit. Your core tightens around him at the added stimulation and your back arches up in ecstasy.
“I’m so c-close, Kook,” you plead, as if begging for mercy. “Please, I want to cum so bad.”
The speed of his thumb increases, and he watches as your face twists in pleasure and desperation.
“Cum on my cock, baby, let me see you fall apart. Show me what I’ve dreamt of for so long.”
A high and wanton cry ripples out of your body as he savagely increases his speed, both his cock and thumb working overtime to drive you towards your end. The butterflies that erupt in your lower stomach make your moans louder, higher. You’re so close, closer than ever. It’s building to an incredible crescendo.
He can tell you’re close—he sees it on your face as your back arches and your fists grip his sheets.
“You look like a fucking angel, baby,” he whines as he soaks in the vision of you writhing underneath him. “I bet you cum like an angel, too. Let me see it, let me see.”
With just a few more swirls of his thumb and his deep, hard strokes, you’re soaring over the edge into a pool of nothingness. Your cunt pulsates wildly around his length, milking and stroking it with your tight walls. You throw your head back, moaning out his name at the top of his lungs, letting his neighbors know just who fucks you so well.
“Holy shit,” he gasps, hips stuttering as he fucks into your juicy hole. “That was so fucking sexy.”
You grip his forearms, holding onto him tight and encourage him to go harder. “Cum inside me, Kookie, please. I’m all yours, make me yours.”
His heart feels like it might burst in his chest. He’s always wanted you to say it to him, to hand over your love to him like he does so easily to you. It’s all so much, so overwhelming, and the feeling of your hot cunt still fluttering around him sends him reeling into his own completion.
He spills into you, warm seed coating your walls and pooling inside your womb. He fucks himself through each throb of his cock until he’s sure he’s drained every ounce of himself into you.
Your legs slip off his shoulders easily, and he gently pulls himself out of you. He falls beside you, panting with exertion, and wraps an arm around you.
After a few silent moments of catching your breath, Jungkook pulls you in close to him until he can koala-cling to you, arms and legs both wrapped around your body.
“Mine,” he whispers as he kisses your head. “All mine.”
You return the favor, clinging to your best friend—boyfriend—like he’s your only lifeline.
“So, you’re telling me, you got together because of Minecraft?” Jimin asks, pointing a fork in your direction. It’s been months now since your grand virtual declaration of love for Jungkook. Months of bliss and romance, laughter and companionship.
You were right all along. Jungkook is everything you’ve wanted in a man and more.
You’re sitting at your brother’s expensive dinner table, enjoying a meal with his family with your boyfriend at your side.
“Yeah, Jimin, I guess that’s what I’m saying,” you retort as you roll your eyes. “Minecraft and Tinder.”
Baby Jisoo is awake and in your brother’s arms, but she’s whining and wiggling to leave him.
“What’s wrong, Soo?” Namjoon asks with a pout on his lips. “Why don’t you want daddy anymore?”
Jimin snorts at his husband and you hold out your arms for your baby niece. “Come here, baby, I know you want auntie.”
Namjoon dutifully hands over his daughter, sulking that he’s been picked over for his sister.
You cradle the baby in your arms, expecting her to calm once she’s there, but she continues to fuss. She’s thrusting her arms out and nearly crying, reaching towards Jungkook who’s busy chowing down on Jimin’s homemade ramen.
“I think she wants you, Kook,” you murmur. He looks at you, then to the baby, then back to you, before he wipes his hands and face clean with a napkin.
“Oh, okay,” he whispers, slowly taking the baby from your arms with your help. “Hello, ma’am.”
Namjoon and Jimin laugh. “She’s a baby, Jungkook, not an elderly woman,” your brother teases.
Jungkook doesn’t listen. He’s too busy cooing at the baby in his arms and playing with her tiny hands. Namjoon turns his attention away and looks at you.
“Guess I won’t be the only provider of grandchildren for much longer.”
You playfully glare at him and turn away to watch your boyfriend. Watching Jungkook interact with your niece makes your heart swell, your soul sing. He’d be a perfect father.
“I swear, if he teaches her how to play Minecraft, he’s banned from the household,” Jimin grumbles. “This is a No-Nerd-Zone.”
Jungkook cradles the child and rocks back and forth, singing her a soft, made-up song, before he looks over at you.
“Hey, I want one of these,” he smiles. “Can we have one?”
You lay a hand on your stomach, a soft bump not quite visible yet. It’s only been one test, the lines faintly indicating ‘positive’ on the stick. You wanted to make sure, get confirmation before you spill the beans.
He grins and leans over to kiss you, before turning his attention back to the baby. “Okay, Jisoo, now let me tell you all about the Endermen.”
Jimin groans. “Oh my god, do not give Minecraft facts to my infant!”
tag list - @giadalin @nohayarcoirissintormenta @pjmislovely @xhazmania @marcoazam2 @eggbutnotyolk @feel-the-sunset @unicornbabylover @aretha170 @jeonmisha @hordanhearsawhooo
© ppersonna - 2021 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.
5K notes · View notes
their s/o is the dendro archon! (vol. 1)
pairings (separately!) - albedo, xiao, kaedehara kazuha x gender neutral reader
word count - 8126
genre - fluff, angst with comfort
format - hcs + blurbs
warnings - crying, slight gore and harm, skinship, spoilers for everyone's backstories (lol), suggestive lines and actions and negativity towards baal in kazuha's
summary - you just happen to be the dendro archon, no big deal to him, right?
a/n - i kid you not this idea has been living in my head for like a week LOL. (my xiao favoritism is absolutely BEAMING right now with how much i wrote for him here: three hcs + scenarios instead of the normal two, HA) volume two and three for other characters are in the process of being written! i decided to move kaeya into volume two with scara and dain :P
disclaimer - i literally know nothing about the dendro archon or how the dendro element works asides from the fact that it's susceptible to pyro PFBFBT- so this is my interpretation of what both the personality of the dendro archon, their powers and the dendro element itself could be like!
you're a plant consultant that albedo often requests for while working on his various experiments
most of your time is spent cooped up in his lab, studying the various effects of genetic enhancement in different types of flowers
he's not focused on you at first, after all you're merely there to provide slight consultation on the different varieties of plants and such that he's working with
but as time goes on, albedo realizes that the soft hum of your voice and the tender nature in which you handle his research and him in itself have begun to make his heart hammer against his chest
from them on, he requests for your assistance only to have you sit perched on a stool while he documents his findings and simply basks in your presence
obviously, you're confused at first and ask why he's requested for your assistance if all you're going to do is sit and watch as he works
nonchalantly, he'll reply "i simply enjoy your company," and carry on with his work, leaving you a flustered mess of emotions
it's clumsy and a little less organized than he would've hoped, but albedo finally asks you out on a date (klee helps him out by scribbling "go out with mister albedo!" on a piece of paper in crayon except "mister" is missing the e and there's an apple juice stain in the corner, but you reward her regardless with a pink tulip that bursts from your hand, and a warm hug)
albedo loves seeing you use your vision, he finds it mystical and enchanting
but, he's a very perceptive man and immediately catches on that you seem to be more than you make yourself out to be
it's evident especially in the way that you can name ancient flower and plant types like you'd seen them yourself
your powers additionally far surpass that of any dendro user he'd ever seen before
not only that, but it has become obvious to him that you are well versed in the ancient art of khemia: one that is secret only to alchemists of khaenri'ah
albedo isn't confrontational, but he manages to get the answer for your immense power out of you in a meticulously planned and organized manner
scenario + more utc!
"love, would you mind lending me your eyes for a moment?"
you perk your head up from the many papers that littered albedo's desk and nodded with a smile, eager to help as always. what you didn't know, however, was that albedo had sketched out a principle rooted in the practice of khemia: just a simple five step plan to create a small flower field, and yet this kind of alchemical practice hadn't been seen by any other practitioners of alchemy outside of those who were well versed in khemia.
"i believe i've come to a halt in my studies, would you care to demonstrate this practice?"
albedo felt wrong for placing you in such a scenario, after all it forced your hand and would unintentionally make you reveal to him whether or not his suspicions were correct. though calm and collected, albedo couldn't stop the feeling of sheer horror from rising up within him when you easily understood the instructions and mimicked the procedure, going as far to correct the mistakes he deliberately placed in the instructions and adding a few comments of your own.
"(y/n)," you froze, he rarely ever called you by name now, "just...who, or what are you? how is it that you are able to understand the practice of khemia?"
the truth tasted bitter on your tongue in fear of rejection, and yet you found the courage to look him in the eyes and utter the words that might forever change your relationship.
"i'm an archon. the dendro archon."
emotions are odd for albedo to decipher, but this amalgamation of reactions, the conflict between the screams of his mind and the cries of his heart, combined with your apprehensive look was all far too much for him to comprehend. his legs screamed at him to run far, far away and seek out his master for answers, but he knew that it'd do him no good.
"i...understand. i do wish you told me sooner."
you sagged in relief and approached him with cautious steps, "may i?" your arms stretched themselves out towards him, and who was he to say no to a god?
albedo felt odd holding one of the many beings that had laid to waste his home so long ago, though he doesn't recall ever seeing the glow of dendro among the carnage.
"khaenri'ah was a very lovely nation," you mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, and when he remained quiet you carried on, "i often visited under the guise of a mortal and soon came to learn of the art of khemia. being the dendro archon, i can form life from my hands with just my will," you rose and unfurled your hand, letting a lotus bloom from your palm as if to reiterate your point, "so when i learned that khaenri'ah had found a way to create life through alchemical properties, i was in awe!"
despite the serious atmosphere, albedo couldn't help but crack a smile; he truly found you adorable beyond words. but as your face fell, the gravity returned to his lungs and reality came swooping in.
"i briefly studied khemia, but the fall of khaenri'ah prevented me from learning any more. i tried to reason with the gods from celestia, but to them i was no better than a mortal."
he nodded once, then twice, and you felt yourself be pulled flush against his body with your thundering hearts pressed up against one another.
"i believe i understand what happened, i apologize for forcing your hand, my flower." albedo finalized his words by intertwining your hands and pressing a kiss to the knuckle. "these hands have crafted so much life," another kiss, this time more tender and gentle, "and it is these hands that hold within them my heart."
albedo came a little closer to understanding what his master meant by the purpose of this world, and all he had to do was look into your eyes. the same eyes that held the love of his practice, the love of his people, and love for him, simple albedo.
upon discovering your status as an archon, albedo will first revel in the fact that his hypothesis was right (nerd lmao/j)
but despite the past, he acknowledges that you are not at fault for what happened to khaenri'ah
your archon powers interest him very much!
especially your inability to control the flowers that bloom around you when your emotions are intense
albedo experiments to see which kind of reactions will produce which kinds of flowers (of course, with your consent)
the reactions are usually flustered-based (kisses to your cheek, face, and lips especially are most effective as well as romantic compliments and remarks, he notes), given that albedo refuses to do anything to upset or anger you in any regard, and thus, many times will sucrose have to sweep up rose petals from the lab floors after another one of his experiments
but albedo loves the tender moments you spend with him, barren of experiments and tests, and he marvels in seeing you put your powers to work
days off were rare for albedo, but not unwelcome in the slightest. the gentle chilly breeze that ruffled through his ashen locks and the warmth of your weight pressed against his side while both of you sat huddled at his workdesk in dragonspine was a feeling he embraced with open arms.
yet, his worker's mindset truly never left him even on his days off.
"i've been pondering," he began, looking towards you who leaned your head on his shoulder, "would you like to be a subject in another one of my experiments?"
your lips curved upwards into a curious smile as you nodded thrice. "of course! but whatever for?"
albedo glanced downwards and pulled out his leather bound notebook and charcoal pencil, "a simple test of your powers, i wish to study them more, and, consequently, understand you better." the gentle, feather light touch of his knuckles grazed away the stray snowflakes that had scurried their way into his base and landed on your cheek and hair.
though you knew albedo meant business, you couldn't help but let a giddy, lovestruck smile cross your features at his words.
"well, i can't say no to that can i?"
once you had bundled up in your snow gear, albedo took you by the hand further into the woods of dragonspine. snow dribbled gently from the sky and landed on your upwards glancing face, right on the tip of your nose.
"albedo, look!" you pointed with a gleeful smile to the snowflake on your nose, which quickly dissipated into a thin droplet. albedo chuckled and paused his steps to wipe away the water from your face, and press a gentle kiss against your nose.
"adorable," he murmured and continued to walk with your palm in his hand. he knew for certain if he looked back at this very moment, you'd be covered in roses and thornless vines and the very thought had him smiling affectionately to himself.
you on the other hand, made haste with your free hand to swipe away the growing rose buds and vines that had begun to wrap around your body. "so many years i've had these powers and i still can't control this." you mused to yourself, watching the last rose petal disappear under your glowing, green touch.
not paying attention, you nearly stumbled forwards over a rock had albedo not caught you in time.
"for an archon, you are most clumsy though endearing." it was rare to hear a lighthearted lilt to albedo's voice, but never rare for you. his arms carefully steadied you to your feet, and despite his sweet actions an evident pout remained on your face.
"i am certainly not clumsy, excuse you." though he nodded his head at your retort, you almost definitely felt the playful smile that lingered on his face like the sugary aftertaste of honey.
after walking for a bit, hand in hand, albedo finally pulled you into a snowy clearing surrounded by thick fir trees and devoid of any other plant life.
"i am interested in seeing if you can summon forth some common flowers in a different climate, especially one that poses natural challenges," he paused to gently pull you body closer to him and peer into your eyes, "if that is alright with you, of course."
you beamed with affection and nodded with a confident smile, "of course! i'd be more than happy to test it out."
notebook in hand and pencil ready to record any valuable information, albedo remained at your side and quickly sketched the clearing as a "before" picture. "alright, at my word please summon forth a field of cecilias." you nodded and knelt down to the barren, snowy ground, placing your palms on the thick blanket of snow.
"oh," he paused to lean closer to your ear, "and you must ignore my presence, no matter what." confused, you nodded anyway and once given the signal, you let the rivers of your dendro energy surge from your palms into the ground below.
concentrated on your task, you barely noticed when albedo knelt down to your level. only when he begun to pepper kisses across your face did you falter in your work. "you are so beautiful, absolutely radiant. your beauty rivals the break of dawn and your sweetness triumphs over that of the sweetest sugars. i love everything about you, my flower." he mumbled into your ear with a tone you'd never heard before, but a tone you definitely wanted to hear more of.
you felt your face heat up, and instead of cecilias, from the snowy ground burst forth a large bushel of bright red, blooming roses and sparkling asters. mortified, you turned back to albedo with apologetic eyes only to be met with the satisfactory glint in his irises as he stared back at your work.
"marvelous job, my darling. exactly as i had predicted too." he mumbled while scribbling some notes down in his notebook. albedo set aside the items and pulled you close into his arms.
"though, i meant every word of what i said even if they were used for an experiment," his lips found their way to your temple and gently pulled back to brush his nose against yours, "i love you, and all of you."
you swore you felt the roses behind you grow in size and double in number and the tips of the fir trees began to dip inwards to where albedo held you like a gentle flower.
he's absolutely whipped for you, and the fact that you're an archon doesn't change that
you're his muse, to put it lightly
he loves sketching you and making attempts to understand you better
you're also one of the only people he can outwardly discuss khemia with, given that it's an ancient practice belonging exclusively to khaenri'ah
albedo hadn't fathomed that he could possible spend a lot of time with someone and yet feel as though his energy levels hadn't depleted
but whenever you stop by and he manages to get your assistance in an alchemic experiment, he hopes you never leave his side
albedo swears he can feel every flower petal brush against his heart when he manages to fluster you enough into a state where you've covered in flowers, even unintentionally
but whether or not you could summon entire fields with a single whip of your hand or not, albedo would love you all the same
xiao already knows who you are the minute you step foot into liyue
rex lapis never fought you during the archon war as you had proven yourself by offering aid to injured gods and goddesses
but xiao remembers clearly, the way you looked at him with kindness in your eyes as blood seeped from a wound in his head
a wound that you had healed with the warmth of dendro energy from your palms
he'd never met a god quite like you: the gods he knew were either power-hungry or righteous beings who cast away evil shadows, much like rex lapis in his mind
you, however, seemed to seek nothing from him but his well being
many historians argue that it was rex lapis that saved the young yaksha from the grips of the evil god who commanded him to shed innocent blood and devour dreams until hope ceased to exist
however, not many know that it was the dendro archon who pulled him from the depths of his oblivion and left him in the aid of the most reliable of the bunch: morax
alatus hadn't seen light nor had he known warmth for centuries. head to toe, his body was coated in sticky, irony blood. 'whose blood was it?' he wondered to himself. the likely answer he knew, was that this blood on his skin was blood that was never meant to be shed. the bitter taste of dreams lingered on his tongue and felt slimy in the caverns of his mouth. he felt vile, the most disgusting being to ever exist in teyvat.
no matter how far he looked ahead, there lay bloodshed and a sky tinted red and charcoal black. with every step he took, glancing back would reveal a pile of bodies in the wake of his path.
even now as he stumbled aimlessly through the desolate village tarnished by war and devoid of life, hope ceased to exist in his heart. his eyes fell upon a tattered pile of limp bodies, sagging with the weight of death.
as normal as blinking, or taking a deep breath on a quiet summer's night, alatus walked past the corpses with his head bowed to the ground. that was until the toe of his boot caught on something small, and squishy. he looked towards the ground to see that he'd stepped on what looked like a hand-sewn fabric doll with black yarn for hair, brown button eyes, and a tattered, lime green dress made from cotton. and right beside it lay a small, chubby hand, extended towards the doll as if reaching for it. the little girl's body was marred beyond comprehension, there's no doubt that whatever caused the injuries that littered her body was something she received the brunt of.
but alatus didn't care about how she died. he dropped to his knees, weak from sheer terror, and pulled the little girl's limp corpse out from the pile of bodies discarded like trash. she breathed no more, and yet alatus held her against his hammering heart as if she would suddenly wake up and her cold, bruised hands would once again turn soft and warm: full of life.
his bloodied fingers scooped the doll up from the ground and placed it in her drying fingers. and he sat, eyes empty and heart pained, and held her lifeless corpse while he listened to the thunderous roars of nearby battles and the ominous hum of what he could only think was the wrath of a god from just over the mountain tops.
"did you know her?"
alatus lifelessly looked behind him to the source of the voice, meeting your concerned gaze. just when had you appeared? he hadn't heard the gentle crunch of your feet under the crumbling dirt, too lost in his thoughts. he didn't recognize you, but your attire made it known of what exactly you were, as did the emerald lines that ran up your arms that most likely thrummed with dendro energy.
he didn't respond, for fear that you may unleash your wrath if he gave an answer that wasn't to your liking: the gods were not to be trusted, the gods were not to be taken lightly. he knew this, and he was reminded by the invisible jingle of his metaphorical shackles that bound his wrists and cuffed his neck not unlike a dog.
alatus hardly moved when you stooped down to sit beside him, though he held the girl closer to his body. "you're hurt," you gently chide and, almost unconsciously, your fingers find their way up to the pulsing wound near his temple. despite having no reaction to your presence, your touch, however, had him flinching away and holding the girl's corpse tighter to his body as if to shield her from you.
your heart dropped at how fragile he looked, despite boasting the blood of what you assumed were his victims and a scary-looking polearm.
"come, allow me to clean you." alatus looked at your hand, outstretched and waiting in front of him, with tired and dead eyes. you managed to take the dead little girl from his arms with a genuine promise to return and bury her and her family, and took him by the hand to a nearby spring.
alatus followed limply, your hand being the only thing that kept him upright and walking. even as the cool, spring water brushed against his skin and hair, all he could see was the once pure, blue water stained a horrid maroon: no matter how hard he scrubbed, he'd never be absolved of his sins.
you hadn't managed to coax a name out of him, not even as you gently washed the sticky blood out of his lovely, thick locks or healed the gash by his forehead with a light press of your palm to his skin.
alatus, on the other hand, began to feel strange. the shock of bathing in snow only to step into warm water was vivid and bright, and he's confused beyond belief. why was your touch so incomprehensibly warm? why had you treated him like a gentle glass figure that would break if handled too rashly. why did you bathe him like a child and heal his wounds without asking for a single thing in return? he realizes he must have asked the last question aloud because you respond with an airy laugh and, "because one should never expect anything in return when offering help from their heart."
he sat in silence and continued to watch the blood form clouds in the spring water.
"alatus." he whispered.
you couldn't stop the smile that formed across your face, "alatus," you parroted, letting the taste of it sit in your mouth; it tasted of sweet sugar with a bitter, burnt aftertaste, "what a lovely name."
"i am (y/n), the dendro archon." you murmured just as your cupped hand, filled with clear water, swiped away at the remaining blood from his cheek.
but you understood that alatus would not receive protection under your wing, so instead you hurried to the strongest god you knew: rex lapis, who was a rigid soul but you knew he could be trusted. with your cloak draped around his head and shoulders, you gently led alatus by his shoulders to the ominous-looking man who had his polearm speared through an enemy.
alatus' heart began to race as he got a better look at the figure who had succumbed to morax's spear: his master.
"morax..." you hesitantly called out to him, squeezing alatus' shoulders with your palms.
"i believe this is the master of that boy you hold." morax's voice boomed with authority and power. alatus shrunk back into your touch, preferring your much more docile and soft voice.
"they've made him to slaughter, innocent or defiled. a weapon." with a yank of his arm, morax drew his weapon out from the chest of his victim and whipped it to the side so the blood flung off from the golden metal.
"you are free now." the god uttered with what looked like pity swirling in his golden irises.
alatus never thought he'd hear those words, or understand them fully. but the gentle coax of your hand on his back and a reassuring smile had him stepping forward and realizing the true gravity of what rex lapis had done for him. the glint began to return to his eyes as he dropped down to one knee, placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head down respectfully to morax. "my lord, i am forever in your debt. you may use me as you see fit."
he expected to once again receive the same shackles his master had placed on him, but instead, your gentle hand dipped under his chin and tilted his head up to look at morax, who surprisingly looked down at him with gentle eyes and a kind yet firm smile.
"you will be now known as xiao, and assist me in protecting liyue."
and he accepted.
he'll never forget the day the dendro archon bathed him of his sin and led him to his new master
you had later taken him back to the desolate village you found him in and helped bury the little girl and her family, placing her doll on top of her grave
you also summoned a beautiful ginkgo tree that towered over their graves and covered their tombstones in white lilies and roses
it was the closest xiao had ever come to crying in a long time
you left the battlefield that day and xiao never saw you again, not until recently that is
your aim was to visit the city of liyue as you'd been recently hired at bubu pharmacy as its personal medical and plant consultant, healer, and resident substitute doctor in case baizhu was unable to work
oddly enough, you decide to take up residence in wangshuu inn despite the long commute to liyue (verr goldet must be having tons of fun, having her hotel host a famed adeptus and the dendro archon themself, even if she doesn't know it)
wangshuu inn had such a peaceful aura, but you also sensed a familiar presence and decided to investigate
you find xiao purely by chance while he's bandaging his wounds after a fight out on the upmost balcony
he seems to recognize you immediately, and you him
you offer to heal his wounds but he shies away from your touch and declines
xiao is still apprehensive about gods that aren't rex lapis, considering his past treatment
he practically folds in on himself upon seeing you and recognizing who you are
instead of leaving him without a word, you end up leaving behind a glaze lily by his side imbued with healing properties that heals him from afar
you repeat the same routine each day: work in liyue, return to the inn, and head up to the balcony to see if xiao had returned
you weren't sure what had you checking up on him so often, and xiao wasn't exactly partial to your concern
perhaps it was the brief history the two you held, but there was an inexplicable connection between the two of you that you desired to strengthen, and xiao desired to break in fear of being hurt, or, even worse, hurting you
but as time went on, he found himself expecting your visits, and at times he'd indulge in your conversations and let you come stand beside him
it takes a long while for him to catch feelings, partly because your status as an archon secretly intimidates (and slightly frightens) him, and also because he's emotionally constipated/j
initially when he begins to feel different in your presence, he requests that the connection be cut before it becomes too strong, much to your dismay
"we should...cease whatever this is."
if your heart could physically drop, it'd be in your stomach right about now.
"this is not up for debate, leave." before he could step away from the balcony, you caught his wrist with a gentle yet firm grip.
"i won't leave you, xiao." you mumbled.
xiao scowled and attempted to yank his wrist away, but you stood firm and kept a determined look on your face. "i know this isn't what you truly want, is it?"
and it wasn't, xiao knew this and he knew it well and yet he knew that if he stayed anymore that he'd never want to leave. and what would happen should you turn on him like the god before? he was no more than a tool to the divine, someone like him was incapable of forming a bond, and yet here you were. a god, pleading with a divine tool to stay.
the words he wanted to say got caught by the needles in his throat, instead he shied away from your touch and mumbled, "you make me feel...incomprehensible things. i do not understand why it is that my heart pains when you are near. or why everything feels so...calm, and warm when you're around. i feel as though i am back in that spring and you've cleaned me of blood. i do not understand..." defeated, his arm went limp in your grip as did his shoulders.
relief hit you in waves and you moved your hands to hold his face before speaking quietly, only to him, "that's love, xiao. you're feeling love."
of course, your remark was met with an indignant scoff and the crossing of his arms as he ripped his golden irises away from your own, "ridiculous, i don't concern myself with such mortal emotions. i am incapable of such mediocrities."
you laughed before replying with a wistful tune to your voice, "xiao, i'm an archon and yet i know what i feel for you is love. love transcends mortality, and you are most capable of feeling such a wonderful thing."
blown open in shock, his eyes could only stare straight back at you who patiently smiled at him. "you are no tool, nor are you human, but you deserve to love, and feel loved. i would be honored if we could discard the idea of ceasing relations," you paused to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear, let a green zinnia form from your hands, and placed it behind the tucked part of hair behind his ear, "for i know i wish not to cease relations with you, even if you desire to remain just as companions."
xiao swallowed thickly, raising a hand to gently brush against the thick, dewy petals of the zinnia behind his ear. his mind was screaming at him to run, and get as far away as he could before he hurt you, or you hurt him.
but his heart commanded his arms to wrap around your figure and pull you close against him, and it was his heart that hammered ferociously against his chest when he murmured a "please don't go," against your temple.
there's no official label on your bond and you've never forced xiao to label it, but as time goes on he begins to like the idea of being called your lover, and you his
courting xiao has its ups and downs but everything is a learning process
initially, xiao will be very quiet and servant-like
you'll have to reassure him that just because you're an archon doesn't mean he needs to serve you: that you're his equal
drill it into his head until he's able to be totally at ease around you
the patrons at the inn often muse about the young, odd couple on the highest balcony
xiao appears to be intimidating and stoic outwardly, whereas you carry a gentle aura and a kind smile wherever you go
on days when his karmic debt is overbearing or he feels himself slipping into oblivion, all you have to do is take him into your arms and gently shush him while stroking the top of his head
when in a vulnerable state, it comforts him to see you use your vision: creating flower crowns out of qingxins and silk flowers has helped the most, and you're always around to give him guidance and praise his work
LOVES to be called alatus by you, and you alone. he cherishes the name "xiao", but can't help but let you call him "alatus" because it makes his heart sing
xiao shows his affection through actions more than words, but when he does speak it takes time for him to find the right words, especially with having to push down any formalities given your status as an archon
he'll bring crystalflies to you just to see your elated reaction and awestruck gaze as he unfurls his hands and the sparkling creatures flutter away into the night
he won't admit it aloud, but he loves when you form flowers in your hands and tuck them behind his ear
the simple action of tucking a flower behind his ear, kissing his cheek and wishing him well when you set off to liyue each morning never fails to fluster him
pale, morning light began to trickle onto the balcony where he stood in solitude, watching with steady breaths as the sun rose again once more over the liyuen horizon. so lost in the view and his own swirling thoughts, he nearly jumped out of his skin upon registering the touch of your arms around his waist. you noticed his startled expression and began to retract your arms with a quiet "sorry", but not before xiao's hands caught your wrists and gently tugged them forward to rest in the position you had before.
"forgive me, for startling you." you hummed against the flesh of his cheek.
he shook his head and turned to the side to hide the faint blush that coated his cheeks. "it's fine. don't concern yourself about such troubles." he mumbled, leaving you to quietly laugh to yourself and squeeze tighter around his torso.
it was as if your touch could unbind him from the black, slithering tendrils of his karmic debt that kept him in place no matter how hard he thrashed. with each hug, each kiss, or even a kind smile and loving glance in his direction, the binds would begin to loosen and slip. even now as you held him from behind and pressed gentle, feathery kisses from his shoulder blade, to the crook of his neck, to the line of his jaw, the weight on his shoulders began to lift.
"what flower shall it be today, love?" you pulled away and let him turn himself to face you, watching as your raised hands thrummed with verdant dendro energy.
cocking an eyebrow up, xiao crossed his arms and stared at your glowing hands, "whatever you pick will be the same for me regardless, it is your choice to make."
"aw, come now. just pick one!" you raised your palms, eagerly awaiting xiao's request. defeated, he conceded with an exasperated sigh before mumbling, "a rose."
from your fingers bloomed a blood red rose, fresh and humming with vivacious life and energy. you'd manifested many flowers in his presence before, but xiao loved seeing you conjure up roses the most.
before you had an opportunity to nestle the thornless rose behind his ear like you normally did, the flower was snatched from your hand and instead placed behind your ear. xiao's nimble fingers gently brushed over the shell of your ear, tracing downwards from your jaw, to your chin, before finally settling to cup your face. the pad of his thumb ran against the bottom of your parted lips, absorbing each of your quiet, bated breaths.
"may i kiss you?" he mumbled, barely above a whisper. if you hadn't trained all of your focus onto him, you wouldn't have heard him at all.
you answered his question by leaning in and softly connecting your lips against his. his arm snuck around to hold your body in place against his as your mouths worked in tandem with one another. the kiss was so innocent and sweet, yet held within it an unmistakable desire and craving for each other that he couldn't help but indulge in.
"intoxicating," he panted once parting from your lips, taking a moment to brush aside the stray locks from your face, "absolutely addicting. you do not understand what you do to me."
from your hands bloomed a rose identical to the one in your hair. you gently placed it behind his ear and kissed the tip of his nose. "i believe i do understand what i do to you, but it is you who has a god weak in the knees for your love."
he'd deny the furious blush that covered his face at your comment for weeks to come, no matter how much you teased him for it.
when it comes down to it, there's no denying that xiao loves you
and you love him just as much
his relations with gods and archons has been tumultuous to say the least
but you've managed to start the process of mending his wounds, even if they leave scars
you're kind of opposites, but there's no denying that xiao absolutely loves everything about you
from your caring nature to your gentle aura, you're akin to the light at the end of his tunnel and he's let himself accept that he'll stay by your side no matter what
he knows you as the god who helped saved him from oblivion so long ago and feels that he owes so much to you and morax
at the end of the day, whether you were a mortal or a god, he'd still give all of himself to you
you first meet kazuha aboard the decks of the alcor
you'd befriended beidou in liyue and came at her request for an on-board medic in case of any emergencies
though you had initially come on board as hired help, your eyes slowly began to wander to the mysterious stranger who constantly sat atop the ship's bow
you weren't the only one whose eyes were wandering: kazuha had been wary of your presence the moment you stepped foot onto the alcor
his connection to nature allows him almost inhuman insight and from your aura alone he concludes that you're much more than a simple dendro healer
but he pushes the thought to the back of his head and continues onwards
you first get a chance to speak with him when you're bandaging up a wound he received while fending off treasure hoarders from the ship
he tries to play tough, but you see right through his act and he conceded with a small laugh and asks for your name
kazuha wins you over quite easily, and it's not hard to see why
you both are gentle in nature and have a strong connection to the environment around you
that, and you have the ability to understand him at his most poetic, beidou often waves you over to decipher his words when she can't understand what the heck he's saying
but as said before, kazuha knows that you are more than you appear to be
from your almost inhuman capability to revive a person from near death, to the omnipotent power of parting fields and raising trees from nothing, it's hard to believe that you're just a regular dendro user
he understands, however, that you must have your reasons for keeping a secret and will wait for you to tell him yourself if you should ever choose to
you'd been hesitant to tell him since he revealed to you the circumstances of his joining of the crux but ultimately decide he's better off knowing what exactly he's getting himself into
"the stars are most brilliant tonight, are they not?"
your legs dangled from the edge of the alcor's crows nest, eyes far too interested in the air below your feet rather than the night sky above. kazuha glanced to your side when you hadn't responded to his question, concern written on his calm features.
"there's..." you paused to stop dangling your feet through the wooden bars and turned your gaze to the man beside you, "there's something you must know about me."
the rest of the crew had departed into the quarters for the night, so you felt no trouble nor hesitance in unfurling both of your fingers to reveal your floating gnosis. kazuha's normally gentle and composed eyes were blown wide open, any more and they'd go flying right out of his head.
"i'm the dendro archon."
archons are creatures he's familiar with, all too familiar with. but you must be different, right? your eyes desperately searched the conflicting emotions on his face for an answer, one he knew he didn't even have right now.
"i...understand," he swallowed dryly and looked to his bandaged palm, "i just am in need of some time to...process it."
he leaves you with those words and nothing more. you were aware of what baal had done to his friend, and to her nation which had festered into the hesitance to reveal your identity to him. being an archon meant carrying the bias that you sought an ultimate goal and would stop at nothing to achieve it, even if more harm was being done than good. and while you sat in the crow's nest that night with you knees hugged to your chest as you hiccup sobs into the fabric of your clothes, you couldn't help but wish that you were born a mortal.
kazuha's mind is filled with thoughts of all kinds, but the one that stands out the most is the fact that you, his kind, gentle lover, bore the same status of the god who slayed his best friend and stole the life out of her citizens. he contemplates this while leaning his forearms against the wooden rail of the ship, uncharacteristically throwing back mug after mug of beer, and thinking about the revelation you'd given him nearly a week ago. he hadn't seen much of you, and he suspected that you had cooped yourself up in your office and busied yourself with work.
"woah there, chief! didn't take you for a boozehound like me, easy on the drinks or you won't be able to walk straight tomorrow!" beidou sauntered up beside him and clunked her own full mug of beer down on the wooden edge of the ship. "something happen?"
kazuha wanted to bite his tongue, after all captain beidou didn't need to be bothered with his internal storm. yet, he found the words slipping out without even realizing it.
"(y/n)...they've told me something about themselves recently. something crucial, and it conflicts against all i know."
much to his surprise, beidou huffed a laugh and knocked him on the shoulder with the back of her hand. "and? if it goes against all you know, then learn about it so it doesn't go against all you know. simple, yeah? is that all you were worried about?"
kazuha let her words swim around his mind for a bit, hazy from the alcohol and lack of sleep. "learn about it so it doesn't go against all i know, huh?" he mused and took one final swig from his mug. beidou had a point: what he knew about archons was that they were cruel, and heartless. but upon further inspection, baal was the one he had attributed as defining the characteristics of an archon. and suddenly, he felt terrible for generalizing your status down to his own biased perceptions.
"e-excuse me, captain." he slurred while pushing himself away from the banister.
"make sure you remember to give them an apology kiss!" she called out after him with a teasing lilt to her drunken voice.
his wobbly feet managed to find their way to your quarters, with the small medic sign hanging from the wooden door. knocking was out of the question, as was announcing his presence: this was too important after all.
kazuha stumbled in just as you rose from your small corner desk. before you could get a chance to even process what was happening, the ship rocked with an abnormal wave which sent him catapulting straight into you, sending both your bodies to the wooden floors.
"kazuha?! are you okay?" you pressed your hand against his forehead upon seeing the flush of his face and the gloss in his eyes, but the fan of alcohol on his breath had you retracting and staring up at him in awe.
his arms caged you in on the floor, yet he made a point not to tower over you and instead leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. he moved to pull away but your fingers found refuge in combing through his locks and brought his head down to drag out the kiss for just a moment longer. you tasted the words on his lips and let him part from your body this time.
"i realize how wrong i was, to leave you alone to stew in your thoughts like that. i apologize, how sorry i am cannot be conveyed purely by words. i had minimized you to the terrible perception i had of archons in my mind, and yet you are so different." his eyes searched your face for any semblance of understanding, and when he finally found it, he began to crack.
the gentle splatter of a single tear dropped onto your cheek from his eyes as he tried his best to hold in his regret. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry!" but the alcohol had let his dams lose and composure thrown out of the window.
you helped yourself sit upright and took him into your arms, gently shushing his cries and stroking his back while you held back tears of your own. "it's alright, i understand that you've been hurt by one of my kin. but i promise you," you paused to pull his face away from your shoulder to look him in the eye, "i would never harm you, or anyone you love. you have my word, and my utmost protection and love."
and he believes you with all of his heart.
the death of his friend and baal's transgressions are still fresh in his mind and in his heart
but kazuha begins to realize that not every archon seeks what baal does, and will not use the same means to achieve their goals
his best example is you: who cares not for power or glory but rather for a simple life as a healer aboard the alcor, and to be his lover
your relationship is absolutely adorable and full of love and gratitude
the crew members of the crux often slap kazuha on the back and send him cheeky grins when he walks around the ship with his hand entangled in yours
despite boasting no visible injuries, kazuha stops by your medical quarters at least twice a day just to see your face and press a gentle kiss to your knuckles
he loves the feeling of your fingers in his hair, and even more so when you take the time to form little flowers from the tips of your fingers and thread them through his locks
how was it possible for someone to have such silky and rich hair? you'd never understand how kazuha kept his locks so tame and so healthy despite months out at sea. his strands felt heavy and lush on your fingers, like dewy blades of grass in the wee hours of the morning. combing his hair had become sort of integrated into your routine, and you loved to sit him down on the edge of your bed and help detangle his luscious locks.
your lips found their way onto the scarlet streak of hair that adorned his otherwise pearly locks and placed feather light kisses to the dawn colored area. his hair had been let down for once, ruffled only by the gentle sea breeze and the heavenly touch of your fingers.
"your hair is so lovely, kazuha. like thick silk..." you mused with a soft smile, one that grew when you felt the man in front of you further lean his back against your chest and sigh into your warm touch.
"not as lovely as you, my darling." you'd never tire of hearing his dove-like voice coo affectionate words in your direction, nor would you ever tire of staring into his pools of vermillion that seemingly never ended. he craned his neck up to gaze into your eyes, and you met his actions with a kiss to the tip of his nose.
with careful hands, veins of glowing, dendro energy began to pool from your hands and weaved through kazuha's pale, pearly locks. from your fingertips bloomed tiny, pale blue followers with ripe, lemony centers which found solace nestled in his downy locks.
you hadn't missed the fond smile that crossed his face upon reaching his hand up to come in contact with the small flowers.
"you spoil me far too much. such lovely flowers do not belong trapped in my hair." he mused with a forlorn smile as he plucked one of the sky colored flowers from his hair and twirled the verdant stem between his forefinger and thumb.
"nonsense," you gently chided and tickled his face with sparkles of dendro, "you deserve the world and i plan on giving it to you, one flower at a time."
kazuha was a gentle soul with equally gentle hands, so when you found the world spinning and the grip of your lover's hands keeping you immoveable under him as he flipped you over onto the bed, least to say your heart was in quite the tizzy.
"allow me to return the favor, my most beloved archon." with the gentle purr of his words, the flowers in his hair hummed with life and burst out in greater numbers and larger sizes in tandem to your flustered face and stuttering responses.
he'd never tire of the reactions you gave when flustered, but he truly meant that there'd be no end to his journey to give you the world.
you've always been fond of the gentle breezes that flow through your cultivated flower fields or lumbering forests of trees
kazuha is similar in that regard, where you bloom he nourishes
the two of you work in sync and you truly feel like yourself around him instead of your title
it takes a little while for kazuha to come around about his apprehensions about the archons, but he trusts you with all his heart
if there ever is a problem, he's sure to come straight to you and discuss it in a calm manner
should you one day choose to leave the crux, kazuha will be right behind you despite his close attachment to the crux and beidou
but he knows that he is happiest by your side and wishes for nothing but a peaceful life for the both of you
date published: august 15th, 2021
1K notes · View notes
“Jaskier.” Geralt looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable.
“Yes, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, glancing up from his lute.
“I want to ask you something.” Now Geralt looked really uncomfortable. Interesting.
“Have you got another rash in a hard-to-reach place, dear heart?” Jaskier teased, trying to hide the hopefulness in his tone. Oh the lovely buttocks of Geralt of Rivia. The fodder for many a dirty ode, and quite a few sonnets as well.
“No,” Geralt muttered. “It’s not that, it’s ...” he pressed his lips together.
“Well spit it out,” Jaskier said, now practically writhing with curiosity. “I promise I won’t laugh.” Probably. Maybe.
Geralt took in a short breath, clasping his hands behind his back. “I’m not good with ... wooing. With fine words, and flowers ... and the like.” His expression turned rueful. “Unlike you.”
“I don’t understand,” Jaskier said blankly. Then, “oh.” Of course. Yennefer. He laughed lightly through the sudden twist of jealousy in his chest. “You wish me to teach you?”
Geralt scowled, evidently misunderstanding the reason for Jaskier’s laughter. “Forget it.”
“No!” Jaskier said, sobering quickly. “I wasn’t ... I mean of course. I would be happy to instruct you in all I know.”
Geralt opened his mouth, then closed it, looking aggrieved. “Yes,” he said haltingly. “If I could become better ... I want to.”
Jaskier summoned a brave smile. “Of course, my dear friend. We will make a gentle lover of you yet, a prince among men who none could refuse.”
When Jaskier was done with Geralt, Yennefer would all but swoon into his arms. And Jaskier would ... be happy for him.
So, so happy for him.
It did cross Jaskier’s mind, of course, petty thoughts of sabotage. But he wouldn’t do that to Geralt, couldn’t humiliate him like that, even though Jaskier maintained his staunch doubts over Geralt’s choice in romantic parters.
More importantly, Jaskier had his professional pride.
“The first thing we must do,” Jaskier said primly, “is to see to those clothes.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Geralt asked, looking down at his black tunic and leather trousers, both liberally covered with dust from their travels.
“I’m amazed that sackcloth lasts as long as it does, is all,” Jaskier said, striding purposefully into the tailor’s shop. It was a high-end business, and there were some murmurings of disapproval to see a Witcher in their midst, but invoking Jaskier’s family name changed their tune for the sweeter, as well as the coin he flashed around.
Geralt was still clearly uncomfortable, and Jaskier just managed to temper his basest impulse to wheedle him into trying on a rainbow of silk and velvet. The man had the frame, was all, and it was a dreadful thing to waste.
“I feel ridiculous,” Geralt muttered at the first suit Jaskier called for him to model - a royal blue number which was too basic for Jaskier’s taste. This, he thought, meant that it would fit Geralt’s perfectly. Unfortunately, that was not the case as Geralt complained of feeling like a peacock - emphasis on cock.
The second didn’t even button over Geralt’s chest, and there was much squawking from the tailor about how expensive the material was and dear Melitele don’t raise your arms!
Finally, finally, Jaskier struck gold combing through a rack of older pieces shoved in the back.
“Hmm,” Geralt said, when Jaskier held the suit to the span of his shoulders. “It’s ... plain,” he said, flicking his eyes up to Jaskier’s.
“I have come to accept that my tastes are not your own,” Jaskier said ruefully. “While I think you would look quite magnificent in the ochre ruffles, you’d probably be more comfortable in something ... a little less obtrusive.”
Geralt snorted with amusement before grabbing the suit. “Thank gods for that,” he said, disappearing behind the curtain.
Jaskier had turned to fiddling with the samples of collar embroideries as he waited for Geralt’s return. The moment Geralt stepped from the curtain, Jaskier nearly dropped the tray in surprise.
The forest green gave him a severe figure, regal but approachable. Dark yellow braiding brought forth the startling hue of his eyes. The suit was cut in a minimalistic style, against the grain of current fashions, but with a timeless fit that suited Geralt’s broad shoulders and well-toned arms.
Dressed like this, Jaskier could imagine him commanding the attention of all just by stepping into the room. With Yennefer at his side, they would be ... unforgettable.
“What?” Geralt asked, embarrassed, when Jaskier remained silent. “Is it that terrible?”
“No,” Jaskier said quietly, then looked away, clearing his throat. “Not at all. Do you like it?”
Geralt rolled his shoulders experimentally, then did a few knee bends, to the tittering of the staff. “It’s not as uncomfortable as the others,” he conceded. “You think it looks ... good?”
“Very.” Jaskier smiled reassuringly, waving the tailor over. “We’ll take it.”
“How much?” Geralt asked, frowning as he rubbed the fine material between his fingers.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jaskier smiled, flashing his signet ring at the tailor. The man bowed, and brought a parchment for Jaskier to sign after he haggled to have the suit fitted to Geralt’s figure, and for a pair of matching boots (which Geralt admitted, grudgingly, were sturdy enough to be of use on the Path).
“I’ll pay you back for this,” Geralt said, and Jaskier waved his hand dismissively. He didn’t answer that the suit was worth more than Geralt could scrape together in several years.
They continued over drinks, after Jaskier finished his nightly performance in the small, grimy tavern. It was just as well that Jaskier had a few ales under belt before he moved onto the next stage of his instruction.
“While some women may be partial to certain ... sternness, your grumpy puss is just off-putting. Try a more friendly expression,” Jaskier demonstrated, leaning close to Geralt and flashing him an expression of open interest, with just an edge of lasciviousness.
They were sitting side-by-side on the bench, and Jaskier’s knee brushed warmly against Geralt’s.
“You’re close,” Geralt said quietly.
“Yes,” Jaskier replied patiently. “I’m demonstrating my intention. Not so openly as to frighten, mind you.” He brushed his hand against Geralt’s firm arm, feeling the heat linger on his palm.
Melitele help him survive this.
“Just a bit of a tease,” Jaskier glanced at Geralt through his eyelashes. “Flirtation is a delicate thing. We don’t wish to force it. Simply a matter of push,” he placed his fingertips on Geralt’s chest, just grazing the hard, warm muscle underneath the ‘v’ of his tunic, “and pull.” Jaskier leaned back and smiled, trying to maintain his steady breath through the pounding of his heart.
“Maybe women are partial to these games,” Geralt said stiffly. “what of ... men?”
So Geralt had noticed Jaskier’s more discreet trysts. Though he had little shame these days, Jaskier felt his face heating, wondering if Geralt had also noticed that the men Jaskier chose were often fair, with long hair and low voices.
“It depends on your intentions, I suppose,” Jaskier said, deciding to satisfy Geralt’s curiosity. “A quick tumble? A slow seduction? A clever little flirt to pass the time? Men aren’t so different, when it comes to it. You might seek to be more blunt. We are not the most perceptive of creatures.”
Geralt was quiet for a beat. “I just want to be understood,” he said, prying each word painfully from his throat. “I want ... I want this person to stay with me.”
Oh. Jaskier looked away, taking a deep drink of ale as an excuse. He thought he could handle this. He would. He would help Geralt give his heart to Yennefer, even if it shredded his own in the process.
“What about flattery?” Geralt asked, his eyes intent on Jaskier, his fingers tapping against the wood of the table. “You’re always ...” he made an empty gesture. “Saying words.”
“That I am,” Jaskier responded, amused. “Sometimes even the right ones.”
Geralt smiled. “They seem to work well enough for you ... most of the time.”
Jaskier pulled a face, remembering some of his more humiliating rejections. How would Geralt reject him, Jaskier wondered suddenly, if he knew? If he could read Jaskier’s tortured, covetous glances, the twitch of his fingers on the bench between them, still stinging with the feeling of Geralt’s skin ... just the thought of discomfort on Geralt’s face, perhaps disgust, made something painful twist in Jaskier’s gut.
He dragged his thoughts back to Yennefer. She seemed to be a ... direct woman. The type who knew well enough that she was beautiful, and would have little patience for dithering.
“Sweet words are never remiss,” Jaskier said carefully, “but there’s no need to overdo it. Sincerity is of paramount importance when you are ... serious.” He smiled with false brightness. “Simply speak from the heart.”
“Hmm,” Geralt said, considering Jaskier seriously. Then he glanced away, as if deep in thought.
The room was emptying as the night dragged on, the raucous banter thinning into sleepy murmurings. The young barmaid was sweeping in the corner, the back and forth of her broom hypnotic in the quiet.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, startling him. Jaskier turned to see Geralt had put aside his tankard and was leaning into his space. His expression was intent, like Jaskier was tinder he was attempting to set aflame with just his gaze.
Jaskier felt an answering, flickering heat crawl up his neck, his eyes falling to Geralt’s mouth as he wet his lips with his tongue. Geralt seemed to be wrestling with what he wanted to say, and it wasn’t until Jaskier’s thighs began aching that he realized that he was perched quite literally on the edge of the bench.
“... I enjoyed your singing tonight,” Geralt said finally.
“Oh,” Jaskier said, his mouth falling open softly.
Geralt looked away, frustrated, carding his hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he muttered, “I knew I would be bad at this.”
“No, no,” Jaskier said hurriedly. “You’re ... fine. You simply need practice.” He added, affecting a teasing tone. “I volunteer myself, of course. Melitele knows I’m ever weak for praise.”
Geralt nodded seriously and Jaskier spared a prayer for his heart, which was already beating painfully with Geralt’s proximity, threatening to betray his hopeless yearning.
Geralt was called away for a hunt outside the city, which gave Jaskier a few precious days to rebalance himself, so that by the time Geralt returned, he was ready to wrap up their foolish little lessons.
The sooner he sent Geralt off to Yennefer’s bed, Jaskier told himself sternly, the sooner he could begin to recover from this endeavor.
Dear Melitele he hoped he could recover from this endeavor.
Geralt’s suit was delivered soon after his return, with a fit which attested that the tailor had earned his high price tag. After a trim and a shave (which Jaskier took upon himself to handle, with furtive enjoyment), Geralt was already turning heads as they wound through the bustling streets on Market Day.
“To show that you treasure someone for more than their body,” Jaskier said, as they paused at the center of town square, “you cannot carry them straight to bed. You should seek to spend some quality time with them first.”
To their left, was the town market, where merchants hawked food, second-hand weapons, and mysterious baubles collected across the Northern Kingdoms. To their right, the pier, where tall ships bobbed on the water and a pleasant sea breeze blew. And scattered around them were restaurants, shops and taverns cheerful with the songs of lesser bards.
Jaskier turned to Geralt expectantly.
Geralt frowned, looking in all directions carefully as if he were afraid of failing a test. “Where would you like to go?” he asked.
“I’m glad you asked!” Jaskier said happily. “Showing consideration for your partner is always a good move. Though you shouldn’t always depend on them to choose, otherwise you come off as indecisive. Best to learn what your partner likes, and plan your excursions accordingly.”
Geralt nodded solemnly, and Jaskier felt bold enough to slide his arm through Geralt’s, placing his hand lightly on Geralt’s bicep.
“A little public display of affection is never amiss,” Jaskier said breathlessly, feeling Geralt’s muscle jerk under his touch. Ah fuck. He was entitled to some fun, right?
They strolled through the market square first, and Geralt was remarkably patient with Jaskier lingering over the second-hand bookseller stand, just as Jaskier was with Geralt’s haggling with the armorer over (possibly counterfeit) drakeskin gauntlets.
They purchased meat pies and consumed them by the fountain, the flaky pastry and steaming broth making for a messy, though filling lunch. Around them, dirty-faced children chased each other through the plaza, flocks of small, brown birds pecked at the crumbs at their feet, and clouds streaked like carded wool across the vivid blue sky above.
“You have a copper?” Jaskier asked, and Geralt rummaged in his pockets until he produced one.
“Why?” he asked, as Jaskier held it up to his face.
“Kiss it,” Jaskier instructed, “and make a wish.”
“That’s idiotic,” Geralt said, and Jaskier shook his head, smiling.
“You cannot call your beloved idiotic. That’s against the rules-” Jaskier froze as Geralt grabbed his wrist and brought the coin Jaskier was holding up to his lips, flicking a look up at Jaskier as he pressed a kiss that landed half on Jaskier’s fingers.
“Now what?” Geralt’s voice was low.
Jaskier cleared his throat, turning and tossing the coin behind them, where it made a quiet splash in the fountain.
“That’s it?” Geralt asked, “seems like a waste of coin.”
“Small price for a wish,” Jaskier smiled ruefully. “And less dangerous than a djinn.”
“Hmm,” Geralt said, but he returned Jaskier’s smile.
They found a covered beer stall to drink the afternoon away and play a few hands of gwent. Then, with the sun falling in bleeding violet across the water, they ambled through the empty docks in a haze of warm drunkenness.
Jaskier, perhaps, played at being deeper in his cups than he actually was, just to have an excuse to bump into Geralt, and feel his strong arms around his shoulders.
“Is this really different?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier did not comprehend the question at first, too preoccupied with catching the glint of Geralt’s gold eyes in the setting sunlight, his heart aching in his chest from the beauty of it.
“Is what different?” Jaskier asked, licking his dry lips as he dropped his gaze.
“This,” Geralt said. “From what we ... usually do.”
Well, you’d be doing this with Yennefer, Jaskier didn’t say. “I suppose if you were here with someone you desired,” Jaskier said, holding his voice level through sheer force of will. “You would ... try to kiss them.”
They were standing at the end of the pier, the water hissing under their feet, beating in rhythm to Jaskier’s heart.
In the growing dark, Geralt was considering Jaskier again with that serious expression. The one he had worn throughout the entirety of Jaskier’s instruction. It was so intent, so different from Geralt’s usual begrudging attitude where Jaskier was concerned, that it made him weak at the knees.
Jaskier did not know how he appeared to Geralt at that moment, but surely the naked longing was plain on his face, his defenses worn down from drink and the soft, shining moments they had shared this day, which felt like stolen things.
Abruptly, Jaskier stepped back before he could do something he would really regret, like swooning into Geralt.
“And that is it,” Jaskier said weakly. “That is all I can teach you.”
Without waiting for a response from Geralt, he turned on his heel and fled back towards the inn.
They returned to their shared room in silence. Jaskier had the strongest impulse to pick up a stranger for a forgettable tumble, just to have somewhere else to spend the night, but it felt like a distasteful manner to end the sweet day he had just spent with Geralt.
At least their lessons were over and Jaskier could finally be left to stuff his battered heart back into his chest.
“How was it?” Jaskier asked as he watched Geralt start the fire in their room. “Not as bad as you thought?”
“I expected more poetry,” Geralt said dryly.
“Poetry is for the depths of seduction,” Jaskier said loftily, pulling his tunic over his head. When he looked up, Geralt’s eyes were glowing with heat.
“Teach me,” Geralt said softly, standing abruptly and stepping forward into Jaskier’s space. Startled, Jaskier stumbled backwards, feeling the bed pressing against the back of his knees.
“Poetry?” Jaskier asked, his voice strained, “or seduction?” He gave into the weakness of his knees, sitting heavily in the bed and looking up.
The firelight played across Geralt’s face, and there was that serious expression again, this time accompanied by a tilt of his head.
“Whichever you prefer,” Geralt said softly, and Jaskier was mesmerized by the gold of his eyes in the firelight as Geralt lowered his mouth slowly, deliberately to press against Jaskier’s own.
Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed as he felt the softness of Geralt’s lips, much more delicate, much sweeter than he ever dared to fantasize. Geralt cradled Jaskier’s face gently, his thumbs tracing the shell of his ear, and Jaskier had never thought his ear was an erogenous zone, but it made him shudder.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Jaskier pushed away suddenly, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. His lips felt swollen. Tender. His eyes burned. “Please don’t ... I can’t take it.”
Geralt stepped back abruptly, his expression shuttered. “Jaskier,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”
“I know,” Jaskier said, rubbing at his chest, where the sharp pain felt like it was spreading - to his arms and shoulders and stomach, every part of his body turning cold, aching for Geralt’s touch. “You don’t mean to make me want, but ... I do. I can’t help it.” He looked up, expecting Geralt’s disgust, but instead, he looked ... surprised. Happy?
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, putting his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, forcing him to look at him. “Do you ... want me?”
“Isn’t it pathetically obvious?” Jaskier asked heatedly, choosing anger to cover his shame and despair. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Geralt, and still you choose to torture me by ... by asking me to help you chase after Yen-” his words were lost as Geralt pulled him forward into a kiss, this one deep and slick, turning Jaskier utterly to putty.
“You’re an idiot,” Geralt growled into his mouth.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Jaskier said weakly, “What do you mean?”
Geralt groaned, hanging his head between his arms. “Dammit, Jaskier! I didn’t want ... when I first came to you. I wasn’t asking for lessons. I was ... I am trying to seduce you, Jaskier!”
“Seduce me? But ... Yennefer?” Jaskier squeaked. Then it dawned on him. “Oh,” he said, “oh.”
“Yes,” Geralt said patiently.
“I am an idiot,” Jaskier said mournfully, throwing his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. “But you’re not supposed to call me that.”
“I remember,” Geralt said fondly, and kissed him again.
(now on AO3!)
3K notes · View notes
“Afraid of getting close, protect the energy. Wherever we end up, lovers or enemies.”
i. ABOUT + mikey x fem!reader. gang!au, smut, 18+, aged up, bonten arc with spoilers, fingering, cunnilingus, cowgirl, messy, drool, nipple play, aftercare. bonten arc but mikey’s appearance is like that when he was in manila.
ii. MORE + masterlist.
Your thighs were glistened with perspiration. Little beads glowing like silver moonstone under the slight ray of moonlight infiltrating the windows.
Fingers snaking through silk, raven-haired locks, your back arched. Trying to chase heaven that was locked up in slick and skillful tongue.
Mikey flattened his tongue onto your pussy lips, licking in between your folds to tease your clit. A moan rolled off from your tongue. Whispery as it was, the silence of the red-tinted room intensified its sound.
He hummed his approval, dexterous fingers pushing their way inside your tight, clenching walls. Two fingers in with his tongue kitten-licking your little clit, Mikey moaned against your cunt. The vibration traveled up your spine, controlling your legs to wrap around his neck.
Your mind was clouded in a haze of lust. Chest rising and falling at every contact of his tongue against your puffy cunt. It was dizzying to feel good. You could almost feel yourself letting go of the reality around you, allowing Mikey to pull you down the depths of self-gratification.
“Mikey... Mikey...” you chanted, fingers curling to tug at his hair.
Mikey responded with a silent hum before retreating his fingers, replacing them with his tongue. Ever so slightly, Mikey licked the entrance to your cunt, purposely teasing your temper.
“Mikey!” It came out as a frustrated hiss, hips buckling.
In between your thighs, Mikey displayed a menacing smile. “What do you want?” he rasped. His eyes were as dark as an abyss. But tonight, death wasn’t painted on his irises. You could see nothing but a shade of unadulterated lust, shocking you to the core. You made him feel like this.
“More,” you grumbled, embarrassed at the request.
Mikey ran his index finger between your folds, teasing your swollen clit. “Ask nicely.”
Eyes on his, you bared your teeth. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
He huffed out a full-throated laugh, enthralled by the brazen statement. Mikey’s hand snaked towards the base of your neck, his fingers wrapping around it. Lips hairsbreadth away from yours, he whispered, “How many times have you failed trying, hm?”
Before you could answer, Mikey captured your lips. His kisses were harsh— with teeth and tongue dominating all of you. He bit down at your lower lip, hard as to draw blood. However, your yelp was muffled when he deepened the kiss.
Both of you tangled in the sheets, clothes strewn across the floor. Messy hair with even messier kisses, you fondled each other’s body like you were made of gold and neither of you wanted to let go.
Mikey’s pants hung low on his lower hips, underwear prancing sexily in front of you. It took him less than a minute to get the remaining hindrances off his body, therefore baring himself naked shamelessly.
Staring and marveling at Mikey’s body wasn’t new. But everytime he showed his porcelain skin, your jaw couldn’t help but fall. There was an undefined allure shaped in his soft muscles. Of how his body leaned towards just the right amount of muscles and flesh.
Mikey ran his hand through his hair while pumping his cock with the other. “You ready for me?” he asked, leaning closer towards your frame. “Am not gonna go easy.”
That pulled a chuckle from you. “Don’t disappoint—” Your mouth slackened, with a breathless moan leaving your lips.
Mikey slammed his cock without warning, penetrating your cunt deep inside. His lips tugged up in a smirk, cruelty evident in the planes of his rather blank expression. “What are ya saying?”
Your feet flew to the air, inviting Mikey to pound onto your hopeless pussy even harder. His name left your lips in an airless puff of air. God, it felt so good.
Holding your waist, Mikey pulled your body towards his. Your cunt met the base of his cock as your body willingly swayed. There was squelching and the creaking of bed and your cries and Mikey’s low grunts.
His perspiration dripped down your sweat-covered body. Teeth greeting before slanting his face over your perked up nipple. Mikey grabbed your breast, plumped the flesh to suck on your nipples.
You gripped at the sheets, feeling the nerves around your tit rejoiced by the attention Mikey has given them.
His tongue swirled around the bud, saliva racing down the sides of your boob before sucking your nipple again. Mikey bit down on it softly while looking at you through his lashes, relishing at the sight of your fucked out face. You were exactly where he wanted you.
Mikey found your lips again. “Ride me,” he whispered against the ravaging kiss.
Before you knew it, your knees were placed on both his sides, your body bouncing on his cock. Mikey held your hips to guide you, nose flaring by every slam of your ass against his thighs.
“Mikey!” you shrieked, feeling his cock reached the deepest parts of your walls. “M... Mikey!”
“Is this your best?” he taunted, twisting your nipples with his fingers. “Don’t fucking make me laugh.”
You whimpered, embarrassed yet inspired at the same time. Rolling your hips, your body shuddered as you felt your walls clenched around his girth tightly. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you continued to fuck his cock back and forths.
“Fuck,” Mikey gasped in your ear. “Pussy so fucking good.” He pulled away, clasping your face with his hands. Unexpectedly, your tongue lolled out with drool slipping and flowing down your chin. Mikey’s cock pulsated at the sight. “Look at you. You’ve got some goddamn balls to fight me,” he hissed at your face, “But you can make this face with a cock inside you?”
Slapping the sides of your ass, Mikey pressed his fingers to your cheek to pucker your lips. “‘m cumming.” Resting his forehead against yours, Mikey growled and cursed, pulling your body closer. “I’m gonna cum so fucking hard. I’m gonna cu—” His chest heaved as a low yet guttural moan reverberated from him. Mikey’s cock twitched violently inside your walls, filling it with his semen.
Just by the sound of him losing his mind, your pussy clenched. You found yourself crying his name as the orgasm slapped you tenfold. Body shuddering, both of you emptied yourselves by moaning each other’s names.
You fell on the bed, while Mikey made his way to the bathroom to grab some clean towel. He patted and cleanse your body, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear as he did so. But you were too tired to make sense of them.
Before you knew it, it was already midnight when you woke up. Mikey was beside you, arm around your waist. His breathing was labored when you slowly stood up. Your movement stirred him up.
Silently donning your clothes, you looked at Mikey. He was staring at you with a small smile, eyes tired.
“Going so soon?” There was mischief in the question. You knew exactly why. “To the hideout?”
“None of your business,” you sing-songed.
Mikey chuckled. “Your gang better give us a good fight.”
Planting one knee to the bed, you gave Mikey one last lingering kiss. “Tomorrow will be the end of Bonten, Mikey. Good night.”
2K notes · View notes
Why Smart People Believe Stupid Things
If you’ve been paying attention for the last couple of years, you might have noticed that the world has a bit of a misinformation problem.
The problem isn’t just with the recent election conspiracies, either. The last couple of years has brought us the rise (and occasionally fall) of misinformation-based movements like:
Sandy Hook conspiracies
The MRA/incel/MGTOW movements
the birther movement
climate change denial
But why do people believe this stuff?
It would be easy - too easy - to say that people fall for this stuff because they’re stupid. We all want to believe that smart people like us are immune from being taken in by deranged conspiracies. But it’s just not that simple. People from all walks of life are going down these rabbit holes - people with degrees and professional careers and rich lives have fallen for these theories, leaving their loved ones baffled. Decades-long relationships have splintered this year, as the number of people flocking to these conspiracies out of nowhere reaches a fever pitch.
So why do smart people start believing some incredibly stupid things? It’s because:
Our brains are built to identify patterns.
Our brains fucking love puzzles and patterns. This is a well-known phenomenon called apophenia, and at one point, it was probably helpful for our survival - the prehistoric human who noticed patterns in things like animal migration, plant life cycles and the movement of the stars was probably a lot more likely to survive than the human who couldn’t figure out how to use natural clues to navigate or find food.
The problem, though, is that we can’t really turn this off. Even when we’re presented with completely random data, we’ll see patterns. We see patterns in everything, even when there’s no pattern there. This is why people see Jesus in a burnt piece of toast or get superstitious about hockey playoffs or insist on always playing at a certain slot machine - our brains look for patterns in the constant barrage of random information in our daily lives, and insist that those patterns are really there, even when they’re completely imagined.
A lot of conspiracy theories have their roots in people making connections between things that aren’t really connected. The belief that “vaccines cause autism” was bolstered by the fact that the first recognizable symptoms of autism happen to appear at roughly the same time that children receive one of their rounds of childhood immunizations - the two things are completely unconnected, but our brains have a hard time letting go of the pattern they see there. Likewise, many people were quick to latch on to the fact that early maps of COVID infections were extremely similar to maps of 5G coverage - the fact that there’s a reasonable explanation for this (major cities are more likely to have both high COVID cases AND 5G networks) doesn’t change the fact that our brains just really, really want to see a connection there.
Our brains love proportionality.
Specifically, our brains like effects to be directly proportional to their causes - in other words, we like it when big events have big causes, and small causes only lead to small events. It’s uncomfortable for us when the reverse is true. And so anytime we feel like a “big” event (celebrity death, global pandemic, your precious child is diagnosed with autism) has a small or unsatisfying cause (car accident, pandemics just sort of happen every few decades, people just get autism sometimes), we sometimes feel the need to start looking around for the bigger, more sinister, “true” cause of that event.
Consider, for instance, the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II. In 1981, Pope John Paul II was shot four times by a Turkish member of a known Italian paramilitary secret society who’d recently escaped from prison - on the surface, it seems like the sort of thing conspiracy theorists salivate over, seeing how it was an actual multinational conspiracy. But they never had much interest in the assassination attempt. Why? Because the Pope didn’t die. He recovered from his injuries and went right back to Pope-ing. The event didn’t have a serious outcome, and so people are content with the idea that one extremist carried it out. The death of Princess Diana, however, has been fertile ground for conspiracy theories; even though a woman dying in a car accident is less weird than a man being shot four times by a paid political assassin, her death has attracted more conspiracy theories because it had a bigger outcome. A princess dying in a car accident doesn’t feel big enough. It’s unsatisfying. We want such a monumentous moment in history to have a bigger, more interesting cause.
These theories prey on pre-existing fear and anger.
Are you a terrified new parent who wants the best for their child and feels anxious about having them injected with a substance you don’t totally understand? Congrats, you’re a prime target for the anti-vaccine movement. Are you a young white male who doesn’t like seeing more and more games aimed at women and minorities, and is worried that “your” gaming culture is being stolen from you? You might have been very interested in something called Gamergate. Are you a right-wing white person who worries that “your” country and way of life is being stolen by immigrants, non-Christians and coastal liberals? You’re going to love the “all left-wingers are Satantic pedo baby-eaters” messaging of QAnon.
Misinformation and conspiracy theories are often aimed strategically at the anxieties and fears that people are already experiencing. No one likes being told that their fears are insane or irrational; it’s not hard to see why people gravitate towards communities that say “yes, you were right all along, and everyone who told you that you were nuts to be worried about this is just a dumb sheep. We believe you, and we have evidence that you were right along, right here.” Fear is a powerful motivator, and you can make people believe and do some pretty extreme things if you just keep telling them “yes, that thing you’re afraid of is true, but also it’s way worse than you could have ever imagined.”
Real information is often complicated, hard to understand, and inherently unsatisfying.
The information that comes from the scientific community is often very frustrating for a layperson; we want science to have hard-and-fast answers, but it doesn’t. The closest you get to a straight answer is often “it depends” or “we don’t know, but we think X might be likely”. Understanding the results of a scientific study with any confidence requires knowing about sampling practices, error types, effect sizes, confidence intervals and publishing biases. Even asking a simple question like “is X bad for my child” will usually get you a complicated, uncertain answer - in most cases, it really just depends. Not understanding complex topics makes people afraid - it makes it hard to trust that they’re being given the right information, and that they’re making the right choices.
Conspiracy theories and misinformation, on the other hand, are often simple, and they are certain. Vaccines bad. Natural things good. 5G bad. Organic food good. The reason girls won’t date you isn’t a complex combination of your social skills, hygiene, appearance, projected values, personal circumstances, degree of extroversion, luck and life phase - girls won’t date you because feminism is bad, and if we got rid of feminism you’d have a girlfriend. The reason Donald Trump was an unpopular president wasn’t a complex combination of his public bigotry, lack of decorum, lack of qualifications, open incompetence, nepotism, corruption, loss of soft power, refusal to uphold the basic responsibilities of his position or his constant lying - they hated him because he was fighting a secret sex cult and they’re all in it.
Instead of making you feel stupid because you’re overwhelmed with complex information, expert opinions and uncertain advice, conspiracy theories make you feel smart - smarter, in fact, than everyone who doesn’t believe in them. And that’s a powerful thing for people living in a credential-heavy world.
Many conspiracy theories are unfalsifiable.
It is very difficult to prove a negative. If I tell you, for instance, that there’s no such thing as a purple swan, it would be very difficult for me to actually prove that to you - I could spend the rest of my life photographing swans and looking for swans and talking to people who know a lot about swans, and yet the slim possibility would still exist that there was a purple swan out there somewhere that I just hadn’t found yet. That’s why, in most circumstances, the burden of proof lies with the person making the extraordinary claim - if you tell me that purple swans exist, we should continue to assume that they don’t until you actually produce a purple swan.
Conspiracy theories, however, are built so that it’s nearly impossible to “prove” them wrong. Is there any proof that the world’s top-ranking politicians and celebrities are all in a giant child sex trafficking cult? No. But can you prove that they aren’t in a child sex-trafficking cult? No, not really. Even if I, again, spent the rest of my life investigating celebrities and following celebrities and talking to people who know celebrities, I still couldn’t definitely prove that this cult doesn’t exist - there’s always a chance that the specific celebrities I’ve investigated just aren’t in the cult (but other ones are!) or that they’re hiding evidence of the cult even better than we think. Lack of evidence for a conspiracy theory is always treated as more evidence for the theory - we can’t find anything because this goes even higher up than we think! They’re even more sophisticated at hiding this than we thought! People deeply entrenched in these theories don’t even realize that they are stuck in a circular loop where everything seems to prove their theory right - they just see a mountain of “evidence” for their side.
Our brains are very attached to information that we “learned” by ourselves.
Learning accurate information is not a particularly interactive or exciting experience. An expert or reliable source just presents the information to you in its entirety, you read or watch the information, and that’s the end of it. You can look for more information or look for clarification of something, but it’s a one-way street - the information is just laid out for you, you take what you need, end of story.
Conspiracy theories, on the other hand, almost never show their hand all at once. They drop little breadcrumbs of information that slowly lead you where they want you to go. This is why conspiracy theorists are forever telling you to “do your research” - they know that if they tell you everything at once, you won’t believe them. Instead, they want you to indoctrinate yourself slowly over time, by taking the little hints they give you and running off to find or invent evidence that matches that clue. If I tell you that celebrities often wear symbols that identify them as part of a cult and that you should “do your research” about it, you can absolutely find evidence that substantiates my claim - there are literally millions of photos of celebrities out there, and anyone who looks hard enough is guaranteed to find common shapes, poses and themes that might just mean something (they don’t - eyes and triangles are incredibly common design elements, and if I took enough pictures of you, I could also “prove” that you also clearly display symbols that signal you’re in the cult).
The fact that you “found” the evidence on your own, however, makes it more meaningful to you. We trust ourselves, and we trust that the patterns we uncover by ourselves are true. It doesn’t feel like you’re being fed misinformation - it feels like you’ve discovered an important truth that “they” didn’t want you to find, and you’ll hang onto that for dear life.
Older people have not learned to be media-literate in a digital world.
Fifty years ago, not just anyone could access popular media. All of this stuff had a huge barrier to entry - if you wanted to be on TV or be in the papers or have a radio show, you had to be a professional affiliated with a major media brand. Consumers didn’t have easy access to niche communities or alternative information - your sources of information were basically your local paper, the nightly news, and your morning radio show, and they all more or less agreed on the same set of facts. For decades, if it looked official and it appeared in print, you could probably trust that it was true.
Of course, we live in a very different world today - today, any asshole can accumulate an audience of millions, even if they have no credentials and nothing they say is actually true (like “The Food Babe”, a blogger with no credentials in medicine, nutrition, health sciences, biology or chemistry who peddles health misinformation to the 3 million people who visit her blog every month). It’s very tough for older people (and some younger people) to get their heads around the fact that it’s very easy to create an “official-looking” news source, and that they can’t necessarily trust everything they find on the internet. When you combine that with a tendency toward “clickbait headlines” that often misrepresent the information in the article, you have a generation struggling to determine who they can trust in a media landscape that doesn’t at all resemble the media landscape they once knew.
These beliefs become a part of someone’s identity.
A person doesn’t tell you that they believe in anti-vaxx information - they tell you that they ARE an anti-vaxxer. Likewise, people will tell you that they ARE a flat-earther, a birther, or a Gamergater. By design, these beliefs are not meant to be something you have a casual relationship with, like your opinion of pizza toppings or how much you trust local weather forecasts - they are meant to form a core part of your identity.
And once something becomes a core part of your identity, trying to make you stop believing it becomes almost impossible. Once we’ve formed an initial impression of something, facts just don’t change our minds. If you identify as an antivaxxer and I present evidence that disproves your beliefs, in your mind, I’m not correcting inaccurate information - I am launching a very personal attack against a core part of who you are. In fact, the more evidence I present, the more you will burrow down into your antivaxx beliefs, more confident than ever that you are right. Admitting that you are wrong about something that is important to you is painful, and your brain would prefer to simply deflect conflicting information rather than subject you to that pain.
We can see this at work with something called the confirmation bias. Simply put, once we believe something, our brains hold on to all evidence that that belief is true, and ignore evidence that it’s false. If I show you 100 articles that disprove your pet theory and 3 articles that confirm it, you’ll cling to those 3 articles and forget about the rest. Even if I show you nothing but articles that disprove your theory, you’ll likely go through them and pick out any ambiguous or conflicting information as evidence for “your side”, even if the conclusion of the article shows that you are wrong - our brains simply care about feeling right more than they care about what is actually true.
There is a strong community aspect to these theories.
There is no one quite as supportive or as understanding as a conspiracy theorist - provided, of course, that you believe in the same conspiracy theories that they do. People who start looking into these conspiracy theories are told that they aren’t crazy, and that their fears are totally valid. They’re told that the people in their lives who doubted them were just brainwashed sheep, but that they’ve finally found a community of people who get where they’re coming from. Whenever they report back to the group with the “evidence” they’ve found or the new elaborations on the conspiracy theory that they’ve been thinking of (“what if it’s even worse than we thought??”), they are given praise for their valuable contributions. These conspiracy groups often become important parts of people’s social networks - they can spend hours every day talking with like-minded people from these communities and sharing their ideas.
Of course, the flipside of this is that anyone who starts to doubt or move away from the conspiracy immediately loses that community and social support. People who have broken away from antivaxx and QAnon often say that the hardest part of leaving was losing the community and friendships they’d built - not necessarily giving up on the theory itself. Many people are rejected by their real-life friends and family once they start to get entrenched in conspiracy theories; the friendships they build online in the course of researching these theories often become the only social supports they have left, and losing those supports means having no one to turn to at all. This is by design - the threat of losing your community has kept people trapped in abusive religious sects and cults for as long as those things have existed.
4K notes · View notes
This might be an odd or heavy question so I'm not exactly expecting a response, but what exactly is disability? I'm aware that typically people who need glasses aren't called disabled, that there are invisible and mental disabilities, that the legal definition is flawed, et cetera, but the exact definition still escapes me.
(the catalyst for me asking is my piling health problems; chronic bronchitis and several kinds of heart problems cause me to be unable to climb more than two flights of stairs without breathing like a fish and yet I still feel guilty for taking the elevator. I'm just trying to get a definite answer so my own mind would stop nagging me about it)
This is exactly my shit because disability activism was so important in shaping me into the person I am. I'm neurodivergent, but also physically disabled; I have congenital birth defects in my hands and feet that fuck me up more than you might expect, I'm mobility impaired, and now live with chronic pain. My life is way better when I don't have to take the stairs, I can only work about four hours a day, but I don't meet my government's definition of "disabled".
Disability has been an intense battleground. For centuries society has had a very narrowly defined view of disability, and treated disabled people in a very particular way. The Disability Rights Movement, meanwhile, has involved disabled people getting together and saying: The way we are viewed and treated sucks! We don't like it! Things need to change!
So one major key to things is the social vs medical model of disability. The medical model views disability as when someone has a serious impairment or illness that prevents them from being normal and healthy, and needs to be medically treated or cured. The social model views disability as the result of society failing to accommodate the full range of variation in human ability, which fails to allow the disabled person full inclusion.
Like, if someone cannot walk and uses a wheelchair, and therefore cannot get into a building, the medical model says we should focus on making them able to walk. The social model says that we should focus on making the building accessible for people with wheelchairs. A major issue here is universal design, the belief that our buildings (and by extension, our institutions and society) shouldn't just be set up for abled people. It should anticipate the presence of disabled people, and plan to include and accommodate us so that we can enjoy an equal level of autonomy and inclusion in society as everyone else.
Disability is really complicated partly because it's really diverse. There are so many different ways of being disabled. Neither of these models is 100% right or 100% wrong. Some people love what makes them different from the norm and don't believe it should ever be taken away or cured; others hate their disabilities and want them to go away yesterday. An operative issue to keep in mind is when the medical and social models are useful.
Under the social model of disability, people who wear eyeglasses are a perfect example of an impairment that's socially accommodated so that it isn't normally debilitating. Society doesn't have huge narratives about how it's tragic or pitiable when someone wears glasses; it's not generally seen as heartbreaking for parents to take their child to the optometrist. Glasses are more-or-less affordable to the everyday person. It is, in fact, solid evidence that we can and do treat some kinds of physical differences as routine and unremarkable.
So at the base of it, here's the reality about the definition of disability:
Abled society has historically had a lot invested in keeping "disability" as a very narrowly defined category. Only the most truly deserving get the special resources that make up for the fact that they're excluded from employment and public life. There's only one elevator, so you'd better make sure that you really need it before you use up that scarce resource.
Disability activism, meanwhile, benefits from making the definition of disability as broad as possible, to argue that we aren't rare exceptions, we're 1/5 of the population and shouldn't be excluded to begin with. Literally anyone could be hit by a bus tomorrow and become disabled. Excluding us and denying us our civil rights isn't acceptable. If too many people are using the elevator, maybe the building shouldn't rely so much on taking the stairs.
This ties into what the disability community calls "the curb-cut effect". When a space is made more accessible for people in wheelchairs (by putting in curb cuts, for example), a whole lot of other people benefit: Parents with strollers, delivery people with hand trucks, travellers with luggage, and ordinary pedestrians who just found them easier to walk across. The design feature made life for everyone so much better that it became adopted everywhere, and demanded as a standard piece of urban architecture. Wheelchair users benefited because everybody wanted the kind of space they could travel in.
When you use a resource or accommodation intended for disabled people, you reinforce the idea that disabled people are common and should be routinely included. Although this sometimes puts stress on a system when multiple people are using the resource at once, the solution should be to increase that resource's availability, not to decide who needs it less and kick them out.
(This topic reminds me that hey, I'm disabled and don't make a lot of money because of it. This week I'm trying to find an apartment that doesn't require taking the stairs, but those are literally twice as expensive in my city. So if you want to support me for the work I do, here are my Patreon and Paypal!)
1K notes · View notes