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assassinsblade · 5 months

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Heavy Weather

In which yours and Azriel’s mission is disrupted by a major inconvenience: your cycle.

WC: 4.1k

Warnings: Nothing really, just fluff and period stuff!

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Gods, it was cold.

The snow fell down in sheets, covering the forest floor and soaking into your leathers. Azriel was trekking about twenty feet in front of you, eyes scouring the area, although his grip was loose around Truth Teller at his side.

“The Winter Court…” you grouched, mimicking your high lord. “Why couldn’t it have been Day Court. Or Autumn.”

Azriel chuckled. “You wanna spend time with Helion and Eris? I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

The air in front of you steamed as you let out an exhausted breath. You both had been pushing through this snow for hours. You couldn’t even remember what you were looking for at this point. You had only been there for about ten hours, and a little into the cold wilderness, you found your brain becoming foggy and your body fatigued. You really needed a blanket and sleep.

“Helion would never let me freeze. He likes body heat too much. And Eris has fire powers.”

“Something tells me Eris wouldn’t be too keen on helping.”

You shrugged, lifting your foot to step over a snow-covered log. “He’s always been fine to me.”

A muscle in Azriel's jaw jumped, his wings going tight against his back. You could barely make out the pink coloring of his mouth through the snowfall. “I don’t trust him,” he said. “Not after Mor, and not with you.”

“So dramatic.” You attempted to ease the tension in the air at your mention of the soon-to-be High Lord of the Autumn Court.

“I’m dramatic? You live in the Night Court and suddenly you act like snow is going to kill you.”

You did feel like it was going to kill you. You didn’t know what had you so exhausted, why the snow seemed to be soaking through your clothes and seeping its way straight into your bones. You had slept okay last night, hadn’t you? You were wearing weather-appropriate clothing. You had done enough training and exercise that this hike shouldn’t be wearing you down this much.

You hadn’t realized that Azriel had turned around to look at you, stopping in his tracks as he waited for you to catch up.

“Are you actually okay?” His voice was more serious this time, less teasing.

Giving him a nod, you focused on putting one foot in front of the other. “Yeah. Let’s just make shelter somewhere soon. I really am cold.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. You didn’t blame him, you must have looked pathetic. Your teeth were chattering so loud the same spies you came to the Winter Court to track would no doubt be able to hear you if close. Your body felt like you had weights pulling you down under the earth, with each step comparable to trudging through quicksand. And you just felt off - like you could pass out or throw up at any moment.

Azriel waited until you were by his side once again before continuing to move.

“There’s an abandoned cabin not too far from here. We’ll camp there for the night, get you some rest. Maybe a blanket or two.”

The wind burnt your cheeks as you tilted you head to look at him. He seemed completely unaffected. In fact, it was as if he was taking a stroll through the Summer Court, right along the water, basking in the breeze.

“How are you not freezing?”

His lips quirked up at your angry tone. “Believe it or not, Sunshine, I grew up in the snowy Illyrian mountains.”

You nodded, only half-hearing his response. And then your feet were stumbling over one another, and Azriel had to reach out quickly to prevent you from falling.

“Not too far now,” he reassured. But he kept his hand on your leathers the rest of the way to the cabin, monitoring your movements and ensuring you wouldn’t just topple over. Every so often, you felt him look over at you, as if he didn’t trust his hand and wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen behind again.

It felt like hours before the rickety structure came into view, and by that point, you truly knew something was wrong with you. Had you been poisoned at some point during the trip? Were you sick? You didn’t think you’d ever been sick in your entire life as fae.

Once you were at the landing of the cabin, you realized Azriel had been supporting your weight much more than you had intended or thought. His entire forearm was supporting your back now, pushing you forward until you crossed the threshold into the enclosed space.

You heard the door shut tightly behind you, sucking the sound of the wind out with it. In the silence, you nearly collapsed.

There wasn’t much time to take in your surroundings. You briefly saw a couch, a kitchen area, and a fireplace. There was probably a bathroom down the hall, maybe a bed if you were lucky. Your thoughts didn’t go past that though as you stumbled for the sofa.

Azriel watched as you fell into it, your head tipping back and eyes scrunching closed. You tried to school your features into something less uncomfortable, but you doubted it was convincing.

“I’ll get a fire going.”

You heard his footsteps move toward the fireplace, the scuffling of movements as wood was moved from the keep to the hearth. However, despite his action to get the cabin warm for you, you could still feel his eyes drifting toward the couch intermittently.

Wood began cracking, a light forming in the corner of your vision. Still cold, still weak, you tried to breathe steadily.

You were about to say something to distract Azriel from your odd behavior when you felt fabric being laid over your body. Your hands automatically went to grip the blanket, pulling it up to your chin weakly before peeking your eyes open.

Azriel was already moving away from the couch, but he didn’t leave the room before muttering a quiet, “Get some sleep.”

Sleep, unfortunately, did not come easy to you. You alternated between feeling like you were going to vomit and feeling like you were being stabbed. Your muscles ached, and it seemed to take all of your energy to rise your chest in a breath.

You tried to focus on the fire, on the way sparks flew from the wood, briefly illuminating the dark stone. The warmth of the flames was drifting toward the couch now, and you tried to adjust your body to move closer to it.

In your movement, though, you noticed the way your damp clothes felt different against your skin. The snow had soaked into the fabric, but the feeling you recognized in your core at your movement toward the fireplace had you nearly whimpering.

Azriel was there before you could make it fully off the couch, reaching his hands out to catch you from falling.

“What are you doing?”

“I- I need to-“

“-Lay down,” he interrupted. “Rest.”

You tried to breathe through the pain. Your vision was becoming blurry with each stab through your abdomen, and you honestly did not understand how you missed your symptoms earlier.

“I can’t, Azriel… I need-“

“-I know.” He gently guided you back onto the couch, hands pulling the blanket over you once again. “I know. Just breathe. I’ll be right back.”

Did he know? Could he sense it now? Could he smell the blood? Recognize the symptoms too?

There wasn't time to be embarrassed because he was gone again quickly, and you couldn’t help the tears that escaped at the pain running through your body.

When you had first met Feyre and she had told you the difference between fae and human cycles, you had nearly cursed the Mother for torturing your kind. You had been literally stabbed before, beaten, and burned, and nothing compared to the pain of your cycle.

“Here,�� Azriel said, reappearing before you. He laid some sort of steaming broth he must have found in a cupboard on the table in front of you, along with some torn pieces of cloth, presumably from a towel found in the rest of the house.

You looked at the items, tears blurring your eyes again. You felt like you couldn’t move, everything ached, everything hurt, everything felt wrong-

“I need help,” you got out through your tears, your voice sounding weak even to yourself.

“Okay.” Azriel nodded. “That’s okay.”

He gripped under your legs and behind your back, pulling you up until you were on the edge of the couch. "I have changes of clothes for us in my bag. Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?”

You nodded, too embarrassed to look at him. Azriel didn’t say a word though, instead grabbing a few of the pieces of cloth, his bag off the ground, and scooped you up into his arms.

He walked you both to the bathroom, and you kept your face buried close to his chest both so you wouldn’t have to see if you got anything on the couch and so that Azriel wouldn’t see the redness in your cheeks.

When he entered the bathroom, he set you onto the counter before setting the supplies down. From his bag, he pulled out the extra pair of underwear, pants, bra, and shirt you had packed for yourself.

“Do you want to wash off?” He asked genuinely, glimpsing over his shoulder at the antique bathtub.

Did you want to be clean? Absolutely. But your entire body felt like it was going to fall through the floor, weighed down with aches, pain, and exhaustion. You weren’t even sure you could get your arms to move enough to scrub yourself clean.

You whimpered at your inability to do what you needed, at how weak you felt, and the frustration that coursed through your veins.

"Hey, it's okay." Azriel brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, bringing your eyes to meet his own. "What do you need? What can I do?"

You just shook your head, face flushing red. "I can't ask you to help me with this."

Because this was embarrassing and some males thought it was weak and gross and something to be kept taboo. You were quite literally bleeding through your leathers, with your abdomen, back, and legs all twisting and cramping in pain, heat scouring your body, and you felt like a little kid again -- needing to be taken care of, unable to do the basic task of looking after yourself. It was humiliating, but especially in front of Azriel of all people. Someone so composed, so strong.

It wasn't as if your friends didn't know about your cycle or what you female fae went through. On the contrary, they always offered to help where they could. If you missed out on training because of your cycle, Cassian would always bring up some tonics or some extra food and water to make sure you were okay. A few cycles that were particularly bad had Rhys sending after Madja, and Azriel rushing when he heard. He was the one who had advocated for Madja to give you some sleeping tonics to help you sleep through the pain instead of withstanding it.

But here? On a mission? This was too much.

"Why not?" Azriel's question brought you back to the present. He looked genuinely confused, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Azriel..." you pleaded with his questioning, arms wrapping around your stomach as pain hit you again. You swayed slightly on the counter, Azriel's hands dropping from your face to your waist to steady you.

"You're in pain." His voice was serious, and you wanted to hide your face in his chest. "Let me help you. I don't like seeing you like this."

You swallowed, trying to reign in your shame and embarrassment. It wasn't a big deal, you told yourself. This was natural. And Azriel is over five hundred years old, surely he's seen and dealt with cycles and all they entail before. It doesn't have to make a difference being yours.

"Okay," you whispered. "Could you- could you uh, help me wash off? I don't think I can..."

He didn't make you finish your sentence once he realized you didn't know how to explain your own weakness at the moment. He just nodded, bringing his hands to your arms and rubbing up and down comfortingly.

"Of course."

You nodded, more-so reassuring yourself that this was okay. He was okay. Right? He'd say if he was uncomfortable?

Azriel turned and twisted the faucet to the bathtub, fingers resting under the water that came out until he found the temperature pleasing. The water was clear, thankfully, and the tub looked clean as well.

Once that was filling, he turned to the cabinets you were seated on, bending down and looking through them for any kind of soap and towels. Finding the supplies he was looking for, he set them by the edge of the tub and turned to where you were sitting.

"Arms up?"

His question was hesitant, asking more than if you needed help. Did you want to completely undress? Were you comfortable with him seeing you like this?

You lifted your arms, the weight of your limbs feeling heavy. You wanted to throw up, to go to sleep, to cry.

Azriel's gentle hands moved the fabric up your torso, keeping his touch to the clothing only. Once it was free from your form, you nodded at him to keep going.

He grasped your hips and lifted you to stand, holding onto the majority of your weight when you seemed unstable. His hands gripped your own and brought them to his own torso.

"Hold onto me."

And you did, allowing yourself to lean into his strong form as he unbuttoned your snow-soaked pants and began to pull them down. You rested your head on his chest, turning your face into him to hide your embarrassment at the blood that no doubt coated your pants and your middle.

Tears pricked your eyes at how vulnerable this all was, but you blinked them away as Azriel backed up, your bare form now before him.

His casual look over you wasn't one of lust or desire but of care and concern. He was looking for injuries, hypothermia, anything that would need immediate attention before the bath. When he was satisfied, his gentle touch led you to the edge of the tub, grasping your forearm and helping you ease into the water.

You sank low into the heat, releasing a breath you hadn't known you had been holding from your cramps.

Azriel seemed to notice how you had been holding your breath too. He brought a hand up to push some of the sweat-slicked hair back from your forehead. "Make sure you're breathing, sweetheart."

You nod, closing your eyes and trying to relax through the stabbing in your back.

You could hear the soap bottle cap opening, the sound of liquid meeting a hand, and scrubbing. Peeking an eye open, you see Azriel getting his hands wet and reaching for one of your arms.

"Is this okay?" He asked.

Your heart thumped in your chest. He was too good for you. Better than any male you had ever met.

"Yes. Thank you." Your voice was small, weak in your state, but you both could hear the emotion in it.

"You don't have to thank me," Azriel responded, his hands moving up and down your arm softly before reaching for the other. "I'm sorry you have to go through this."

Humming in response, you sat up so he could help get your back. He was mindful of your comfort, sweeping over any vulnerable or inappropriate places lightly to ensure you were clean but never lingering.

While he washed, he told you stories of Rhys' sister. How when they were younger and she had gotten her first cycle, Rhys hadn't known what to do. None of them had. They thought she was dying, and Rhys' mother had to corral them together into the living room to get them to calm down and stop their panicking. He laughed at the story, and you couldn't help the relaxed giggles of your own.

"I can't imagine the stoic shadowsinger panicking over a girl's cycle."

His lips curved into a soft smile, eyes bright with adoration. "What do you think I'm doing now?"

You looked up at him, smiling. You couldn't believe how comfortable you felt, how normal this all felt. You were completely naked in front of him, completely bare to his touch while he sat clothed next to you, but it felt safe.

"You don't seem too panicked," you tried to tease.

He scoffed. "You should have seen me in the kitchen when we first got here. I was borderline scrambling."

You laughed, and he led you to a sitting position, stroking your back with his fingers lightly. "You ready to get out?"

At your confirmation, he scooped you up into his arms, no doubt getting water everywhere on the floor and also all over his own clothes. You squeaked in protest, but he didn't seem to care, only setting you back onto your feet and wrapping you up tightly in a towel.

Teeth chattering at the newfound cold outside of the bath, you gripped the towel around you, staring up into the bright hazel eyes of the male in front of you. He was still holding you tightly, eyes surveying your form. You wondered what he was thinking in this moment, but you wanted nothing more than to lean forward and let him keep holding you.

His hands moved with the towel, rubbing your arms before bringing the fabric down to your legs.

Right. You needed to get dressed.

"Here we go." Azriel grabbed your spare change of clothes, starting with your underwear. He took some of the makeshift pads he had created, placing one in the underwear before leaning down.

He looked up at you from his knees, and you wanted to frame the image. The sight of this angel, his dark hair messy from the snow, hazel eyes shining with care, on his knees for you, hands open to help take care of you. You wanted to jump on him, kiss him, and never let him stop touching you.

But this was Azriel, and he had never given you any inclination that was something he wanted.

You stepped into the fabric, allowing the shadowsinger to pull it up your legs. Once those were on, he bundled you up in your new shirt before holding the pants in front of you.

"Did you want to wait until we leave for these? They are leathers. I don't want you to be more uncomfortable just for the sake of feeling like you have to wear them."

"I'd rather not."

He nodded, setting them aside before wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you back to the couch.

You were feeling a little better now that you were clean and not bleeding down your legs, but you still felt drowsy and like someone was hacking your insides apart. On your way back, your knees nearly gave way with the pain of a particular cramp, and you couldn't help the cry that escaped with it.

Azriel caught you swiftly, hiking you back up into his arms.

When he laid you back onto the couch, now covered in blankets with even more on top of you, you looked up at the exhausted male. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said. He sounded genuine, but you couldn't help but feel guilty.

You gritted your teeth through the pain, gripping your abdomen tightly. "I ruined this mission."

"Nothing has been ruined."

He walked over to the fireplace once you were settled, stoking the logs to get the fire rising again. "Well," he continued. "Except your pants."

You couldn't help but laugh, and the shadowsinger actually cracked a smile at the sound. But then you were grimacing, tears coming to your eyes and your breath hitching in your throat at your body's attack on itself.

Azriel frowned, hands twitching at his sides.

"We'll get ahold of Rhys," he reassured. "Get you to Madja."

You tried to breathe through it, knuckles white from gripping the blankets around you. You could hear his footsteps getting closer, feel his heat as he kneeled down next to the couch beside you, feel his strong hands unravel your fingers from the blanket and grip them in his own.

His other hand came up and slowly stroked your hair back, gently weaving his fingers through the strands. Your eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch, despite how tightly you squeezed his hand.

"I'm okay," you tried to convince him. "It's just a cycle."

You weren't sure why you were trying to downplay your pain so much. Were you trying to come across stronger than you were? To impress him? Did you think he would truly find you weak?

"I've seen fae be out for a full week because of a cycle. Not eating or drinking, just trying to make it through... You don't have to be okay."

And it was as if you needed his permission, because as soon as the words left his mouth, you tilted your head back, eyebrows scrunching in pain, and let the truth flow past your own lips.

"Yeah, it fucking hurts."

He laughed, but the sound was sympathetic. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss there, and you nearly shot up at the action. You tried not to think too much into it but his lips on your skin was something you couldn't just ignore.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

His voice was soft, gentle, reverent. And he was looking at you like he would do anything you asked. Like you could tell him to go sit in the snow for an hour while you basked in the heat, and he would stand up diligently before marching his way into the blizzard.

He looked at you expectantly, and your heart swelled. One day you would tell him. Tell him how you loved him, how you thought that maybe there was something there between you two, something that tied your souls and hearts together.

"I'm still kind of cold," you admitted. "Could you lay with me?"

At first you thought the question was a bit of a risk, something he might not be comfortable with. But then you thought about how you were completely naked before him not even twenty minutes prior, and you felt less embarrassed to ask.

"Are you sure? There's not much room."

You nodded, and he looked down at his own snow-soaked leathers. He grunted in disapproval and discomfort, reaching down and lifting the tight clothing from his body. You nearly gasped at the action, at the toned body that now faced you. Gods, he was beautiful.

He walked away briefly, presumably to gather his other change of clothes. He might have even cleaned up a bit, because when he appeared again, he looked clean and comfortable. And then he was reaching under the blankets to adjust where you laid.

His body sunk into the cushions of the sofa, and he gathered you into his arms until you were halfway on his chest, his soft and clean shirt overwhelming your senses as you curled into him.

You hummed. "This is nice."

His arms were loose around you, but his hand was resting purposefully curled around your side, his fingers inching over onto your abdomen in a protective and comforting gesture. As if he could take your pain away with just a touch.

"Try to rest. We should be able to get back to Velaris in the morning."

You pushed away the pain radiating through your body, the disorientation and dizziness, and instead focused on the warm muscled body underneath you. The way he encased you, the way he made you feel safe and at peace despite your current state. The way he cared for you.

You would tell him soon -- how you felt.

But for now, you buried your face deeper into his chest, your body falling lax against him. For now, you would rest and savor this moment.

For now, you would pretend like he was doing this because he loved you too. And you held onto that until sleep took your pain away.

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fic #azriel fluff

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soberpluto · 9 months

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Astrology Observations - Rising Signs & Planets

Cancer rising as a parent unintentionally will tend to impose their upbringing's rules and traditions unto their household, and if these are discarded or not followed, they can get pretty upset or offended (they won't tell you this, tough), because attempting to organize and structure the life of their loved ones is one of the strongest ways to show their tenderness and care. This is especially true in routines related to food and family time.

Saturn rising, particularly in Capricorn (and to a lesser degree in the other earth signs) gives amazing bone structure, pretty teeth and refined face shape (well-sculpted cheekbones). They are likely not ones who have experienced broken bones in their childhoods. Depending on the ASC sign, Saturn here may also cause short stature and a sturdy anatomy.

Gemini risings often possess appealing and vibrant gesticulations, beautiful and elongated hands, feet and limbs, a unique tone of voice and a ridiculously contagious smile or laughter. On the flipside (sorry to say this), many of them are very good liars and tricksters, as their high intellect quickly figures out what you want to hear and see in them.

A secret us Scorpio rising folks don't what you to know is that whenever we are interested in you, our eyes will give us away rather easily. We'll hardly confess our feelings until much later, if at all, but if you feel under a microscope in our presence (if you are subject of our involuntarily eerie and soul-piercing gaze), you should know we really like you. You might as well think we hate or despise you... but it's completely the opposite!

Leo risings have gorgeous thick and voluminous hair, usually on the wavy side. They love to buy nice things that draws attention to them, as they enjoy standing out of the crowd even if they are more on the reserved or introverted side of the spectrum. They really don't mind spending their money on costly clothes, makeup or jewelry if they think that makes them more beautiful, even if it actually damages their finances. They love to select and buy gifts too!

Jupiter rising can exaggerate your rising sign's ruling body parts. For example, in Cancer: large boobs or wide thorax / in Taurus: wide and sensuous lips / in Libra: beautiful face, amazing skin and voluminous butt, etc. Unfortunately, Jupiter rising folks can also get overweight super easily.

Mercury ruling risings (including Mercury 1st house and Venus in Gemini) usually make the native look younger than they really are. They also have something really noticeable about their walk... from clumsy to swift, all styles will differ, but they will move in ways that are out of the ordinary, for some reason.

Mars ruling risings NEED some sort of intense physical activity to be balanced, if not, they can literally go crazy due to all their bottled-up anger and restless energy. That's why many of them have a knack for the military, gym or sports, not only because they are good at them, but because this eases their stress in a way nothing else can. And yes, sex is included too.

Water risings, particularly Pisces (including Neptune and Moon in 1st house/conjunct ASC) have the most mesmerizing stare. It doesn’t matter their size or form, their gaze is otherworldly, ethereal, and somehow hypnotic. Water rising souls speak through their eyes, and I’m in love with that.

A Mars rising man can be mistaken for a f*ck boy much easier than other placements, especially if they have Air or Fire in 1st house. Women with this placement have huge sex appeal too, but they tend to attract a lot of envy and rivalry from other females, as their personality is perceived as confrontational and aggressive, even if they don’t act that way. This configuration gives good results when they work with men, but not so much with women.

Thanks for reading! 😘

Written by @soberpluto

Book readings here! https://starintuitivehealing.etsy.com

#astrology #astrology community #astrology notes #astrology observations #birth chart #astro community #astrology signs #astro observations #mars rising #jupiter rising #water sign rising #water sign ascendant #mercury 1st house #mars 1st house #moon 1st house #cancer rising #scorpio rising #leo rising

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cozykali · 29 days

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Heartbeats (Astarion’s POV)

I downloaded Baldur’s gate 3 and immediately feel for this sexy vampire the moment he tackled me to the ground and held a knife to my neck. I’m in act 2 right now (no spoilers!) and the brainrot is BAD. I’ve read some amazing period sex fics involving Astarion but I wanted to craft one from his perspective. Let me know your thoughts!

Master list can be found here!

Pairing: Astarion x fem Tav/reader

Rating: SMUT! NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI

Words: 4700

TW: (this fic is FLITHY), mentions of death and dying, biting (duh), drinking blood, period sex, blood kink, oral (fem receiving), unprotected P in V, kissing, fingers, stalking, multiple Os, passing out, blood-loss, mentions of past torture/trauma, tension, begging, fluffy ending, ‘who did this to you?’,

Notes: Tav and Astarion have been travelling together for a few weeks. No romance scenes have happened yet, but she allows him to feed on her nearly every night. She hasn’t seen his scars yet. Tav is on her period and it’s making her vampire friend go crazy. Tav has feelings for Astarion but hasn’t acted upon them. This story is told from Astarion’s perspective. Tav can be any race or class you want (probably not durge though).

Bonus: Check out this massive playlist I made inspired by Astarion!

The fading fire crackled softly; its once licking flames now reduced to gentle, glowing embers. A thin line of smoke ascends into the damp air that coats the earth in a delicate layer of cool dew.

Astarion lies beside the fire on his bedroll, flat on his back, with his arms slightly splayed at his sides. Most nights, he is grateful that he doesn’t need sleep like his companions do. He can immerse himself in the peaceful sounds of the night, meditate, slow his breath, and calm his mind without slipping into unconsciousness. This ability had saved his life on more than one occasion.

However, tonight is different. Tonight, he wishes for sleep to claim him. He longs to drift away and escape the torment of the spell unknowingly cast upon him by Tav. He turns his head to gaze through the soft light of the fire in her direction.

Tav is laying on her side facing the fire, her mouth slightly open as she emits soft snores barely audible over the crackling flames. But what troubles Astarion tonight is her scent. It wafts through the acrid smoke of the fire like a gentle breeze through a sail, sweet as usual, but it’s currently mixed with blood and musk.

Astarion has been avoiding Tav for the better part of two days now. Whenever she drew near, he held his breath and averted his gaze. He knew he must keep his distance from her, because the alternative would be ripping her apart, which would not win any favors with the rest of the party.

Tav has also been careful around him. She must know that he can sense her menses. Despite inviting him to feed on her each night for nearly two weeks, tonight she did not proposition him, nor the night before. Last night, his attempt to catch a deer had been futile, leaving Tav as his last meal.

Lying on his bedroll, Astarion stares up at the stars, after a seemingly endless eternity for an immortal being, he hears Tav stir slightly. He glances over at her curiously, hoping she doesn’t notice his gaze. She lets out a quiet groan, clutching her lower stomach before curling into a fetal position, her face contorted in pain. Moments later, she slowly starts to rise.

Tav stumbles to fetch a flask of water, guzzling it down greedily. Astarion envies her ease in quenching her thirst while his own thirst rages inside him. Before long, he senses her absence, her scent growing fainter. He debates whether to leave her to sort herself out, but the primal urge to hunt and stalk his prey cannot be ignored.

Rising slowly, Astarion follows her scent through the trees to a nearby stream. His movements are fluid and silent as he approaches her. Tav is kneeling in front of the water, wringing out a blood-soaked cloth.

"Seems such a waste to wash that delicious blood away, darling," Astarion's voice, silky and smooth as velvet, slices through the night like a dagger. Tav lets out a startled squeal, spinning to face him.

"Astarion!" Her voice cracks with surprise as she stumbles back, but his hand shoots out to steady her, his touch cool against the small of her back as he prevents her from falling into the rocky stream.

His gaze is locked onto Tav's eyes, wide with astonishment, her pupils are dilated so only faint rings of color remain around dark voids. With his keen elven senses, he can hear the rapid thrum of her heart beneath her chest. Releasing her gently, Astarion steps back, his posture graceful and poised.

"Sorry, my dear," he says, softening his tone to one less intimidating. "I was merely ensuring no creatures were stalking you in the night as you wandered off. There are far worse dangers in these woods than bears, you know?"

"You mean like you?" Tav's words are sharp, but Astarion detects the faint quiver of her bottom lip.

"I just prevented you from bashing your skull on those wet rocks, and this is the gratitude I receive?" Astarion scoffs.

"I wouldn't have nearly slipped if you hadn't snuck up on me, asshole," Tav retorts, pushing him in the chest, though his feet remain firmly planted.

"Oh, my, you look adorable when you're angry," Astarion can’t help but smirk at her.

Tav lets out a frustrated grunt, attempting to stomp away, but Astarion catches her arm before she can pass him. Confusion clouds her face as she searches for an explanation for his unusual behavior. The facade of his usual sassy indifference had vanished, replaced by a tumult of desire and longing.

"Are you here to bite me?" Tav's voice trembles, strained as if she’s fighting back a scream. "I thought you were better than that. You promised me you wouldn’t feed on me unless I asked you to."

Astarion reaches out and takes the wet cloth from her hand, the hunger gnawing at him like a demon. Shamelessly, he presses it to his face, inhaling deeply. His vision is blurred, his head swimming in the intoxicating scent of her body that lingers on the fabric.

"Astarion, knock it off! You’re freaking me out," Tav snaps, snatching the cloth back and tossing it into the dirt.

"Tav," he whimpers, hating the desperation in his voice. Slowly, he releases her wrist, turning away to pinch his brows in an attempt to ease the splitting headache caused by her overwhelming scent.

"What in the hells is wrong with you?" Tav's voice remains cold, but concern flickers in her eyes as she speaks. She feels sorry for him.

Astarion straightens his stance, clearing his throat. "I apologize that I disturbed you. I’m not thinking straight," he announces before turning to walk back to camp.

"Wait," Tav said, and he freezes.

"I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. That I haven’t asked you to bite me the past few nights. I know you must know I’m on my period," she admits, her gaze fixed on the ground. "I didn’t know how you felt about it. I can see now that it’s driving you to madness, but I thought ignoring it was the best course of action. It’s embarrassing, really, and I’m having terrible pains in my stomach."

Astarion closes the distance between them in two swift strides.

"It’s hard to see you like this, so crazed with hunger, and I…" Tav's words falter as Astarion gently places his hand under her chin, lifting her face to meet his.

"Shh, Tav, my sweet. You’re going to put me in a second grave," he murmurs.

To his surprise, Tav presses her face into his with a gentle kiss, and Astarion's eyes close as a deep growl rumbles from his chest.

Tav removes her lips, "I’m sorry that was stupid of me to…" but Astarion wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer, pressing her body against his. He kisses her ravenously. His sharp fangs scrape softly on her bottom lip. A sensation of an unraveling overwhelms Astarion as he kisses Tav. It's a mixture of desire, longing, and perhaps even a hint of vulnerability. This feeling is unfamiliar to him, stirring emotions he's long kept buried beneath his cool exterior.

She relaxes in his arms, sinking deeper into his kiss. Her hand reaches up to ruffle his soft white curls while the other slips under his linen shirt, exploring the ridges and lines of his abdomen.

As they momentarily break their kiss, Astarion feels a rush of dizziness. He gently brushes her hair away from her neck and nuzzles into the curve of her shoulder. His tongue traces the faint marks on her skin, remnants of the nightly feedings he's had days prior. Despite the hunger clawing at him, he restrains himself from indulging further.

His hands, trembling with desire, slide down to the hem of Tav's shirt. He breathes against her ear, his voice a husky whisper, "May I?" Without a word, she responds by lifting her arms, granting him permission. In one smooth motion, he pulls the shirt over her head, revealing her skin. Astarion’s hands cup her breasts. The soft sound she emits as his mouth finds her nipple is music to his ears.

"Please, I need to taste you." He pleas between nibbles and licks on her chest. He no longer feels ashamed by his desperation.

"Oh, Astarion." Tav smiles, "You look so pretty when you beg."

“Gods," he groans, then steps back to remove his shirt before kneeling to the ground in front of her, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight. "Tav," his voice is deep and soft, "I beg you." His hands reach out to grab her waist. "Let me taste you." He rests his forehead softly on her bare stomach. She places her hands on his and slides them down, encouraging him to remove her pants. Astarion is nearly trembling with anticipation as he helps her step out of her garments.

"Hold on," she stops him before he rips off her underwear. The bloodied rag that was freshly changed before he found her, was now soiled again with arousal and blood. "Should we find somewhere more comfortable?" She offers him her hand to help him rise back up.

Astarion feels lightheaded for a moment as he returns to his feet. However, as soon as he regains his balance, he scoops Tav up and carries her with remarkable speed to a clearing near the stream, where the ground is more sand than rocks. He lays Tav down on her back. He crawls towards her slowly, until his thigh is pressed firmly against her sex. As he lowers himself to kiss her once more, he gently hooks his other leg under hers and slides it up slowly, allowing her legs to part for him.

"Astarion?" She whispers to him when their kiss breaks, "You can feed on me tonight if you like."

He doesn’t even recognize the deep, feral growl that escapes his throat in response. "I was so hoping you would say that darling."

Astarion kisses his way down Tav’s stomach. She squirms at the feeling of his fangs brushing lightly on her ribs. He catches the waistband of her undergarments between his teeth and slides them down her legs to remove them.

He stops to hover over Tav for a moment now that she’s fully undressed. He savors the look she’s giving him through hooded eyes. Pausing, he appreciates the beauty of her bare skin splayed before him, relishing her scent before he consumes her.

"You’re too good to me, my pretty thing. I don’t deserve this, and I don’t deserve you." Astarion remarks before his head dips between her legs.

Astarion flattens his tongue and licks her once slowly, bottom to top. Tav tastes unbelievable. It still tastes like her blood, metallic and rich, but it’s enhanced with the flavor of her slick arousal, the must of her sweat, the flesh of her womb. If the blood in her veins is his water, his life source, the blood between her legs is like the finest of wines.

The hums and moans that leave Astarion's throat as he devours her are so animalistic, he can hardly hear Tav’s whines. He licks up every drop until she is clean then sticks his tongue deep inside her searching for more. His nose rubs in a side-to-side motion, pressed firmly against her apex, as his tongue explores.

"Oh gods, Astarion!" Tav gasps. He feels a slight sting on his scalp as she grabs a fistful of his silver curls while rocking her hips to match the speed of his tongue.

"I need more," Astarion rasps. His lips close around her bud He slides two slender fingers inside of her and starts pumping them in and out, coaxing out more blood. Her moans fill his ears like a siren’s song, adding to his pleasure. He can feel her insides tightening around his digits.

"Astarion. I…" Tav’s sentence is cut off by a wail of pleasure. He can smell the ecstasy flooding her blood, hear her heart pounding in her chest, and feel her body spasm and quake where he touches her. He doesn’t change the pace of his tongue or hand, dragging out her orgasm until she is panting and spent. He removes his fingers from her to lick them clean like a cat and notices a small trickle of blood leaking out of her.

"You may have just finished, darling, but I am not done yet. Nothing compares to the sound of my name cried from your lips, and I intend to hear it again." Astarion’s face dips back down to clean her folds. The amount of blood he can get from her body is not nearly enough to fill him. He needs to feed soon, a real meal, a pint of blood or more, not just a taste. But it can wait; the taste is too divine to stop.

Astarion hooks his arms under her thighs and flips onto his back, pulling her with him in one smooth motion. He grabs her hips as he forces her to a sitting position on his face, drinking her in. She shrieks and tries to pull away.

"Astarion, I need a minute. It’s too much." He releases his hands and stares up at her face with mid concern while she hovers over him. He tries to imagine how he looks to her right now.

"Can I ask you to be my mirror again, love?" He recalls the evening Tav found him looking at his empty reflection.

She studies him. "Your pretty face is absolutely covered with blood," she states. "Your lips are puffy and swollen. Your skin is thin and pale, paler than usual. Then there are your eyes…" she pauses, "they’re so red right now that they nearly glow in the light of the stars. There is nothing human, or even elf, left in them. They are the eyes of a monster."

Astarion grins wide, displaying his sharp fangs to her, "I am a monster, dear. Now can you please let me get back to consuming my prey?" His tongue extends from his mouth to lap against her swollen sensitive skin.

Tav tilts her head back and moans, exposing the full length of her gorgeous neck. Her back arches as she lowers herself onto his lips. Astarion grumbles in satisfaction when the taste of her dances on his tongue again. He grabs her thighs, in case she decides to pull away again, but instead she lowers onto him more, smothering him. She rocks against him, rubbing herself against his mouth and nose.

His lungs burn slightly, but he doesn’t need to breathe air to survive; it’s just a matter of an unconscious habit from before he turned into a vampire spawn. He needs air in his lungs to be able to speak, and it’s slightly uncomfortable if his lungs go without air for extended periods of time. He represses the memories of torture he had to endure over the centuries, where Cazador would deprive him of air for days just to watch him struggle. Astarion silently scolds himself for focusing on his lungs when his attention should be on the woman on top of him.

Tav bends her back further and places her hand on his waste to steady herself. Her hand brushes against the swollen bulge in his leather pants. His other primal urge is nothing more than an annoyance compared to his crazed lust to feed. But Astarion doesn’t protest when she starts to pet him through his pants as she continues to use his face like a toy. His pants suddenly feel uncomfortably tight.

"Astarion!" His name sounds like a symphony when it exits her body. She collapses forward, cradling his head with her arms. He drinks her in, savoring all his senses. His hands run up and down her bare thighs that seem to burn with heat. She rolls off him and lands in the sandy dirt of the bank, lying flat on her back beside him. They breathe in sync, shallow and hard.

"Tav, I…" Astarion pants, still laying on his back. "I need to feed."

"I know, I told you that you could. It’s not enough, right? Down there I mean. I figured as much. Why didn’t you just go for my neck in the first place? Why starve yourself on tiny mouthfuls when you can just bite me?"

"The taste," he whispers, "It’s addictive. I can’t stop." He swipes a finger between her legs and places the pad of it against his tongue and groans.

"Astarion?" Tav rolls onto her side to gaze into his eyes. She places her hand against the puncture marks on her neck from his fangs. "Bite me."

Astarion rises to his feet. Stars briefly dance across his vision, then fade. He is again reminded of the throbbing of his groin and decides to remove his confining leather pants and exposes himself to her. It seems only fair to be as naked as she is.

Tav’s eyes bulge and her jaw slacks as she stares at him. She props herself up on her elbows and slowly opens her legs to him. The wanting look she gives him is the closest thing he’ll get to a reflection of his own eyes. He waits, tension coiling in his muscles in anticipation as he searches her expression for the words he longs to hear.

"Darling, I am supposed to be the one looking at you like a feast laid before me, but here you are, looking at me like I’m a fresh baked pie. I could practically wipe away your drool." He smirks down at her. His hand lazily strokes his length to tease her.

Tav's lips form the word "Please," her voiceless plea echoing in the quiet night.

"Please what, my pet?" Astarion teases, his voice low and filled with anticipation, as he listens to the rapid rhythm of her heart, quickening like a drumbeat.

"Please. I want you to bite me while you fuck me." Her voice deepens, her eyelids are heavy with lust. Astarion’s stomach flips, and he pounces onto her like a fox catching a mouse.

"Such a filthy little mouth you have." He tuts. While he arranges himself over Tav. It's a familiar position that they have practiced nearly every night since she invited him to feed on her, only this time they are skin to skin. His face lingers over her neck, his breath cools her blazing skin. The tip of his shaft is posed at her entrance. She bucks her hips in response, and he sinks into her partially, then withdrawals.

"You are mine." Astarion whispers into her neck. Pressing his lips to the partially healed wound from his last bite as he enters her again, sinking his entire length into her. Tav cries out in response, but he doesn’t move.

"Astarion, please," She whines. He raises himself onto the palms of his hands to look at her. Her eyes are glossy, tears are forming in the corners.

"Tav, Darling, you look so pretty when you beg." He echoes her earlier words. He wishes he could hold out a little longer to see how far he could tease her until she breaks, but his need to feed is too intense. He starts slowly pumping in and out. Her eyes close and her mouth opens wide in pleasure. She feels amazing, so tight, so soft, so wet with blood and arousal.

Tav places her hands on Astarion’s back and digs her nails in, only to pull away quickly when she feels the bumps of the scars she hasn’t yet seen. She opens her mouth to mention it but he quickly covers it with his blood stained lips. His tongue slips past her lips and moves with the same rhythm of his thrusts. She moans into his mouth as his pace quickens. Then he breaks her kiss to purr into her ear, ‘Do you taste yourself on my lips, beautiful? It’s delicious, isn’t it? You taste divine.’

Tav shivers beneath him and lets out a sob. His lips brush down her neck. Astarion snarls to expose his sharp, elongated canines then grazes them against her throat, ready to strike. His thrusts never stop, slamming into her repeatedly, as he finally sinks his teeth into her neck and sucks her blood.

"Oh fuck, Astarion!" Tav releases a scream and falls apart under him. Shaking and panting while grinding against him. He can taste the electricity of her climax surge through her blood as her heart beats with a steady rhythm, allowing the blood to flow through her veins until it reaches his mouth. Astarion feels a rush stronger than any drug, more enchanting than any spell or potion. Her walls spasm around him, while he slurps against her neck. He sucks her blood with intense force. Pinning her under him. He can’t stop.

After several moments of bliss, he notices she has gone completely still beneath him. It takes all his willpower to unlatch his fangs before he sits up quickly.

"Shit’." A wave of panic washes over Astarion as he inspects Tav. Her skin appears paler, almost gray. Her breaths come slow and shallow, and her heartbeat is faint and stuttering. Without hesitation, he scoops up her limp body and wades into the waist-deep waters of the nearby stream, gently lowering her in. The water feels warm against his skin, though he himself is generally cooler than most creatures. He hopes the temperature doesn’t send her body further into shock.

As he holds her in the water, Astarion's mind races with worst-case scenarios. He imagines having to speak with Withers to revive her, dreading the thought of explaining his actions to the rest of the camp. Tav won’t easily forgive him this time, he fears. He might be cast out or even killed. He curses himself for following her out here in the first place. She was right to avoid him these past few days.

Just as he begins to entertain thoughts of escape, Tav’s soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. "Star?"

Relief floods through him. "Oh, thank the gods, Tav. I’m truly sorry. I got a little carried away." He holds her tighter against his chest, feeling her shiver against him.

"Cold," Tav manages to say, her voice barely above a whisper. Astarion carries her out of the water and gently sets her down in a patch of soft grass. He hurries to gather their scattered clothes, helping her dress into her pants and shirt. He wraps his own rumpled white shirt around her for extra warmth, then puts on his pants before rinsing the remaining blood from his face in the stream.

Returning to her side, Astarion finds her hugging her legs, the color slowly returning to her face. "Let’s get you back to camp near the fire. I’ll wake Shadowheart to see if she can heal you," he suggests, wrapping his arm around her.

Tav turns to him, her voice airy and soft. "No, I think I'll manage until morning." Astarion kisses her forehead as she embraces him, her hands rubbing slow circles on his back.

"Turn around," Tav demands, and he complies, allowing her to view the intricate scars covering his entire back. She traces them with her fingers. "What happened to you?" Her voice carries a tone of pity, and Astarion swallows a lump in his throat.

"It’s a poem," He explains calmly. "Cazador did it to me. He took his time. I don’t know what it says."

"Oh, Astarion, I’m so sorry," Tav responds with compassion that almost irritates him.

"You’re sorry?" Astarion snaps, turning to face her. "I nearly killed you tonight, and you’re sorry?" He immediately regrets the sharpness of his words. "No, Tav, I’m sorry." Pulling her into him, he collapses to the ground, and she lays her head on his bare chest.

‘Astarion, I…’ Tav starts to speak.

"Hush," he interrupts, holding a finger to her lips. "Listen." He tunes into the sounds of the environment around them—the rustling of tree branches in the breeze, the chirping of insects in the reeds, the rushing of water in the nearby stream. But the sound he wants her to hear isn’t external; it’s coming from within him. After several seconds, she jerks her head up from his chest to meet his eyes.

"Did… did I just hear your heart?" Her voice is filled with astonishment. "You have a heartbeat?" Her brows furrow in confusion as she searches his face for answers. "Is that another side effect of the tadpole? Like how you can walk in the sun?"

Astarion smiles at her. "Yes, you heard my heart beating. No, it’s not from the worm in my head. It’s from you, darling."

"What? How?" Tav’s confusion deepens.

‘Well, when I feed, especially if it’s a big meal, my body must circulate the fresh blood throughout it somehow. And in case you weren’t aware, I’ll give you a little anatomy lesson. I need blood in a certain area of the body to give you a performance like I did back there."

She stares at him in shock "So your heart will kickstart when you're full, or horny?"

"In simple terms, yes dear, and I do feel both of those right now. However, it only beats a couple times a minute, not like a living creature. Have you noticed the color return to my skin, and that my temperature is at least five degrees warmer than usual?"

Tav smiles softly as she lays her head back on his chest in silence, waiting to hear a soft thump again. "I can make your heartbeat," she whispers.

"Well Tav, it seems my heart belongs to you now," Astarion sighs. "I’ve never felt anything like that before. I’m practically drunk on you right now. When I told you were my first bite, I meant it and now I can’t imagine drinking the blood of anyone else. Not like I have many options anyways, no one else is exactly offering me their neck." She smacks him softly, and he lets out a chuckle before his face softens with worry.

"I don’t think it’s safe to do that again, though," He grumbles. "I nearly lost you." Tav looks up at him with sadness in her eyes. "I mean I would happily bed you again," Astarion continues, "and I still wish to feed on you if you allow it, once you're replenished, but I think we should keep dinner and sex separate from now on."

Tav scoots up to kiss his neck. Then rises to her knees and straddles him. Her hair forms a halo around her face as she looks down at him.

"What is Withers there for if we don’t use him once and a while. Plus, we have at least ten revival scrolls in the chest at the camp."

His heart beats again, slightly harder than the last time. "Are you giving me permission to suck you dry? You filthy little pup." His hands grab her rear, and he squeezes. "How did I get so lucky? Getting abducted by mind flayers seems to have been the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"I mean, I've never felt anything like that either. When you were draining me of blood, I let it happen, I didn’t want it to stop. I was in a daze as I slipped away. To be clear, I don’t think the others will approve of paying 200 gold coins to Withers, or wasting revival scrolls that could be used during a fight, every time I come to your bed, but if it happens… I trust you to bring me back. I guess my heart belongs to you now too. Since it pumps the blood through me that keeps you alive and thriving."

Astarion inhales deeply. "Well in that case, darling," his hand reaches up to grab her neck and he pulls her head down so her ear touches his lips "I think you're beating me three-nil in climaxes this evening. And I intend to double your score at the very least, and maybe get a point on the board myself before the sun rises." He glances down and notices a blood stain seeping through her pants onto his. He realizes didn't put her underwear back on nor replace her blood rag when he dressed her earlier. "Also, it looks like you might need a little cleaning up again, my love."

END

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astroismypassion · 3 months

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Astrology observations 🌷🌷🌷

Credit goes to @astroismypassion

🌷 I noticed there is often a correlation or that aspects are revealing so to say. An opposition or a square between planets might indicate that you didn’t do something. Conjunction indicates you came very close to almost doing it, but then it not happening. And sextile/trine revealing that you in fact did that. For example: someone who has Sun conjunct Mercury could came very close to dating (Sun) someone in elementary, high school (Mercury), but it actually never fully came to fruition since it’s a conjunction. Another example would be: Venus square Jupiter, you likely weren’t in a committed partnership (Venus) during your college/university years (Jupiter), because it’s a square. However, you might have been if you have a sextile or a trine.

🌷 Taurus Jupiter and Venus Jupiter aspect natives often have their own little philosophy, rules and outlook on partnerships and they are willing to make very few compromises. They behave much like an Aquarius Venus or Aquarius Jupiter honestly. They have their own set view on how the their partnership should be.

🌷 With Mercury in the 8th house Synastry, the Mercury person can label you (the 8th house person) with something you don’t agree with or even you don’t agree about the label of the connection itself. For example, Mercury person wants 8th house person to be their best friend, but 8th house doesn’t want that, because they already have a best friend. Or Mercury person might suggest friend with benefits, but 8th house want a committed partnership. Usually the view on the nature of the connection is different.

🌷 I noticed Leo Lilith, Lilith at a Leo degree (5, 17, 29) attract such distant, detached, aloof people. Those that are very Uranian/Saturnian with them. These people rarely receive the level of attention they would desire in a romantic partnership from their partner. They also often go for Aquarius/Capricorn Sun or those with Sun Saturn or Sun Uranus, Moon Saturn, Moon Uranus aspects.

🌷 Venus square Jupiter native is often too stereotypically described as promiscuous, lacking standards, lacking self-worth, self-esteem when discussing their approach towards partnerships. They feel “out of luck” of finding a suitable partner to commit to. So someone of them hold onto their partner out of fear. They think it’s hard for them to come across a partner. So if they break up, they could stay single for 6, 7 years or even more.

🌷 I noticed Aries Moon men are really thirsted after, mainly due to great sex appeal. One great example would be French actor Alain Delon, who both women and men found him attractive.

🌷 Taurus Suns, especially those who have Taurus Venus as well, often feel disappointed and let down by the todays, modern dating. They feel not only there is a lack of growing stability within a connection, but also lack of responsibility. Really this word is more connected with Taurus than Capricorn, especially when it comes to partnerships. Taurus Sun always teaches their partner the importance of responsibility and stability, so this is how they teach their partner to mature more in life.

🌷In 8th house Synastry there is always friendly competition, like “oh you’re trying to outperform me?😁”, because you want the other person to prove themselves to you and make an effort. But there is also this element of joking involved. You could often say something truthful, but then follow it by “I’m just kidding”, but there is stil an air of “unless you want to👀”.

🌷Venus square Jupiter native has a lot of friends in their friend circle that are single or unwilling to commit to a long-term partnership.

🌷 I noticed if you have for example Aries over the 5th house, probably the person you often end up having a crush on is a Fire sign! If you have Venus in the 5th it’s often an Earth sign. If you have Mercury could be an Air sign or an Earth sign.

🌷A lot of Aries, Scorpio Moon women consciously decide with time and age to only have female friends. Due to some “fake male friends” in the past, they do it as a form of protecting themselves from disappointment. Otherwise, these women have quite a few male acquaintances, even likely having more male than female friends.

🌷I feel like some Libra Juno or Juno in the 7th house people end up having this mentality of “don’t let your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband”. Because it’s kind of true for them more so than others. They could actually meet their future spouse and being friends with them when being in a partnership with someone else.

🌷 Libra Juno is hating on the same people with your spouse.

🌷 Leo Juno cannot be in a partnership where there is lack of affection, physical touch.

🌷 You might think that Mars in the 7th house in Synastry is all so romantic, great chemistry and romantic affection. Yet, I noticed it more in charts of really good friends even. Another thing to be said here is that both people have their own set view on what is “fair” in the connection and how balance looks like. So it’s actually not that easy to get along, because both have different definition and view on how they should go about fairness, balance in the connection, so often times it results in unbalanced situations. In Composite charts Mars in the 7th house often manifests similarly.

🌷 Aries Moon women and men care in the younger years less about love, being in a partnership and more about money and financial stability. They want enough money to support themselves more than they want love. However, when they achieve that financial stability they start thinking more about family, partnerships etc. later on.

🌷 Composite charts are literally so telling! If you have Composite Scorpio over the 10th house, you and your person could really respect and admire Scorpio Suns. You could both find Leo Suns attractive if you have Composite Leo over the 7th house. If you have Composite Capricorn over the 12th house, when together you both love to listen to Capricorn Sun musicians.

🌷 No one talks how Virgo Venus, Venus in the 6th house doesn’t get taken seriously enough in relation to partnership. People could love spending time with the native, hanging out, but often get friendzoned or that the other person want things more casual. It’s like people think Virgo Venus/Venus in the 6th house don’t have “serious feelings” for someone.

🌷I noticed usually people with Lilith in the 10th, 11th house or Aquarius/Capricorn Lilith, even Saturn Lilith aspects often come from a family where there was an age gap in partnerships throughout many family generations. Like there is at least 5, 6, 7 years difference between their father and mother, grandfather and grandmother etc.

🌷Virgo Mars people have the fanciest hands. They put on jewellery, always hand cream, well kept nails, always perfect manicure, some really see their hands and fingers as a canvas, hence hand tattoos. They just scream “rich hands”. One example would be Hailey Bieber, who is more and more known for fancy hand gestures and perfect hands. Even men here with this placement could have well kept hands, fingers and nails.

🌷Gemini Sun and Mercury in the 5th house love pampering themselves before a trip or they get their nails, hair done, they love looking good on trips.

Credit @astroismypassion

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 8 months

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Practice On Me — Part Eight — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Everything is starting to get on top of reader and tensions rise. Azriel takes a trip to Fenlaros and comes away with a headache. Cassian does what Cassian does best. A friendly face swoops in to save the day.

Word count: 8.3k.

Warnings: A little freaky deaky 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.

Azriel’s kiss is a burning brand.

It’s fire and ice and earth and rain. It tastes like freshly set snow, and it feels like the refined touch of a steeled warrior.

He kisses you like he aches for you. He pulls his hands away only to remove his gloves and chuck them aside, and then he’s clasping your face once more, skin on skin. He’s always so warm — a part of him you’ve missed.

And a part of him that drives you to kiss him back with barely any hesitation.

This — his mouth on yours — feels like the answer to a riddle you’ve been puzzling out for days, weeks, months, years. You’re gasping for air, and his tongue is sliding between your lips, and his taste overpowers you so thoroughly that you think it could break something inside of you.

There isn’t much furniture left in here. A few scattered tables, a shelf or two hanging off the wall. Not much to work with, and yet it doesn’t matter, because you and Azriel will have each other however you can. You’ve spent a lifetime making do with whatever you’ve got. This is no different.

Azriel’s hands fall down to your hips, and he’s lifting you so abruptly that a yelp leaves you and lands straight on his lips. Your arms loop around his neck, and he’s fastening your legs at his waist and stumbling with you — stumbling towards one of those old tables. A plume of dust erupts around you as he sets you down and slots himself between your legs.

“I fucking miss you.” He groans, grabbing your face. “I miss…us.”

You feel so many things. There’s no chance to sort through them, verbalise them, before his mouth slants over yours again. He’s hungry, needy. Hot and sinful. This Azriel is a far cry from the one who coyly confessed to his inexperience. This Azriel writes poetry onto your lips and paints masterpieces on your tongue. He kisses like eternal happiness depends on it. He kisses as though he’s been an artful lover for centuries.

He’s been practicing, the thought pops into your head.

Not with me, the realisation follows.

And that feels like being thrown stark-naked into the snow. It’s not a nice feeling — to realise that Azriel may be treating you to skill refined elsewhere. Not when you think about kissing him more than you’d like to admit to yourself. Does it make you a gods-damned hypocrite after what you did with Cassian? Perhaps.

But none of this — not one bit of it — is reasonable, or rational, or logical.

All you know is that your stomach lurches suddenly, violently, at the thought of where else Azriel’s lips might have been. And that’s all it takes for you to shove him away.

He stares at you, wide-eyed. Perplexed.

“I needed you.” You pant, the words tumbling from you in a flurry of charged emotion. You’re not sure you planned to say it. “On Solstice — I needed you.”

Azriel’s face changes in the blink of an eye. The hunger is gone, replaced by…something else. “Y/N—”

“I needed you, and you weren’t there. You promised me.”

“I know I did. And I’m sorry—”

“Did you even think of me?” It’s awkward, but you try to scramble back on the table. You just…need that distance right now. “Did you not wonder how I might be doing, how my day might be playing out in that hellish house, before you jumped into bed with Kaeda?”

“We didn’t—”

“Did you think of me?”

“Y/N, of course I thought of you.” He tries to clamp down on your legs, but you’re moving further away, damn near falling off the table in your efforts. “But you — you said you would come and find me. I waited for you—I—”

You’re really not sure if it’s a strangled sob or a choked laugh that fights its way up your throat. Perhaps it’s both. The sound of it is jarring, and it echoes around the armoury and reminds you of where you find yourself right now. The situation you’re in. How different things might be had Kaeda not come onto the scene.

“You waited for me?” You repeat, righting yourself. “And—what? Did you get bored? How do you think it felt, Azriel, when I came to find you — the only person I wanted to fucking be around in that moment — and you were busy with Kaeda on top of you? As if I needed my heart breaking any more that night.”

You hate it — hate it so viscerally that the words won’t stop coming. That you’re bringing your heart into this and allowing it to be stomped on again. Your eyes are watering, and you turn quickly before Az can see.

For a moment, he says and does absolutely nothing. And then he takes a step closer to you.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me. Believe me, I am.” He says. There’s another step. Another. He’s hovering at your back and you know he’s wondering whether he should reach out and touch you. “But, Y/N…you encouraged me to pursue things with Kaeda. Am I to apologise for that?”

You blink at his words so abruptly that your tears spill down your cheeks.

Now you’re laughing.

It’s a humourless laugh — a hysterical one. It breaks from you in a series of fractured, incredulous noises. At least the emotion boils your blood so thoroughly that it warms you from the inside.

“Apologise?” You round on Azriel, balling your fists at your sides. “No. You don’t need to fucking apologise. But you also don’t need me to practice on anymore, do you?”

He clamps down on his jaw, a telltale muscle moving. “I didn’t kiss you for that—”

“You kissed me because you miss me. Because I am…I’m just a security blanket, aren’t I? I’m what’s familiar, and you’re used to being around me, and having distance between us has fooled you into thinking that you want to kiss me.”

“No—”

“But you’ll kiss me…and make me feel good..and then the novelty will fucking wear off, and you’ll be running straight back to Kaeda because she is who you’ve wanted all along. Not me. Never me.”

“Cauldron, Y/N, will you just let me speak?!”

No.

You will not.

You can’t.

You can’t do this. You can’t break in front of him. You refuse to.

You want to sound strong, and sure, and unbothered, but you open your mouth, and the words are watery and broken. Weak.

“No.” You swallow a lump down. “No, I won’t. Just…just go, Az. I need some time.”

“We’ve spent the last week apart. That’s plenty of fucking time—”

“Go! Go back to Kaeda. Stop…stop pretending like this could play out any other way. It can’t. It won’t.”

“I’m not leaving on an unresolved fight. You and I don’t do that.”

You are far too beaten down to discuss this any longer. You shrug, and the gesture is an effort in itself. “I’m not sure I know what either of us do or don’t do anymore. Things have changed. Go.”

“Y/N—”

“Go!”

Finally, it seems to dawn on him — the realisation that you’re serious. You won’t be discussing this tonight. You’re not strong enough for that yet.

He falters a moment longer, so clearly not wanting to walk away. The two of you have never been like this. You can fight like the best of friends do, but you’ve always made the effort to resolve things, to not part on a bad word.

But things are different, now. You know it. Az knows it.

“…Fine.” He rasps after a long stint of silence. “I’ll go.”

You nod. If he’s expecting you to suddenly change your mind, he’ll be gravely disappointed.

His eyes sweep you once more, and then he’s turning. Dragging his feet to the door like a kicked animal.

“Az?” You call quietly, and he stops.

The hope in his eyes as he looks over his shoulder almost breaks your resolve. Almost, but not quite. “Yes?”

“Send Cassian next time.”

He doesn’t deign to reply.

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Azriel is not well-versed in the world of dinner parties and propriety.

He has a few decent shirts he reserves for special occasions — like when Rhys’s mother cooks a nice meal, and he and the others dress up out of respect.

Y/N would laugh herself hoarse if she could see him right now.

A thought that stings almost as much as the intense, burning gaze of Tathaln Baralas, Lord of Fenlaros.

He’s a mammoth, domineering presence at the head of the dinner table, seeming to command every bite that each person takes of their food, every sip of their wine. It’s silent unless he speaks. It’s tense because he makes it tense.

He watches Azriel as though he’s going to finish his food and then take a bite out of the shadowsinger himself. Az’s shadows are taut around him, not wanting to make a spectacle of their brilliance. The dinner so far has felt like one big, held breath.

But finally, Tathaln clears his throat, and Kaeda and her brothers sit up straight. Az does the same.

“I trust your friends have fared well since your little adventure in my camp.” The Lord addresses Azriel. “I hope the punishment wasn’t too severe. I did many similar things in my youth — though I can’t say I was ever quite so bold as to venture into a rival territory.”

Azriel inclines his head slightly. “I wanted to apologise again — for what happened. Things got out of hand.”

“I’m partly to blame, father, as you know.” Kaeda adds. Azriel damn near jumps out of his seat as her hand lands on his thigh beneath the table. “It was my idea to invite my friends from Windhaven. An oversight, perhaps, on my part. I was eager to show Azriel what Fenlaros has to offer.”

Tathaln seems to think on that as he chews his food. He washes it down with a gulp of wine and reaches for the carafe to refill his glass. The whole thing feels like somewhat of a performance, and nobody speaks a word as it plays out.

This family dynamic is…odd. Not that Azriel has much experience where normal family dynamics are concerned. But there’s a formality with which Kaeda and her brothers — not that the two males have breathed a word this entire meal — address their flesh and blood. Like he is their Lord first, and father second.

And that isn’t unusual for Illyrians — not at all. Offspring are, more often than not, treated like a prospective trophy to be paraded in front of competing families. The fiercer, more ruthless the child is, the prouder the parent will be. It’s a brutal, ugly way of living that never changes, no matter how many generations stack up.

But perhaps Azriel is at fault for having too high an expectation. Perhaps he shouldn’t ever have been fooled by Kaeda’s wings and spirit being left intact, unlike most females around her.

Tathaln is a puppeteer, and Kaeda and her brothers are his dutiful puppets.

“There was no particular harm done.” The Lord eventually says — rather reasonable, for an Illyrian. “I imagine you received a stern talking to. Revoked privileges, perhaps?”

“Lord Devlon saw fit to lecture us, yes.” Azriel concurs with a nod. “But besides that, we weren’t really handed any punishment. It was my friend, Y/N, who bore the brunt of his wrath. She’s been forced into homelessness as a result.”

A sudden, sharp kick lands on Az’s leg from beside him. He glances at Kaeda in his periphery, eyes the fierce expression with which she looks at him. It seems to be communicating, don’t bring this up now.

But Az wants to bring it up. He’s pissed off; more so than he initially thought. At himself, mostly, and at Devlon, at Rhys’s father, maybe even a little at Kaeda — at everyone really.

Tathaln pauses, his fork mid-air. And then he sits back. “Right — the girl that was here. Why has she been made homeless?”

Girl. It’s a sneer of a word in Illyrian mouths. Azriel has to clamp down on his jaw and remind himself that confronting the sexism that runs through their veins is a fruitless task in that moment.

And Kaeda sighs at his side. As if she’d rather be talking in great detail about the roasting of a boar, than about Y/N.

But it answers a question that’s been rattling around in Azriel’s mind all evening — that no, Kaeda had clearly not mentioned Y/N to her father, as she said she would.

“Her father kicked her out on Solstice.” Az explains. “He’s not a good male, to say the least. Y/N was living with myself and my friends, but after the events that unfolded here in Fenlaros, she was sworn off having any contact with us, because Lord Devlon seems to think that she’s the driving force behind any and every bad choice we make. She has nowhere else to go. It’s…worrying.”

“Perhaps she’ll think twice before wandering into rival camps.” Finally, one of Kaeda’s brothers speaks. Arlen, Azriel thinks his name is. Clearly the idiot doesn’t see the irony of his statement.

Or perhaps Kaeda doesn’t have to adhere to the rules that every other female is strictly held under.

“Arlen.” The Lord shoots him a warning glance. He turns back to Azriel. “I would argue that Lord Devlon is full of shit.”

Azriel stops. Blinks. That…that’s not what he was expecting.

“How so, father?” Kaeda’s brow furrows.

“It’s his job to keep the soldiers under his command in line, no?” Tathaln’s dark, feline eyes are assessing Azriel as he speaks — seeming to read his response. “If he finds that a single female is the cause of such disruption, perhaps it is himself he should look at. He can’t be a great leader if he has to resort to such extremes just to keep his soldiers under control, now, can he?”

Az stares back at him. The question is meant for him, but it all seems too…too easy. Reason and logic are simply not a common thing among these people. The words sound almost…false. Forced.

“No.” Azriel agrees. “I suppose not.”

“Do you find him to be an adequate leader?”

“I’ve never known any different.”

Tathaln’s mouth tips up. “That isn’t what I asked.”

No, it isn’t. But this is a fine line Azriel is treading. He positively despises Lord Devlon — thinks him an arrogant brute who uses his title to flout camp laws and customs and turn everything in his favour. Not to mention the fact that he and his cronies are so clearly threatened by Az, Rhys and Cass — an undoubtedly formidable trio. Azriel is sure that if Devlon had his way, the three of them would be slung out by their necks. Or hung by them.

But his personal feelings towards the Lord of Windhaven doesn’t change the fact that openly disrespecting him — and to the lord of another camp — is a huge dishonour. One that could blow up in Azriel’s face if this conversation were to somehow make its way back to Devlon. He has to choose his words carefully.

“He has a method of leadership that I can’t say I’m in agreement with.” Gods, he is the epitome and personification of diplomacy, if he does say so himself. Ten points to the shadowsinger. “I’m not sure that using his power to target vulnerable females was ever part of his job description. I’m sure, as a father to a female of the same age, you can see where I’m coming from.”

Tathaln takes another pensive sip of his wine. He inclines his head. “Indeed, I do. I think it’s terrible leadership. And I think you’re wasted in Windhaven.”

“I appreciate that, my lord.”

“There is no need for modesty, Azriel, the shadowsinger.” As he speaks, the Lord’s eyes inch towards those very shadows. He studies them with a strange expression that looks almost like…hunger. “Do you know why I sent my Kaeda to your camp? I may as well admit, I have an agenda.”

Azriel glances at Kaeda. She’s staring at her plate, shoulders squared. “Oh?”

“I sent her there to scope out the quality of the units that are being trained in the Windhaven Camp. My sons were sent on similar missions to other camps — Camp Theriel, Camp Steelshore, Camp Aruin. The consensus of what was reported back to me regarding each camp was that potential is not being filled. Quite frankly, a mockery is being made of Illyrians by the poor training of these legions. If war was waged tomorrow, half of our race could be wiped out.”

Bold, bold words.

Azriel finds himself stunned silent.

“We are Illyrians, no?” A thick, callused finger traces the rim of Tathaln’s chalice. “We are a warrior race. We have birthed some of the fiercest warriors in Prythian’s history and decimated tens of thousands across battlefields. And yet, it would seem, these days, that our camps are producing fewer warriors, and far more lazy, unambitious brutes who care only about drinking and fighting and fucking. Our reputation could be destroyed yet.”

This is…bizarre, Az thinks.

He also thinks that it’s a little unfair. He’s the last person to ever defend the creatures around him that are supposedly his brethren, but he also thinks that Tathaln’s assessment is wildly exaggerated.

Illyrians drink, yes, and fight, yes, and fuck, yes. But they do so in between harsh, gruelling training. They drink to forget the brutal nature of their life’s work. They fight each other because they’re just as angry as one another, and that needs an outlet. They seek pleasure, because it’s one of the few good things to be found in these parts.

Their training is not for the faint of heart. You train well, or you die. It’s that simple.

And if Tathaln, Lord of Fenlaros, truly has such concerns, Azriel doesn’t understand why the fuck they’re being presented to him, of all people.

“Is this something you’ve raised with the High Lord?” He asks — he isn’t sure he even means to say it.

Kaeda tenses beside him, and Az wonders if, perhaps, he’s overstepped the mark. But Tathaln seems somewhat pleased by the question — seems pleased that Azriel is engaged in the discussion.

“It is.” The male answers. “And I think he finds himself agreeable to what I’ve had to say. However, I haven’t yet presented my solution — what I believe to be the right course of action.”

Az takes the bait. “Which is what?”

“Eventually,” Tathaln says, “I would do away with the individual camps entirely. I would have one, sole camp to train Illyrian warriors, overseen by the most powerful members of our race. Members with rare, unique powers who can draw on the Illyrian potential and make our people what we were always supposed to be. What we once were, before we became too complacent. Better, even.”

And just like that, it makes sense that Tathaln is sharing such things with Az.

Rare, unique powers. Powers like that of a shadowsinger. So incredibly unique that Azriel has never met another of his kind.

Tathaln has ambition — he covets power. He has a vision that needs backing.

It’s like everything suddenly clicks into place in Azriel’s mind.

He finds himself looking at Kaeda, not her father. Finds himself wondering if she ever had genuine interest in him, or if that interest came entirely from Tathaln. Finally, she lifts her gaze to his, and she wears a strange, pleading look.

“Don’t get me wrong, shadowsinger.” Tathaln says. “This is not a goal that could be achieved overnight. Power takes time to build. I couldn’t take this idea to the High Lord without something to back it up — something to get him on side.”

Azriel shrugs. “But what would you have me do? I’m just a soldier in training—”

“You are a shadowsinger. Do you even realise what an asset that makes you? Perhaps your poor start in life, your mistreatment, has caused you to downplay your potential. But I see it. Your power could be a lethal weapon on a battlefield. And off a battlefield. There is so much you could be doing, and yet Lord Devlon has you landing punches on a sparring dummy and calls it training? You are made for better things than that.”

Praise is…it’s a rare thing, in Azriel’s world. And he doesn’t care about that, because the little praise he does get comes from the people who matter, and that’s all he needs.

But hearing somebody other than his close friends — his family — speak so highly of him, is…new. And he’d be lying if he claimed not to like it.

Still, Tathaln is clearly beating around the proverbial. Azriel almost doesn’t want the discussion to go any further, because his head is already full to the brim with swimming thoughts and close to exploding. But they’ve come this far already; he may as well learn what his role in this bigger agenda would be.

“What is it you want from me, my Lord?” He asks.

A small smile plays on Tathaln’s mouth. His eyes, yet again, are on Azriel’s shadows, rather than Az himself. “As I said, change cannot be made overnight. It would take years — generations, perhaps. I would need enough males — strong males — backing my cause, before the High Lord would even hear of it. But I am a patient male. I know what I want, what is right for Illyria, and I will do everything in my power to make it happen. Starting with strengthening my camp. Being known as the strongest of all camps. And strengthening my influence, too.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Having your power on my side could be a good thing for me. And I could hone you. I believe this mission starts with you. Abandon Windhaven and take up residence in Fenlaros. Train under my command. Come and see exactly how wasted you are in that place. Come and see what we could build together.”

“You want me to be your pet?” Azriel raises an eyebrow. “Your project?”

“I want to hone your potential and show you what an asset you are. I want Illyrians to be a feared people once more. I want to build the strongest, most powerful army in all of Prythian and make Illyria what it was always supposed to be.”

In the wake of the impassioned speech, silence sweeps in. Azriel is staring at his plate, and he thinks he might be feeling cold all over. There’s a strange tingling at the back of his neck — like a warning sign.

He still doesn’t understand why he’d be integral to such an agenda. He’s a shadowsinger, yes, and that is not to be downplayed, but he’s just Azriel. He’s just an Illyrian who trains to fight, and fights to kill, and to one day be killed. That is simply how it is.

And Windhaven — ugly and cold and harrowing as it is — is his home. His family is there. A cottage that is far too small and cramped to house a group of adults but is always a beacon of light and hope and warmth. A place in which he’s made wonderful memories and felt genuine happiness. He’s happy to tolerate the hellish ways of life around him, because he has beautiful things in front of him.

Beautiful things that wouldn’t follow him to Fenlaros. Yes, he may have broken a rule and breached a camp to attend a party — but doing so under casual circumstances is wildly different to doing so under official ones. As a soldier of Fenlaros — as one of Tathaln’s puppets — he would be expected to adhere to the strict rules and standards that he metes out. Fenlaros would be his territory, and there would be no blurring of those lines.

But could Tathaln really be seeing more potential in Azriel than had ever been noticed before? Could it truly be that Fenlaros has more to offer him? More to be done for him?

“I would be turning my back on everything I know.” Az says, the mere words tasting sour in his mouth. “My loved ones. The family I’ve built. They would be left behind. I’m not under any illusion that you’d allow our two camps to interact if I came here.”

Tathaln dips his chin. “I am not going to sugarcoat that. It would be an adjustment, and a painful one at first. But there is far more for you here, shadowsinger. I simply ask that you consider it. Just as I believe your two brothers would consider it, if I were to present the offer to them.”

“And why haven’t you? Presented it to them? Why me?”

Those dark, calculating eyes swallow him up. “I need a shadowsinger. It starts with you.”

Azriel isn’t even sure what that means, and he doesn’t want to think about it any longer. There’s a lump in his throat. His appetite is well and truly gone. He might even be sick.

He couldn’t possibly leave his family. The thought makes him violently ill.

“As I said, all I ask is for your consideration.” Tathaln watches him. And then his eyes slide to his daughter. “As this meal is clearly over, perhaps Kaeda should show you around Fenlaros. Show you what this place might have to offer. Give the shadowsinger a tour, my sweet.”

Kaeda smiles broadly. “Yes, father.”

Az wants to refuse, but he can’t find the words. Too much is going on in his head. He wants to get out of there and go straight back to Windhaven, where it’s familiar and where love waits for him. He doesn’t want to be a component in a greater agenda.

When he met Kaeda, it was simply about…exploring attraction. About experiencing. Not about this.

But he can’t fucking speak. He stands without telling his body to stand.

And for some reason, when Kaeda slides her hand into his, murmurs a soft “come, Azriel”, he doesn’t protest.

Numb and stunned and sick to his stomach he may be. But he follows.

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Azriel isn’t sure if he’s heard a single word that has left Kaeda’s mouth.

She speaks, and yet it’s simply background noise. He can’t hear around the screeching in his head.

He should really just take to the skies and fly home, but perhaps he’s already a puppet — his feet stay on Fenlaros turf. Kaeda guides him around the camp as though the conversation at dinner never happened. She shows him her favourite haunts and introduces him to people whose names he forgets instantly.

It's up on a viewpoint overlooking the camp, just he and Kaeda alone, that he finally releases a slow, weary breath. He folds his arms against the railing and welcomes the cold air biting into his skin. Kaeda stands just a short distance away.

“We call this area the Widow’s Watch.” She says, daring a step closer. “It’s said that centuries ago, at the end of battle, the camp wives would gather up here with firelit torches and await their husbands’ return. If their husband returned, they’d extinguish the torch. Those that were left burning signified who did not return from war.”

Azriel says nothing; isn’t sure he’s capable. He digs his fingers into his arm.

Eventually, Kaeda stops at his side, also bracing her arms on the railing. She looks out over the camp wistfully, as though she can see hordes of wounded soldiers returning home. “I can’t imagine how eerie that sight must have been — the beacons of the dead painting the sky with fire.”

“No,” the agreement leaves the shadowsinger unexpectedly — surprises even him. “Neither can I.”

It’s then that Kaeda angles herself towards him just slightly. He meets her gaze. She’s so very beautiful — the kind of female that artists beg to paint. Her cheekbones are high and defined, her lips full. Her eyes look like shards of glimmering green rock. Never is there a hair out of place. Never a stray lash or smudged rouge. She is, quite simply, a vision.

But Az finds himself wondering if he’s ever known any part of her, or if she’s just following orders.

“I know you must have questions.” She eyes him cautiously.

“So many that my brain can’t keep up.” He takes a small step away. “Have you ever been genuinely interested in me?”

“I have.”

“Your father literally sent you to cozy up to me.”

Her eyes shutter, thick lashes fanning against her skin. “It wasn’t like that, Azriel. I mean — it was, to some degree. You’re right that my father sent me, and that he already had his sights set on you. I work for him. I’m training as his spymaster.” She opens those eyes again — wide. “Yes, he told me to get to know you. But he didn’t say romantically. That was all me. I just…like you.”

Gods, it should feel good, feel like a positive thing, to hear that. To know that the beautiful female he’s been getting to know these past months has genuine interest in him.

But he feels…nothing. No sense of relief. Only the anger that’s still simmering at this entire thing being orchestrated by her father.

“Does it not bother you?” His tone is brusque, sharp, as he stares Kaeda down. “That your father has you do his bidding? You’re a pawn in a game.”

“My father has a vision. It is an honour to serve him, and to be a contributor to that vision eventually coming to fruition. I will not apologise for that.”

“A vision. To create…to create one fucking super camp that he is to oversee? It sounds to me like your father has a hunger for power. Things have worked this way in Illyria for millennia. Why should they be changed now?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “You’re wrong. Things aren’t working. That’s just the problem.”

“You—”

“Are you proud to be an Illyrian, Azriel?” She steps closer to him; perhaps too close. “I’m not. Not with how things are right now. But I want to be. We are a warrior race. We are supposed to train, and fight, and protect. We’re supposed to be formidable. We’re supposed to be feared. But with the way things are going, fewer and fewer of those things are remaining true. If we don’t change how things are run across these camps and light a fire under our soldiers’ asses, half of our people could be wiped out when the next war comes. The Illyrian race could cease to exist entirely, and our legacy will be left at the mercy of rhyme and tale. We can’t allow that to be the case.”

Azriel studies her.

Her passion is…intense, yes, but also strangely beautiful. There’s a ferocity in her eyes that is so rare among a people who live and breathe misery; whose lot in life is to die.

That doesn’t mean, of course, that he appreciates Tathaln’s scheming, nor Kaeda’s. But they’re not exactly wrong in that ambition is a rare commodity these days. Those who can train for the Illyrian army do so because it’s what is expected of them. Those who aren’t cut out for it make do with everyday jobs around camp. Nobody has pride or passion. Nobody is prepared for war.

So Azriel’s shoulders relax just a little, even though his scepticism remains very much present. “I still don’t understand why I am being scouted for this cause, though. Why not take it to the High Lord? Or why not get Rhysand on side?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “As my father explained, we simply don’t have enough backing to go to the High Lord about this idea — not yet. He knows of my father’s opinion and even agrees that things need to change, but such a complex idea requires careful handling. And conspiring with his son about it would surely not put us in his favour.”

“So…what? I’m the next best thing?”

“After Rhysand, you’re the most powerful, yes. Your influence could aid us greatly. I don’t think you realise how highly coveted you are. Every other camp is aware of the fact that Windhaven has a shadowsinger. And they’re equally aware that your abilities aren’t being put to their full potential under Lord Devlon’s command. Changes will be made whether you accept my father’s offer or not, Azriel. But the changes we’re proposing are the best ones. The right ones.”

“I don’t see what’s right about having to leave my friends — my brothers—”

“Gods, Azriel, just…just take the emotion out of this for five seconds and listen to me.”

Az’s jaw clenches. “I am listening.”

“Then hear me clearly. Change is coming. It’s inevitable. And one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that even if you weren’t to come to Fenlaros, you would still be separated from your friends, or your brothers, or whatever you call them.” She hovers close enough to touch, now, mere inches from him. “One thing I’ve picked up on in Windhaven is that Lord Devlon is very intimidated by the strength of you, Cassian and Rhysand being together. The older you get, the more powerful you’re becoming, and people are growing aware of that. Devlon intends to separate the three of you, and by any means necessary. He can’t risk the threat you pose to him. He’ll tear you apart.”

The information doesn’t surprise Az one bit. He’s sensed a growing panic amongst Devlon and his cronies. They don’t stand a chance against the future High Lord and his two closest friends. And Azriel doesn’t doubt that if physical separation didn’t work, the callous bastards would resort to something far, far worse. Or try, at least.

But still, none of this is making any fucking sense to him. He needs a stiff drink. Or twenty. “How would coming to Fenlaros solve that in any way?”

“Beating Devlon at his own game — separating yourself from your brothers — will lure him into a false sense of security. With you gone, it’ll be one less problem to worry about. He’ll let his guard down. Meanwhile, we’ll be building our influence here and forming a case that can be taken to the High Lord. With his support of our changes, we’ll have the power to do more. And then eventually…eventually, your brothers can join you here. When we have more ground to work on. My father would never begrudge the bond the three of you have. He’d see it as a positive…having three such powerful Illyrians under his command.”

Too much to think about. Way, way too much. Azriel just wants to get out of there. He wants to lie down in a dark room and pretend nothing and no one exists.

But he stares at Kaeda. And he asks, “And what of Y/N? Could she come here, too?”

There’s a very slight hesitance — small, but certainly there. But then she purses her lips, and she shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

He’s not sure she means it. And that…that’s a whole other rabbit hole he’s not sure he can face going down right now. Another situation entirely.

Before he can say anything else, Kaeda closes the gap between them. She cups his face and leans up, close enough that their mouths are almost touching.

“Just think about it. That’s all I ask.” She says. “I really do like you, Azriel. And I really do think we could have something. Think of what we could do here, together. Of what we could be. We could make history. Just…promise me you’ll think about it.”

His lips part with a response he hasn’t even thought of. But there’s no chance to speak it as Kaeda slants her mouth over his and kisses him slowly, softly. Deeply.

Her fingers sink into the strands of his hair, and she breathes a muted hum into his mouth. She tastes like peppermint and sugar, and she kisses as though she hasn’t just laid the weight of the world on Azriel’s shoulders.

And that weight might be why he’s stiff as a board, barely reacting. Or it might be the horrible feeling of dread that this is all wrong. He kissed another female, earlier today — and that kiss had felt like burning, eternal sunshine.

This one feels like…like a ploy.

“Just promise me.” She pulls away just enough to whisper. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

There’s no way he can’t think about it. The seeds have been sown. And perhaps he feels a little slither of guilt for how rigid and cold he currently is, because he doesn’t shoot her plea down like he should.

He sucks in a slow breath and inclines his head.

“Okay.” He says. “I’ll think about it.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The fucking wall is Azriel’s fucking face.

At least, that’s what the fuck you tell yourself as you send a dagger hurtling at it and watch it bury its point into the surface. Another scuff mark to add to the growing smattering, all courtesy of you.

Fuck. Him.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so angry in your life, and Cauldron knows, you’ve had ample reason to. But this anger is…it’s consuming. It’s violent and jagged and nauseating. It’s claws sinking into your heart and your brain and dissecting everything that plagues you in both sleep and consciousness.

And it’s this severe because you care. You care so very much.

You’re sick of caring.

Why would he kiss you, after all that has happened since the last time? To taunt you? To grab your feelings in his fist and twist them? To practice on you?

And to think you almost gave in to that strange, carnal need to have his hands on you again. You cannot — will not — allow yourself to think about which deeper emotion or desire that need is rooted in. Thinking will lead only to realisations that may destroy you yet.

And he’s probably with Kaeda right now, too. Perhaps losing himself in her, forgetting all about you with the aid of her touch—

You scowl and march to the wall, yanking your dagger out. Your anger and your need to just…move, is keeping you warm, at least. Nighttime in the old armoury is about as pitiful as can be imagined, but the relentless cold is actually a strange…relief. It hurts in a satisfying way.

How fucking dare he, your mind chants, not for the first time, as you stalk back to your spot. How dare he treat you as though you’re nothing? You brace yourself and send the dagger hurtling towards the wall once again—

The door is suddenly bursting open, and the weapon only just misses Cassian’s face on its journey as he strides in, arms full of items you don’t care to look at.

He stops abruptly. Blinks. “Did you just throw a dagger at me?”

“No.” You immediately scowl, stalking over to retrieve it yet again. “Fuck you.”

“Ouch. Fuck you right back. I brought blankets and food.”

“Shove them up your ass.”

“I’d really rather not.” He kicks the door shut behind him and strides over to the pile of your scant belongings, dropping his items and freeing his arms. He turns back to you with raised eyebrows. “Is there a particular reason you’re acting like a little storm cloud, or is it just a way to pass the time?”

Finally, you sheath your blade — partly because you’re not sure you trust yourself with it right now. You face your friend, fully aware that you’re out of line and fully resentful of the fact.

“I had an argument with Az.” You admit, not even certain you mean to.

Cassian’s eyebrows raise. “Well, that explains why he nearly bit my head off earlier, too. What did you fight about?”

Do you tell him? Do you confess all your complicated, messed up feelings — the bizarre circumstances that brought them about — when you haven’t even sorted through them yourself? No. You can’t. It’s a bit too soon for that.

“It was…nothing.” You stalk over to your things. “Just nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing—”

“Thank you for bringing me these.” You toe a thick blanket with your boot.

Yet again, Cassian’s eyebrows go up. “Are you hinting at me to leave?”

“Just because I have to face the night in this hovel, doesn’t mean you should be subjected to the same fate. I wouldn’t expect that of you.”

“Well, fucking expect it, because I’m staying—”

“Cass—”

“Come here.” He opens his arms. “Right now.”

You stare at him. And in that instant, with him seeing you — seeing everything you are, everything you’re feeling, what you need — your anger simmers, and it threatens to turn into tears.

“You clearly need a hug.” He points out softly. “And I’ve missed you this past week. So come here.”

In an instant, you crumble. You’re stepping forward and damn near falling into Cassian’s arms. He catches you, just like he always catches you.

His arms band around you, warmer and more secure than any blanket. He pulls you tightly against him, and you allow your arms to snake around his waist. It’s only then that you realise how much you need the firmness of his body to hold you up. He’s like a huge, supporting wall that stops you sinking to your knees.

“I’m so sad.” You whisper, nestling your face into his chest. His scent and his warmth permeate his clothes, and they combine and wash over you in a soothing combination.

“I know.” His broad hand cups the back of your head. “Everything is a huge mess right now. But we’re going to get through it — together.”

You hate that you can’t believe him; not right now. Everything is too up in the air, too uncertain. A dark mass has followed you around this camp for the entirety of your life, and it’s closer than ever to closing in and snuffing out who you are.

“How can you be so sure?” You ask. “I don’t think I have the strength to fight anymore, Cass.”

He pulls back to study you. To cup your face and look into your eyes. “Yes.” He says firmly. “You do. You always have and you always will. There is nothing — nothing — you can’t face. I truly believe that, Y/N.”

Staring back at him feels just like…like the night in the cottage, when you lost yourself in him. Him being there for you, speaking the words that are so hard to believe and yet so what you need to hear. The same urge arises in you to give over to those feelings. Do something for yourself for once.

You think Cassian might read that thought on your face. Perhaps you wear it shamelessly.

He studies you closely — studies you hard. And his throat bobs as his eyes flit down to your lips.

“Y/N.” He says. “Let me make you feel good.”

You swallow, also. And you don’t need to think about it. “Yes.” You nod. “Yes.”

In a flash, he’s closing the gap between you, his mouth finding yours. The hot and heavy weight of his lips is a relief. One that makes you release a soft sigh.

You don’t let yourself think about the fact that you were kissing Azriel in this very building only earlier. Nor about the fact that it could have gone much further than that. Cassian gives you himself, and you take, your hands bunching in his jacket as you haul him against you.

His hand fists in your hair, tilting your face up to him. And as his mouth stains yours with his urgent need, he’s backing you up, walking you back and back until you collide with that very table that Az kissed you on earlier. Cassian picks you up in an easy sweep and places you on the tabletop. He parts your legs and slots himself in between, his mouth never once leaving yours, never once faltering.

Until he parts from you and says, “Lie back.”

With his hand guiding you down, you do just that. You sprawl out on that table, anticipation coiling in your stomach. It warms you from the inside, makes your skin too hot and your clothes too heavy.

Cassian doesn’t mess around with teasing or taunting. He drags his hands over your breasts, your stomach, and down to the laces at your breeches. You don’t care about the cold air. You lift your hips and wish only for him to undo those laces faster. You want your skin bare, and his touch marking it.

“I didn’t get to taste you last time.” Your friend pants, pressing a kiss to your abdomen. “Will you let me now?”

Goosebumps erupt over you skin. You grip onto the edges of the table and breathe, desperately. “Yes. Please.”

So boldly, he yanks your breeches and undergarments down in one go. His fingers find the very centre of you, already soaked, already ready for him. What he finds there makes him groan.

“Here? You’ll let me taste you here?”

“Please.” You pant again. “Just…please, Cass. I need this.”

“I know.” A kiss lands on your skin. “I know.”

His hands drag down your legs at the same time he sinks to his knees. You bow your head forward — just to watch the predatory grace with which he aligns his face with your sex. He licks his lips like you’ve presented him with his most carnal desire.

He inhales slowly — breathes in your scent. A growl rips from his throat.

And then he dives right in.

His tongue licks a stripe up your centre, from your entrance, up to your clit. Your hips buck at the contact, one hand moving to bunch within his hair. As his tongue swirls over your clit, pleasure barrels through you that ends in a cry.

“Your taste is fucking divine.” Cass groans, and his hands pry your legs further apart. He wastes no time in lapping at your juices, damn near fucking drinking you down. He drinks and drinks like a male parched. “Gods, Y/N.”

“More.” You gasp, thrusting your hips towards him. You grind your cunt against his face, and you can’t stop your body jerking, your head lolling back. “Gods, Cass, more.”

“More?” His teeth graze against the sensitive nub. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your mouth. Fingers. You.”

A delicious, sinful chuckle, so incredibly deep and lilting, breaks from Cass and vibrates against you. He lands a harsh suck on your clit. “I love how filthy you are.”

And he shows you how much he loves it, as one finger suddenly gathers up your wetness and teases your entrance. You moan, plead, beg him to slip it into you. He does so at the same time that he fastens his lips to your clit and strokes at it with his tongue.

You feel him smile against you. Your responses seem to provide him with almost as much pleasure as your touch would.

“Just like that.” He growls the words onto you, sliding his finger out and back in — adds a second one. “Take what you need. Fuck my fingers.”

You need this pleasure. This release. He has no idea how much you need it. Nobody does. You need to feel like somebody else, feel like you’re somewhere else. You need to feel something other than…blinding pain.

And so you take what you fucking need, undulating your hips and moving yourself on his fingers, against his tongue. Cassian follows your lead, keeps up with your pace. As your moans pick up, so do the thrusts of his hand.

“Going to come for me?” His hand moves faster. “Come around my fingers?”

“Yes.” You throw your head back. “Fuck—Cass.”

“Come.” He growls. “Want to feel you.”

It’s as if your body is fully under his command, because the words have your climax bursting through your body and chasing you from every negative feeling that’s been plaguing you. It feels beautifully catastrophic, fucking mind-altering. It feels like an out of body experience.

You know, somewhere in your mind, that you’re being loud, but you don’t give a single damn. You welcome your orgasm and allow it to consume you. You allow your loud, gasping noises to echo around the building.

But perhaps it’s the loud volume of those noises that prevents both you and Cass from hearing the door open behind you. Perhaps it’s the heat of your passion that makes you immune to the sudden gust of cold air.

Whatever it is, neither of you notice a third presence until a voice bellows behind you.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, my eyes!”

Both you and Cass rise with a start, you scrambling to cover yourself. A horrified expression stares back at you both.

“Roza.” You both say at the same time. Both blink in shock, too.

Rhysand’s mother covers her eyes with her hand and turns her back to you.

“Please correct yourselves before you traumatise me any more.” She says. “Can’t turn my back on you idiots for five gods-damn minutes.”

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

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andypantsx3 · 3 months

Note

Andy I just had a thought.. Shouto kabedon.. i’m very sane about this

Omg I loooveeeeeeeee this omg!!!!!!! You are a genius!!!!!!! This ask unlocked something inside of my brain; this is barely coherent and unedited but I offer you this heartfelt nonsense in return.

contents: shouto x reader, sfw, implied fem reader, aged-up characters, 1.7k

You tried to ignore it when you first heard Mineta say it.

"Trust me, the babes love it," he'd lisped to his doubtful audience—Kaminari, a befuddled-looking Kirishima, and Shouto, whose face was so impassive you'd actually been under the impression he wasn't listening.

The former members of UA's graduating class of 2X74 were stuffed into Kaminari's new apartment for a party. It was mostly the heroics department, but you'd spotted a few of your fellow general course graduates as you'd passed through the kitchen to grab a drink. You'd come out into the living room to see Mina and Jirou—as well as pretend like you weren't ogling your long-time crush Shouto—but you found you were immediately regretting leaving the safety of that kitchen.

"And you've... done it?" Kirishima asked, eyebrows scrunched.

Mineta made a show of inspecting his fingernails like it was nothing to him—which you seriously doubted. "Trust me, women like assertiveness. This move is plastered all over their romance manga."

You took another sip from your drink. You wanted to pretend like you weren't hearing this, but Mina and Jirou were making it hard, Jirou stone-faced next to you and Mina unsuccessfully trying to filter her gleeful laughter into her own drink.

"Do you think women even know it's a kabedon, if he does it?" she asked, leaning in to whisper.

Jirou looked doubtful.

"He's like, waist height," you whispered back, sighing. "I don't even know if his arm would reach the wall either...?"

"I think it probably looks like he's just trying to hold himself up," Mina said, her grin unholy.

"I pity the woman he's attempted it on," Jirou said drily.

"—you're sure?" Kaminari was saying when you turned back to the boys' conversation, also looking doubtful.

"One hundred percent success rate," Mineta insisted, eyebrows wiggling.

Despite yourself, your eyes slid over to Shouto, like they almost always did, wandering over that handsomely thoughtful expression. It was the thing you liked the most about him—how his angelically beautiful visage was at stark odds with how awkward and kind of strange he was; how he looked like an ice prince but was one of the warmest, kindest people you'd ever spoken to.

You'd been paired for a couple assignments back in school, hung out on the periphery of his Class A friend groups, and had ended up teaching him a fair few things about how to cook and do laundry when he'd asked. He'd even rescued you during one of the many attacks that made up your time at UA together—which was really when your crush hit you full-force.

He'd been so gentle with you, carrying you out of harm's way when your injured leg had crumpled beneath you, and the careful way he'd handled you had been so at variance with the raw, roiling power he'd wielded on the battlefield—the tidal waves of ice that swept up the villains, the towering wall of fire that mercilessly choked off any of their escape points.

You thought Shouto was one of the most gentle, well-mannered men on earth.

He would probably never kabedon someone. He would never need to—people fell all over themselves for him.

"The babes fall right into your arms," Mineta said, raising his voice to encompass the knot of girls stuffed together on the loveseat. "Isn't that right, ladies?"

"I'm going to get another drink, the image of Mineta trying to kabedon me needs to be wiped from my brain," you told the girls, flinging yourself over Mina's legs in your haste to escape.

The kitchen was a welcome reprieve, and you dug around in Kaminari's fridge for another can, letting the cool air wash over you. You studiously ignored that all Kaminari seemed to have in his fridge was a pile of moldering grapes and some mayo.

Can acquired, you briefly considered not going back out into the living room and abandoning Mina and Jirou to their fate. But the pull of Shouto was too strong, and with a sigh you resigned yourself to more of Mineta's lechery.

In the hallway, however, you stumbled into the man himself, coming towards you from the opposite direction. You were struck momentarily dumb by the way the breadth of his shoulders seemed to take up almost the entire span of the hall, the way his fading summer tan looked against the light-blue of his button up. He was so handsome even when he was just walking, it was so deeply unfair.

"Hi Shouto," you said, raising your can in a salute, hoping your voice sounded normal. "Careful in Kaminari's fridge, he's culturing something on his grapes."

Shouto blinked down at you, those beautiful mismatched eyes growing a little wider. "Y/N," he greeted you, though there was a note of something strange in his voice, like there was something weird about you that he hadn't expected.

You wondered if you'd spilled something on yourself like a child, and decided to detour to the bathroom on your way back. How embarrassing.

You gave him a rueful grin, stuffing yourself against the wall so you wouldn't accidentally bump a strong shoulder as you passed, swearing vengeance on your drink if it had betrayed you in this moment—

Except, suddenly there was a hand against the wall in front of you, blocking your passage down the hall. You startled, whipping back around to stare at Shouto, only to find him looming way closer than you had anticipated.

Your back bumped the wall as he crowded you in, his other arm coming up to press against the wall on your other side, caging you inside his reach.

Your mind was so overwhelmed with the sight of him this close—that straight, blade-thin nose, that full, pouty mouth—the light touch of some expensive cologne at his collarpoints—that it took you a second to catch up with what was going on.

Your mouth dropped open when you registered that Todoroki Shouto had just—kabedoned you?—was actively kabedonning you? what the literal fuck—in the middle of Kaminari's hallway.

"Shouto? What—?" you managed, your voice strangled. The air felt like it was resisting you, refusing to be drawn into your lungs.

Shouto's voice was low and intimate as he answered, sending a mortifyingly visible shiver right down your spine. "Is it working?"

You gaped at him, eyes flickering over his serious expression. "Is—what—?"

Shouto shifted even closer, so that his face was a scant two inches from yours. You were suddenly, horrifyingly aware of how close his mouth was, how tall and strong and warm he was over you.

"Do you plan to fall into my arms?" Shouto asked. "Mineta said women liked it."

It was a fight for your life to make the connection over the static in your brain, the lack of oxygen in the air. Mineta had said women would fall for you if you kabedonned them... Shouto was.... kabedonning you.... computation pending...

"You... want it to work?" you asked, words clipped. You felt like any stray movement and your mouth would brush his, and you didn't know if he wanted—it was too strange to think that he might—

"Yes," Shouto replied, his handsome face serious. Those heterochromatic eyes searched over you, trailing over your features like a warm touch. "I want it to. Am I... not doing it correctly?"

Your face heated, and an entire conservatory of butterflies took flight in your stomach. You could not believe what was going on right now.

"No you're—you're doing it right."

Shouto's face was even closer, then, his mouth a whisper away from yours. "Then you have fallen for me," he said, sounding like both a question and a conclusion. He looked like he didn't know what to do next.

You had to suppress a laugh, charmed and mystified and nervous all at once. He was so reliably strange—of course he had taken Mineta's assertions at face value. And he was so straightforward, of course he had implemented the advice straight away. He was so silly, you liked him so, so much.

"I... have," you said, a helpless smile creeping over your lips. "Although it was a while before the kabedon, to be honest."

Shouto blinked, and you could just barely see his mouth grow a little slack in surprise. "Oh," he said, a hint of a shy smile touching his mouth. "Good."

"Yeah. Good," you said, your own grin going wider.

Shouto's eyes dipped down to your mouth, and his eyelashes fluttered. A thrill of anticipation went down your spine, your knees suddenly liquefying, as Shouto leaned back in, and your own eyes fluttered closed.

The press of his mouth was hot and soft—perfect, like you'd always fantasized it would be. He shifted closer, so that he pressed against you, and you had to tilt your head back to accommodate how tall he was, reveling in the strength and the heat of him over you. One of his hands left the wall to thread into your hair as he kissed you, cradling the back of your head like you were something precious, and your stomach swooped in response.

He kissed you boneless, absolutely stupid against the wall of Kaminari's hallway, and it was all your could do to wrap your arms around him and kiss him back. You didn't know how long it was that the two of you stood there, wrapped up in one other. All you knew was you never wanted Shouto's mouth to leave yours again, never wanted to leave the circle of his embrace.

So of course an appreciative whistle broke the two of you apart. You tore your mouth away from Shouto's only to find Mineta standing at the end of the hall, grinning like a wolf. A tiny, lecherous little wolf.

"Nice one, Tododoki," he said, like you weren't even there.

You bristled, stiffening in Shouto's arms as you glanced back at him quickly to measure his response. But the dazed look on Shouto's face pulled you up short, and he looked at Mineta like he wasn't really seeing him.

"You were right," was what he eventually managed. "The kabedon is very effective. Now if you will excuse us, I need to do it again."

A shocked laugh escaped you as Shouto's hand seized yours, and then you were being pulled around the corner into Kaminari's bathroom. Shouto walked you back against the door, an arm coming up just like before, pinning you against the door.

Another pleased laugh was muffled in Shouto's mouth as he took yours again, cupping your face to his. The lock clicked shut behind you.

#shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x you #todoroki x you #character: todoroki shouto

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hersterical · 3 months

Text

I’ve put a little too much thought into atla slang for gay people tonight so here’s this.

Kyoshi Island:

Speaks about sexuality openly on Kyoshi Island but knows to be more careful around outsiders.

“Is she, you know…a student of Rangi?” (gay/lesbian)

“No. But she does follow in the footsteps of Avatar Kyoshi. She prefers the versatility of the fan over the sword or the shield.” (bi)

Water Tribe:

More “traditional” than the other nations so it’s a bit more subtle and reliant on accompanying eyebrow movements, hand gestures, and tone of voice.

“He’d rather go sailing than stay in the village.” (mlm)

“She’s shown some interest in ice fishing.” (sapphic)

“I personally prefer to fish in the same waters as Avatar Kuruk.” (bi)

“He’d rather spend the winter months alone.” (ace)

Earth Kingdom:

“Are you a member of the Flying Opera Company?” (lgbt+)

No one, including the Kyoshi Islanders are aware of the origins of this particular phrase

Fire Nation:

“I’ve dabbled in dragon’s fire before.” (This phrase specifically would be something like ‘I did some experimenting in college’ but the reference to dragon’s fire/breath would mean lgbt+)

“He wears a crown of fire lilies.” (lgbt+)

Even before the hundred year war they were one of the more intolerant of the nations (based on the Kyoshi novels) and they probably only got worse during the hundred year war. I’m sure they would’ve come up with more slang by the time we get to Korra’s time but I’m out of ideas for the Fire Nation.

Air Nomads:

As they are totally open and accepting to all genders and sexualities they wouldn’t feel the need for coming up with specific labels, let alone weird secret codes and slang. When nomads begin exploring the world and start to learn about the other nation’s ideologies and slang and everything they’re always confused but respects the other nation’s traditions and cultures.

bonus

Swamp benders:

Even more open about gender and sexuality than Kyoshi Islanders. They’re super casual and blunt about it without being disrespectful but also not trying to be respectful because why would anyone be disrespectful about this? There’s a polycule consisting of roughly ten people who all connected through an asexual tribe member that each member of the polycule has a qpr with. Darryl over there is interested in folks of all sorts. His spouse is all the genders. Not to be confused with Jim over there who is none of the genders. Not to be confused with Junjun who is the third gender… (etc)

I didn’t do a big deep dive into each nation’s culture and history. This is just from the top of my head and is just for fun. Let me know if you guys have any other ideas!

#avatar the last airbender #atla #kyoshi #rangshi #rangi #avatar kyoshi #avatar kuruk #legend of korra #lok #atla slang #korrasami #zukka #kyoshi warriors

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luvjunie · 6 months

Text

pretty boy earth 1610 miles 745 words

Three gentle taps to the glass pane of your bedroom window alerted you of your frequent nighttime visitor, ten minutes to midnight, like always. Nose abruptly lifting from the book it was tucked in, you quickly set it off to the side on your duvet and smiled at the sight of Miles—still fully suited up where he stood on your fire escape as he gave you an excited wave. Seeing Spider-Man randomly pop up where you live would probably scare the life out of anyone, but you weren’t just ‘anyone’.

With a small grunt and an upwards pull of your window, you were soon face to face with the netted nylon mask of your city’s secret superhero—who wasn’t much of secret to you and your small room.

Miles immediately pulled his mask off so your lips could meet faster: his main focus, aside from the fact that it was thirty degrees out and he was losing feeling in his toes.

“Hey,” he pulled away from you with a smile that nearly rivaled yours, ducking down and climbing through to escape the prickly chill of the November night.

“Hi pretty boy, I missed you.”

He already had his hands on the bottom, ready to shut it when it’d rolled off your tongue like the simplest thing as you pounced back onto your bed. The window came to a screeching halt, literally, when he looked over his shoulder, eyes widened and blinking as if he’d misheard you. Seemingly unaware of the years you just shaved off his lifespan with those two little words, you glanced down at your book that’d flopped closed due to the movement of your mattress. “Damn, I lost my page.” you muttered with a frown.

“H-What?” Miles blinked, eyes remaining on you until he finally remembered to shut the window, softly, and quietly. “What’d you say?”

“I lost my page?” you repeated.

“Before that.”

You tilted your head at him, brows creased to match the confused look you wore. “I…missed you?” you laughed uncertainly, thumb and pointer finger riffling through the pages of your well-loved copy of Hunger Games: Catching Fire. It was a desperate attempt, really, trying to find where you’d left off. You were never one to dog-ear your pages.

“No, no,” He was facing you fully now, the small two strand twists he had in his hair shaking with his head when it moved from side to side. “The other thing.”

You looked away and at your poster clad wall, eyes squinted as they slowly landed on him again. Your voice, quieter than it was before, had a confused lilt to it when you answered again.

“…Hello?”

“Jesus fuc—” Miles nearly smacked his forehead, hands clasping together and pointing towards you instead. “Baby. What did you say after ‘hello’?”

You thought on it for a moment, relaying through the brief interaction. “Oh!” You sat up, calves tucked beneath your thighs and face brightened with an oncoming grin. “Pretty boy?”

“Yeah,” he scratched his head, eyes bouncing on and off your face and canines showing when his top lip raised into something of a shy smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Duh.” You scoffed, as if the answer were beyond obvious. Miles shook his head at you, a puff of air sounding from his nose in the form of amusement.

“Don’t think I’ve heard that one before. Boys aren’t usually called pretty, but I’ll take it.”

Slowly lowering himself, Miles let out an unpleasant groan when his hip touched the ground, far too young to have his joints aching the way they did. Laying down on your sherpa rug, he sprawled out on his back and let his eyes close, like he always did during his night visits. He’d stay for an hour or so, talk with you, get patched up if needed (which was rare), or sometimes take a power nap so he could swing the rest of the way back. And after surveying the city he knew better than to even think about touching your bed. In his outside clothes was bad enough, now his suit? Absolutely not. He was more than satisfied with the floor.

“Yeah, well I think you are.” Laying flat on your stomach, you pressed your cheek to your folded arms and marveled down at your exhausted boyfriend from the height of your bed. “Everything about you is pretty. Like your eyelashes? They’re gorgeous, and for what? It’s lowkey unfair.”

“Aight you’re draggin’ it.” he laughed.

“I’m serious!”

a/n: pretty boys >>>

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#three fics in one week?? 😦#miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse fanfiction #miles morales x fem!reader #miles morales fanfiction #earth 1610 miles x you #miles morales fluff #1610!miles x reader #earth 1610 miles x reader #1610 miles morales x reader #miles 1610 x reader

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lvandrskies · 5 months

Text

— from eden

synopsis: eve found a snake in her garden, and then fell in love with the fruit it offered.

tags: god au, past lives, soul bonds, angst, smut

warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, oral (fem. receiving), corruption kink if u squint, character death

word count: 18.3k

m.list

a/n: if you've read this before, it's because i deleted my old account and then decided to come back. as a disclaimer, religion is pretty broad in this fic. "god" in this fic is not god from the christian/catholic religion. also !! thank u @yeonjunszn for betaing this last year, love u pookie!! <33 [photo creds]. MINORS DNI

❝all the fear and the fire of the end of the world, happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl.❞

When God created the universe, he first created light. He separated the light from darkness and called them “Day” and “Night”. Then He made the sky, separating the water with a dome to keep it in two separate places. Then he made the sun and the stars, weaving his essence to light up his beautiful creation to help guide those who will soon live on it. Then He created animals, for both the sky and the water. He blessed them and told them to live in the sea and the sky, to fill the ocean and the earth with bustling cycles of life.

On the last day, he created humans. He created man and woman, and told them to have children so they may produce their own descendants to walk over earth and bring everything into their control. The first two humans he created were Adam and Eve.

He provided them with an abundance of fruits and grains for them to eat in a beautiful garden he called Eden.

In the garden of Eden, they were to fall in love and create many children. Adam was the first one to fall in love with Eve, and she pliantly went along with it.

But, something in Eve felt… empty. Like Adam was not the one she was to be with. Adam was not the one she was to share this beautiful, vast, garden with. But, she wasn’t sure who she was to share this with. Eve knew she couldn’t delve much more into the unsettling pit in her stomach at the thought of her fate already sealed by Adam’s side, as it was not smart to defy God.

“God knows best,” she would tell herself as she lay with Adam in the garden of Eden.

________________

I’m dying.

If the blood flowing around him wasn’t enough of a tell, or the way his sight blurs in and out. The heavy rain pelting against his dying body is a desperate, yet pathetic, attempt of the universe trying to save him and wash the red sticky liquid away. His breathing is shallow, hitched. He feels the urge to cry, to mourn the life he’s no longer going to be able to have. He was so close to reaching his goals too, and now they’re all washed up and ruined, like trash washing back up on the shores of beaches he visits. Or, in just a short while it’ll be visited.

“I’m sorry, m—” Chan chokes. “Mom. I did everything I could.”

Just as he is about to slip into eternal sleep, a bright light opens up in the sky. It’s blinding, and warm?

Why is it so warm? Is this heaven?

Suddenly an otherworldly amount of pressure is pressing on his body, like the weight of the skies is laying flat along where he lays in the road. The air slowly leaves his lungs, deflating like a balloon that wasn’t tied. His entire body relaxes, and he feels himself being pushed further into his body, into his own mind.

Is this really what dying feels like?

—

Chan wakes up in a hospital room.

His body is aching, and his head is filled with an uncomfortable pressure. Breathing hurts, and he’s sure his ribs are broken. The machine that’s keeping track of his vitals beeps rhythmically, and he lets out a, albeit pained, sigh of relief at it.

He looks up at the ceiling, like he was looking up towards the heavens and thanking whatever God was gracious enough to let him keep living.

“Ah! You’re awake!” A voice says, cheerily. A woman in her late thirties is standing in the doorway. Her slick black hair is pulled into a low ponytail, a few strands falling into her face from being up for what Chan presumes to be hours. “I’m your nurse, Eunkyung. I’ll go grab the doctor.” Chan barely has the chance to respond before the nurse leaves, the sound of her shoes squeaking steadily quieting as she hurries down the hallway.

The doctor follows her into the room a few minutes later, inspecting his eyes and the nasty bruising around his ribcage. “Do you remember your name?”

“Bang Chan,” he answers. “Do you know how I got here?”

“You walked yourself here, do you not remember?” The doctor asks, bewilderment encasing his wrinkled face. “You were a sight to see. I don’t know what kind of God has your back but, you should have died last night. It’s quite literally a miracle.”

Chan’s head pounds at the doctor’s words, and he flinches. He pinches the bridge of his nose as an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

“We’ll keep you here for another day or two to see how you’re feeling. Do you have any family we can call?”

“Oh, uh,” Chan looks down at his scraped hands, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “No, I don’t. My emergency contact should be Seo Changbin, though.”

Changbin does make it up to the hospital that same night, with Han Jisung bounding in right behind him. Changbin and Jisung aren’t one to shy away from theatrics, so when they finally enter the room, the younger of the two is loudly shouting in distress as he practically launches himself onto the bed to lay with Chan.

“Oh, my precious hyung! I can’t believe you almost died!” He wails out, wrapping his arms around Chan’s shoulders and obnoxiously crying out, the sound of his faux wails echoing into the room and piercing Chan’s eardrums and racking his brain even more.

“Ah, Sung. I love you, but please don’t yell. My head feels like it’s splitting.” He whines out, pinching the bridge of his nose once again.

“Yeah, the doctor said you have a pretty nasty concussion,” Changbin says. Chan nods, trying his best to move his shoulders to shake the younger boy off, but to no avail. Han Jisung is glued to his side, no matter how much pain it’s bringing to his ribs, but he eventually decides to give up and relaxes in the younger’s hold. Before he can fully relax, though, boney knuckles are making contact with his bicep, which then makes him groan and lurch up, shooting more pain into his torso. He opens his eyes to see that the worry is wiped clean off Changbin’s features, and instead replaced with a feign look of anger. “You idiot! How could you get yourself hit by a car!” Chan flinches at the rising level in the man’s voice.

“Did we forget that I said my head hurts?” Chan whines. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was crossing the street and then the next thing I know I’m laying in the middle of the road.”

“The doctor said you walked here,” Jisung says. “How did you even manage to do that, hyung?”

“Funny thing is, I don’t even remember doing it.”

—

Chan’s discharged after three days, and given a stern order from Ms. Eunkyung to “take it easy” until his head fully clears. He chuckles to himself, because he knows he’s not exactly going to follow that order.

Not if he wants food on the table.

Speaking of food; his fridge is empty. Save for a stick of butter, a gallon of milk Chan is more than a hundred percent sure is expired, and a singular tomato staring at him pitifully. Even the tomato looks like it’s on its last leg, too. He cringes.

Suddenly, his head starts pounding again. He groans, shutting the fridge door and stumbling to his couch where he throws himself down on it. He lets out a pained whine as the pressure in his head builds, and he’s almost convinced his head is going to explode.

“Am I dying for real this time?” Chan whispers to himself. The pressure feels almost familiar, like how it did when he was dying because soon it’s encasing his entire body again and his eyes slip closed.

—

When Chan awakes again, he feels so far away, like he’s not fully in his body.

He must have taken a harder hit to the head than he thought. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, let alone when he moved to his bed. He thinks maybe he should call Minho over to watch him in case he passes out like that again. Maybe he really is dying this time.

Fuck. This isn’t entirely how he wants to go out. Alone, in his shitty apartment with no one around, barely any food in the fridge and nothing to his name that can be tied to any sort of legacy.

Though, he isn’t surprised he’s dying this way. It’s just his luck.

“Can you stop thinking so loud?”

What the fuck.

That was his voice. But he’s sure he wasn’t talking.

“Oh you mortals and your need to constantly think, think, think!” He feels his palm hit against his temple.

What..

“You’re not dead, kid. Well, not until I leave this vessel,” He says… to himself. He sighs. “I’m a god. Gotta say, you decided to go and get yourself killed at just the perfect time too. I didn’t even have to find you.”

What?!

“Don’t yell! You echo in my head and it’s giving me a headache!” The god scoffs, rubbing at his temples. “I’ll explain it to you in a second I just…” just then, Chan’s stomach growls and the god groans. “I’m fucking starving. When’s the last time you ate? You mortals love treating your bodies like shit.”

I ate… Wait, what time is it?

“It’s the next morning,” the god responds.

The next morning?!

“Yes! Gods, stop yelling!” Cato shrieks, gently knocking his fists on the top of his head in an attempt to quiet the human in their shared consciousness. “You were out for quite a while. I was convinced I completely shoved you out of your body. Just my luck I got someone who holds on, though. Tsk.” Chan watches as the god moves his body to sit up in his bed, swinging his legs over to firmly plant them on the ground. He groans, his body is sore and his joints are aching. Chan groans too, still able to feel everything. Just a little more dulled, but he still feels that incessant knot in his neck he’s never been able to get rid of. “You really let this thing get this rickety? How old are you?”

Twenty five.

“So young,” the god says, an almost mournful tone in his voice as he stretches his (their?) arms above his head. He walks out of the tiny bedroom and into the main apartment. “Cute place,” he chuckles. Chan doesn’t respond, as he watches the god look around the small apartment and take in everything. The god’s curious gaze lands on his stack of records, old vinyls he’s collected since he was about fourteen. “Nice collection.”

Thanks. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?

“After I feed myself,” the god quips. “So impatient.” He rolls his eyes as he makes his way into the kitchen. Chan doesn’t miss the grimace that paints across his face as the god stares at the stack of dirty dishes in the sink.

Don’t roll my eyes at me.

“I’m piloting this plane right now, so they’re my eyes.” The god snaps.

Can you at least tell me your name?

“Cato,” the god responds as he opens the fridge. Cato lets out an indignant sound at the sight. The same stick of butter, expired milk, and pathetic tomato are glaring back at them once again. “You have no food, you useless man! How are we supposed to eat!”

I haven’t had the time to go grocery shopping.

“How have you not died earlier?” Cato asks, sarcastically.

You’re so not funny.

“It’s still a sensitive topic, I see,” Cato quirks his eyebrows. “Where can we get food?”

There’s a convenience store down the street I usually go to when I’m in between groceries.

“Is this your definition of in between groceries?”

Shut up. I’m a busy guy.

Cato doesn’t respond as he goes and gets himself dressed. He pauses putting on the tee shirt he chose to look in the mirror the human has hanging on his wall. He’s bruised heavily on his torso and his face is scraped up. He and the god both grimace at the damage done to his body. “How did you even manage to do this?”

It’s not like I was playing chicken with the car. It just happened.

“You got hit? And they didn’t take you to the hospital?” Cato presses down on the bruise along his ribcage, which sends a sharp pain to crawl up his spine. Chan whimpers quietly in his head at the touch. Cato whimpers out loud. “That’s why I had to walk us there myself.”

That’s usually what entails in a hit and run. Stop touching it! That hurts. Wait – you were the one that took me to the hospital?

“Yeah. I was in a lot of pain… You can feel that?” Cato asks, eyebrow raised as he looks in the mirror. He presses on it again. Chan lets out a whine.

Yes. It hurts. A lot. My ribs are broken. I don’t know if you remember, but that’s what the doctor said. At the hospital. That you walked me to.

“You lost a lot of blood last night,” Cato says. “I don’t know how I managed to heal your cracked skull but not the bruises and your ribs. But also, this isn’t just your body you stupid mortal. It’s mine, too.” Chan sighs, annoyed.

Maybe they weren’t life threatening?

“No, it’s not that,” Cato murmurs. He places a finger on his chin, eyebrows scrunched as he racks his brain (or, his borrowed brain) for an answer. His stomach growls again. “Oh, man. I can barely think. Food first, everything else later. Oh, and try not to talk to me. I don’t wanna look like a weirdo talking to myself on the street.”

You could just not respond out loud.

Go fuck yourself.

Walking to the convenience store was quick. The cold winds nip at Cato’s nose, painting it a delicate shade of red by the time he enters the store. The heat from inside the building wraps him in a hug, thawing his frozen nose and hands as he steps in almost instantly. The store itself is small, maybe four aisles at best with a line of freezers and fridges lining the back wall. There’s a table with a microwave and two two-seater tables next to it.

Cute.

The old lady that owns it gives me a discount because I help her stock sometimes.

That’s called a job.

I don’t work here.

But you do — whatever I’m not arguing with a stupid mortal.

Didn’t know God can get hangry.

I’m not “God”, I’m a God. Did you not hear me when I made that exact distinction when you woke up earlier?

I see I’ve hit a nerve.

It’s like if I called you an animal when you’re a human. It’s rude.

To whom?

To me! And to the big man himself, but that’s not who we’re concerned about right now.

Sorry, God.

Are you not going to apologize to me?

No.

“Fucking mortals.” Cato whispers under his breath as he walks the aisles.

I heard that.

You were meant to!

“Chan?” a soft, pretty voice speaks out from next to him. Cato whips his head to find a girl. She has a look of uncertainty on her face, but once she realizes it actually is who she thought, a bright smile paints across her angelic face. “Hey! Missed you in class yesterday.”

Cato stands there, shell shocked. His mouth drops open and he’s standing there, gawking at her for a full ten seconds. For some reason, after seeing this girl, a hole feels as if it’s torn open in his chest, where his heart should be. It’s painful. Raw, carnal pain shoots through his chest and it makes his eye twitch.

Answer her, idiot! Don’t make me look stupid!

“Oh!” Cato sounds out, plastering a nervous smile on his face. “Hey, you…”

Y/n. Her name is y/n.

Y/n. Why does that sound so…familiar?

“Hey?” You say, confusion lacing your voice. The confusion is wiped away once your eyes settle on the scrapes along his jawline and eyebrow, concern replacing it instead. An attentive hand reaches up and carasses against his cheek, and both Cato and Chan have stopped breathing. They both can feel how their cheeks heat up at your touch. Cato has half a mind to flinch away, and he does. Your hand retracts immediately, your mouth pulling to the side in regret for accidentally hurting him. In truth, you didn’t touch him. But the heat of your hand so close to his skin felt as if it was burning. Your pretty eyes are filled to the brim with worry, and you ask, “What happened to your face? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just took a pretty nasty fall last night,” Cato responds, sheepishly. He scratches the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile. “That's why I wasn’t in class yesterday. Had to go to the hospital and get my head checked out.”

“Oh, that’s awful! I’m glad you’re okay, though!” You respond, your bright smile coming back to your face, though it is tainted with worry still. “Since you missed class, we were partnered together for a project. Maybe we can meet and I can go over the notes and the project with you? Or I can just… send them to you.”

Tell her we can meet tonight.

What happened to ‘taking it easy’?

Chan only laughs in response.

“I’m down to meet you tonight, if that’s okay.” Cato smiles down at you.

“Yeah, for sure!” You chirp. “I’ll see you at your studio tonight, then? I get off work at seven!”

Studio?

Y/n and I major in music production.

“Cool, I’ll see you there.” Cato responds. You give him a wave goodbye, making your way up to the cashier to check out your things. Cato was so in shock he didn’t even notice you were carrying anything.

His stomach growls. He groans quietly.

For someone who had such a sense of urgency over eating, you sure are taking a long time to get something to eat.

Will you shut the fuck up?

________________

❝i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door.❞

As Eve bore child after child for Adam, for the earth, that pit she so desperately tried to bury in her stomach grew bigger. More insistent. She watches as more and more of her children experience many things she didn’t get to; exploring, meeting, falling in love with who they choose and so on and so forth.

As much as she hates to say it, let alone even let it into her heart, she resents her children. She resents Adam. She resents the life that the strings of fate have weaved for her, as she watches her children experience the freewill that God gifted them. Yet she and Adam are forced to simply be their means to an end, to push their future generations along so the human race may flourish.

As she sits in the garden, weaving a crown of flowers and singing a song she does not think has been orchestrated yet, the stream she sits in front of singing quietly with her, a snake slithers up to her. It’s beautiful brown scales and equally as beautiful brown, slitted eyes glint etherally in the early morning sun. She extends a gentle hand towards it, its forked tongue stretching out to slide across her fingers curiously. She giggles at the ticklish sensation, watching with her own curiosity as he climbs up her forearm and upwards so its head rests gently against her naked shoulder.

She goes back to weaving the stems, the soft melody she hums lulling the snake to sleep against her shoulder.

________________

So, I’m… your vessel?

“Correct,” Cato responds, watching the electric kettle impatiently. Cato had finally decided on food after you left, a bowl of ramen and a couple seaweed snack packages he managed to find in Chan’s desolate cabinet. Seriously, why doesn’t this guy have any sense of care for himself? “Every God and angel has a vessel on earth in case we need to come down.”

Can you just not come down in the way you look?

“No. Our heavenly form will drive an ordinary person insane,” the god lets out a small noise of glee once the kettle settles, indicating it’s finally done heating the water. Humans, as stupid as they can be sometimes (he’s looking at Chan, specifically), they sure have made quite a few amazing inventions. Just like this kettle. He’s absolutely enamored with it. “We originally weren’t supposed to have access to earth. We were just supposed to observe from the heavens.”

But?

“But, there’s just some things the Big Man dangles in front of you and you take the bait,” Cato pours the water in the bowl of ramen, watching as the spices he added immediately dissolve in the scolding liquid. He chuckles in amusement to himself as he recloses the paper lid, laying a pair of chopsticks over it to keep it closed. “Hey, how long should this sit for?”

Like two or three minutes. What do you mean by bait?

“A lot of god’s fell in love with mortals on earth,” Cato answers. “You ever read any Greek mythology stories? Apollo and Hyacinthus. Eros and Psyche. So on and so forth.”

I mean, yeah, but, I didn’t think they were real or anything.

“Oh, they’re definitely real,” the god chuckles. “Apollo and I are friends, actually.”

No way! So, like, is every God from every religion real, then?

“Yeah.” Cato shrugs. He takes the chopsticks off and rips the paper cover off of the bowl, excitedly using the chopsticks to stir the broth and noodles around.

So, why did you come to earth?

Cato pauses. He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen like an idiot, frozen in real time as he stares dumbfounded into the bowl of noodles. Why… Why did he come to earth?

Hello? Earth to Cato? Your food is gonna get cold.

“Oh, right,” Cato shakes his head to rid him of his internal struggle. “I… I don’t know why I came to earth. I don’t seem to remember.” He manages to make his way to Chan’s kitchen table, which is just a small round table with two rickety chairs in the corner of his living room.

So do vessels usually die before god’s possess them?

“No, not usually – ah! Fuck, that’s still hot,” Cato whines, sticking his burned tongue out and waving air onto it with his fingers. Chan’s laugh echoes in his head, and he makes an offended noise from the back of his throat as he continues fanning his tongue.

So, me dying the same time you came down was just… pure luck?

“Yeah,” Cato makes sure to blow cold air onto the noodles this time. “I mean, lucky for me. Not so much for you.”

What’s gonna happen when you leave?

“You’ll probably die.”

But you healed me? Shouldn’t that stay when you leave?

Cato shrugs. “Don’t know. You’re technically not even supposed to be conscious like this, either. I’m supposed to have full control of your vessel if I possess it.”

Comforting.

It’s silent after that. Cato is grateful Chan has stopped playing twenty questions. It gives Cato’s one track mind a way to fully focus on his food and not about the fact that he does not remember why he’s even here in the first place. But it’s not like he can just go back up to the heavens and ask someone. As annoying as he is, he quite likes the human that’s his vessel. It’s a shame that once the god is done on earth, Chan’s fatal wounds will most likely come back full force.

Cato hopes he’s able to leave fast enough to not have to witness it.

After Cato ate, Chan was insistent on switching when it came time for his meet with you later in the evening. It took a lot of bickering back and forth, but once Chan got it through the stubborn god’s head that you would know something was off with him (that didn’t have to do with his head injury) the second Cato opened his, in Chan’s words, “big dumb mouth”.

“Why do we have to pass out to switch?” Chan asks as he steps out of the shower.

Do you always have this many questions? Gods, I feel like I’m speaking to a toddler.

Chan copies his words in a silly voice, rolling his eyes as he does so. “Sue me for wanting to know how to work my body with someone else camping in it.”

The way you said that just sounds so… weird.

“And a god possessing a human body is just a regular Tuesday, right?” the human jokes.

For us, yeah.

“Shut the fuck up, Cato,” Chan chuckles, shaking his head in faux annoyance. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and runs his fingers through his thick curls. For some reason his stomach is buzzing at the thought of being in his studio with you.

Why are you so nervous to see y/n?

Chan’s cheeks heat up. “I’m not,” he mutters.

You know I can feel everything, right?

Chan doesn’t respond, too afraid that his voice might way to just how flustered he is. It’s true he finds you very attractive, and your personalities mesh well together. You both have a lot in common and since the day he met you he’s felt a weird, otherworldly pull towards you. “You said her name was familiar to you. Why?” Cato doesn’t respond for a minute, and Chan almost wonders if the god even heard him ask. “Cato?”

I… I don’t know. Just when you said it it just felt like deja vu for some reason. How long have you been friends?

“Since she started college,” Chan replies. “She’s like two years below me.”

Chan doesn’t miss the weird boulder that settles in his stomach. But for some reason, it feels distant. Like it’s not his boulder.

________________

❝apollo showed me the sun. told me not to fly too close or else i would be one with the people on the land.❞

The snake visited Eve in the garden everyday, in the same spot, resting its head on her naked shoulder as she weaved crown after crown of flowers every day, humming the same tune. It became a routine, and then it became something for Eve to look forward to. She finally had something for herself! Adam was out every day for most of it hunting so Eve spent a lot of time with this serpent.

She couldn’t place her finger on why, but when she was alone, weaving her flowers, with the snake on her shoulder, she’d talk. Like word vomit, she vented about her unhappiness in the garden and her jealousy towards her children being able to explore the vast earth and experience things she will never have the privilege to. For she was cursed to stay here, day after day, weaving her flowers in the garden, and bearing more and more children for a man she felt absolutely nothing for. Even the garden, once vibrant and vast to Eve, was now growing dull and shrinking in on her. She feels trapped, she’d say. Her world was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Why me?” She asked the snake one day. “Why did I have to be the first one made? Why do I have to carry this responsibility? Why wasn’t I asked first? Where’s my freewill?”

The snake nuzzles its head, like it was gesturing that it was listening to her. “I wish you were a person,” Eve whispered. “Maybe then I’d have someone who gets me.”

The serpent nuzzles its head again. Eve’s eyes well with hot tears.

She’s so lonely.

________________

Chan is reeling.

It’s hotter in his studio than usual. It’s definitely not because you’re alone with him in his studio and for some reason that’s making him more flustered than usual. Definitely not. He’s definitely not noticing the perfume you used, or the way your fingers flit over your laptop keys almost elegantly, the click of the keys echoing in his ears. He also most definitely was not looking at how your thighs look sitting in his extra chair, or how your dainty necklace falls on your neck, the charm brushing against the low collar of your tee shirt.

You’re sweating profusely right now. Calm down, you pervert.

Shut up, Cato. I feel like I can barely breathe right now.

Yeah, I know. That’s why I said calm down, pervert. Did you not hear me?

“Are you okay, Chan?” You ask him, concern washing over your pretty features as he tugs on the collar of his shirt for the fourth time in thirty seconds. “Do you want to cut this short and meet another day? You don’t look so good.”

Chan all but stops breathing when your delicate hand reaches up and presses gently against his forehead. Your hand is cold, and it works to cool his heated skin almost immediately. His eyes fall close, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “No, I’m okay,” he says, opening his eyes again and giving you a gentle smile. He watches as your cheeks flush the slightest bit. “Just needed a second is all.”

“Let’s take a break, yeah?” You say, closing your laptop as an excuse to not look at him for a second. Chan nods, and then it’s quiet for a minute. Neither of you know how to act around each other. Sure, you were friends but you weren’t best friends. Chan and you also never really hung out one on one, it was really always you, Chan, Changbin, and Jisung or anyone else in your classes. While he didn’t consider everyone to be his friends, always keeping to his close knit circle, he did know a lot of people, and those people also happened to know you. So it was never the right time to get to know you. “So… Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?” You puff your cheek out, shyly. Chan can’t help but let the smile stretch across his face.

“What’s there about me you wanna know?” He asks. Your cheeks flush again, and you scramble to keep your hands busy, opting to twirl your pen between your fingers.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “We’ve known each other for so long but I don’t think we’ve ever really had the chance to actually know each other.”

He nods. “You’re right,” he sucks in a breath, letting his gaze fall towards his desktop as he thinks of what to tell you. “Well, I was born in Australia.”

“Yeah, I know that,” you giggle. “You and Felix talk about it all the time. What’s it like there?”

“Hot,” he chuckles, shrugging. “It’s beautiful, really. All my family is still there so there’s… like this part of me that’s still there with them, if you get what I’m trying to say.” Chan lets out another breathy laugh, suddenly embarrassed.

“I think I do,” you say, nodding your head. “Like a piece of you is missing because it’s back home?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Chan says. “I miss it sometimes.”

“I bet. It must have been hard moving here all by yourself.”

“I mean yeah, but… I don’t know, as much as Australia is my home, this is also home, you know? I love what I do and I’ve found my people. So it makes up for the part of me I left at home,” you both nod along to his words, small smiles shyly turning up your mouths. “What about you?”

“Well,” you sigh, still twiddling with the pen. Your leg starts shaking. “I’m from here.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Chan copies your words, which brings out a giggle from you. His heart lurches.

I felt that.

Shut up.

“I don’t know, I…” you trail off, letting yourself think of what you wanna say. “My moms a school teacher and my dads a realtor, so we’re well off on my dad’s money. They’re kinda the… traditional, married at nineteen, had me at twenty, church every sunday, and have a certain plan for their daughter kind of people.”

“And?”

You shrug. “For the most part I went along with what they wanted me to do. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect boyfriend that I’ll one day have to marry and continue the cycle,” Chan doesn’t miss the way his eye twitches at the mention of a boyfriend. “But, I really rocked the boat when I said I wanted to go into music production.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s… Well they say it’s unrealistic,” you sigh. “I’ve always loved music, and when my perfect, middle class family life got to be too much pressure to uphold, it comforted me. I taught myself all the instruments I know.”

“Impressive.” He chuckles.

“Right?” You giggle along with him. Chan decides he really likes that sound. “But, they expected me to almost go into something… I don’t know, easy? Something that will let me rely on Seojun when we eventually get married.”

“Do you want to get married?” Chan asks, eyebrow raising a little. Your fingers stop twiddling with the pen and your leg goes still for just a second before it picks up again.

“Honestly? No,” you say. “It’s just not something I feel like is for me. Of course, I want to spend the rest of my life with someone but I don’t need a piece of paper or an expensive ring to solidify that I love them and they love me.”

“How long have you been with Seojun?” Chan almost feels the bile that coats the man’s name as he says it.

“Three years,” you answer. “My dad is business partners with his dad and we met at a company party and it just kind of… I don’t know, happened.” You shrug.

“Is he in college too?” You nod your head yes.

“He’s in finance,” you glance over at him. “He’s actually almost done. He’ll be working under his dad after he graduates. His dad is also paying for his real estate classes after he graduates so he can sell commercial properties.”

It’s quiet again, and your leg is still shaking. Your face, now pointedly looking away from him, holds a sort of… loneliness. And almost a hint of regret for even saying what you did out loud.

Don’t ask that.

“Can I ask you a question?” Chan interrupts the heavy silence, and pointedly ignoring Cato’s warning. You hum, letting yourself look at him again. The loneliness he saw on your face floods your eyes. It’s almost overwhelming. “And you can tell me if I’ve crossed the line and we’ll never talk about this again.”

Don’t ask that.

“What is it?”

“Do you… like Seojun?”

And you asked it. I cannot believe you.

Your face falls, but it doesn’t morph into anger like he thought it would. You don’t yell at him, or tell him to mind his business and storm out. He doesn’t know why he was expecting you to lash out at him like that, though. Call it anxiety, he guesses. Instead, that loneliness intensifies — if that was even possible. You’re quiet for a minute, almost like you were deciding to lie to him or if you were about to spill something he’s not sure he — or you — would know what to do with.

“He’s nice,” you settle on. “We don’t have that much in common, but he treats me well.”

I don’t like that answer.��

Neither do I.

Chan only nods, though.

“Should we get back to it, then?” You ask, your mouth turned into a tight lipped smile.

“Yeah.” He smiles.

You both delve into a rhythm of bouncing ideas off each other, and the building almost obsessively on the idea you both really like. Chan doesn’t know why he hasn’t worked with you before this, you’re so smart and your ideas are so unique and full of life. He can really see your love for music and the creative process behind making it. His heart flutters a bit at the thought that you both share this pure love for music in the same way.

“Do you wanna maybe meet again tomorrow?” You ask as you pack up your stuff. By the time you both decide to call it quits, it’s nearing one in the morning. He walks with you to your dorm, and he can’t help but smile shyly at the hopeful look in your angelic eyes. You're holding onto your tote bags strap that sits comfortably on your shoulder. He sees you shiver a little, and then only notices the pathetic little jacket you decided to wear despite it being less than forty degrees outside. He fights giving you his jacket. He would, normally without hesitation, but after learning you have a boyfriend he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, no matter how cute he thinks you would look swimming in his hoodie.

Down boy, down.

Will you stop?

I’ll stop when you stop being such a male.

“We can go to the cafe on campus after class,” Chan suggests. You nod, giving him a bigger smile at his words. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you say. Your eyes glint with excitement as you nod your head. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Will do.” He reassures you as you open the main door to your dorm and walk in. He waves to you from outside and then steps off the porch, walking down the lit walkway, unable to erase the smile from his face.

You like her.

“Shut up,” he sputters out. “She’s always been in my sights, and I always thought she was cute. We just never had the chance to bond like that before. Changbin or Jisung are always usually with us, or my other friends.”

Too bad she’s someone else’s.

Chan rolls his eyes. Quietly, though, he wonders what would have happened had he met you before you met Seojun. Would you be his? Would you be happier with him?

Cato heard those too.

________________

❝didn’t know my world was dark until you came.❞

Eve sits in her usual spot, weaving her flowers once more. It’s another day, but this time she’s by herself. The snake hasn’t showed up yet, but she hopes it's on its way now. She tries not to let herself get too upset over not having her usual companion today, but she can’t help it. This newfound routine of her weaving flowers and talking to the snake while he rested peacefully on her arm has brought her more happiness than anything else in the garden – even the entire world – could.

So when a day turns into two, and then turns into three, then seven, her mood worsens. Even Adam, as unobservant as he is, noticed her change in mood. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong though, of course he doesn’t. As much as he claims to love her, to cherish her with his entire earthly being and his heavenly soul, he never seems to notice her until he wants to bend her over in the grass and give her another baby. Or two. Or three.

On the eighth day, when Eve is back at her favorite spot, weaving flower stems, a frown on her lips, a man approaches from out of the brush. It’s a man she has never seen before, but he is beautiful. Chocolate brown eyes and pretty brown hair to match with them, he gives her a gentle smile. “Hi,” he says. “You might not recognize me.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Eve says, on guard. She’s covering her body, cautious. “You’re not one of my children. So who are you?”

“I– I’m the snake,” he says. “My name is Cato. I’m a god.”

“Cato,” Eve repeats, the name swirling around her tongue pleasantly. “That means all-knowing.”

“Yes.”

“So, why did you come to me as a snake and not as yourself, Cato?” She asks, sitting up straighter against the tree behind her. “Why not show yourself to me from the start instead of deceiving me?”

“Forgive me, my dear,” he bows his head in apology. “I did not have an earthly body, and my heavenly form would have scared you. I transformed myself into a snake to meet you, and until my earthly body was ready. I am sorry for tricking you.” His eyes, his beautiful eyes, shine with genuine regret.

“What do you want from me?” She asks.

“Forgive me if I sound weird,” he starts. “But I was there when God made you. You are so beautiful, I will never understand how he did not make you an angel. Alas, I fell for you. And then before I could say anything, he sent you down here with Adam. And I had no way of meeting you anymore.”

“You…” she trails off. “Fell? For me?”

“Yes, my angel,” he says, walking closer and settling himself on his knees before her. “I fell for you. You have my heart. And if you let me, I would love to have yours.” The god takes her delicate hand into his, running his thumb over her knuckles. His hands engulf hers, long, spindly fingers holding hers with such love, such gentleness that she’s never felt from Adam’s rough, calloused hands.

She finds her heart fluttering at his honey coated words.

________________

When Chan gets home from dropping you off at your dorm, he remembers to send you a quick text before he retires into bed.

When he sleeps that night, he dreams. He dreams of him, in an earlier time, walking with you through a beautiful garden.

Your cream colored dress encases your body so elegantly, and the way you wore your hair out of your face yet still cascading down your back makes you look so… ethereal. Your arms are linked together, and he can’t help but stare at the side of your angelic face as you giggle at something he says. “You are a character, Mr. Bang,” you say in between giggles. “I sure am glad you came home from the war, alive and healthy.”

“I am too,” he says, his own smile unable to leave his face. “It’s just a shame I couldn’t marry you before I left. I hope Lord Emroy is treating you well, though, and giving you everything you could ever want.”

Your smile falters, and your gaze flitters away from him. Loneliness fills your pretty eyes and you quiet for a second. “He does treat me well, Chan,” you glance up at him for a quick second before your eyes cast down to the ground once more.``But that does not mean I am happy with him.”

“I see,” is all he responds with, his own smile falling.

“Why did you not marry me?” You ask, voice wavering.

He sighs, stopping your walk and placing himself in front of you. He takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “I wanted to marry you, I still want to marry you. But, I could not let you wait for me, for if I were to not have come back, I would have made you a widow, and you did not deserve that. You are beautiful, Y/n. And you deserve to have the chance to have a long, healthy, and loving marriage.”

“My marriage is anything but loving,” you say bitterly, tears welling in your eyes. “Sure, he doesn’t belittle me like other husbands, but it is not a marriage forged out of love, Chan. It was a business transaction. I was property he wished to buy,” a single tear falls down your cheek, down your neck and soaking through the neckline of your gown. His heart breaks at seeing you cry. He cups your face, letting his thumb wipe the tears falling from your eyes away.“He will never love me the way you did.”

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“I would have waited for you,” you continue. “I would have waited lifetimes for you.”

He wakes up in the morning, confused. The sadness he felt within the dream stays with him as he gets ready for the day, unable to shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. It’s uncomfortable, and he tries to get it to go away by saying to himself in the bathroom mirror, “it’s just a dream. Why are you so upset about it?”

Upset about what?

“Oh,” Chan says, startled by Cato’s questioning voice in his head. “Just… A weird dream. It’s nothing.”

Whatever you say, human.

Chan doesn’t respond, brushing his teeth in a tense, perturbed, silence.

—

Classes were dragging. He’s unable to fully pay attention to what his professors are saying because he can’t get the dream out of his head. Why did it feel so… real? And familiar? Like it's actually happened before? And the loneliness in your eyes from the dream matched the loneliness he saw in them last night when you were talking about Seojun.

Your thinking is echoing and it’s annoying me. What was the dream about?

A nicer way of asking “what’s wrong” is just asking what’s wrong, you know.

Chan’s eyes roll, but he doesn’t do it himself.

Don’t roll my eyes for me, I’m the one in control right now.

Sorry, I just had to show you my annoyance somehow.

This time, Chan does roll his eyes.

“Hyung?” Minho whispers from next to him, tapping his pen against the older man’s forearm. “Are you okay? You keep rolling your eyes.”

Damn, were they that dramatic?

Roll your eyes quieter next time, idiot.

You’re the idiot.

“I’m okay,” Chan reassures quietly. “Just trying to keep them from falling shut.”

“Did you not get enough sleep again? Do I need to start coming over and knocking you out?” Minho balls his hand into a fist, and it takes everything in Chan to not laugh at his friends' antics. Before he can respond, though, their professor clears his throat in annoyance, giving them a glare from his spot in front of the lecture hall. They exchange embarrassed glances before going back to listening to the lecture.

He quickly makes eye contact with you from a few seats in front of him, and he watches in amusement as you scramble to face completely forward, flustered that he caught you staring at him. He exhales a laugh at your antics, shaking his head slightly as he goes back to typing on his laptop.

Cute.

Yeah.

After class ends, and Chan’s packing up his stuff, you walk up to him, your tote bag over your shoulder, giving him a shy smile. “You ready?”

Minho wiggles his eyebrows at Chan, and he tries not to notice how his cheeks flush at his younger friends' antics. “Yeah, let’s go,” he responds. He turns to Minho, who’s giving him a raised eyebrow. “See you around, Min.”

“Yeah,” the younger male responds. “Bye, y/n!” He waves her a goodbye, of which you copy quite excitedly. The corner of Chan’s lip turns up into a small smile at your antics towards the other male. He knows that out of their whole group, you seem to be closest with Minho and Hwang Hyunjin, always seeing you three together in passing. He wonders if you two will start getting closer, even after the project is finished. He hopes so. He doesn’t think he can go about just being casual to each other – especially after last night's conversation.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Your voice breaks through his thoughts, causing him to shake his head a bit in response.

Good going, idiot.

Shut up, Cato. As if you’ve done any better with her. Remember the convenience store?

This isn’t about me right now.

He fights rolling his eyes. “No reason,” he answers you. “Come on, let’s get some coffee.”

The cafe he took you to is the one right across the street from the building your class was held in. It used to be a house, now repurposed as a cafe, and it has the perfect homey feel to it to help you feel comfortable and relaxed as you picked a seat in one of the upstairs rooms that has a couple tables in each of them for a little more privacy. The morning sun is shining brightly into the window, and Chan can’t help but let out a small chuckle to himself as he watches the way you squint from the sun as you try and look out the window. “Should I close the blind?” He asks as he sits across from you, pushing your tea to your side.

“No,” you say as you happily pick up the cup. You blow on your tea to cool it down, and Chan can’t help but let his smile grow at the way your cheeks puff out dramatically when you blow on the drink. “I like sunbathing. Minho’s cats and I will lay on our bellies together in front of the big windows in his living room.”

“I’d love to see that sometime,” he laughs out. He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks flush and you giggle shyly in response. “I’m sure Min has a plethora of pictures of it.”

“Don’t tell him I told you but,” you start, taking a sip of your tea. “He joins us.”

“Somehow I really don’t doubt that.”

You fall into a rhythm once more over your project, and after a couple hours, you both decide to take a break.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” You ask him out of nowhere, now sipping on a second cup of tea. Chan chokes on his coffee, but he quickly covers it up by clearing his throat.

Cato laughs. Nice one.

Shut the fuck up, Cato.

“No, I’m not,” Chan answers, taking a more cautious sip now. “I’ve never actually been in a serious relationship.”

“Oh?” you say, quizzically. “So, you’ve never had a girlfriend?”

“No, I have.” He answers, his cheeks heating. He doesn’t understand why he’s so flustered with your questions, even if they did come out of nowhere. Well, he does understand why. He just doesn’t wanna say it out loud.

They weren’t y/n, though, right, Channie boy?

Cato, I swear to God.

Don’t bring the Big Man into this.

“But?” You inquire.

“But,” he copies. “They just didn’t work out. We wanted different things.” He shrugs, and you nod in understanding. “Why the sudden interest in my love life, y/n?” The teasing lilt to his voice causes you to stammer out, falling (rather cutely) over your words, trying your best to come up with a reason. Chan chuckles at the rattled expression on your face.

You know why she’s asking.

I don’t.

Don’t be stupid, Chan.

Chan fights a scoff at the god’s words, not wanting to give you the wrong impression. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to explain who’s camping in his consciousness with him without taking a trip to the nearest psych ward.

‘Man claims God lives in him’ has been a headline I’ve seen too much in the time humans have existed.

I wonder why.

Before Chan can continue the conversation he has with you (more like redirect it so he doesn’t have to admit to his commitment issues), something – or someone – catches your attention from behind him. The way your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and a flash of disdain that goes away as fast as it showed up cause Chan to turn around. A man is seating himself in the room across the hall, a blonde girl at his side as they laugh at something the man says. He turns back around to see that you’re still looking at them. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, that’s Seojun,” you say. Chan’s stomach drops, turning back around at the exact time Seojun turns to look at the two of you. Something flashes across the other man’s face, but it’s gone before Chan can even fully register what it is.

Seojun turns to the blonde next to him, before he turns back and starts walking towards their table. Seojun is… wow, is he tall. And buff. Chan almost feels intimated.

Oh great, here comes the jolly green giant.

Chan has to force himself to not laugh at Cato’s comment as he turns back to you. You give him a weird face, which he decides to ignore.

Cato, please.

I’m just saying. Why is God so unfair when he makes you humans? He could have given Seojun’s extra height to you.

Stop it!

No one needs to be that tall is all I’m saying.

“What are you doing here, babe?” Seojun asks as he stands next to you at the table, a rushed lilt to his voice. Almost like he’S panicking. Chan watches your face as it drops, the tight lipped smile you give to your boyfriend is clear to no one but him. “Who’s this?”

“This is Chan,” you answer. “He’s my partner for a project.”

“Hey. I’m her boyfriend, Seojun,” the other man says, outstretching his hand for Chan to take. He does, giving it a firm shake and a quick head nod in greeting. “Though, I’m sure you’ve already heard of me.”

Arrogant.

Tell me about it.

“Oh, I’ve heard plenty,” Chan responds, the snark in his voice subtle enough that it seems like a genuine compliment. “She said you were in finance.”

“Oh, yeah,” Seojun answers. “It’s gonna help out a lot, money wise. This girl right here wants a big wedding. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Chan’s eye twitches as he looks to you for your response. Your smile is that of discomfort, tight lipped as you rigidly nod your head, not making eye contact with Chan.

“Who are you with?” You ask, changing the subject as you strain your neck to look into the next room. “Is that Aecha?”

Seojun’s face drops. “Oh, uh, no. That's my project partner,” he answers quickly. “We have a business plan due in a couple weeks so we’re meeting to get it done early.”

“Oh, okay,” you say simply. Your eyes stay on the girl in the other room, squinting a little in suspicion.“I didn’t know you had a project.”

“Yeah,” Seojun rubs his neck, almost nervously. “Well, I should get back to her. I’ll leave you two alone, now. Don’t forget about the dinner with our parents tomorrow.”

“How could I,” you mutter as he starts walking away. “I’ll see you later.”

Chan’s almost grateful that Seojun didn’t kiss you. It seems you look grateful he didn’t, too. He can’t help but notice the way your mood instantly sours after Seojun leaves, though you try not to show it too much. You give him a forced smile. “Shall we continue with our project then?” You ask him, your voice pitches higher towards the end, and Chan knows you’re uncomfortable.

I don’t like him.

Neither do I.

________________

❝i could die in your arms.❞

Eve is giggling.

She’s resting her head on the soft grass that encases her body, the edges of the blades tickling against her naked waist. Cato lays next to her, chuckling along with her. “So,” she starts as she sits up on her side, picking a flower from the field and rolling it between her fingers gently. “If your name means all-knowing… Does that mean you’re a god of knowledge?”

Cato quiets. Eerily quiet. In the short time Eve has known him as his humanly self, he is never short of words. He always has a story or a joke to tell, Eve wonders how his puny human lungs can even hold that much air for him to talk so much. So, for him to go as quiet as he did, she worries.

“Did I say something to upset you?” she asks, her delicate fingers stopping its movements. He also sits up on his side, letting his long fingers brush through the front of her hair as a small smile encases his beautiful face.

“No, my angel,” he responds. “You could never do anything to upset me,” his thumb swiped gently across her bottom lip, and then down her chin before his hand fell back to his side. Eve feels her face heat up. “I’m not the god of knowledge, as you might think. Actually… I’m a calamity god.”

Eve doesn’t respond. “Like… the flood? That kind of calamity?”

He nods. “I was ordered to flood the earth myself.”

“It killed everyone…” Eve whispers, widened eyes filled with tears. “Why?”

“God is…” Cato trails, unsure if he should continue. His eyes, so beautiful and such a deep color, cascade down to glare at the grass blades dancing in the wind, unbeknownst to them that a god is staring them down with a look of disdain on his expression. Eve can see the regret and the anger in his eyes as he stares down at the earth beneath them. Eve wishes she can rid him of the hatred he feels for himself.

He doesn’t have to say anything, though. Because Eve knows how God is. She knows how He is all too well. For she, too, has been forced to be things she does not wish to be, solely because the person who created her says so. Her own eyes well with tears. Tears of anger and sadness, for both her and Cato. She doesn’t think anyone on this damned planet will ever understand them the way they do each other.

“Did you want to?” She asks. Cato shakes his head.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he adds. “It’s what I was created for. To bring destruction.”

“I think you’re more than what you were meant for.” She says, a smile on her face.

Eve doesn’t expect it, but the god starts crying. And as he cries, she cradles him in her arms, brushing her fingers through his curly hair. “You are good, Cato,” she whispers in his ear, letting her lips ghost gently against the shell of it. “It does not matter what you have done, you are good.”

She presses a gentle kiss to his temple as his wails echo in the garden.

________________

Chan doesn’t hear from you all weekend. You weren’t in class Friday morning, and you haven’t answered any of his messages since before your dinner with your parents. He hasn’t thought much of it. He assumed you had a late night on Thursday and just skipped class the next morning because you were nursing a hangover.

“Hey, have you heard from y/n?” Minho asks him Monday afternoon, when their whole group is sitting at a table in the cafeteria. “I’m only asking because you two have been… close recently.”

His cheeks flush as he watches his other friends look at him with widened eyes and agape mouths. “Uh, no I haven’t. I was actually just gonna ask you the same thing.”

“Didn’t she have dinner with her parents on Thursday?” Jeongin asks. Chan nods in response. “Last I heard from her was when she was asking me which outfit was appropriate for the dinner, she didn’t seem like she wanted to go, though.”

“Yeah, she was texting our group chat during it and she wasn’t having a very good time. But she never usually does with her parents involved.” Hyunjin adds, taking a bite of his noodles.

“What group chat? I didn’t get anything in our group chat,” Jisung whines, opening his phone to double check.

“Me, y/n, Minho hyung and Felix all have a separate group chat together,” Hyunjin answers casually. “She was texting in there.”

Chan tunes them out as Jisung and Changbin start whining that they want a group chat with you, but all Chan can focus on is how you’ve gone completely silent since Wednesday.

“Hey, hyung,” Felix says, getting the older man’s attention by waving his small hand in front of his face. “Don’t worry about y/n. She’s okay. She goes ghost like this sometimes, especially after an event with her parents. She’ll come back around soon, she just needs to recharge.”

“Are you mad at her for not answering you?” Minho questions, eyebrow raised. The younger male looked as if he was waiting for Chan to answer the wrong way.

“No, of course not. Why would I be?” Chan shakes his head in response. “I was just worried. We’ve just… been talking a lot recently and I wasn’t sure if I did something to upset her or anything.”

“I don’t think you could ever do anything to upset her.” Felix mutters, and Chan watches in confusion as he and Hyunjin both share a knowing look with one another. Minho elbows Hyunjin in the ribs.

It means she likes you, idiot.

Do you know how to be nice?

Chan doesn’t get any response from you until Tuesday night. A simple “can i come over?” was all you sent him.

Now, he’s panickedly cleaning his apartment while he waits anxiously for you.

Why don’t you clean like this on a normal day?

“Because,” Chan grunts as he scrubs at a particular stain in his bowl. “I’m a busy guy and don’t have time to keep up with things regularly.”

Just as Cato is about to respond, there's a knock on the front door. Chan stops in his tracks, hurriedly rinsing the bowl and adding the last couple of dishes into one side of the sink to hide them as he runs to answer the door, clumsily drying his hands on his pants. When he opens the door, you’re standing there, glaring at the space where the door was a second ago. “Hey,” he says, which snaps you out of your trance to look up at him.

“Hi,” you answer softly, smiling. Though it doesn’t match the defeated look in your eyes. “Can I come in?”

Chan nods, stepping aside as you walk into his apartment. He follows you to his couch, where you both sit on opposite ends. Your legs immediately go up, knees pressing against your chest as you wrap your arms around your legs. You’re not making eye contact with Chan, and it makes his stomach hollow in anxiety. You look so sad it almost feels like it’s creeping into his bones, souring his mood and ramping up his anxiety as he sees you cave in on yourself from the other end of his couch. He watches as you bat away tears, rolling your eyes in annoyance as they fill your pretty eyes.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” Chan asks softly, scooting himself closer to you. He crosses his legs on his couch and turns his body to you, giving you a softened, welcoming look. The hand that isn’t propping his head against the back of the couch is twitching on his legs to reach out, to hold yours to comfort you. But he doesn’t want to over step and make you uncomfortable. You don’t answer, seemingly falling back into a spaced out trance, if the unfocus in your eyes is anything to go by. He lets his finger gently rub against your shin to get your attention, and he watches as your eyes fill with tears once more as you look up at him. “What’s wrong, y/n?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, biting the inside of your lip. “Just… wanted to see you.”

Chan doesn’t believe it, giving you a raised eyebrow. “Just to see me?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing. “I missed you is all,” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving him a small smile. “I got used to seeing you all the time now.”

Chan’s cheeks flush, and he tries not to let his smile get too dopey as his heart flutters at your words.

Oh! You pathetic man.

Stop.

“How was the dinner with your parents?” Chan asks. You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your throat as you look away from him. “Was it bad?”

You’re quiet. You look as if you want to say something, the words on the tip of your tongue and threatening to spill over. But you hesitate. You’re biting your tongue as you contemplate your next words. It almost concerns him.

“If I do something,” you start quietly. “Would you be mad?”

Chan’s eyebrows scrunch, his head tilting to the side in question. “What is it?”

“Can I try something?” Eve asks, tilting her head as her eyes flicker between Cato’s mouth and his pretty dark eyes. Cato nods, watching in nervous anticipation as Eve climbs over his lap, plush thighs on either side of his lips as she leans in and ghosts her lips against his.

Cato catches her mouth in a soft, tender kiss. It raises goosebumps to their skin, and their heartbeats quicken. Eve’s belly erupts in butterflies, climbing up her throat and she lets out a small sound. Cato hands find home at her waist, the pads of his fingers indenting her skin as he squeezes gently.

You finally look at him, eyes flitting down the length of his face, stopping at his mouth before looking at him again. Your gaze flickers between his mouth and his eyes before you lean forward, your nose ghosting against his as your lips meet. Chan responds immediately, cupping your face and deepening the kiss.

It’s shy, yet so electric. The butterflies you feel in your stomach are intense, prickling up your back and making you light headed. It isn’t long before you're clamoring across the couch and into Chan’s lap. His hands slide down your waist before he wraps his arms around your back, caging you into his body. He keeps his mouth working against yours, and can’t help the way his cock jumps when your hips shift a little, pressing your clothed core against him. Your hands hold his face, your thumb brushing against the apples of his cheeks every once and a while. His heart swells at the noises you make as you shyly start to grind yourself down against him, wanting to feel him more and more against you.

Should you really be doing that?

Doing what?

Kissing someone who isn’t yours.

“Wait,” Chan says as he pulls back. He has to swallow the groan that’s threatening to escape his throat as he takes in the sight of you. Your cheeks are red, lips swollen and spit slick. You already look so fucked out and all he’s done is kiss you. He feels like he’s going crazy. “What about Seojun?”

“What about Adam?” Cato asks Eve as he breaks away, his fingers rubbing circles on her hips.

“It was never Seojun,” You respond, shaking your head. Your thumb swipes against his cheek. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Chan.”

“It was never Adam,” Eve responds, nails digging into the skin on his shoulders. “I waited for you for so long, Cato.”

“Since the day I met you,” you continued, breathless. Somehow, your cheeks turn redder. He doesn’t think you could look more angelic than right now. “I’ve wanted you.”

“Since the day I came into existence,” Eve sighs out. Cato thinks she looks absolutely ethereal this way. “I’ve waited for you.”

Cato can’t help the smile that stretches across his lips as he leans up to kiss her again.

Chan doesn’t respond, only placing a hand at the back of your neck and pulling you back down to him. He kisses you again, this time a little more desperate, a little more aggressive. You whine, letting your lips fall open so his tongue can explore inside your mouth. Your mouths work in perfect sync with one another, a desperate, needy, rhythm that says more than any words in the English and Korean lexicon could ever say. He can’t explain the way he feels while he’s kissing you, but he feels as if clouds are filling his head.

His hands move back to your hips, helping you to grind down against his hardened cock, and he doesn’t miss the way your whines sound more and more breathy each time he moves you against him. “Have you ever had sex before?” He asks you.

“No,” you say. “No one’s ever touched me, either.”

“You mean, in the three years you’ve been with Seojun, he hasn’t fucked you once?” Chan asks, eyebrows furrowing and a sense of pride filling his chest. You shake your head. “Why?”

“I didn’t want him to.” You whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist as he stands up from his couch, carrying you into his bedroom and gently placing you atop his sheets.

Cato lays her naked body gently on her back in the soft grass. She looks so pretty like this, some of hair still laying softly over her shoulders and the rest blending beautifully with the grass, eyes widened in curiosity. “I got you, my love,” he says in a gentle voice as he crawls over her. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

He thinks this sight alone is enough to be painted and framed in a gallery. Eve, splayed out like this for him with her ruddy cheeks and widened eyes. It was a sight he never wanted to stop seeing.

He kisses her again before letting his mouth move from her own to her cheek, jaw, then down her neck, biting softly on his way down.

Chan unbuttons your jeans, and you help him with getting them off your legs and onto his floor. He takes off your shirt and bra next, leaving you only in your underwear. He crawls over you, his thigh slotting in between your legs and ghosting against your clothed cunt. “Let me take care of you, my love.”

He kisses your lips once more before he places a kiss on your cheek, then along your jaw, then down the expense of your neck, leaving pretty purple marks along the way. He stops at your breasts, ghosting his mouth around one nipple before taking it into his mouth. His free hand comes to tweak the other, softly pinching and rubbing along the top of it while his mouth works at the other. Your hand weaves its way into his soft curls, pushing them off his forehead so you can see what he’s doing better. He almost moans at the feeling of your hips bucking up to slide your cunt against his thigh.

“Just like that, angel,” he mutters against your skin. You whine, your fingers almost kneading the top of his head. He presses his thigh more into your core, giving you more friction that makes your sensitive body jolt and your breath hitch.

He doesn’t stay long at your breasts, opting to let his kisses and marks trail down your torso, right to your hips. He settles onto his stomach, hands holding the under part of your hips as he takes in the sight of your cunt. A wet patch has soaked through your underwear, sticking to your lips and outlining the shape of you. He presses a gentle kiss against the wet patch, and he doesn’t miss the way your hips jolt back. “Chan,” You whine.

“Yes?” He coos, freeing a hand from under you and letting his pointer finger gently ghost along your cunt. You wiggle your hips, trying to get more pressure from his finger but he pulls it away. “You have to tell me what you want, angel. Wiggling your hips isn’t gonna help me know what you want.”

He watches in adoration as your cheeks flush yet again, your eyes darting to look everywhere but at him as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “I want you to touch me,” you whisper. “Please, touch me.” Your words come out so breathy, so desperate, it makes Chan’s head want to explode. He gives you a smile.

“Anything for you, my love,” he responds before he sits back up on his knees, letting his fingers grab ahold of the waistband of your panties and sliding them slowly down your legs with your help. They fall somewhere on the edge of the bed behind him, but it’s not something he’s concerned about as the musky smell of your cunt hits his nose again as he lays back down. Your cunt glistens so prettily for him, and he forces himself to hold in a moan. “You’re so pretty.”

His fingers slide up and down between your swollen lips, and you let out small whines whenever his fingers rub a teasing circle against your clit that’s peeking out between your slit. He kisses along your inner thighs, across your mound as he slowly inserts a finger into your entrance.

Cato kisses along Eve’s thighs, before he gives a broad swipe of his tongue up the expense of her cunt. She gasps, hips twitching. “Has he ever done this to you?”

“No,” Eve sighs out as Cato gives another broad swipe. “He barely touches me.” Cato doesn’t respond, letting his tongue circle around Eve’s clit, which elicits a moan to fall from her pretty mouth.

“Don’t worry, my angel,” Cato says. “I’ll show you just how a man should love you.”

Your walls clench around his finger, and he places gentle kisses against your sensitive nub, whispering, “Relax, baby. I got you.” Your body deflates when you let out the breath you were holding, your own hand falling towards the hand that’s gripping onto your hip. You intertwine your fingers together, and he gives you a reassuring squeeze as he crooks his finger up into that spongy spot that has your back arching slightly and a gasp falling from your pretty lips. His mouth attaches itself to your clit, alternating between lightly sucking and feverish kitten licks. Your hand squeezes his as shy moans involuntarily fall from your lips at his ministrations.

He feels his cock pulsing at each sound you let out, and he can’t help but grind his hips down onto the bed for some friction of his own. “Chan, more, please,” you whine out, bucking your hips into his face. He doesn’t hesitate to add another finger, scissoring you open as his mouth continues at your clit. He pumps his fingers in and out of your entrance slowly, making sure to hook up when he plunges back in. You’re so tight around his fingers, and he can’t help but let out a moan at the thought of you taking his cock, sucking him into your warm walls. The fact that no one has ever touched you – not even your own boyfriend – and that he has the honor of being your first is driving him up a wall.

Only he gets to see you this way. Only he gets to hear your whiny moans, and only he gets to see the pretty way your body reacts to his touch. He can't help but let his fingers get a little faster, a little more prominent in the way they press against that sweet spot that has the coil tightening in the pit of your belly. “Chan.”

“You gonna cum, angel?” He asks against your pussy, keeping his steady yet harsh rhythm of his fingers plunging into your hole. You let out a hum as your response, and he can’t help but smile against your cunt. He keeps his mouth on your clit, his eyes rolling back as you let out another moan, your hips bucking to feel more, more, more. You clench around his fingers, your pretty sounds are strangled as your body clenches up, and that’s when he knows to remove his mouth from your clit, watching your face as your jaw slacks, and your body writhes so prettily under him. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.” He slows his fingers, helping you ride out your high on his fingers. You feel so much more wet than before, and it takes every ounce of control Chan has to not dive back in and overstimulate you, drive you to another one. And another one. Until you’re spent and begging for him to stop, yet pushing him closer to continue.

Next time.

He moves up your body, and kisses you again. You let out a whine when you taste yourself on his tongue, your own essence covering your chin from his own as he licks into your mouth. You use your legs to redirect him, so his clothed cock lines up with your dripping pussy as he grinds his hips down against you. You shiver, still sensitive from just a second ago. “I want you,” you whisper. He pulls away, looking at you with widened eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “Cause if you’re actually not ready, tell me. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ve waited for you long enough,” you answer, rutting your hips up against him. He sucks in a breath. “Please?”

Chan only nods as he climbs off you to discard his clothes to the floor. The bruising on his side hasn’t fully gone away, but it’s not as bad as it was last week. “Was that from your fall?” You ask him as he climbs over you again, your delicate fingers ghosting over his ribcage.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, looking down at your hand. “I didn’t actually fall, though. I got hit by a car.”

“I know.”

Chan gives you a double take, eyebrows scrunched and his mouth agape in confusion. You giggle and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You know?”

“Yeah, I was with Changbin and Jisung when he got the call,” you respond, still giggling. “I just figured you said you fell to not worry me.”

Yeah, we can go with that. Really I was just saving you the embarrassment. Who gets hit by cars these days?

Don’t ruin this, Cato.

Chan only chuckles softly, his smile widening and crinkling his eyes in such a pretty way. You can’t help but lean up and press your lips to his, your hands cupping his cheeks to bring his face down with yours. He kisses you back quickly, letting you take the lead as he opens your legs and maneuvers himself so his cock can glide along your slit. You lift your legs more, letting the head of his cock catch along your entrance. “Please,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’m ready.”

Chan moves a hand down to guide the tip of his cock into your entrance, and he goes slow as he sheathes himself inside. You tense up, the pressure a foreign feeling. “Relax,” he whispers, kissing along your cheek and down your jaw. A small whine leaves your mouth and he stills his hips immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt it just… feels full.”

“Yeah?” He asks, letting himself move again. One his hips are touching yours, you can fully feel him snugly inside you. You feel so full, and it’s so overwhelming but so addictive at the same time. It feels as if you were molded to fit him. He gives an experimental movement, and your hands immediately go to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You can move.” He kisses you, distracting you as he pulls out and then plunges back in again. He keeps it at a slow rhythm at first, letting you get used to the feeling before he gradually starts speeding up. You were so tight around him, your velvety walls welcoming him in with each time the head of his cock ghosts along that spongy part that has the breath punched out of you again and again.

“You feel so good, angel,” he grunts against your neck. “Like you were made for me.” You can only choke out a moan in response, nails raking over his shoulders. He intertwines his fingers with yours above your head, and he digs his face further into your neck as he places wet kisses along it.

Cato intertwined his fingers with Eve’s as he slowly moved his hips. “You’re mine?” Cato asked.

“Yours. I’m yours,” Eve gasped in response.“I love you.” Cato can only smile as he dips his head down to capture her lips in a messy kiss.

Chan keeps a steady pace, making sure to angle himself upwards when he thrusts back in. He hits deep, stretching you around his cock and every time he’s at the hilt, it knocks the wind out of your lungs. The breathy moans you let out at each thrust sends Chan deeper and deeper into the clouds, mind hazy and senses full of you. You’re everywhere, it seems, encasing his body in yours as the whole world melts away. He about loses his hold on himself when your quivering walls start clenching around him, greedily sucking him back in. His thrusts speed up, his one hand letting go of yours and finding home under your head, a fist full of hair as he brings your body as close to his as possible. The feel of your breasts pressing against his chest grounds him a bit, and he lets out a strained moan from the back of his throat.

“Cum in me,” you manage to say in between strangled sounds. “I want it, please.”

“Just a little more,” Chan grunts out. “Almost there. Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so good for me, angel.”

Chan’s hips still, his cum shooting into you and painting your walls. He moans, whiney, as he shoves his face back into your neck. Your hands move to his hair, raking through it as you whisper in his ear.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

—

You spend the night at Chan’s house, only sending a simple message to your group chat with Hyunjin, Minho, and Felix where you were staying and that you were okay. Your simple message respectively blows up the group chat, with Felix and Hyunjin practically screaming to tell them details, and then Minho crashing into your world like a meteor with one single question.

Did you break up with Seojun?

You decided not to answer that question (because you haven’t), only texting back that you’ll explain when you get back to class on Friday and then shakily put your phone down on the coffee table. You look over towards the kitchen to see Chan’s back towards you, the sizzling of the food in the pan the only sound filling the apartment. You can’t help but smile at the sight. You uncross your legs from the couch, walking into the kitchen area and standing behind Chan. Your arms wrap lovingly around his waist, your cheek pressing into his back and you feel his body relax into your hold. He turns down the stove and turns around in your hold, a smile adorning his features as he places a kiss against your lips.

“Thanks for letting me stay last night,” you say as he pulls away from you. “I didn’t want to face Ryujin’s interrogation yet.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to face mine,” Chan says, raising his eyebrow at you. You smile sheepishly at him, your gaze tearing away from his. He lifts your chin up, forcing you to keep eye contact. “What happened?”

You sigh, pulling your body away. You run your hand over your face as you lean against the counter behind you. Chan does the same on the opposite side, giving you an expectant look as he waits for you to start talking. “I found out Seojun was cheating on me. At the dinner.” You say, voice a little shaky.

Chan pauses, and his stomach drops. Seojun was cheating?

Don’t act as if you aren’t happy to hear that.

I’m not happy! That’s awful!

You know what I mean, you idiot. You’re happy he’s out of the way now.

Chan doesn’t respond to Cato, focusing his attention back to you. “I’m so sorry, y/n,” he responds, his arm stretching over to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t deserve that.”

You take in a breath. “Yeah, well,” you shrug. “It happens. Sad thing is, I can’t even say I’m surprised. Looking back, it makes a lot of sense.”

Chan’s eyebrow furrows. “Did… you break up with him?”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “I… haven’t yet.”

And you slept with her.

“You… You haven’t?” He asks, confusion painting across his face. “Why?”

“I— I was going to,” you start. “I just… I wanted to see you first,”

“y/n,” Chan says, voice shaky. “Am I a rebound?”

You shake your head vigorously, your own eyes shining with unshed tears. “No! No, I really wasn’t planning on last night happening at all. I wanted to break up with him first but I just… I don’t know, I had to see you first.”

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks. “About wanting to be with me as long as you said?”

“Yes,” you nod. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Hyunjin or Felix. Even Minho. They know how I feel about you.”

Chan’s quiet. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know what to think. On one hand, the selfish hand, he’s over the moon he had you in his bed last night, and he’s still a bit drunk off your words from last night. But, on the other hand, he wants to send you on your way, to give himself, and you, some space. He can’t believe he didn’t prod further about what you meant last night. He just assumed by your confession, you had already broken it off with Seojun.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I should probably go.”

“Call me when you break it off with Seojun, okay?” Chan finally says, nodding his head. His heart clenches as he sees a tear fall down your face. “We’ll talk about us after that.”

The silence that replaces the apartment after you leave is deafening.

Chan?

“Not now, Cato,” Chan replies, shaking his head. He can feel a migraine coming on, his eyes becoming sore and sensitive to the bright lights of his kitchen. “Shit,” a pained whimper falls from his throat as he massages his eyes. “I think I need to call someone.”

I remember why I came to Earth.

“Can it wait until later, please?” Chan winces, annoyance mixing with the pain in his voice. “My head is fucking splitting.”

Chan…

“Cato, for fucks sake, please!” He yells, which makes his head pound even more. “I can’t figure out your problem right now.”

Cato doesn’t respond.

Chan calls Minho, which in hindsight probably wasn’t the best idea, but he knew Jisung and Changbin would be loud and dramatic and he really didn’t want that right now. Minho is quiet, and he knows what to do when Chan is under the weather.

The younger male is quick to arrive, immediately shoving pain pills into Chan’s hand and ordering him to take them. “Were you making something?” Minho asks as he points to the pan.

“Oh, yeah,” Chan said from the couch. His head feels as if it can explode. “I was making y/n and I breakfast when—” he stops himself, looking over through his lashes at the other man.

“I already know,” Minho says. “So, where is she?”

“Uh, well,” Chan starts, having to take a second to will away the urge to vomit. “I slept with her…”

“And?”

“She never broke up with Seojun before we did.” Minho sighs, shaking his head as he joins the brunette on the couch.

“I told her she needed to do that first,” Minho responds. “She’s just as impulsive as Han Jisung. Worse than Han Jisung, actually.”

Chan wants to chuckle, but his head is somehow getting worse. His body starts aching again, as if the bruises are coming back. And suddenly it hurts to breathe. “Min,” he grunts out. “Min, I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“What’s wrong?”

Chan?

I feel like I’m fucking dying again.

Chan collapses to the floor, and when Minho slides down with him does he notice the blood pooling and staining the rug underneath the older man’s head. “Fuck. Fuck, okay. Hold on, hyung. I’m calling for help.”

Suddenly an otherworldly amount of pressure is pressing on Chan’s body, like the weight of the skies is laying flat along where he lays in his living room. He starts to panic, lungs starting to work overtime as Minho calls the emergency hotline from somewhere in the room.

Cato, what’s going on?

Your… Your injuries are coming back.

A white, blinding light floods Chan’s vision from the ceiling, and he feels a pull from the light.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Cato?

I’m getting taken back, Chan.

Cato! Don’t leave me!

The air slowly leaves his lungs, deflating like a balloon that wasn’t tied. He feels like a layer of his skin is being peeled away as the pressure in his head worsens, and Cato’s voice gets farther and farther away.

“Ca—” Chan tries to call out to him, but he passes out before he could.

I’m dying.

________________

❝took my breath from my open mouth, never known how it broke me down.❞

Cato and Eve snuck around under Adam’s nose after that fateful morning in the garden. Always meeting at the spot where they first met, making love to the song of the stream whenever they could. It felt different with Cato. It felt… good. Like lying with this man wasn’t a chore, but something she felt was their way of bonding. Connecting. She didn’t give a damn what God said.

She was not made for Adam. She and the god, Cato, were weaved from the same essence that brought them life — a single soul split into two different beings. And by lying with him, it strengthened that. She was his, as he was hers.

Cato was such a gentle lover, compared to Adam (if you could even call Adam a lover). Cato took her into his arms and worshiped her body as if she was a Goddess herself. The way his fingers indented her skin on her hips when his head was in between her thighs, lapping at her nectar, had her seeing stars. She found God in a lover, and the forbidden fruit tasted so sweet on her tongue.

Eve was happy.

That happiness didn't last long, though. And she was foolish to think it would.

She swore Adam went out to hunt that day, she saw him off. So, how he managed to find Eve at the stream hanging off a cock that wasn’t his, she’ll never know.

Adam told God right away.

Cato was ripped from her before she could even get to her knees. Before she could beg. She watched as a bright light encased Cato’s earthly body from the heavens, the light so blinding she’s forced to look to the ground if she still wished to keep her sight. She wailed that day, a mantra of inhuman, throat curdling sounds ripped from deep within her core as she punched her fists into the soil.

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” She howled. Adam stood behind her, face stoic as he watched Eve mourn the loss of her lover.

“It’s what you deserve,” Adam spits. “You’re lucky I’m gracious enough to let you live. Your pretty face would be one with stone if I was anyone else.”

Eve’s crying stopped then. The garden of Eden was silent, not even the stream was brave enough to sing. Everything was dead still, a simmering animosity burned brightly just under the surface of Eve’s plush skin. Adam’s stoicism fell as he caught the look on his wife’s face.

It was that of pure, unadulterated rage.

“I should have strung you up to that tree when I had the chance.” The venom drips from her words and poisons Adam’s veins the second they hit him.

—

“You weren’t supposed to tempt Eve,” God’s commanding voice boomed across the heavens. Cato sat on his knees, wrists and ankles chained to the marble ground. Different god’s sat around, watching the serpent intently, curious as to what was to happen to him. “You weren’t even supposed to make yourself known to her.”

“I told you why I was going to Earth,” Cato responded, voice tired. “I told you I fell for someone.”

“And that person was not supposed to be Eve!” Thunder cracked angrily across the sky. Murmurs erupted among the other gods. “You have tainted her, driven her off her path to her purpose.”

“Her purpose?” Cato repeated, indignant. “Her purpose is to be a breeding cow for a man who can’t even bother to see her as his equal?”

“And you were equals?” God laughed, a bellowing, boom laugh at the lesser god’s foolishness. “You’re a god, Cato. A heavenly entity that simple mortals can barely fathom the concept of. And you think Eve and you are equals?”

“I love her.”

Whispers of “love her?” echo through the chamber.

“She’s not yours to love!” God’s angry voice silenced the whispers, a tense stillness crushing Cato and pressing on his lungs. “You know I have to punish you.”

“Punish me all you wish,” Cato spat. “It will never deter how I feel for Eve.”

“Oh, my sweet child, it will.”

—

Cato wakes to cold biting at his skin. It’s so cold, so so cold. His eyes open to gray skies and heavy snow sprinkling along his cheeks. Snow covered trees line the horizon of his bleary vision, head pounding and body aching. He moves his fingers, feeling under the layer of snow and making way to the dead grass underneath.

He’s on Earth.

He tries to sit up, but his chest is burning and he’s having a hard time moving his arms. He feels like his body is being held down by a cinder block, unable to move himself from his spot.

“General Bang!” A voice shouts, muffled. He moves his head to find the voice, but a face comes into his line of vision as he looks right. “General Bang! You’re badly injured, don’t move. Wagon! I need a wagon!”

“What happened?” Cato whispers out, and the man grabs one of his hands from the snow. “Who are you?”

“It’s Hwang!” the man yells. “Hwang Hyunjin, do you remember?”

Cato wasn't able to respond as his eyes fell heavy and then closed.

When he awakes again, he is in a tent. He shoots up in a panic, looking around the space. A sharp pain shoots through his chest, making him groan and his elbows give out. “Hey, easy,” the same man says as he helps Cato lay back down. Hyunjin. His long black hair is tied up out of his face, a look of relief washing over it as he settles back down in the chair next to Cato’s cot. “You got a pretty nasty gash across your chest. It’s a miracle you didn’t die out there, Chan.”

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“I mean a dozen other men died from the same wound,” Hyunjin responds. “Your guardian angel is really looking out for you.”

“What happened?”

“Did you hit your head? We’re in a war,” Hyunjin responds, his eyebrows furrowed. “This was the most brutal battle we’ve fought in three years. How hard did you hit your head?”

Chan’s memories of the past couple years flash in Cato’s mind – like a short synopsis of what his vessel has been up to before he took over. Cato realizes that at that moment, Chan was dead. Cato was the sole entity keeping this body alive.

But why?

“Pretty hard, I guess,” Cato chuckles in response. “Does that mean… we won?”

“You bet your ass we did,” a smirk spreads across the male’s mouth. “We lost a lot of good men out there, though. Not looking forward to letting their wives know they’re widows now,” Cato nods his head, his gaze flitting around the ceiling of the medical tent. Hyunjin nudges his arm again, a grin on his face. “Are you gonna go back to y/n?”

A pulse shoots throughout his entire body at the mention of your name, a sinking feeling in his stomach that’s accompanied by the racing of his heart. He only shrugs. “If she’ll have me.”

“I don’t think she’d have anyone else.”

—

The war ends, and the troops all come back home. And Cato finds himself in front of a beautiful castle. Memories of Chan courting you for years flash in his mind. He seemed to have really adored you. Cato feels a twinge in his heart at the thought that Chan will never be able to experience being with you.

But, to Cato, you give him an overwhelming sense of deja vu. Like he already knew you. Like he already knew your body, your soul, like the back of his hand. So, when he visits you after three long years, and you were already taken by another man, his heart shatters. For Chan, and for another unknown reason he doesn’t think he’s ready to explore.

He still walks with you in the garden that day. Your arms are linked together, and he can’t help but stare at the side of your angelic face as you giggle at something he says. “You are a character, Mr. Bang,” you say in between giggles. “I sure am glad you came home from the war, alive and healthy.”

“I see,” is all he responds with, his own smile falling.

“Why did you not marry me?” You ask, voice wavering.

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“I would have waited for you,” you continue. “I would have waited lifetimes for you.”

Cato doesn’t respond, only letting his eyes flicker around your face, sadness overtaking his gaze. You both stare at one another, so close to each other. It’s quiet, between you two. Not tense, but not comfortable either.

His eyes widen in shock when you lean up to kiss his lips. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back, letting his hands cup your cheeks. You pull away after a second though, tears pulling into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I just… needed to know what it felt like to kiss you.”

You turn and walk away, leaving him alone in the garden with the taste of you still on his lips.

Cato is sentenced to live a life next to the reincarnation of Eve, always at his fingertips but never having the right to have her. Chan’s soul was with him for every single one. Each life is a punishment, a test. Each time he gives into his temptation of having Eve to himself, of dancing along that line with her, he is ripped from his mortal body and Chan’s own soul is torn with him.

Chan dies every time.

Again. And again. And again. And again. For millennia, Cato is subjected to always losing Eve in the most brutal of ways just as he finally thinks he has her for himself. As soon as he lies with her, he is forced to leave her soon after.

He can never escape it.

________________

❝i won’t die for love, but ever since i met you, you could have my heart and I would break it for you.❞

Cato sits on his knees in a desolate chamber. It’s deathly still, and eerily silent. The only sound is his breathing – which is slowed. His wrists, bound in enchanted steel cuffs, sit chained to the ground in front of where he sits on his knees. His hair lays on his shoulders, dirty and knotted. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here — it could be months. It could be centuries.

He doesn’t think he cares anymore.

Chan is dead. He has to be. There’s no way he managed to survive the way Cato was ripped out of him like that. He hasn’t survived it in any of the lifetimes Cato spent using his body.

It was cruel — the way Cato and Chan are subjected to this, lifetime after lifetime, a never ending cycle of Chan losing his life before he can even turn thirty all because Cato fell for someone he had no business falling for. He grimaces to himself, shaking his head in defeat as he remembers the way Chan was crying out for him when he was ripped from his subconsciousness.

“When are you ever going to learn?” A voice echoes in the chamber. God.

“I do not wish to speak of this.” Cato snaps.

“Don’t you wish to see how Chan is doing?” God asks, snapping his fingers. A gateway to Earth opens under Cato, and he watches in horror as medics work on his dying body in the middle of his living room floor. “He’s still holding on. For now.”

Cato looks away, clamping his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear to see Chan like that. Not when he knows he’s the cause of it.

Chan is going to die. Again.

“Please,” Cato whispers. “Please, kill me.”

“Kill you?” God repeats.

“Yes, fuck!” Cato spits, his shout echoing deafeningly throughout the empty chambers. The silence that refills the space is enough for the god to break, sobs racking through his body from where he is chained. “I can’t do this anymore. Let Chan live, and let me die. Please.”

God does not respond, only watching as the calamity god wails, a mixture of snot and tears pooling on the concrete from under them. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Is that what you truly want?”

Cato can only nod his head. “Chan’s life, for my mortality,” he responds, still crying. “I can’t keep watching him die.”

“You know that means he might not be reincarnated,” God says. “The only reason Chan is a living soul on earth was for you to use him as your vessel. He’s not needed after that.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Cato shakes his head. “That’s a better outcome than having to die before twenty six every single time.”

“How do you wish to go?”

“Like Icarus,” he doesn’t hesitate to respond. “I will fling myself into the sun.”

________________

Walking away from Chan has to be the hardest thing you’ve done.

You genuinely weren’t planning on sleeping with him the night before. You don’t know what took over you. It just happened. That’s not to say you regret it, though. Because you don’t. While you’ve never slept with someone before, laying underneath Chan felt so… right. Even if it is wrong from a moral standpoint. But, it felt otherworldly. Not just because the sex was good, but you felt as if it was meant to happen. You and Chan were meant to happen. As cliche as it is, and you cringe thinking of it, you wholeheartedly believe you and Chan were written in the stars, destined to find each other in this life. And the next. Nothing has felt more clear than being with him, and you use that as courage to knock on Seojun’s door.

When he opens it, he’s still in his sleep clothes. “Did I wake you?” You ask, voice and face void of any emotion.

“Kinda,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”

“I just came to say that I know you’re cheating on me,” you start. His eyes widen in quick panic, and he’s about to respond when you put your hand up to stop him as you shake your head. “I just want to tell you that we’re even. And it’s over.”

“You cheated on me?” Seojun repeats, indignation in his voice. “You fucking whore!”

“Yeah, save it, Seojun,” You scoff, shaking your head. “I already know about Aecha so you have no room to take a moral fucking high ground. Just nod and say okay and shut the door with what little dignity you have still intact.”

“Y/n?” A voice echoes from behind Seojun. His mother walks up behind him, a cup in her hand. Her eyebrows are furrowed. “Did you just say you cheated on my son? Do your parents know what you did?”

“I also said he cheated, too, so,” you shrug. Her mouth drops open, her face scrunching up in anger. It looks as if she’s about to scream at you before you continue, “I’ll leave your stuff with Aecha.”

You don’t let either of them speak as you turn around and walk down the stairs and out onto the street. You pull out your phone, about to call Chan and let him know you’re on your way back when Felix’s contact name pops up on your screen. You slide to answer, placing the phone against your ear. “I know what you’re gonna say, but I just broke up with Seojun and I’m–”

“You need to get to the hospital right now, y’n,” Felix cuts you off, his voice shaking. “Chan had an accident, and he might not make it.”

Your phone falls from your hand.

________________

God’s of all origins gather around in the chambers to witness Cato’s execution. Everyone is whispering anxiously amongst one another. One deity stands silent, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at where Cato is chained intently. His heart is heavy, having to watch his dearest friend kill himself in the worst way possible.

“Have you spoken to him yet, Apollo?” Artemis asks as she walks up behind him. “I’m sure he would love to see you one more time.”

“What am I to even say?” Apollo asks. “Nothing I say will change his mind, you know how stubborn he is, that bastard.”

“It still must hurt,” Artemis responds. “You’ve been in love with him since the day he was created. I know it must kill you to see the torture he’s gone through.”

“There is nothing I can do about it,” Apollo shakes his head. “I love him, but it hurts more to see him be thrown back to earth again and again. It’s better this way.”

“He will live on in your heart,” his sister assures, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But you don’t have to put yourself through the torture of seeing this.”

“After a millennia of divine punishment, Cato, god of calamity, has decided to take his life,” God’s booming voice echoes through the chamber, silencing everyone in an instant. “He will join Icarus in the deep sea below.”

Hushed whispers resound once again through the chambers, all of them having remembered watching the man’s wax wings melt from the flaming star and plummeting to his death in the never ending, and unforgiving seas.

Cato does not look up at anyone, not even to God himself. He does not speak, nor does he try to beg for forgiveness. He’s tired. He’s so tired.

God stands next to him, a hand on his shoulder as two angels unlock the shackles from his wrists and ankles. “Chan will wake up once you have hit the seas. You have my word.” Cato only nods in response.

And as he launches himself towards the sun, the burning heat of it burning at his skin and singing his feathered wings, he wails. He wails and screams, mourning his love for Eve and the time he’s spent being tortured with her almost in his grasp. Truly, he thinks death is better than being without her. The sun dries his tears, and it brings him a dark sense of comfort. And when his wings are all but ash, and he’s falling into awaiting waters, he smiles.

Apollo cries quietly as the god’s body is swallowed by the dark blue seas.

________________

Chan wakes up in a hospital room.

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