#prudence x female reader

[povofjustme]

CAOS

Both Prudence blackwood and Ambrose Spellman wanting you

You being a witch

I would like to think Prudence and Ambrose would already be together

You had been at the school most of your life but they never noticed you

You had some class with Prudence but she never once looked your way

Maybe you were in a different group of friends or you was just shy

They both were the type to be outgoing and live in the moment

Which to you, was just trying to finish the academy in one piece

Never go out and party

Or do the same exact curricula in the magic school

Now this is how the 3 of you met

You had just got done with exams and your friend Elapeth wanted to celebrate. There was a party happening at the school and she wanted you to go with her

You didn’t want to go. Party’s are not your thing

But she convinced you to go, talking about how she was going to be lonely and it was going to be a one-time thing

So you agreed, not thinking you were going to be doing what you did

Elapeth got out an outfit that she knows you was going to look good it. And make you look hot as

At first, you were just watching your friend have fun. Dancing with everyone around her. You stayed at the bar and watch

Dorian saw you, asking if you wanted a drink. At first you said no but the more he was talking about a drink that he thinking you would like. The more you wanted it.

It started with one drink but it was so good that you had about 6 of them

You didn’t know what he up in them but it made you feel good. Made you wanna dance

So you did just that, first dancing with Elapeth and the others around you

Everyone was pretty much on top of each other but you were paying know mind.

Just dance your little heart out

You could feel eyes on you

But like who wouldn’t, you are FINE ASF)

There was someone behind you, holding on to your hips and moving to the music

You put your head back to whoever it was

Surprise, surprise

It was Prudences

She gave you a devil's smile

You never seen her so close before

But the music was moving your body too much to care

She started to whisper in your ear

“I never knew you could dance like this. You even got Ambrose mesmerized”

You looked straight across to see the famous Ambrose

He had a drink in his hand, arm spread out above the couch. Man spreading

The look in his eyes didn’t make you want to look away

You can tell he was looking at your body, prudence was placing her hands

On satan’s life, you never thought this would happen to you

The next song was slow and desirable

You close your eyes for a second and then he is there

Ambrose was in front of you

You were in the middle with them, doing things you never thought would happen to you

Prudence kissing your neck while Ambrose was sucking the soul out of you

( I mean kissing 😏)

And then they switch positions

The whole night it was just the 3

At one point in time, they shared a look

Pulling you away from it all

(Let me know, I will add more details for a different story )

*

You woke up at a house you had never been to before

You looked under the covers to see that all your clothes were missing

You didn’t know what Dorian did you those drinks - you didn’t know if it was a good things or a bad thing

But all of a sudden you could feel someone shifting onto your side, laying an arm across your stomach

You look to see it to be the one and only Ambrose in your right

Your eyes widen out

He was still sound asleep

You look the other way to see Prudence facing the wall to your left

Your first thought was that you had to get it out of there

Slowly, quickly, and quickly as you can, put your clothes on. Walked out to the hallway so you didn’t wake them

And teleported yourself back to the Academy

Taking a shower and looking into the mirror

Hickeys !!! All over

You had to put on a black fitted turtleneck shirt on 

You thought that they weren’t going to remember you. That you was just a one night stand

You knew you could

So you walked down the hallways of the school hung out but walked like nothing happened

But heaven you were wrong

Remember the class you have with her now

You walked in and sat in your normal spot, next to Melvin

You were behind the two other weird sisters (Dorcas & Agatha)

Prudence counted a glimpse of you and walked over

Once again you didn’t think largely of it but not until you saw Melvin packing his things and walking to a different place

But you didn’t care, you led on the cold table

But didn’t say a word to you in the lesson

Waking out of the class, it was time for lunch

You sat in your regular seat, you sitting on the outside while Elapeth sat on the inside

Just talking about upcoming words for some classic

Out of nowhere, you had Ambrose on your right side and Prudence on your left

Just like the night before

Now you thought you didn’t get people's attention

YOU DO NOW!!

Prudence moved closer to you

“You thought you were going to get away that easy?” - prudence

“What are you talking about?” - you

“Last night, you made quite that show” - Ambrose

You got up from the table to get away from the eyes

“Where do you think you going little dancer?” - Ambrose

“Away from you both, I don’t know what happened last night but it was a mistake” - you

“Oh no it wasn’t, we had a taste of you. And won’t stop until we can have all of you “ - Ambrose

“You belong to us now. And everyone will know it!” Prudence

“For satan's sake, what are you talking about!”- you

“Look at your neck, arms, back and inner thigh. It says otherwise” - Prudence

You better pray to satan that you are dreaming this all

#CAOS #black reader #poc #caos imagines #prudence blackwood #prudence Blackwood image #prudence x reader #prudence x female reader #prudence x black reader #ambrose spellman #Ambrose spellmen imagine #Ambrose x reader #Ambrose x female reader #Ambrose x black reader #chilling adventures of sabrina #chilling adventures of Sabrina x reader #chilling aventures of Sabrina X black leader

[imarriedchrisredfield]

Princess - Genji Shimada

Genji Shimada x Female!Reader

Summary : After some help from Mercy, you had the possibility of getting pregnant with Genji's child. And it's when he was on a mission that he learned you were giving birth. It's still with him by your side that you did it.

Warnings : None

Words : 690

Note : English isn't my first language, so if you see any mistakes don't hesitate to tell me :)

Genji went as fast as he could at the medical center of the Overwatch headquarters. He was coming back from a mission, and was pretty tired. But he had to be fast. From afar, he noticed his brother, leaning against a wall.

"Where is she?" Genji exclaimed while taking off his helmet.

"Right here." Hanzo answered, pointing to the door next to him.

"Thanks, brother." He simply said before going into the room, hearing small grunts. "I'm here! Is everything all right?" He asked as he was getting rid of his sword and his helmet.

"Yes, it should be finish soon." Angela answered with a nod.

Genji was given a white coat by an another doctor, that he put on clumsily. With an hint of hesitation, he approached the bed. Your eyes met his, when he delicately take your hand in his metallic one. As you screamed while pushing, like Angela told you to do, you hold it tighter.

"I hate you, Genji!" You growled, holding his hand as tight as you could. "Why did you make me pregnant?" You cried between screams.

"Well… because you wanted a child and Angela found a solution." Genji answered naturally.

"Then why- Fuuuck! Why did you accept?" You breath heavily, following the rythm Angela was showing to you.

"Because I love you and that I was happy about that idea." He said, starting to panick.

"Well you shouldn't!" You growled once again.

"You can do it, the baby is almost there!" Angela cheered you up. "One last strong push!" You followed Angela's guidance and, not so long after, cries could be heard. "There she is." Angela said joyfully.

You breath out all the air that was still in your lungs, slowly turning your head toward Genji. He had a tiny smile while looking at the baby. He already seemed excited at the idea of holding the little girl.

"Genji?" You murmured, making your husband looking at you. "I love you… I love you so much… I'm sorry for what I said, I really didn't mean it…" You continued while sobbing because of all the stress you accumulated since the start of your pregnancy.

"I know, don't worry." He reassured you while caressing your head, before kissing your forehead.

"Here's your little one." Angela said with a smile. She gently put her in your arms, so you could hold her.

"She's so pretty." You said with a smile.

"She looks like you." Genji said with a slightly shaking voice because of the emotion.

"You're kidding? She's your spitting image." You contradicted with a chuckle.

"You think so?" Genji seemed actually surprised. You just nodded as an answer. He looked at your daughter, observing every details of her small face.

"Do you wanna hold her?" You suggested him.

"Can I?" He asked, his eyebrows rose.

"Of course, she's your daughter after all!" You answered, giving him your daughter.

With all the prudence he could have, he took her I'm his arms. He was so happy, and yet so nervous because of his metallic side. You couldn't hold back your smile at the sight of Genji already fond of your daughter. The door suddenly opened. Genji and you looked toward it, and saw Angela with Hanzo by her side. The older of the brothers slowly walked to Genji.

"She looks like you when you were a baby." Hanzo said with a look at your daughter.

"I told you she looked like you." You reminded him.

"I hope that you will take good care of her, not like that pet you had." Genji had a shocked expression on his face at Hanzo's words.

"I was a child, and that rabbit didn't die!" Genji was offended. "Plus, it's not the same… she is my little girl, my princess. I will not hurt her, nor let her having a bad moment in her life." He continued without turning his gaze away from the baby.

Hanzo looked at him without adding anything. Inside, he was just proud of his brother. Genji then had a bright smile, a tiny tear rolling down his cheek.

"I'm happy!" Genji declared in a laugh.

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #genji shimada #genji x reader #female reader #overwatch x reader

[bonniebird]

Nick Scratch x female psychic reader

Requested by Anon

Valentine event

Support me on Ko-fi

Make a request

Request: Anonymous asked:Hi Bonnie! Can I get Nicholas Scratch x female psychic reader and I knew I loved you before I met you #Valentine2023

Read on Wattpad

Read on AO3

“Love is just one of those things that’s complicated.” Nick said to Dorcas. She pulled a face and slouched deeper into her seat.

“That is ridiculous. Love should not be hard. It takes some negotiating sometimes but the love part of a relationship comes easy!” Prudence insisted. Nick shook his head and sighed.

“No. You never know who you’re going to fall in love with and that makes it hard sometimes.” Nick insisted. You tutted as if he was wrong and everyone turned to you, curled up in an armchair. Looking up over your book at them Ambrose chuckled.

“I suppose for someone with gifts like yours it’s easy.” Ambrose said and you sighed, closing the book and letting it rest in your lap.

“I know what I know.” You answered. 

“Even in love you cannot know… fate…” Nick insisted.

"I knew I loved you before I met you." You said and smiled when he looked defeated. You sat up a little straighter and added. “I didn’t like the outfit you were going to wear when we met though so I had to do something about that tailor you were going to.” You found that Prudence and Ambrose erupted into laughter while Dorcas looked as if she had cheered up immensely.

“You what! I had been going to him for ages!” Nick complained.

“Well, I found you a better one and put you on that path because I could not be falling in love with someone in a terrible suit. I’m sorry but either fate works for me or you’re wrong. It’s just how it is.” You smiled at him as he sighed and glanced at the others who looked as if they didn’t want to butt in. 

Nick tags:

@the-caravello-post @killing-gremlin @aegonandaemondtargaryenslut18 @lchufflepuffcorn @kaitieskidmore1 @sabrinasstar

#nick scratch #nicholas scratch #nick scratch x reader #nicholas scratch x reader #bonniebird #valentine2023

[lumiereandcogsworth]

And the scrooge movie, of course <3

EEEEEE!!!!!!!!!💖💖💖💖💖💖

my favorite female character: PRUDENCE!!!!!!! THE BESTEST GORL!!!!!! LOOK AT HER!!!!!!!!

my favorite male character: i mean. THE GUY. ebenezer scrooge >:( but also i love his nephew harry. what an absolute golden retriever that man is. he’s so :D

my favorite book/season/etc: well. UH! i’ll say that my favorite version of this story is jim carrey’s a christmas carol from 2009 !! it’s been my all-time favorite christmas movie for a long time, and this hyperfixation shan’t change that haha

my favorite episode: i’m changing this to favorite song and my answer is tell me. IT’S SO GOOD. AND THE VISUALS AS JACOB MARLEY APPEARS ARE EPIC AS FUCK. anyway, luke evans really DID put his whole lukussy into that song. his whole performance is amazing but!!! that song is insane (honorific)

my favorite cast member: LUKE EVANS!!!!!! MY GASTON!!!!!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ literally the only two reasons i decided to watch this is because the story is one i already love, and that’s actor blorbo from my movie!!! and now i am utterly enchanted. insane. if i had a nickel… lol

my favorite ship: i don’t know. harry & hela are cute, bob & ethel are so good, and ebenezer & isabel are!!! well!!!!!!! they could have been something!!!!! but. greed and emotional abandonment will always bite ye in the ass. but their young scenes before the last one are insanely cute. when he’s all nervous as she fixes his tie and touches his arm. SO true so good.

a character i’d die defending: i don’t know, i feel like the story is pretty self-explanatory. if someone doesn’t think scrooge deserves redemption that’s on them not me haha

a character i just can’t sympathize with: i have no idea. i mean i don’t sympathize with scrooge BEFORE all the stuff happens. so? yeah idk

a character i grew to love: probably harry. i never paid much attention to him in other versions but they gave him so much heart and character in this one that i’m like 🥹💖 he’s so golden retriever. i wanna spend a day with him i think we’d have so much fun doing Literally anything

my anti-otp: reader x scrooge HAHA. people can do whatever they want i’m just not into him like that. i’m sorry i have such a specific character type but attraction is not always a factor for me. it is Sometimes, i admit, but not always and not with this manz <3

#DONE!! #thank you bestie :’) #freakwiththeknifecollection #answered #scrooge

[lychniis]

⚘ — QINGXIN IN THE MOUNTAIN // ZHONGLI.

i. SYNOPSIS : while the divine war rages on, you find yourself entangled in the company of a wounded god. reservations or not, you don't have the heart to let someone dies on your watch. or in which, morax finds himself in the presence of a secluded human. ( zhongli x afab ! reader )

ii. WARNING(S) : beta read, long oneshot like seriously it's over 14k, mentions of war and past death, seclusion and wounds. this work contains 18+ contents so minors, you know the drill, unprotected sex, half-dragon zhongli, reader has no gendered pronouns but has female parts, 4k words worth of smut guys get ready.

this work has been marked mature. readers below the age of 18 / ageless blogs, do not interact. any individual who is not a legal adult or has an age indicator on their page will be blocked without further notice.

# masterlist

Curiosity, you learned, was a reckless maverick in every right. Your mother told you of its consequences, of the people who wandered too far from the safety of your village and the watchful eye of your deity, and she told you of their death and the disaster they reaped alongside it.

Curiosity was what cost you — and you knew, you knew better than to indulge in its traitorous little tug when you wake, the scent of petrichor in abundance and the chill of a rainstorm’s aftermath prickling your skin. 

“Forget about it.” you tell yourself when you rub the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Forget about it.” you tell the reflection staring up at you, her brows furrowed with a familiar sternness. It scatters when you dip your hands into the basin, the icy water stinging your fingertips.

“Forget about it.” you breathe out as you lean against the doorframe of your small home, staring out at the expanse of green and the fog that had settled a few feet below.

Yet here you were, scaling down a mossy slope, your bare feet damp from the dew it trod over and your hair still messy from your sleep. You could dimly recall something the previous night between the rains, between the crash of thunder and the crackle of lightning. It was a sound too distinct and out of place in a storm, something akin to the beginnings of an earthquake before an unknown force cuts its life short.

Your head swivels to the side. You couldn’t see much past the mist save for what was in front of you and you clamber down with a little more prudence till the ground evens out a bit more and the screen before you dissipates. You could see nothing out of place, save for a few upturned trees and your shoulders slump. It was all for nothing, you realize and a tinier voice dares to whisper a spiteful little ‘dammit’.

You turn, casting one last glance over the clearing, then make your way back uphill. It was a wasted attempt and as you stew in your own self-berating and disappointment, you almost miss the faint crackle behind you. It was just the wind, you reason. There was little cause for it to be anything else. What could possibly make its way up here?

When you hear it a second time, you freeze, something cold jolting at your bones.

Well shit.

It doesn’t take too long to find the source, save for trudging through the mud and a few of the murkier parts past the tree line — but you find it by the time the sun shifts the barest fraction to the west..

“Ah — ” was the most your throat could choke out as shock swallowed you whole, like ice water.

There is a trail of gold on the earth, and it leads up to the slumped form of a man, his robes stained with the same gilted shade and his breath leaving shallow puffs of air where he lay, motionless and seemingly dead.

Well — fucking — shit. You mind shudders, your thoughts screaming and splitting up against your head like some panicked beast. It was chaos at its core, it was the frenzied scrape of control.

You were no fool. The man before you, both massive in frame and presence, was one amongst the hundreds of those touched by divinity — god or not — whose names were uttered and praised amidst this war. There was nothing distinctly human about him; not his clothes, not the horns that curled atop his skull and the brown scales smattered across, not the ichor he bled out — nothing.

For a moment, or maybe more, you stare down at him, long and hard as you try to wrangle your rationality back and think of what move to make. You could not afford the trouble that comes with aiding a foreign being and the land you settled on could house any force hostile to the man at your feet. A shaky breath escapes, then another. You were trembling now, just a little, daring to take a step back, then one more.

Kill him, another voice snaps. It was twisted and its words breathed acrid revulsion. Get it over with, he’s not worth the pain.

You consider it, for the tiniest bit of a second till he lets out a shudder and shifts with tense shoulders, his grunts labored and streaked with muted agony — those darker thoughts quickly flatline to scattered anxiety and the hand that brushes the blade at your hip falls limp. Not now, perhaps. You could just leave him here, let nature run its course.

You could do that, you decide with a semblance of confidence.

Of course you could.

Of course.

Your shuffling comes to a stop and you're backtracking immediately, your pace holding an urgent bounce with every step. There is a feverish jerk to your movements when you settle beside him, and a storm of emotions raging in your chest. It does little to ease you — little does, these days — and you press up on his shoulders in an attempt to roll him over onto his back.

It happens so swiftly, a blur of gold and black that shadowed your periphery before you were slammed down with eyes like uncut cor lapis glaring down at you. You scramble, clawing at your neck, at the digits pressed up against your windpipe and your pulse and it beats faster and faster and faster. One tiny move and you’d be left for dead.

( A part of you is stunned — for even wounded and weakened from some unknown, unspoken battle, the quavering power within him seemed to beat strong. You feel a mix of thrilled awe and terror turn in your stomach. )

His gaze hardly falters, roving at your form before his grasp on you releases and he mutters something akin to an apology, collapsing again. His eyes were still open, watching you beneath a haze of pain and deliriousness, stiffening now and then when you so much as move. The strength he showed, no matter how small it was, is gone and there is the slightest hint of vulnerability beneath the stripped layers of stone.

Your instincts scream at you to run yet you stay rooted in place, coming to sit up and hover by his side. In the end, your own concern and pity won out. “Y-you’re wounded.” you try to reason, only to be met with a grunt. You find yourself wincing as you stutter over your words, your voice hoarse from months of disuse. “Please, l-let me help. My h-home is c-close b-by.” 

Feeble, you chide yourself amidst it all, old, old regrets tearing at your mind and clawing at your thoughts. You shut your eyes, letting your muscles relax and you try again.

Tugging at his arm serves to be fruitless. He was too large for you to carry over and your first attempt gives that away well enough. The gold in his veins seems to dim with the passage of time and you fear his life slipping away under your watch. “I n-need you to w-walk…” your plea is almost caught in your throat and you have to wrench it out to let it be heard. He tilts his head your way. “You’re too h-heavy…” you try to reason.

Another grunt sounds out and thankfully, his form rises. You’re quick to move to his side, supporting him against your shoulder, the thrum of elemental energy strong beneath your hold. He practically oozed it and it feels like what the storm felt like — the trembling earth itself.

You don’t say much after that, leading him back to your home, your hand and clothes staining a bright gold.

Perhaps your house would have been a little cleaner had you known you’d have a guest over. When you lead the the being inside, you scan the small space with a sense of perplexity, hoping he wouldn’t scrutinize the sight too much ( your mother always seemed to emphasize the need for a well kept living space — should she see you now, you know she’d be rolling in her grave with indignity ).

He stumbles a little, letting out a guttural snarl and you flinch, almost dropping his weight onto the floor when you feel claws close down on your arm and press against your scarred skin. You hiss softly and he gives a little jolt, his hold on you releasing, leaving little but the crumpled sleeve of your tunic behind. 

“How much — ” he cannot finish the sentence, his nose wrinkling up and he almost looks a little feral underneath the light. 

“Just a l-little more.” you assure, cracking the barest of smiles as you cross the room and lay him down on your bedroll. He was tall enough as is, and you think his horns would scrape up against the ceiling of this house should he stand upright. 

The bedroll itself was pathetically small beneath him, but you couldn’t throw a fuss about it, working away at his clothes in relative silence, steeling yourself up in preparation for the worst. 

The clasps and the belts and sashes are undone by nimble fingers and as the layers peel away, you come to a stop. It was not a pretty sight, his wounds, the clawed lacerations criss crossing across his torso like patchwork. You doubt you could salvage much and you almost give up at the spot, pulling away the rest of his clothing. The worst one splits across his chest and you look to the side, battling out the vertigo and the nausea threatening to creep up. 

He’d have been dead at this point, had the blood in his veins be that of a mortal’s and not something inhuman. In some convoluted sense, he was lucky.

Stop cowering, you hiss internally. Pull yourself together.

The sound of rustling clothes is all you could hear after, followed by the clinking of metal and the sharp tang of alcohol. Your movements are almost robotic — and you had done this plenty of times before, cleaning the wounds of children and soldiers. But this wasn’t home and you doubt any soothing words would stoke at the feelings of a god. 

When you return to his side, his forehead is damp with sweat.

“Shit — ”

His skin was warm. Could an immortal being fall ill? Was that even a possibility?

“I will be fine.” he rasps out and you jump, snapping his way as you hold the clothes closer to your chest in defense. He turns his head, peering at you and you think you see a stubborn glimmer beneath the usual masked strain and impassivity. “My wounds will heal in time…I…only seek shelter till they do…”

“Absolutely n-not.” you reply, splaying your palm out on his stomach to keep him still as you clean away the dirt and dried blood. The shallower wounds were slowly closing up again. “You’re in no state to argue right now.”

His mouth twitches and there is a momentary flash of teeth. You try not to let it frazzle you as much despite his initial protest, your movements slowing to a more delicate pace as you bathe the worst of his lesions till you were satisfied with the lack of dirt caking his body. “It seems choice no longer holds to be a luxury.” he utters under his breath.

“No.” you agree. “It does not.”

He falls silent, a petulant turn on his lips. “Are you a healer?” he asks. You bow down, unwinding the linen wraps you had stored away.

“My mother was.” you finally admit, your posture straightening. “I learned what I could from her to aid the people in my village. I never studied medicine formally, however…” you trail off. Talking seems to grow a little easier the more you speak. The hoarseness was slowly giving way and your stuttering grew less frequent.

“And I take it you shall try to help me as you do with any other human?” there was a sardonic sort of amusement in his tone that has you bristling. “Your medicines and methods will not work on an Adeptus. Put your tools away, you only waste your time.

“Adeptus…so you hail from the settlement south of Mt. Tianheng?”

“You’re ignoring my words,” he accuses. You bat your lashes at him innocently.

“Small talk.” you shrug. “You can tell me everything you want after I’m done tending to you.” you meet his gaze, tumultuous gold melded with an orange-red. He narrows his eyes, his unfocused vision scanning you, then the house, then at the bandages you held before he leans his head back with a defeated sigh.

By the time you conclude your task, he has fallen unconscious, his breathing deep and his heartbeat unnaturally slow for a human. You look down at your ruined clothing, at the stains at the hem of your tunic and at the sleeves and you hope you can salvage what you can from this, moving on to change out of them and fish out a cleaner pair of clothes. 

The smell of petrichor still persists through the day, the sky brewing with the makings of a new storm. Perhaps you had lost track of time and the monsoons were sitting in sooner than expected and you move on to salvage whatever you’d left outside to dry and board your windows up for the incoming onslaught.

The man wakes when night falls, form set aglow against the dim lamp light. 

“Let’s change your bandages.” you offer. He doesn’t protest this time, painfully sitting himself up with gritted teeth as you get back to work. His skin still radiates that uncomfortable temperature as you press up against it. You might need to get a wet rag ready lest he overheats

He speaks after the silence persists. “You shouldn’t see me like this.” it comes out as a whisper so soft, you almost miss it. His face however holds a distant look, with a hint of disappointment lurking within and you tug at the linen a little harder. You’ve heard that before, from the lips of men and women who had too much to hold and little weakness to show. You wonder what it would entail for a warrior, or a being whose years spanned farther than yours, to sink as low before a stranger.

It must be hard.

“We all get hurt sometimes.” you smile, hoping to lighten the air with a bit of humor ( it was getting too heavy, the air in the room ). “I’ve lost count of the number of times I've hit my head…and you think I'd be a little more cautious given my studies…”

A poor joke stays a poor joke no matter the delivery ( and yours was weak to begin with ). He does not say or do much, save for a slight twitch in his jaw and an unamused tilt in his head. You shrink back, skittishly throwing his used bandages aside in favor of new ones with a hasty “Nevermind.” on your tongue. 

“Do you truely not know who I am?” he asks, his touch skimming the sheets absently. You shake your head, confusion and that damned curiosity slowly lurking and clawing its way to the light. You want to stamp the ugly feeling down and out of sight. You try to. It does not disappear. He continues, “What of the civilization south of Tianheng?”

A shrug was the most you could manage. You guess that was where he hails from. “I know it’s the domain of a geo god, and that beings touched by longevity, ally beside him. “My old home is far, however, and our god hid us away from the world…my knowledge on this is sparse.” 

You’re almost ashamed to admit it, to acknowledge the bubble you had grown within, accepting the suffering of the men and women who ventured out and returned with broken bodies you and your mother had to fix. You weren’t sure what sort of terrible dichotomy it was, to live in ignorance amidst blatant horror and blood, and you don’t wish to return to it.

He seems to take this in, his eyes training up at the ceiling, then upon you with a lidded stare. “Who was your god?”

The icy set to your jaw was a hint he picks up on and he does not further the topic.

“...I am from there…from Liyue.” he says instead, in recollection of your previous question. The settlement was a distance from here, a few days worth of journeying by cart and hardly worth the risk of the travel with the demons that lurk and the gods that warred.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

His lips curl again, but it’s less of a grimace and more of a smile, his fangs tucked away to show a visage less feral, less dangerous. You find yourself relaxing a bit more unconsciously, seemingly charmed by this simple action ( and the thought almost scares you ). “What is your name, mortal?”

Ah, he wasn’t going to make this easy. You’re tempted to tug on his bandages a little harder if only to spite him.

You don’t reply till you are done with your chore and you lean back, massaging your stiff fingers. Your name slips out of your lips then, the action feeling natural in defiance of the years spent hardly having a friendly face within your home, save the occasional traveler. The adeptus seems satisfied. “You may call me Zhongli.” he replies, his voice softer, raspier.

“Zhongli.” you repeat. Zhongli.

There is a rustle of fabric and his fingertips brush against yours, the touch nearly having your arm lurch back in muted shock. He seems unphased but you — you watch a soft light shimmer through the dimness of your walls. When it fades, a single visage of gold stares back.

“It’s your reward. For aiding me.” there is a medley of pride and contentment and you liken it to that of a child offering a messily put together gift. Gold is coveted by most, but has little use here, and you have little use for it. But the gift is still cupped within your hands and you hold it as if it is something precious.

( Oh, your heart trembled just a bit and you feel a lump grow in your throat, bigger and bigger till you dip your head down out of his line of sight. )

His eyes bear down on you harder, set aglow and unyielding.

You smile to hide your trembling frame, thoughts revolting within your mind like the beat of war drums with a mix of unease and appreciation. Yet, who were you to question Zhongli’s secrets?

Maybe hypocrisy runs deeper in your blood than you initially assumed.

Mist dances at your fingertips.

It weaves and spreads and obscures the light and the woods around you and you run through blindly as the skin beneath your feet tears and the chill of the night clings to your skin and leaves behind dew and sweat.

You could see nothing; nothing save the pale glow of the moon above you as it tries to break through the barrier and light your way. It cannot, for Balam’s magic conjures obscurity, and obscurity was worshiped.

But you were human and you were curious and the voice that called your name was so familiar and warm and you wanted to weep and run towards it. The mist will not stop your folly and you will keep running to appease that growing thirst. In the end it will cost you.

The sound of your footsteps cease. The mist thins out and at the end of the veil, you poke your head out for the first time to witness the world outside. A set of teeth, white and sharp greet you. Then another and another, till the darkness itself glows as it does beneath the moonlight.

You hear her voice. It comes from the open maw.

The demons spot you and you run again, feeling their jaws clamp down and tear through muscle and bone and you scream and scream and scream at the white hot agony and the very feeling of your nerves set aflame before they numb.

Your curiosity cost you.

You wake to your fingers clawing at your shoulder with labored gasps and Zhongli panting, his fingers gripping at the sheets of the bedroll and his brow furrowed. You blink away the sleep in your eyes and tug the blanket off of your shoulders, shakily making your way to his side. His skin was hot again and panic lights in your chest, like the incoming winter.

“Fuck — it’s gotten worse.” you mumble a few more expletives as you stumble out to collect some more water and the few mistflower corollas you had stored away within your cabinets, hoping the elemental energy in them hadn’t dissipated completely. Setting the bucket down by his bedside with the corollas nestled within, you hiss at the cold pricking your palms and the frostbite coming to form.

Never mind that! The fucking adeptus is going to melt.

Oh my, thank you for pointing out the obvious! 

The cloth bath was set to a near feverish pace as you feel him twitch and convulse through the chills wracking his body. “Hot — ” he groans.

“It’s the fever.” you mutter, tugging his pants down, your eyes unconsciously trailing down the slope of his waist and dip of pelvis, then avert your eyes before you could see any more, face flushed whilst a cloth was thrown onto his hips to spare him some decency. “You need to cool down…please, stay still.”

His hand comes to grip your arm and the dormant strength within it, one etched into his very being, was frightening. The adeptus’ sights were set upon you, the fever-addled state of his blowing his pupils out till only a thin ring of gold remains, shining through the light of the oil lamp, brighter and brighter. You pull away and rest your free hand on his with a soothing squeeze. 

“You will be okay.” you assure. “It will come to pass soon enough. Let me take care of you for now.” You coax him to stay still as you continue the cloth bath, wiping away at his clammy skin while fatigue continues to weigh down on your shoulders and tug at your eyes. “I know you’re hiding something…and if you…if you’re one of the gods, then you must live. You’ll have people waiting for you…they need you, at a time like this.”

He lets out a weak exhale, shakily sitting himself up with sudden urgency. “Liyue…” he whispers, gait faltering and you steady him as he leans into you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. You struggle to push him back down atop the bedroll, his breaths growing pained with the passing seconds. 

“Liyue.” you nod and repeat. “You need to go back soon, don’t you? You’ll have to heal first, and for that, you must rest.” The cloth is pressed against his temple now, wiping away sweat all while the smell of petrichor grows stronger. The searing temperature hasn’t subsided and hopelessness stirs inside, an ugly feeling, a familiar feeling ( it was worse than your curiosity — it always was ).

Zhongli leans into your touch, his fingers tangling against yours. “Stay…” he whispers. You cease your movement as his body shifts and presses against your lap. “Stay….” he repeats.

“I…I’ll stay.” you slump in defeat, resting his head on your lap. Lightning flashes outside your window and the walls seem to shake as the rain comes pelting down. You continue the bath, listening to a leaky spot in your roof and the incessant downpour rattling against the tiles. Zhongli seems to still, his breaths still weighed down by that terrible heaviness.

The rain continues. His fever grows worse.

Then the pattering slows down, and the flush on his skin comes to cool. By the time the rains stop, his fever breaks and you lean against the wall of your home, shutting your eyes as you nearly weep, your worries allayed.

Morax was the first to wake in the early hours of the morning, the scent of petrichor pervading his senses followed by the faint lull of jasmine. Then comes the warmth and the softness, one his claws unconsciously dig into with a groan shuddering out of his chest.

It was you, slumped against the wall, lost in your own dreams and too tired to notice and the sight makes him swell with a conflicting mess of emotion. Then comes the pain, the aftermath of his fever coming to tear at him, at his limbs and his tendons till he ceases his stubborn movement and lets his body fall slack.

He does not understand your intent, but the faint memory of that familiar care against a muddled haze stills his tongue and his suspicion. Your muffled words, your hand in his, everything, blurred away yet so clear.

Humans were strange, so fragile, so determined…

“Fool…” he murmurs. The last of his strength is used to draw the blanket over your shoulders. “But thank you, nonetheless.” Sleep calls him again, and Morax shuts his eyes.

The jasmine lingers, stronger than most. He lets it swallow him whole.

You come to realize how much you hated it, the loneliness.

Your home was far removed from civilization, settled between regions  and away from main travel ways that weren’t blocked or destroyed. The quiet of your house was nothing like the bustle of the town you hailed from and the chaos that accompanies the stalls in the early mornings. The most noise that encloses your small plot of land were the local wildlife, the creaks and groans of wood born against strong winds and the weight of snow and the distant battles fought over the horizon.

During arbitrary moments of your routine, you question why Zhongli landed here of all places, in the midst of nowhere. You wonder if this is some grand scheme or punishment for your past mistakes and when you feel your curiosity dare to skitter forth and poke more holes into your blind acceptance, you drive it away with an angry hiss.

He is not an unwelcome guest, even if he holds a sense of urgency at times and a well kept secret whose nature you suspect . It’s almost comforting, no matter how contrived it seems, listening to him speak of an obscure plant or hearing his heavy footfalls a few days after his arrival. 

How desperate are you? The bitter pride in your heart speaks up, and it’s seedy and unhappy as you straighten out the drying sheets over the heated slab. Where is your self preservation? Your brain cells? You’re smarter than this you fool —

“Is something wrong?”

Zhongli’s voice snaps you out of your reverie and you start, nearly dropping your laundry on the grass.

“Nothing!” and it is a weak save on your part as you straighten the worn down basket to move to an empty patch of stone, ducking under to check the state of the flaming flowers underneath. His hands come to rest on the surface and he lets out a soft exhale, his eyes slipping shut in a seeming moment of peace. “You should be resting.” you remind him.

“I believe I'm past the need for excessive bedrest.” he intones with an amused lilt. “Do you need help? It is partly my fault you have far more work to sort through.” He wasn’t lying. What little linen you had was used up to change the sheets on your bedroll before his fever broke. You had little clue how illness amongst higher beings were treated, but simply washing the contaminated cloth was the best option you had on your for now.

Ah, sometimes you regret not moving closer to a town.

Your reply was short, when you notice the silence being drawn out for a little too long. “That does not mean you should strain yourself. The less of a load you place on yourself, the faster you will heal. I’m sure you are needed back at your colony. The war is far from over.”

The comment seems to tug at his emotions, a stern moroseness settling on his face. “That is true…but I trust my fellow adepti to hold the lines in my absence.” you bend over to collect another sheet from the basket, the hair at the back of your neck prickling when he moves behind you. “Even so, I should hasten my return.”

“Then — ” The sheet is snatched from your hands and you watch Zhongli step beside an unused slab to lay it across the surface, a mischievous smile touching his lips. “Oi!” you snap, reaching out to grab it.

“However,” he continues, ignoring your protest with a look of innocent serenity. You want to squawk, to stamp your foot down childishly and you almost do, your movements stilled by you clenching your fist to curb it. “I’ve fought battles with wounds far worse and won. Menial chores are hardly a labor and if it means aiding you then I shall take it.”

You let out a groan in defeat and push the basket between the two of you. Zhongli was preening in his small victory, setting the clothes out to dry with relative ease. “Guests shouldn’t partake in chores like these.” you repeat the line your mother had uttered so many times, one amongst many of her favorite maxims. 

He watches you from his spot behind the stone slab, a contemplative haze clouding his hues. “I simply return the favor. It is the nature of a contract, to balance out what is given with due compensation.” 

He isn’t going to let up, is he?

“Fine, fine…you can help me collect a few mist flowers later.” you concede.

“What do you need them for?” he asks, collecting your laundry basket as you kneel upon the grass, blowing some air into a patch. One of the flowers is set alight and you sigh, letting them burn awhile as you feel your fingers retain a little more warmth in them. 

“Preservation…I use them to make my herbs and food last a little longer…it’s not easy, coming across certain ingredients for a decent meal…” You let out a dry chuckle at that, which melts away into a mildly sheepish one. Even if you bear a slight annoyance to your choice of settlement, and even with the debilitating isolation that came with it — it was still home and it was still safer than most.

Zhongli takes this in, a hand resting against his chin. “I see…cooking is not a part of my skill set…unfortunately. But a friend of mine intends on relaying an old recipe of his should the war end soon. Perhaps I could pass it on to you, if you don’t mind it.”

It was an oddly sweet gesture coming from him and you hum, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you consider it. That also meant opening a tiny window of opportunity; a chance that you may see Zhongli again. The thought stirs a clash of emotion, of fear and of excitement and dare you say it, hope and it feels warm and cold and all sorts of things at once. “I’d like that…granted you don’t accidentally poison me.” 

He feigns annoyance as his head tilts to the side, quietly regarding you. “You overestimate my inadequacy. The last time I did partake in the culinary arts, the worst outcome was an offhand crystallize reaction and a burnt stove.” he pauses. “Besides, my skill in brewing tea is decent.”

Oh Gods —

“I’m just being cautious.” you laugh a little louder at that, holding up your hands in defense. “Dear Lords though…I hope that friend of yours is prepared then. You might turn out to be a genius in cuisine or a hopeless case.”

“Then I hope for the former.”

You grin, hanging up the last of your clothes. “If you turn out decent…then I wouldn’t mind sharing some of the recipes passed down to me. I couldn’t indulge myself in them as much, but i hope you may come to like them.”

Something in Zhongli’s eyes softens and he nods. “And I would like that in turn…” he utters slowly, watching you clear away any dry branches and grass close by. His fingers absently brush over his torso, where the bandages stay wrapped around him. You catch the subtle purse of his lips and the twinge in his jaw. “Do not be concerned…” he snaps up to meet your worried face. “I am fine.”

“...Right.” you knew it wasn’t wholly a lie. Zhongli proved to be a quick healer, perhaps a trait passed down by his inhuman lineage. But these displays of vulnerability only played into the damning knowledge you knew before; of the hidden fragility the gods held. “Come on…I think it’s time we get those bandages changed.”

Zhongli smiles but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Another secret, you think sadly, taking his hand as you lead him inside, taking in the momentary warmth he held even if his skin didn’t quite feel like skin or that they glowed a bit too bright between the cracks of your fingers.

You don’t ask him to collect the mist flower corollas again, staying at home with him with some tea set at the table for him to sip on while you inspect his lacerations. There was some idle chatter over dinner and Zhongli spoke a little more about his home.

“You’re going to leave tonight, aren’t you?” you ask suddenly, your voice soft. His words die out and you try to still the sharp edged pain in your chest. It refuses to fade and you accept the growing weight with an unwilling gait.

“Yes.” he whispers, setting his cup down and he looks ashamed.

“Then go.” you mumble. He opens his mouth again but you hold up a hand. “I…I know your name is not really Zhongli…it’s not is it?” His silence was damning and you finally piece it together, the knowledge you learned from your village and from your travels, no matter how meager, painting a slow picture in broad strokes.

The stories depict Morax to be more of a beast and less of a man. You would have glossed over it as well,expecting a dragon instead of the visage of a handsome stranger.

“I take it you’ve come to a conclusion.” he muses, looking a little apologetic, a little ashamed. “I never intended on deceit but the nature of our meeting called for it.”

“You were afraid I was going to kill you?” you guess. Zhongli — Morax laughs and shakes his head.

“Even in my weakened state, you would have been incapable of it.” well damn. “I feared someone of greater power would catch wind of talk of a wounded god…but given your lifestyle, they held no merit. I apologize though…I know you may have suspected a while.”

Morax smiles and you try not to battle the disbelief that a good sat across you, eating your food and drinking your tea. “However, I have a question to ask you.” 

A pause

“What became of your deity?”

Your breath seizes and you meet his gaze. His stare seems to hold so much more weight to it and you look down. Your old god was a memory you sought to bury away well out of sight. Recollecting them only brought in a bitter taste and a dull ache and Morax notices it. “That’s a story for another day.” you finally manage out after some deliberation. Your tea has gone cold by the time you take another sip out of it, the air feeling heavier again. You wrinkle your nose at the taste.

He nods. “Then I will return and pay my debt in whole as well.” he decides. “Your kindness is one I shall remember, little one.” You hate how a part of you melts into this buttery, weak mess and when he smiles, you hate how it’s so easy to feel yourself tear at the seams, to beg him to stay a little longer. “Thank you.”

He was gone the next morning, a fresh batch of mist flower corollas left behind in an earthen pot alongside a delicate flower preserved in amber.  

“Good riddance.” you tell yourself, the words feeling forced.

You will miss him, you think.

He returns three months later, or maybe it was more. Time was easy to lose track of and the seasons were all you had to know of a passing year. By the time he arrived, the last remnants of winter had receded and you found yourself in the midst of spring, restocking your stores and setting soup to boil in the hearth. 

Should I bow? You think when he appears at your doorstep. Extend a greeting? Address him by his title? Your great eminence…no that sounds pretentious… You reminisce about your old customs, of the times you spent watching your mother lay out scented flowers and fruits at the feet of your deity during festivals or during victory feasts. Morax however, steps inside with a smile in greeting, his hand coming to tuck some stray hair out of your face.

Then comes the deja vu. 

You question why his arrivals were always timed on days when your home was a mess.

“Wait! We can talk outside.” saving the last few traces of your dignity is all you had in mind as you blockade the entrance. It would hardly do any good, you realize then; he was tall and he was far bigger and when he stops with a puzzled look and scans the room and the traces of stalks and unswept and unused parts of the herbs you were sifting through, a glint of understanding flashes in his eyes and he steps back.

You want to sink into the ground with the traces and remainders of you. Oblivion seemed a tempting option with the way your face burned and your heart hammers at a pace nearly hard to keep up with.

“My apologies.” he utters, letting you lead him outside. He does not seem as bothered or flustered, thankfully; nor does he pry as he erects a few makeshift seats sculpted from geo and sits himself down alongside you with a soft sigh on his lips. “I wish we could have met sooner,” he admits.

“Is that so? It’s hard to believe you’d bother…” you hum with a shy dip of your head. Morax considers this.

“Did you not ask for it?”

“I did…but I accepted the possibility of you not returning.” you cease for a second, recalling your promise to give him the answer he sought. It felt like a cheap trick, back then and it still does now, of you running away as you always did. “I'm glad you came back though…it was nice having someone around to speak to.”

Moax looks pleased with this. “I simply find your company enjoyable.” you feel a stirring in your stomach when he says that, and it feels like a wonderful sort of sweetness, like honey. “Even if our first few days spent together lacked any delicacy in approach.”

“You were quite stubborn.” you admit.

“I was, wasn’t I?” he agrees. You snicker.

“I wouldn’t blame you though. Even I had a hard time staying still when bedrest was forced upon me…how have you been?” your fingers slot together as you pull your knees closer to your chest, your cheek resting against your thigh as you watch the scenery in the distance. The mist had abated, just a bit and you could see the copse of trees expanding then scattering as the plains began. 

Morax exhales. “As I’ve always been.”

“Stubborn?”

“Busy.” he corrects, flashing you a look of warning. You grin innocently. “The war has come to a temporary standstill. Only smaller battles seem to keep up…with the weaker gods mostly weeded out, planning our next move is of importance. I only have a few hours to spare now before I leave for Liyue.”

“Oh…” you take this in. Perhaps this was a sign of the war slowly coming to a close. Maybe during your time, if you were lucky enough, or in another hundred years or so. “Then…tell me about Liyue.”

Morax raises a brow but he smiles, humoring your question. “What would you like to know?”

“Plant life? What’s it like there?” you supply, leaning forward in quiet anticipation.

He chuckles. “Not of the people? Or its history?” he asks.

“You can tell me that too!”

He hums, his gaze softening. “It’s not uncommon to see mountains in Liyue,” he admits. “To say our weather has a stark contrast in the plains and the peaks would be an understatement. Juehyun Karst, the realm of the adepti is pleasantly cool most of the time, but the plains are hot and humid. That being said, our flora seems to take on this diversity as well…”

He tells you about the yellow sand bearer and the gold ginkgo trees that spot Liyue’s landscape, of the horsetail that covets the marshes and the reclusive glaze lilies that grow within the terraces. He tells you about the silk flowers nestled amidst the red bushes, always found in pairs and the violet grass sprouting forth off of cliffs. And he tells you of the qingxins that turned away from the warmth of the plains and grew in the distant peaks, looking down upon Liyue as a whole.

There was a sort of magic, listening to Morax speak of his nation with a layer of fondness and sadness. 

“Maybe when the war ends, I’ll visit. I think I'd like to start a garden some time.” you hum, surveying the empty patches of land in front of you. It would be nice to have a few more flowers around to brighten up the monotony you have grown accustomed to. His expression shifts, a brighter shine lighting up his eyes.

“You could stay there if you wish.” Disbelief rattles through your ribs and it steals your breath and pushes against your lungs. You fall silent, ceasing the anxious play with your clothes. “I could find a place for you amidst my people…would you like that?”

There was disbelief, yes, and a stutter in your words, but there is also the pang of appreciation and the tingle at your fingertips. However cold dread settles down ( for it is an old bedmate ) and Morax seems to catch on. “Have I misspoken in any way?” he questions, his hooded gaze appraising. 

You jerk your head. He had it all wrong and the last thing you need is a messy misunderstanding to fall into your pile of terrible mistakes. “No, no…I don’t think I'm ready to return to a land ruled by a god…or even around so many people…not yet…” you couldn’t bring yourself to word it out and it shames you. You are an adult. You needed to speak like one.

There is a faint brush on your cheek, the barest hint of a touch and when you look up, you see the suspicion he holds paired with concern. You want to shrink back, make yourself smaller, unknowable, something you were before he came along and made you care and vie after company and something as simple as touch.

“I assume it has something to do with your old settlement?” he asks.

You nod.

“We were hidden behind our god’s mist and illusions…our people were cut off from the rest of the world save a few soldiers and those who joined our god in battle. My mother would accompany them sometimes…she’d tell me about the world outside and we promised to visit a lake just a short walk from the barrier…” you hold out your hands, trying to grasp the words she had tattered. “She called it starlight on earth…or…something like a mirror clearer than any metal she’d seen. I wanted to go, but we were not allowed to leave.”

“You were not?” Morax asks. He leans in, listening closer.

“We were not.” you affirm softly. “Or god never spoke it…but we knew. They talked about demons lurking out and we were scared. One day…I couldn’t find her amidst the returning line of soldiers she left with…I did later…and I couldn’t even stand to look at the state she was in.” you stare ahead, the weight of his gaze resting even harder now. “I don’t know why…if it was grief or curiosity or a mix of both…but I thought I heard her voice one day…calling out to me. And I knew it was a trap, but I ran towards it, out of the forest, and the mist…”

You swallow hard. You felt cold. Cold all over, like that night, where the silence was unsettling and the sound of your name was a taunting whisper. Your mother, it was your mother, rigid at some times with her own rough edges and flaws, but loving for the most part. Your mother — and it was an old hurt you had locked in a box a long time ago, that time had weathered down till it was the embers scraped to the side of the charcoal pit.

“They were right…my deity warded off those things that attacked me…but they were bleeding everywhere. Balam was strong, but as a god…I doubt they held much in par to some of the others who warred out there…” Like you, you almost add. “They were weakened…unfit to fight in a state like that and we tried what we could. The wounds didn’t heal as we thought they should. I was banished for endangering their life and as I traveled…I heard of Balam’s passing in the hands of an invading god.”

“...and now, I'm here.” you finish, wryness coating every syllable. You wished your apathy was more than a weak front to bury away the stab in your heart; you wish you could be stronger than the coward you are. Morax shuts his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest.

He looks a little more like the god you were told about; sharp, pragmatic, with a presence that looms over most. “If there was a law that stated so, that forbade stepping out of your deity’s territory, then yes, you have committed a wrong. I have heard tell of Balam, whispers of their whereabouts and they did try to protect your people from a harsher way of life…” 

Ah, so that was his response. You wilt a little, feeling a mix of fury and defeat, at Morax, at the gods, at this war and at your own childish stupidity and audacity to even dare to feel this way. “I see…” you mumble. Morax holds up a hand, cutting you off. The words die in your throat faster than embers in snow.

“But,” he behind and his expression pulls into something gentler, lacking the initial rigid sternness it held. “Demons are still a force to be reckoned with. Even my adepti struggle with stifling down their noxious presence, whether it be the weight of karma or a disparity in power itself.”

Coherency is now a lost subject.

“I doubt you could have resisted its influence and Balam knew of the battle they would throw themselves into. Your god was willing to make that sacrifice, something of a rare sight amongst a few of the divine. Remember this well.”

A lump grows in your throat. It’s not an unwelcome one, quietly easing the nerves that crackled and frazzled beyond possible repair. You look down at your hands and your eyes slip shut as you take his words in, bit by bit. Balam was a god who, while distant within the front lines of battle, still loved their people.

It’s ironic how the gods can be capable of human sentiment and human error. 

“Thank you, Morax.” you mutter. “I needed that.”

“The bitter truth, or the comfort?” he jests softly. “Because while I deal well with the former, my skill with the latter falls abysmally short.” 

You laugh softly.

“For both.”

( His eyes light with surprise. Then you spot it, the faint flush on his cheeks and a dangerous thought enters your mind. You shake your head. It was best you didn’t raise your paltry hopes. ) 

He does not visit for a few weeks, but you spot a few saplings left behind at your doorstep, of plants and flowers you had never seen before.

You pick one up and a single word echoes in your mind — qingxins.

A smile tugs at your lips.

The distant noise of battle has grown reticent.

You tell it to Morax on one of his visits and he dares to flash a knowing smile in response. “The war is coming to its close. Only a few handfuls remain.” he states, tracing your bandaged hands; a new set of souvenirs from a stray whopperflower. You shiver involuntarily, leaning into him a bit more while longing tears your insides raw. “Hopefully you will come to enjoy an era of peace soon.”

“Will it end soon? The war?” you ask, wincing a little when he presses his fingertips down on the afflicted skin, bathing it in honeyed gold. “Ah! Gently!” you hiss, pulling back on reflex. Morax holds you fast, drawing you back to him with a playful tut and a sheepish glance your way.

“Apologies. Is this alright?” The pressure on your wrist still brings forth a sting, but it’s far more bearable. You nod. “Alright. Now hold still…” The glow returns, as does the tingling warmth and the tense nervousness gives way to a content sigh as the pain ebbs to obscurity. You watch your bandages fall away to skin mostly unblemished, save the faint traces of a scar left behind. “Better?” he asks.

You nod. “Much better…I wonder why you didn’t try healing yourself earlier. You’re not too bad at it.” he wasn't. Only a few humans were ever imbibed with the grace of divine power. You always longed to be gifted with the strength to heal, and you feet the slightest hint of envy as you take in the sight.

Morax blinks. “I was in too weak a state to do so. Healing is not my greatest strength either…I simply learned it, should it come to use amidst battle.” he flexes his fingers, the last flickers of gold falling away. His gaze meets yours with its usual intensity before he reaches for your other hand. 

“Hm…I suppose this means you’ve paid your part of the debt?” you tease. “You’ve healed me as I've healed you, right?” 

“True…” his lips quirk up as he mends the last of the burns, then presses a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “Does this mark the end of our contract?” The gesture only serves to fluster you further, bringing forth the feeling of fluttering warmth and the near lightness in your chest. Morax chuckles, his voice dipped to a teasing whisper as he calls out your name in a low, purring timbre.

“H-hold up!” you choke out, terrified of potentially overheating as you push his face away, stifling away the shy laughter that threatens to burst out. Morax shifts closer, closer still, his close presence having grown familiar through the meetings and the shared conversations and meals ( you missed the gentleness in his touch, you missed so much of him ).

“Hm? Stop what?” he teases, a cheeky glint lighting up in his gaze. “My, your face feels warm.” he adds with a soft simper, tilting your chin his way as he scans your features.

A desperate attempt to shift his attention comes to form. “Look at the qingxins you gifted me! They’re growing nicely, right?” you try to smile, looking at the flowers growing just a small ways from your home. Morax hums.

“They are. Give them a few months and they will come to bloom.” he replies, his wandering touch tracing up your arm, grazing at fragile skin and faint scars and the sensation has you shuddering. The glow in his eyes brightens and he huffs out something unintelligible, then asks you, “Would you like me to stop?”

You fall silent. “No it’s fine…” you sigh, reaching up to grasp his hand gently, ignoring the phantom stings as your finger splays out over Morax’s palm, at the dazzling gold dipped at the edges fading away to a spider web of veins and dark scales. “I like this.” you hum. Morax blinks, his cheeks coloring pink.

The intensity burns brighter in his gaze. It scorches at his touch and in the way he looks upon you now and as acute as it was, you felt blanketed beneath a safe warmth.

Morax speaks up, “I will make sure this war ends soon.” It was a promise, holding the weight of his blood. You feel it in every syllable, every rise and drop in his cadence. He leans in and the spice in his scent pervades your senses.

His lips are softer than you expected, mildly chapped from the heat and the battlefield, and between the buzz slowly beginning to sound off in your head and the feel of his touch brush away at your hair and rest on your cheek, your heart hammers hard in your ribcage. You feel the earth shift and watch the sky sweep away as you fall back on the grass and Morax palms at your hips and kisses you some more.

It feels like a distant dream, something you’d rather not wake from and when he pulls away to look you in the eye, you watch the smirk in his face grow as he dips down and buries his face into your neck, his pace languid, his claws gentle against the softness of your skin. You bite back a stray mewl when his teeth prickle down on sensitive flesh, slowly and deliberately making his way down down down, and his hand pressing flat on your thigh.

A glow flickers within his chest. He stops and tugs away with clear frustration, heaving as he watches you try to recover from the fog clogging up your thoughts, the memory of his touch warming every inch of you. Morax chews at his bottom lip. “I am needed again.”

“...oh…” you croak out, even if you wish to scream at the unfairness, to pull him back down atop of you and finish what he started. You shut your eyes, easing at your frayed nerves at the trembling and the traitorous dampness that was gradually settling in. The god in front of you holds a shadow of amusement and he kisses you again, gentler, with less teeth and tongue and more tenderness.

“I’ll come back,” he whispers. It holds another promise masked beneath the assurance, it’s cheekiness lighting his gaze.

When Morax’s form departs, you let out a shaky sigh, one hand delving into your heat while the other clamps over your mouth. The moment your slick coats your fingers, you moan into the silence, the promise persisting.

Morax thinks about you when the rains fall once more.

He thinks about you on the battlefield, waiting with that patient smile.

He thinks about you when his adepti fall and the last god is slain — when he finds his numbers dwindle, their blood staining his victory. He holds that memory of you close, that cherished warmth. His little flower.

Morax thinks about you. And he longs.

You came to know of patience’s workings through the days and months in between Morax’s visits, and this one is his longest thus far. The war persists still, the sound of the heavens screaming slowly growing quieter as deities were felled and the lands were stitched together by victories and defeats. You wonder where your old home lies now beneath the seven seats, what it would grow into in the near future.

Then one day, you wake to complete and utter silence.

The war is over. The roads had cleared. One day, when the world stills just a little more and the last few scars left behind have healed, you could try to visit the towns and cities beyond your isolated home.

Morax stays absent. You go on with your life. The qingxins he gifted you bloom in your garden. You wait, shedding away the accusatory remarks, the words that dare you to doubt his victory, that take your mind to darker spaces with the image of his still form and cold hands. No, absolutely not, you could not doubt him.

You repeat it over and over, beating down at the cynical whispering. Do not doubt him.

A storm rises again, blustering through the lands with the threat of tearing your home down from its stubborn foundations. You stay inside, the change in weather setting forth a persistent chill that your meager hearth could hardly hold against. Finally, after a few hours of running about, your body hunches over the blocks, feeding the fire with the last of your firewood.

“How much longer…” you mutter, storing away the last of your herbs when the rain refuses to cease and it grows harder to differentiate between night and day. The lightning thunders in response, asserting it’s long stay and you curl up by the warmth you fed, numb fingers gripping at old blankets and watching the rain beat down incessantly on your roof. It would be a long wait, you realize. It’s best if you find a way to pass the time.

There was another clap of thunder, then a crash that felt all too intimate with your memories. Then came the knocking and you scuttle up to let a drenched Morax in, his pupils blown wide and his body hot to the touch as he stumbles in. You’re almost afraid he’s fallen ill once more, but the insistent tug at your wrists has you follow him.

“Are you okay?” you ask, seating him down by the fire, moving to dry his hair after draping a sheet on his shoulder. “Morax, what’s wrong.” Despite the sudden appearance, you feel relief crash down and tug out a lump in your throat. You hold back the tears for his sake. You did not want to startle him in this state.

“A visit.” he shrugs.

“In this weather?” you question every ounce of wisdom he holds. He looks unbothered, pulling you closer to him while you squeeze the water out of his tresses, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. Warm breath pools out and hits your neck and a shiver racks at your body. “Morax — ”

“I missed you…” The hoarseness of his voice steals the words in your mouth. You latch onto him tightly, fisting at his robes, uncaring of the silk wrinkling beneath your rough hands. Morax does not stay silent or stay still, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer up against him. “I missed you…” he repeats feverishly. The hunger in his stare is an answer enough.

The fire crackles and lets out a sputter.

Morax lays you on your back with a gentle thump and hooks a hand beneath your knee, pushing it up against your chest as he steals a kiss from you, heated and impatient after weeks of mulling over his affection and lust. “Stay still.” he orders as you squirm a little, wanting more, needing more, trying to bury yourself into him as much as humanly possible. 

Your open mouthed breaths did not help in the slightest as he steals another kiss, then another, the wetness of his tongue delving deep down your throat as he muffles out any sounds of shock from you —

— was it forked?

You could not ponder over it for long, choking against the invading muscle while his lips caress yours with growing need and intensity. It made sense, for one like Morax — who adored talking about the origins of an obscure tea leaf to the festivities that littered the streets of his city — to fancy the act of kissing you. And he still keeps kissing you, over and over till your head spins and his body is pressed up flush against yours.

He noses at your neck with a noticeable huff, fingers dragging up the side of your hips, slowly, deliberately, till they tug at the hem of your clothes. Molten gold catches the anxious excitement bubbling within you and your eyes and you catch the smirk on Morax’s face.

“I’d like to continue.” he sounds breathless.

“Go on then.” that threadbare line that held you together had snapped now. You do not think you could wait any longer than you have for him. Morax chuckles, bending down with a narrowed gaze till his nose brushes against yours.

“I haven’t finished my statement.” he chides and you don’t know what is worse, him dragging this out to a near painful pace, or the hand that caresses the inside of your thigh teasingly, drawing out a stray moan from your lips. “If you feel overwhelmed, or you wish to stop, we must establish a safe word.”

He waits expectantly and you scour your mind for the first word that pops into your head. “Squid.” you decide, shifting your hips closer to him. Morax lets out something between a wince and an amused chuckle, his hand leaving your thigh. You wine in protest, grabbing at his wrists to pull him closer.

“So needy.” he lilts. “Are you sure you want this?”

How cruel, you think unhappily, unsure of how to take his consideration; a loosely veiled attempt to drive you further into wanting or a call of sincere concern. You think you know Morax. You think it’s both.

“Yes!” you cannot wait any more and neither could Morax, his claws curling round to clutch and tangle at the back of your head while he captures you in a devouring kiss. Your own experience hardly held a candle to his own practiced ease, but you do what you can, groaning into the clacking of teeth and the teasing little nips he leaves on your lower lip. 

His thumb traces down the side of your neck and hooks at your clothes, tugging away at the fabric to stroke your now bare shoulder. Morax leaves no trace of skin untouched by his lips and he brushes down the line of your collar bone, his teeth flashing in the candle light till you feel him bite down at the spot with a muffled growl.

The rush of pain and pleasure has you pressing your face down into the mattress with reeling shock, any moan held back in the midst of the hazy shock lighting up inside you. The action was mostly unintentional, but you were glad it could have saved you any further embarrassment in Morax’s eyes.

“Not a sound?” he asks, licking his lips with a predatory tilt to his head, regarding every inch of you with voracity. You stubbornly refuse to respond, lips sealed tight with a set of eyelashes batting up at him. Morax likes a chase and you give it to him, no matter how small it may be. “No matter. We’ll see how silent you are by the end of the night.”

The words hang in the air like an impending omen. You do not doubt him.

His voice dips to a sultry whisper as he undoes your top and lets it slide past your shoulders and down your waist till it was bunched to the side and lay there forgotten. The storm rumbles outside your window, and the wind prickles at your skin. Between Morax eyeing you down, mapping out every detail with his fingertips and the chill in the air, your arms instinctively move to hug yourself. 

“No.” His word was stern, absolute as he tugs at whatever covers your entirety from his gaze. “I’ve never seen you this shy before…adorable.” he purrs, stroking your cheek. 

“Tease.” you test out.

Morax’s expression lapses to a playful smile in the midst of your indignation, leaning back to watch you with clear intent. He guides your legs around his waist and shifts you partly atop his lap, gently moving your hips to a slow grind against his torso. The sudden stimulation draws out a squeak, your cheeks set aflush.

“Beautiful…” his claws linger over your chest before it trails down to stroke your stomach. “You’re so soft, little love…” they stop at your shoulder, raking around the scar settled there, gnarled marks and torn flesh left behind by talons and teeth. You feel the flare of doubt and self consciousness flare back up, but it fizzles out when he bends to leave a kiss atop it.

It was hard to find a spot that he did not touch. Morax was precise, diligent, learning what spots made your squirm and whimper and shake beneath him with white hot pleasure. The rain’s roar was a distant muffle between the pleasant buzz in your head and Morax’s ragged breaths sounding in the otherwise quiet room. He hunches over you, nosing at your neck with near obsessive need, nipping, kissing — anything to cast on some semblance of his scent and essence.

Your chin nestles atop his shoulder, your sight trained upwards, oblivious to where Morax may choose to touch you next. The clinking of metal does draw in a few questions, most quickly answered when you feel his clothes give way and settle on your stomach. Then comes his teeth, sharp fangs sinking into you. You hardly register the moan you let out, or the heat that you sink into, desperate for more, for more skinship, for more of Morax.

“Beautiful.” he repeats, a growl bleeding into every syllable, down to the rumble in his chest. He still donned his pants, but most of his clothes now lay scattered across the mattress, pushed aside a moment later with an impatient huff. 

You have seen Morax bare chested plenty of times before, when he first arrived wounded on the slope of your little mountain home. There was no denying he was a beautiful man, sharply lined with the faintest of silvered scars scattered beneath stark gold tattoos. “Morax.” you mutter, lacing your fingers into his, tugging at him instantly. “Keep going.”

He smiles. 

“Patience.” he croons. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold back the swear resting on your tongue. “I have waited for so long…” his teeth don’t hold the old hesitance it did, now wholly marking you with delicious bruises and love bites. “...and I intend on savoring…” his lips linger on the line of your jaw, tickling your ear. “...each…” they brush down, down, down. “...bite…” and true to his words, he sinks his teeth down again.

Your hands tangle at his hair, his hair tie snapping to your insistent tugging till burnt brown strands pool around him. He looked a little wilder, with how his eyes glow beneath the shadow cast on his face. You comb through them with a soft “So pretty.” earning a flattered hum whilst he cups your breasts, chanting your name lovingly.

You gasp at the feel of a soft pinch on your nipples. Morax lights up, a dangerous splay of his fangs flashing in your field of vision before he engulfs one breast within his mouth, suckling, biting, devouring greedily and the other grows sensitive to his slow strokes. “M-Mor–AX!” Your mewls peak and your hands grab at his shoulders, his back, at the sheets —somewhere, trying to ground you to the sensation. 

( He could hear your racing heart beneath his grasp and the sound of it makes Morax purr with an emotion so old and primal and possessive. )

He pulls away with a wet pop. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“H-hot.” you barely manage to blurt out. “Hot everywhere.”

That smile was back again, the one with the barest flash of primality. “Hot?” he repeats. You nod. It was hot, in your cheeks, your chest and your stomach and core — and you could hardly bring yourself to wait. With Morax’s resolve to take his slower pace. You curse his patience. You wish he was just as desperate. 

“I am.” he muses nonchalantly, ducking down to take your other breast in his mouth. “I crave every inch of you. I want to hear you sing, wǒ qīn'ài de.” his hand drags down, teasing the inside of your thighs with circular strokes. You buck your hips into him with a pathetic whimper, and Morax pounces at the lapse, tugging your underwear down with a single fluid motion then pushing his fingers into your drenched heat.

“Oh how obscene.” he lilts, a delighted shine in his eyes, momentarily bringing his slickened digits for you to see. “You’re drenched.”

“Shut.” you snap, a depraved cry cutting you off as he teases at your entrance with one finger, thumbing up your core till he settles on your clit with a peased grunt. Your hips snap and shudder, tears slowly pricking at your eyes. It was an odd sensation, a buildup of pressure far greater than what you could coax out that tightens in your gut. 

Morax slides a finger in, slowly, gently. “Ah — ” you bury your face into your mattress, spreading your legs further for him. He continues his slow thrusts, in and out and you revel in the sweet sensation. “Feels — f-feels good — ” 

His scrutiny comes with its merits, stroking your walls with an out of place gentleness as he watches every shift, keen and whine with a deep found appreciation and yearning. “You’re quite tight, little one.” he rumbles. You warble in response, bucking your hips into him as the pressure steadily builds and builds and builds.  

“I’ll be adding another.” he decides and he does, a second finger slipping in. the stretch stung and you fist at the sheets with a groan.

“N-no…t-too much — ah!” The broken whimper does elicit a sympathetic look from him and he kisses away the tears, thankfully easing his movements.

“I know, little love. I know.” you sink into his warmth, melting at the delicacy in how he holds you close. “But we’ll need to prepare you, don’t we? And you’re taking me so well too…” you think you are when the pain slowly subsides and the pleasure returns, your very being trembling when he scissors you. “Ah, witnessing the state you're in…it makes me wonder how well you’ll take something else of mine, hm?”

“M-morax!” you squeak, cheeks flushed. The embarrassing squelch from your core shuts you up immediately. You decide you’re better off muffling out your moans out of petty spite at this point and you seek your refuge in the covers, burying your face into your mattress.

Ha! You think, naively, foolishly, daring to assume that Morax would fold at the face of a challenge. A third finger slips through and the moan is smothered. You think you hear him chuckle and you think you see the excited flash in his eyes as he shifts and twists your body, laying you down on your stomach.

“So stubborn.” The delight is apparent in his cadence. His hand presses down at the small of your back, then his torso presses up against you, continuing his slow and agonizing thrusts with practiced pace. “The vitriol in your silence hardly diminishes how soaked you are. Your body is far more honest, it seems.”

“MMPH!”

You gasp, feeling his fingertips stroke your g-spot, pulling you apart at the seams and chipping away at your mind. Everything feels distant and muddled and the pleasure was almost too much to bear. “Does it feel good when I touch you here?” you shut your eyes and curl up, bucking up into him uselessly. His weight restricted your movements and you doubt you could wiggle away for a temporary respite ( even if some masochistic part of you liked the deluge of sensations pile up steadily ). “I need words.”

Another thrust. You wail into your hands, whatever dogged decision to stay silent, now shattered. “Yes. Yes — P- please!” you haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re begging for at this point, but the fullness you feel from his fingers alone is enough. “L-like that. Morax please keep going.”

He adds a fourth finger.

“You keep tightening up…” he whispers, as if trapped in a trance of his own, your head lifting to press against his bicep while his movements momentarily slow to ease you in before his pace picks up and that slow, brutal torture begins again. 

You squirm, squeal, bite into his arm with vigor. Morax laughs, kissing your temple with comforting croons. “Good.” he coos, dipping his nose into your hair with a victorious purr. Your thighs squeeze around him and your hips jolt forth. The pressure steadily building up in your stomach seems to crest while you chime out his name. Your orgasm seeps closer and closer and closer —

He pulls his fingers out and you bite back a cry, a protest, tears pooling out as dismay settles fast. Was it something you said? Was it something you’ve done? Why did he stop?

“Why…” you manage out, stroking his hair. Morax raises a brow then slides down, his lips latching onto your inner thigh with a groan. You fist at the sheets again, a vague idea coming to form between the haze and the jumbled confusion and disappointment and it sets a spark of excitement. 

A pause.

Morax meets your gaze.

He smirks.

You stifle back a scream when he bows his head down and laves at your heat, catching the receding traces of your buildup and letting it reel in steadily. His tongue was greedy, warm, devouring you whole as he slicks it through your drenched folds, and — oh gods —

Whatever praise that you cry out turns into a feverish mantra being babbled out over and over, the sharp mountainous air taking on a headier scent. Your validation was enough to spur him on, it seems, every bit of Morax, from the practiced gentleness to his eagerness to undo you coming to shine with the fervor of a starved animal. 

“Good.” he growls out, claws digging down a little harder into the softness of your thigh, his teeth and tongue grazing and toying at your clit. You clap your hands over your mouth once more, a squeak cut short, only to have them pinned down by him. He flashes you a warning glare before gold light illuminates your wrists and you feel the weight of geo press them down to your chest.

The cuffs were heavy, and they did their job well as you could only grab at air while his licks grow more languid. Your thighs were pushed back with a single fluid movement and a flustered cry escaped with your sudden exposure. 

“Ah — ”

You tug at his hair, drawing out another delicious moan from his throat. Liquid gold appraises you, taking every detail in, between your fucked out expression and your twitching body. Morax presses against your sweet spots, and you could have sworn some strange magic were at play, with every careful thrust and every slow vibration. You could hard;y word out the state you were in, your mind all cotton wool with little thought.

Overwhelming…indescribable…that was a way to put it.

Morax does not complain about your growing insistence, your moans growing louder, your thighs squeezing round his shoulders, your attempts to free yourself from the stone shackles he placed on you.he must be just as far gone with your arousal in his mouth ( and that was true ). You hope he won’t turn to cruelty like the last time and deny you of your orgasm. It was a delirious pitch in the back of your mind, a soft cry.

“I-I think i’m close — ” you gasp, feeling that knot grow tight as the tell tale spill of an incoming release shudders up your spine and fingertips. Morax looks at you, the gold of his eyes wide and his pupils blown out with suppressed mischief. A well-timed thrust from his fingers served your undoing.

“Go on then.” he relents.

You sob into the sheets gratefully, pleasure rippling through as the coil snaps and you crumple and sink into a state of unawareness. You could only just register Morax sitting up, thumb swiping at his lips, licking away at the mess you made, smeared between his thighs and on him. “S-sorry!”

He shuts his eyes, quiet bliss washing over him. “I could devour you here and now…” he mutters in indulgence. He rubs your sore wrists down, pressing kisses against the expanse of skin with an apologetic smile. “You look tired. Shall we stop here?”

Alarm lines your features. “What about you?” you blurt out, bug eyed and still fatigued from your orgasm. Morax doesn’t respond, laying down next to you. You feel a bitterness line your mouth and you find yourself pushing your body up and crawling atop him. Morax opens one eye, amusement quirking at his lips.

“Oh?” he doesnt bother feigning surprise as his clawed grip settles on your hips. You try to hide yourself, embarrassment from your bold move hardly aiding in your focus as you slide his pants down and stare, he bore two of them, standing erect against your stomach. You helplessly glance at him. 

“You’re…you’re big..” you tell him dumbly. “I-I don’t…I don’t think I can take both of them…” Morax chuckles.

“We’ll take it slow then. You only need one.” he decides, helping you up. You steady yourself on his shoulders, carefully laving your entrance with him before you lower yourself onto him, feeling the first telltale sting that has you stop with a whine. “Careful.” he speaks up, rubbing at your sides and you try to be, taking him bit by bit. Morax stretched you out in a way his fingers couldn’t and his second shaft rubs at your sore clit, leaving you jolting with sparks of pleasure.

He was roving every inch of you, biting down at his bottom lip when you clench around him. Every bit of him screamed of his self control hovering a step away from a more viscous beast. You don’t think you’re ready for what Morax tucks away in the corners of his mind, but you hope, hope that you could indulge him some day.

You were soaked enough for him to slip in with ease, a collective of your and his arousal trailing down with an audible squelch every time he dared to grind up a little more against you. “Fuck….” he whispers out, a rare lapse in demeanor. “D-does it hurt?”

“No.” you shake your head, a half lie. It stings, yes, but the slow haze of euphoria was pressing up and you knew he would stop if you showed the slightest sign of discomfort — and you did not want him to stop. Not with this lovely warmth, and with him holding you like you were the most delicate of flowers.

The sound he makes is animalistic and he thrusts, just a little, into you. He could hardly help himself, seemingly just as lost as you were ( and he was, with his parted lips and fluttering lashes ). You curl into him, pressing your face into his neck. “That’s it.” he whispers mindlessly. “Wonderful, y-you’re taking me so well…don’t rush now…”

You take the rest of him, seated snugly on his lap with a shaky mewl, tears pricking at your eyes. Morax bares his teeth, groaning freely as the air itself seems to crackle against you. You open your mouth, trying to say something, anything, but he pins you down with a single look. “Little minx.” he rasps.

A laugh bubbles up. You wonder if it’s from amusement, or from the overwhelming rush of dopamine or both. 

He kisses the corner of your lips, gathering his bearings. “You’ve had your moment of fun, little love. Now move.”

“Yes sir…” you sigh, and do just that, lifting your hips just a bit before you rock back down onto him. “S-shit…s-so good…” 

Morax hums, pursing his lips. His face was flushed and the tattoos on his arms were cast in gold and light. He takes matters into his own hands, pounding up into him with sudden force and your teeth chatter and your eyes roll back with a pathetic whimper.

A few marks of your own were delivered, from your nibbling as Morax continues to thrust up into your drenched cunt, and from your nails scratching at his back. His approval was punctuated by a particularly hard one, that made your head spin and had you see stars. You vaguely register the scent of petrichor through everything else.

“Morax — ” 

The state you were in only behind to sink in. That he was inside you, that he was taking every chance to draw out these obscene sounds from your lips. Even gods could not escape the perversion of mortal desires. Was this even considered blasphemy at this point, when he seemed to be stuck on the same boat as you were, sinking so fast into his lust?

“ — so good for me.” he guides your legs around his abdomen, whispering your name with a weak whine. He bites at your neck, at the marks he inflicted, then soothes them with kisses. He rubs your back and strokes your hair, his tender touch contrasting against his rough movements, grinding into your sweet spots and paired with his second cock rubbing at your clit, you could only lose yourself a second time.

That knot tightens and you feel the onset of your release. It was close, fast coming and you tug at his hair to warn him. Morax growls, his tail winding round your ankle. You try to keep up, try to ride him, but his pace far outmatches yours, stretching you out, pulling you flush against him. You let him use you, your monks reaching a feverish peak, grasping a taste of heaven on your tongue.

“Morax — ah!”

He curls into you, around you with an engulfing embrace with whispered words being uttered into your ear, “Do you want to cum?” You jolt your head. “Then cum…”

And the bliss washes over you as you finally find it, slumping up into Morax;s patient arms with a near boneless stance. Your eyes met his, the hunger that still rages as he watches with awed fascination at how you come apart and piece back together again with teary eyes and a debauched smile.

“Beautiful.” he mumbles, then presses you face first into the sheets, still sheathed deep inside you. You only just realize he still has reached his own peak yet when he moves, absently reaching out for a pillow for you to grasp.

“God…M-morax — ” you were tired but with overstimulation settling fast and your own desires to see his pleasures being met, you bite into the pillow with a helpless whine. There was a rush in the pain you felt, from feeling all that pleasure wrap into a tight knot while he slicks back and forth into you, hitting your g-spot again with insistent grunts. His pupils were blown wide, like he was trying to take in as much of you as he could.

“M-more!” you blurt out then wince, feeling a hint of shame prick at you for being so greedy. It was about him now; sure you could put your own needs aside.

Morax however, smiles. “More?” he coos. “You want more?”

A gasp. You feel his hand settle on your clit, his untouched cock brush against your thigh. “Now who am I to deny you?” He continues his rough thrusts, godly stamina barely denting at his reserves and his pace. Perhaps that came with being an adeptus, this unending virility and endurance. Morax kisses at the back of your neck, laying down more marks to serve as a reminder for the next few days ( that you were, undoubtedly and irrevocably his now ).

Wanton moans pour out easily. Morax delights in them, carefully stimulating spots that were sure to bring the most out of you. The initial phase of searching and mapping out and learning was long gone — he was always quick to pick up on things, and things that make you fall apart into a quivering mess so easily were no exception.

It feels so good. So good —

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks. You feel sore in the best of ways and you nod. You don’t want him to stop. You don't ever want him to stop, drunk on the overstimulation, the euphoria, his cock, him —

Morax lets out a shaky exhale and slams even harder into you. “You’ll be my undoing...” he whispers and you turn your head, catching a glimpse of him. His straight faced composure was long gone, what careful parts of him he keeps hidden from sight having fallen over. Claws prickle at your ass, his eyes are trained on you, you you and when he meets your gaze, he captures your lips in a heated kiss.

“What kind of spell have you ensnared me with, little love?”

You could say the same thing. You try to, cut off by a rough grind on your clit. A lump builds up in your throat, vaguely recalling his small gestures of affection, his admissions, through your heat hazed mind and you arch your back into him to catch another kiss. Morax never needed to say the words and you were fine with it. 

“I love you.” you tell him instead, taking everything you had to get your tongue to move. Morax freezes up. He shuts his eyes and strokes your cheeks and buries his face into your neck.

“My Qingxin.” he whispers, tenderly, lovingly. The faltering in his pace, the sloppier jerks of his hips, then undertones of strained control beneath his moans signal his release. You grasp at his free shaft, and the gasp that echoes out was a rewarding one as you stroke him along into his release. “In or out?” he grits out, stuttering for a second. You feel the drag of his cock against your walls. “In.” you blubber.

You blank out after, feeling the rush, the fullness, him spilling out of you, between your legs, onto the mattress, over your stomach. Morax lets out a shudder, his marks glowing a faint gold before he pulls out. His hand does not leave your clit. Coaxing your third peak out with gentle kisses and insistent mumbles. The pain was sharp but you drink it in, pride lining every crevice of you till you jolt, that pressure finally releasing.

“Thank you.” you mumble. Intimacy was always so foreign, and a kind touch was a far away thought. Morax settles down, pulling you to him as he kisses away the drying tears and the sated touch starvation. He kisses you on the lips. Then the tip of your nose. Then at the bites he inflicted. 

“Rest.” he whispers. 

The cadence of his voice made it hard to disagree with and you feel unconsciousness wash over you fast. You could vaguely make out the sheets being changed and a damp cloth washing you down.

Morax’s weight next to you was the last thing you register.

“Are you well?”

Morax could count the number of times you sought refuge beneath his arm, eyes roving the stalls in the harbor with caution and nervousness. Your jumpiness was an expected clause, and a slightly endearing one as he walks you along the streets as a mortal man and his lover. There were no gods in Liyue Harbor today, at least none the people were aware of.

“Zhongli.”

He turns his head. “Yes, love?”

You fall into earnest silence. “I think I'm going to freak out.” you say. As taught as a bowstring against him. You grip at his hanfu tighter. “They’re staring. Why are they staring?”

“I suppose a new face does bring raised brows. That…” he dips his head down, nose brushing against your cheek with a loving chuckle. “...and you look exceptionally beautiful today, love.” You tug at his sleeve. “Ah, would some food ease my flower’s nerves then?” another tug. He takes that as a yes.

Even so, Morax knew you. Qingxins were flowers that know the intimate dangers of the mountain side and the bustle of the harbor below. You will grow, as you do and you will adapt as you do, maybe slowly, maybe quickly. He knows not to rush it along and he contents himself with your company and your curious question and the bliss on your face when you try a skewer.

“Liyue is beautiful.” you admit after a while. “Crowded, but beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not used to this.” you tell him for the umpteenth time, quick, apologetic and Morax has none of that ( why would he ever see it fit to fault you? ). He takes your hand, pressing a fluttering kiss on your palm. 

You shoot him a flustered glare. He smiles. “We’ll take our time. This old man has much to spare.” and he does.

He’ll wait millennia if it is for you. 

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

the fact that this took me five months to finish guys pls praise me. a shout out to moth and crys for beta reading this bby. i wouldn't have been able to edit a lot of my mistakes without em.

there was a lot more i wished to add in but i figure that would make the story way too long XD. but yeah, thanks for reading!!!

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill this form up!

taglist — @x-zho @dustofthedailylife @ofoceansandtombsanew @meimeimeirin @the-travelling-witch @ollieink @hleb-chan-sky @genshinboys @crystalflygeo @moraxsthrone @ququadurel @hiraethsdesires @localplaguenurse @sheepmc @zhxngii @euniveve

AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#&&. my writing !! #n.sfw ; #zhongli x reader #genshin zhongli #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader smut

[outercrasis]

Bonded

Part 5

Pairing: Max Phillips x Named F!Reader/OFC (Prudence Walker)

Rating/Word Count: M (18+) / 4.9k

Warnings: an eerie vibe, ghosts, and I think that's it

Summary: Let's hunt a ghost

A/N: Hellooo, I'm baaack! There will be a longer A/N at the end but for now a big shoutout to @honestly-shite for beta reading for me!!

Previous ++ Series Masterlist ++ Next

The New England manor is much like you expect. It’s clearly old, slightly secluded from the nearby town. Your client, Molly, mentioned on the phone that she purchased it with the intention of fixing it up and turning it into a bed and breakfast. You hope she has the drive for it because the place looks like it hasn’t been inhabited in years.

Piles of fallen leaves litter the yard, the grass is well past overgrown, and shrubs threaten to start blocking out the building’s dirt streaked windows. Paint is peeling off from the siding, revealing the weather-worn boards below. The steps leading to the front door look semi-precarious and you can only hope that the inside looks a little better than the outside. With the oncoming winter weather it seems as though Molly decided to leave the yard work and house’s facade until the spring. It's all well past worn, but seems like it should hold up for another season.

“This place is a dump.”

You look over to where Max is sitting in the passenger seat. He’s leaning forward, squinting at the manor with a critical look. The position rewards you with a perfect view of his profile, the backlight from the late afternoon sun casting a slight and undeserved halo around him. You cover up your staring with an eye roll and a scoff. “It’s old and she’s fixing it up. Were you expecting something five star?”

You roll to a stop in the drive to the right of the stairs leading to the double front doors. Molly’s car isn’t anywhere to be seen, but you figure if you need to move your car to somewhere else on the property she’ll let you know.

Cutting the engine, you twist in the bench seat to face Max. “I know I might be asking a lot here, but can you actually manage to not be an asshole around this woman?”

Max’s brow scrunches, those two little lines on his face deepening between them. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that this isn’t some game to me, it’s my job, and I’d like to continue doing it. I don’t need you and your stupid nicknames causing someone to deter others from calling me with a possible case.”

“I know how to be professional, sweet cheeks," Max smiles.

You don’t believe him in the slightest. Something about your comment seems to have gotten under his skin though and you hope that’s enough. Molly sounded extremely kind on the phone and the last thing you need is for Max to go and call her something like kitten. You considered pushing him out of the car when he used that one on you around two hours ago.

You pull your hair back into a half-ponytail, using the rearview mirror to make sure there are no awkward bumps or loose hairs sticking out at weird angles. Stepping out of the heated cabin of the Suburban, you desperately hope Molly has at least gotten the heat to work in the old house. Despite all your layers, the deep autumn chill cuts through and a night or two spent in near freezing temperatures sounds like your personal hell.

Dufflebag slung over your shoulder, you march up to the house with Max following close behind. The doors look heavy, a stained dark oak with brass handles and knockers that look to be the real deal. Pulling the patinated metal ring, you take a deep breath and knock three times. Here goes nothing.

It’s quiet while you wait for the door to be answered. There isn’t so much as the whistle of the wind or the chirp of a bird and you almost wish Max would run his mouth just to fill the silence. Unnerved, you reach for the door knocker again, half looking to confirm you haven’t suddenly lost your hearing.

Your fingertips brush the cold metal again and the door swings open. A woman stands on the other side, her dark brown hair pulled up in a scrunchie, wearing light wash overalls and a bright purple sweatshirt underneath. She looks like she just walked out of a Sears ad from the nineties and greets you with a big smile. With how warm she was on the phone, it isn’t difficult to assume this is Molly.

"Hello. Please, come in," she says, stepping back from the doorway. Eager to get out of the chill, you step into the old manor.

The inside of the place doesn’t look much better than the exterior. The entire foyer is in a state of half repair, as though all the projects were stopped midway through. Molly hadn’t been joking over the phone when she said the contractors all up and left. Light barely breaks through the filthy windows, stretching out the shadows of the space.

You push through your mild shock and smile back at Molly. No reason to blame her for not having the help she clearly needs. "Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”

"You as well. Thank you for coming, really I almost feel silly for calling." Normally that would bother you, but the affable way Molly says it removes any of your typical annoyance. She seems genuine and possibly a little embarrassed that it has come to this.

"No need. This is what I do."

"And your friend?" Molly asks, gesturing to Max who’s standing just behind you, still looking around the space. He’s been so uncharacteristically quiet since walking inside that you nearly forgot he was there.

"Oh, right. This is my… business associate, Max." You desperately hope she doesn’t get the wrong idea about your relationship with him. You don’t want to go through sorting that out.

Max smiles, friendlier than you’ve ever seen discounting that first night in the bar. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. You really have your work cut out for you here.” There’s no underlying sarcasm in his voice. He’s being genuine. It freaks you out more than the potentially haunted mansion you’re standing in.

Molly rests her hands on her hips, looking around the space. “I hate to admit I may have bitten off more than I can chew. It would be nice if I could get at least someone in here to help me, but then I guess that’s why the two of you are here.”

“Hopefully we can get you some answers and let you get back to it soon.”

Molly looks relieved by the prospect that whatever’s happening could be explained sooner rather than later. “Right! Well, I guess I better show you around. I know we spoke a little on the phone, Prudence, but it would probably help to see what I was talking about?”

You smile, nodding at her. “Please, lead the way.”

Molly takes you on a tour of the hot spots, offering little bits about the manor’s history along the way. The home was originally built in the 1880’s, passing through a few family’s hands before ending up in Molly’s. The last time anyone lived in the home was the 1970’s, sitting vacant, waiting for someone new to come along and take ownership.

There’s a lot of potential in the building. Many of the features still remain from when it was originally built from the multiple functional fireplaces throughout to the sculptured reliefs on the walls. Your favorite are the stained glass windows, the intricate work remaining intact even after all these years. They’re in equally desperate need of cleaning as the other windows in the home but their beauty still shines through.

Distracted by one of the more ornate windows, you miss something Molly says, causing Max to nudge you with his elbow. Molly doesn’t seem to mind, offering you a small smile. “It’s gorgeous work isn’t it? I’m hoping I might be able to figure out who made them.”

“They’re beautiful. I can’t imagine what they’ll look like cleaned.”

Molly gives you an odd look, but just as quickly presses on. Max nudges you again as she turns around, nodding at the window you were just admiring. “That shade of yellow is ugly though, right?” He whispers and you ignore him, quickly moving to follow after Molly.

She shows you to a couple of rooms, explaining that there’s a bathroom down the hall for you to use. “I guess I’ll let you get to it. Just give a shout if you need me for anything."

"Thank you ma'am. We'll let you know," Max says, offering her a grin that you're stuck between admiring and wanting to slap off his face. There's something about it that doesn't quite fit, regardless of how handsome he looks.

As nice as Molly is, you're glad she doesn't want to stick around for your full investigation. Dealing with Max is already going to be enough of a handful without someone else hanging around. As she silently slips around the corner of the hallway, you turn to face Max, perturbed.

“What the hell was that?”

Max looks truly dumbfounded. “What? You told me to be professional.”

“Ma’am? Really?”

“Sorry, was that the wrong thing to say pumpkin?”

“No, it- oh my god forget it.” You’re not doing this right now. You have a ghost to find and you’re never going to manage that standing here and arguing with your unwelcome investigation partner.

The rest of your afternoon is spent wandering around the home, cataloging anything and everything that seems to be of interest. Max is of no help, mindlessly following you and providing unhelpful commentary about the repair work that needs to be done.

You're thankful when Molly reappears, distracting Max temporarily as you poke around the den. You tune out their conversation, absorbed in looking for anything and everything that could tell you what's going on. This house has a lot of history and this ghost problem could be far more long standing than Molly thinks.

As annoying as Max is, you can't help but notice that he's raised some good points while looking around. The manor is in an extreme state of disrepair – more so than you expected it to be. Did the contractors barely start before bailing? You can’t even tell where in the house Molly has been working or living in the meantime, unless she truly doesn’t mind the squalor, blinded by what it all could become.

Tucked away in the corner of the room, something colorful catches your eye. Strewn on the ground are a handful of Pokémon cards alongside an old yo-yo and a flashlight. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say this was some little kid’s hideout and you shudder to think what would drive a child to hide out in this old building.

“Hey Molly,” you call over, interrupting her conversation with Max. “You aren’t aware of any kids running around here, are you?”

You’ve caught her off guard, a deeply confused look now set on her face. “I um-” she drifts off, searching for an answer to give you. You thought it would be a fairly simple yes or no question, but she looks troubled by it, like she’s looking for information she can’t quite reach.

“Molly?” Max asks, snapping her out of whatever brain fog your question sent her into.

“Sorry, what? I- no I don’t recall any children around here.”

Normally you’d push a little harder, try to gain some additional information, but Molly looks so addled you let it go. Maybe there's some history you're unaware of there. Whatever it is, it's not your business.

Molly leaves soon after, mumbling some excuse before drifting out of the room. You're more than happy to give her some space if she needs it.

"What was that all about?" Max asks, hardly waiting for her to be out of earshot.

You wait a beat before responding. "I don't know. Clearly there’s something going on there so let’s give her some space, okay? Most people don’t buy a dilapidated manor for fun.”

“Oh so you can see that this place is falling apart.”

You push past Max, heading towards another room in the manor. “I’m not blind, Max. Some of us just don’t feel the need to point out the obvious.”

The rest of the evening remains uneventful. You poke around the place, looking and listening for anything out of the ordinary. From what you can find there are no sigils, no strange items, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Of course with a possible ghost that doesn’t mean much – it simply means that you aren’t dealing with anything else. Still, it is nice to rule things out. The rest of your investigation waits until well after sundown.

“We had to wait until the middle of the night to do this?” Max complains behind you, feet shuffling on the worn boards of the hallway.

You readjust the bag on your shoulder, careful not to jostle it too much for fear of breaking any of the equipment inside. “What do you care? You’d be awake anyway.”

“It’s a bit cliché, isn’t it honeybee?”

“Cliché for a reason, jackass. The veil between worlds is thinner at night, so if there’s a ghost around they should be easier to contact.”

Max offers a non-committal hum in response, as though he doesn’t even truly believe you. You ignore him, stepping into the room you decided to hold your main investigation in tonight.

The room is in a state of disuse and disrepair like the rest of the manor. Dust settles heavily over everything – some of the furniture covered in white sheets that would no doubt release a heavy cloud if you were to lift them up. The items that are uncovered are discolored by the layer of grime and cobwebs sticking to nooks in the furniture and remaining decor. It feels extremely stereotypical for a haunted house and if it weren't for your afternoon spent poking around the whole place you'd be convinced you were being punk'd.

You uncover a couple wooden chairs and a small table in the corner of the room, covering your nose with the collar of your sweater to avoid breathing in too much dust. You take the nicer of the two chairs, carefully setting your bag at your feet. Max is strolling around the room, hands shoved into his pockets.

“What are we supposed to do?” he asks. “Shout until something answers or moves?”

You roll your eyes, plunging your hand into your bag. “No. I have equipment that we’ll use to try and get the spirit to talk with us.”

Max laughs, endearing crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “What, like a ouija board?”

“Don’t laugh," you snap, looking back down at the maglite you're lightly unscrewing. "Those have their uses. We’re not using one tonight though. They’re too volatile if you don’t know the spirit you’re trying to connect with.”

Max throws himself into the chair opposite you. It's a small miracle it doesn't collapse for how feeble it looks. He's watching you intently, hands folded on the table. "Do you have one of those loud radio things?”

You're genuinely shocked he has knowledge of any ghost hunting equipment. Probably saw it on some ghost hunting TV show.

“A spirit box? I mean yeah, but we aren’t going to use it. They’re annoying and usually more trouble than they're worth. How are you going to know if it’s actually a ghost speaking to you or if you’re catching clips of late night radio talk shows?”

Max actually looks disappointed.

“Don’t worry, I have other fun toys you can play with.”

A wicked smile appears across his face, thick with gross implication. "Have you been holding out on me Prudence?"

"Not like that, you perv."

You busy yourself with pulling out some additional equipment you've found useful in past ghost hunts. An EMF meter, digital recorder, and your trusty DV tape recorder.

"Oh come on, you can't be serious. That thing is a relic."

"Yes and it records in film but plays back digitally,” you say, turning on the recorder and getting it set up properly.

"And why does that matter?"

You heave a heavy sigh, irritated that you're forced to explain ghost hunting 101 to a literal supernatural creature. "The paranormal, especially spirits, appear better on film. On digital they cause distortions, but it's never concrete enough. A couple glitches, a light orb or two maybe. Film doesn't distort in the same way digital recordings do. With this, I can record on film, but play back in digital, which is considerably easier when I'm looking through the footage later."

“Hm. Smart.” You can tell that he’s genuinely impressed, but the way he says it still feels like a slight – as though he hadn’t expected you to actually find a solution instead of muddling your way through with worse equipment. You try not to let his apparently low opinion bother you.

You finish setting everything up and check over the camera one more time before getting up and turning out the lights. Your eyes take a moment to adjust, but the small beam of the maglite gives you enough light to make your way back to your chair without bashing a toe or shin on anything. Max is looking around the room as though he expects something to pop out at him at any moment. It’s sweet and reminds you a bit of the first time Nana took you to a haunted house.

She was performing a seance with a couple other old contacts of hers, trying to connect with the spirit and allow them to cross over. You’d been waiting for the ghost to jump scare everyone and spent most of the night on edge until Nana finally told you to relax.

The seance went as everyone had hoped, the strength of the energy around the circle enough to connect and allow the spirit to pass on with the comfort that their final message would be shared and remembered. You never even saw them – a small flicker of the candle light and somehow you all could feel that they had gone. You don’t expect anything like that tonight. If you’re lucky, you’ll make any form of contact.

You turn on the digital recorder, placing it at the edge of the table and call out into the room. "Hello. My name is Prudence and this is Max. If anyone is in here with us we'd love to talk to you."

Max snorts, raising an eyebrow at you.

"What?" you snap at him.

Max is still stifling laughter, unable to look at you with a straight face. "You can't actually be serious, babe."

"Ghost hunting shows aren't all bullshit. We're starting a conversation. It's rude to not introduce yourself. Now say hi.” You gesture to the empty room, hoping that you’re channeling enough of Nana’s calm authority to make him actually listen.

To your surprise, he does. “Hello,” Max says. It’s dry and lacking any emotion, but it’s something.

Satisfied, you continue to talk into the empty room. This is always the part you find nerve-wracking. Uncertain if you’ve made the right call about what room to be in, unsure if you’ll be able to make contact with anyone. The uncertainty gives Max’s laughter some credence. There is a chance all of this could be for nothing and you’re simply talking to air. You desperately hope he isn’t right.

“If you’re here with us I’d like to ask you some questions. I have a couple objects here that will help you talk with us.”

You pause, hoping for some kind of sign. Anything to let you know that you and Max aren’t alone. The silence lingers. Minutes pass. Patience has never really been a virtue of yours.

“We don’t mean you any harm. You can make yourself known however you’d like.”

Again you wait. You know you can’t rush spirits. They work on their own time, revealing themselves when and if they see fit. It’s for that very reason they're one of your least favorite anomalies to investigate, but they’re also the steadiest work you can find. A blessing and a curse.

Another ten minutes creep past without a sign. You’re resisting the urge to check over your equipment, unwilling to let Max see how fidgety you’re starting to get. Instead you rub circles into the valley of your hand between your thumb and forefinger in a vain attempt to relieve some of your anxiety.

Max looks completely calm across the table, bored and slouched with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. The long sleeve shirt he chose to wear does nothing to hide his muscles underneath, even in the low lighting. The fabric pulls in a way that leaves you torn between staring and telling him to wear clothes that actually fits instead of being one size too small. Once again, you’re thankful for his inability to read minds, or you’re sure yours would be coming across loud and clear to him with how quiet the room is otherwise. You don’t need him knowing you think anything about his physique.

“Hello?” Max suddenly calls out into the room, boredom easily giving way to frustration. The abruptness of his voice startles you. You only now realize how incredibly silent the room has been, reminding you of the silence you heard before the front door opened earlier today.

"Anyone there?" Max calls into the room again.

The silence stretches on for another long beat. You're convinced nothing will change. Why should it? Nothing substantial has changed in the room. All that happened is a cranky, impatient vampire gave a little shout.

Then you hear it.

Two distinct knocks coming from the corner of the room. Not pipe creaking, house settling noises, but two clear as day knocks. You and Max look at each other with wide eyes.

“Hello? If someone is there, could you do that again?" you ask.

Two more distinct knocks echo from the same corner. You quickly double check the camera and digital recorder, making sure both are in working order. The EMF meter hasn't changed at all, but the spirit may not be close enough to register.

“If you’d like, I have a couple things you can use to speak with us. This is an EMF meter, you can make the lights turn on and off, or there's a flashlight you can play with.”

You wait with bated breath to see what they'll do next. Those knocks could be all that you get. Max actually looks interested in something for once rather than his usual passive boredom. You should have known that while books and research hold no interest for him, the prospect of actually interacting with the paranormal, beyond himself, would grab his attention.

The maglite rolls to the left on the tabletop you placed it on, the otherwise steady light beam flickering slightly. You’re about to ask if that was the spirit when it turns off completely. A moment later it sparks back to life, shining brightly before returning to what it's looked like for the past twenty-five minutes. Whoever is with you and Max in this room, they’re ready to talk.

The relief you feel is immense. There’s always some level of concern that nothing will pan out, essentially wasting your time as well as your clients. Normally you don’t feel quite as bad about the latter but you’d been hoping for something this time. Molly has been nothing but kind and it truly feels like she’s counting on you for answers. You might just be able to provide her with some.

You glance over at Max before turning your attention back towards the flashlight. Here goes nothing. “Can you turn the flashlight off and on again for me? So I know you’re there?”

The maglite follows the same pattern – off, bright, and back to normal. Max mutters something under his breath in clear disbelief and you can’t help feeling prideful that he’s awed on any level.

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” You look at Max pointedly, prompting him to follow your example.

“Uh- Nice to meet you,” he says in the direction of the maglite. Good enough.

“Can I ask you some questions?” you ask.

The maglite doesn’t turn off this time. Instead the beam only flashes brightly once. Whoever this is, they’re very responsive – hardly a minute passing between each question and answer. You once worked a case where there was nearly a five minute wait between each reply.

“Brighter for yes and dimmer for no?” The beam flashes again in reply.

You shift in your seat, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. “Do you live here?”

"Did,” Max says before the flashlight beam changes.

"What?"

"Did you live here,” Max clarifies. “They're dead."

You cast a deeply annoyed look at Max. "Just because they're dead doesn't mean they don't live here anymore. You died and your annoying ass is still wandering around."

Max for once doesn’t have a response for you. This whole ghost hunt must be throwing him off his game.

"Sorry about him,” you say, turning your attention back to the maglite. It still hasn’t changed. “Do you live here?"

The beam flashes brightly for you again. You figured that would be the answer to that question, but the confirmation is still nice to have. Limited to yes or no questions, you have to think them through carefully, using the information Molly was able to give you.

“Have you been here a long time?” you ask.

The maglite sputters, going bright before plunging the room into near total darkness. You’re not sure what kind of an answer that is. Yes and no? Does the spirit not know? It’s possible. You know through Nana and your own research that some ghosts have no concept or a warped concept of time in their limbo. Not exactly helpful here.

"Are you the reason the construction crew isn’t here anymore?” you ask next.

The flashlight sputters for a moment before flashing bright once again.

“Did you chase them away on purpose?”

This time the light beam goes dark in reply. No. Not what you expected. From what Molly had said it sounded like the construction crews all cleared out the moment this ghost made itself known. You’d expected it to be a somewhat purposeful outcome on the ghost’s part.

“What do you want?” Max asks, suddenly contributing to your little Q and A. The flashlight doesn’t change.

“Yes or no questions only, Einstein,” you remind him. Max scowls at you, but amends his question.

“Do you know Molly?” he asks this time. You’re not really sure what insights that question will offer. You’re surprised when the light flashes yes.

“Did you know her when you were alive?” you ask, following the clear path that Max’s question laid out. You find yourself even more shocked when the answer is once again, yes.

Max looks as surprised as you feel, eyebrows arching upwards. This isn’t a turn you expected this conversation to take. Molly hadn’t mentioned any recent deaths in her life or on the property. You’re more than a little puzzled, unsure of what to ask next. The maglite rolls slightly again, the spirit lying in wait to provide another answer.

You almost ask another broad question if only to keep whoever this is engaged, when you suddenly remember something from earlier in the day. Molly’s strange reaction to your question about children. You take a deep breath, nervous to ask the question you now can’t avoid.

“Are you a child?”

The flashlight burns bright. A chill runs through you, this time not the fault of the drafty manor. If you’re honest with yourself, you expected this spirit to be some past owner upset with the changes that Molly was making. This possibility hadn’t even been on your radar.

Did Molly know somehow? Could she have known that this ghost is so young – who this is. You imagine it would be difficult for her to forget the death of a child that she knew in any capacity. Perhaps that’s the crux of it all though. Denial can be a powerful thing. It may not be a possibility she’s willing to consider.

You’re about to ask another question, trying to figure out what the relationship may have been or what happened to this child, when the beam flickers off and on twice before returning to normal. No question prompted the phenomena, leading you to ask a final question.

“Are you still here with us?”

Minutes tick past. There’s no response. The beam of light holds steady, not so much as a minute flicker darker or brighter. The spirit’s last message comes across loud and clear. Good-bye.

“Thank you for talking to us,” you say to the room, despite knowing your young visitor has likely disappeared. You’re not about to stray from the etiquette Nana taught you to use with the other side.

Max is quick to follow up your gratitude with his own, catching onto how this works. He also doesn’t hesitate to turn to you only a second later. “What the fuck, Prue?” If you aren’t mistaken, there’s genuine alarm in his voice.

You flick off the digital recorder and the camera, standing to collect your maglite and EMF meter. “I really wish I knew.”

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 💕

A/N: Hi there! Sorry for the months break between chapters, life got busy, writing got hard, and yadda yadda. But I'm back to it! Writing is still slow going for me right now, so I can't promise regular updates, but I'm hoping to avoid anymore months long breaks 😅

I want to give a huge shout out to everyone who has continued to give me love for this fic over the unintentional break because I don't know what I would have done without you all supporting me. Truly, it means the absolute world to know that you all still care about my fic💕 I also want to give a shout out to my bf, who won't see this note, but who helped me outline the entirety of Bonded one night and listened to all my ideas about these characters he knew nothing about.

I love you all, I'm very excited to be writing more Bonded, and I hope to see you all with another chapter again soon!!

#max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #max phillips x original female character #max phillips fanfiction #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #max phillips x prudence walker #bonded #crasis writes

[littleferal]

Lissie! I love you so much for spreading this end of year love! You are truly one of the gems of this hellsite (affectionate)!

A few shout outs for some of my favorite fics over the year:

@honestly-shite Notes on Tutoring is a masterclass in tension and illicit affairs. I yearn constantly for their Dave York and it’s just plain rude the state they’ve put me in.

@asta-lily Prince of Dorne and Absence of Judgement are two of my favorites from this year. Lils is brilliant and has been responsible for me staring into the void for hours on end.

@the-ginger-hedge-witch Read You Like a Book! Better than a majority of the crime novels I’ve read! Ren is a true talent and I know one day I will own her books and place them proudly on my bookshelf.

@yespolkadotkitty Fighting Blind! Made me fall in love with that grumpy Spaniard! Seriously! I think about this story once a week! It’s so beautiful!

@mandocrasis Bonded! Birdie made me fall in love with Max Phillips and now I don’t know what to do with myself! Now all I do is think about that snarky vampire and I’m just flabbergasted!

@blueeyesatnight Amazing story Strongest Member of the Team (and her whole master list)! Blue is constantly giving out quality content that always has me laughing and smiling!

@wyn-n-tonic Frizzy verse! Seriously amazing storytelling for Frankie and her ofc Lizzy Miller! No one can take on emotionally honest source material like O.

@disgruntledspacedad Better Love series was my first Javier Peña fic and one of the first authors who encouraged me to post my writing! Jay’s talent is awe-inspiring and earth shattering.

And finally-

@jazzelsaur Between the Raindrops. A story I was woefully late to but now am completely obsessed with. Catch me outside with my banner and my bullhorn screaming about Jess’s brilliant writing and her amazing way to communicate emotions. Everything about this story is evocative and gut-wrenching and I will never stop shrieking about it.

wow! lots of love from Cat!! Thank you dear 🥰🥰🥰

@honestly-shite for Notes on Tutoring (Dave York x f!reader)

Mr York becomes your new classical guitar tutor in your final year at music college. A dark, mysterious man, you struggle to get a read on him but that doesn’t stop you from finding many ways to push his buttons. You manage to infuriate him with your stubbornness and forced complacency but there is definitely something else too. There’s a pull that you feel whenever he is near. You wonder if he feels it too.

@asta-lily for The Prince of Dorne (Modern!Casino owner Oberyn x reader)

Dorne was his kingdom, one he ruled over with reverence to those who played, and drank, and laughed; and mysterious accidents met those who dared disturb his peace - ruling his playground with the wisdom of a king yet the temper of a boy. Thus, they dubbed him - ‘The Prince’.

AND for Absence of Judgement (Marcus Moreno x f!reader)

You travel in search of inspiration; fate seems to hand it to you in the most backhanded of ways as you lock eyes with a mysterious stranger from across the bar.

@the-ginger-hedge-witch for Read You Like a Book (Marcus Pike x f!reader)

When Marcus Pike is called to Chicago for a short-term assignment, he never expects to meet someone who makes him want to stay forever. Is this Marcus’s chance at home?

@yespolkadotkitty for Fighting Blind (Pero Tovar x original female character)

Curator Jade is hurtled back in time by a mysterious axe.

@mandocrasis for Bonded (Max Phillips x original female character)

Prudence travels the country investigating paranormal claims and reports. When you get a call about a possible vampire you don’t hesitate to check it out. What you don’t anticipate are things going sideways and getting yourself bound to the vampire for the foreseeable future. If you’re lucky, you’ll make it out of this ordeal alive.

@blueeyesatnight for Strongest Member of the Team (Marcus Moreno x reader (eventual wife))

@wyn-n-tonic for The Fizzy Universe (Frankie Morales x original female character)

A snapshot series in to the lives and relationship of Francisco Morales and Elizabeth Miller, Benny’s and Will’s sister.

@disgruntledspacedad for the Better Love series (Javier Peña x original female character/named reader)

He’s a DEA Agent. You work for the CIA. You’re an unstoppable force. He’s an immovable object. A collision between you is inevitable. The fallout will be monumental. Slices of life from your adventures with Peña in Colombia.

@jazzelsaur for Between the Raindrops (Frankie Morales x original female character/named reader)

Frankie’s life is coming apart at the seams, when Ellie, a widow facing her own share of struggles, moves in next door. Together they find friendship, healing, and something more.

send some love to your favourite fic writers for new year ✨

#pedro pascal character x reader #frankie morales x reader #marcus moreno x reader #javier peña x reader #pero tovar x reader #marcus pike x reader #dave york x reader #oberyn martell x reader #author fic appreciation 2021

[devildom-dedicated-daydreams]

An Unlikely Backer (Mammon x Reader) Chapter 1

(The picture above is a portion of The Swing (1767) by Jean-Honoré Fragonard. It is a beauty and represents everything I love in the Rococo style. My favorite detail is the shoe flying off the lady's foot. The full citation is at the bottom.)

Full arc title: The Unfavored Daughter Chooses an Unlikely Backer (link to arc masterlist here)

Chapter title: Hello, Fake 18th Century France (or is this England?)

Word Count: 2 K

Pairing: Mammon x FMC, Mammon x F!Reader

Warning: domestic abuse, bullying, sexual harassment, dark humor/dark comedy

[Host extraction successful.]

You were brought back to the White Space without issue. Thank God.

[Congratulations on completing the world of “Even When You Don’t Want Me Anymore”]

[Mission grade: SS]

[Junior Transmigrator reward points: 1200]

[Hidden task bonus: 100]

A twenty percent raise. A sad 100 bonus. No expectations and yet still disappointed.

[Host, I have full access to the after-story.]

“No need,” you muttered.

[What?]

“Despite that…’bonus,’ I got a double-S grade, so obviously, Maya lived happily.”

[I suppose, but are you not curious about Levi's future?]

You scratched your neck. “No.”

The system watched you dubiously. [Are you sure—]

“Get me to my next mission.”

[I understand, Host…] The system sensed irritation in the Host’s voice and decided to stay quiet lest it be flogged.

It contacted the Main System and soon, a lady whose off-white nightgown was tainted brown with blood hovered towards you. Her hair was matted and her spotted face was smeared with snot, blood and tears.

[Synchronizing souls…]

[Sharing character memories… Sharing webcomic details…]

[Reminder: female pronouns will be used on both the supporting character and our MC]

This romantic comedy is set in a vaguely 1700s Western European-inspired nation named Promethea and centers around the life of Prudence, the ironically named chirpy and free-spirited daughter of Viscount Leonard Leopold (yes, that is his name) and his deceased viscountess.

To real-life people, this is a casual, light-hearted story about a young lady who loves to read but does not know embroidery, dance, etiquette…well, let’s just say that, at least in-universe, she is better defined by the things she does not know more than the things she does.

She is mildly considered a misfit due to her ditziness, but is cute and charismatic. So charismatic, in fact, that Prudence catches the attention of MC’s fiancé, the crown prince of their kingdom, Cyril.

Setting aside his disloyal ass for now, MC is the only daughter of the Earl of Rosewater and whose interactions with Prudence are limited to polite conversation in parties. She’s been engaged to the prince since she was a fetus, as her mother and the prince’s mother were close friends. Her mother died from childbirth (how original). Her father blames her for his first wife’s passing and remains to be a distant figure in her life. He eventually remarries, to the widow of another earl, and MC ends up with a stepmother, three stepbrothers and two stepsisters. In terms of narrative, that’s all there is to know about MC. After the prince broke off their engagement, MC is never mentioned again.

But passing the barrier between the “real world” and their world, you saw how MC suffered.

Although she and the prince were not close, MC respected him and trained hard since childhood for her position as queen. They shared a comfortable relationship. Until he lost all common sense and abandoned a political marriage of mutual benefit for a deviant he’s known for less than a year.

Going back to MC’s home life, with her father busy with the earldom, he never noticed his second wife’s envy of MC and her many privileges, but because the girl was engaged to the crown prince, the stepmother couldn’t hurt her. Not directly.

When Cyril did end the engagement, all bets were off.

The woman convinced her husband to marry the girl off to a distant relative of hers, a baron who lived in the countryside. MC died from his abuse one month after their wedding.

​​[Initializing transfer…]

“What the crap,” you muttered as you reviewed the memories. “What do revenge fiction writers have against stepfamilies?” And is it that hard to write a love story that didn’t involve any degree of cheating?

[... 98% ... Transfer complete.]

[Ding. World of “They Call Me Prudence” welcomes you. Mission Difficulty: Regular.]

[Main Mission: Escape the abusive marriage. Time limit: ten months. Friendly reminder from the system: keep your character settings from collapsing.]

[Good luck, Host.]

“Jesus Mary Joseph!” you swore from your bed as you pulled your knees to your chest and rubbed your palms over your calves.

Ice needled the soles of your feet and, in the midst of your inner whining, realized that there was no fire in the room.

It was February and yet the fireplace was not lit in the bedroom of an earl’s daughter.

You put on your slippers and shakingly went to check the fireplace. The wood inside wouldn’t have lasted for a couple of hours, let alone the entire night.

“What idiot forgot to—oh, right.”

Your stepmother, Countess Cezara, had replaced the servants a week ago, after gossip of Prince Cyril getting locked in a shed with an unknown lady reached her ears. She correctly suspected that you were no longer favored and began preparing.

The maids didn’t go out of their way to be mean, but they weren’t as attentive as your former people, who would’ve ensured that the flames would last until morning. Although your stepmother’s servants were trained so it was highly unlikely for them to miscount the firewood.

“Tsk.”

You ran back to your bed and pulled on the bell cord, a long, blue thread attached to a copper wire which ran along the room and down to a wall in the servants’ quarters, ending as a bell.

You rang and you rang, but no one came.

“God-freakin’-dammit.” You hopped off the bed and went to rekindle the fire yourself.

“Friggin’ h-hate the cold…Frigging hate it!”

The system resisted the urge to laugh. It was rare to see the Host so uncomposed and so very unherself, but when it happened, it was quite the scene.

“There.” You held your hands to the flame, indulging in the warmth. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank God my parents forced me into scouthood.”

[I didn’t know my Host was a scout.]

“Yeah. The Nyx Division.”[1]

[What was your favorite part about camping?]

“When it was time to pack up and go home.”

[…]

“Bunch of snotty kids sleeping in tents in the wilderness like cave people…ridiculous. They even made us eat on the ground like animals. If mthe outside world is that great why bother with houses…stupid…”

[I take it the Host was the leading scout in ‘fun-sucking’.]

“Ha!” you chuckled. “I wish. My parents said if I won ten badges, then they would let me quit.”

[So the Host won ten badges.]

“Nope.” You returned to your bed and tucked your toes under the covers. “I won all of them.”

You yawned, “Then I quit.”

When morning came, you woke up just in time to hear someone knock on the door.

A maid, Apple, you fuzzily recalled, walked inside with a flower-printed ceramic kettle. “Good morning, milady—”

“Get out.”

She stopped, smile freezing. “I-I beg your pardon, milady?”

You gave her a soft smile as you spoke tenderly, “I said ‘get out.’”

“Um…”

“Close the door and then knock again.”

“But—”

“Do it.”

She hesitated before stepping outside and shutting the door.

Slow, confused knocks rapped at the wood.

“Come in,” you said as you rolled on your side, bending your elbow to rest your head on your hand.

She took reluctant steps towards you. Her surprise had rendered her speechless as she met your gaze.

You suppressed a yawn. “Well?”

“Huh?”

“This is the part where you apologize for entering my room without permission, not to mention meeting my eyes directly, and beg me not to tell my father.

“Oh…oh!” Having finally processed your words, she bent her waist and cried, “I am so sorry, young lady! I didn’t—I did not mean to offend you! I swear it!”

“Hm.” Like every other working woman with long hair, Apple had hers in a braided bun, and cheeks were chubby and freckled. She was young. She never participated in the active humiliation of MC. She never tried to stop it either.

You didn’t tell her to move from her position. “Were you the one who lit the fire in my room last night?”

“No, m-milady. I’m only assigned to your room during mornings. The one in charge during the evenings is Lyrra.”

Searching your memories, you discovered that Lyrra was one of the sneakier perpetrators. She didn’t take part in direct bullying, but she did often “forget” to bring MC her food and letters to her, made fun of her behind her back (MC overheard her calling her 'an uptight fool’), accidentally dropped MC’s dishware when she served her, and stole from her.

“I understand. Hurry up and serve me.”

“Y-yes.” She trotted towards your vanity and poured water in the washbowl.

After cleaning your face and hands with warm water, you slipped out of your nightgown and into a linen shift.

Although your makeup did not match your complexion, you powdered your face, enough to cover the blemishes on your cheeks, nose and chin, but didn’t touch the rouge. Apple said nothing and silently wove your hair for you.

You then rolled on your cotton stockings, secured into place with a ribbon garter under each knee. Once you put on your underpetticoat, Apple laced your stays, raising and pressing your breasts together, followed by tying on the panniers.

“Hey, check these out,” you said to Uwak as you admired your bosom in the mirror.

[Yes, they’re very…] The system did not know how to praise a woman’s breasts. [...tight?]

You rolled your eyes and lifted your arms to welcome a second petticoat.

“Not that,” you stopped Apple when she reached for your usual stomacher, the V-shaped panel worn in front of the torso, which was covered with eggplant-hued fustian fabric and adorned with gold lace.

Violet was the color of the royal family. MC, who was engaged to the prince, made a point to wear shades of violet, such as raisin, wine, plum, and of course, eggplant, all these delicious-sounding shades in an attempt to appear serious. To you, “somber” was the more appropriate term. She was twenty years old but dressed like a mother with her velvet clothes and heavy jewelry.

That was okay, you suppose, but you already wore a lot of blacks and browns and other “serious” colors when you were a bad boy with a black card.

This was fake 18th century Europe for goodness’ sake! The alleged era of puffy full skirts and floor-sweeping ball gowns with ruffles and ribbons and bows.

Now was the time to be someone completely different. And you refused to look like you were raising five kids.

You went over to your selection and picked up the least matronly panel in MC’s drawer, which was white and embroidered with flowers, then you went to your wardrobe and found the only dress that wasn’t colored like it belonged on a dining table.

You examined the seafoam dress.

“Oh, no.”

[What is it, Host?]

It was a sack-back gown,[2] which touched the floor and made it difficult to walk.

You laid the gown over the bed, unpinned the stomacher from your body, and ordered the maid, “Hand me my sewing basket. It’s on my dresser.”

Apple gave you the basket and you pulled out the scissors.

“What are you doing!?”

[What are you doing!?]

Both system and maid exclaimed as you sheared through the silk without thinking twice.

Ignoring their shock, you continued your work, cutting some here and sewing over there until you were satisfied.

“Help me put it on.”

You fitted inside the seafoam green gown, which you redesigned to have a false waistcoat and whose skirt was bunched up into three separate puffs at the back, revealing the lilac petticoat underneath.

The system applauded. [Impressive robe à la polonaise,[3] Host! It looks like it was made by a professional.]

“Youngest scout in the history of our division to ever win all the badges under ‘Fashion Appreciation.’ Won my sewing badge before any of my seniors did. Should’ve seen the look on their faces.” You snickered as Apple laced your winter boots.

You twirled in front of the mirror to appraise your work. “All right. I’m ready. Call the carriage for me.”

“But you haven’t had breakfast yet, where are you going this early in the morning?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

She hiccupped. “O-of course. I apologize. I’ll go get the carriage ready!” The girl ran out the room so fast you swore you could see smoke behind her like a cartoon.

[Where does Host intend to go?]

“Isn’t it obvious? He flirted with a woman who wasn't his fiancée and embarrassed me.” You draped a mouse grey cloak over yourself and headed outside. “So I’m going to break up with that bastard.”

Author's Corner:

[1] This is made up, btw, think the Fireside Girls from Phineas and Ferb, but the scouts are gender neutral cause MC has no official gender. In the Philippines, the Girl Scouts are separated by age groups and the divisions are: Twinkler, Star, Junior, Senior and Cadet. But fun fact: I WAS forced into participating and every year, each troupe came up with names based on a single theme. We had goddesses as a theme once and that was where I first heard the name Nyx.

I hated the Girl Scouts. And I hate camping. ❤️‍🔥

[2] Sack-back gown: "...panniers dilate the hips; a narrow waist is achieved by the corset, which further pushes up and supports the bust. A deep décolletage is rendered more or less modest with insertions of bits of cloth, and the sleeves are finished with layers of engageants that are generally just basted in for easy detachment and washing." Click here for an example of a sack-back gown.

[3] Robe à la Polonaise: "The polonaise gown first came into fashion in the 1770s. It was a style of gown with a close-fitting bodice and the back of the skirt gathered up into three separate puffed sections to reveal the petticoat below." Click here for an example of a polonaise dress.

These were my sources for the clothes and the painting, in case you guys are interested:

American Duchess. (2020, May 28). How to Dress 18th Century: 1770 - 1780 Robe a la Polonaise [Video]. Youtube. www.youtube.com/watch?v=0o4I8jG-te4

Les Hasards Heureux de L'Escarpolette (“The Swing”) by Jean-Honoré Fragonard [Digital Image]. (n.d.) The Wallace Collection, Manchester. Retrieved from: wallacelive.wallacecollection.org/eMP/eMuseumPlus?service=ExternalInterface&module=collection&objectId=65364&viewType=detailView

Hart, A., & North, S. (2007). Historical fashion in detail: The 17th and 18th centuries. V & A Publ.

National Museums Liverpool. (2017, May 10). Getting dressed in the 18th century [Video]. Youtube. youtube.com/watch?v=UpnwWP3fOSA

Robe à la Française [Digital image]. (n.d.). Retrieved from: metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/79893

Robe à la Polonaise [Digital image]. (n.d.). Retrieved from: metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/84611

Waugh, N. & Woodward, M. (1968). The Cut of Women’s Clothes, 1600-1930. Theatre Art Books.

Arc 5. Chapter 2: All That Glitters is Not Gold

#obey me #shall we date #mammon #mammon x reader #au #reader #y/n #mc #reader insert #quick transmigration #qt #historical fantasy #historical romance #transmigration #18th century #19th century #poofy dresses #ballgowns #dark comedy #dark humor

[gureishi]

either 14, 16, or 19 with jaehee. and you can make is nsfw only if your heart desires 👀

OH, thank you for giving me this excuse to write some Jaehee smut. I am deeply in debt to you, my friend.

I went ahead and made MC biologically female/afab here even though you didn’t specify a gender (cause I needed to describe body parts and god I wanted to write some wlw sexytimes), but MC can still be any gender you’d like to imagine!

sixteen: wake up to stars in the sky

Jaehee X Reader, E, words: 3553

Smut warning, proceed with caution ♡

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You shiver as you pull your keys out of your jacket pocket and unlock the door to the cafe. In a few hours, it’ll probably be a warm, lovely day; now, the sky is still pitch black and the early morning chill seems to penetrate every cell of your body. Your bones feel hollow.

You wiggle the key in the lock (it always sticks) and make your way inside, stifling a yawn. Everything is just the way you left it yesterday evening: the chairs stacked nearly upside down on the tables, the floors swept spotless, the single emergency light glowing dimly on the back wall. You check your phone, the bright screen making your head ache—it really is so early. By some miracle, for the first time in ages, you’re here first. It seems only fair: you’re the one who agreed to book out the cafe for this corporate event, and so it’s really your fault that you’re here getting ready to open two hours earlier than usual. It had seemed like such a good business move at the time; now, squinting at the empty cafe through sleepy eyes, you hate yourself for it.

Forcing your poor muscles to work, you slip behind the bar and start turning on the lights, keeping them low for now—just enough light that you can see, not enough that you’ll get a full-on headache. As you’re tying on your apron, your hear a key in the door (not rattling around—she’s always so much gentler with the door than you are, and it always seems to open easily for her). The bell on the door chimes and you turn, leaning your arms on the counter in a way that you hope is charming and flirtatious.

“Morning, beautiful. What can I get you?” you sing, putting on your most exaggerated barista manner. She laughs, soft and sleepy.

“I’m sorry you beat me here today,” she says, slipping off her coat. There’s something about the way she looks in the early morning—her hair, which is normally pristine, is just slightly fluffed, like she brushed it a little too fast; her big eyes have a sort of puppy dog quality, as though she can’t quite keep them all the way open. You admire and adore her when she’s put-together and pristine; but when she’s even the tiniest bit in disarray, you find her absolutely intoxicating.

“I wouldn’t have, if…” you trail off, absentmindedly spraying disinfectant on the (already very clean) counter.

“If…?” She joins you behind the bar, hangs her coat on a hook. You pretend not to notice her as she comes up behind you, waiting waiting till you feel her soft, small hand on your side to react. You close your eyes gratefully and tilt your face toward hers; she kisses your lips once, with such gentleness it makes your fingertips tremor.

“Ugh, if you’d just move in with me already,” you whine, dramatically slumping over the counter. Her hand slips from your side up your back, agile fingers finding the tension between your shoulder blades and rubbing it away with the casual ease of someone who knows your body as well as she knows her own.

“It won’t be much longer until we can afford our own place together,” she says, and her sweet voice and her fingers on your back are almost enough to lull you back to sleep—right here, standing in the cafe with your apron on and your face pressed into the counter. “It’s not practical for me to move all my things to your place for us to then have to move again so soon.”

“Not soon enough for me,” you mutter. You don’t mean to be grumpy with her—but it’s just so early, and you had to spend last night alone in bed once again, and her simple good night texts just aren’t cutting it anymore.

She moves away from you then, and you hear the sounds of her rummaging around in the cabinets.

“I know how you feel, but we need to have patience,” she murmurs, and suddenly you feel guilty for whining to her, for laying uselessly across the counter, for behaving like a child. Begrudgingly, you lift your head and begin spraying down the gleaming wood all over again.

“You’re the goddess of patience and self-control and I’m just your grouchy, miserable disciple,” you tell her. You wipe down the counter with big, circular motions; behind you, she’s plugging in the industrial-size coffee grinder, pulling down packets of fresh beans from the cabinet. Even with your back turned, you can sense her movements. You’ve memorized all her patterns: the way she carefully unrolls the tops of the brown paper bags of coffee beans, leans forward and takes one tiny sniff, closes her eyes to enjoy the scent for a moment, then rapidly gets to work, pouring the beans in the grinder with a businesslike efficiency.

You can’t help but grin as you hear the beans cascading into the grinder—just on time.

She’s quiet for a moment as she grinds the beans. She doesn’t like to shout over the sound, and you don’t ask her to. You tuck your rag back into your apron pocket and move into the larger dining space, start setting chairs upright at the tables.

You peer at her out of the corner of your eye as you carefully arrange the chairs: perfectly symmetrical, four around each little round table. Her tongue pokes out a tiny bit as she focuses on the coffee, and you know she’s counting in her head. It’s these little things that first drew you to her—the quiet, meticulous way she works to make things just right. And as you grew to love her, you uncovered the unbridled desperation with which she quests for perfection, and you fell in love with this, too—her longing, her prudence.

You turn over the last chair and survey the dining room: it’s neat, just the way you like it; the dark wood is scrubbed clean and the tabletops shimmer.

Jaehee finishes grinding the coffee. 

“You’re not my disciple,” she says simply, and at first you don’t remember what she’s responding to. But she always remembers—never leaves you hanging, never leaves a thought unanswered. She pauses and you see from the way her hand lingers too long on the side of the coffee grinder that she has more to say. “And I’m not as patient as you seem to think I am,” she says at last, her voice unexpectedly quiet. 

“Oh?”

On the pretense of bringing her the glass jar for the freshly-ground beans, you move closer to the counter. You’re surprised to see that she’s blushing, a light pink dusted over her cheeks. It doesn’t seem like she’s going to say more, so you slip around the bar and set the jar beside her, slide an arm around her waist. She squirms delightfully at your touch.

“What on earth could my perfect girlfriend be impatient about?” you say into her ear. She shuts her eyes and exhales, sounding a little unsteady. Again, you’re taken aback—it’s usually not so easy to affect her, especially here at the cafe. You’ve tried—oh, you’ve tried to flirt with her while working, skating a hand over her hip as she peers into the pastry case, winking at her from across the crowded dining area—but normally she’s so composed here, all efficiency and priorities.

But now—and maybe because it’s still dark out, practically nighttime, and maybe it’s because your schedules have prevented you from spending the night together for days—she’s flustered, cheeks distinctly pink, body frozen in place. So you take advantage of the rare moment of weakness, experimentally sliding your hand down to the small of her back. She keeps her eyes closed but you hear her breath hitch in her throat. Interesting.

“I have to start the drip coffee,” she whispers, but she’s leaning into your touch. You love her at all times: chatting with customers, hair tucked cutely behind her ears; trying out a new recipe, eyebrows knitted with concentration; falling into your bed at night, looking so small and lovable in a too-big t-shirt. But you love her like this perhaps the most: face pink, open, vulnerable; every muscle in her body on high alert and attuned to you.

“So start the coffee,” you say. “Don’t mind me.”

She laughs, and it turns into a startled cough as you shift so you’re behind her, arms wrapping around her waist, dancing over the front of her neatly-pressed apron.

She chokes out your name, scolding, and you giggle.

“You can multi-task, right?” You slide your hands lower, feeling her prominent hip bones through the apron. You press your nose into her back, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo: coconut and vanilla.

She hesitates, and you think she might push you away; “Later,” she’ll say—patient as always, cool as a cucumber. But: “I’m making the coffee,” she says. “I take no responsibility for—whatever you’re going to do.”

Your heart skips a beat. Pressed against her back, you feel the way her muscles tense, anticipating your touch. Above the counter, her efficient little hands busy themselves with the coffee maker. Under the counter, you drift your hands lower, over the smooth fabric of her skirt, pulling it taut against her thighs.

She fills the coffee pot with cool water from the sink that’s, thankfully, within reach; you glide your hands down her thighs, questing for the bottom of her skirt, where the soft, neat fabric flares out just below her knees.

You find the bottom edge and grasp it in one hand, bunching it up against her legs. She pours the water into the coffee maker, her pink tongue peeking out over her lip again. If not for the tiny bit of water that spills over the side of the coffee pot—so unlike her—you’d never know anything was out of the ordinary.

“Could you tell me what it is you were impatient for?” you whisper into the back of her neck. You can see she gets goosebumps at the feeling of your breath, so you part her hair and, experimentally, exhale directly on the skin. She noticeably shivers.

“Suffice it to say I was thinking about you,” she says, voice a little high-pitched, and you giggle and slide one hand up her thigh. Her skin is warm and supple under your fingertips. With the hand that’s not exploring under her skirt, you caress her side, over her arm.

“What were you thinking about me?” you ask her. Your hand quests higher, just barely grazing her underwear. She doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel how fast her heart is beating.

“I was…I just…ahhh.” She tries valiantly, but you graze her underwear again, startled and delighted to find a tiny spot of wetness on her perfect satin panties. 

“Don’t you need to make the coffee?” you murmur into her ear, peppering little kisses down the side of it and then taking her earlobe into your mouth. You suck it gently and feel her shoulders quiver.

“I…y-yes.” She’s been frozen in place, but now she goes for the coffee filters, puts one in. You rub your index finger over her underwear again and she deposits the filter into the coffee maker with perhaps too much force. You stroke her again, making a slow, tight circle with your finger; you pull her hair off her neck with your other hand, tug your fingers through it. She tilts her head back, but her legs are steady.

You want to see her unsteady.

So you curl your finger, flicking it against the silky fabric of her underwear. She’s persistent, stubborn—even as you feel the way her body is shaking against yours, she scoops a small, deliciously scented heap of coffee into the filter.

You increase the pressure the tiniest bit, flit your finger more quickly against her, and she keens, back arching as the scoop falls from her hand. There’s coffee on the floor.

“Oh, I need to…”

She reflexively bends, as if to clean up the spilled coffee; and you know it goes against all of her instincts, but you stop her with a firm hand on her shoulder, spin her to face you. The look on her face is almost too much for you: her eyes are gigantic above her pink cheeks. You feel your own legs quivering and remind yourself that she’s the one you want to see unraveled. You press her back against the counter with both hands and her eyelids flutter shut, the spilled coffee forgotten. You bunch up her skirt again, more vigorously this time, and slip a hand up and under the waistband of her panties.

You know better—you’re probably breaking about a million health code regulations right now, and you see in her eyes that she’s thinking about that too. But then you slip one warm, questing finger inside her, curling it upwards, and the anxiety on her face dissolves instantly.

“Was this what you were thinking about when you missed me last night?” you ask her. With your thumb, you put pressure on her clit again—its hot beneath the pad of your finger, pulsing as though relieved to be touched again. She stammers something you can’t understand, and you curl your finger inside her, making a little circle on her clit with your thumb at the same time.

She’s shivering now, fingers grasping at your waist. You slide your finger deeper and she grabs at you harder, and finally—finally—you see her give in, letting out a quiet, beautiful moan as her legs give out and she clutches at your waist for support. You brace her with one hand and push her harder into the counter, continuing your unrelenting pressure on her clit.

She’s shaking, shaking, and move your finger inside her, holding her tight as she trembles violently against you.

“Take a deep breath,” you murmur, and she does, and you move your fingers to the rhythm of her heartbeat. As she exhales, you insert a second finger into her, curling up beside the first; this undoes her completely, and her head falls forward onto your shoulder as she comes, hands grasping handfuls of your apron.

She’s panting and you stroke her hair off her face with one hand. Her shirt has come untucked and her skirt is bunched around her hips. And she’s every bit as perfect like this—flushed and needy—as she is when she’s composed and coolheaded.

“Was it okay that I did that?” you whisper into her hair—too little too late, you think, but suddenly you’re so conscious of the large, empty dining area behind you, the coffee grounds on the floor.

She doesn’t say anything. “Sweetheart?”

She lifts her head to yours and there’s a mischievous twinkle there, a look you’ve rarely seen—once or twice, lying beside you on her perfectly-made bed, but certainly never here in the cafe.

She kisses your lips, quick and soft, taking you by surprise.

“There’s something I’d like to do, and it…it’s probably not a good idea.”

You grin. “Whatever it is, I’m in.”

She takes you by the hand, interlacing her delicate fingers with yours. You follow wordlessly as she leads you into the dining area. The curtains are drawn, but you still feel somehow exposed.

“Would you please…um, sit on the table?” she asks. Her gaze is averted and she hasn’t bothered to fix her untucked shirt. You want to fix it for her. You feel nervous, suddenly, and you can’t explain why.

But you obey her, because of course you do—sliding up on the table with ease. And she’s touching you, her coffee-scented hands on your legs, her efficient fingers untying your apron, unzipping your pants.

And for a moment, you’re lost—lost in her soft fingers on your thighs as she tugs your pants over your hips. But then you look up and see the cute sea glass light fixture, and oh my god, you’re in the cafe right now, and your heart starts pounding.

“Jaehee, this…”

She looks back at you with such adoration that you’re lost for words.

“Will you let me do this for you?” Her fingers are on your underwear now, pulling it down your legs, and it’s happening so quickly, and your head’s spinning, and that stupid light fixture is swinging back and forth over your head like a pendulum.

“The…table,” you mutter.

“This is what disinfectant is for,” she says, and you think god, we’ll have to bleach the whole damn place, and then you stop thinking entirely as she tugs your underwear all the way off in one swift motion and her head disappears from your line of sight as she sinks to her knees.

You lean back, propping yourself on the table with your elbows, and you know what’s coming right before it happens—you tremble in anticipation, feeling vulnerable and desperate.

Her tongue flits over you, warm and startling and delightful. You hold your breath, arms shaking beneath you as her tongue caresses you, darting in and out of her mouth. You lean back further, closing your eyes and let the sensations roll over you like an ocean wave. She moves faster now and your hips rock upward involuntarily as her tongue dances over you, tearing you apart so impossibly gently.

Sensing your need, she gives you more, increasing the pressure, turning your head around. You can hardly feel the hard wood table beneath you anymore, and the light fixture means nothing, and you’re no longer at work but in a void full of only you and her.

She slips her finger where her mouth was and kisses up the soft skin where your hip meets your thigh. Her finger takes up the rhythm her tongue began and your body is dissolving like salt in water.

And then her mouth is on you again, and you think you say her name, leaning forward, twisting yourself into an impossible position as you tangle a hand in her hair. And even like this, bent almost double on the cafe table, your thighs are shaking uncontrollably and the room is dissolving around you.

You can’t take it anymore; your head is going to explode; and you open your eyes and see the light fixture dangling above you again, and the empty room that’s usually full of chattering customers, and her tongue darts out again, and again, and again, and you’re gasping for air, legs flopping helplessly against the hard wood.

One last wave crests and breaks over you and you let yourself go. Jaehee grips your thighs with both hands, holding you in place, and you feel indistinguishable, meaningless sounds tearing from your throat as you forget who, or where, you are.

And then it’s quiet. Quiet and so still.

Vaguely, you feel her pulling away, standing up and curling her little hands into yours. She’s warm against you and you lean into her instinctively; she kisses your forehead, your ear, your shoulder. She’s saying something and you have to shake your head to clear it, desperately tugging yourself back to reality.

“…do that,” she says, laughing the soft laugh that makes you think of the bells on the door of the cafe.

“Um,” you manage. You have to catch your breath. “What did you say?”

“I absolutely cannot believe we did that,” she repeats. You’ve still got the height advantage, perched on the table, and she leans her face on your chest. You envelop her, wrapping both arms around her neck.

“I’m serious,” you tell her after a moment. “You have to move in with me.”

She pulls away a little and you pat the spot beside you on the table. She hesitates, deliberates—then something breaks in her eyes and she hops up beside you. You rest your head on her shoulder.

“Why?” she asks.

“Because if we keep spending nights apart we’re going to keep fucking in the coffee shop,” you say.

“You really shouldn’t say ‘fuck’ at work,” she says reflexively, and you burst out laughing, shaking the little table.

“You just ate me out on a table. In the dining room. Of our cafe. And you’re lecturing me about swearing?”

She pauses as if she’s not sure what to say to that; you take her hand and squeeze it and she squeezes back.

“We’re going to have to disinfect everything in here now,” she says slowly. “Twice. Three times. At least.”

You raise your entwined hands and press a kiss to her wrist, holding it there for a moment to feel the way her pulse quickens. Then you let go, hopping off the table with energy you didn’t know you had.

“Good thing we got here early, then,” you say. You turn back to look at her and there’s the most beautiful look of surprise and puzzlement on her face. Then she laughs.

“Yes,” she says. “And by the way, I’m planning to sleep at your apartment tonight.”

You nod firmly. “You better be.”

#mystic messenger #mysticmessenger #jaehee kang #jaehee x reader #gureishi writes requests #flawlessbrouhaha #spicy spaceship

[solari-writes-things]

IMAGINE: Jax has a new Old Lady, and Tara comes to stir the pot.

Jax x Female Reader Word Count:  703

AN: Sorry for this being so brief. After a wild week, I’m getting back into the swing of things. 

There was a serene silence as you stood next to Jax, hand in hand, staring through the clear window at the NICU station that Jax’s newborn son wiggled and cooed in. Your head was leaned against his blue-flanneled shoulder, humming in content as the tranquil silence overtook the hallway. 

“He’s so gorgeous, baby,” you state to the SAMCRO VP, brushing the top of his hand gently with your thumb.

Abel Teller was born “with his insides upside down”, as Jax had so plainly stated to you when his ex-wife Wendy had to get the child C-Sectioned out. It was due to her using drugs during the pregnancy, and the obvious complications that were to follow. After some pretty stress-inducing surgeries, the newborn seemed safe and sound.

Jax averts his blue eyes down to you, a small charming smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Yeah, he is. I can’t wait to hold him when he’s healed up.”

“Will I get to?” you ask him, turning up your face to meet his and matching his smile.

“Of course,” he says confidently and crosses his free hand over his chest to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He brings up your chin, giving you a soft kiss against your lips. “He’s gonna be calling you mom.”

You muster a giggle as you return the kiss, grinning widely at the statement. “You think so?”

“I’m in complete confidence, darlin’,” he mutters low, earning another giggle from you.

You were there for Jax while his ex wife was using during their pregnancy. Listening to his grievances, whenever they had to ship her out to rehab over and over again. Offering your time to console him during his time of trial. Eventually, he asked you to be his Old Lady to opt for a situation that was leagues less toxic.

Your attention turned to the door when it was pushed open, eyes landing on a brunette in a lab coat and aqua scrubs.

Her dark eyes were even with yours once she registered that you were in the room, filled with unrelenting animosity and jealousy. You couldn’t help but return the same stare.

Dr. Tara Knowles. She left Charming a long time ago to pursue her career in Chicago. Jax was inclined to tell you about her, since you and him were on a personal promise to not keep secrets with each other. She came crawling back, and made an attempt to pick up Jax again when you were beginning to see each other. Needless to say, she wasn’t happy to learn Jax settled in for you rather than go chase a high school thrill.

She passed a smile to Jax, handing him a manila folder to him. “Just need you to sign these really quickly,” she says simply. Dry. She was not pleased with you being here.

He nods and tucks the folder under his arm, pushing out of the doors that Tara had come in through to find a flat and stable surface to sign the papers.

The two of you follow him out, at an ample distance so he doesn’t hear the two of you trade words.

“Any specific reason for the hostility, doctor?” you ask her dryly, knowing exactly why but deciding to entertain for an answer.

“A woman can’t have a preference on who she wants to see her friend with?” Tara snarked back, eyes remaining forward.

“Well, there’s a stark difference between jealousy and prudence, Tara,” you chide in a sing-songy tone. “When you have the disposition of a thirteen year old, I tend to care less about what you think. I would think you would know that, considering you had to work for a doctorate.”

Tara turns to face you, to try to shoot back with some witty response when Jax comes back with the folder in his hands. His eyes dart between the two of you, the woman he loves and the woman he used to pursue. “Everything okay here?”

You give her a snide smile, striding toward Jax and giving him a full kiss on his lips. You can feel the disdain emitting from her at the action, which earns a smirk.

“Absolutely,” was your only answer.

#redwood-imagines #jax teller #samcro #sons of anarchy #imagine #jackson teller #charlie hunnam #jax teller imagine

[harveywritings92]

father!Connor x Reincarnated! Modern reader!

Burning and calling out for your dad that's the last thing you remembered when the ceiling collapsed and the flames consumed you, next thing you knew you were freezing your eyes looked around wildly as you took in the surrounding area, this wasn't the streets of [city/town], it was night time and you were in a forest?... and it was winter now? Not not possible it was July, you were sure of it! 

*How did I get here?!*

You wondered as you tried to stand but couldn't move you looked to see what was restraining you. and felt your stomach curdled when you saw that you were swaddled in a soot covered blanket next to body of a woman who had her limp arms wrapped securely around your now tiny body, her dead eyes stained with frozen tears as they stared blankly at you it didn't take long for you to register that you were now in the body of a newborn and were very sure this woman is...was your mother.

Struggling between fear and confusion you did the only thing a baby could do in this situation wail at the top of your lungs and hope someone finds you, before a wolf or bear comes around.

Connor's pov 

He was returning to the homestead from Boston after ordering some upgrades and repairs for the Aquila, it was getting colder as the night settled snow crunched under the hooves as they trotted down the road home, when the assassin's nose caught a whiff of smoke in the air, he assumed some hunters had made camp somewhere and kept on route when his ears caught a high pitch scream in the distance, at first he thought it was a fox, rabbit or maybe a cougar? But something didn't feel right about it.

Connor's gut felt twisted as he brought the horse to a stop got off and strained his ears to hear through the wind before pinpointing where the scream was coming from and followed it, the screaming slowly turned into a the wails of a baby, causing the hairs on the back of Connor's stand on end as he quickened his pace to the location. 

There the assassin was met by a sickening sight as his eyes wildly swept over the remains of still smoldering cabin, he felt bile bubbling up in his throat as the smell of smoke and burning flesh invaded his nose triggering visions of his mother's death as his gaze soon landed on the snow covered body of a woman holding onto a screaming infant. 

He stared down at the pair he locked eyes with little one soon Connor eyes started burned with tears as a rogue sob escaped his throat he crouched down and hesitated before his shaking hands gently took the baby from their mother's body, he held the baby close trying to keep them warm as he managed to calmed down investigated the surrounding area, where it became very obvious that the fire was no accident.

Connor eyes noticed a mark on what was left of the walls he ran finger along it felt oily; Bear grease. the fire had started here after someone dumped bear grease around the cabin and lit aflame with the woman and child still inside, the mother's body had marks and what looked like rope stuck to her burns, the fire must've burned through the bindings and she used what all the strength left in her to get her baby out.

Someone wanted them dead, but why? there were footprints leading away from the site; Connor would've followed them, but his concerned gaze went back to the baby who was oddly quiet now and was alarmed at how cold their cheeks felt. The assassin made the wise decision to return to the homestead.

Achilles was not pleased when Connor returned late but his frustration soon turned to confusion and shock when he saw what his student was carrying a baby, his shock was replaced by fear when he noted how blue the child was looking he brought a hand up and felt the their cheek the old man retracted his hand. 

"Give me that child, and go take of your robes and shirt sit near the fire" Connor gave Achilles a incredulous look. "Do it" the old man barked before snapping a Faulkner to wake up and go get Dr. Lyle the sailor was confused until he saw the situation sobered up and ran out of the manor like a bat out of hell,

Connor was sitting in front of the fire place as he watched Achilles take the wet blankets and dress off the baby which turned out to be a girl, and handed the unresponsive child to native man as his mentor showed him how to hold her. a the old draped a blanket over them as they waited those few minutes that passed felt like hours.

 Achilles mumbled to himself wondering what was keeping the doctor, Connor while kept nervously starring at the baby she wasn't as blue looking anymore, but she was still unresponsive it was unnerving, finally the door open and Faulkner and a sleepy Lyle walked in the doctor was immediately on high alert when he saw the baby in Connor's arms.  

"Oh, my what happened?"

"Cabin fire she was the only one alive when I got there."

"Good job at keeping her warm, however she doesn't seem to be breathing too well... may i see her?"

"..."

Connor reluctantly handed the baby over, Lyle carefully held her over his knee and gave her back a few small slaps which caused the native man to jump out of his chair. "What are yo-" the baby suddenly threw up before letting out a wheeze followed a series of small coughs as air filled her lungs, her skin had a more healthier hue now before bursting out crying, doctor White wiped her mouth before handing her back to Connor.

"She was choking the poor thing! must of inhaled a lot of smoke... Your lucky you found her when you did." Connor just hummed as he tried to calm the baby down but failing, Achilles huffed and took her from the young assassin then snapped at him to put his shirt on as he rocked her, the baby instantly quietly down as Faulkner handed Achilles a blanket to cover the baby with. 

While Doctor White was instructing Connor to observe the baby overnight to make she was alright which caused a bit of a stir with both mentor and student. "W-Wait your not suggest that I take care of her?!" the young man sputtered as he awkwardly eyed the baby who seemed more alert now. 

"Well of course, who else?" Lyle hummed Connor started trying to make up excuses why he couldn’t do that! they don't have a cradle, clothes, how was he supposed to feed her? Achilles pointed at his son's old cradle that was stored under a table which also had some old baby clothes inside, and was sure Prudence wouldn't mind helping with the feeding problem, she's been complaining about making too much milk to the other women.  

Connor sighed pinching the bridge of his nose it was clear he wasn't going to win this, he then looked back at the baby who eyes were looking around the den tired and curious, She was small, alone and defenseless he felt his heart throb before sighing. "Alright, I will watch her and will send for help should something happen, thank you doctor." Lyle nodded bidding Connor and Achilles a good night.

[skip through Achilles showing Connor how to dress the baby and put her to bed.]

back to your pov

*What happened?* you thought waking up fully and looking around the room; happy that you were dry and warm, but but exasperated about still being in the dark on where the hell where you were, your e/c eyes scanned the ceiling brows furrowed somehow this room was familiar; you've seen it before, but where? you sighed and struggled to move your head to get a better look around, but your neck refused to move. *damn newborn limbs!* you huffed frustrated as your tiny hand made a fist damming whoever thought it would be a good idea to bring you back as a baby!

The the sound of footsteps and voices talking got your attention. "She's in the library, and didn't make a sound all night." a worried male voice stated, Odd you could've sworn you've heard that voice before, But damn if you can't remember where! the male's voice was followed by a reassuring female voice. "Babies can differ from one and another, I sure she's just fine." Goddamn you knew that voice too! *Just where the hell am I?* you babbled loud and annoyed as the voices were now in the room with you.

"See? she's chatting up a storm now!" the woman's voice exclaimed as a large shadowy figure came into your sight, You felt kind of scared at first at the man's imposing figure before he leaned in giving you a better look at his face ,you jaw dropped in a form of a toothless grimace when you realized who it was. *Holy Shit It's Connor Kenway,* then the second realization *Holy shit I'm in a video game!* of course the only thing that came out of your mouth was an nonsensical babble.

 the assassin hummed at the sound before he carefully took you out of the cradle and presented you to Prudence "Aw, look at you! hello pretty one.~" She cooed with big smile the second she saw you and took you from Connor. *why was she here?* you thought not seeing Connor leave as the farmer sat down in a chair you awkwardly watched the new mother [Hunter's two moths older than you.] lifted her shirt up presenting her breast to you *oh...okay." You probably would've fussed or resisted but your empty stomach gurgled leaving you no choice but to got to town.

[Skip, after feeding time, and 3rd pov]

Prudence was soon joined by Diana and Catherine who were cooing and coddling at the two babies sitting on the couch next to each other as Warren had dropped Hunter off fawned over you too before returning to work, said boy looked down right confused to see another baby for the first time, while You were having an existential crisis about your current situation which the women giggled at as they talked about you two becoming friends, sharing clothes, toys, extra blankets they had for You, however their meeting was soon interrupted by Connor arguing with Achilles. 

"My answer is no, she can't stay here!"

"Funny you didn't have a problem about it last night, old man!"

"Don't be a hypocritical and That was an emergency!"

"Well, this is an emergency as well, someone wants that child dead and I intend to find out who! So until then she stays!" 

Connor's decision as final causing Achilles let an annoyed bellow before seemingly leaving the manor to cool off, there was an a tense silence filled the air as Connor's foot steps came upstairs and he appeared in the library doorway and awkwardly stared at the women who starring stunned at the native man.

 "Ah, I apologize you all had to hear that." he coughed before looking at you and Hunter sitting on the couch you were being propped up by pillow while Hunter was on his belly starring than up at Connor confused while his mom and the women found their voices mainly questions as to how exactly did you come into Connor's care?

If reader is of native decent:

[At First they thought you were his child as it appeared you were a native as well, your skin had a similar maroon tone like his, but at a second glance it seemed getting a bit lighter/darker than his, also you shared no facial features that resembled Connor's what so ever, your hair looked black, but they could see it was falling out and patches of [Blond,Ginger,Brown.] hair was growing back in it's place, and it's type was turning out more [Wiry,Coarse,Curly,Wavy.] then Connor's and you're eyes were [Blue,grey,amber,green,hazel,brown] it became increasingly obvious that you were half or at least have some native in your bloodline.]

English,Hispanic Italian,Asian,African. descent:

It was obvious you weren't his child as your skin was too/had [fair, bronze, marigold, or chestnut ] tones to it and your eyes were [blue/green/gray, black, hazel] and your hair was looking too curly/wavy/straight [red/blond/brown/black hair, and your facial features showed a clear sign you were of [English,Hispanic Italian,Asian,African.] descent... that and the fact Connor would've told at least told one person in town (Norris) that he was seeing someone and was going to be a father, the native man answered as truthfully as he could.

The women's maternal instinct were now on high alert and stated if he was going to be this baby's guardian he was going to need help and started giving Connor child rearing advice and teaching him how to change her nappies, and assured him that they watched her if he had to go on another exposition, Connor thanked them before Diana realize they didn't know what the wee one's name was.

Connor looked down at you for a few moments thinking hard before a ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Y/n. Her name is Y/n." all the women cooed and started greeted you by name, meanwhile  you were reeling in annoyance. "Seriously? " you huffed blowing a raspberry at Connor who blinked before wiped up the drool dribbling down your chin as a result.

*I get reincarnated and you give the same name I've always had, you couldn't think of something cooler?* your e/c eyes glared daggers at hoping he'd hear you; of course he couldn't hear you or your complaints, guess you'll just have to have to live with it, what could go wrong?   

#connor kenway x reader #assassin's creed 3 #davenport homestead #achilles davenport #assassin's creed imagine #fanfiction #dad!Connor kenway #reincarnated au #ratohnhaké:ton

[povofjustme]

CAOS

You broken me

Angst

Summary: PB and AS had keep you a secret from the world. You had enough and broke up with them. Now they wish they can turn back time

prudence blackwood x ex lover x ambrose spellman

PSA- didn’t proofread it was too sad

There were days at the academy where you felt alone. It’s been 6 months now that you have been dating the witch and warlock and they still didn’t want to make it public. They would always hands on each other and or kiss and you would sit right there acting as if you had nothing to do with it.

At first, when they told you that they wanted to keep quiet, you didn’t think much about it. But the the longer it went on, you just felt like their dirty little secret. It was not fair to you. They would be all over each other in front of you in FRONT of other people. But if someone was to come up to you asking you, you would end up with the slice treatment from Prudence and Ambrose would just look disappointed. It wasn’t far.

The two nights before the Lupercalia you were all in the Ambrose bed you in the middle. After getting done devils tango. You got up grabbed the first shift to put on and used the bathroom. Washing your hands and waking back out. The two were whispering to each other.

“What are you two talking about over there” You walked back in and sat at the end of the bed. They both have a look on their face, and you could make out the look.

Ambrose was the first to break the moment of silence. “Uh was we just talking about the Lupercalia” he started with. “So what about it?” You asked “Well I know we talked about all 3 of us doing it together” he kept talking about it but it made you feel uneasy. “And we were hoping you can sit this one out” Ambrose finished out. “What do you mean? A month ago you promised we would”

You can feel the tears slowly falling out. This isn’t the first time they broke a promise. Prudence had crowded into your side, putting her hand on your shoulder. “ I know we did but” “But what Prudence? You guys always do this to me” You kept your voice low and steady. Since being with them, you have practiced talking while crying. Somehow it would always be you doing the crying because of them.

“Babe if you can just listen to our reasoning, you will understand” Ambrose came closer to you two but that’s not what you want. You started to get up slowly and put on your clothes. “Hey, hey now. Where do you think you’re doing” Prudence didn’t look like it but the sound of her voice panicked. “I thought we were having a sleepover?”

“You two can, am going home” one hand on the door handle. You feel someone's hand on yours. “No, you’re not. You are going to stay here and -“ “No I am not. I want to go home and sleep” “You can sleep here with us!” Prudence was now starting to show the panic. “Why would I?” “Why would you not?” For the first time in a while, you can hear Ambrose in the back.

You couldn’t take it anymore, and you didn’t understand why you told it to go on for so long. You had enough, you were tired of it all. You just wanted to go home. “Am done for the night, so let me hand go, now” Yet again, your voice was low and steady. “Not until you listen to us. So sit down”

You didn’t look at them. You just said a little spell under your breath and her hand was off of yours. You fast-walked down the stairs and put your shoes on by the door. You could hear the two coming. But then you saw Sabrina out of the corner of your eye. “Hey, I didn’t know you would be here” “Don’t worry, you won’t see me here again. Goodnight Sabrina” They gave you a ring a while ago. You knew they used it to locate you. You slipped it off your hand and gave it to Sabrina. You didn’t want them trying to find you.

“Here, I want to give this to you.” You grabbed her hand and put it on her right hand. You saw her put it on. “Wow, you want me to have this. It looks meaning” Sabrina had been a very good friend to you since she got to the Academy, so you hoped she didn’t think much about it. She didn’t even know about the 3 of you. You saw Prudence and Ambrose on top of the stairs. You hugged Sabrina and said goodnight. You just wanted to get out of the house and away from them.

That night you went home, not the Academy. You lived in the next town over. Riverdale. You took a shower and went straight to sleep after. The morning your parents didn’t even know you went home. You knew you needed an excuse to “stay home and play sick” you just needed your space. And your mom did just that. She called Father Blackwood and told him you came down with a stomach bug.

~

You didn’t go to school for two days and you knew they were trying to contact you. Back at the school, they wanted to talk more and get you to understand them. But what was there to understand?

They found out that you gave Sabrina the right and wasn’t happy, mostly Prudence. But more upset that they couldn’t find you.

You wanted to end the “relationship”. And you were going to do just that. You had two days to yourself and then back to school. Not even being about to walk in your first class, someone grabbed your arm and pulled you into the empty room right across. You almost fell but Ambrose had got you before the floor did. He held you into him. You saw Prudence shut the door.

“Where the hell have you been, you went MIA on us.” Prudence was not having it. She went straight to the question. You could feel Ambrose's hands holding on you for dear life but you stepped out from it and fixing your outfit you had picked out. “We have been worried sick about you. And the little trick with the right, it wasn’t funny” You can feel her anger in every word

“You have nothing to say?” You looked down. “Am done” Your had thought everything through. You were going to break up with them at The Spellman home. And tell them you can all still be friends. But that all went out the window at the moment.

“What do you mean you done” Ambrose spoke out. “Am done, I can’t do this anymore. The hiding, the sneaking. Acting like am always the third wheel in front of everyone. Am done being y’all secret” You kept it all together. The days you were gone were spent crying your heart out. You had no more tears to give.

“You can’t surely mean that love, am sure we can talk about this” Ambrose spoke out but you weren’t having it. “But I do mean it. This, as isn’t working anymore. Am breaking up with you. This is me deciding for myself. And I know my worth, and this isn’t how I should be treated. You broke me!” But by the time you were done talking. They both had tears in their eyes

“Please say you don’t mean that? Please Tell me you're not going through with this!” Prudence y’allied out at you. You never in your years of knowing her seen her this mad. “Are you sure you wanna be yelling, don’t want people to know about me, right?” You wish it wasn’t this hard for them to let you go. It was clear, everything was clear for you now.

“We can give you some space and talk about this again, okay?” Ambrose stepped closer to you with every word. You could tell he was trying, trying to make you rethink everything. But you couldn’t, you were ready to go out and dance with whoever you wanted. Talk to whoever you want. Go on dates with someone(s) and hold has with that person(s) out in public without them feeling like they had to hide you. You wanted to be loved, not just in the dark.

“Respect my decision, mine.” They knew you weren’t gonna back down. You were never the type too. “We will respect your decision,” Ambrose said at last “You can’t be letting her do this!” “I am and we will. She just told us she isn’t happy. We need to let her be happy Pru”

There was nothing for you to say. You walked to Ambrose, gave him, and kissed him. You could feel him pulling you in more, knowing this would be the last time. When the moment was over you walked up to her, the woman you thought you were gonna be with till the day you die. She didn’t wait for you to say anything. She walked into your arms and kissed you. The kiss had so much love and passion. You didn’t want to let go but at the end of the day. This is for you.

No one said a word when you opened the door and walked out.

#poc #black reader #caos imagines #ambrose spellman x reader #prudence blackwood image #ambrose spellman #prudence x female reader

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Love your Zelda fics!! ♡ Can you do a Zelda x female reader where they hook up on her desk in her office at the Academy and get caught?

Thank you so much, Anon!! I hope you like this.

You gasped into the hot mouth as you were pushed against the cool wood of the desk. You made a high keening noise as hands roughly shoved under your skirt, fingernails scraping along your sensitive skin. You plunged your fingers into ginger locks, tugging on them until you heard a growl against your lips. She nipped at your lower lip, pulling a moan from you. You pushed yourself up to sit on the strong desk.

You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her another step closer. She hummed into your mouth as her fingers began to creep towards your heat. You shifted, wanting her closer. Her fingers slipped from your skin, landing on either side of you on the desk, caging you in. You whined, gripping her hair tighter.

Her lips ran along your jaw, teeth nipping at your skin until she found your pulse point. You tipped your head back as her tongue ran over the mark she was making on your skin. Her fingers skimmed over your core, earning a sharp hiss from you. You heard her chuckle into your skin.

“Do you want this?” she asked.

“Please Zelds,” you moaned.

“Please what?” Her finger began to circle over your clit, feather light and barley there.

“Fuck me,” you breathed, tightening your fingers in her hair, “I need you.”

“Beg.”

“Please, Zelds, I need you,” you moaned, “please fuck me. Please.”

“You can do better than that.”

She pressed her finger against your clit, a strangled cry falling from your lips. Her teeth sunk into the flesh of your shoulder as you pleaded with her for more. She began to circle your clit with her finger, removing the pressure. You practically sobbed.

She rested her fingers at your entrance as she licked up the column of your throat. You whimpered, shifting your hips closer to her. She tutted before kissing you again, all tongue and teeth, making you vibrate with want.

She slammed her fingers into you, the pain mixing with the pleasure into a sweet cacophony running through your veins. You let out a strangled groan, your hands facing to her shoulders. You clutched at her as she set a ruthless pace.

You weren’t being quiet or careful, so consumed with the pleasure pounding through you. Your head was thrown back, your chest heaving as she rolled one of your nipples between thumb and forefinger, her hand pushed up under your shirt.

“Sister Spellman, I was wondering-“ The door pushed open.

You shrieked, pushing Zelda away from you. She growled, looking over your shoulder. Prudence was standing in the doorway, smirking at the two of you. You flushed bright red, closing your legs. Zelda put her hand on your knee stilling you.

“Can I help you, Prudence?” she asked.

“I was wondering if you knew where Sabrina is? She hasn’t been seen all day.”

Zelda rolled her eyes.

“She is with her mortal friends,” she said, “if that is all I would ask you to leave.”

“Of course Sister Spellman.”

She sent you a wink before closing the door on you. You looked at Zelda, still feeling embarrassment settling over you. Zelda pursed her lips.

“That was rather a mood killer,” she said.

“Yes,” you agreed.

“Shall we try to bring it back?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, kissing you again. The embarrassment was already beginning to melt away.

#Zelda Spellman #zelda spellman imagine #zelda spellman x reader #caos #caos imagine

[bonniebird]

Prudence Blackwood x Fem!Reader

Requested by Anon

Halloween 2023 event

Make a request

Request: Anonymous asked: Hey Bonnie! Can I get Prudence Night, a female reader and Well, I'll be a mortal. And I'm in love with you. And I don't care you're a witch #Halloween2023

Read on Wattpad

Read on AO3

“We have to try something else.” Prudence said. You could tell by the waver in her voice that she was upset. 

“Prudence…” You started to speak but she waved you off, determined to complete her months-long task.

“I will find a way to get you back to normal.” Insisted as she poured over the book she’d been studying. Sighing, you waited a few moments before you cleared your throat and tried to tell her what had been on your mind for the last few days.

“You don’t need to.” You said firmly. She looked up at you in surprise as she processed what you were saying.

“(Y/N)! You can’t possibly mean that. Your powers, your mortality… You will lose it all.” She gasped and stepped away from the table that was laden with spell workings and old spell books. 

"Well, I’ll be a mortal. And I'm in love with you. And I don't care that you're a witch." You said slowly. When she didn’t say anything you quietly asked. “You don’t mind that I don’t have powers anymore?”

“Of course not.” She said quickly and hurried to embrace you. You let out a shaky sigh and smiled.

“We’re going to have to make some adjustments.” You muttered and she laughed. Pulling away she gestured towards one of the doors in the corner of the room.

“I’ll have to change the spells and wards so you don’t get lost once you leave. I wanted to keep mortals away but if I’m honest you’re the only mortal I’d want to keep around.” She said and grinned at you as you laughed.

tag list:

@moonmaidwn1996 @gillybear17 @ravennoore14 @the-caravello-post @killing-gremlin @aegonandaemondtargaryenslut18 @lchufflepuffcorn @evattude @kaitieskidmore1 @sabrinasstar

#prudence blackwood #prudence blackwood x reader #bonniebird #halloween2023

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

Across The Universe (Paul McCartney x Female!Reader)

A/N: Yeah, I’m totally about to drop this, and a new chapter for TCND today. I don’t know how many of y’all like the Beatles, but I wrote this, and wanna see if anyone will really want another part.

OKAY SO I’m gonna say right now that I do not own, or are affiliated with the Beatles in any way (RIP), and this story is based off of/ heavily inspired by the 2007 movie Across The Universe, but the main characters, Jude and Lucy, are represented as Paul and the Reader. All of the characters mentioned, or are in this chapter (Other than Vick) are either real people, or characters from the movie. 

Although all of the descriptive writing is mine, the concept was taken from the movie. A lot of the writing here has been altered from the movie to better fit the characters and situations they are in. I’ve added/ changed parts that weren’t in the movie in the first place, and I left a little out, again, for the purpose of the plot to kinda make more sense. This fic will be more focused on the relationship developing between the two love interests than in the movie, so lots of iconic scenes from the movie (Such as Prudence’s first scene, Jojo’s introduction to New York, etc) won’t be included in the fic, though those characters will make appearances at some point.

I will make up for the lack of content there with more scenes of Paul and the Reader interacting/ in situations that didn’t happen in the movie.

I advise you watch Across The Universe, or have already watched it before you read to prevent spoilers, bc there will probably be a lot of those. (Watching it when high makes it even better tbh, there’s some trippy stuff in that)

A L S O , In this AU, the Beatles do not exist, although it is set in the 60′s!! Paul is legit just a 23 year old guy who wants to see the world.

Summary: Paul decides to head to the United States; You say good bye to your boyfriend before he leaves for Vietnam.

WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of War, Mike McCartney calling Paul out on some bs, probably a couple of grammar errors bc it’s like... 5:30 AM where I am, and I haven’t slept yet :)

This little fic will be rated T. just because of the swearing

Prom went just as you'd expected it to: You had a nice meal, and did some wonderful dancing with your boyfriend. Despite the blisters on your feet from your shoes, you disregarded them as a temporary memory of one of the last times you'd see Daniel before he took off for the war.

When he got the letter in the mail, he opened it in your presence. Up until the day he died, he felt guilty for making you one of the first to know of his draft.

He cried in your arms for a long while, and you put all your strength into holding your tears back to bring him comfort in such a difficult time.

America had only just entered the Vietnam War, and it didn't seem real to any of you until the day Daniel got that fucking letter.

After talking it over with him, Daniel proposed that the both of you should just enjoy the remaining time you had before he'd have to leave.

And that's what put you here, in the passenger seat of Daniel's car, his mouth leeched onto your neck as his fingers tangled themselves in your hair.

"My mum and dad are home," you explained gently; solemnly. Daniel pulled away from your neck, instead moving to rest his lips on your forehead. "Of course."

He pulled away completely then, stepping out of the car and moving to the other side to hold your door open for you.

You stepped out, and Daniel interlaced his fingers with yours as you both walked up the drive to your house. The both of you listened to the clicks of Daniel's shoes on the pavement-- you were barefoot, your heels hanging from your fingers.

When he'd brought you up the porch, you turned to lean against one of the house's banisters. Daniel saw the look on your face, the one that just screamed 'please don't leave.'

"I'll be home soon," he said confidently, reaching out to squeeze one of your hands. "They give you a furlough after boot camp."

"And after that?" You never got a verbal response. Daniel just wrapped his arms around you tightly. You squeezed your eyes shut, and hugged him back with all the strength you had.

_____________________________

And at this time, across the Pond in Liverpool, England, Paul McCartney was walking home his girlfriend Molly, who he'd been out at a bar with all night, drinking and dancing to the live bands said bar had to offer that evening (and morning).

"Who'll take me out next week? You'll be halfway around the world." She threw a glance over her shoulder, and all Paul could do was offer her a cheeky smile.

"Well it better not be Phil Scully."

Honestly, Paul knew he deserved the shove Molly gave him not moments later, but he just threw his arms around her with a laugh as they turned down her street.

Paul tried to slip into his back door as quietly as he could, being sure to force a fake cough so he could discreetly lock the door.

He was finally safe. He took the time to puff out the air he'd been holding in his lungs, and he rested his forehead against the door.

"... Finally back, I see?"

Paul cringed.

Fuck.

"Yeah... sorry, Dad."

Paul turned around, and sure enough, there his father was: at the table, an empty plate of crumbs sitting in front of him, a cup of tea in his hand, and the Liverpool Echo in the other.

"Your brother just got home, too," Mr. McCartney mumbled as he brought his mug to his lips.

"He was with his girlfriend."

"I was, too," Paul defended as he opened the refrigerator and snagged an apple off one of the shelves before kicking the door shut and leaning against the counter.

Mike, Paul's brother, had just stepped into the kitchen with the same intention as Paul: getting breakfast.

"Mornin!'"

Paul nodded his head to his brother, mouth already full of apple.

"But I know who Mike's girlfriend is, James."

"Ooh," Mike smiled wickedly. He'd come in at just the right time. "Yeah, James, Dad knows who my Bird is."

Paul cringed a little at the name. James. The only people he really allowed to call him James was his parents.

"I just haven't... found the right time to introduce her, 's all," Paul excused after he swallowed. To avoid saying anything else, he went in for another bite of the fruit.

"No, it's because I actually love my girlfriend," Mike chortled as he popped a slice of bread in the toaster by Paul's arm, which just resulted in a playful shove from his older brother.

"I love my girlfriend," He argued back.

"But have you even told her that?"

Paul rubbed the back of his neck. "Well... not exact--"

"Point proven," Mike pointed to his brother, eyeing his father proudly.

"Look, all I'm saying, James, is that clearly, if you're stalling an introduction, you don't plan on keeping her 'round," Mr. McCartney explained.

"Dad, it's... it's complicated." Paul was rubbing the back of his neck again before taking another bite from his apple.

"There's just no point in wasting your time with someone you're just gonna throw away,"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Paul put his hands up at his brother's comment. "Who said anything about throwing anyone away?!"

"Well, you are going to America in a couple of days," Mike pointed out, grinning widely as his toast popped. He moved around the kitchen for a knife and some butter from the table.

"You really gonna stay with her when you're gonna have all those single American girls around to choose from?"

Paul didn't answer. He just shoved the apple into his mouth, rolled his eyes, and moved to the other side of the room, where the staircase leading upstairs was located.

He took a seat on the first two steps as he continued eating away at his breakfast.

"Paul, when I was your age-- maybe even younger than you, I met your mother. I knew she was The One after our first date. I took her home to meet my parents immediately."

Paul waited patiently for his father to get to the point.

"If you're not bringing her 'round, maybe she ain't the right one. Just think about it."

No one really said much else. Mike had started eating his toast, and Mr. McCartney turned his attention back to the paper, so Paul went upstairs.

He shut the door to his room when he arrived, and sighed happily at the sight of his bed. He climbed right on without taking his coat off. He kicked his legs up and stared at the ceiling as he finished off his apple, tossing the core into the waste bin next to him.

He understood where his father was coming from, and maybe he was right. But, Paul wasn't exactly looking for a long-term partner like all his other friends had done after they graduated from school.

Even Mikey had hopped onto that gravy train.

Paul was twenty-three. He still had plenty of time to find a girlfriend and settle down. That's why he decided to take off to The Land Of Opportunity. He wanted to get out and experience what it was like outside his dreary hometown before he devoted the rest of his life to a wife and kids, and living as a boring, stereotypical family until the day he died.

Did he have a Visa to legally work in America?

Fuck no. But it's not like that was gonna stop him from finding some form of income, whether or not it was technically legal.

Paul sat up in his bed, turning to peer into his closet.

He was pulling his suitcases from there moments later, and he unzipped all of them to begin packing. There was nothing he really needed to pack rather than his clothes, cigarettes, passport, a photo of his mother, and a small notebook containing all the phone numbers he'd had to keep over the years.

His cousin's number was the one he was particularly packing the book for. Paul managed to convince him to make room for him at his place he shared with his friends just outside the Princeton University Campus, where he was currently studying.

"You're a lifesaver, Vick" Paul mumbled as he tossed the book into one of the suitcases, and zipping it back up.

_____________________________

"Sometimes I feel like you're not tellin' me everythin'," Molly mumbled as she pulled away from the swelling kiss Paul was trying to leave her before he parted for America.

"I just need a break from here, Molly. I'll be back before you know it," he tried to comfort her with his gentle words, but she just looked upset. 

"N'd a break from me," it sounded more like a statement.

"Don't be ridiculous," he offered a smile, but when she didn't really react to it, Paul slipped his fingers into her hair, and threw it behind her shoulder.

"I'll be missing you by tomorrow,"

"I bet," she mumbled, eyes fixed on a pebble on the sidewalk between her feet.

Paul pinched her chin, and tilted her head so she was looking right at him. He looked more serious now.

"I'll write home everyday."

"You better."

"N'd I'll send all my loving to you."

And that's all it took.

"You bastard," Molly tried concealing her grin, but Paul had her wrapped around his finger, and she gave in to his charm.

And not long after, she was giving into another one of his desperate kisses.

_____________________________

"I promise, every day I'll write, babe. I love you so much," Daniel rushed his words out between quick kisses he left on your lips, his hands squeezing your own tightly. He pulled away soon enough to give you a smile, and then the car he was in started driving away. 

His hands slipped away from yours, and you suddenly felt cold.

You wanted to chase after the car, but your feet stayed glued to the road. Your heart felt strained as you watched the car drive off and around the corner.

Good-bye, Danny.

_____________________________

A/A/N: If you want me to continue on with this, please let me know! I really really like the Beatles, and I wanted to give Paul x Reader a try. As always, likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated. And I promise, the next chapter to this will be much, much longer, if y’all want it enough <3

#the beatles #the beatles x reader #john lennon #george harrison #ringo starr #paul mccartney #paul mccartney x reader #macca #across the universe

[dimitrescus-bitch]

Could I request a Allison hargreeves x Female Reader song smut fic (if u want to write the smut lol) can I by kehlani ? And a separate fic one with prudence Blackwood x Female reader smut? If that's fine!

ok