AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH - Tumblr Posts

CROSSOVER CROSSOVER CROSSOVER

I LOVE THEMMM. SISBSISBKSSBKSBSJSBSN

BAB EARTH IS DRAWING A GOOOOOOSE!!!!!!!!!!!

THE ITTY BITTYSS AHHHH

Have this: BBS Sun and LBS Moon are Inter-dimensional drinking buddies! The babs get to hang out while their parents brothers catch up from the past month or two.

(One year in BBS’s dimension is 2 years in LBS’s dimension for time difference scale, BBS moves twice as slow compared to LBS in time scale-)

BBS! Sun is drinking wine and LBS! Moon is drinking something sweet(I have no actual clue what he would be drinking here aside from it being sweet-)

I like how this one turned out! I like silly little au crossovers of mine!

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxxi) (ao3)

(An update to celebrate the end of @nessianweek ❤️)

Chapter 32: Cassian flies down to Velaris for the first time since his recovery and Nesta receives not one but two visitors at the House of Wind.

(Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

Nesta felt Rhysand long before she found him.

As she rose from the chair beside Elain’s bed, skirting the sunlight that streamed in through the wide windows of the bedchamber, the High Lord’s presence was something slick and dark, snaking through the corridors of the House of Wind like a long-fingered shadow— stretching, searching.

Testing.

Her attention was pulled towards the library at the end of the corridor, and it felt familiar, that pull. That power. The way it glided across her skin, needled at her senses like it was trying to lure her out; similar in the way of distant cousins, so many generations removed.

With reluctance, Nesta followed.

Every step she took down the hallway seemed to bring her closer to something heavy, a dark touch against her skin that was as cold as the midnight sky in the middle of winter. It made the silver in her veins writhe, and when at last Nesta pushed open the door to the House of Wind’s private library, she wasn’t at all surprised to find a single chair filled by the empty hearth.

In the blink of an eye, somehow two weeks had passed since Nesta had last laid eyes on the High Lord of the Night Court.

She couldn’t really say she’d missed him.

“Where is Cassian.”

It was a question that might have been wrapped in thorns for the way it came out, barbed enough that even Nesta was surprised. Her voice seemed to echo in the emptiness of the library, the vast space silent, draped with the light of the noonday sun.

The High Lord flicked a hand towards the windows, a vague gesture towards the city down below.

Silver rings gleamed on his fingers, a burst of starlight against the impenetrable black of his shirt and pants, and as his dark eyes lifted, Rhysand kept his face blank and impassive, relaxing into his chair as Nesta paused in the doorway, letting the shadows fall across her as she lingered, hardly daring to step forward into the sunlight. Rhysand was bathed in it— a warm slant of golden light burnishing his sable hair and illuminating the sharp cut of his jaw as he tilted his head to the side, cataloguing her hesitation.

If he realised that he was the last person in the entire realm that Nesta wanted to see today, he didn’t show it. Rhysand merely rested an elbow on the arm of his chair, curling his fingers towards his palm.

“Nesta,” he said, a curious expression flitting across his face, like he was trying to summon an ember of warmth when he spoke. “I came to see how you were doing.”

A lie if ever there was one.

Rhysand might as well have had ulterior motives written right across his damned forehead.

He sat back, crossing one ankle over his knee in a stance that was only deceptively casual. Nesta wasn’t a fool; Rhysand might have appeared calm, like the mirrored surface of a still lake, but beneath… she knew his display of ease was just as false as her own. Through narrowed eyes she watched him, feeling the flames lick at her bones as they coursed through her like a whisper, a lethal undercurrent every bit as potent as Rhysand’s.

“Where is Cassian?” she asked again, folding her arms over her chest and remaining, steadfast, in the shadowed corner by the door.

“In the city,” Rhysand answered, letting his hand drop to pluck at a piece of lint at his knee. “The flight will be good for him. He needs to rebuild the strength in his wings.”

Nesta said nothing.

Rhysand’s eyes glinted. “Did he not tell you?”

There was something cruel there, something biting that said the High Lord didn’t like the way Cassian seemed to act as though Nesta had become the centre of his world. Somehow, something told her he was hoping she’d say no.

But Cassian had told her. Had knocked tentatively on her door that morning, stuck his head around the frame and asked if she wanted to join him. He’d been building up to it for days, taking small fights here and there, never far from the House roof, and even though he always asked, Nesta had never stepped out to watch him. She preferred to linger in the shadows, like it might protect her somehow. But Cassian had always come right back to her when he touched ground, like he couldn’t stay away too long, and with the sun climbing higher in the sky, she thought he might have returned by now.

Not that she was concerned.

Not really.

She just couldn’t keep her mind from straying to that night when everything had fallen apart, when she’d been lying on that cold floor, unable to do anything but watch as he lay broken and too far from her reach, his wings in tatters, his blood spilling on the stone.

What if he was hurt? What if it was too soon, his wings not strong enough to bear his weight yet—

“How are you, anyway?” Rhysand asked, hauling Nesta back to the present.

It was almost conversational, almost like he cared.

Suspicion crawled along her spine, dripping thick as oil. In the five days since Rhysand had last visited the House of Wind - for that godforsaken dinner that Nesta had heartily declined Cassian’s invitation to - he had seemed entirely content to leave her be, learning of her welfare through questions posed to either Cassian or Azriel, and yet now Rhysand sat in that chair, in the library that had become Nesta’s source of peace, asking her how she was. She didn’t fail to miss the way his eyes flicked to her folded arms, like he could sense the fire gathering there behind her ribs, pooling at her fingertips.

“Fine,” she bit out, looking right past him and out of the windows, to the sun-drenched city below. The river was a silver ribbon running through the winding streets, glimmering as the midday sun beat down upon its length, and she knew that if she only stepped forward, the light would brush her cheeks and warm her skin.

She didn’t move.

The power beneath her skin coiled, curling in on itself as if preparing to strike, and Rhysand’s face was a mask of indifference as he followed her gaze to the windows. Tapping a finger gently on his knee, he looked back once more at the hands Nesta wrapped around herself. Something flickered in his violet eyes, the stars there winking out as his attention snagged on the hands she kept concealed. The High Lord cocked his head to the side, examining her the way one might look at a beast in the woods.

His lips parted as he leaned forwards, eyebrows drawing together as he looked at her with a kind of scrutiny Nesta hadn’t felt since her mother had died.

And then—

“Cassian will kill me, but I need to know what happened that night at Hybern. Inside the Cauldron.”

Every bone, every muscle, every nerve in Nesta’s entire body locked, stiffening as Rhys’ voice quieted.

She should have known, she thought, as her heart pounded indignantly in her chest. The moment she saw him there, waiting for her, she should have known the questions were coming. Questions he’d asked before— ones she hadn’t answered then, and certainly didn’t feel like answering now.

“I told you last time,” she answered, her voice a rasp that threatened to cut her throat on its way out. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Fury bubbled in her gut, stealing her breath as she watched Feyre’s mate look at her with barely-concealed disdain, his lip curling as he dragged his eyes across her frame. In another life, another time, perhaps Nesta might have found a way to get along with Rhysand. Maybe even like him. But if she was a fire refusing to relent, then so was he. All her sharpness, all her stubbornness… it was thrown back at her, reflected in his eyes. Like calls to like, she’d heard them say, and as Rhysand looked at her with a glare that she knew was identical to her own, she wondered if in this case, like didn’t call to like, but repelled it.

“Is that all you’re here for?” she hissed. “To see what you can gain by what happened to Elain and I in that throne room?”

Somehow, his face darkened even further. A shadow crossed his eyes, his hands clenched into fists as tight as Nesta’s own, and whatever patience he’d had before, it was fraying now, perilously close to snapping. His power rumbled, like a distant thunderhead about to break. He closed his eyes, as if letting it wash over him, and when he opened them again, there was a grim determination shining in the violet.

“You feel it,” he said, his voice a low whisper. “Don’t lie to me, Nesta. I know.” He held up a hand, spread his fingers and exposed his palm to her. She felt that rumble of darkness again, like it was skirting the edges of the House library, lurking. “I can feel whatever it is the Cauldron gave you. And I might have let it lie, but then Cassian mentioned the House magic had changed—”

“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Nesta growled, and this time it was true. She really didn’t have any idea what he meant about the House changing, and Cassian hadn’t said a word to her about it—

Rhys barrelled on, as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

“Your power needs to be controlled,” he said, and if she wasn’t convinced of his arrogance, she’d have sworn that concern shaded his words. “You may not believe me, but you’re my sister-in-law now. I came to check that you and Elain were both well, for Feyre’s sake if nothing else.” He ran his hand over his hair, took a breath. “I want to see if Elain—”

“Stay away from her,” Nesta hissed.

“She may need a healer—”

“What she needs is to be kept as far away from all of you as possible.”

“‘All of you’?” he echoed darkly. “And does that include Cassian? Shall I tell him to stay away, too?”

Nesta folded her arms, refused to answer. The ice that had burrowed deep into her bones reared, and a chill skirted down her spine as pressure began to build in her fingertips, pushing against her skin, begging for release. It felt like… destruction, pure and simple. Nesta clenched her fists, taking a deep breath in an effort to force the burning cold back down again, right into the deepest recesses of herself, and when she looked up and met Rhysand’s eye, she saw his lips thin, and felt his own power rumbling in answer as her own battled to stay present.

Those starless eyes were utterly flat as he curled his hands around the carved wooden arm rests of his chair.

And then she felt something brush against her— against her mind.

It felt like claws, sharp enough to tear through the fabric of her thoughts, like he might crack her open to see what was hidden inside.

The sound that left her was one of horror as she stumbled backwards, her spine flush with the wall as she pinned the High Lord with a ferocious glare. Her palms were flat against the wood-panelled wall, the fire in her burning, and even though Rhysand’s eyes remained steady - like he was trying hard not to startle her - there was a tendril of shadow, no more substantive than mist, still pressing at the boundaries of her mind— boundaries she’d never noticed as a human.

Never needed to notice.

The hair on her arms rose, her skin pebbled as she fought to control her breathing. She knew Rhysand could enter minds, but he hadn’t ever tried to enter hers before. That brush of power felt unnervingly like a hand, tapping softly at the mental barrier she had unwittingly constructed around her mind, and it was enough to make her blood run cold— colder than the ice inside her ever could.

A snarl ripped free of her.

“Nesta, you need to learn control—“ he began.

“Leave,” she hissed.

“This is my house,” Rhysand tossed back.

Nesta glanced once to the windows— the sunlight outside, the city that she didn’t want to see any closer. Something inside her recoiled, and yet still, she scowled as she pushed away from the wall.

“Then I’ll leave,” she spat. “I’ll leave this whole damned place, and when Feyre returns, you can be the one to tell her why her sister is lost somewhere in Prythian.”

Rhysand gritted his teeth, his starless eyes cold and ruthless as he pushed to his feet. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he gave her one long, lingering look that scorched. With an elegant hand, he straightened his black shirt, a deep frown heavy on his brow as disapproval radiated from him in waves. Whatever fraction of warmth he’d managed to conjure before, it was gone now.

“Good day, then,” he said sharply.

Nesta didn’t answer, only watched him march past her to leave before she slammed the door closed behind him.

***

Velaris was a beauty in the sunlight.

The river gleamed like the shattered surface of a diamond, shifting with the current, and as Cassian looked out over its banks from ground level, he realised how much he had missed it. Missed this, losing himself in the same city he’d spent fifty years fighting to leave. He hadn’t thought at all how much he might miss this place during those long years Rhys was under the mountain, but now, as he tilted his head back and filled his lungs, he swore he’d never forget again.

From somewhere in the distance, he could hear the sound of the market, a thousand voices on the wind like chimes, and the air itself was perfumed with lemon verbena and sea salt. Cassian took another deep breath of it, leaning his forearms on the railing overlooking the river, and thanking the Mother that he was able to stand there on that bridge at all.

Grateful— so grateful that the city had survived Hybern’s attack, and he had survived Hybern’s throne room.

His wings twitched at the memory. The flight down had been a strain on the freshly-healed membrane, but the burning he’d felt had been one of muscles remembering what it was to work, not pain. He’d felt the wind on his face and the elation fizzing in his blood, and for an hour he’d wandered the city before heading to the Palace of Thread and Jewels to place an order for a handful of dresses that didn’t seem too dissimilar to what Nesta had worn below the wall. He’d ordered some for Elain too, and charged the lot to Rhys’ account. And now, he was content to merely stand by and watch, to let the city roll by as the sun warmed his face, resting his wings as he relished the ache.

It was there, looking out over the Rainbow, that a familiar scent was carried to him on the wind.

“I don’t need a nursemaid, you know,” Cassian said dryly, keeping his eyes fixed on the city before him.

He could practically hear Mor roll her eyes as she joined him at the edge, looping an arm through his and pulling him away from the railing. Beneath the sun, she was practically gilded, her blonde hair shining almost the exact same shade as the golden necklace around her neck. She nudged him in the ribs with an elbow as she nodded to his wings and scowled.

“I heard you’d flown down here and had to check for myself.” She huffed. “Az is going to win the bet, isn’t he?”

Cassian laughed softly. “Sorry?” he offered, stretching his wings with a grin. There was only a little tug of pain now, and he was certain that he’d be back to flying miles a day within a few short weeks, well within the timeframe Az had set when he’d bet Mor those ten gold coins.

“I don’t know whether or not to be insulted,” Cassian continued, letting Mor lead him across the bridge and into the winding city streets. “Az had more confidence in me than you did.”

“It’s nothing to do with confidence,” Mor protested, her painted lips parting as her jaw dropped. “I just didn’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

It was Cassian’s turn to nudge her in the ribs. He’d almost forgotten how easy it was between them— the banter of friends who had known one another so long. And yet, he’d always thought that when Mor smiled and laughed, there were no secrets to be had between them. Nothing they failed to share. He turned his head to the side as they walked and studied her, wondering what else she’d kept close to her chest all this time.

“Drink?” she suggested, pausing at the threshold of a riverfront cafe, tilting her head towards the round wooden tables shaded by pale yellow umbrellas. Lemon trees were dotted between tables, citrus-scented candles already lit in the centre of each.

Cassian nodded, letting himself be herded towards a table at the back, and within ten minutes - like the staff had dropped everything in their rush to serve members of their Lord’s circle - Mor was seated with her back to the river, cold drink in hand as, idly, she stirred the crushed ice with a straw. Cassian didn’t know whether he wanted to grimace or not; the recognition he received on the street had buoyed him once, made him feel like the world lay at his feet.

It felt sour, now.

He shook his head, fingers curling around a tall glass of water. Gratefully he drank, but still, he couldn’t stop the curiosity from taking hold whenever he looked over at the blonde he’d come to view as a sister.

Really— what else had Mor neglected to tell him over the centuries?

“So,” he said, leaning back in his seat after letting the silence stretch for a beat too long. “Are you ever going to tell me about the human you mentioned back in Illyria?”

Mor’s face fell. Her fingers slackened around the edge of her glass. “Cass…”

He shook his head. “Come on. Don’t you think it’s been secret long enough?”

She hesitated, the bracelets at her wrists sliding down towards her elbow with a musical clink as she tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear. He’d known her long enough to know well that it was one of her tells— an easy way of avoiding eye contact. For a moment he was sure that she was going to leave him sitting in silence, her eyes never straying from the ice beginning to melt in her drink, but then, so quietly he barely heard her, Mor said:

“We met during the war.”

Cassian felt his entire body still. Mor’s eyes were dark, like the memory alone veiled them with grief, and each word seemed to tear its way up her throat, like she had to force her tongue to shape the words.

“I was in love— so deeply I thought the world might stop turning if we were parted. I was so sure that once the war was over, we’d be together. We’d be happy, for whatever amount of time fate granted us. And I was prepared to give up everything. To leave here. To leave you, and Rhys, and Az, and never look back. I was ready to leave it all.” A pause. Heavy, loaded with hurt so many centuries old. “And then the wall went up.”

Her voice caught; stuttered.

“It took me years to find a way through, and when I did… it was too late.”

Cassian swore he could feel her loss radiating from her even now, and his heart twisted with sympathy as he said, gently, “Tell me about him.”

Still, Mor didn’t look up. Slowly she reached out, dragged a finger around the rim of her glass as if searching for something to do with her hands.

“She was a queen.”

She.

Cassian blinked.

The words stalled on his tongue, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the right thing to say. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had his fair share of lovers of both sexes over the years, but Mor had kept this secret so close to her chest that he’d had no idea. Not even the faintest suspicion. And a queen…

He supposed it made sense now, why Mor had sneered so decidedly at the human queens they’d met in the Archeron manor.

With a frown carving a deep line between his brows, slowly Cassian leaned forward and placed his hand on Mor’s wrist, watching as her fingers stilled on the edge of her glass.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “And I’m sorry that you felt you couldn’t tell me.”

“It was just… easier to keep things the way they were,” she shrugged. Her eyes remained fixed on her drink, on the table beneath it. “It hurt, Cass. To know that she lived her life and then just… died. Without me.” Pain limned her face, tightened her jaw and made her voice a whisper. “Their lives are so brief— so fleeting. Everything I said before… I was just trying to protect you.” Another shrug punctuated her words, and at last - at last - Mor looked up. Her eyes were wide. “Maybe I didn’t go about it in the best way…”

Cassian couldn’t stop the snort that escaped him.

Mor’s eyes rolled, her huff soft as she folded her arms and rested them on the table. “Nesta and I won’t suddenly be the best of friends, but I can admit that I was wrong. I just… didn’t want to see you hurt.”

“I know,” Cassian said, shrugging as he rested an elbow on the arm of the wooden chair, curling his hand into a fist beneath his cheek. “But she’s my mate, Mor.”

It was the first time he’d said the words out loud to her, and although a shade crossed her brown eyes, she didn’t seem shocked. Her sigh was so quiet it was masked by the breeze.

“I know,” she echoed. When Cassian opened his mouth to ask how, blithely she waved a hand. “Truth, remember?” She smiled wryly. “I knew the moment she was tipped out of that Cauldron.”

He shook his head. “I felt it long before that.”

Mor hummed, welcoming the way the conversation shifted, tilted away from the parts of her left most vulnerable. “It wasn’t as strong then. Her mortality… it dimmed it, masked it just like the wall dampens our powers when we cross the border.”

And yet, Cassian thought, it didn’t really matter, did it? The how or why or when. He felt it now, stronger than ever, and as though he was pulled by an invisible string, his head turned, looking out across the river to the mountains on the other side of the city— to the House built right into the rock.

The windows gleamed, reflected the sun. And he wondered… which one did she sit behind? And how far was the distance between them now? Could he measure it in heartbeats?

“I miss her,” he said when he tore his eyes away. “I saw her this morning, and yet I miss her. What the fuck is that?”

Mor reached out to grasp his hand, and when he looked, he swore he saw tears linger behind her eyes, silver lining her lashes.

“You’re lucky” she said. “So lucky, Cass.”

He didn’t feel especially lucky, and yet, as he looked back to the House…

Cassian pushed away from the table.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding slowly. And as he stretched his wings and shot Mor a wry smile, he looked back across the city to the House and felt it pulling him back, a line in his chest as tight as a bow string. With one last look, and one last smile, Cassian looked to the woman he’d known for so many centuries and turned his back.

Decidedly he said,

“I’m going home.”

***

It was with aching wings that Cassian landed smoothly on the roof of the House, yet he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he tilted his head back and took a last look at the sky, the sun beating down on his skin. The wind ran fingers through his hair, brushed his cheeks, and Cassian savoured it: the elation that came with flying, that feeling that tasted so much like freedom.

It had been harder, flying up from the city rather than down. The muscles that had only slightly pulled with exertion before were protesting now, as if to remind him that he still had a little way to go before being back to full strength, but—

It didn’t matter.

The sun was shining, the day was warm and beautiful, and he’d just taken his first proper flight in weeks. As he entered the House in search of Nesta - because wasn’t he always in search of her these days? - he didn’t think there was anything the Mother could throw at him that could ruin his good mood.

And then he found her.

Nesta was curled on the sofa in the library, her legs tucked beneath her, like she wanted to make herself as small as possible. Though a book lay open in her lap, pages splayed, every line of her was stiff and weighted with tension, like she’d waded into a lake with rocks in her pocket. Her eyes didn’t move across the page— didn’t move at all in fact, not even to glance his way when he entered the room. Nesta kept her attention on the page before her, staring down like she wanted the entire room to swallow her.

Suddenly, Cassian felt like his heart was in his throat.

The grin that had been plastered to his face dropped, his steps slowing, as if he suddenly felt he had to move slowly.

“Good book?” he asked with a breeziness he didn’t feel, throwing his weight down onto the sofa beside her. Anything to provoke a reaction.

He wanted her to scowl, wanted her to glare at him, to ask him what he did with all that battlefield grace when he wasn’t using it. Come on, his eyes seemed to say when they looked her way.

Nesta said nothing.

“I went to a dressmaker today,” he said lightly, casting an arm wide and letting it rest on the back of the sofa. His fingers were an inch from brushing her shoulder, and gods, he longed to close that distance and let his skin brush hers, even if it was just for a moment.

Nesta blinked.

“Maybe you could come with me next time. Let her take your measurements properly.”

“No,” Nesta answered quickly, stiffly, her eyes still fixed on the pages of her book, like she might find solace there if only she searched hard enough.

“You liked the city before,” Cassian said gently, cutting a glance to the bracelet still tied around her wrist.

The one he’d put there.

The one that, even now, she never took off.

“No.”

Hopelessness was a bitter taste, cresting in his chest like a brutal wave as Nesta turned the page in her book. He was certain she hadn’t read a word since he’d entered, and yet she sniffed and focused her attention entirely on the pages before her, like he wasn’t there at all.

He frowned.

The silence stretched, uncomfortable, and sensing that Nesta wanted nothing but solitude, Cassian sighed before rising from the sofa. He stretched his wings, watching her, waiting for her to ask him to stay— waiting for her to just look at him.

She didn’t.

He didn’t know what had set her off today, but somehow, he didn’t think he’d get an answer even if he asked.

“I’ll… leave you to it, then,” he said uneasily.

Nesta sniffed a little, but still, said nothing.

He wasn’t fool enough to think she’d ask him to stay, and yet still, he hoped. Like a fucking idiot, he hoped that she might turn to him and let him in.  Cassian felt his heart crack, her pain like a razor that sliced into him with her every dejected blink, and his fingers twitched as he fought the urge to fold her in his arms and hold her until everything stopped hurting.

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning over, though, and dropping a kiss to the crown of her head as he rose to his feet. He didn’t miss the way her eyes closed, like part of her wanted to savour it. His hand cradled the back of her head as his lips touched her hair, like he might be able to hold her to his mouth, kiss away the pain. He curled his fingers in her hair before pulling back, giving her a gentle smile as he eased away.

“I’ll be upstairs,” he said.

Briefly, Nesta looked up. She met his eye, her face filled with regret, and it was all Cassian could do to brush a thumb across her cheek before he left— smiling gently, even as his heart broke.

***

“Well, don’t you look terrible.”

Azriel’s voice was a cutting drawl, brutally acerbic as Cassian entered the small sitting room that bridged the gap between his room and the Shadowsinger’s. His brother sat alone, occupying one of the four chairs that had sat before that hearth for centuries now, with Truth-teller balanced in one scarred palm as he inspected the blade. The flat edge, freshly oiled and polished, shone like a mirror.

Cassian sank heavily into the chair that was always reserved for him in this room, allowing the cushions to swallow him as he rubbed his temples between his thumb and forefinger. “Rough day,” he said with a barely-there shrug.

Az lifted a brow. “It’s barely past noon.”

When Cassian didn’t answer, Azriel laid Truth-teller across his knee, and leaned forward as his shadows darted out to wind around the legs of Cassian’s chair.

Nosy fuckers.

“Rough flight?” Az asked.

“Not really.” Cassian shrugged again, more definitive this time. His eyes flicked up. “Don’t worry. You’ll still win your bet.”

Az smiled, wicked, before returning his attention to the weapon in his lap. “Mor will be furious.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair and groaned, dragging a palm down his face. “It’s Nesta,” he said from behind his fingers. “Something’s bothered her today.”

After a moment, Az glanced up from his blade. “Rhys was here earlier.”

Another groan rumbled from somewhere deep in Cassian’s chest, a sound so weary he was astounded he didn’t fold. “How many times do I need to say it,” he muttered. “Pushing her isn’t going to help anybody.”

“You know Rhys,” Az shrugged. “He’s curious. And you know as well as I do that he can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

Cassian tipped his head back. “Sometimes I wish he would. That inability to do nothing got him stuck Under the Mountain fifty fucking years ago, and it’s exactly what’s going to turn around and bite us in the ass now.”

Azriel said nothing. Shrewd, he looked Cassian over, taking in every ounce of tension that lay thick across his frame. A small furrow carved a path between his brows.

“How is she?” he asked.

Cassian shook his head as he straightened in his chair, leaning an elbow on the curved wooden armrest and resting his chin atop his curled fist. “She’s in the library,” he answered. “Never seems to leave it. Like the books are the only thing that can comfort her.”

It’s the only escape I have, she’d told him once. A lifetime ago, in that stable below the wall.

Shadows whispered at Azriel’s ankles as the Spymaster took a final look at Truth-teller before sliding the blade back into the rune-embossed sheath. His eyes carried the echo of concern— not as potent as Cassian’s, but still there was something there, lurking just beneath the hazel, that said Azriel cared in that quiet, unassuming way of his for the woman sitting in silence downstairs.

“This is all new to her,” Az said softly. “She needs time to adjust.”

“She’s drowning, Az.”

Azriel sighed. “It’s not good for her, staying closeted away up here. She needs some fresh air. Needs to see people that aren’t us.”

Cassian stilled.

People that aren’t us.

Something clicked.

“Of course,” he murmured. “She won’t go into the city, but maybe… Maybe I can bring someone to her instead.”

Az looked confused, but Cassian leaned forward in his chair.

“I need you to do me a favour.”

***

The early afternoon light slanted across the library, warm where it fell across the patterned carpets. The room was washed with ochre, bright and rich, and yet—

Nesta hadn’t moved since Rhysand had left, frozen like one the statues that used to grace her father’s gardens.

Motionless and cold as stone, she sat with the same book in her lap that she had been pretending to read when Cassian had returned from the city earlier, the pages unturned, unread, as cracks formed in her chest that felt like valleys. She had watched the sun trace a path across the sky, pretending to read in the hopes it might help her forget all else, but it was useless. Just like the statues in her father’s garden, she was stiff, immovable— her eyes flat and hollow, feeling more like an imitation of life than anything else.

Bitterly, she sighed.

And just when she was about to close the book and give up altogether, the library door opened with a whisper against the carpeted floor. Cassian entered first, shouldering his way through the doorframe, holding the door open for Azriel and, behind him, a woman that Nesta did not recognise. A woman with wings— an Illyrian.

“Hey, Nes,” Cassian said, his voice quiet, like she was a deer he didn’t want to startle.

She blinked— said nothing. Both Azriel and the woman smelled of cold, like snow and wind, and though she wanted to ask so many questions, she couldn’t find the energy to speak.

The stranger stood in the centre of the library, the light gliding smoothly over her burnished skin as warm brown eyes took in the scene before her. With something like wonder on her face she looked at the windows offering a vista of the city below, and only with effort did she tear her attention away, noting the towering shelves that lined the walls before letting her gaze land, finally, on Nesta, sitting curled upon her sofa.

She took one look at her - just one - before turning sharply on her heel and looking up at Cassian and Azriel both. The move exposed her back, and the wings she kept tucked tight against her spine. As Nesta looked, she fought the urge to gasp, smothering the horror as it built. With the sunlight shining at an angle, each raised welt on the stranger’s wings was cast into brutal relief; deep valleys made by old and deliberate wounds appeared all the more vicious in the direct light, and the membrane of her wings was littered with so much scar tissue Nesta thought it was a wonder she could lift them at all.

But the stranger did not seem to care that the sunlight exposed her scars. She merely tilted her head, the movement causing her ruined wings to shift.

“You can go now,” she said simply.

Azriel nodded, slipping back through the door without another word, but Cassian… he hesitated. The stranger put her hands on her hips, a gesture that suggested she would brook no argument as she jerked her head towards the windows, braided ebony hair falling over her shoulder.

“Go down to the city. Go to Windhaven. Go anywhere. Surely you have better things to be doing than supervising a conversation between friends, General.”

Nesta frowned. Friends— she didn’t think she’d ever had many of those, and yet the dark-haired stranger stood there with her damaged wings, her cheeks still flushed from the cold of wherever she’d been before, and declared herself Nesta Archeron’s friend. She blinked against the strangeness of it, and as she watched, Cassian looked up and met her eye, a glimmer of hope dancing across his face that made some small part of her want to reach out and grasp it, if only to keep that spark in his eyes for a little while longer.

At length, he nodded.

“I’ll be training on the roof if you need me,” he said.

The woman grinned.

“We won’t,” she said, so saccharine it almost pulled a laugh from Nesta’s throat. Even Cassian smiled softly at that, his eyes flicking back to Nesta as if he, too, had sensed the laugh she’d almost loosed. Holding his hands up in surrender, he backed away, slipping through the door without another word. In his wake, the woman turned and offered Nesta a smile that was gentle and soft— kind in a way so few had ever been towards her.

“Nesta?” she said, walking slowly across the library floor. “It’s me. Emerie.” She gave her a small wave. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

There was hesitation in the way Nesta unfolded on that sofa, letting her feet drop to the floor as she sat up straighter. Every move was slow, like she was still waiting for a trick to be revealed. Her eyes darted to the door, but Emerie shook her head.

“They’re gone,” she said with a shrug. “Nosy busy-bodies the pair of them, but I figured it would be good for us to catch up, just the two of us.” She nodded to the sofa, to the empty space that yawned beside Nesta. “May I?”

Nesta didn’t know what to say.

Suddenly, she felt the absurd urge to cry. The encounter with Rhysand that morning had plagued her all day, the words he’d said thrown back at her in the empty silence of the library. If not for Cassian - and Azriel, she supposed - Nesta didn’t think she’d see a single friendly face, what with Elain rarely able to leave her bed, and it was beginning to build now— a kind of loneliness she’d never really felt before, starting to wear her thin.

She looked to the door again, nodding as Emerie sat down, adjusting her wings with stiff movements over the low back of the library sofa.

“Cassian has been kind to me,” Nesta began, “but I’m glad to see another friendly face.”

Emerie’s brow furrowed. “Are they in short supply around here?”

Nesta shrugged. “You could say that.”

Her eyes travelled to Emerie’s wings, to the scars right down the centre of each. The injuries were a mirror of one another, the jagged edges and raised tissue in the exact same place, like somebody had taken a careless hand to each wing with purpose. Emerie’s face turned a shade paler as she watched Nesta take in those deliberate wounds.

“My father is a cruel man,” she said in explanation, as if it were the only thing that needed to be said.

Behind her ribs, Nesta felt her heart constrict.

“So was my mother,” she whispered in answer. Her eyes went to the scar on her thumb, the brutal reminder of all she’d endured. “And my grandmother, too.”

Emerie pressed a hand to that scar on Nesta’s thumb, as if she might be able to mask it somehow. “I trust they’re gone now?” Nesta nodded, and Emerie patted her hand lightly, like the news pleased her. “Good. Maybe soon, my father will be too.”

Her voice was blithe and dry, and yet there was still a spark in her deep brown eyes, one that Nesta suspected Emerie had fought hard to rekindle. She studied the woman before her— Emerie’s scars so much more obvious and devastating than Nesta’s own, and yet… Emerie had written her letters, had found joy in her books. Was still living, despite it all.

“How do you…” Nesta started. Failed.

How do you carry on?

How do you open your eyes each morning and still drag yourself from bed, despite everything you’ve endured?

Emerie seemed to understand anyway.

“He gave me life,” she answered, “but that doesn’t mean he can bend me to his will. He might have broken me once, but that doesn’t mean I am without value.” She shuddered, cleared her throat. “And besides, broken things can always be mended. And they are always stronger afterwards.” She met Nesta’s eyes without fear, and if she noticed the silver there, she said nothing. After a moment, her dark eyes sparked. “But I didn’t come here to cry, Nesta Archeron from Below the Wall.”

She said it like it was a title, and Nesta couldn’t help the wry huff of a laugh that escaped her.

“Then why are you here?” she asked with a raised brow.

Emerie grinned in answer, lifting up the canvas bag she’d brought and pulling out a book. “I’m here because I’m  sick of talking books with you over letters. They’re so incredibly drawn out and slow. I’d rather do it in person.”

She handed it over, the cover emblazoned with the name Sellyn Drake. Nesta felt the smile pull at her mouth, a feeling so foreign these days that she almost wanted to hide it.

“The smuttiest I could find,” Emerie said before Nesta could bury that smile beneath a glare. When Nesta looked up, the Illyrian’s eyes were practically dancing with glee, and Nesta couldn’t help it. She laughed— laughed, for the first time since Hybern.

She’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

She felt her face drop, felt heat build behind her eyes. Not the burn of the silver fire, but the warmth of tears threatening to spill, and Emerie leaned over, patted her on the hand once again, as if to tell her it was okay— to cry if she needed to.

Nesta shook her head, forced away her tears. Emerie smiled softly, and as if already knowing what they needed, a silver tea service appeared on the low table before the sofa, steam rising in curls from a decorated silver teapot. Courtesy of the House, Nesta assumed, and for a moment her mind went back to what Rhysand had said earlier, about the House’s magic changing.

She hadn’t asked for the tea.

And yet there it was, two porcelain cups sitting beside a bowl piled high with sugar cubes, a pair of small silver tongs lying perfectly straight alongside. Nesta tilted her head, frowned as the tea fragranced the air, but said nothing as Emerie clapped with delight and reached over to lift the teapot, filling both porcelain cups before reaching for the sugar.

“You know, I was surprised,” Emerie began after a moment, dropping a cube of sugar into her tea,  “when the almighty General of the Night Court came into my father’s shop and asked for book recommendations.”

“Like I said,” Nesta shrugged, leaving her own tea to cool. “He’s been kind.”

Emerie raised a brow. “More than kind, I’d wager.”

Nesta felt the heat of a blush on her cheeks, but flipped open the cover of the Sellyn Drake novel instead of looking up and meeting her friend’s eye. Still, Emerie pressed.

“Come on, Nesta. You’ve got to be sleeping with him.”

Nesta’s mouth dropped open— in disbelief, in protest, in laughter; she wasn’t sure. At length she took her head, dipping her gaze again.

“No,” she answered at last.

Emerie almost choked on her tea. “What? Why?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch as disbelief wrote itself across her face. “Nesta, he’s enamoured with you. And you obviously feel the same.”

Nesta waved a hand, refusing to focus on how obvious she apparently was. “Before, maybe. But it’s different now.”

“It’s easier now,” Emerie countered. “Surely.”

Nesta shook her head once more. “No, it’s not. I’m not…” she trailed off. Didn’t know how to say it. “I’m not who I was before.”

Emerie shrugged as she set down her tea. “I think he’d love you anyway.”

It was Nesta’s turn to choke.

That word— love.

She’d stopped him from saying it. Hadn’t been able to bear it; didn’t think she could stand to hear the words fall from his lips, to hear him tell her he loved her, when the woman he had fallen for was gone.

“I’m not me anymore,” Nesta whispered.

“The Nesta Archeron that wrote me letters to thank me for lending her books…” Emerie reached out, taking Nesta’s hands in her own. Her palms were warm, and Nesta wanted to pull away, afraid that the flames might make an appearance, but Emerie held tight. “I’m certain that I’m talking to her right now.”

She pushed before Nesta could protest.

“I know what it is to be… irrevocably changed by someone else’s hand. After my father cut my wings…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what happened to you in Hybern. Azriel wouldn’t tell me anything beyond the basics when I asked before he brought me here, but I think I know a little of how you’re feeling. I felt like my father had robbed me of everything that made me who I was.”

“They couldn’t heal them? Your wings?” Nesta thought of Cassian’s wings; entirely rebuilt. The way he’d looked so mournfully to the windows over the past few days, like the inability to fly had been a wound in itself. She didn’t know how Emerie had coped, if flight was as integral to the Illyrians as Cassian had made out.

Emerie shrugged. “Not in Illyria. And certainly not while my father lives. Maybe someday.”

Silence fell, but not uncomfortable. Emerie offered her a small smile.

“My point is that I remembered who I was, eventually.” Her eyes glinted. “And besides, I don’t think the General is a fickle man. I mean it, Nesta. I saw his face when I arrived. He’s exactly the same as when he walked into my shop and asked what kind of books a mortal woman might enjoy.”

Emerie’s face was soft, and Nesta glanced to the door as if expecting him to walk through it, and a small, tiny voice at the back of her mind, whispered that maybe… maybe he would still love her, regardless of what had changed.

And as she looked at Emerie, suddenly…

Suddenly, the darkness didn’t feel quite so impenetrable. Like there might be a crack somewhere that would let the light in.

“Now,” Emerie said, sinking back against the cushions and letting her wings stretch the little her scars would allow. “Are we going to keep being maudlin? Or are we going to discuss this?”

She held up the Sellyn Drake novel with one hand, its pages gilded by the afternoon sun. Nesta managed a smile, reaching for her tea and lifting the porcelain to her lips as she jerked her chin at the book Emerie held aloft.

“Go on then,” she said. “Show me just how smutty it gets.”

***

After a handful of hours, when the sun had gone down and darkness gathered on the horizon, Cassian ventured back downstairs.

It had been agony, forcing himself to remain on that roof, throwing the same punches and tossing the same daggers in a cycle, and over the course of the entire afternoon he’d tried hard to keep his mind away from the library beneath his feet. Away from the woman inside it.

Nesta hadn’t left the library yet, and Emerie hadn’t ventured upstairs to ask whether Azriel could winnow her back home.

Cassian wondered whether something had gone wrong.

After retrieving the dagger he’d just thrown from the chest of a training dummy, he abandoned the pretence and headed inside, his boots heavy on the stone floor. With each step the library grew nearer, and the silence in the House was so complete even his breaths seemed to echo.

The door was still firmly closed when he reached the hallway, the sconces lining the walls glowing gently as he approached.

And as Cassian reached for the door handle…

Nesta laughed.

The sound drifted through the thick wood of the library door, the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. It was enough to make him weak, and fuck, he’d die for that laugh.

He gripped the handle to steady himself, fingers curling around the metal, but he didn’t turn it. Even though he wanted so desperately to open that door and see her smiling…

Softly he drew away from the door, smiling to himself as Emerie’s laugh joined Nesta’s. Another peal of it rang through the hall, following him as he turned his back and walked away, chasing his steps as he headed right back the way he came. And as the sun fell fully behind the mountains and left the House of Wind in shadow, Cassian looked over his shoulder and heard that laugh again, quieter now but no less precious, and felt hope bloom in his chest.

Beautiful, fragile, perfect.

Taglist: @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @valkyriesupremacy @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome @pyxxie

collab announcement: IN THE SPOOP

Welcome to the threshold, where worlds collide.

For the 31st of October, seven authors have joined forces to bring you stories of rituals gone awry and worlds meeting. Join @augustbutwinter @xjoonchildx @kkulfm @hobisuniverse @sahmfanficbts @madseok and @wwilloww for an out-of-this world ride.

GOODNIGHT NABI by @sahmfanficbts

Pairing Namjoon x reader Rating Explicit Genre DILF mechanic AU, ghost AU, school AU Summary It’s been years since his Nabi (Butterfly) flew away with angel wings. Kim Namjoon meets you, a librarian at his daughter’s school, who reminds him of life’s beauty and love he's sure he doesn’t deserve. It will take a strange convincing from the other world to help him let go of the past and embrace... you. The question remains: Is he ready?

OCTOBER 28

GOD OF MISCHIEF by @wwilloww

Pairing trickstergod!Jin x reader Rating Explicit Genre fantasy, smut, supernatural au Summary You've dedicated your life to the temple of Lugh, the golden sun god. But when your world crumbles, your ticket to escape is not what you imagined it'd be, especially when it comes as a handsome, mischievous figure waltzing through the flames.

OCTOBER 29

WHAT THE WATER GAVE US by @madseok

Pairing ghost!Yoongi x reader (f) Title What the water gave us Rating explicit (18+) Genre ghost AU, strangers to lovers Summary What was supposed to be a quiet Friday night after a hectic week at work is ruined by the sudden arrival of a strange man. The worst part? He doesn’t want to leave your bathtub.

OCTOBER 30

SEE YOU AGAIN by @hobisuniverse

Pairing ghost brother!Hoseok x human-turned-ghost!reader Rating PG-13 (death) Genre angst, h/c, smidgen of fluff at the end Summary You lost your older brother when you were 25. Every subsequent year, at the stroke of midnight on All Hallows Eve, he appears in front of you with a dazzling smile to spend twenty-four hours with you. But this year, when you turn 100, things are different when you realize everything as you knew it has changed.

OCTOBER 31

ALL WE SEE OR SEEM by @kkulfm

Pairing bird shapeshifter!Jimin x neutral!reader Rating PG-13 Genre dream AU, shapeshifter AU, angst & fluff Summary Trapped in a dream you can't wake up from, you find yourself on a strange journey home. On the way you meet Jimin; a young man but also a magpie who wants to help. But not all is what it seems, and something is chasing you that cannot be outrun.

NOVEMBER 1

STRANDS by @xjoonchildx

Pairing soldier!tae x reader (f) Rating explicit (18+) Genre creepy shit, spooky smut Summary taehyung can’t figure out how he ended up separated from his men, lost in these woods. or how he got hurt. he only knows he has no choice but to rely on the beautiful, secretive stranger who found him.

NOVEMBER 2

SEASONS DON'T FEAR THE REAPER by @augustbutwinter

Pairing reaper!jk x reader Rating mature (for themes) Genre reaper!AU, strangers to something Summary life is short, they say. one day everyone meets their death, they say. how often can you meet yours before he takes you with him?

NOVEMBER 3

"Cut!"

Hi! I was remembering how some of your fics have Roman practicing conversations with the other sides in the Imagination over and over. Now, I tend to be one of those people that is almost always in my head (been mildly dissociating near constantly for almost a year now which uh- probably should get that checked out actually) and a lot of the time when I do stuff I get deja vu even if I've never done something like that before. And it's kinda gotten to the point where I'm not entirely sure if something has actually happened or not sometimes. So I was thinking maybe Roman references a conversation what he'd had with the Imagination!Sides in passing on accident, and everyone is kinda like "Princey wtf are you talking about??" And Roman panics and hides, and the next time he sees the sides he thinks that they don't wanna see him and this is a scene in the Imagination. So he gets really confused when the words he's learned will get the fake sides angry at him just are met with more concern and worry from the real sides. And they're trying to comfort him and he doesn't know what's going on and yells "CUT!" but obviously it doesn't work and now everyone is really worried and Roman can't tell between what's real and what's fake anymore and just. Has a mental breakdown. and then they comfort :D because I cannot leave this poor guy with an unhappy ending. – anon

hiii !!!! idk if you’re taking requests, and if not please ignore me, but if you are, i’m legit in love with how you write rociet with roman angst, and i would love to see more of it !!!!!! thank you !!!!!!!! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: unreality/roman having trouble remembering things and figuring out what's real, self-doubt

Pairings: dlampr, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 4976

It begins so slowly that they don't think anything of it at first. Roman will say something that they don't remember, or he'll reference something that never happened, or he'll forget something that happened just a few days ago as though it happened several months back. Things...escalate, and soon they figure out the problem is far, far worse than they could have ever imagined.

Remus doesn't bother with asking or knocking, he just sinks into Roman's room right over his bed.

There's no yelp or screech, which means Roro's not in the bed, but he does get a surprised little squeak when he turns around from his desk.

"Ro-bro!"

"Re? I thought you were—you went—aren't you feeding Ollie right now?"

Remus frowns, sitting up. "No, that's not for another week. And you're supposed to come with me."

Roman furrows his brow, toying with his pen. "Really? I thought you said…"

He trails off, staring into nothing and Remus's frown deepens, sliding off the bed and walking over. Roman's pen stills, his grip a little too tight, and Remus nudges his shoulder. "Roro?"

It's like someone electrocuted him—Roman clicks and suddenly this wide grin that looks almost painful settles on his face and Remus blinks in surprise. "Sorry, don't know what came over me. Must've been lost in thought."

"Are you—hey!"

Roman leaps up and tackles Remus through the door into the Imagination, summoning his sword and swinging it before Remus has a chance to catch his breath. His morningstar clangs against the blade a moment later and he grins too—he's been waiting for Roman to start one of their fights for ages!

"Come on," Roman taunts, spreading his arms, "or are you just gonna lie there all day?"

"Oh, you asked for it, Roro."

Their sparring shakes the ground, yells and laughs ringing out as their weapons clash over and over and over. Remus throws back his head and howls and the Imagination responds, the sky growing dark and thick with clouds as thunder booms in the distance. Roman's sword grazes his arm and he shoves Remus hard in the chest, knocking him over.

"Do you yield?"

"Never!" He springs back up and they're off again, but Roman keeps dancing out of the way. "How're you so fast? Have you been practicing without me?"

Roman falters and Remus jams his elbow into the soft part of Roman's ribs, knocking him off-balance just enough to swat the sword from his hand. The first raindrops start to fall as Roman lands on his side, Remus's morningstar about to aim for his chest when a leg trips him and suddenly Roman's got his sword back—how did that happen?—and Remus's weapon is flying across the field.

"How the fuck—?"

"Do you yield?"

Remus snarls playfully and jumps up, tackling Roman and knocking his sword away again. Roman responds instantly, grappling across the slowly-muddying field until they end up on their backs, Roman's arm holding Remus in a chokehold as the rain pours down on them.

"Do you yield?"

"Yeah, yeah," Remus gasps, "I fucking yield. Leggo."

Roman chuckles and lets him roll off, landing face first in a mud puddle. His muscles ache but only in the good way and he flops onto his back, smiling breathlessly at the sky.

"That was fucking amazing, Roro," he gasps, "you have been practicing, haven't you?"

"Just trying to keep up with you," comes Roman's answer, just a little too quickly.

Remus doesn't think anything of it.

2.

"Roman?"

"Hm?" Roman looks up from his spot in the corner of the living room, curled around his notebook. "Oh, hey, Padre. Is everything okay?"

Patton tilts his head. "Yeah, kiddo, why wouldn't it be?"

"Sorry, it's just, you know, everyone's been a little tense recently, what with…" Roman makes a vague gesture. "Everything. I shouldn't have assumed, though, I'm sorry."

Before Patton can ask if Roman's okay, Roman's settling his notebook to the side and standing up.

"What can I do for you?"

"I was going to ask if you wanted to help me with dinner?"

An expression flickers across Roman's face, too quick to name, before he's smiling and bowing. "It would be my honor, lead the way."

At least he's alright enough for that. Patton goes over to the kitchen, Roman behind him, and reaches for the large pot at the back of the stove. "I was thinking we could try that new pasta dish that Virgil's been asking about? The one Thomas saw on that YouTube video?"

"The one with all the spices and garlic and stuff?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"I don't remember if we have all the ingredients we need, but I'm definitely down to try." Roman opens a cabinet and starts taking bottles down from the shelf. "We can also definitely tweak the recipe to make sure that we can do the important parts, we just have to be careful that—"

"Uh, Roman?"

Roman pauses, turning to look over his shoulder, still holding a jar. "Yeah?"

"I, uh, I did this last week, I know what spices we have. I figured this out, you don't have to tell me how to do it."

Again, that expression flickers over his face and he quickly sets down the jar and takes a big step away from the counter. "Right, right, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. I just wanted to—no, I'm not gonna make an excuse. I'm sorry, Patton, I'll listen."

"It's fine, kiddo, I know you didn't mean it." Patton holds out the pot. "Can you fill this with water?"

"Of course!"

They start prepping, Patton providing little instructions and Roman carrying them out. He chops the shallots, the green onions, and sets the sausage to the side to be cooked first. By the time they're ready to start the actual cooking, Patton's got the water boiling for the rice noodles when Roman looks over his shoulder.

"Um, what are you doing?"

"Cooking the noodles, that's it."

"But they're—sorry, aren't they supposed to be cooked later?"

"We need them ready to add to the rest of the stuff near the end, kiddo, so they have to be ready."

"But they only take a few minutes." When Patton frowns, just thinking Roman's words over, Roman hastily continues. "Sorry, I'm sure you know that already. Here, I'll, uh, would it be helpful if I got a bowl out to put them in once they're done?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

He catches that expression on Roman's face again, and again it vanishes too quickly for him to ask about, but the rest of the cooking goes off without a hitch. They get a lot of compliments on how good everything tastes and Patton makes sure Roman gets as much of the praise as he does.

"I just listened to you," Roman demurs, "it's really all you."

"It seems not only have you cooked a spectacular dish," Logan observes, "but you've also taught Roman some humility."

Virgil snorts. "'Bout time."

Roman smiles as the rest of them laugh. Patton takes another bite. "This is even better than last time."

"Last time," Roman says quietly, "sorry, can you—when was last time?"

"Sheesh, Princey, how bad is your memory getting? It was just last week?"

"Last week, right."

Patton opens his mouth to ask why Roman still sounds unsure about it, but then Remus throws one of the prawn shells at Janus and he doesn't think about it anymore.

3.

"Easy, now," Roman murmurs, still stroking his hand up and down Virgil's spine, "that's it…you're doing really well, shadow-ling."

Virgil closes his eyes, resting against Roman's solid chest as the last of the panic attack bleeds from his veins. His breathing has yet to even out, but he can start to smell some of Princey's shampoo again, so he takes it as a win. He'll deny it later, but he turns his head to nuzzle into the crook of Roman's neck. Roman doesn't say a single thing, just shifting his grip to hold Virgil more securely in his lap.

"Hey," he says gently when Virgil headbutts his chin, "you here with me, bud?"

"Mmpf."

Roman's chuckle thrums warmly through his head. "I'll take that as a 'sort of.'"

Half of Virgil expects Roman to gently prod him into taking care of himself the rest of the way: getting him water, making him try and eat a little, getting him out of the gross and sweaty clothes into clean ones, even trying to talk him into taking a shower. And he'd do it, putting up his cursory protests, but that would mean that Roman's getting ready to leave and right now, in the last of the panic, he really wants Princey to stay.

He'd deny it if Roman ever asked him, of course, and he'd throttle Janus before he could chirp how much of a lie that was.

But Roman doesn't do that. Instead, he wraps his arms even more gently around Virgil and tucks him half over his shoulder, almost straddling his lap as one of his hands begins to card through his hair. Pressed chest to chest, he has to stifle another hitching gasp as Princey starts humming. It's a low and gentle tune, almost melancholy, and he swears it's some kind of magic as it reaches into the exhausted heap of emotions still swirling in his gut and starts coaxing it out of him.

Yeah, that means he goes back to crying into Princey's shoulder, but it's a softer cry that feels like he might actually feel better when it's over and he has no idea how Roman knows exactly what to do.

He's not gonna question it though.

There's no way the song Princey's humming is as long as he holds him for, so he must be doing it over and over, which just makes Virgil cry more because Roman is choosing to stay with him right now, he's choosing to let Virgil be a puddle of mess on his lap, and he's still running his fingers lightly over Virgil's back and yes, actually, Virgil would like to stay here forever.

When the tears eventually run out and Virgil's just floating there, in a really pleasant haze, he realizes that Roman isn't going to move until Virgil decides he wants to move. Not when he's just shifting so it's easier for Virgil to breathe, and he's still scratching gently along the space between his shoulder blades.

"…Princey?"

"Hm?"

"How'd…how'd you know what to do?"

Roman turns and noses Virgil's hair. "You told me, remember?"

Virgil's tired brain tries to figure out when he gave Roman the step-by-step on how to give him the best, most indulgent comfort ever and draws a blank. "No. I—when'd I do that?"

Roman's hand stutters for a moment, just a moment, but a moment nonetheless. "Maybe I just figured out why it took me so long to realize what you needed, then."

Talking is hard, and so Virgil doesn't do it, but he does think about it.

4.

"It's not that bizarre of an opinion, to be sure, but the way it's phrased speaks more of an incomplete understanding of the topic than they intended."

"No, I see your point. I mean, I know I'm definitely biased and reading sentences like that tends to make me defensive, but I know that, and I'm trying to work on it." Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. "I think it's just hard because when you make such sweeping generalizations that imply that you really don't know what it is you're talking about, it's hard for me to not be super defensive and stuff, does that make sense?"

"It's another area for you to work on—"

"Yeah, I know."

"—but I see your point. If someone doesn't come to the table in good faith, it's difficult to have good faith yourself." Logan sits back, still pondering the opinion piece in front of them. "Though it is clear they lack the same kind of expertise and knowledge that you do."

"I think that's also why it's hard for me—I can list, like, four different examples offhand that would disprove their point, and at least half a dozen more that show the contradictions they've made in the last paragraph alone—like, I'm not alone here, that part contradicts their point about pacing, doesn't it?"

"Not entirely, but yes, it lends an ambiguity to their earlier statement."

"Right." Roman rubs his forehead and flips through his notebook, brow furrowed. "I swear I remember when we talked about academic continuity, I just need to find that page."

Logan frowns. "When we what?"

Roman looks up, brow furrowed. "When we talked about…you know, the importance of making sure your argument—or your point, sorry—carries through your entire piece?"

"I don't recall that conversation."

"You, um—" Roman starts flipping through his notebook, his movements taking on an increasingly frenetic pace— "you brought one of my papers to me that we talked about and you started going through the um, the problems with the layout and we started talking about the importance of—I swear it's in here, I just need to find it."

Logan sits forward, his brow increasingly furrowing as Roman almost tears a page trying to turn it. "Roman, it's—"

"Here." Roman runs his finger down the page, still not meeting Logan's gaze, "we talked about how it's important to have a coherent theme that the reader can follow and how to acknowledge conflicting viewpoints without placing them in a hierarchy."

Logan blinks. That does sound like a conversation that he and Roman would have—one that he believes he'd rather enjoy—but he has no recollection of it. Roman's expression flickers when he says as much, something almost like panic rising in his gaze before it's quickly stifled.

"Well," he says, forcing a smile onto his face, "perhaps I was just reading it back over and imagined what you'd say."

"I quite like this imaginary version of me, then," Logan jokes, "he makes excellent points."

Roman's reaction is not quite a flinch, but his smile squeezes for a moment too long before he nods.

"Would you mind having it again," Logan asks, "for the sake of—?"

"Oh, I couldn't do it justice," Roman says a little too quickly, "but you, um, you can read it? If you want?"

Logan blinks again, surprise coloring his voice. "You'd let me read your notes?"

"…if…if you want to?"

Waiting for Roman to retract that invitation at any moment—he has never seen Roman fiercer than when something touches his notebooks—Logan reaches out and carefully starts to read. The conversation's transcript—or summary—is fascinating. He finds himself almost mourning the fact that this wasn't a conversation he'd actually had. Although some of the comments that he can tell are his are a touch more callous than he'd prefer, he finds himself engrossed in their dialogue until he gets to the latter half.

Roman's handwriting grows sloppy, as it is wont to do when he gets caught up, but there are occasional splotches of discoloration where it looks like something wet.

"Oh, I was drinking something," Roman says offhandedly when Logan asks, "must've spillled."

"I'm surprised you'd drink around your notebooks, you take such care of them."

"Well, you know me."

Before Logan can point out that he does, that's why he's confused, Roman's saying that he's sorry, but he's a little worn out, would Logan mind terribly if they cut this short a bit? Logan shakes his head and watches Roman pick up his notebook, walking out of his room. That moment of panic lingers in his mind and he frowns, wondering why Roman had panicked.

He thinks about that and the drops of liquid that had obscured a line in Roman's handwriting that just said cut.

5.

Janus hears Roman lie over and over again and he's about to break something.

Every time, he has to hold back his visible surprise that one, Roman is lying so readily, and two, that he's getting away with it. The little prince is a better actor than Janus gave him credit for—than any of them gave him credit for, as it's turning out—and the more times it happens, the more Janus thinks that something right under their noses is going terribly, horribly wrong.

The lies aren't big enough for them to be problems on their own, but they stack on top of each other like pebbles until it feels as though Janus blinks one day and there's a wall between Roman and the rest of them that seems insurmountable. And each time another adds to the mass, he thinks about calling it out, but they're never for something so serious as to warrant a full interrogation and the last thing he wants to do is let Roman know he's suspicious of him.

…it sounds much worse than it is.

It's just that if Roman is this good about keeping everyone off his tail right now, with almost no baseline suspicion or cause for concern, he has no desire to see what would happen if Roman was intent on keeping it a secret. And if he is going to succeed in uncovering why Roman feels so fundamentally scared, something Virgil only admitted after Janus had poked and prodded him for far too long, then he needs all of the rest of them on his side too.

His opportunity comes unexpectedly.

They're having a meeting—not a meeting meeting, they're just talking about what they want to do this weekend—and Roman brings up a conversation they'd had about making sure movie nights were comfortable for everyone. Talking about possible triggers beforehand, making sure everyone had equal access to whatever snacks they wanted, even down to making sure everyone behaved considerately while the movie was playing to ensure everyone was having a good time.

A perfectly reasonable thing to bring up, except that conversation never happened.

"What?" Roman looks around. "Are—it did, I swear. We were—we were getting ready to watch the second Venom movie and Remus brought up the body horror and gore that happens and we started talking about—"

He looks around at them all again.

"Do…do none of you remember this?"

"No, kiddo."

"Not really."

"It would be a good conversation to have, but I don't remember this instance of it."

Remus and Janus just shake their heads, Janus keeping his eyes on Roman as he fiddles with his hands.

Don't lie, Roman, please.

"Sorry," Roman says, flashing a bright smile, "must be getting lost in my Imagination again."

Janus narrows his eyes—not technically a lie, but Roman's leaving something out. For a moment, it seems like the conversation will keep flowing and he'll have to wait for a better time to ask Roman what's wrong, but then Patton's speaking up.

"Kiddo?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Roman laughs. "Yeah, of course, Padre, why wouldn't I be?"

Lie. Janus hisses softly and Roman's head jerks around.

"What's the matter," Logan asks, and Roman jerks again at the gentle tone, "will you talk to us, Roman?"

"You've been acting a little strange for a while now," Patton agrees, taking a step closer, "is everything okay?"

"Yeah, like I said," Roman tries, a smile still sort of on his face, "everything's fine, why are you—"

Janus hisses again as Virgil sits up. "Princey, you don't have to be scared, you can—"

"I'm not scared!"

The stronger lie sears across Janus's tongue as Roman winces at the force of his own shout. He pinches the bridge of his nose. No one dares move for several long seconds. Just when Logan looks like he's about to say something, Roman takes a deep breath and lowers his head.

"I'm sorry," he says in a voice that sounds so mournful it makes Janus's chest ache, "I didn't mean to shout or snap at you. You didn't deserve it, I'm sorry. I think I—I've just been spending too much time in the Imagination again."

As soon as he finishes talking, he braces. Like he's expecting to get hit. He hears Remus make a worried noise next to him, starting to reach out.

"Little one," Logan says gently, "we're not angry with you, there's no need for all of that."

Roman's eyes snap open and at the look of pure confusion on his face, a few more of them let out little sounds. Virgil stands up and Roman turns too quickly to face him.

"Hey, Princey," Virgil soothes, his hands up, "I'm not moving, okay? I'm just worried. You're—I can feel you freaking out a little that's all."

"Sweetheart," Patton calls next and Janus winces at how much Roman's neck keeps snapping back and forth, "sweetheart, it's okay, you're safe, it's gonna be okay."

"Back off a bit, we're crowding him."

All of them—except for Remus—take a step back. Remus edges closer and closer to Roman until he can rest a hand on Roman's shoulder. Roman just trembles and Remus cups the side of his face.

"Hey, Roro. Look at me. Just at me, okay?"

"I don't—this wasn't—"

"Breathe," Remus bids softly, and Roman draws a few gasping breaths.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What wasn't?"

"This—I—I don't—"

Remus opens his mouth to say something else when it morphs into a wordless sound of surprise as Roman sinks out abruptly, leaving him scrabbling at the empty air as the rest of them rush forward.

"What happened?"

"Where'd he go?"

"Did we do something to upset him?"

"What's going on?"

Janus doesn't say anything, still staring at the spot where Roman had been. He thinks about all of the lies he's heard, all of the things Roman hasn't said, and how out of all of the things Roman lied about, he'd never lied about being lost in the Imagination.

A conclusion starts to take shape.

+1.

"No wonder you've been so off, your head hasn't been attached to you since you lost it."

"It's a bad idea to spend so much time in the Imagination, Roman, you know that."

"That sounds really irresponsible, Roman. You should know better."

"Quit hogging the Imagination, I need to use it too."

"Oh, of course you were, Roman, did you honestly think we'd expected anything different?"

"You need to be better disciplined, if you can't get the work done you need to before deciding to go off and play."

"Sheesh, Princey, are you really that selfish?"

"If it's getting so bad that you're having delusions, then you need to stop, kiddo."

"Oh, no, Roman's having trouble understanding what's real again."

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

"You're being dramatic, pull yourself together."

"Your crocodile tears aren't convincing anyone, you know."

"Stop crying, you're not a baby."

"Do you think that if you throw a big or pathetic enough tantrum, it'll get us to spoil you? Grow up."

"Stupid."

"Ridiculous."

"Pathetic."

"Annoying."

"Worthless."

"You can't do anything right."

"You're being ridiculous."

"We should never have relied on you."

"I knew you couldn't handle it."

"We're better off without you."

Roman curls up around his pillow, wedging himself deeper into the corner. He jams his face between it and the wall. He tries to keep his hands out of sight. He counts in his head as he breathes, trying to keep it as even as possible. Eventually it will be over. He just has to last until then. Then he can go to his room and cuddle his plushie dragon and be upset there, out of the way, and hurt all by himself. It's safer that way.

He keeps his breathing nice and steady, letting the hurt course through him. The voices keep going, taunting, mocking, yelling, scolding, until they start to just say his name over and over. Roman, Roman, Roman, Roman—

"Roman!"

Something like a frenzied scream comes from behind him and he turns his face deeper into the wall.

"What the fuck are those things?"

"Shit, how long have those been here?"

"Are they—are they supposed to be us?"

"Yeah, fucked up and cruel versions of us, not on my fucking watch!"

Several wet splats come from behind him and then there are hands on his shoulder, running through his hair, and someone that feels like Remus is murmuring in his ear.

"Hey, Roro, it's over. I destroyed them, they're gone, it's the real us. We're here, we're really here, just—just come out of there, okay?"

Oh. It's this one.

He always finds this one the cruelest, where they lure him in with promises of comfort and safety only to turn on him when he reveals what he's actually upset about. No, thank you, he's hurting just fine on his own.

"Roro, please, come out of there, it's okay, it's all gonna be okay."

"Let me try," he hears Logan's voice say, and then the Remus is moving away and there's another hand on his shoulder, "dear, it's alright. You're going to give yourself neck pain if you stay like that, come here…"

Despite his chest howling at him not to, Roman lets Logan coax him out from the corner. Each word of gentle praise just makes it worse—it's going to hurt so much when they start being mean again.

"Princey—" and there's Virgil— "hey, stay with us, okay? Just focus on us, Pat, do you want to—"

"I got it."

Despite himself, a wounded noise leaves Roman's throat as a blanket gets draped over his shoulders. Careful touches smooth it down, more hands helping to secure it in place, and he just curls up so small under it so he doesn't get used to the warmth.

Just get it over with. Just get it over with. Just get it over with.

"Sweetie," he hears, and flinches at the touch of a smooth hand and a scaled hand on his face.

Wait, what?

Janus never takes his gloves off. Not here. Not like this. They can't—they can't be this cruel to him, not today, not when everything already hurts so much.

"Cut," he manages, "cut."

But the hands don't leave and he looks up to see Janus, actual real Janus looking at him and then he smiles softly and calls him sweetie again, and then Logan is appearing over his shoulder and Patton's adjusting the blanket and Virgil and Remus are keeping watch at the corners of the room and—and—and—

"Come here, sweetie," Janus murmurs and he's falling into his chest and there's a kiss being pressed to his temple and it's warm and soft and—

"Shh, Princey," Virgil says as a thread of panic starts to wind its way around his chest, "it's okay, you're okay," and—

"Come this way a little," Logan coaxes as something soft appears under him, "come lie down, you're alright," and—

"There you are," Patton's voice says as something starts to cuddle him, gently yet firmly and it's so surreal and—

"Oh, Roro," Remus mumbles as his brother's arms wrap firmly around him, "this is real, I promise, I promise we're here with you, everything's gonna be okay, okay? We're here, we're real, you're real, everything's gonna be okay now," and—

—and then Roman doesn't think anymore.

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It was the end of a decade… but the start of an age

I'm so bored I Google how to be famous on tumblr. My mind seriously ain't working.

I’M SO HAPPY THANK YOU!!!!!!!!! TAT <3

Commission for @missingsunstone

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

OH MY GOD IT’S HAPPENING EVERYBODY STAY CALM

(Who am I kidding, I lost my chill the second I saw the email)

I AM SO EXCITED

Love’s a Little Closer to a Wildflower

Ch. 1 of the loosely-inspired-by-Gilmore-Girls modern AU is up! Thank you @the-end-is-kigh​ for your help and enthusiasm! 

“I’m listening. And I know you’re disappointed. About this, about everything. And I’m sorry.” (She knew her mother wouldn’t believe it. She never did. But Arya was sorry. This wasn’t the way she’d ever pictured her life going. It’s not like she planned on being a reckless disappointment. No one did.) She took a breath, and her stomach twisted with anxiety before the rest rushed out.

“But we’re not coming home.”

Read Ch. 1 here.

IT'S HAPPENING

“Choi Seungcheol must die” Epilogue

Masterlist

📌chapter tags: SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, written chapter (3.6k), utter fluff and surprises

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A year later

The morning sun filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow that gently penetrates the small gaps in your closed eyes. With a sleepy squint, you flutter your lashes as you gradually emerge from a deep slumber. Shifting your head from the pillow, a hand extends out from the cozy depths of the blanket, wrapping around your frame.

“Stop it…” a groaning voice protests.

“You're the one who wanted to share my bed,” you mumble, nuzzling into their chest. “Face the consequences.”

They respond by pulling you into a tighter embrace, their arms enveloping you, and their chin finds a comfortable perch on the crown of your head. “Fine,” they mutter, the warmth of their breath brushing against your hair.

As the two of you engage in this intimate morning ritual, another head pops into view. With a bemused expression, she scrutinizes the scene, her presence intruding on the moment that might seem suspicious to any outside observer. Her eyes, filled with curiosity, take in the details of the shared embrace, brimming in a playful curiosity.

"Minji, you're suffocating her.”

“I'm not…” Minji growls, her voice weak and sluggish.

“Maybe a little,” you manage to squeak, though the amusement in your tone is evident.

Finally, Minji releases you, her fingers gently loosening their grip, and she chooses to bury herself underneath the covers in a futile attempt to shield herself from the intrusion of the morning light. The soft rustling of blankets marks the end of the embrace, and you feel the lingering warmth on your skin as she seeks refuge from the brightness. Turning your attention to your savior, Gyuri, you find her already poised and ready to embrace the day. She stands with a graceful confidence, her attire impeccable and thoughtfully chosen for the day ahead. The morning sunlight catches the subtle details of her outfit, casting a gentle glow on her figure.

“Thank you.” You said with a voice devoid of consciousness.

“We can’t begin our morning with manslaughter,” Gyuri responds with a chuckle, her tone retaining its bubbly and inviting quality.

Sweeping the room with a more deliberate scrutiny, your discerning gaze catches a subtle irregularity. "We're short one."

“Breakfast served for my lovely ladies.”

Haru makes her presence known along a tray full of breakfast painted in shades of red and pink. From eggs to ham, and scones to her specialty pancakes, glistening in the honey gloss of the syrup and valentine sprinkles topping it all off. A grin stretches across your face as you're drawn in by the irresistible aroma, prompting you to join in and assist your friend in the pleasant surprise.

“Haru, you shouldn’t have,” you gush.

“Can't have our Galentine weekend without heart-shaped pancakes. Or bacon.”

“I’m up,” Minji stirs from her slumber, immediately alert at the mention of her favorite morning food.

A burst of excitement surged through the group as you and your friends hurriedly converged, exchanging laughter and animated banter. The anticipation of the upcoming meal heightened as each of you took turns crafting plates, carefully selecting and arranging a delectable array of food to share in bed. The air buzzed with a vibrant energy, a communal spirit filling the space as the aroma of the feast enveloped everyone. It starts your morning off right.

Since the fiasco that was ‘Choi Seungcheol must die,’ your public persona has evolved significantly from being labeled as the girl who supposedly shattered the campus heartthrob's—well—heart to normal girl once again. While a handful may still harbor disdain, you've garnered admiration from many others, including the lovely ladies seated around you sharing a meal. Despite have all dated the same man at least once, you've managed to forge genuine connections, finding common ground and shared interests that transcend your ex.

Basking in the sisterhood of this unique friend group proved to be a breath of fresh air. The unwavering support from these like-minded women has become a source of comfort, and you find yourself smiling at the regularity with which their presence graces your life.

"Oh," Gyuri polishes off the last bite of her syrup-soaked pancake and casually drops the bomb, "We should go to the Valentine fair in town. It’ll be cute and fun. All of the guys would be there too.”

“Will Mingyu be there?” Minji muses, a sly grin curling her lips.

“Minji, really?”

Minji playfully waves her fingers over her face, emphasizing the importance of facial features. “I’m just saying, good looks run in your family. Didn’t stop at you or your fine ass brother.”

Gyuri rolls her eyes. “Gross.”

“Come on, I deserve a chance. Y/n did.”

“Pardon,” you ask with a mouthful of eggs. You swallow the remaining food, thanking Gyuri, who wipes food from the corner of your lips.

"Yeah, the gorgeous guy you rejected, who's still holding onto feelings for you, along with my little brother, by the way. It’s about time he has someone new to look at and I can be that someone. If only his thoughtful little sister would steer him my way."

Gyuri lightly nudges the girl, nearly knocking off her glasses before he regains her posture. “I am not setting you two up. You both annoy me enough as is. I can’t imagine what’d happen if you were together.”

“You hate me. Just say that.”

“Minji…” Gyuri warns. “You know that’s not true.”

“Gyuri hates me,” Minji whines shedding fake tears. “She despises the potential of me being a sister-in-law.”

The youngest in the group, Gyuri sighs, shaking her head as though unimpressed by the antics of her older friend who lacks the mental maturity expected of her age. Her expression hints at a weariness, a silent playful disapproval of Minji’s snarky attitude, exhibiting a wisdom that belies her youth.

The collective smiles from you and the rest of the women in the room signal another good day, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The air carries a crispness that beckons to be inhaled, immersing you in the delightful blend of the sweetest aroma from freshly baked goods and the rich fragrance of the hottest, freshly brewed espresso. You're glad to have join in on the festivities, rest assured that you’d have company, even if that company included a couple.

Minji playfully feigns distaste. "Come on, Haru, it's Galentine's, and you bring your fiancé?"

Haru casually strolls alongside your group of friends, hand in hand with Junhui, who recently earned himself and Haru a newly coined label. She grips his hand just a little tight as her other arms clasped over his bicep. “But he’s such cute eye candy, plus I know he's been dying to come to this festival too.”

The fact that they got together no longer bothers you; in fact, you've come to realize it's for the better that they did. They couldn't be more perfect for each other, and the warmth of their connection is evident. As you reflect on the realization that a romantic relationship with Junhui was never in the cards for you, you find yourself smiling now. Despite your initial feelings, you're genuinely happy he found someone who loves him enough to commit to marriage. You weren’t so sure if you could’ve filled such shoes had it been you.

The grown man sticks out his tongue and Minji returns the gestures, tugging you and Gyuri by her side just as tight. “You two would never betray me for a man.”

"No, but you'd make an exception for a Mingyu," Gyuri points out, a fact made evident from this morning. "Speaking of which…"

Your attention is drawn to the lanky figure making his way toward you. His face lights up with a warm smile, and his arms open wide and inviting. "Guys!" he calls out enthusiastically, his expression and body language eager to greet his dearest friends.

"Mingyu!" Minji exclaims, wasting no time as she runs into his arms, momentarily startling him before he warmly reciprocates her embrace. "It’s nice to see you, Minji. I’m sure Seokmin is here somewhere."

She scoffs, clutching tighter. "I didn’t ask."

He chuckles, gently patting her on the back until she releases him. "You all look beautiful today, especially my darling sister," he says, pulling Gyuri into the tightest of embraces.

"Stop," Gyuri protests, pushing him away. "You'll ruin the hair."

“Spoiled as ever. So what do you guys wanna do first?”

The question appears to be a general inquiry, but you can't help but notice the glance thrown in your direction, almost as if he's anticipating your response. You simply shrug, mumbling a "not sure" under your breath. He hums, conjuring an idea while everyone else discusses possible plans.

"Well, if it helps, maybe there are a couple of things I thought we could consider doing."

“A haunted house? On Valentine’s day?”

“Don’t you know couples love scary movies?” Mingyu responds to Haru's question with a playful counter.  “You and Jun can go, and then–”

“Me and Mingyu!” Minji chimes in, taking his arm.

Mingyu politely smiles. “We could do that, or,” he takes you with his other arm, “We can come as a party. Use it as a test of courage.”

“A test?” Gyuri inquires with a taunting grin. “A test where you scream like a little girl and you get hurt because it’s too dark inside?”

Mingyu shoots a momentary glare at his sister, the edges softened by a hint of amusement, before his eyes shift into a silent plea. "Who knows? Perhaps amidst the chills of the show, you might accidentally find a guy you're meant to be with," he suggests, a playful yet hopeful undertone in his words.

“I’ve already met my guy,” Minji says. “But if it’s what Mingyu wants, we should go.” Her gaze shifts to the already-established couple. “Mom and dad first.”

“Minji, you’re older than me,” Haru states matter of fact.

“Until you break the engagement, you’re mom and dad.”

You proceed in the designated order, walking behind the couple as they lead the way into the haunted house. The remaining four of you huddle closely, a tightly-knit. You find yourself positioned at the edge, where the suspenseful anticipation of what lies ahead intensifies as you step into the dimly lit entrance of the eerie attraction. The air is thick with harmonious trepidation and the fear of unknowing, anticipating every possible jumpscare.

Mingyu, the largest of the group, ironically turns out to be the biggest scaredy-cat among you. Just as his sister predicted.

“What’s that?” he would shout. “He’s gonna jump out—damn, why did that look so real? OK—WHO OR WHAT TOUCHED ME?”

Before long, he starts darting off on his own, but Minji makes sure to hastily follow behind. Meanwhile, Gyuri vanishes amid her brother's episode, somehow amplifying the fear as he frantically searches for her. You attempt to keep up as best as you can, but your best falls short when you find yourself alone, struggling to locate even the exit.

"Uh, guys?"

You don’t know how you managed to do it, but there you were, standing frozen in the dimly lit corridors of the poorly made haunted house, a chill creeping down your spine. The creaking wooden floorboards and flickering lights creates an eerie enough atmosphere to make you wish you hadn’t made fun of it earlier. The playful screams and laughter of your friends now feels distant as an unfamiliar unease settles over you, turning what was supposed to be a casual haunt into a genuinely unsettling experience.

A split second later, a masked volunteer leaps out, causing you to stumble backward and collide with the person who materializes behind you—a solid, firm chest greeting you. Swiftly apologizing, you turn your head, locking eyes with the unexpected stranger. It takes a moment to register, but disbelief gives way to recognition as he smiles. His complexion, illuminated by the inconsistent lighting, exudes a radiance that you find oddly captivating.

Impulsively, you clutch at the fabric of his clothes, pulling yourself closer. "How are you here right now? You're supposed to be studying Europe."

Chan, a welcome sight, continues to smile warmly as he assists in guiding you out of the haunted house, his presence a comforting contrast to the lingering shadows and cheap Halloween supplies.

“We finished early about a week ago. I wanted to be a surprise.”

While you spent the remainder of your college years at the local university, Chan chose to venture abroad, a decision made in the aftermath of the Seungcheol incident. A clear sense of satisfaction is evident on his face as you take your time retracing the features of his face that have now matured in your time apart. 

“Oh my god, how are you? How was Italy? You look… amazing.”

He chuckles at your ceaseless chatter, intertwining arms with you along the entire path. “I'm well, still adjusting to the time difference. Italy was filled with great food, great wine, but, sadly, no you. I made do, though.”

You playfully elbow him, unable to contain the smile spreading across your face. “You never stop. God, the others will be so happy to see you!”

Upon reaching the exit, Chan, with a playful glint in his eye, deftly guides you around a concealed corner. The mischievous grin on his face deepens, and he suggests, "I have a better idea: we meet them later after you and I have a chance to catch up.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST Y/N?” Seokmin's voice echoes through the chaotic atmosphere, laced with a touch of frustration.

"Go, go, go." Chan, immediately recognizing the urgency, deftly propels you forward, skillfully navigating through the crowd. With a sense of urgency, he guides you towards more private quarters.  

“I can't believe Seungcheol's a dad now. A lot happens in a year,” you remark, savoring the indulgence of your double scoop brownie delight, the rich chocolate flavors mingling with the conversation, as you relaxed by the campus’s lake side.

Chan kitten licks his mint chocolate cone, savoring a sweet taste that he misses so much.“Yeah. I’m an actual uncle. It’s weird, but parenthood has done him a lot of good. He’s a lot different than he was back then.”

“How's he managing it all? Girlfriend in the picture, I'm guessing?”

He shrugs. “They're giving it a shot. Seems like she'll stick around, and Cheol might too. I've never seen him look at a girl the way he looks at his own daughter. They all look happy together. She’ll keep him grounded.”

“Now he’ll start defending his daughter from guys like him when she gets to his age one day. Cosmic Karma.”

Chan chuckles. “He better or I'm stealing her away and raising her myself.”

“So, how’s it been for you? What’s Italian Chan like?” you inquire humorously, reaching the sweet waffle cone.

“Still Chan. Just know the difference in wine now and why pasta should never be broken in half.”

You take a deep breath, mustering the strength to voice the question that has been swirling in your mind. The weight of the inquiry presses against your chest, and you can't help but wonder how much this very question has occupied your thoughts. Finally, you manage to ask, "Anyone special to you?"

He glances at you thoughtfully, smiling as he let out small bittersweet sigh. “There was...but I let her go. I tried dating while I was in Italy, no one right for me though.”

“Hmm.”

As you mull over his words, Chan's eyes drift into the realms of distant memories, a wistful gaze reflecting the moments he reluctantly left behind, “What about you? I can’t help but overhear you tried it out with Seungkwan while I was gone.”

You chuckle, the memory painting a genuine smile across your face. “And boy, was that awkward. We only stood a chance as friends. My dating life hadn’t been much of anything these days.”

A familiar glint dances in his eyes as he indulges in his ice cream. “I see.”

“Don’t go looking too happy.”

“What? I’m devastated. My OTP.”

You laugh, lightly shoving him, remembering how much he really did make you laugh. There wasn’t a person that made laugh the way he did. “Shut up.”

“So…no one special for you either, hmm?”

You meet his gaze, a flicker of earnest crossing your expression before you shake your head. “No.”

Silence settles between you, a moment pregnant with unspoken thoughts and emotions. When your ice cream is gone, your hand itches for something else to hold. The air becomes charged with a quiet wonder, both of you reminiscing in the shared moments—the sleepovers, the messages between lines that you told one another. There’s peace in this space you share, as well as bitterness in the possibility that has yet to arise.

“Do you remember what we said, after that third night straight you slept over at my place?”

Your mind drifts back to that moment. The air was filled with the aroma of fried chicken for dinner, and Chan had effortlessly polished off five beers. It was one of those nights you wished could last forever, where the outside world faded into the background, leaving only Chan in its wake. “Not sure,” you respond.

“Right people, wrong time,” he repeats. “That we would’ve probably gotten along a lot better if we met under different circumstances. If it wasn't for what I was going through or what you were going through, we might’ve been right together.”

Your cheeks flush, and you internally curse yourself for momentarily forgetting. It was one of the most intimate moments you've ever shared, and surprisingly, sex wasn't even involved. Despite all the heartfelt words exchanged in that moment of vulnerability, you had half-expected him to have forgotten about it by now. “What about it?” you inquire, trying to keep your composure amidst the resurfacing emotions.

He leans in, licking evidence of dessert off his fingers. “I thought about that a lot when I was away. How we worked together was great. How you made hours pass by like minutes, minutes like seconds.” 

“You thought about me, hmm?” You tease.

“I was in the most romantic city in the world and all I could think about was how you’d love it here, so yeah. I thought about how better it would’ve been with you even if I knew you’d wretch at the smell of squid form the squid ink pasta.”

As Chan speaks, you notice the subtle shifts in his expression, the glimmers of nostalgia and contemplation in his eyes. A moment of quiet lingers between you, the unspoken acknowledgment of what could have been. The weight of untold emotions hangs in the air, and you attempt to break that down.

“...You would’ve tried forcing that into me.”

His laughter feels like medicine for longing. “Maybe I would’ve.”

“Why are you bringing all this up to me? Professing your love, huh, Lee Chan?” you challenge.

“And if I am?”

“Chan…we shouldn’t.”

His eyes dim, appearing as if he expected this response yet still disappointed. “Why not…”

“We said why–”

“Because we were both vulnerable? Fragile? Susceptible to hurting each other because we were interested in other people. Y/n, I haven't thought about Haru since I saw her here at this festival because all I could think about is you.” As the words linger in the air, Chan's admission leaves a charged energy between you. The festival surroundings seem to fade into the background as the unspoken tension and emotions build.

Your hands bunch up your pants at the knees, and you pull yourself up from the grass. “Chan…”

He follows, determined to stay by you. “We’re not who we were a year ago. There’s nothing else holding us back. Not our friends. Not my brother. Not any unrequited feelings. Just me and you.”

You've pondered this ever since you realized your feelings, sometime after he left. How you'd long at him, how he looked at you. Whether he still had feelings for Haru or if he somehow harbored interest in you. Or course, you wanted this but was any time the right time? “...Right people.”

“Wrong time, but that’s not the case anymore,” he steps closer, his presence enveloping you, and he cups your face in his hands. The warmth of his touch is both comforting and electrifying. “I want to try it with you because, knowing you, we work damn well together. We deserve that. We deserve this more than anyone.”

You shake your head, recognizing the stolen quote. Lips stretched over your face, and you take half a step closer. “Screw you.”

Not giving him the chance to react, you capture his lips instead, savoring the familiarity. The the soft rustle of the wintertime breeze and the distant of other people only served itself as background that becomes te white space on now your vividly painted canvas. In that stolen moment, the world narrows down to the warmth of the kiss, an electric charge passing between you and Chan, and longing grip of his hands claiming your body. Each second is written meticulously into a story that you both finally decide to explore, the delay only proving that all had been worth the wait.

Im coping (poorly)

Did a lil something for a funny lil show i found in YouTube :)

𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘺. smut 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. jealous Jake , pussy eating,cum, jake is like a leech here,kinda obsessed and doesn't admit it, pussy slapping,pwp,jake is a talker,dirty talking,pet names

Jake doesn’t trust himself when his thumb lingers above the caller id,the strong desire to be selfish,for once,and have you all to himself. The complicity of everything currently,for him,personally,was having to have held his feelings captive,but he couldn’t fight that one feeling of yearning the forbidden desires,seeking help from you in the most nastiest way of doing so.

You failed to give him a reaction when he calls you,with his hoarse and strained voice,laced with impatience, echoing through the speakers of your phone,begging you to come over. You could never know the intentions behind his voice. It’s always been like that. He would talk sweet to you as if there was no barrier in dating,acting bold is his persona,and he lives up to it.

Just for tonight. You speak mentally for yourself,the same way you have been feeding into the excuse of not going, for many weeks now. Your mind alone wanders off to the night where it all had started,where your eyes first landed on him.

The feeling of a swarm of butterflies when you both held a more than a minute long eye contact,the latter’s chocolate orbs held mystery,that gracefully failed to hide the lust,you can still feel all that,time and time again. There was a glint of playfulness on his appearance,the pair of luscious lips parted,stretched out into a grin,directed towards you,only. Through the crowds of many people,many sweaty bodies,wasted words,the drunken atmosphere seemed to have been in mute the moment he licked his lips,wetting it with his tongue,eyes fixated on you. A fucking menace?

And when the wind caught you both,putting your minds in a daze,thickening the tension between two hearts,it was over for you. And before you knew it,your feet started working with a mind of its own. Within seconds,you could take in the alcohol mixed with his breath,ghosting the skin of your collarbone. He leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses,hands clad and firm on your body,gripping you anywhere to keep you zero meters away from him. 

“Can I kiss you?”

The red hue forming on your cheeks as you sat on the cold leather seat,your hair moving in motion calmly with the wind,was starting to heighten up,yes you gave in.The thought alone still gives you a fresh feel of his hands cascading down your hip when he asks you that,there was this warmth in his voice and touch,which you can’t bring yourself to forget even if you try to.

The movement of his chewed,yet so soft lips on your nude tainted ones felt so titillating.You never knew a small patch of memory lane you both had created would affect you deeply. But it did. And for the better of it,you were right there at his doorsteps to relish those emotions all over again. To feel his lips all over you again.

Knocking on his door for the third time,the door gets pulled in,revealing messy haired jaeyun,in his sleeveless black tee and bluish gray shorts. His eyes were squinted,and the tee slightly crunched up on the left side of his hips. You could only watch his body language,which stayed unmoving,eyes struggling to open. Did he just wake up to get the door? How long did i….

“Why don’t you come in and stare all you want, angel?” the grogginess evident in his voice,yet he still earns a scoff from you. So he was wide awake now. “Was not staring at you…”

“You could say that too,and I still won't buy that” it hadn’t been fair for Jake as well. Nights spent through inner turmoil,envisioning how it would feel to have your presence. You could grasp a sense of him staring at you,so he quickly retreats his eyes from you,diverting them away to some random nonexistent dirt on the floor. Whenever he sees you,he feels like he could breathe without the suffocation from his tortured mind. “Come in”

“Didn’t put much effort today,i hope that passes for u” Jake looks up again,only letting out a chuckle and dismissing your words. You didn’t think much of it,you really did not. It was just a simple hoodie and shorts,a homelike combo for him too even-

“Anything is pretty if you’re the one wearing it” he cuts your thoughts off,crouching a bit down to where your seated body was. He raises one of his hands up and rests it on the top of your head,softly dragging it down to the length of your strands,right beside your face. His words kept ringing in your head back and forth,he just flirted with you,he just called you pretty. Was your heart steadily beating?not at all. 

"Always daydreaming, always so lost somewhere,always looking at your phone,who is it hmm?"Jake never had the need to feel this attracted towards any girl who he sees as his one night stand,he only foresaw his night to endless orgasms,messy heads,and pools of stains on the bed sheet.

Never anything beyond that cycle.

Jake was not going to ignore the signs. Smiling whenever you would check your phone,right after he had been deep in your guts,and all cuddled to you,watching you grip onto thin air instead of the water bottle while listening to him talking at the cafeteria. If he would ask about your plans,you would look at him like you had grown two heads,totally lost and out of it. It was almost becoming a daily routine of yours. And honestly,he was beginning to grow tired of it. But now....

He couldn’t get his eyes to wander off anywhere anymore,it was as if he found what he wanted to look at forever,a sight for the sore eyes,that’s what you were to him at that moment,all ready to be his,to save him.For jaeyun,you could be in your the bestest worst state,yet he would still find you the prettiest in his eyes,and absolutely endearing.. And what felt like a long run,was to come to an end now,by tonight. "Is it my very best friend?who's getting you wet? When your breaths fall to a rapid chase,trying to match but failing halfway,you break the chain and lean forward to capture his lips boldly,linking your arms to his shoulder and pulling all of his weight on to you. At that very moment,Jake was candidly enchanted,feeling everything that he shouldn’t. The connection felt somewhat more than what you both were. But he lost to the way you would whine against his lips,grinding your groin to his in desperation,leading him to moan into the kiss. 

Swearing, Jake hooks his fingers at the hem of your hoodie,tugging it all the way up,his hands coming in contact with your bare waist right after.You can never get a grip of your emotions whenever he's close to you in any way,even now.

The habit of tugging on his sleeves to let him know you wanted him to stay,staring at him whenever he wets his lips with his tongue,which always urges you to wipe it off with your thumb,wanting to feel contended at the feeling of his soft skin whether it be his lips or hands,craving to be in his hold every second.

"Get over here" Jake demands,guiding you to sit on his lap with your legs now spread to his sides. Your gentle hands caress his chest as you lean down again to kiss him,but with much more neediness. Your hands at the back of his neck,and his undoing your clothes one by one,only leaving you only with your panties. “Up”the dark brown haired male assists you to lift yourself a bit before sliding the material down to your feet,which eventually meets the ground.

Groping your whole body in the right places,the passion of it,made you moan all together. Which gives him the space to sneak his tongue into your mouth,ravishing the insides of your cavern.It was very nasty,the clashing of teeth,exchange of spit,sucking onto each other’s bottom lip,your eyes rolled back when his lips constrict around your tongue,making out with it. His eyes never closed,he watched as you got wet,he could already feel you did,he knew you and your body too well,your breathings are uneven against his chest,your body’s moving along with him. He loved it when you got like this..all messy for him.

His eyes sparkled when he saw you pull away,with much need for oxygen,lips connected with strings of saliva,you both were panting heavily. “Did you ever look at him like this” his words were soft spoken,yet you could feel the yearning to know,the jealousy coming to light the more he spoke. You very well knew what and who he was implying to,it was some random guy,you were discussing something very random with,occasionally laughing together,which clearly caught someone’s eye from afar,which made the grip on the pen ten times tighter.

For you,you always caught Jake's glare burning the side of your head whenever your best friend would get even a millimeter close to your radar,ghosting his perverted hands around your arms whenever you sat in between him and the said guy during lunch hours. However you never bought the explanation up,which only riled him up internally even further. He could slowly feel the whirlwind of negative emotions settle in deep. Nothing around him helped him ease the restlessness,unless it was you..

And what once called the gentleness of his nature,turned into a deeper shade of possession,leading to even rougher sex,steamy makeouts,and several quickies. He was a man of action. He needed to feel,needed to solidify the fact that you were his and his only,he didn’t prefer sharing,he hated sharing you.

“Like what?” you wanted him to bite on the bait,nod his head like a madman when you say he’s very jealous,kiss you all messy,fuck you dumb,claim you as his. He was never the type to express such emotion unless he was on his edge. And you wanted to push him there. Ever since you found out that he goes to the same uni as you,you always looked forward to finding the boy amongst the crowd of students,you wanted to get involved with anything he did. None of the events in which you have encountered jaeyun could ever warn you for what you were going to hear.

“Like you look at me” the sudden blow of confidence drives you insane. And you lean back in,cupping his face. His orbs get glossy from staring at you constantly,and not blinking even for once. He could never get enough of looking at you. Every little staring competition between the two of you,would leave you with flushed cheeks and pressed thighs. Even now,he’s doing nothing but holding you close,staring at you with the same intensity of love and desire,you feel the butterflies go wild in your stomach.

“I don’t do favorites, Shim” Jake's smirk only deepens when you address him like that. His hand that was once resting on your hips,comes up to wrap around your neck,with his thumbs placed flat under your chin,rubbing the skin over there in a comforting manner.

“Is that right babe?Were you not a crying mess after I kissed her?because–” he pauses when he notices the look of hurt mixed with jealousy evident in your eyes,and for some reason,you weren’t trying to hide it at all.the voice in him screams at him to claim you but he wanted to break you as much as you wanted to do the same to him,without him being aware of it “A little birdy once told me that it saw you humping your pillow like a needy slut”

By now,you were squirming to set free,wanting nothing more than to pin his hands above his head and edge him. Make him eat his words down his throat,but you both knew,everything spoken which had such an alluring tone,was nothing but the truth. “Messed with my pillow so much,left me wondering why it got so wet” jake caught up that it was indeed you who left a pleasing,almost dry clumps and a bit runny texture,it felt cold against the tip of his fingers,mind getting fogged with how you must’ve sounded,or how soft and soaked your pussy felt against the pillow.

“Thought about me didn’t you?thought about me when you came…..”And all of it seemed to hit him when brings the cum covered index and middle finger,upto his lips,smearing it like it were gloss,and hissing slightly due to the shivering sensation of the substance,smirking instantly. 

“Don’t you feel sorry for ruining my pillow,baby?”digits moving up and down your puffy clit,making you whine into his mouth,he gulps your moans down,pacing the movements of his fingers up,creating and colliding more slick on and against your core. “Don’t you want to apologize?hmm?” mumbling into the kiss,he drags the latter exclamation,addingly bucking his covered crotch to your exposed mound.

Jake feels you rubbing your nude groin against him,tugging on his hands,giving him the ‘fuck me’ eyes,when he confronts you like that. Fuck,you looked so fuckable right now,all bare and ready to take.It was as if his words were enough to get your pussy all drenched. His voice combined with the pressure he forces on you to take,all makes you feel lightheaded as your eyes rollback,body jerking up and slamming down to fuck back on his digits. “Did you feel it?felt your blood boil?” Words get caught up in your throat quickly as he plunges his fingers deeper,curling the trio to push that spongy part in you,only being able to form incoherent mumbles. “I-I– ” your face falls on his shoulder,the pleasure spreading like wildfire. Tilting his head,his cheeks collide with yours,and he opens his mouth to drag the muscle inside,above your skin sensually. “All y’fault….” 

Jake’s cock ached.

 Ached to be inside of you?yes. 

Ached to carve a path all the way to your womb,only for his cock to fit in?yes. 

“All y’fault for this” his voice gets raspy when he feels your palms move along his chest, he takes your hand which was resting on his chest,down to his crotch,palming his growing bulge along with yours,making you feel how hard,warm and leaking it was starting to get. He doesn’t let you retreat,rather,he pushes it more on it,hissing and cursing. “F-fuck”

Your movements get more impatient,grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling upwards,his hands leaving your body for a hot second,only to come find their places to your rear when you’ve successfully gotten rid of the cloth. “It’s you” 

Dipping down to capture his lips roughly,forcing down as much as you could,to the point where you could feel his teeth nibbling on your lips, tongues pushed against each other feverishly. The feeling of his bare chest and your exposed skin colliding together,the rubbing of your groins,creating a messy pool of slick,wetting each other. “You can never get this wet for him” Jake securely holds you,using the foot of the sofa as a support to get up,levitating you on his strong arms,your legs caging his waist. He was confident,he memorized the way your body moves,every pleasure point to ever be found in you,discovering places that make you mewl when he suckles on those,leaving a clear and glistening trail of his love for you.After all…..he knew your body better…

“Angel, what did I say about being sorry,hmm?” taking his fingers out,jake takes a glance at the way your juices form strings when he divides his fingers away from each other,eyes zeroing down to your gasping,quivering figure in the dire need to fuck you. He uses the slick-covered hand to stroke his now bare length,which was standing tall and proud,precum all over the tip.“Always s’needy” he scans your face,licking his lips and turns around,settling you down to the couch again. “Shit you’re drippin’ baby” he rasps,taking a good close up of your throbbing pussy.

But this time,he had the upper hand in controlling your body,pushing and pulling you in whatever way he wanted to,gaining easy access to pry your legs apart. The back of your thighs get featherly kissed,with jaeyun getting on his knees,laying one of his palms flat atop your mound,giving it a light squeeze,a surprised gasp leaves your mouth. Soon enough,you feel the rough push of his tongue at the center,the rigid yet soft texture colliding with your hot skin has your mid section shaking. Your mind seems to short circuit,hands flying to form a tight grip through the locks of his soft black hair,when he drags a wet path along the length of it. He then proceeds to issue slow jabs at the entrance,the lecherous look directed towards your face,forever unchanging. His face moves along his movements,nose occasionally rubbing itself on you. At the pace he’s licking and sucking onto you,you were sure you already made a mess of his bewitchingly handsome face. The back of you arches fine,dipping your pelvic bone to put pressure on the velvety material,you can’t seem to let go of his strands,only ushering his mouth to completely mesh with your mound.

Jaeyun groans with no distance made,causing his demands to slur. The slick was deliciously clinging onto his now overly moistened lips,small globules dripping to his chin,almost runny and thin streaks coating away all carefree. It’s true,your body would never dare itself,even when you wished it had, to bend like this,to move like this. The guy between your legs,eating you out all dry,possessiveness oozing out of his eyes,forever will have you wrapped around his fingers 

“Could fuck you dumb,leave your hole useless for others”voice getting a bit meaner than before,jake smirks when you try to move away,his strong arms pull you back,smacking your exposed mound against his face,labeling your attempts with a big failure. “Y-you can’t s-say that-”

“Aww why not?” he keeps swirling his tongue around there,adding his thumb to poke into your opening. “We p-promised–fuck! Not s-so fast–” the air in your lungs gets yanked out when he all of a sudden decides to penetrate your hole with the middle and ring,more than a knuckle deep. “But you said you like it like this” a longed moan slips past your lips when you feel his rough pads touch the depths of you,having you thrash around and he hasn’t even slicked his cock in yet.

Getting manhandled by Jake,pushed and pulled to his liking,given the permission to release by him,was another level of arousal. “J-jake–s’close mhgh–”your shaken moans and the broken chant of his name gets his cock twitching in the air. “No you’re not” 

Not much there was for you to say when he renders you speechless at a ruthless thrust,groin to groin,his cock now fully pushed in through your prepped and played folds,with your natural essence serving his meat as lube. A shocked gasp leaves your lips,followed by a sharp hiss from him,the sudden engulfing of nothing but warmth and constriction oh so inviting,

”you’re leaking for my baby,soaked wet,drenched as fuck,hear those noises your pussy makes?” His thrusts start off really slow,as if to antagonize you,break you apart slowly,but harsh at the same time,dragging lazily against your tight walls. “You’re being so dirty for me right now,slut” there it is,the name he oh so solely addresses you with whenever his urge to fuck you down brutal would rise,wanting nothing more than to see you as his personal cumslut,making a pretty mess out of your face and cunt,beating it red till your writher and clamp your legs on him,making it even denser for him to even slide the tip in. yeah that’s what was going through his head right now.

Thrust after thrust,he keeps jabbing his now enlarged cock in you,with no signs of slowing down,menacingly adding his thumb to put additional pressure on your bud,causing your hips to jerk in any direction. A loud whine makes its way out from him when he feels it clamp down even harder,to the point where he has to halt for a bit,and wait for you to loosen up. “Be a good girl and keep your legs parted,you don’t want me doing that for you,do you?” his warning only gets your pussy more wet and slippery at it’s best

“Gonna let me fuck some sense into you angel?”the swapping of names and the countless amount of harsh thrusts issued at your opening made your mouth drool. “Y-yes!yes..” you nod dumbly,feeling his thumb enter alongside his cock from above,which was previously massaging your clit. “Stop clenching like that or else i’ll have to make this cunt useless for other jerks”

“Only w-want you…make m-me yours” jake’s heart rate can’t stop picking it’s pace up when you moan that out,loud,and when he takes another look at your fucked out face,words begging him to claim you,do exactly what he had been wanting,stuff you full of his essence,he know he’s a goner,nothing can stop him from giving you what you wanted,and him as well.

“Yeah?no one else but me,right?” his hips jerk into yours faster,balls slapping your pussy,together creating the most dirtiest sounds of clapping,it only drives him to the zenith of his orgasm,and his eyes roll back,he gulps down hard,moaning shakily when he feels your finger dance around his chest,reaching down to play with his balls. “Baby just like that–so c-close for you” he fucks into you faster and rougher,rubbing your sides gripping the skin there,rigid.

But no,he wanted to feel you pressed fully against him when you cum hard while screaming his name. Quickly pulling his still stiffened cock out,he settles down underneath your sweaty body,your sweat drenched hair coming in contact with his shoulders and chest,”rub your clit for me as i fuck you into oblivion” the way he raspily utters those words out to you,you feel like you could cum on command only from that. But nevertheless,you shakily reach down to play with your clit,rubbing the skin in any way to seek relief. 

Continuing to plow into you,he smirks as you guide one of his hands to embrace the skin on your neck,your fingers fisting on his wrist. You move your hips in a wave-like motion,slamming yourself up and down his size,feeling his stomach contract and tighten every now and then. “Good girl,good girl–” he groans loudly when he finds that one spot in you,causing you to shriek. “Jaeyun’s spot,yeah?fucking mine” you couldn’t stop fucking yourself on him,his cock was deliciously addictive,and you could get over the feeling of his angry tip forcefully brushing against the end and depths of your womb.

“Jus’like that,fuck yourself on me”he doesn’t think you could get any louder than this,but you do,it only makes him jerk his pelvis upwards as well,to match the pace you were riding him in,your head fallen back,cheek mushed against his plump and drooled on lips. With any sanity left in him,he chooses to get drunk in this fever dream completely,having you cum around his cock while his strong hand presses your stomach down,is actually nothing more than a fever dream which he would love to live every single fucking day.

“Fuckfuck!--fuck!” With a long chain of curses,he holds your hips still,and hastily thrusts into you,desperate to feel the tip being buried deep in you,filling you with his seed,deep enough to ensure that your belly gets round and tits are swollen enough to lactate for his kids.”cum for me”and you do,coating the entirety of him with your slick produced in between your gummy walls,which kept hugging his shaft inside of you. The orgasm was enough to have your body slightly vibrate,thighs clenching in and out,as he slowly pulls out,tapping the outline of his cock on your pussy. You shook at each tap,his cum now spreaded all over your used cunt.

Ragged breathing ensues you both,coming down from the raging orgasm with him never letting an inch of you go. “If you dare goback, i won’t have any problem in showing you again,that how much of you belongs to me,think carefully sweetheart”

Even if he says so,the tiredness due to all the rough love making,starts to get in your body and eyes as you lay in his arms all exhausted,spent,filled.

To him,he never gave you the time to think,he meant for you to stay committed to what he said.No one could ever fuck you like he did. No one could ever break you like he did. No one could ever abuse your insides like he did. No one could ever mold you into theirs like he did. No one could love you as he did.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

FELIX :: MANIAC M/V TEASER 1

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

yk I always forget that Neil Gaiman is on tumblr so I'll see one of his posts and just go holy fuck

I wanna ask him so many questions but I'm too nervous. If he sees this Mr. Gaiman I love your works they are very inspiring and you are an amazing author and I love so many of your books

Have a nice day Mr. Gaiman

Holy shit, I just found that there is more episodes of Transformers Earthspark and I have to go to school instead of binge watching the show. I might just start bawling my eyes out

thank u amy parris for your service to the will byers society