#( I hope she’s what you envision! ;^; )

[dailykugisaki]

Day 223 | id in alt

Maki thinking some very unsorcererly things over a piece of damn cheesecake.

(Read from right to left💥)

[endsupes]

Trick or treat (you don’t have to if you don’t want to!)

Send ‘Trick or Treat!  🎃’ to my inbox and I’ll give you a treat! This could be: a promo graphic, icons, an aesthetic graphic of your muse, a drabble, a photoset of our muses together, a moodboard based on one of our threads, or some other goodie! Happy Halloween!  Let’s celebrate! || @atcmicbxtty

She’s trying to be intimidating but a hair keeps getting in the way.

[kyeterna]

OC-tober day 26 prompt: fear

Featuring Cassidy!

Fame, attention, and agency, or rather the lack thereof. This is the life she should want right? She's always loved singing so becoming an idol should have been a dream come true, right?

Teenagers shouldn't have all this attention on them. Fame can be detrimental even to adults, let alone teens her age. All those eyes on her, observing her every move made her scared to make any mistake. One mistake and everything she worked hard for could all disappear in the blink of an eye. She learnt to fear those very same fans she adored. And she came to understand that once you become a symbol for the public, you can no longer control anything about your life, only the most private parts. She feared that in the end she'd lose even the smallest freedom she managed to save. How ironic that even after escaping the narrative, she still ended up becoming a puppet to others.

From bweirdart's OC-tober prompt:

While I am doing this challenge mostly to keep an archive of my characters on tumblr (and to incentivise myself to draw them), if you, person stumbling upon this post, are curious and wanna learn more, my askbox is open >:3c

[rai-knightshade-art]

"Take my hand... Take my whole life too; for I can't help, Falling in Love with You....."

-(Can't Help) Falling in Love, Pentatonix cover version

Bonus:

[connorsui]

Hi! Can I ask for a Sylus fluff, where he gives the reader his bank card for her to go shopping, and he expects a bill to be at least $10,000, but all he sees is about $100. So he asks her if she bought everything she wanted, and she says something like "yeah, there were such good discounts, I didn't spend too much, did I?"

And man is just ಠ⁠益⁠ಠ GIRL GO SPEND MY MONEY I WANT TO SPOIL YOU

My beloved @lalaluch I cannot explain to you just how much fun this was to even imagine but let alone even WRITE 🩷 like I was losing my mind trying to bust out my Google docs to even make this. But my sickness was literally getting to me that all I could do was imagine--but anywhoo now that it's finally done I hope you all enjoy it ✨️

p.s: I hope this sickness finally leaves me because it be making me internally cry on the inside ...I pray for prayers lol 💅🏻

BUDGET QUEEN

It had taken weeks of gentle coaxing, half-joking remarks, and the occasional exasperated sigh before you’d reluctantly agreed. You had this stubborn streak, an insistence on independence that both irritated and fascinated him. But today, you’d finally caved.

“You’ll take it,” Sylus had said that morning, slipping the sleek card into your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm. “No arguments. No excuses.”

You had sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But I’m not going crazy with it?!”

He had only smirked, knowing full well you would—and knowing full well that he wanted you to.

And now, hours later, he awaited the results.

Sylus leaned back in his leather chair, his crimson eyes flicking lazily over the documents cluttering his desk. A rare break in his usual chaos had him sipping on his usual drink, savoring the brief quiet. That was until his phone buzzed. He set his glass down and checked the notification, a message from his bank popping up.

He expected it—he wanted it. You had finally caved to his insistence after a literal month of convincing and taken his black card to go shopping. He’d envisioned the inevitable message all morning, something like:

One-hundred million spent at Celine and The Row’s combined?

Or perhaps?

Fifty million at Loro Piana?

You’d mentioned their beauty and elegance more than once.

Nevertheless, the man wanted indulgence, excess—you deserved it, after all.

Instead, the message read:

$157.45 at… Assorted Stores.

Sylus stared at the screen, unblinking. Surely, this was a mistake. He refreshed his balance multiple times. Same amount. He checked for pending transactions. None.

“…What?” he muttered, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. He slammed his phone down, crossing his arms as he waited for you to return.

Minutes later, the front door opened, and you walked in, humming happily, two bags dangling from your arms. You looked utterly content, your warm smile sending a pang through Sylus’s chest. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, but he had questions.

“You’re back,” he said, leaning against the doorframe to his study, watching you set the bags down in the living room. His towering presence cast a shadow over you, his white hair catching the light, giving him an almost otherworldly aura.

“Yup!” you chirped, rifling through the bags. “You wouldn’t believe the deals I found today! It’s like the universe knew I had your card!”

Sylus squinted. “Deals?”

“Yeah! Everything was on sale! I even had coupons for some things. Oh, and this boutique downtown was having a clearance event! It was amazing!” You beamed at him, oblivious to his growing disbelief.

“Clearance? ..…How much did you spend?” he asked, his voice neutral. Too neutral.

“Um…” You frowned, pulling your phone out to check. “About a few hundred, I think? Oh, wait—like one-fifty! I didn’t spend too much, did I?” You tilted your head, as if genuinely concerned.

Sylus stared at you, his expression shifting to one of incredulous disbelief. His red eyes seemed to glow, and his lips pressed into a thin line. It was the look of a man deeply offended. Not by you—but by the principle.

“…That’s it?” he asked, his voice sharp but measured, as if he were trying to comprehend an alien concept. “One-fifty?”

You blinked up at him, a little confused by his tone. “Well, yes… I mean, I didn’t want to waste your money—”

“Waste my—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his snowy hair. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “Sweetheart,” he said slowly, “do you have any idea why I gave you my card?”

“To… buy some stuff?” you offered, suddenly feeling like you were missing something obvious.

“To spoil you,” he emphasized, stepping closer. “To treat you like the queen you are. To shower you in luxury. And you—” He gestured to the modest shopping bags on the floor, his voice taking on a dramatic edge. “—come back with clearance items?”

Your cheeks flushed. “But… I didn’t need anything expensive! I found good deals, and I thought—”

“No.” Sylus leaned down slightly, bringing himself to eye level with you, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “Listen to me, love. I don’t care about the price tag. I want you to have the best. The fact that you’re this thoughtful is adorable—don’t get me wrong—but next time…” He paused, his voice dropping into a softer, more commanding tone. “…I want to see receipts that would make the average person cry.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” He straightened, towering over you again, his arms crossing. “Do you know how much money I make? How much I’ve set aside specifically to spoil you?”

“I can guess?…”

“Clearly not if you’re spending less than a casual dinner out on everything.” His voice was calm, but laced with unmistakable disapproval.

Then, with a breath, he softened—only slightly. “I just want to see you dressed in diamonds,” he corrected, stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “To watch you slip into golden heels that make you shine like the goddess you are. To drape you in silk and velvet, to see you standing before me in a dress that costs more than a car and still doesn’t compare to your worth.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the sudden weight in his words.

“I gave you my card,” he continued, voice lower now, intimate, “because I want you to indulge. To spoil yourself the way I ache to spoil you. Because you deserve to walk into a store and not think—just watch and admire”

Your throat went dry.

He lifted his hand, fingers brushing over your wrist before tracing upward, his touch featherlight against your skin. “I want to see you try on jewelry without looking at the price tag,” he murmured. “I want to sit back and watch as a saleswoman fumbles to put a necklace around your throat because her hands are shaking too much from the sheer amount of wealth wrapped around you.”

His gaze dipped lower, lingering on your frame as he exhaled through his nose. “And instead… you bring me deals?”

Your heart pounded, a mix of amusement and something else entirely stirring in your chest. “I didn’t think I needed to spend that much—”

“You don’t need to,” he interrupted, thumb ghosting over your jawline. His voice was softer now, but no less commanding. “But I want you to.”

Your face heated.

“Next time, I’m going with you.”

“What, to make sure I spend enough?” you teased.

“Yes,” he said, dead serious. “And to carry your bags. And to remind you that you can have whatever you want.” His red eyes softened slightly, and he tilted your chin up with two fingers. “All I want is to see you happy. No discounts required.”

You smiled at his sincerity, warmth blooming in your chest. “Okay, fine. Next time, I’ll go a little crazier. Maybe five million?” you joked.

Sylus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”

You laughed, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“And you’re too frugal for your own good,” he shot back, pulling you into his arms. His voice softened, turning almost playful. “But I guess I’ll just have to teach you how to spend properly.”

“Looking forward to it,” you said, grinning against his chest.

Sylus sighed, resting his chin atop your head. As much as he wanted to spoil you senseless, he couldn’t help but love your thoughtful, practical side. It was part of what made you you—and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Still, next time… he was definitely making sure you left the store with at least an entire closet filled with designer bags.

For his sanity—and yours.

[blackpearlblast]

[ID: drawings of a golem animated by a palestinian flag painted on its forehead. it is seen: holding out its arms protectively in front of a crowd of children, the children also hold each other supportively; catching an air strike missile from the air and throwing it away or crushing it in its fist; turning its back so that a child can warm her hands by the earth oven built into its back, food in a pot is cooking on the fire and a boy holds a cup of steaming tea to his face and enjoys the aroma; clearing away rubble so a man can help up his wife who was buried underneath, she is clutching a baby to her chest; stooping down to look at a kitten a young boy is holding up to show it; and dissolving small flakes of clay from its finger into a glass of water, purifying it. end ID]

@fairuzfan asked people to create and share art for the strike. i wrote an artist statement and then set about trying to draw what i envisioned. artist statement below.

This golem is a protector that I wish I could gift to the children and adults in Gaza. The flag on its forehead is to show that love for the Palestinian people is an animating force for people fighting for a free Palestine all over the world, especially for those in Palestine who are trying to free themselves and their people. Love is the motivation for the call for a free Palestine, not hatred like people try to claim. It is very strong and fast and can catch air strikes out of midair and crush them to dust or throw them back in the direction they came from. It can lift all the rubble of a collapsed building very quickly so nobody can get trapped underneath. It has an earth oven in its back with an ever-burning flame that people can use to warm themselves and cook food and heat water to use to bathe themselves or make tea. Pieces of its clay can be crumbled up and mixed into water to make even the most brackish and unclean water pure and safe to drink.

The golem is always a bit of a tragic figure so I don't imagine it staying around forever once Palestine is free and it is no longer needed. I think it would use its great strength to help rebuild the destroyed houses, churches, schools, universities, hospitals, and mosques and then dive into the Jordan river and dissolve. It would clean the river of all pollution and make the water splash up over all the newly replanted fruit trees, causing them to grow big and strong. Its love for Palestine and its people can be tasted in the fruit they grow for generations.

I choose a specifically Jewish icon of protection because of how it feels to witness such horrors done in the supposed name of Judaism and the Jewish people. For many anti-zionist Jews, we feel like we are acting directly within the teachings of our stories and communities by opposing this genocide. It is difficult to understand how the very people and institutions who taught us these values now fight against them so fiercely. While obviously I would still oppose Israel were I not Jewish, the way I oppose Israel is directly informed by my Jewishness. I hope that someday, somehow, Judaism can bring as much joy and support to the Palestinian people as it has brought grief and destruction. That Jewish symbols used in the name of love and justice will bear more significance than the ones used in shows of hatred. Knowing the depth of the harm caused, I do not know if this is possible. But this artwork and everything I have dedicated myself to these past few months and continue to dedicate myself to in the future is born from this hope. I love you. Thank you for being on this planet with me. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free! And it will be beautiful.

[kashverse]

thank you to the anon who requested more of business owner dadkuna, i hope you enjoy reading

the first time it happened, you hesitated.

sitting at your desk, your very serious, adult tax forms spread out before you, you looked at the pen in your hand. a flimsy, pastel-blue plastic thing with a grinning giraffe perched at the end, its tiny, rubber head wobbling dangerously on a spring.

this was not how you had envisioned adulthood.

but the babygirl of the sukuna household had personally handed it to you that morning with the firm instructions of, "this one is for you, mama. use it all the time, okay?" and what kind of monster would you be to say no to that tiny, cherubic face?

so now, here you were, signing government documents with a pen that looked like it belonged in a kindergarten classroom.

but your suffering paled in comparison to that of your husband, sukuna, a man feared in corporate circles, the kind of businessman who could make an entire boardroom sweat just by loosening his tie. a man who had once scoffed at the idea of casual fridays. a man who now signs contracts worth billions of yen with a pen that has a rubber duck on the end.

and it squeaks.

it happens during a high-stakes meeting one day. everyone sits stiffly as sukuna flips through a contract, nods in approval, and then—

click.

squeak.

a single, betrayed silence settles over the room. no one dares move. except for one executive. poor, foolish, disposable jerry from finance. he coughs, tries to suppress a chuckle, and then, before god and witnesses, lets out the tiniest, weakest huff of laughter.

sukuna stills. he lifts his head slowly, eyes dark, unreadable.

"something funny, jerry?"

jerry, who clearly does not value his life, gestures vaguely at the pen. "it’s just… ahem. sir, with all due respect, it’s… a duck."

a beat.

then, in one fluid motion, sukuna lifts the contract and tears it in half.

jerry stops breathing.

the entire room watches in horror as sukuna keeps going, shredding the contract down to absolute confetti, pieces fluttering to the table like the ashes of a fallen empire. then, with a terrifying calm, sukuna turns to his assistant. "cancel the deal."

"…sir?" the assistant squeaks (not the pen. the man).

"we’re not working with people who don’t respect family values."

jerry, wisely, resigns before he can be fired.

sukuna goes home that night, drops onto the couch with a sigh, and pulls his tie loose. you, lounging beside him, glance up from your laptop. "rough day?"

he groans. "some asshole laughed at the pen." you nod sagely. "so you destroyed his career?"

"obviously."

you pat his shoulder. "our daughter would be proud."

at that moment, the babygirl herself waddles into the room, clutching two new pens—one shaped like a bunny, the other a frog. she beams.

"mama! daddy! i got you more!"

sukuna, the most feared businessman in the country, gratefully accepts his new frog pen.

[acourtofquietdreamers]

Azriel Appreciation Week: Belonging

Rhys said to Azriel, "If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.” -ACOWAR Chapter 69

For this piece, we really wanted to capture a young Azriel finally finding a place where he belongs. A mother figure to love him as her own, brothers who tease him lovingly not cruelly, a family he chose for himself, and a place to call home. One of the sweetest parts of this piece is the quiet joy and tenderness in Azriel's expression as he looks on his found family.

We can not thank aurithemoon enough for bringing this piece to life for us. She captured everything that we were envisioning in a way only she can. It is such a pleasure and honor to work with someone so talented, so accomplished, and so kind 💙

🦇 Art by aurithemoon on instagram

🦇 Commissioned by @emilyondemand @elainsvisions @theseersgarden and myself

🦇 Characters belong to Sarah J. Maas

Find it on Instagram here!

Please do not repost without permission. Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

@azrielappreciationweek

[sunnysidevans]

Someone Like You - J.Seresin

Summary: Being best friends with a naval aviator was hard, being best friends and in love with the Jake "Hangman" Seresin was even harder.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Medic!Reader

Warnings: 18+, fluff, there is a small bit of angst, jake kind of bein douche, best friends to lovers troupe because top tier, oblivous by both parties.(if i missed any lemme know)

The request: If you're open to requests, I have one for you! It could be about Tyler, Jake, or Glen—whichever you prefer. The story would revolve around them being very close friends, but he’s always surrounded by girls. The reader begins to pull away, feeling inadequate or thinking she's not pretty enough, believing he could never see her as more than just a friend. I’d love for it to have a sweet, fluffy ending!

authors note: to the anon who requested this, thank you! I hope i have done justice to what you envisioned! - I really love getting requests because ya'll got some great ideas! If you have requested something, I promise i will get to it!! love, em. <333

The sun was sat snugly high in the blue sky. Sitting under the rays, you watched the group of aviators run through the sand covered in sweat. Sitting perched on the towel and sunglasses on your nose.

You never expected this to be your life after moving from your hometown to be a field medic with a group of aviators.

“You done sunbathing?” you look up behind the aviators to the man above you, blocking the sun from your eyes.

Jake Seresin in all his glory, hands on his hips.

“Can I help you?” pulling the sunglasses down your nose, you look at him over the rims with a raised brow. He chuckles, pushing the hair that was sticking to his forehead back.

He has been on leave for the last two weeks, letting his hair grow out of regs. "Are you done crisping like a chicken and gonna come play a game?” He holds his hand to you, which you take happily and he pulls you from the sand with a grunt.

“I don’t know if I should” you push the bridge of the sunglasses back up your nose. “What?! You are playing c’mon” he encourages you over, jogging ahead of you in the sand.

You watch as the rest of the the dagger squad who has been nothing but kind to you, encourage you. Then there's the group of aviators who were glued to the squad, more so Jake than others.

They giggle between themselves. You never knew joining the Navy was gonna have the same effects of highschool.

“(y/n)!” Jake’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, a grin on his face. “C’mon! One game!?” he pouts, hands on his hips. You sigh and make your way down the sand, pulling the shorts on your body to cover your bikini bottoms.

The dagger squad was your adopted family. You met them all in your time on the ships as a field medic but as well as at base when Jake made his way into your office quite often to get ‘looked at’.

“Dude! I had no idea you were this good at this” Phoenix wraps her arm around your shoulders as you walk back to your things with a giggle. “I blame Hangman for hiding you from us” you smile, grabbing your towel and bag of items and standing back to your full height.

Turning to say something, your thoughts run short as the girls again circle around Jake, hands on his arms as they all giggle.

He did have the million dollar smile.

“You coming to the hard deck with us?” Bradley asks, standing beside phoenix. You turn to the taller man, smiling up at him as you shake your head. “I return back to work tomorrow unlike some people” you chuckle, nudging him gently.

He nods, hands held up in defense as you smile. “See you soon though?” he asks as you are walking up the sand, you grin. “Of course! Someones bound to get hurt” you wink, making your way back to your own vehicle.

“Sweetheart!” you sigh, the southern drawl was almost like a vice around your brain. Setting your items in the back of your Jeep, you turn to face him. “You aren’t coming?” he asks, stopping in front of you,panting to catch his breath. You shake your head, “I have to work tomorrow captain”. He smirks, pushing a hair out of your face gently.

“Not even for one drink?” he asks as you shake your head. “No but I will be up to pick you up if you need me” he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he jogs over to his truck.

Ally, another pilot in Top gun standing at the passenger side was waiting for him. “See you later sweetheart!” he waves.

Sighing heavily you climb into your jeep, immediately turning the radio up loudly and driving away.

You knew you were not the only woman in Jake’s life. He was charming with his green eyes and winning smile but everytime you would do anything with him, the woman gravitated to him like he was the opposite end of their magnets.

Driving through the city, your heart hurt a bit. You knew how childish it seemed.

How childish it was to be upset that he had the female gaze, he was tall, tan and kind under his hundred layers of ego. As you made your way into your home, the phone in your hand vibrated.

Jake: Let’s get together this week for dinner? Drinks?

you smile sadly at the text. You knew he enjoyed your company. You replied.

you: Sure Jake, sounds good

The text bubble appeared but you chose for your own mental state it was best to mute the conversation for the time being.

3am on the dot your phone rang.

You knew who was on the other line. Reaching over, you grab the phone off the nightstand. “Hello?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “(y/n)” you sigh at the sound of Bradleys voice.

“Hey roo” you mumble, eyes closed as you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I think you should come get Jake… maybe me too?” he questions as you chuckle softly. “Be there shortly” you hang up and climb out of bed.

Grabbing the closest sweatshirt to you and make your way outside and down to the hard deck. Dressed in your pajamas, you make your way inside the bar, still roaring with life even on a Sunday night.

Jake and Bradley sat at the bar with Penny who grins at your arrival. “Cute” she mumbles as you shake your head, making your way to them.

“Let’s go boys” you pat both of their shoulders, encouraging them out the door. “Is that my sweatshirt?” Jake questions as you look down at the hoodie on your body.

“Yes it is, let's go” you motion to the door. “Jakey!” Ally gasps, running to Jake at the door. You can’t help the way you cringe, pulling some cash out of your pocket. “How much do the two of them owe?” you ask Penny who shakes her head.

“They’ll both come and pay tomorrow, I trust it” you sigh, smiling at her. “I gotta go” you can hear the faint slur in Jake’s voice. “But i thought we were gonna have some fun” she bites her lip, looking up at him through her lashes, in her drunken state attempting to look as sexy and sultry as possible.

Jake shakes his head and makes his way out the door. You follow both men out to your parked Jeep as Lindsey stares daggers into your back.

The car ride is silent except for the wind. You pulled into Bradleys apartment first, parking right by the steps, he climbs out.

“Thanks love, you’re the best” he reaches in to kiss your cheek as he makes his way up the steps. “Hey!” Jake scolds him as Bradley smirks and makes his way to his apartment. “Can I move to the front now?” Jake asks childishly. “Yes Jakob” you sigh with a smile.

He climbs out and makes his way into the front seat beside you as you pull out of the parking lot and make your way down the road to Jake’s apartment. “Thanks for coming to get me honey” he whispers, his slur is almost gone at this point. “You’re welcome” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with a yawn.

“I’m sorry I did this to you” he mumbles as you shake your head. “I’d rather you be safe” you mumble.

“Why don’t you like to come get drinks with me anymore?” his drunk words flow out of him like vomit.

“I just don’t enjoy it much anymore, J” he nods slowly.

He knew you were lying but chose not to pry anymore while you were tired. “Can I come home with you?” he asks. Jake was quite needy in his semi-drunken state.

He did live down the road from you and did frequent your guest room often, hence his hoodie laying around your home. “I guess” you smirk, making the turn to your own home over Jakes.

He stumbles inside once the vehicle is parked. He was mostly sobered up as he made his way to the guest room. “See you in a few hours” he mumbles as you shake your head and make your way to your own bedroom.

The guest bedroom door opens, Jake makes his way out in a pair of black sweatpants he had left in the dresser drawer. "Sweetheart?" he questions as he yawns, making his way down the steps. He stops at the end of the stairs, looking around.

He notices the fresh smell of coffee and the few dishes in the sink. He jogs back up the stairs to see your bedroom door open, looking around its then he notices the pink note stuck to his door. Pulling it off the door, he sighs.

off to work, lock up on your way out.

+

The hard deck jukebox could be heard from streets away, it left you grinning. You pull into the parking lot, The Eagles “Life in the fastlane” playing through the speakers.

You don’t know how Rooster and Phoenix talked you into this but you climbed out and made your way inside. Dressed in a tank top and pair of denim shorts you look through the crowd for your favorite aviators.

“Sweetheart!” Jake’s voice yells for you, you look up at the sound of his voice. He pushes through the crowd of people to get to you.

He's singing to you as he approaches, "and she was terminally pretty" he grins, looking you up and down, “I didn’t know you were coming,” he smiles.

You looked so beautiful.

“Uh-yeah rooster and nat invited me” you smile up at him and move past him to your friends. Phoenix was aware of your feelings for Jake.

How hard it was to be out with him as he was always surround by woman, not once looking your way with them around. “Roo” you smile, patting his shoulder as he pulls you into his side for a hug.

“There's my favorite medic!” he grins as you chuckle. Jake makes his way back over to the group, sitting down as Ally makes her way to him, climbing in his lap.

He doesn’t hesitate to let her, adjusting in the seat to accommodate her. You sigh, turning to face Phoenix and Rooster.

“I don’t get it” you raise a brow, looking up from the table at the sound of Phoenix's voice. “What’s that?” you ask, crossing your leg over the other and arms over your chest.

“He acts like he wants to be around you so badly and then acts like that” she motions over to Jake, sitting back in his chair arm around Ally's waist, her group of friends around the two of them. You shrug, “not my problem anymore” you mumble, fishing out a few bills from your back pocket.

“I'm sorry to be a buzzkill but, thanks for inviting me guys but I think I’m gonna head home” you hand them the money to cover your drink and stand from the booth. Rooster stands, hands on your shoulders. “You don’t deserve him” he mumbles, giving your shoulder a squeeze and pulling you into a hug.

You hug him back and sigh heavily. “I guess I just have to get under a guy, they say that's the best way to get over one” you mumble against his chest as he laughs.

“See, that's the spirit” he grins, smiling at you. “Let us know if you need anything” he encourages as you smile.

It had been a week since your night at the hard deck with rooster and phoenix

a week before you decided it was best to put your distance between you and Jake.

The phone beside you began ringing. You knew exactly who it was. Reaching over you ignore the call for the second time and

Within seconds the phone rings again. You reach over and turn the phone off completely.

You did not have the energy to go and pick him up once again.

Maybe you would get over the man that is Jake Seresin.

rolling over and burying yourself deeper in the sheets of your bed, tears in your lash line as you sniffle to avoid them from falling.

You felt silly being this upset about a man who was not yours to be upset about.

You knew that he was a charming man when the two of you became friends, you also knew he looked at you as just that, a friend.

You shake your head and close your eyes.

The next morning as you turned your phone back on, the text messages piled in.

24 missed calls and 45 text messages.

You sigh and choose to delete the text messages and mute the conversation you have with him once again.

The drive to base was peaceful as you pulled into your designated parking lot. You were not gonna let this affect your work. “(y/n)!” you look over at Coyote waving to you,smiling, you wave back and mock salute to him.

He smiles, saluting back to you as he makes his way inside. Making your way to your office, you ignore the urge to turn and go down the hall to where you knew the dagger squad was meeting.

Jake sits down beside Rooster and Phoenix.

If looks could kill the two of them would be long gone.

“Can I help you?” Phoenix speaks first, arms crossed. “Spill” he adjusts in the seat, elbows resting on his knees as he looks between the two of them. “Spill what Hangman?” Rooster asks,looking over at him from his phone.

“Why won’t (y/n) talk to me” he mumbles, looking between them again. “Isn’t that a question for her?” Phoenix asks with a raised brow.

“I tried, I called her over a hundred times last night with no response” he defends as Phoenix shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you Hangman” Rooster nods in agreement with his girlfriend and Jake sighs heavily and stands from the chair. 

“(y/l/n)” turning at the sound of your name,clipboard in hand you raise your brow. “Yes ma’am” you set the clipboard down and approach your commanding officer. “We are going to need you to go out and assist in the atlantic” you nod quickly, “of course ma’am” she grins, reaching out to give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“I know you don’t love being tied down to one place too long” she smirks, heading to the door, “you will be heading out in the morning” you nod eagerly, ”and a car will be picking you up” she smiles with a nod and walks out the door.

You take a deep breath and wipe your once sweaty palms on your pants. You knew you needed to tell the dagger squad.

With a deep breath you head down the hall to the common room.

“Hangman, where are you?!” you can hear Fanboys voice over the comms. You knock gently on the door, Coyote,Phoenix,Rooster and Bob all turn to you.

“Hi” you wave as you make your way into them, sitting down beside Phoenix. Her face is full of concern, “what is it?” she asks as you turn to your closest friends.

“I’m being sent out tomorrow morning, they need additional medics out in the atlantic, of course I don’t know the full extent” you look at them, not seeing Jake standing in the doorway, panting.

“You’re leaving?” your eyes snap to Jake.

He’s still in his flight suit, the top half around his waist with his black tank top sticking to his skin. You turn from his eye back to Phoenix and Bob.

The two of them smile, nodding slowly. “We should go to the hard deck and have a send off party!” Coyote tries to lighten the mood, immediately noticing the tension in the room.

“I agree” Rooster chimes in, looking over at you. You smile sadly, “if you guys want I suppose” they cheer as you stand.

Jake hasn’t moved from the doorway, watching you. He watched the way you avoided his eye.

Walking out of the room, you brush Jake’s shoulder as you begin to walk down the hall to your office. You bit your lip as you heard his boots follow, you knew you couldn’t escape him anymore.

“(y/n)!” he reaches out, grabbing your shoulder to stop your movements. “What Jake?” you ask, turning to face him tilting your head. “What do you mean what?!” he defends, looking at you.

“You haven’t talked to me in days!” He throws his hands up, “not even days, weeks! You won’t answer my calls, you won't answer my text messages, you ignore me when you see me at work or even out in public!” he defends as his hands fall at his sides.

“Explain it to me!” he adds, hands on his hips as he looks over your face. “I’ve not been ignoring you” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes, “bullshit” he sits.

You sigh, hands on your own hips as you see conference room doors open and close. You knew his voice was traveling through the base.

“Not here Jake” you sigh softly, walking down the hall towards your office. “Explain it to me here (y/n)!” he yells.

You close your eyes, feeling the tears begin to fall down your cheeks. 

You knew you shouldn’t have this conversation in the hallway of your place of employment. You can hear his boots approaching, you snap.

“Because I love you!” you yell back to face him, face red with tears. “I love you and I know you wouldn’t love someone like me!” you point to your chest looking at him as the tears begin to roll down your cheeks.

“I am not them!” you point out the window to Ally and the rest of the new top gun recruits on the tarmac. “I am not tall and sexy and-” Jake stands there, shocked at your reaction.

“You wouldn’t love someone like me! You-You- I am not Jake Seresin material and I can’t take you staying in my house anymore and I can’t take you being around me anymore because I knew” you sob, looking away from him.

“Distancing myself was going to help my heart get over you” you whisper turning around from him.

“This time away may be best for me” Jake's boots squeak along the concrete floors. “(y/n)” he whispers, he’s directly behind you now. Your shoulders shake, months of tension falling off your shoulders.

He reaches out, grabbing your shoulder to gently turn you back to face him, cupping your cheek to gently bring your eyes back to him. He’s also got tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Someone like you?” he whispers, looking over your face. “Someone who I have seen devote her life to others? Someone who I absolutely adore, who would spring to help anyone even at 3am after a drunk night at the bar. Someone like you” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m not them Jake” you whisper as he shakes head, “and that’s what makes you so special” he reaches over and wipes your cheeks with his thumb.

“I love you (y/n)” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you couldn’t see it” he chuckles as you look at him.

“Me!?” you defend as he grins. “I adore you, I fell in love with you years ago sweetheart” he watches the look in your eye, watching as you look at him, looking into the green eyes that brought you so much comfort.

“Y-You love me?” you look over his face for any signs of a joke, he chuckles. “I love you, not them other girls, not anyone but you” he smiles, leaning down to connect your lips. 

It takes you a moment to register what is happening by the time you are reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer to you.

He pulls away slowly after a few minutes, nose nudging yours as his eyes close. “I can’t believe you” he whispers, “thinking I couldn’t love someone like you”  your eyes close, a small smile on your lips.

“I am not someone you’d go for J” you whisper with a smile as he shakes his head, pulling you into his chest. Wrapping your arms around his waist you sniffle against his black tank top.

“This is horrible timing” you mumble.

“I’ll be here when you get back sweetheart” he whispers against your hairline. 

+

The helicopter ride was quiet. The voices in your mind were louder.

You smile as the base comes into view, “we’re almost home” the pilot, Maria grins at you through her aviators.

You were off base for three months, sharing letters and as many zoom phone calls as possible with Jake and the rest of the dagger squad.

The tarmac is laid out as the helicopter begins its descent. You pull the headset off and stand, leaning out the side of the helicopter, hands holding the handles. The smell of the ocean brought you a sense of comfort.

You knew the minute you laid eyes on Jake and your family, you would be home. You can hear cheering from the ground as the chopper finally lands. Climbing down, you stand on the pavement and take a deep breath.

You were home.

The doors opened and the dagger squad all rushed out. “She’s home!” Rooster yells with a smile on his face. You grin, standing on the big x. This was your family.

Ally and her group of friends follow Jake out of the doors.

Your eyes fall to each other as she continues to attempt to grab onto his arm. “Scuse me” he moves from her and begins his jog to you.

You meet him halfway and he grabs you by the waist and spins your around, holding you close to his body. You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, hiding your face in his shoulder. “My girl is home!” he grins, setting you to your feet.

“Welcome home sweet girl he grins, leaning down to connect your lips.

Maybe someone like you deserves someone like him.

--

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[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - under the checkered flag (part one)

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which a girl who doesn’t believe in risks takes the biggest one of all—falling for a man who lives for the thrill.

note ; the TikTok that started it all (you need to watch this to envision racer!jk) GUYS I CANT BELIEVE PART ONE IS HEREEEE i hope u lil angels enjoy!

playlist here

series masterlist here

You stand at the edge of the VIP lounge, the sharp click of your heels against the smooth marble floor a quiet punctuation in a room filled with soft murmurs and the electric hum of anticipation. The glass windows before you stretch wide, offering an unobstructed view of the track below. The roar of the crowd rises and falls like a living thing, almost drowned out by the whir of engines, but you remain removed from it all, as though encased in a bubble of calm.

The race is unfolding in front of you, a blur of speed and motion that holds the crowd in rapt attention. But not you. You’re not here for the spectacle. You’re here because you have no choice.

If it was up to you, you would be curled up at home with a good book.

Your world exists in the quiet hum of spreadsheets and contracts, in the tick of a clock that keeps perfect time with your efficiency. You are the one who makes sure the numbers line up, the one who offers solutions from behind the scenes while others bask in the glory. The event, with its flashing lights and intoxicating energy, is nothing more than background noise to you. The true task at hand are your clients—pleasing them, keeping them content, ensuring they leave with what they need.

Around you, they chatter excitedly about the race, discussing drivers with fervor, as if each name carries the weight of a story, a legend. You smile politely when needed, nodding along to their enthusiasm. It’s part of the job, after all. But the adrenaline, the hunger for victory, the dizzying rush of competition—none of it calls to you.

Your clients are electric with excitement, each eager to bask in the glamour of it all. They laugh, they network, they try to rub elbows with the important people in the room, as if each conversation could bring them closer to something more. You, however, remain at the fringes, a quiet observer of the spectacle. You sip your drink, a touch too sweet for your taste, but it’s expected. You nod politely, always maintaining your composure, never letting them see the distance you’ve carefully cultivated.

The cars race by in a blur of metallic color, their engines a symphony of power and precision. But you stand untouched, removed from it all—an island of quiet in the midst of a storm. Your thoughts drift, but not far—always circling back to the task at hand. You are, after all, a woman of purpose.

Still, the world around you shifts ever so slightly. The energy is palpable, like the thrum of an engine idling before it roars to life.

You’re in the middle of a conversation with Nari, one of your clients, who’s standing beside you, happily chatting away about the race. It’s not an unpleasant exchange, though you keep it measured—carefully maintaining the reserved, corporate presence that’s expected of you. You listen, nodding at appropriate intervals, offering the occasional smile as she recounts the excitement surrounding the event.

Nari, unlike the others in your circle, doesn’t seem to care about the business aspect of the evening as much. She’s enjoying herself—really enjoying herself, letting her enthusiasm radiate out. She’s warm, and that makes her easy to talk to, even if you remain a bit distant in the conversation.

Then, in the middle of a sentence, she slaps your arm—not once, but twice. The suddenness of it makes you blink in surprise, your mind instantly jumping to work. You glance at her, half-expecting her to make some point about the contract or a deadline that’s come up.

But when you turn to her, Nari isn’t looking at you with business eyes. She’s gazing intently at the track, eyes wide with awe. “Look!” she says, voice full of excitement.

You glance down at the racing circuit below, but everything is a blur—a sea of people cheering, the cars zipping by at breakneck speeds. You don’t understand what’s drawing her attention, but you follow her gaze to the far end of the track.

And then you see it.

A man stands near the pit crew, a figure who stands out effortlessly, almost as though the world around him fades away. It’s not just his presence—it’s the way the crowd reacts to him. Eyes are locked on him, whispers swirl, and every now and then, a fan cheers what you assume is his name in admiration.

Nari catches the look on your face and laughs softly. “That’s Jeon Jungkook,” she says, her voice tinged with something you can’t quite place, something between awe and admiration. “You’ve heard of him, right?”

You shake your head, still a little lost. “Should I have?” you ask, keeping your tone polite, though it’s laced with curiosity.

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “He’s only one of the best race car drivers in the world. This whole event is basically about him. I would die for just 10 minutes alone with him.”

You follow Nari’s gaze again, watching as “Jungkook” moves with effortless confidence—his every step radiating a quiet, undeniable power. His race car driver’s suit hugs his frame, the white fabric lined with dark accents and the bold logos of his sponsors. The suit, though simple in design, speaks of his place in this world—the world of speed, danger, and high stakes. It’s pristine, a sharp contrast to the messiness of the pit area, yet he fits into it as if he belongs there completely.

But it’s not just the suit that catches your attention. There’s something magnetic about him. The lip piercing—just a small glint of silver beneath his lower lip—gives him an edge, while the eyebrow piercing above his sharp eyes seems to dare the world to approach him. His hands, resting casually at his sides, are covered in tattoos—delicate yet bold designs that snake up his fingers and wrists, visible even beneath the sleeves of his racing suit. His dark hair, tousled just enough to look effortless, adds to the allure, making him seem like a man who’s too cool to care and too talented to be ignored.

You can’t help but look him over. He’s a stark contrast to anyone you’ve known—his raw energy, his daring look, the kind of man you’ve only ever heard about in stories, the kind you’ve never quite crossed paths with. Not that you have much experience in that department. The world you come from is much more… structured. A world of numbers, strategies, and controlled environments. Nothing like this chaotic, exhilarating universe of racing, adrenaline, and the crowds that follow it.

Nari nudges you lightly. “He’s kind of... impossible to miss, don’t you think?”

You nod, still trying to process the whirlwind of everything around you. “I can see that.”

For a moment, you just watch him—a man who seems so comfortable in his world, his confidence radiating with every movement.

Jungkook’s car, marked by his distinctive racing team’s logo, takes its position at the front. He stands next to it, his figure impossibly calm before the storm, waving to the crowd with an easy, practiced smile that seems to light up the entire stadium. The way he moves, the confidence in his every gesture, makes the rest of the world around you blur into the background. All eyes are on him, from the front row of the VIP box to the fans pressing their faces against the barriers.

His smile is magnetic, a gesture that holds the room in its sway, and then—just as quickly as it arrived—he slips behind the wheel, his body moving with a fluidity that hints at a lifetime of discipline. The helmet is a perfect fit, the visor obscuring his face but never hiding the intensity in his posture. His team surrounds him, final checks being made, and then he’s in the car: strapped in, ready to take on the track with the same precision he’s mastered over the years.

You can feel the energy in the room shift, like the collective breath of a thousand people held in unison. As the engines hum louder, the cars tear forward into the first turn, their bodies slicing through the air like knives. You don’t know much about racing, but you can’t help but feel the sheer power, the danger of it all—the skill it takes to navigate at such speeds.

Nari, beside you, is practically vibrating with excitement. She can hardly sit still, her eyes never leaving the track. “I can’t believe I’m here,” she says, her voice a mix of awe and gratitude. She glances at you, her smile wide and genuine. “You’re seriously the best consultant I’ve ever worked with. This event? Amazing! You have to bring me to more of these. I can’t even handle how cool this is!”

You smile, acknowledging her praise, but your attention drifts back to the track. You’ve never seen anything like this before—never experienced a race in person, never felt the air thrum with the excitement of speed and skill. The crowd’s reactions are infectious. Their eyes never leave the cars, their cheers rising and falling with every passing lap. The noise is overwhelming, yet somehow it doesn’t drown out the sharp clarity of the moment. It’s like you can hear the tires gripping the track, the engines growling in perfect synchronization with the heartbeat of the race itself.

And then, there he is again—Jungkook. His car glides effortlessly through each turn, sharp and controlled, never losing speed. It’s almost as if the car is an extension of himself—his hands on the wheel, his foot pressing the pedal, a perfect partnership of man and machine.

The rest of the VIP section is just as absorbed as you are now, their eyes locked on the track. No one seems to care about anything else. All conversations have died down, replaced by the collective focus on the man in the race car. He’s the center of the universe in this moment, and the crowd knows it.

You watch him move, almost hypnotized by the way his car zips around corners, its sleek frame barely brushing the edge of the track. His body remains a steady presence inside the car, every movement smooth, fluid, like he was born to be in this exact moment.

Nari’s voice breaks through your thoughts again, louder this time, almost giddy. “He’s incredible, right? I swear, no one drives like him. He’s untouchable.”

You nod, barely aware of the words you’re saying in response, your gaze still fixed on him. He’s the kind of person who draws attention effortlessly—someone who doesn’t just race; he commands the track, making it seem like the rest of the world moves at a slower pace. It’s almost impossible to look away.

But after a few more minutes of intense watching, everyone seems to fall back into the habit of corporate mannerisms.

The night stretches on, the hours bleeding into one another with a blur of handshakes, small talk, and the kind of polite smiles that never quite reach your eyes. You can feel the weight of the evening in the tightness of your cheeks from all the forced grins, the exhaustion starting to settle into your shoulders. You keep your posture straight, your voice steady, your words measured, as though each conversation is a carefully placed step along the invisible path you’ve created for yourself. But, truth be told, it’s all starting to feel like too much.

The race has come and gone. The crescendo of excitement has dwindled down to polite murmurs and the clinking of glasses, but the energy remains alive in the air, electric, like the hum of a far-off engine. Around you, investors, some of your coworkers, and clients continue their conversations, chirping in your ear with their endless chatter about the race, the drivers, the statistics—everything and anything, as long as it keeps them entertained. And you? You’re just trying to stay afloat, to steer the conversation back to the real reason you’re here: the merger.

You focus on the man in front of you, nodding at the right times, keeping your voice neutral as you slip between sentences about engines and market strategies. Your mind drifts, but you catch yourself, keeping it professional. It’s a balancing act, one you’ve mastered after years of doing the same dance, smiling just enough, listening with enough attention to make them feel heard, but never too much, never enough to let anyone see the quiet retreat inside your head. You nod at the right times, laughing at the jokes that aren’t funny, offering the occasional “That’s right” when a client drones on about the race they just witnessed.

Then, as you try to pull the conversation back toward the merger details with your client—an overly enthusiastic man who seems more interested in talking about his recent investment portfolio than the deal at hand—you hear it.

A ripple. A whisper. A soft murmur of voices, high-pitched and full of excitement. Female voices. And then, the faint sound of heels clicking against the floor, echoing slightly in the VIP box.

You don’t immediately turn, but the shift in the room is subtle. The air grows thicker with anticipation, the laughter quieter, as though everyone is holding their breath. It’s only when a few heads turn, followed by more murmurs, that you realize what’s happening.

Someone important has entered the VIP box.

Someone you recognize from Nari’s earlier fangirling.

Jungkook.

The shift is almost imperceptible at first, a movement in the periphery of your vision that catches your eye—a figure so distinct, so naturally commanding, that it’s hard to miss. He’s not making an announcement, not demanding attention. He simply enters, and it’s as if the room bends around him, reshaping itself in a way that makes him the undeniable center of gravity. His presence is magnetic. Without even trying, he draws every pair of eyes in the room to him.

You hear the soft laughter of women who have gathered around, trying to look casual, trying to seem unbothered, but the way they adjust themselves, the quick flickers of glances—they can’t help but steal a look at him. And you? You feel the sudden pressure of the moment—his presence now hanging thick in the air like an unspoken truth.

You try to keep your focus on the client in front of you, but your gaze inevitably slips toward him. There he is, still in his racing suit, but now a little looser, his jacket untucked as he walks through the crowd. His casual swagger, the way his head tilts slightly as he acknowledges a few familiar faces—everything about him oozes confidence. He’s not trying to be noticed. But somehow, he is.

Your heart races in a different way now—not because of the speed of the race, but because of the way he moves, the way the crowd subtly parts to make room for him, as if they know who he is and who they are in comparison. He’s an anomaly, a figure who doesn’t belong to this world of quiet mergers and business deals.

You can feel a flutter in your chest, an inexplicable tension rising, but you push it down. You can’t focus on that now. You can’t focus on him. Not with the clients still chattering away, not with your responsibilities still weighing heavily on you. Yet, you can’t ignore the way the room feels suddenly sharper, the air charged with an energy you hadn’t felt before.

There’s a soft rustle of clothing behind you, and when you glance back, you see Nari slipping through the crowd toward Jungkook, her excitement evident in the way her eyes brighten. She’s not the only one. The women around the room are shifting, making their way toward him with a subtle urgency, like moths to a flame.

You return to your client, attempting to steer the conversation back to business, but your mind is drifting again. You can’t help it. You’re aware of every shift in the room, every small movement he makes. He hasn’t looked in your direction yet, but you feel the gravity of his presence—his proximity changing the way you see everything in this space.

For a moment, you wonder why everyone is so captivated. What is it about him that makes it impossible for anyone to look away?

Jungkook moves through the crowd with the effortless grace of someone who has long ago learned the rhythm of the world he inhabits. He’s calm, composed, exchanging polite handshakes with the investors who surround him, his presence making each gesture seem deliberate, calculated. The hum of voices rises and falls in time with his movements, the crowd parting for him like a river parting for a stone. He’s not rushing, not in a hurry. He’s here because he belongs here.

As he works the room, the questions swirl in your mind. Why is he here? What’s the connection? You can’t imagine him needing anything from these people—not with his reputation, not with the wealth and fame that follow him wherever he goes. But still, there’s something about the way the investors are all hanging on his every word, leaning in as though his presence is a golden ticket. You can’t help but wonder if it’s all about money, if this event has as much to do with business as it does with the race itself.

The realization is jarring for a moment. You, someone who is used to orchestrating behind the scenes, someone who deals in numbers and contracts, now find yourself in a room where money and power are on display in ways that are almost foreign to you.

The buzz of conversation shifts, and before you can dive back into your thoughts, Nari is suddenly beside you, her voice loud with excitement, a bright flush of energy in her cheeks. “I can’t believe it!” she practically squeals, looking like she might burst. “He just shook my hand—he shook my hand. I need him so badly, you have no idea.”

You blink, caught off guard by the intensity of her words. She’s practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes wide as she looks back toward him. There’s a kind of longing in her gaze, something that makes the entire room seem a little more... charged, as though everyone’s attention is fixated on him in a way that you simply can’t understand.

You nod, offering a half-hearted smile. “Oh, wow.” The words are polite, simple, just enough to acknowledge her enthusiasm without drawing too much attention to yourself. You’re not sure what to say—what can you say? She’s swept up in the excitement of the moment, but you can’t bring yourself to share that same energy.

Instead, you find your gaze slipping to the snack table at the far side of the room. You don’t want to be in the center of all this, don’t want to be caught up in the growing buzz surrounding him. You slide away from Nari, keeping your movements minimal, your presence as unnoticeable as possible.

The snack table is a welcome refuge—quiet, untouched by the frenzy of the crowd. You stand there for a moment, inhaling the sharp, tangy scent of the cheeses and the subtle sweetness of the wine, a quiet comfort in the sea of noise around you. You nibble on a small piece of cheese, your fingers careful and measured as you pop it into your mouth, savoring the simple relief of it.

Your eyes flick to Jungkook once more—he’s still shaking hands, still effortlessly charming those around him with his easy smile. But now, you feel distant from it all. The noise, the chatter, the way people react to him—it’s all so foreign to you. You slip another piece of cheese into your mouth, focusing on the taste, the quiet that surrounds this small corner of the room. It’s easier here, simpler. You don’t need to pretend, don’t need to keep up with the energy everyone else is feeding off.

And for the briefest moment, you wonder if this is how the world of racing works—how Jungkook works. Not for the thrill, not for the rush, but for the way it makes everyone around him move a little differently, makes them feel things they didn’t know they could. The thought doesn’t linger long before you pull yourself back to the present, focusing instead on the taste of the wine, the cool glass in your hand, the familiar comfort of a world you understand.

The hum of conversation from the other side of the room feels distant now, muffled by the quiet solace of the snack table. You nibble on the cheese with a soft sigh of relief, the familiar taste grounding you. The wine has a slight sweetness, and it’s just enough to keep you in the moment, away from the chaos of the night. The tension from before starts to melt away, and for a few seconds, you let your mind wander—distracted, content with the quiet rhythm of the evening.

You hum lightly to yourself, just enough to fill the space around you but not enough to draw attention. The world feels a little more manageable from here, and you savor that, the small comfort of solitude. You barely even notice the shift in the air at first—the subtle change in the atmosphere that suggests someone has approached.

It isn’t until you feel it—the shift of warmth beside you—that you glance to your left.

And there he is.

Jungkook. Standing beside you. His presence is so undeniable, so magnetic, that it feels like the rest of the room fades just for a second. He’s close, closer than you anticipated, and the sharp contrast between his energy and the calmness of your little corner hits you all at once. The way he stands, so comfortably in his own skin, his posture relaxed but undeniably confident—it makes everything else around you seem smaller.

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard, your mouth still full of cheese. You’ve barely swallowed when his voice breaks through the moment, teasing, light. “I think you’re the first person here not begging for my attention,” he says with a sly smile, his eyes glinting with amusement.

For a split second, you almost choke—cheese threatening to go down the wrong way—but you manage to swallow, your throat suddenly tight with nerves. You cough lightly, your cheeks flushing instantly at the way his words sink in. Begging for his attention? You weren’t begging for anything. You hadn’t even expected to be noticed by him at all.

You look up at him, trying to compose yourself, but the sudden proximity makes everything feel a little too overwhelming. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the flush spreading across your face, but you don’t dare look away from him. Not with him so close, his smile like a direct challenge to your calm.

He’s even more striking up close—everything you’d caught from a distance now amplified. The faintest trace of cologne drifts in the air, something fresh and woodsy, like a walk through a forest after the rain—sharp, clean, and oddly comforting. His scent clings to the space around you, making it feel like he belongs in this small, intimate moment with you. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s enough to make your pulse race in a way you don’t expect.

His face is sharp, defined in a way that makes you almost forget to breathe. His jawline is strong, perfectly sculpted. But it’s his eyes—those big, dark eyes that hold you, flickering with mischief—that draw you in completely. They’re intense, like he’s looking right through you, and yet there’s an ease to him, a calmness that contrasts the usual intensity of his presence. The smile on his lips is soft, almost like he’s amused by something only he knows.

His racing suit is open at the collar, the fabric still tight enough around his shoulders to highlight the muscle beneath. You can see the tattoos again, this time more defined in the soft light—the intricate designs that snake down his hands and wrists, the way they seem to tell stories of places he’s been, people he’s known. They make him feel untouchable, like someone who belongs to a world you don’t understand.

But what really gets to you, what truly stops you for a moment, is the way he stands so effortlessly. There’s no pretense, no act. It’s just Jungkook—confident, unbothered, and entirely himself. And you, the shy, reserved woman who doesn’t know how to even respond to the comment he just made, find yourself completely at a loss.

You chew the inside of your cheek, still trying to compose yourself, and force a smile, but it’s a weak one, barely holding up under the weight of his gaze. “I—I wasn’t really—” You clear your throat, still feeling a little breathless. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore anyone.”

His grin widens, like he’s amused by the awkwardness you’re trying to hide. “No harm done,” he says, his voice low, warm, and entirely too captivating. The way he looks at you, almost like he’s studying you, makes it hard to focus on anything but the feeling of his presence beside you.

In that moment, you realize you’re standing far too close to him. You take a small step back, trying to maintain some sense of space, but the tension between you feels electric, sparking in the quiet gap that’s now between you. His gaze never wavers, though.

There’s a beat of silence between you, one that stretches just long enough for you to feel every little awkward movement, every small shift in your body. You can feel the heat still lingering in your cheeks, but you try to focus on the moment at hand—on the cheese, at least. It’s easier that way.

You glance down at the spread, your hand reaching out without thinking, grabbing another small wedge of cheese, and offering it to him. You can’t help it. It feels like something you should do, a simple gesture to fill the space and keep things light.

“Would you like some?” you ask, your voice far quieter than you’d like it to be. You hold the piece of cheese out toward him, your hand trembling just slightly at the edge of the plate.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker to the cheese for a moment, and then back to you. His lips twitch upward in an amused smile, the kind that seems to reach his eyes as well, making them sparkle in the soft light. He raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his gaze.

“No thanks,” he says, his tone warm and playful. “I’m good.”

You nod, feeling a little foolish but trying to brush it off. “Right, of course. You’ve probably had enough to eat before this with all the racing... and the shaking hands,” you add with a faint, awkward laugh, hoping it will hide the embarrassment that’s suddenly crawling up your neck.

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you can feel his gaze still lingering on you—intense, curious, like he’s trying to figure you out. You shift uncomfortably, biting your lip, trying to think of an excuse to slip away. Your mind races, trying to find the perfect moment to exit without drawing too much attention to your awkwardness.

“So, uh…” You clear your throat, trying to sound casual, but the nervousness makes it impossible. “I should probably—uh—get back to my clients.” You take a small step back, but Jungkook doesn’t make it easy. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make any effort to let you go. Instead, he just smiles wider, watching you with that same unshakable intensity.

“You sure?” he asks, almost like he’s genuinely intrigued. His voice drops a little, softer now, but still playful. “You’re not leaving because of me, are you?”

Your cheeks burn again. You wish there was a hole in the floor you could crawl into. Why is he so intense?

“No, no, I just—” You stumble over your words. “Just… a lot of work. You know.” You laugh nervously, but it sounds like something forced, something too hollow.

You can feel the weight of the conversation press in on you, like the walls are closing in with each passing second. You offer a tight smile, hoping it’s convincing. “It was nice talking to you, though. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

You take another small step back, but Jungkook leans in just a little, his voice low enough that it feels like it’s just for you, a private joke between the two of you.

“You know,” he begins, his smile still tugging at his lips, “you’re the first person I’ve met tonight who hasn’t been totally starstruck by me. It’s… kind of refreshing.”

His gaze flickers down to the cheese again, and you see the teasing glint in his eyes. It’s like he’s playing a game, but you’re still trying to catch up.

You glance at the plate again, trying to avoid his gaze. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be too obvious about it,” you say with a nervous laugh, hoping your attempt at humor doesn’t come off completely awkward. “I mean, it’s just cheese.”

Jungkook laughs, and it’s a warm, low sound that seems to make the air around you feel a little lighter. You look up to see that he’s still watching you, his eyes filled with that same curiosity.

You swallow, still feeling the heat of your blush, trying to keep your composure. “I—uh, I’ll let you get back to your…” You glance around the room, trying to find something to distract yourself with. “Fans,” you finish lamely, gesturing vaguely to the women still surrounding him.

He raises an eyebrow, amused, as if your attempt to pull away is both endearing and mildly amusing. “Right. Fans.”

You take another step back, your hand instinctively reaching for your glass of wine, though it’s still mostly full. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you as you start to turn away, but you don’t look back. You can’t. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll never escape this moment with him.

Social interactions were never your strong suit. Better luck next time.

You slip away from the table, but as you move through the crowd, you can’t quite shake the feeling that Jungkook’s presence is following you. You make your way to the group of clients, trying to dive back into the sea of business chatter, but your mind keeps drifting. You catch yourself glancing around the room, as if waiting for something—anything—to pull your attention away from the chaos of the evening.

And then, of course, there’s the unmistakable sound of chatter about Jungkook, quiet but deliberate. You don’t need to turn around to know who won’t shut up—Nari.

She’s yapping away to some of your colleagues, other girls you work with that are swept up by Jungkook. There’s a few moments where you wonder if you should join, take some time to yourself to listen in on what they have to say about him, but you hold yourself back.

You end up spending more time burying yourself in the crowd, talking to any man who has ears. After all, your boss and you were managing the largest merger of the year and it would be incredibly irresponsible not to focus on the task at hand.

However, after twenty minutes of empty conversations and nothing getting you closer to your goal, you excuse yourself to go to the restroom and freshen up.

On your way, you discreetly look around for Jungkook—not like you care, but just out of curiosity. As any sane person would do.

You sigh quietly to yourself, shuffling towards the restroom. As you walk down the hallway, you see a buff figure walking towards you. It really is quite dark in the hallway, they should really—Ah fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sirens are going off in your head like someone’s under arrest. But it’s too late. He’s already there.

He stops in front of you, blocking your path to the bathroom. “Leaving the snack table so soon?” Jungkook’s voice is light, but there’s something about it that still makes your heart skip a beat. He is close enough for you to feel his presence but not so close that it feels suffocating. His tone is playful, teasing, as if he’s aware of how you’re trying to avoid him.

“I thought you were just getting started with the cheese,” he adds, his lips curling into that mischievous smile again.

You pause, glancing over your shoulder to see if anyone can save you, your expression betraying nothing but a slight flicker of embarrassment. “I, uh… I had to get back to my clients.” Your voice is quieter now, more measured, the words leaving your mouth carefully. You try to stay calm, despite the heat still rushing to your face. “You’ve got plenty of people to talk to, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t seem to be deterred. He leans in slightly, his smile widening, but his gaze softens just enough that you notice the change. “Not everyone, though.” He pauses, his eyes briefly scanning over you. “Everyone else is... well, they’re all talking to me, but no one’s really listening, you know? It’s not the same.”

You bite your lip, trying to maintain your composure. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“No worries,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, the hint of something more vulnerable flashing in his eyes for just a moment. “I’ll talk. You don’t have to.”

There’s a slight playfulness there, but also something more genuine in the way he’s looking at you now. “I’m just curious. You don’t seem like you’re here for all this. The whole… racing thing.”

You blink, surprised by his perceptiveness. “I’m here for work,” you say, your voice almost reflexive. You don’t know why you feel the need to justify it, but you do. It’s who you are. It’s what you do.

Jungkook’s eyes remain on you, his curiosity still simmering beneath the surface. He doesn’t push, but there’s a quiet persistence in his gaze. “That’s fair,” he says, nodding. “But you know, sometimes... people miss out on the good stuff when they’re too focused on work.”

You can’t help but laugh lightly, though it feels slightly awkward. “I’m not really one for distractions.”

He smirks, eyes dancing with amusement. “I wouldn’t call me a distraction,” he says, voice lowering ever so slightly. “More like… a different perspective.”

You hesitate, unsure of how to respond. Something about the way he’s looking at you makes the air feel thick, but not uncomfortable—just charged with that same curiosity that keeps you on edge. But the last thing you want to do is make things more complicated than they already are.

“I’m not—” You stop yourself, realizing you’re just rambling now. “I’m not really someone who… stands out.” The words slip out before you can stop them, but as soon as they do, you regret it. You want to take them back.

“Hm,” He whispers, leaning in and looking around like he’s sharing a secret with you. “I disagree.”

And with that, he turns on his heel, brushes past you, and disappears back into the room of investors and financial advisors.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It’s a slow Saturday, the kind that moves at its own pace, unbothered by the rush of the world. You savor days like this—quiet, predictable, wrapped in the small comforts of your routine. Grocery shopping, yoga, a few errands. Nothing extraordinary, nothing chaotic. Just peaceful.

You hum softly to yourself as you push your cart down the aisle, scanning the shelves for the last few things on your list. The fluorescent lights above hum just as softly, the occasional beep of a barcode scanner echoing somewhere in the distance.

Your grocery store isn’t a grand, upscale market—it’s just the one closest to your apartment, the same one you’ve been going to for years. It’s the cutest little shop, nothing like those expensive groceries in the middle of the city. You’ve never even spotted a celebrity here, despite Seoul being a city where that should be possible. But that’s fine with you. You prefer the anonymity, the ability to mind your business in your leggings and oversized hoodie, hair barely tamed into a ponytail.

You reach for a box of cereal, standing on your tiptoes to grab it from the top shelf. But the moment your fingers brush against it, disaster strikes.

A domino effect.

One box tips, then another, and before you can react, an entire row of brightly colored cereal boxes comes tumbling down in an avalanche of poor balance and regret.

You yelp softly, scrambling to catch at least one of them, but your coordination fails you miserably. The boxes hit the ground in a loud thud, rolling slightly before settling in a messy pile at your feet.

You stare at the disaster, your brain short-circuiting as you try to decide whether to pretend it never happened or make a run for it. But then—

A low chuckle.

A very familiar chuckle.

A chuckle you heard less than 24 hours ago.

You freeze, your entire body stiffening before you slowly turn your head.

And there, standing way too close in your very normal, very not-celebrity-worthy grocery store, is Jeon Jungkook.

Holding a carton of almond milk and pushing a cart full of groceries.

Dressed in a black hoodie, sweatpants, and a backward cap, looking annoyingly good for a man just trying to buy groceries.

You blink, convinced you’re hallucinating. This can’t be real. Why is he here? Why is Jeon Jungkook grocery shopping like a normal person, in your store, might you add?

His grin widens when your eyes meet, pure amusement lighting up his face. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he muses, crouching down to pick up one of the fallen cereal boxes. “Or are awkward encounters just your thing?”

Your soul tries to exit your body.

You open your mouth, but no words come out, your brain still struggling to bridge the gap between last night’s VIP suite and this very ordinary grocery store aisle.

“Are you…?” You trail off, because duh, of course he’s him. There’s no mistaking those tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves, the lip piercing catching the light as he smirks at you like you’re the most amusing thing he’s seen all day.

Jungkook tilts his head, as if waiting for you to finish your sentence. When you don’t, he laughs lightly. “Am I what? Grocery shopping? Yeah. Kind of unavoidable if I wanna eat.”

You blink again, your brain still short-circuiting. “I just— I mean, I didn’t think you did normal things like this.”

His grin turns downright mischievous. “What do you think I do? Have groceries magically appear in my fridge?”

You fluster, feeling ridiculous. “Well… kind of?”

He laughs, shaking his head as he hands you one of the cereal boxes. “Nah, I like picking out my own snacks. What if my assistant gets the wrong ones?” His voice dips slightly, playful. “I take my cereal very seriously.”

You let out an exhale, trying to find your footing in this conversation. “I see,” you murmur, glancing down at the boxes scattered around your feet. “Unfortunately, I seem to have tried to kill them all.”

Jungkook lets out a dramatic sigh, crouching again to pick up more. “Tragic. They never stood a chance.” He looks up at you, eyes twinkling. “But hey, you’re consistent. First nearly choking on cheese, now this. What’s next? Knocking over a fruit stand?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Please don’t remind me about the cheese.”

“But it was my favorite part,” he teases. “Seeing you all flustered.”

You huff, quickly gathering the rest of the cereal and shoving it back onto the shelf. “I wasn’t flustered.”

Jungkook leans against the cart he just now retrieved, his smirk lazy, knowing. “Mmm.” He doesn’t sound convinced at all.

You clear your throat, desperate to change the subject. “So, um… do you always shop here?”

He shrugs. “It’s close to my place. And quieter than those big department stores. Less people trying to take pictures of me while I buy bananas.”

You stare at him. “People take pictures of you while you buy bananas?”

“Oh, yeah,” he deadpans. “One time, a fan took a picture of my shopping cart and started analyzing what kind of guy I was based on my snack choices.”

Your eyes widen. “And what was the verdict?”

Jungkook sighs. “Apparently, my protein bar choices scream ‘emotionally unavailable.’”

You snort. “Well, they might not be wrong.”

His jaw drops in playful offense. “Wow. And here I thought we were getting along.”

You laugh, feeling yourself relax—until his expression shifts, something softer in his gaze now. He studies you for a moment before speaking.

“I was actually hoping I’d see you again,” he admits, and your stomach flips violently. “You left so fast last night, I didn’t get the chance to ask for your number.”

Your brain short-circuits again. You blink up at him, completely dumbfounded. “Wait. Why would you want my number?”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, amused. “Because I want to text you?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle to find an answer that makes any sense. “But… why?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You don’t. Not at all.

The idea that he—a man who could have anyone, a man who’s probably been linked to actresses and models and the kind of women who look like they belong in his world—would want to text you is beyond comprehension.

So you do the only thing you can think of.

You smile politely and say, “I appreciate it, but… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jungkook blinks, caught off guard for the first time since this conversation started. “Wait. Are you rejecting me?”

You shift uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too warm. “I just… don’t think we’re the kind of people who text each other.”

He looks at you for a long moment before shaking his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You clutch your cart a little tighter. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He exhales, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Then, with a playful salute, he backs away. “Alright. No number—for now.” He winks. “But I have a feeling this isn’t the last time we’ll run into each other.”

And with that, he disappears down the aisle, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, wondering how on earth your quiet Saturday turned into that.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Monday morning, you find yourself back at your desk, the quiet hum of the office filling the space around you. The excitement of the race lingers, its echoes still vibrating in the air. Clients are still singing your praises in your email inbox, and your boss is smiling more than usual, clearly impressed by the successful merger. For the first time in a while, you feel like you’ve done something right. The buzz of the event, of the energy you felt while navigating the chaos, is a distant memory, but it lingers in a more subtle way—quietly at the back of your mind.

You sip your coffee, staring at the screen in front of you, but your thoughts drift every now and then. The loud office, the steady rhythm of typing, all fades out a little when you remember your Saturday. Jungkook’s smile, his presence... it’s all still there in fragments, playing in your mind. You shake your head, trying to push it down. No need to revisit it. Not now.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Jisoo’s voice breaks through your thoughts, bright and full of energy as always. You look up to see her standing in front of your desk, her hand on her hip and a wide grin on her face. Jisoo, your coworker, your work best friend and polar opposite, always seems to bring light with her wherever she goes. Her laughter is loud, her confidence undeniable. If you had a tenth of her charm, you’d feel unstoppable. But you don’t. And that’s fine. You just admire it from afar, wishing you could be more like her.

She tilts her head, eyeing you for a second. “How was the race Friday night?” she asks, sliding into the chair across from you without waiting for a response. “Clients were probably all over you. Everyone is still talking about it.”

You shrug casually, hiding the way your heart rate picks up at the mention of the event. “It was fine,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “Same as any other corporate event. Just a lot of small talk.”

Jisoo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Small talk? You saw all those famous drivers. Some of the most handsome guys out there! Bet you had a blast.”

You shake your head with a soft laugh, pushing the thought of Jungkook back where it belongs. “Yeah, it’s not really my scene. The clients were happy, though, so that’s what counts.”

Jisoo leans forward, narrowing her eyes with that playful glint you’ve seen a thousand times before. “Hmm… that totally doesn’t sound convincing. There’s gotta be something interesting that happened. Something crazy? Don’t leave me hanging.”

You feel your cheeks warm just at the thought, but you quickly wave it off, your hands busy shuffling papers on your desk. “Nothing really. Just a lot of racing and cheering.”

Jisoo raises an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced. She glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot before lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Wait, hold up. Wasn’t that sexy driver Jeon Jungkook there?” She grins widely, like she’s figured out some huge secret.

Your heart stutters for a second, and you try to play it cool. You casually shrug, pretending like you don’t care. “I don’t know. I don’t really keep track of the drivers.” Your voice is light, but inside you’re anything but calm. The heat creeping up your neck betrays you.

Jisoo’s grin only widens, clearly enjoying the moment. “Uh-huh. Sure. I see the way you’re reacting right now. You have a celebrity crush on him, don’t ya?”

You feel the flush in your cheeks deepen, and you quickly take a sip of your coffee, hoping it’ll hide your embarrassment. “I mean... he was there. Yeah.” You try to make it sound like it doesn’t matter, like you didn’t notice the way his presence shifted the energy in the room, but your tone is too soft, too uncertain. Jisoo is practically bouncing in her seat with amusement.

“Uh-huh. And I bet you’re also going to tell me you didn’t catch a glimpse of him at all?” she teases, leaning forward now, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “The guy with the tattoos and the eyebrow piercing? The one who looks like he was born to be the center of attention?”

You swallow, suddenly feeling trapped in your own embarrassment. “Okay, fine,” you admit, trying to shrug it off. “He looked... fine.” Your voice is barely a whisper at the end, and Jisoo bursts out laughing.

“I knew it! You look like you’re ready to faint.” She pauses, grinning like she’s uncovered the biggest secret of the year. “You are totally flustered, and it is adorable.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands for a second, but Jisoo only laughs harder. “Oh, come on! You have to admit—he’s got the whole bad-boy charm down, huh? I mean, who wouldn’t be a little flustered?”

You shake your head, trying to hide your growing smile. “I wasn’t flustered. I just... hate this conversation topic.” Your voice sounds weak even to your own ears, but Jisoo seems to take that as all the confirmation she needs.

“You totally are.” She shakes her head, still grinning. “It’s okay, though. I get it. I mean, we don’t usually meet guys like him in our usual work world.”

You wince slightly, but Jisoo just gives you a wink, clearly teasing but with no malice behind it.

Just as you try to collect your thoughts, to brush off the teasing from Jisoo, your work phone rings, cutting through the tension like a lifeline. You nearly jump out of your seat, grateful for the distraction. Jisoo, ever the playful force of nature, grins even wider, leaning over your desk to grab the phone with a mischievous look in her eyes.

“Hello, this is (Y/N)’s phone,” she says in a mock-serious tone, her fingers tapping at the bobblehead on your desk in time with the words, clearly enjoying herself. “How may we help you today?”

You raise an eyebrow, exasperated but relieved that the attention is off of you for a moment. Jisoo’s antics, as usual, are borderline absurd, but they’re what you need to keep your mind from spiraling. She waves the phone around a little, tossing the bobblehead in the air and catching it again, all while you try to ignore her antics and focus on the tasks at hand.

Then, you hear the voice on the other end. A man’s voice, smooth but businesslike, and it immediately pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Is this (Y/N) (L/N)?” the voice asks, formal and crisp.

You freeze, blinking at Jisoo as she gives you a confused look. You didn’t expect a work call at this hour. You rip the phone out of her hand. “Uh, yes, this is (Y/N),” you say hesitantly, wondering who it could be. You didn’t recognize the voice, and the formal tone sets off a strange feeling in your stomach.

“Great,” the man continues, not missing a beat. “I’m calling on behalf of Jeon Jungkook. You may have met him in the VIP box at the racing event on Friday.”

For a brief second, the world seems to tilt. You hear the words “Jeon Jungkook” and your mind goes blank. The name registers, but everything around you suddenly feels a little… fuzzy. Jungkook? Why would he be calling you? Better yet, how the fuck did this dude get your work number?

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you slam the phone down, your heart racing in your chest. The noise of it hitting the receiver echoes in your ears like a deafening gong.

Jisoo’s eyes go wide, her playful demeanor completely wiped off her face. “What was that??” she asks, leaning back in her chair with raised eyebrows, clearly confused and a little amused.

You stare at the phone for a moment, unsure of what just happened. The shock is settling in, but you’re still stuck on the absurdity of the call. Was this some kind of joke? You slowly pick the phone back up, your voice soft and shaky. “Sorry, I’m here,” you say, clearly flustered. “What… what was that about?”

The man’s voice comes back, just as calm and formal as before. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Jungkook’s manager. He wanted to get to know you better, and I’m calling to see if you’d be open to that. Maybe you could meet with him sometime?”

You freeze again. You can barely process the words. This doesn’t make sense. Why on earth would Jungkook, the famous race car driver, want to meet you? You’re literally just a girl, the quiet one who barely makes waves. The idea of it is almost laughable.

You’re aware that Jisoo has been silently watching you the entire time, her eyes locked on the phone with a curious, mischievous glint. Her hand hovers near the receiver, waiting for you to react. You feel her gaze on you, but your brain is too overwhelmed to process much else.

“Uh, what?” You barely whisper it, as though saying it aloud would make it real. Your voice is barely a sound, and yet the words hang in the air like a strange invitation that you never asked for.

The man on the phone continues, his voice still calm, but you can hear the faintest note of uncertainty. “Sorry, I know this might be weird. It could be a casual hangout, nothing too formal. He just wanted to know if that’s something you might be interested in.”

Your mind is whirling. This is not happening. This is too much. You’re just trying to make a living, trying to do your job. You’re not someone who would—could—be on Jungkook’s radar. Why would he be interested in you?

Before you can make any decision, before you can even properly process the insanity of the situation, Jisoo, ever the opportunist, rips the phone from your hand. “Hello?” she says cheerfully, clearly not noticing your state of shock. “I’d love to meet with him. When would he be free?”

She’s already grinning like a Cheshire cat, and without missing a beat, she adds, “Oh, and you can just text the details to me. Thanks.”

She gives the man your cell number.

You stare at her in disbelief as she hangs up, completely unaware of your growing panic. Jisoo looks up from the phone with a broad grin. “There! It’s all taken care of. I’m sure Jungkook will be thrilled to meet you.”

You blink, trying to process what just happened. “Jisoo, no! I don’t—” You feel a knot form in your stomach. “Why did you do that? I don’t even know what’s going on! This is insane!”

She shrugs, still smiling. “You’re welcome! Don’t worry, you’ll thank me later when you’re hanging out with Jeon Jungkook. Why the fuck are you not ecstatic right now?”

You can’t find the words to explain how out of your depth you feel right now. You wanted no part in this, no entanglements with a race car driver, especially one as out of reach as Jungkook.

You sit there, in stunned silence, trying to get a grip on what just happened. Jungkook’s manager—his manager—called you.

Jisoo’s grin only widens as she watches your face slowly turn a deeper shade of red. She leans back in her chair, clearly enjoying the chaos she’s just set in motion. “I just gave you a golden opportunity, and I’m pretty sure Jungkook is going to be head over heels for you in no time.”

You bury your face in your hands for a moment, overwhelmed by the rush of it all. “Jisoo, I don’t—this is insane! Why would he be interested in me? I don’t even know how to talk to people at these events. I literally choked on cheese in front of him.”

Jisoo laughs loudly, drawing the attention of a couple of nearby coworkers. “Oh please,” she says with a dramatic eye roll, clearly not buying it. “Clearly, you’ve got this whole I’m just a little scared shy girl thing going on, and you’re the only person who isn’t swooning over him. That’s what makes you so intriguing. You’re sooo chill about everything.”

She smirks, her fingers tapping on the desk. “And let’s be honest, you’re not exactly hard to look at either.”

You nearly choke on your own air at her comment. “Stop it, seriously,” you mutter, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. You’re too embarrassed to even look at her now, feeling like the walls are closing in.

Jisoo watches you with a knowing smile. “I mean, he’s a race car driver, and he’s interested in you,” she says, practically swooning with dramatic flair. “This is like every rom-com plot you could ever dream of! You’re totally going to fall for him, I can already tell.”

You groan, sinking lower into your chair. “This is not a rom-com, Jisoo. It’s a nightmare.”

She leans forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah, well, in the rom-com, the shy girl always ends up with the cool, charming guy, doesn’t she? But instead of running away, you should go for it. Trust me, I’m good at reading these things.”

You look at her, horrified. “I don’t want anything to do with this. I just—he’s not my type. I’m not his type.”

Jisoo scoffs dramatically. “You don’t even know your type! Maybe Jungkook is your type. Have you ever even given it a chance?”

Before you can answer, your cell phone buzzes, pulling you out of the whirlwind conversation. You glance at the phone screen, feeling your heart jump into your throat as you see an unrecognized number pop up.

Your finger hesitates over the screen before you reluctantly swipe to open the message. Your eyes widen as you read the text:

"Hey, it’s Jungkook. Was kinda harder to find you than I thought it would be. Hope you’re okay with my manager calling you, I know that might’ve been weird."

You blink a few times, staring at the message as if it might disappear, but the words remain, taunting you from the screen. Your fingers freeze over your phone, and you can feel your heartbeat accelerate. What in the world is happening?

Jisoo, clearly seeing your reaction, leans in eagerly, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Oh my god, is that him? Is that his text? You have to show me!”

You’re too stunned to respond right away, your face burning as you hold the phone in front of her. She snatches it from your hands without hesitation, her eyes dancing with glee as she reads the message aloud in a dramatic whisper.

She looks up from the screen, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh. My. God.” She says, her voice almost a shriek. “This is so much better than I ever imagined. He’s flirting with you! He literally said he had to find you. Do you know what that means?!”

You shake your head slowly, in total disbelief. “This is too much.”

Jisoo shakes the phone in your face. “No, this is perfect,” she says, barely able to contain her excitement. “You’ve got a race car driver hitting on you! What is wrong with you?”

You close your eyes and press your palms to your forehead. “I don’t know, I’m just... so confused.”

Jisoo stands up, grabbing her own phone from her desk. “You’re going to reply to him, okay? And you’re going to do it now.” She waves her phone around in the air like she’s orchestrating some kind of performance. “This is your chance. You can’t just let it slip away like some boring corporate drone. You need to text him back.”

“Jisoo, I can’t,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know what to say to him. What does he want with me?”

Jisoo looks at you, her eyes wide with exaggerated seriousness. “You’re going to text him, and you’re going to make it clear that you’re not some shy girl who can’t handle a little attention.” She smiles mischievously. “Just text him back. And if you can’t do that, I’ll literally rip the phone from your hand and do it for you.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before you can speak, Jisoo grabs the phone out of your hand and types away at the screen with lightning speed.

“Done,” she says, grinning like a cat who’s caught the canary.

“What did you—” You stop yourself as she quickly hands you the phone. The message has been sent.

You look at her in pure shock. “Jisoo, you didn’t…”

“Oh yes, I did,” she says, practically skipping around your desk. “You’re welcome. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

You stare at the message she sent: “Hey! Thanks for reaching out. It wasn’t weird, don’t worry.”

Before you can say anything else, Jisoo gives you a wink and turns to walk back to her desk, completely unfazed by the whirlwind she’s created.

You look down at the phone in your hand, its screen glowing with the weight of a decision you’re not ready to make. The thought of being pulled into a world like Jungkook’s—one filled with chaos, adrenaline, and a dangerous kind of freedom—feels foreign to you, like a path you’re meant to observe from a distance, never walk. You’ve always preferred the quiet, steady hum of the sidelines, watching the world swirl around you without ever getting caught in its current.

Your life, in all its routine and predictability, feels safe, contained. You’ve spent years navigating the corporate world, where the language is numbers, the rules are clear, and nothing is left to chance.

Your ex boyfriend was just like you—someone who understood the rhythms of work, someone who shared your focus on the future, the steady climb up the ladder. People like Jungkook, with their wild tattoos, sharp piercings, and the constant rush of danger, are the antithesis of everything you’ve ever wanted. He’s everything you’ve carefully kept at arm’s length.

But now, here you are—unexpectedly entangled in a world you never asked to be part of, a world that feels as reckless as it is foreign.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @yooniepot @bookstoread199 @pipipipiiiii @someonegoood @vintagemoonsstuff @kittisuuuuu @ttanniett @loonareads @jincapableoflove @jkxlvrr @taekrve @jenniebyrubies @senaqsstuff @somisarchive @somehowukook @mysjammy @busanbby-jjk @mimi1097 @mikrokosmosellen @indyuhhhhh @vantelover1306 @haru-jiminn @sky-23s-world @minimoninini @bighitfics @mellyyyyyyx @outofworldvy @smartkive @dontcallmeelle @beomluvrr

[hargreeves-duncan]

Hey! I saw that you’re taking tua requests and after season 4 I’m in desperate need of fluff fanfics. May I request a Five x Y/N where Y/N looks exactly like how Five envisions Delores but they haven’t met yet and right when Five and Lila were about to kiss in the greenhouse, Y/N appears with a gun because this two strangers invaded her greenhouse and Five would be utterly shocked and immediately let go of Lila and went to Y/N calling her Delores and she would say something like “I don’t know who Delores is but the two of you better start explaining what you’re doing in my greenhouse or I’ll bury a bullet in your skulls.” And after that it could be all fluff with a happy ending. Maybe Five takes her to meet his family when he finds a way back?

a/n: thank you for your lovely request! the idea of reader as a dolores variant is so sweet, i just had to write this! i hope you love it!!

summary: five mistakes you for dolores, you turn out to be quite the opposite

warnings: reader has a gun😟

word count: 2.4k

Trying to traverse this damn subway was driving Five insane. If he had been keeping track accurately, he and Lila had been stuck down here for seven years. For someone that had made it through forty years alone at the end of the world, you’d think that he’d be able to hack it, but a couple of key factors had changed since his first time around.

1. This time he wasn’t alone.

When he’d brought Lila down to the station, the thought of getting stuck there hadn’t even crossed his mind. Every other time Five had visited the subway, he’d made it home with no problems whatsoever.

It was typical that when he was accompanied by the one woman he’d never want to be around for a prolonged amount of time, that the universe would screw him over and trap them there.

He did have to admit, the more time that they had spent together, and the less likely getting home seemed, Lila had become tolerable. He might even go as far as to say he liked her now.

She was smarter than he’d given her credit for and painfully determined in working out their way home. Lila had always kept them both going, insisting that if they’d gotten there in the first place that there had to be a way out. Five wasn’t so sure anymore.

2. Dolores wasn’t here.

Whilst Five could pretend that if he stopped looking for a way out and settled down with Lila in a new timeline he would be happy enough, he knew that in reality, he wouldn’t be. There was no way that his friendship with Lila would ever measure up to the company of Dolores and the love he had for her.

She had been his everything for more of his life than not and his connection with her had truly meant something to him. Unlike whatever circunstancial friendship he had built with Lila.

For a long time, Five’s daily routine had revolved entirely around making sure that Dolores was cared for and making sure that they were always one step closer to finding a better way of life. Because he would be damned if his girlfriend had to live a life with anything but the very best.

This time, without the motivation of holding Dolores in his arms at the end of a long day, Five had found little reason to keep searching for a way to get home. He was beginning to lose all hope entirely as he and Lila had got off the subway for the fiftieth time that day.

As they stepped out into the sun, it became clear that of all the timelines they’d been to, this one was, without a doubt, the most peaceful. They were surrounded by woodland that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Somewhere above their heads Five could hear birds twittering. That was a good sign, this timeline was still habitable, many of the last ones hadn’t been.

Five walked out into forest. The trees there shot up almost 70 feet into the sky. It was breathtaking.

Somewhere along his stroll, Lila, had ended up off course, discovering the new world around them, “Wow.” She whispered to herself.

Five chuckled and raised an eyebrow as he walked towards her, “If you’re done here, there’s something much more interesting that we ought to take a look at.”

He pointed to the bottom of the hill that they stood on, where a small cottage sat. It looked as if it came from a fairytale, with its thatched roof and adjacent greenhouse, that housed all sorts of plants and flowers.

A small seed of doubt planted itself in his head the more he looked it over. It looked too nice. What if it was some sort of trap?

Lila clearly didn’t have the same trepidations. She gasped with excitement, then turned back to him, saying, “What’re you waiting for? Let’s go.”

As suspicious as he now was, he wasn’t strong enough to crush Lila’s hopeful expression. He hadn’t seen her look this spritely in weeks and if this didn’t end up being what they wanted he needed her to be okay to keep going. So, he followed her down the hill.

By the time he’d reached the bottom, Lila was already waiting, hands on her hips as she laughed at him, “Come on, old man, what is taking you so long? I want to explore this cottage before someone comes and tells me that I’m imagining it.”

She reached out, pulling on his arm impatiently and he couldn’t help but smile back at her. He supposed he could entertain this fantasy of normality for a while.

Lila grinned as she led them up the steps, peering in through the glass at the throng of shrubbery packed into the building. With a tug on the door, Lila led them into the greenhouse.

Five had to appreciate the organisation of it. One corner of it hosted a mix of plants and herbs, another held flowers, another for vegetables as well and even one for- “Strawberries!” Lila gasped, dropping his arm and rushing over to them.

In that moment, there couldn’t have been a better sight in the world than home-grown fruit. It’d been a painfully long time since they’d last eaten real food and Five suddenly felt starving.

He watched as Lila picked a strawberry, taking a bite. She groaned in pleasure, closing her eyes. Mouth still full, she beckoned him closer, “Five, come here, you have got to try these.”

Five obeyed, walking over to her. Lila took another enthusiastic bite, as she declared, “I think these might be the best things that I’ve ever eaten.”

Tossing the hull of the strawberry behind her, Lila reached for another. She smirked at Five, waving the strawberry in front of his lips tauntingly, “Open up.”

Five rolled his eyes, trying to repress the smile that was creeping onto his lips as he relented, opening his mouth. Lila pressed the strawberry to his lips and as he bit down…

Click.

Five froze, eyes snapping open. Lila spun around and her lips parted in shock as she took you in. There, you stood, shotgun cocked and pointed at the pair of them.

You were a sight for sore eyes, with your tousled hair around your shoulders and polka dot dress that fell effortlessly around your hips. Five was completely mesmerised.

Your soft hair, the polka dots that covered your dress, it was all so familiar to him. Your presence felt like a greeting from an old friend and he smiled lovingly at you as he said, “Dolores.”

Lila’s presence was entirely forgotten as you stood in front of him, just as beautiful as he’d remembered. Lila raised an eyebrow, asking, “You know her?” at the same time as you asked, “Dolores?!”

You looked them both in the eye, stepping closer and aiming the barrel of the gun at their heads, “I don’t know who Dolores is but the two of you better start explaining before I shoot you both.”

You had to admit, you were slightly intrigued by the appearance of the two of them. More specifically, the man in front of you. Even more so when he audibly laughed at your words.

You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking with amusement as you said, “You do realise that you’re trespassing, right? That I’m well within my rights to pull this trigger and put a bullet through both of your skulls?”

Five was still looking at you as if you’d hung the moon and the stars and not just threatened to shoot him.

Lila shoved her elbow into his chest and he groaned, clutching it, “Jesus… Lila!” He said, glaring at her.

“What?” Lila groaned, looking over at him with a huff, “She asked you a question.”

“Yes, thank you.” You said with a small nod as you watched her. She nodded back with a pleased smile, holding her hands behind her back.

You look back at Five, expectantly, gun still raised, “Well?”

He smiled saccharinely at you, being sure to emphasise his words as he said, “Me and my friend here just got a little lost, that’s all.”

“Hm… getting lost is what we’re calling breaking and entering now?” You challenge and your combative demeanour only made Five want to get to know you more.

He grinned, shrugging his shoulders innocently, “It would appear that way.” He said, making it impossible for you to ignore the cockiness in his tone.

You simply laughed at him, lowering your weapon slightly, “And Dolores?”

“She’s…” He paused, thinking it through. He couldn’t exactly say who Dolores really was, you’d think he was crazy and that was the last thing he wanted.

If he ignored the fact that you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, he could also tell that you were exactly the kind of woman he wanted to know and he was not going to mess up any chance he might have with you, “…my ex-girlfriend.”

That wasn’t entirely untrue, he thought to himself. Lila’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Slowly, a look of realisation spread across her face and she stifled her laughter as she asked, “Hold on, you don’t mean that manne-“

“Please, excuse my friend.” He hastily cut Lila off with an infuriated glare thrown in her direction.

“She has terrible conversational etiquette.” Five offered, smiling politely at you as if he hadn’t just completely shut Lila down, “I’m Five, and that over there is Lila.”

You nodded in return. Lila smiled but made no more attempts to initiate a conversation as she wandered off deeper into the green house.

Five, happy to have the chance to speak you alone, stepped closer, “It’s a nice place.” He said, putting his hands in his pockets.

You lowered your gun, slinging it over your shoulder and offering him a warmer smile, “Thanks, I think so too.”

You were funny. He felt himself grow more smitten with every word you said. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, raising an eyebrow at you, “What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t.” You answer, brushing off your skirt. His eyes followed your fingers as you did.

You walked by him to pick up a bag of compost and dropped it onto the countertop beside you. Five walked after you, placing a hand on the table in your eyeline, practically begging you to keep the conversation going.

The last time he’d gotten so quickly attached to a girl, he’d been with her for forty years and he was already thinking about what that might look like with you, “Are you going to tell me it?” He pushed, tilting his head to the side as he smiled at you.

You stopped breaking up the soil, laughing softly as you looked over your shoulder at him, “You know, you’re very interested in knowing about me for someone I just caught breaking into my house.”

“I thought we’d agreed that we were just lost? I can confidently say that there was no ill intent on my part.” He replies, smirking at you.

“Maybe not.” You say, smacking your palms against each other to dust them off, “But there is intent of some kind.” You bend down, pulling out an empty plant pot from below the counter.

“True…” Five hummed, tapping his finger on the counter as he watched you place the pot onto the table and begin to fill it with compost.

He looks around the room some more - noticing the lone chair and table in the observatory by the back door, “You live here alone?”

He asked, watching your nimble fingers form a well in the centre of the pot. He looked over his shoulder to where Lila was prodding a venus flytrap and then back to you for your answer.

“I do.” You reply as your fingers continue to press deeper into the soil. Five nodded, rolling his sleeves up and leaning them on the countertop with a sly smile.

You dust off your hands again and go back to kneeling on the floor. Five watches with interest as you sift through pots and packets of different flowers.

“Okay and why is that?” He asks, bending down beside you as you consider which flower to pot.

You look over at him and notice how his eyes lingers on the bright, yellow marigolds tucked away to the left. You take them out.

“Because…” You say, hauling the smaller pot onto the counter again, “I’ve never been much of a people person.”

“Hence why you live in the middle of the woods.” Five nods along, smiling to himself. He was beginning to get an idea of what kind of girl you were and he liked it.

“Exactly.” You nod, gently prying the marigolds from their original pot and settling them into the divet in their new one.

You scooped some compost into your hands, sprinkling the marigold with an extra layer of dirt, “That’s me, but what about you? What makes a guy like you take a wander in the woods?”

A guy like him? Five glanced down at himself, suddenly feeling very self-conscious of his dirtied appearance. He hadn’t looked in a mirror in a while but he couldn’t imagine that seven years without a shower had done him any good.

Then again, your arms were buried elbow deep in dirt right now, so he figured he couldn’t look that awful, “It’s a long story but… simply put, my friend and I are looking for a place to stay.”

“I see.” You hum, touching up the marigolds. You pull open a drawer, taking out some pruners and making tiny adjustments to the flowers.

Five appreciated the precision with which you worked on them, he imagined that you treated all of your plants with the same amount of time and care. He was beginning to feel a little jealous of them.

You tilted your head to the side as you looked back at him, “So, you just thought that you’d crash here?”

Five looked slightly embarrassed as he stood up straighter, searching for the right answer. Lila smiled, yelling from the other side of the room, “Yeah, pretty much. It’s a really nice place.”

You laugh at her bluntness, placing down your pruners and dusting off your hands again, “Good to know.”

Five chuckles and looks back down at the counter. Taking in the sight of the finished marigolds, sitting plump and pretty in their new home, he smiles, “They’re beautiful.”

“Consider them a welcome gift for the two of you.” You say, pushing the pot towards him. Then, you wink, walking past him and back into the house.

Five is rendered speechless.

[syluslnd]

If the pregnant MC is kidnapped by Sylus' enemies, Luke and Kieran don't know how to inform Sylus because they know how much he cares about MC and her babys. If MC miscarries her babys and falls unconscious because of what she went through there, what will happen when Sylus finds her, what will she feel when he takes her to the hospital, what will Mc feel when she wakes up? How will Sylus comfort her when she starts crying and how will he eventually take revenge on his enemies?

I think I've written this request before, but I really want to read this article from your perspective. I'm sorry if I bothered you by sending the request a second time.

when sylus enemies attack you causing you to have miscarriage

tags-angst,comforting,mentions of violence,guilt

(note-hi don’t worry it’s ok if u sent it a second time,it took me a while to write so that’s why I’m posting until now! I hope this is what you wanted 🤍)

────୨ৎ────

The room was dark, cold and the pain was unbearable. Your body ached with every breath, bruises spreading across your skin like ink stains and your mind struggled to keep up with the reality of your situation.

You had been taken, dragged from the safety of Sylus’s protection by enemies who were relentless in their cruelty. You had fought but they were too many and now, your body bore the cost of their violence.

But the worst pain wasn’t physical. It was the dull, nauseating sensation in your abdomen, the sinking, terrifying fear that something was deeply wrong.

Your vision blurred as you lay there on the cold concrete, your hands instinctively moving to your stomach, trembling as you realized what had been taken from you—not just your freedom but something far more precious.

The baby. The one thing you and Sylus had never fully planned but had begun to hope for, had begun to envision. The agony in your gut was matched only by the agony in your heart.

The door creaked open and heavy boots stomped into the room. The men—the ones who had done this—stood there, sneering at your helpless form, mocking your weakness. You barely heard their words through the haze of pain but their laughter cut through. Each chuckle was a reminder of your helplessness, of your inability to protect the life that had been growing inside you.

And then, there was a sound. A familiar, terrifyingly calm sound—the door slamming open, the faint hum of something electric, like restrained fury. Sylus.

His voice was cold, filled with a rage that he rarely showed. You couldn’t see him clearly but you heard the quiet menace in his tone, the way his words dripped with a deadly promise.

“Where. Is. She?”

There was no hesitation. You heard the scuffle, the brief yelp of one of your captors before everything went silent. Then, you felt his hands—warm, steady but trembling with suppressed anger—as he lifted you into his arms. His touch was gentle despite the tension radiating from him and for the first time since you’d been taken, you felt a flicker of safety.

He didn’t say a word as he carried you out, the sound of footsteps and the faint groans of the men behind him lost in the fog of your pain. You knew what this meant—he wouldn’t kill them now. Not yet. But they wouldn’t escape. Not after what they had done.

At the hospital, the lights were harsh, the sterile smell filling your senses as Sylus carried you inside. Nurses rushed to your side, the urgency in their movements sending a cold rush of fear through you. Your head lolled to the side, eyes searching for Sylus but all you saw was his face, stony and unreadable as they wheeled you away. His hand briefly touched yours before you were pulled into the emergency room and that touch was all that kept you from sinking completely into despair.

Time passed in fragments—flashes of doctors, machines beeping, cold hands pressing on your abdomen. You felt detached from your body, lost in the haze of pain and fear, until a voice broke through.

“I’m sorry.”

You blinked, trying to focus as the doctor stood by your bedside, their expression somber. Sylus was beside you, his posture rigid, his hand gripping yours tightly, almost painfully.

“I’m sorry” the doctor repeated, their voice softer now, filled with regret. “We did everything we could, but… you’ve lost the baby.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You stared at the doctor, unable to process the weight of what they had said. The baby… was gone? No. That couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

“No…” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible. “No, I… I should have been stronger. I should have fought harder. I—”

But before you could finish, Sylus’s grip on your hand tightened and he turned to you, his face a storm of emotions you rarely saw. Anger, pain, guilt—it was all there, swirling beneath the surface of his usually controlled demeanor.

“Don’t” he snapped, his voice rough, almost breaking. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

You flinched at the intensity of his words, your tears spilling over as you tried to form some sort of response. “But I—I should’ve—”

“No” Sylus interrupted, his voice low but trembling with fury. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine.” He looked away for a moment, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might break, his hands shaking now as he struggled to keep himself from unraveling.

“I should have been there” he continued, his voice raw with guilt. “I should’ve protected you. This happened because of me because of my enemies. I brought you into this life and I couldn’t even keep you safe. I…” His words faltered and he took a sharp breath, trying to regain his composure.

Your heart broke at the sight of him like this—Sylus, always so calm, so collected, now barely holding himself together. You had never seen him so vulnerable, so angry at himself and it only made the pain in your chest worse.

“I should have been there” he repeated, his voice softer now, filled with regret. “I failed you. I failed our baby.”

The tears flowed freely now and you shook your head, trying to tell him he was wrong, that it wasn’t his fault, but the words wouldn’t come. The grief, the guilt—it was all too much.

Sylus’s hand cupped your face, gently forcing you to look at him. His eyes, usually so cold and unreadable, were now filled with a deep, aching sadness. “Kitten” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ll make them pay. I swear to you, I’ll make them pay for this. But you… you have to know this wasn’t your fault.”

You leaned into his touch, your body shaking with sobs as the weight of the loss crashed over you. Sylus pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the pain, from the reality of what had been taken from you both.

The baby was gone. The future you had only just begun to imagine was gone and there was nothing either of you could do to change that. But in that moment, as Sylus held you, his own grief mixing with yours, you knew that you weren’t alone in this. He was there and no matter how much he blamed himself, no matter how much you blamed yourself, you had each other.

And for now, that had to be enough.

Luke and Kieran stood guard at your door, their shadows tall against the dim light of the hospital hallway. You knew Sylus trusted them-his two most loyal men-but it did little to ease the cold dread that had settled into your bones.

Sylus had left without a word but you knew where he had gone. You knew the kind of wrath that was brewing inside him, the rage he held back only for your sake and now, he was gone to unleash it.

The basement was cold and damp, the smell of mildew mixing with the stench of fear. The three men who had taken you were bound tightly to chairs, their heads slumped forward, blood dripping from their faces from the initial beatings Sylus had given them when he'd first found you.

Their bodies were bruised and broken but that was nothing compared to what was coming. Sylus stood in the shadows, silent, watching them as they stirred, slowly waking to the nightmare that awaited them.

One of the men groaned, his head lifting as he squinted through swollen eyes. "W-Where are we?"

Sylus stepped forward, his boots echoing against the concrete floor. His face was devoid of emotion, cold, calculating. He was no longer the man who had cradled you in his arms at the hospital, no longer the man who had tried to soothe your pain with soft words. This was a different side of him— ruthless, unrelenting, and out for blood.

"You know exactly where you are" Sylus said, his voice low, a dangerous calmness to it. He crouched down in front of the man, his dark eyes locking onto his with an intensity that sent a shiver down the man's spine.

"And you know exactly who I am."

The man's breathing quickened, panic flashing across his face as he realized who was standing before him. "P-Please, we didn't mean to-"

Before he could finish, Sylus backhanded him, the force of the blow snapping the man's head to the side. Blood splattered onto the ground, and the man whimpered, his body trembling.

"You didn't mean to what?" Sylus hissed, standing up slowly, towering over him. "You didn't mean to kidnap my fiancée? Didn't mean to hurt her? Didn't mean to kill my child?" His voice was deadly now, each word punctuated with a barely restrained fury.

The man sobbed, his words a jumbled mess of apologies and excuses. Sylus's eyes darkened as he turned his attention to the others. "You're all going to pay for what you did."

He walked over to a table lined with tools— knives, pliers, a blowtorch. The sight alone was enough to make the men scream in terror, their bodies jerking against their restraints as they tried in vain to free themselves. But there was no escape. Sylus had made sure of that.

He picked up a pair of pliers, testing the grip with a snap before walking back to the man he had hit. "You took something from me that I can never get back” Sylus said quietly, his tone almost conversational. "So, I'm going to take something from you."

With that, he grabbed the man's hand and forced his fingers apart. The man screamed as Sylus clamped the pliers around one of his fingers and, without hesitation, ripped the nail clean off. Blood poured from the wound as the man howled in agony, his body convulsing in the chair. Sylus didn't flinch, his eyes cold and focused as he repeated the process on the next finger, and the next.

"Stop! Please! Stop!" the man begged, tears streaming down his face but Sylus was unmoved.

"You don't get to beg" Sylus said, his voice low and deadly.

He moved to the next man, who was already sobbing, begging for mercy. Sylus picked up a knife and with a swift motion, he sliced across the man's cheek, deep enough to leave a permanent scar but not enough to kill him. It was slow, deliberate, designed to inflict as much pain as possible without granting them the mercy of death.

The man screamed, his cries echoing off the walls of the basement. Sylus barely blinked as he moved to the last man, the leader of the group. The one who had orchestrated the entire thing.

Sylus leaned down close, his voice a whisper in the man's ear. "You're going to suffer the most and when I'm done with you, you'll beg me for death."

He grabbed the blowtorch, flicking it on with a soft hiss. The man's eyes widened in terror, his body shaking uncontrollably as Sylus held the flame close to his skin, the heat searing his flesh. The smell of burning skin filled the air and the man's screams were deafening but Sylus didn't stop. He burned him, inch by inch, savoring every moment of the man's agony.

Hours passed and by the time Sylus was done, the men were unrecognizable, their bodies broken and mutilated beyond repair.

They were still alive but barely. Sylus stood over them, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with the adrenaline that still pumped through his veins. The cold satisfaction of revenge washed over him but it didn't erase the pain. It didn't bring back what they had taken.

He wiped the blood from his hands and walked out of the basement, leaving the men to rot in their own misery. There was no rush to finish them off. They would suffer until their last breath.

but sylus ? He would return to you.

[scarlet-star-witch]

The shackles of duty

Summary: In the aftermath of Aegon's fall in the Battle of Rook's Rest, Aemond envisions his future as King with his Queen at his side

Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and in a secret relationship with Aemond

Part 2 to His Sacrifice

WC: 2.2 K

Warnings: Implied smut, possessive Aemond, kinda dark Aemond, but not really, he's more pathetic than anything

~~

Aemond stared at the plumes of smoke that billowed from where his brother and his dragon had fallen. 

His heart still raced with satisfaction, the adrenaline pumping through his veins keeping him in an almost high-like state he never wanted to come down from. His victorious smirk remained as he turned to the woman beside him who stared at the smoke with a conflicted expression. 

“With any luck, Aegon has perished, or at least will in due time.” 

She looked to Aemond, the furrow in her brow deep, betraying her indecision and unease.

She always knew what Aemond was capable of, she knew of the darkness within him, but to see it now, displayed so blatant before her very eyes, shook something within her, something she didn’t know she could feel towards the man she had loved for so long. 

Aemond grabbed her hands, holding them in his tightly as he turned to face her fully. 

“We can go back to King’s Landing. With Aegon’s state, I will be named Regent. I will sit the throne and you will be my Queen.” 

“What?” She breathed out, the only word she’d been able to speak in the past few minutes. 

“Aegon is not long for this world, surely. It won't be long until I become King. No one can deny us anything now. We can marry, you can stay with me by my side, we can rule together.” Aemond spoke with a franticness that was so unlike him, it unsettled her more than the gleam of desire in his eye in that moment. 

“Aemond…”

“We can finally be together.” He reminded her as his hand reached out to grasp her cheek affectionately, the longing he displayed tearing her insides, as if she were being pulled in two radically different directions. 

She watched him for a long moment, savoring the sight of that beautiful face she’d spent the past few years memorizing, every perfect dip and curve that never failed to leave her breathless, and emotion swelled as she realized she’d have to break his heart. 

“I can’t go with you.” She told him, her voice barely above a whisper, as if it would soften the blow, as if saying it quietly would mean it wouldn’t completely destroy him. 

His lip twitched, his smile fading slowly as he took in her words, praying he had misheard her. His grip on her hands tightened, as if he could keep her with him, as if he could forever stop her from leaving his side. 

“But…”

“Aemond, you know I cannot go with you. No one will accept-”

“Fuck what they think! You are mine and the second I sit on that throne I can make it so. No one could stop us.” 

She shook her head and moved to pull away, but he didn’t let her, his hand sturdy in hers, a look of heartbreak on his face as he felt her hesitation. 

“We are at war, Aemond. Our marriage will not solve anything, it won’t miraculously dissolve what is happening in our family, it will only create more chaos.”

“I don’t care.” Aemond spoke through gritted teeth as he stepped towards her, his hands now cradling her face. “I don’t give a shit about this war, you are all I want.”

She sniffled, bowing her head to avoid looking into his eye. It was too painful to see how she was hurting him. 

“Think about what you are asking of me.”

“I am asking you to be with me.”

“You are asking me to abandon my mother!” She yelled. 

His chest ached, the rush he’d been thriving on suddenly turning to despair as he looked at her, realizing he wouldn’t soon have her in his arms as he had hoped. 

“We can fix this.” He spoke with reverence, but it did little to soothe the storm within her. 

“Maybe we could have… but that was before- before Lucerys.” 

Aemond flinched, recoiling as if she had delivered a physical blow. 

“You know my regret for what happened. You know I would have never willingly jeopardize-”

“I know, I know.” She whispered tearfully, her hands moving up to grip at his wrists, feeling his pulse race beneath her touch. 

She remembered the night after learning of her brother’s death as she met Aemond on their Island, how he immediately fell to his knees in forgiveness, how he let her scream and cry and rage at him, how they held each other as they cried, knowing the state of their family had broken beyond repair, ruining what little chance they thought they had to one day be together as they wanted. 

She wiped her tears and with one last gentle caress to his hands, pulled them away from her, taking a step backwards before he could reach out to her once more. 

“I have to go.”

With every step she took away from him, he took a step closer, his face shifting each time she moved, his frown growing deeper and deeper as it abruptly dawned on him that he was about to lose her, yet again.

“Please, don’t do this.” 

“I’m sorry.” She choked out, the sight of him blurring as tears sprang to her eyes. She turned and didn’t look back as she climbed upon Vermithor, ignoring the pit that grew in her stomach, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that screamed at her to stay with him. 

She didn’t dare spare him a look. She knew she’d cave if she did, that she would fall back into his arms and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. 

She wiped her tears as she flew, ignoring the pull she felt to her other half as the distance between them grew greater. 

~~

A yell of pure rage escaped him as he flipped the table in his room. He grabbed anything he could get his hands on, throwing any and every object he found across the room, destroying everything in his line of sight. 

His bed was in disarray, the tapestries that lined the walls torn to pieces at his feet, candles knocked to the ground, trinkets shattered into nothing but dust as he raged. 

He only stopped when there was nothing left to ruin. 

His chest heaved with exertion as he let himself slump against his bed, burying his face in his hands as he struggled for breath, forcing himself not to let his tears fall. 

His mind raced with her words, each like a dagger to the heart, each one tearing away a piece of him, leaving him unwhole and untethered to the one thing in the world he cared about. 

Nothing made sense without her. It had only been hours and he was already spiraling. 

Simply picturing her beautiful face caused his chest to ache, as if the dagger of her words had been real, causing him to bleed and fade away until there was nothing left of him. 

He could not let this be the end. 

With a half-formed plan in his mind, he stood with haste and reached for his cloak, ensuring the hood covered his head and stepped out of his room, his steps quick and purposeful. 

He would not let her slip away from him again. 

~~

Her mind was racing, keeping her from her much needed sleep. She couldn’t stop picturing Aemond’s face, the pain she had caused him stirring her own. 

She couldn’t ignore the regret that overtook every inch of her. While she loved her mother and longed to see her as Queen, she couldn’t deny that Aemond had stitched himself within the fabric of her, he was now a part of her she couldn’t ignore. 

She didn’t quite know when it happened, all she knew was that it was too late to go back now, too late to pretend she felt nothing for him. She couldn’t move forward without him. 

She had to see him.

She hissed a curse and tore the covers off, getting to her feet and dressing in her riding leathers quickly, acknowledging the stupidity of her plan, but steadily ignoring it. 

It was easy to sneak out of the castle. She’d been doing it for years now, she could do it with her eyes closed. 

It took little time to get Vermithor in the air and on the course for King’s Landing, her heart in her throat as she flew. She didn’t know what awaited her, what danger she would be placing upon her head, all she knew was that once there, Aemond would never let any harm befall her. 

It was the only assurance she needed to drive forward into enemy territory. 

Suddenly, the bellowing roar of a dragon sounded over the din of the wind. 

She startled and narrowed her eyes, the moon providing light for her to see, but as the hulking figure of the dragon coming before her became clear, she soon realized, her eyes widening as she stared back at Vhagar. 

A breathless laugh escaped her, pure relief overtaking her as she realized Aemond was in the same state she found herself in, unable to settle for their circumstance. 

She pulled at the reins, directing Vermithor to descend, heading towards their Island with Aemond following seconds behind. 

The two mighty dragons landed and their riders met each other's gaze, the both of them taking a moment to simply admire each other, their shared smiles of equal relief and awe that they had had the same thought, the same longing to see each other. 

Her hands almost shook with anticipation as she untied herself from the saddle. 

She felt nervous, as if it were their first meeting in secret, as she approached him, but her reservations didn’t last as Aemond stepped towards her quickly, with no hesitation.

A shaking breath escaped her as she was pulled into his arms. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispered weakly, her voice strained as her throat tightened, overwhelmed to be back in his loving arms. 

He shook his head and held to her tighter, softly whispering his relief to see her again

Time was lost to them as they embraced, as they held each other as only lovers could. 

“I don’t know what will happen next.” She mumbled, hating to break the moment with their reality, but it wasn’t something they could ignore for much longer. 

“I don’t either.” He admitted quietly. “But what I do know is that, whatever I do, it will not be without you. I don’t care how many times I will have to chase you down and bring you back to me, I won’t lose you.” 

“You won’t have to chase me. I’m not going anywhere.” 

His exhale of relief was loud and she barely had time to apologize again before he was kissing her firmly, leaving them both breathless and lightheaded with desire. 

His touch was desperate as he laid her down in the dewey grass. It was familiar to them, these fleeting and frantic touches all they could spare in the war that ravaged their families. 

He took her with an intensity as if it had been years since he’d felt her touch and not mere days as it had been. She felt more loved than ever before as he lavished his praise onto her, as his lips caressed every inch of her, as he made love to her with the burning passion as only a man in love could. 

Their cries of pleasure echoed on the desolate Island, their secret remaining shrouded in darkness and isolation. 

As he spilled his seed within her, his call of her name sending shivers down the length of her body, she held him tightly, wishing she could hold onto him forever, wishing she didn’t have to leave his side time and time again. 

He wasn’t quick to part from her, laying over her, his hands still eager to touch her, to remember the curves of her body in fear that it would be the last time. 

But they would never let it be the last, not as long as they still breathed life. 

He left her side with a promise to see her the next night. 

There was no mention of the throne, of titles or battles. It didn’t exist in their time together, the both of them determined to blissfully ignore the reality that was slowly crushing them, slowly pulling them further and further apart, no matter how hard they tried to fight it. 

~~

He lingered in her mind as she woke alone but sated, the phantom bliss of his touch, bringing a smile to her lips in the early morning. She could still feel the warmth between her thighs, feel the pleasurable burn of the marks he had left on her body. 

She smiled politely as her maid entered, placing breakfast down for her. 

“Is there anything else I can get for you, Princess?” 

Moon tea.

The words were on the tip of her tongue. She trusted her handmaiden, she’d never given her a sideways glance over the past years when she requested the drink. Her mother was still blissfully unaware, which meant her maid was at least keeping her secret. 

Yet the words didn’t come, a decision made in a fraction of a second. 

“No, thank you. That is all.” 

As her maid left, her hand drifted to her stomach, a smile forming on her lips as she wondered what their child would look like. 

~~

Hope you enjoyed! I have more Aemond content coming! I literally have a thousand ideas for this beautiful man, so stay tuned xx

[wendichester]

hey, i love ur work! could u do a dean x reader where she’s a hunter and has her own sam, so to speak (just a big male hunting partner) and a vintage car and they’re like a parallel of eachother and it’s a meet cute or something??

⋆˚࿔ mirror, mirror,

summary. it's like your dean winchester from another universe. and he kinda likes it

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 499

notes. hope this fits what you had envisioned sweets! thanks for requesting 😙

Dean Winchester has seen a lot of things in his life.

Werewolves. Vengeful spirits. Demons that can snap bones with a thought.

But he’s never seen himself.

At least, not until tonight.

It’s a gas station off some backroad in Oklahoma, the kind with buzzing neon lights and a faded NO LOITERING sign no one cares about. Dean’s leaning against the Impala, waiting for Sam to finish grabbing snacks, when he hears it—

The unmistakable rumble of an old engine.

Not just any old engine.

A ‘76 Mercury Cougar, sleek and black, purring like a damn jungle cat.

And behind the wheel? You.

Dean straightens, interest instantly piqued. You barely glance at him as you pull up to the pump, like you haven’t just walked into his universe and knocked it sideways.

Then your passenger door swings open, and out steps—

Jesus Christ.

You have a Sam.

Well. Not Sam, but close enough—a guy built like a brick wall, towering and broad, giving off the same protective, brother energy Dean’s used to.

Dean watches as your Sam—a guy you call Hunter, because of course his name is fucking Hunter—grumbles about gas prices and disappears inside to pay.

And that leaves just you.

Dean doesn’t hesitate.

“You know, you could’ve just asked to borrow my life instead of copying it.”

You turn, finally—finally—giving him your full attention.

And shit.

Dean was already interested. Now he’s in trouble.

Because you’ve got this look—sharp, knowing, amused. Like you already figured him out before he even opened his mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say smoothly, popping your gas cap. “I was here first.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, sure. You, your oversized sidekick, your muscle car—” He gestures vaguely. “Real original.”

You smirk. “Jealous?”

Dean grins. “Of what? My reflection?”

You laugh, and it hits him harder than it should.

“You wish I was your reflection,” you tease, stepping closer. “But tell me, Winchester—”

Dean doesn’t even blink at the fact that you know his name. Of course you know his name. He knows yours, too.

“What do you drive?” you ask, tilting your head.

Dean gestures proudly. “’67 Impala.”

Your expression doesn’t change. “Cute.”

Dean’s jaw drops. “Cute?”

You hum. “Yeah. My Mercury could take her any day.”

Dean places a hand over his heart, mock-wounded. “Sweetheart, that is blasphemy.”

You shrug. “Only one way to find out.”

Dean raises a brow. “You saying you wanna race?”

“I’m saying you wanna race.” You tap his chest lightly, grinning. “And you hate that you’ll lose.”

Dean is—

Flustered.

Which is annoying, because he flirts for a living. But there’s something about you, the way you match him beat for beat, the way you look at him like you’re already a step ahead—

It’s a problem.

A problem he wants.

Hunter chooses that exact moment to step outside, raising a brow at the scene. “You making friends?”

You glance at Dean, smirking. “Something like that.”

Dean grins.

Yeah.

Something exactly like that.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

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[miihho]

"𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆"

— 𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: If you don't want your butler to reach a breaking point and take matters into his own hands by 'disciplining' you, perhaps refrain from behaving like a spoiled brat next time.

— 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: rough sex , unprotected sex , brat!reader , overstimulation , bttm male reader , blowjob , smacking , swearing , dirtytalk , praise , manhandling , dirty talk , age gap , virgin!reader , making out , degradation , petnames , non con , public sex.

PART 1 , PART 2

You were furious. Shattering objects around your room, you turned your once pristine chamber into a chaotic mess. Your anger overflowed onto everyone around you, shouting and unleashing abuse.

After that, you broke down. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you gripped the bed sheets, sprawled on your royal bed still clad in your sleepwear.

You were M/n, the prince! How could you have stooped so low as to beg someone, especially a butler? It was utterly humiliating! What would your father and mother say if they discovered your shameful behavior?

Your father had placed a heavy burden upon your shoulders, entrusting you with the future of the empire. He had envisioned you as a paragon of strength, resilience, and dominance. However, you found yourself succumbing to the influence of a mere butler. His admonitions reverberated in your mind like a relentless echo.

"Do not disappoint me. Be strong and wield the sword with skill, just as your brother does. My time wanes, and the throne shall be yours upon my passing. Fail me not, M/n, lest I consider another heir."

These words were etched into your very being, a constant weight upon your conscience. You vowed not to falter. You would rise above this moment of weakness and prove yourself worthy of the crown he had bestowed upon you.

Your cries were silent, hidden from the world. You couldn't bear the thought of anyone discovering your weakness, fearing it would tarnish your reputation and redefine how others perceived you. You couldn't afford to be seen as anything less than the strong and dominant M/n they expected.

You couldn't let your mother and father see this side of you. No one could know your vulnerability. But that butler had already glimpsed your submissive nature, a betrayal you couldn't forgive.

Clutching the bedsheets tighter, you vowed to exact punishment upon him. But how? The question gnawed at you as you plotted your next move.

"Your Highness?"

Your eyes widened as you recognized that voice. It was that damned butler! Quickly, you got up from your bed and hurried to the door without thinking. With a rush of irritation, you swung it open and came face-to-face with that annoying face you despised.

"You asshole! How dare you show your face in front of me!? Get out of my sight, I never wish to see you here ever again!" you yelled, your voice trembling with anger.

He stared down at you, his yellow eyes cold and calculating as they scanned your face. "That's such a shame, Your Highness," he replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "You'll be seeing me more often."

"W—what the heck do you mean by that!?" you demanded, your bewilderment evident in your tone.

"Your mother," he began, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction, "heard about your recent behavior and was quite shocked. When she saw that I possess the proper manners and decorum you seem to lack, she decided I would be the perfect candidate to be your new etiquette teacher." His words hung in the air, leaving you stunned and speechless.

You chuckled nervously, hoping it was some twisted joke. "H-hey... Tell me you're joking. Y-you're joking, right!?" Desperation seeped into your voice as you grabbed his collar harshly, trying to shake the truth out of him.

"I'm afraid not," he replied calmly, his smirk unwavering. "She found out about your behavior towards the maids and your lack of manners, Your Highness."

Anger flared within you at his words, and you tightened your grip on his collar. "So what if I have no manners!? I couldn't care less about those worthless maids! Those 'foods' are nothing but garbage. We don't eat slop like that; it's disgusting! They should've been kicked out of this castle ages ago! Just like you! Just a lowly butler who's probably good at nothing, maybe just some trash my father picked up!" you spat.

"Your words only confirm why I'm here. Perhaps it's time you learned the value of respect and humility your highness."

"No! Fuck off asshole!" you exclaimed, but he paid no heed to your protests. With a swift motion, he forcefully removed your grip on his collar and seized your wrist in a tight grip, his hold unyielding.

You struggled against his grasp, but it was futile. With a determined stride, he barged into your room, his grip still firm as he flung you to the unforgiving floor. A sharp hiss escaped your lips as pain shot through your body upon impact.

As you lay there, vulnerable and in pain, you watched helplessly as he closed the door behind him and locked it, sealing you both in.

He glared down at you, his eyes a piercing yellow that sent shivers down your spine.

"Shall we begin the lesson with your mouth, Your Highness?" His words were laced with a commanding tone as he strode towards you.

"My mouth!? What do you mean by my mouth? Stay away, you filthy vermin!" You attempted to rise, but your legs failed you, leaving you vulnerable on the floor.

With a smirk that sent a chill down your spine, he loomed over you, seizing your chin to meet his gaze forcibly.

"You have such beautiful eyes your highness. Staring at me like that turns me on." he declared, as your gaze involuntarily dropped to his pants, where a noticeable bulge had formed.

"Do you want to see it? See how I'm going to lecture that mouth of yours?" His tone was both mocking and tantalizing as he began to undo his belt, the metallic clink resonating in the tense silence of the room.

"N-no, no! I don't want to see your icky meat!" you protested, but your words fell on deaf ears as he proceeded to remove his belt and push down his underwear.

Your eyes widened in shock as his erect member was revealed before you, Tall and pale white with a crimson hue at the tip, it stood proudly before you, veins pulsing along its length as it throbbed with anticipation.

"It's yours," he declared, his voice thick with desire, "all yours for you to see anytime and anywhere, Your Highness."

"W-wha—?" Your attempt at a coherent response was abruptly stifled as he seized your head, thrusting his cock into your mouth with an aggressive force that left you gasping for air. The sudden intrusion hit the back of your throat, eliciting a choked gurgle of surprise as your eyes widened in shock.

Instinctively, you reached out, grasping onto his thighs for support as you struggled to accommodate his size. Sweat beaded on his brow as he grunted in satisfaction, relishing the sight of you adjusting to his relentless penetration. His grip tightened on your hair, adding to the sensation of his control over you.

"Mhmm, that's a good boy... Taking me all in," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he watched you with a predatory gaze.

"Ngh... Let's begin the lesson, Your Highness." With a deliberate motion, he began to withdraw his cock from your mouth, only to slam it back in with a force that stole your breath away. Your grip on his thighs tightened as tears welled in your eyes, a mixture of pain and submission washing over you as you surrendered to his will.

He moaned in ecstasy, throwing his head back as the overwhelming sensations consumed him. The warmth of your mouth enveloped him, the slickness of your saliva adding to the intensity of his pleasure. With each thrust, he felt himself sinking deeper into bliss, utterly lost in the euphoria of the moment.

As he gazed down at you, he couldn't help but marvel at the sight before him. Your furrowed brows, the blush that painted your cheeks, the subtle bulge he noticed in your pants – it was all too much, too perfect. In this moment, you belonged to him and him alone.

"Kick and claw all you like. Scream. Hit me. Curse the fuck out of me. Only you can do that to me and not to anyone else, i don't want your attention to go to anyone but me. You don't belong to anyone but me, M/n. Only me." he declared, his words laced with a possessive fervor as he continued to thrust into your mouth, each motion driving him closer to the edge.

As you gasped for breath, he withdrew his cock from your mouth allowing you a moment to recover. Relief flooded through you as you gulped in air, your chest heaving with the effort while a smirk was playing on his lips as he observed your struggle.

With a cruel chuckle, he grasped his cock firmly in his hand and lightly slapped your flushed cheeks with it, Your glare met his amused gaze. Chuckling softly as he seemed to revel in your reaction.

"Day to dusk, I'm going to fuck that bratty attitude out of you, so you better be ready, your Highness."

[dadsbongos]

a king, his advisor, and the betrothed

@toxycodone the fic is here fren

11 K words / warnings - reader has vag n wears a dress once, threesome WOAH, p in v + p in a sex, oral (m receiving), kabru is a fan of inappropriate workplace relationships

summary - Laios cannot find a suitor on his own, so Kabru is forced to summon an old... friend... for help.

~~~

“Just… someone you would like, then.”

“Someone I would like?”

“Yeah! If you like them, they must be good, right?”

“This isn’t about… ugh, fine.”

Kabru already knew exactly who to set up with Laios, but he wanted to grant himself a few more hours of delusion by drafting a list of desired traits.

.

.

.

A queen should be: diligent and humble, wise and patient. Honest.

Ideally, a short-lived king should marry from another short-lived race. Any children will therefore be short-lived as well, which Kabru considers highly preferable. Another tallman is his best option to keep infertility sparse.

Laios’ personality will need to be accounted for as well (Kabru finds that the longer he dawdles, the more fun he has hypothesizing Laios’ perfect match).

Laios, specifically, needs someone blunt and unencumbered by conformity -- the man seems to thrive when others feel comfortable speaking frankly with him. Someone from another royal court will not do, and especially not someone descended from direct nobel blood. Furthermore, Laios is clueless as to what his own title ensues, so he does little more for his countrymen than make appearances or pass budgets and bills. So for Kabru’s own sanity, someone intelligent and inclined to make Laios do his actual job is also preferred.

They must balance indulgence and sobriety for the man’s antics, as well as willingness to sit through Laios’ obscure personality.

Wait…

“No,” Kabru scratches that last half of his sentence, ink bleeding across the page, “What kind of matchmaker settles?”

They must like Laios, and Laios must like them. Laios is not a man Kabru can envision enduring loveless marriage, it’d be too awkward and the dolt would have it annulled.

Someone not petrified by monsters and intrigued by Laios’ strange personality, but also not so deranged as to be exactly like Laios.

Again, a single name comes to Kabru’s mind, but this time he does not put it off. He’s had his fun scheming, now he must draft a letter to the Northern Continent. To a village chief’s firstborn -- acquainted well enough with basic politics while also sharing a similar upbringing with Laios.

You’re perfect.

You’re also…

“An ex-party member?” Laios’ eyes skim over the contents of Kabru’s summoning letter, addressed at the top to you, “Cool.”

“Yeah, an ex-party member,” Kabru sighs to himself, imagining Rin beating him over the head with her staff right about now, “I think you should know, I briefly- ”

“Kabru,” Laios shakes his head, grinning, “I don’t care. If you trust them, I do.”

Briefly -- sure -- if an entire year and some months was brief. Kabru sighs louder and decides to let Laios find out on his own, since the king is so determined to look cool and easygoing.

In any case, you’ll be fond of Laios, Kabru’s certain.

Certain, and also dreading.

Year 512

“Where’d you find the space case anyway?”

“You sound upset.”

“Look!” Rin flings a gloved arm straight out, gesturing heatedly towards where the party’s newest member is staring straight at the first floor’s cracked ceiling.

Both hands squeezing the straps of your pack, you leave your throat completely exposed in order to gaze at a dark, faraway roof. The ease with which Kabru could slit your tender neck is comical, he finds it more concerning than charming. Any hoodlum or hooligan could rob and beat you blind and you’d be incapable of a proper defense.

“Let me handle it,” Kabru hopes to placate Rin with a soft grin, its success is limited because Rin’s known him long enough to push through his gushy exterior. She puts up no fight, thankfully, and let him approach you alone, “Hey!”

“Shh!” you hiss cutting your fingers along your jaw to silence him. His shock and horror at your rudeness must be visible because you wave that same hand around and smile, “Sorry. It’s just…”

Pointing up, your stare returns to the ceiling. Eyes wide and lips curled with glee. Kabru heeds and grimaces: glistening slimes the shade of clovers goop between gaping slashes in the ceiling. Pulsating and shivering as one beating organ, Kabru can’t think up a more disgusting sight.

“Slimes are sensitive to the heat we exhale, so the louder you are the easier they can find you.”

Blinking at you as inconspicuous as possible, Kabru asks, “Why stand right under them then?”

“They’re so weird. They don’t look intelligent, but they move around easily and developed such a scary way to trap prey. Pretty neat.”

Kabru has half a mind to cut you out of the party just for saying that, until you tack on a,

“Still super gross, though. We should move before they notice us.”

Kabru nods, watching you cross towards the rest of the party before following with a silent prayer that you’re not actually a monster fanatic.

His prayers are answered on the second floor -- your party is down, Holm and Daya crumpled over on opposite sides of the tree den. Kuro is strewn over a shaking, teary Mickbell with a bloody gash in his back. Rin has a similar slash, only deep in her gut and Kabru can tell she’s bleeding out fast.

While he prides himself on his wit and light thinking, Kabru is horrified by the sight of his party in agony. Planning so far ahead of himself he’s trying to scheme how to charm a passing healer into aiding Rin or reviving Holm, meanwhile he can’t even be certain he’s going to survive this attack. His own life is on the back on his mind, body stiff in preparation to swing his sword and cut off the chicken head of a charging Basilisk.

But how should he cut? It has to have a carotid artery, or a heart, but where? What if his strike is at a wrong angle and the snake side gobbles you all up.

Suddenly, the glint of your sword blinds him -- you snip the snake in half, exploiting the monster’s following stagger to round its body and stab through the Basilisk’s head. Tearing outward and splattering Kabru in blood as the beast drops.

He looks to you in silence, knees sore and wobbly and hands a shaking wreck.

Simply, you say, “The snake head is the real head, so if you attack that end first the chicken tail is distracted and easy to sneak up on,” then, you notice his trembling, “Oh, sorry…”

As if waiting for permission, Kabru’s body gives out once your hands find his shoulders. You smooth a palm over his back while shredding the loose material of your blouse to mop up the mess. Gently soaking Basilisk blood from his face with a frown marring your face, continuously murmuring apologies.

Kabru takes your wrist in his hand, blinking back his shock to sigh, “Thank you.”

Suspecting there’s more words jumbled on his tongue, you patiently wait that way: knelt beside Kabru as he squeezes your wrist.

“I think we should go back to the surface.”

You nod quickly. Much quicker than he’d assume you would given how directly you dealt with the terrifying Basilisk, “Do you want me to head back and get corpse retrievers? I doubt we could carry everyone up by ourselves.”

He takes note of how you specifically exclude Mickbell, presumably due to the young man’s hysterics.

The sharp tang of raw iron is filling Kabru’s nose, he chokes on it. He can’t stand to smell it a second more.

“No,” but inhaling through his mouth makes him taste it, rotting each bud on his tongue, “No. I’m the party leader, I should get them.”

Your eyes are lidding, no shock or awe found in the twinkle of your iris -- you were expecting this response.

“Sure, Kabru, I’ll wait with Mickbell.”

You don’t call him out on it, though.

Once the party has been revived and Kabru’s thrown the men their coins, you suggest the crew return a floor above.

“I’m sure nobody wants to eat where they died, so let’s have lunch up there and save instead of visiting a stall,” you gasp quietly and cover your mouth, then deferring to Kabru, “If that sounds good to you? Sorry… I shouldn’t have spoken so boldly like that…”

“No, you’re right,” even though he’s not looking to confirm, Kabru can feel Rin burning holes into his skull with her glare, “I think that’s a good idea.”

Secretly he’s glad no outsiders heard you make that call -- he isn’t ashamed to be bossed around by someone in a blouse, but he’s also not unrealistic. Others seeing that could threaten his meager status among the adventuring community. He’d be the wimp pushed around by his own members.

Interrupting his spiral, again, is you, “Okay, let’s get going then!” you clamp another hand over your mouth, “Right, Kabru?”

“Right.”

Thankfully, it is just your party who only finds your zealousness comedic rather than an opportunity for mutiny.

Returning visit to the first floor proves you about as useful as the initial one did.

Holm and Daya are unpacking rations with Mickbell and Kuro straggling at the edge of the blondes’ conversation. Rin is fetching water. Kabru is watching you; and he knows he should be either helping Rin, or lecturing you to help Rin, but he keeps watching.

He cannot hear you, but he knows you’re speaking -- crouched to make eye contact with a pair of slight humans. Round cheeks and marblesque eyes tell Kabru they’re just scratching at maturity. Not even thirteen.

The shorter one, a boy with freckles, picks at tender plumes of skin around his nails, knees shaking. He finds no voice, but the girl beside him does. She squeezes the shirt over her heart and her brows furrowed with passion, he can barely make out the words: mage, fourth, corpse retrievers.

One of your hands is perched on your bent knees while the other grazes along the forsaken graveyard, your head tilts and if he really forces his ears then Kabru can hear you ask, “How did you get separated?”

The girl’s shoulders go lax, lip twitching down as she sputters a reply. The boy’s picking grows frantic, his head shaking and voice shivery (this time Kabru can pick up: without her, no chance).

Kabru’s gaze hones on you, dissecting each twinge in your face as you process the information. Daya and Holm’s voices become vague, like buzzing insects, even Rin’s agitated staring from the fountain is pushed out of focus. How will you react to these children?

It's a horrible story, he’s sure. He’s so sure it’s a truly heartbreaking tale about two little ones separated from their ward on a lower level due to a snap decision from fear. However, it could also be just that: a story.

Criminals banned from The Island’s coasts often seek refuge in the bowels of the dungeon. Kabru feels confident that as this dungeon continues to fester unconquered: criminals are beginning to raise their children here.

If you blindly follow them down, you’re a fool. If you hand over all your party’s gold, you’re a fool. If you do nothing, you’re heartless. Heartlessness can be worse than foolishness, at least fools have good intentions.

Fingers wrap around the stem of a limping flower and pull, cutting it clean from the floor and holding the plant for both children. You push your hand closer to the kids, waiting until the girl grasps the flower before speaking again,

Something long winded, and judging by the shudders racketing down the boy’s frail body something rather dismal too. Yet you’re beaming up at the children, then they’re smiling as well. Rising to your feet, you brush moss stains from your knees and wave the children off with a promise Kabru can actually hear,

“If my party finds any retrievers, we’ll send them down.”

With eager nods, the kids sniffle and affirm their bravery to you -- the girl cradling the plucked daisy to her chest. You return to your party’s camp and boldly declare,

“I think we should try reaching the fourth floor soon.”

Rin bonks you with an elbow to the side, “Where’s this enthusiasm when I needed help carrying the water?”

Rubbing the tenderized area, you laugh and accept her frustration, “Sorry. Got caught up.”

“Obviously,” Rin sighs, falling to her knees around the party’s temporary camp.

Kabru sits as well, still observing as you apologize to Rin again though your eyes trailing the kids as they heft food packs onto their shoulders and begin their trek.

Mickbell settles into Kuro’s lap, Daya has begun digging into her plate while Holm ensures everyone has a filling portion. Rin agrees to dissolve the tension, meaning you two can begin gaffing amongst yourselves. As if you never left, the party is normal.

Despite your itch to reach the fourth floor as soon as possible, you don’t mention the interaction whatsoever.

Overall, Kabru considers your first dive with the party a cohesion success.

Year 515

“Don’t speak over or interrupt. Got it?”

“Okay.”

“At all.”

“Alright.”

“I’m serious,” Kabru’s eyes widen a smidge, as if to force how pertinent it is that Laios absorbs this lesson, “I’m still upset about the meeting last week.”

“I didn’t know he wasn’t done talking,” Laios frowns, shrugging in an obnoxiously coy play, the worst part being that Kabru knows Laios does it in earnest. His stupid kicked-puppy stare is entirely genuine, “That guy takes long breaths, it’s hard to tell when he’s done.”

“Well try harder to tell now,” a wave of guilt hits Kabru in the chest, heart squeezing at the sight of Laios’ frown deepening, “I don’t mean to upset you. I just… I want this to go well.”

“I do, too, you know?”

Kabru finds that hard to believe, but Laios isn’t lying to him right now. He’d know otherwise. Whether Laios can make a positive impression will have to be seen, but the man clearly has no intentions of sabotaging himself.

For all his lackluster socio-political ambitions, Laios is still a good king: insightful to the experience of commonmen and quick to new ways of strengthening their country. He has yet to give citizens, or Kabru, valid reason to question his ability to rule.

“I’m sure,” Kabru turns in his desk chair, bracing his forehead with his palm, “Let’s get this finished then.”

“But- “ Laios hesitates when he’s shot an icy glare from Kabru, “But I’m so hungry…”

As if to punctuate his torment, Laios’ stomach grumbles. Loudly. Echoing through the informal setting of Kabru’s personal quarters.

“My poor royal majesty,” Kabru coos, inked with sarcasm, “Will you survive till lunch?”

Laios’ eyes go thin, arms folding, “Don’t demean me.”

“It’s one meal. You’ll hardly die. The faster we finish this paperwork, the quicker we can usher you to breakfast.”

“I want to go now,” Laios, with no sense of self, lays his lips into the crook of his advisor’s neck. Soft, plump flesh scorching Kabru’s pulse, then a cold flash of bone: teeth, “I’m starving.”

Bladepoint canines puncture Kabru’s skin, shock blinding him to the scathing scratch till after Laios has already pulled away. Saliva stringing them together before Laios snaps it, sloppily swiping the wrist of his sleeve across his mouth.

“Disgusting,” Kabru starkly avoids eye contact by glaring at the sheen of spit on his shoulder, cupping the inflamed flesh, “Go change your shirt now, it’s not a handkerchief.”

He doesn’t remember when he first felt comfortable being so venomous around Laios, only that it's easier than trying to be pleasant all the time.

“After I eat?” Laios prompts.

“After you eat,” Kabru massages his tensing temples, working away the headache as it builds.

Upon Laios’ exit, Kabru traces the shallow indents with his fingertips -- lashes fluttering against his cheeks at the resulting faint sting. Now he’ll be forced to find a new shirt of his own, one that hides his bruising mark.

Year 513

“As long as we don’t piss off any living armor, we should be able to get to the fourth floor, at least,” you nod to yourself, hands steady and body firm as you hold up your homemade map of the area.

Raucous groans follow your cheery assessment, and a cursory glance back shows your party in disarray: Rin and Holm have heavy, discolored bags beneath their eyes. Daya is leaning against her axe with quaking arms while Mickbell coils around Kero’s shoulders. Even Kabru can admit he looks worse for wear, or assumes he does because he certainly feels at his worst.

“Oh, unless you all want to head back?” you roll the map up and wave a hand dismissively, almost seeming ashamed of the previous suggestion. Cautious to maintain a soothing and even tone, clearly doing your best to prevent any of them from feeling coddled or mocked.

Not that he truly wants to, but Kabru agrees, “Probably for the best. We’re running low on food, so we should save what we have for the journey back.”

“Makes sense,” you don’t appear disappointed or discouraged, “There’s always next time.”

“Enough optimism,” Mickbell whines, “It’s making me all nauseous.”

“Be nice,” Rin chastises, then looking at you forlorn, “You could probably carry on without us.”

Her dejected lilt prevents any accusations of wanting you to go it alone.

“No way, I’d go crazy by myself!”

Kabru reads that instantly as a lie -- if your scrunching brows and fidgeting hands weren’t telling enough then perhaps you don’t remember confessing to him your days as a solo adventurer.

You could easily carry on without the rest of the party. Hell, you could even join a better, stronger party -- the Toudens, maybe. They’d chomp at your skills if they cared even a little about their fellow men. Kabru bets you would even be able to form a party of your own with ease.

“We’re strongest when everyone’s at their best, after all,” you reassure, turning your back on the dream to hit fourth floor this crawl in favor of aiding your party’s exhaustion, “As long as we can go that deep eventually, I’ll die happily.”

Kabru doesn’t bring up how rapidly approaching the date for you to sail back home is, he gets the sense you wouldn’t want him to.

“Well don’t go keeling on us as soon as we do,” Rin’s scowl loosens, only slightly, when you smile in return and loop an arm through hers.

“Of course, not, Rin. Who else would terrorize you if I died?”

Quickly, the mage’s dark eyes flick to Kabru before returning to you, “I have an idea.”

“Oh, duh.”

Her gaze lingers on the way you’re staring at Kabru and how Kabru stares back. She must read his fondness because her forehead wrinkles up and she tugs you forward, “Yeah, duh.”

Year 515

Kabru’s foot taps impatiently, knowing it’d be improper were he to rush over and help you down from the carriage himself. But forgive the man, he’s in a hurry to have you at his side again.

He wonders if you wear the same perfume.

He wonders if you’ll take to Laios immediately, or will it take the entire two weeks before your wedding ceremony for you to warm to him?

Most of all, he wonders if he can compose himself during the entire courting process.

“Hey!”

Kabru’s mind snaps back into the present at your call, you’re charging over with an ecstatic wave. He waves back, calmer and centered towards his chest.

“It’s great to see you again!” you effortlessly knock the polite handshake Kabru extends aside to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “Imagine my surprise, the first time you send a letter is to try and marry me to a king!”

“I never found the time to write back when things finally got interesting,” Kabru bluffs, returning your hug. Warmth spreads between the both of you, if he focuses hard enough he can make out the dull thud of your heart, “Hopefully this makes up for it.”

“Definitely,” you pull back, rolling your eyes, “Father made my brother village chief while I was on The Island, so there wasn’t anything left for me to do there.”

“Perfect time to get one up on your brother. Even just marrying into royalty is better than village chief.”

You hum thoughtfully, “Let’s meet Laios Touden first. I remember he was kind of a weird guy, no?”

“He still is,” Kabru shrugs, turning to guide you into the main hall as men lug your bags towards the castle’s south wing, “He’s nice, at least. Wants to make living easier,” he glances back at you over his shoulder, “Handsome, too. You must remember what he looks like.”

“I remember he was big.”

“Strong, yeah,” Kabru slows to match paces with you through the rolling corridors, “Nice jawline, pretty eyes, and the slope of his nose isn’t terrible. He’s kind of an outstanding specimen, physically I mean.”

“Oh…” you press a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing at his rambling, “So his looks do the heavy lifting?”

“Just something to keep in mind,” he pauses outside a set of tall double doors, one hand braced against the hanging, solid black handle, and the other drawing circles into his temple, “His unique personality hasn’t faded with becoming king.”

“How interesting.”

“That’s a word for it.”

Laios is slumped comfortably back into his throne, sunlight complimenting his bored expression before he notices the pair pushing through his grandeur. Immediately, his eyes sink into you, scrawling from the top of your head to your feet in blatant observation. Staunchly, his gaze remains respectful to your modesty, indicating he’s purely sizing you up; perhaps confirming whether or not he could take you in a fight. Or to use you as a meager replacement for his monsters, studying your anatomy and mentally attaching tails and horns and heads where he sees fit.

“King Laios,” you politely remain behind Kabru. Your own gaze lurches over the king’s body as well, much less clinical than his examination -- you already know you could take him in a fight. What you want to imagine now, is if he’s the outstanding specimen that Kabru claimed, “So nice to see the Golden Kingdom for myself.”

“Prettier than the North,” Laios, much to Kabru’s unspoken irritation, scratches the back of his head without grace, “You’re from there too, right? How has it been? I haven’t been in awhile.”

“Oh, you know,” none of the men from your village look like Laios, despite their hard labor they aren’t built like him. Big. Beefy. Chewable also comes to mind; you could chew him up and be full of protein. From the little pouch of his stomach you surmise he isn’t cut or excessively defined, which drives you mad, “Same as usual. Cold and quiet.”

“Mhm. How about the monsters up top? I don’t think anybody from my village was willing to slay them,” he folds his arms, legs spreading as he readjusts for comfort, head ticking curiously, “I’ve been thinking lately that they could be overrun by monsters if nobody fights them off.”

Kabru’s irritation grows, having to claw at his thighs to restrain from choking the man. He may be older and bigger and more powerful than Kabru is, but Laios is the most painfully oblivious man in the world. He just has to be. He’s so focused on not attacking his king that Kabru almost misses how eyes scald his side at the mention of monsters overtaking the North.

“I haven’t noticed anything unusual,” and you mean that, the North truly is as boring as it was when you were growing up, “Maybe more acceptance for magic, but that’s mostly to combat the increase in ghosts.”

“Increase in ghosts,” Laios’ eyes bulge, posture straightening out in vivid excitement, “Do they know why there’s so many? Do they just wander around, or do they remain in cemeteries?”

“Ah, King Laios,” you try to hide the way your eyes bounce repeatedly towards Kabru’s rigid frame. His hands are balled, even shaking, and his stare is aimed over the king’s right shoulder, “Perhaps we could get some privacy before discussing such things?” you boldly step forward, correctly assuming Laios would take no offense at the intrusion, “We should get to know each other on our own.”

“Oh, right!” Laios waves a dismissal towards Kabru, apologizing for holding the man so long.

You don’t ask Kabru if he’s okay before he leaves, but you take one of his hands and squeeze it gingerly. Smiling tenderly and bidding him well. A soft halo of gold ringing around your head from sunlight pouring through glass panes.

“Don’t let- ” just as he’s apologizing for his king, you silence Kabru.

“I’ll form my own opinion,” you release his hand, still grinning, “You trust me, don’t you?” he nods, of course he does, “So trust me to gather my own thoughts, okay?”

Oh, God that cannot be a good sign.

Please, please, please -- he’s contemplating getting on his knees to pray outside the doors -- please don’t let his reaction to Laios’ monster obsession make you hate the king. You’re his only choice, the only one that will do!

You’re kind and strong willed and beautiful and he’d love to have you living under the same roof as himself.

Not that that has anything to do with his decision. No, no, that would be idiotic.

That would be the worst plan he’s ever planned in his entire life. So, he’s glad it's separate from his real motivation.

At least, he’s glad until that night. Alone in his bed with only moonlight shining along his pristine sheets.

For hours Kabru has been cooped in his room, and technically he’s been cooped in his mind even longer. Since the second a passing pair of guards relieved him from lingering outside the throne room, Kabru blindly stumbled through his messy thoughts.

Worse now than ever before is the desperation to know. Clawing him apart from the inside out. He needs to know.

To know what you’re feeling. To know what’s being said. To know why you two never came out, even hours after Kabru left. In explicit detail, he must know. What you like about Laios, what you don’t, what you find attractive, if you got hot in the face when you saw him, if you ever felt that way about Kabru, if you think Kabru’s attractive, if you accepted his invitation just because Kabru sent it or because you truly wanted to meet Laios.

He can’t just ask, so now he must meticulously set up a series of precision events to fish the information out.

Because your hesitance to emphatically accept the proposal confuses Kabru. You’ve never been particularly picky about partners, but you’re not the type for manufacturing attraction to spare a person’s feelings. So theory one is that Laios is not physically appealing to you.

Though not even that explanation makes sense. To be short, Kabru doesn’t understand how you couldn’t be attracted to Laios. Such strong, determined features demanded attention; and trust, the attention would be positive.

Broad shoulders and meaty thighs, Laios’ build is admirable on its own: Kabru could sink his teeth into Laios’ bicep and never cut bone. Aside from that is the healthy fluff of blonde hair his king keeps trimmed, as well as his face. Remaining clean shaven gives an air of proper hygiene and self-sufficiency that makes Laios seem more attractive.

Kabru cannot fathom how you’re not preparing vows yet.

That thought makes him shoot up in bed, eyes wide and a hand curled into his churning gut.

Why can’t Kabru fathom how you’re not preparing vows? Why does he find it so peculiar?

That type of questioning, this obsession -- it implies Kabru wants to prepare vows, doesn’t it?

With ragged grumbling Kabru collapses back into his mattress, letting his fried brain melt through his ears as he finally attempts giving in to sleep.

…

He wakes to a nightmare the next morning -- you and Laios are alone in the great hall, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the end closest to the kitchen. Chairs pushed so close the armrests are peeling against each other, elbows knocking as Laios forgoes all table etiquette. Not once do you scold or demean him. Instead seeming too engrossed at the ear-nibbling of shapeshifter trivia Laios is laying down.

“Did you ever run into one?” Laios asks, eyes a little too glittery for someone who must’ve woken quite early for this private breakfast, “My dad had our dogs follow herds so we could spot them in the flock.”

“Dogs can tell which sheep are fakes?”

“Oh, yeah! Dogs can tell by the smell,” Laios taps his nose, “I wonder what the difference is, don’t you? Do they smell more sweet, like dirt? Or do they have no smell at all since their illusions?”

“Maybe a Kobold would be able to tell you? Their anatomy is dog-like, after all.”

“I thought so, too! But there’s not many Kobolds native to the North.”

“Well, hopefully you can find out one day,” then you bite for more monster facts, “I did always wonder what my own shapeshifter could look like. Don’t they read people’s minds to make their copies?”

Laios’ silverware clatters away, tinking loudly on the glass plate, hands flexing hysterically, heart jumping to his tongue, “They do, they take other people’s interpretations of you to confuse your company into keeping it around.”

“How thrilling,” you muse.

“It’s a shame I’ll never get to see or make another one,” he lifts his fork, pushing meat and eggs around his plate glumly, “Would’ve been fun to see what you look like in my memory compared to the real thing.”

“You can tell me now,” your palm bares his shoulder, leaning over your chair and towards his own. Laios’ honey eyes dip, tracing the shape of your lips which makes you lean even closer, “How is it that you see me, Laios? Would I be flattered?”

“I hope so,” he blurts.

Kabru backs away, rattling door hinges before slumping back into the corridor. Rotten thoughts of how lovely you are corroding his brain. You’re so lovely to nip at your betrothed’s interest wholeheartedly, no matter how unconventional.

You’re so lovely it's all consuming.

You’re so lovely he can’t remember when or why, exactly, he fell in love with you.

You’re so lovely he thinks he might have just always been your emotional pin cushion.

There remains to be a single thing Kabru could name that made him fall in love with you.

Kindness is much too bland of a trait. And you wanted the wellbeing of others, but that’s something Kabru expects from people. You are pretty, but that’s no reason to daydream about buying a house together. Perhaps it was a combination of all three that mixed lethally well with how much time you spent together.

That, with how detrimental party romances are to group fallouts, maybe made you more desirable? Could that be it?

You were a new, fascinating person he couldn’t pick apart as soon as he gazed upon you, and you knew exactly how to swerve his expectations. You loved listening to him mutter about the interlocked nature of humans: one man cheating on his wife in Kahka Brud undoing a port in Melini. But you stepped away from interpersonal Island gossip. You could rattle out seven variations of man-eating plants but couldn’t stand to even look upon the vegetation without grimacing.

Approachable with a thin smile and batting lashes, beautiful and quiet. Very quiet. You hardly ask anything of others. It should make you seem ominous or menacing, but no part of him feels endangered by you.

Kabru always felt so comfortable around you that, despite knowing his other party members longer, he found you the easiest to converse with. Before he could realize himself, you’d crawled over so many emotional walls without letting him bypass a single one of your own.

You’re his worst nightmare, he craves you more than oxygen.

Year 513

The tavern door opens with an outrageous squeal. If the mood were different, then you would probably make a humorous remark about the aged hinges. But the mood isn’t different. Things are tense and he just wants to go home now.

Even twinkling stars blink away to avoid giving his humiliation anymore attention. Moonlight rudely oozes over you both, though, reminding him how much he prefers the sun. The moon always seems to follow him when he’s whirled in his worst turmoil.

You step into the tavern first, holding the cranky door open for him. He’d thank you like the upstanding young man his mother raised… if only the mood were different.

Silently, Kabru trails behind you, cheeks blistering hot and palms moist, with his head bent. You two make it back to the table circled by your party, sans Daya due to a more pressing engagement with her fiance. Rin’s perma-scowl cracks briefly into blatant shock at his slouch before schooling herself into re-wrinkling her face. Confusion curling into the folds of her glabella.

“What happened?”

Per usual, you answer for Kabru, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” anger seems to flash briefly over her for a moment, a spasm so minute only Kabru can spot it, “Really?”

He’s not surprised she’s upset about him, shamefully, trying to woo you during a night out with the party. What surprises him is that her anger is solely directed at you.

At least until you nod firmly, “Nothing happened, Rin.”

Then pity laxes her irritation, she spares Kabru a flicker of eye contact before mumbling an ‘okay’. She ends up remaining largely silent for the rest of the night, only extending responses when directly prompted.

What else surprises him is the ease with which you lie. Something happened, just not how he wanted it to play out.

Maybe he didn’t notice because of his drowned mood, but Kabru swears you didn’t exhibit any of your usual tells when you spoke.

(the fact he harps on your physical tells will make him so mad he cries later tonight)

Year 515

“He’s going to burn their ear off, I’m telling you…” Marcille grumbles.

“I think it's cute,” Falin grins.

“Of course, you do,” Marcille sighs, though smiling fondly at the girl while scritching around her plumage. Falin chirps happily and nuzzles into Marcille’s shoulder, “He’s your brother, you never think he’s as weird as he is.”

Kabru speaks boldly, which he knows is unlike himself but he’s so eager to show that he knows you more than them that he cannot stop himself, “They can bond over the monster talk, at least.”

“Are they even into monsters?”

“Kind of?” he backtracks, realizing that he isn’t sure how to answer her question, “They hate monsters, but they know a lot.”

“Good on you for finding someone like that, then,” Marcille shrugs, “They might actually have a good marriage.”

Kabru tenses, even though he shouldn’t (because he knows why you’re here, so he can’t exactly get depressed when other people bring it up), “Yeah. They will.”

“For a while, I thought you’d marry my brother,” Falin says suddenly. Eyes sharp on Kabru’s figure.

Marcille guffaws, “Why would you say that?”

She shrugs before letting her eyes relax to their usual serene state, “They get along well. And Laios likes him. Laios doesn’t usually like people.”

“I guess you have a point,” Marcille waves a figurative flag before gesturing to the room around them, “But we’re not planning their wedding.”

“Yeah…” Falin sighs like she’s the one most disappointed.

Kabru says nothing, only returning to the list of ale and wine suppliers eager to vend for the upcoming royal wedding. His eyes skim names he’s heard various reviews for, but his brain takes none of them in. Rather, he’s fixated on what Falin said.

She could see it?

Could they have gotten married?

If Kabru forgot you completely, or even better never met you, could it be him stepping up to the altar? Would Laios have him?

Laios doesn’t usually like people. but in crowded meetings, it's solely Kabru that Laios searches for. And it’s the sight of Kabru that makes Laios sigh in relief. And it’s the sound of Kabru’s voice that Laios waits for before delivering a response.

At dinner, back when they ate together before you monopolized mealtimes, Laios always ensured Kabru had twice his fill before calling it a night.

(“Even though we’re not fighting in a dungeon anymore, I still think you should retain your strength.”

“You sound like you just like watching me eat.”

“Maybe that, too. You have a nice mouth.”

Kabru never responded to that, too petrified over the implications. Now he thinks he probably should have, maybe it would have meant he’d be marrying a king.)

Falin was right in that Laios doesn’t take to people easily, and he’s sure that’s all she meant. But Kabru knows that her statement is a criminal oversimplification of Laios.

Laios likes people so much he’s gone on potentially endless, potentially fruitless, endeavors for them. Laios likes people so much he makes them harpy eggs because they seem minorly interested in monster cuisine. Laios likes people so much he makes sure they’re treated with the utmost dignity. Laios loves people, and suddenly the thought of you becoming one of those select people is getting harder to grieve.

Laios’ love is not limited, but now Kabru’s forced to come to terms with the fact that Laios’ romantic love for him is--

“So, did you pick yet?” Marcille and Falin are swatching fabrics from the cushy loveseat of the main library, “I’ve heard of a roach outbreak in Smisson’s breweries, so I hope you didn’t get attached.”

Kabru jolts upright and shakes his head, saying the first dumb thing he can think of, “I heard of that, too.”

Falin giggles, “He’s the one that told you about it, Marcille.”

“Huh? You’re kidding!” a furious blush overtakes the elf, “I’m sorry, I don’t know how I forgot that!”

Kabru shakes his head again, swallowing roughly, “It’s fine.”

Really, it’s all fine.

Year 513

“Everyone wanted to be here,” Kabru chuckles quietly, as if raising his voice could somehow wake the entire Island.

“I’m sure,” there’s no hint of sarcasm in your voice, “They were with me late last night, so… I didn’t really expect anyone to see me off,” you giggle softly, a hollow sound he doesn’t take very kindly, “I’m surprised you made it.”

“It’s the least I could do after everything you gave the party,” with no decorum he scratches the back of his neck, and avoids looking you in the face, “It’ll be harder in the dungeon without you.”

“I believe in you.”

His breath hitches. He looks at you. A barely-there smile and tired eyes. It may be the most honest he’s seen you. He’s tempted to ask how you meant that ‘you’, but doesn’t.

He doesn’t even speak until you’re boarded -- until he’s forced to raise his voice so you can hear him over a bustling crew and fellow passengers.

“If I send letters, will you read them?” Kabru silences you before you can open your mouth, “Will you respond?”

Then, you’re smiling wider, and your eyes are tight with joy. It isn’t the usual siren cant of droopy lids, it’s pure elation. You’re laughing at his question, shoulders bouncing gleefully. You’re nodding. You speak between chortles, as if he asked you what color the sky was.

“Of course, I will!”

You look more beautiful than he’s ever seen you before.

“Okay, I’ll write you, then.”

“You better!”

Your ship rocks as it sets off from the dock, but you don’t disappear beneath the ridge. In fact, you almost hang over it, torso flattening against wood and nails digging for purchase as you wave.

Kabru waves back. He runs down the dock like a fool, barely catching himself from tumbling into the lapping ocean.

“Bye, Kabru!” you’re still smiling, bathed in soft orange and soothing yellow -- your voice grows distant over crashing waves, “I’ll miss you!”

He keeps waving. He waves and he waves and he doesn’t stop until your ship is behind the horizon. Only then does his hand fall to his side, eyes sopping wet and chest squeezing.

He feels pathetic.

He misses you already.

Year 515

Days prior this morning, the grand hall was cleared out -- pews replaced the needlessly long cherry oak dining table. Flowers plotted in tall carved vases with white lace and silk choking the necks, a velvet track from the altar through open doors to the courtyard. People from across the continents were invented, diplomats to friendly nobles to acquaintances Laios does not remember to true friends to your father and brother and Falin.

(“You don’t want to invite your parents?” Kabru re-evaluates his list of guests, “Seems uncouth, no?”

“What do I care?” Laios’ legs are splayed, thighs pressing against either side of the gold throne, “A wedding is meant to be happy, why would I need people I don’t like there?” he knocks a fist back into Kabru’s chest, letting his knuckles linger over the man’s heart only as long as he can say, “I have you, and my betrothed, and my friends. Really, that’s all I need.”

“It’d be rude to- ”

“I get it,” Laios’ hand falls back onto his armrest, fingertips skimming the rounded metal edge, “This is why I’m leaving it to you, I trust you.”)

Out of all the tedious preparation, dressing Laios was the most tragic in that the king hated everything the handmaids and servants stuffed him in. Countless hours were wasted before they begged Kabru to help, only then did the king settle:

No crown, terminally unsurprising, since Laios abhorred the weight and feel of it on his head. Rather, he would adorn himself with that dreadful Winged Lion’s pelt, and a vermillion cotehardie reaching mid-thigh with gold trim. Leather belt tethered around his waist gave the fabric shape whilst holding up loose britches. Daggered teeth of various beasts lined his neck, which Kabru was privy to each and every complaint over the sensory nightmare they provided. He’s sure as soon as Laios can, he’ll be tearing the necklace off.

Dressing himself, regardless of Laios’ multiple emphatic encouragements, was a similar exercise in disaster:

It felt massively inappropriate to wear something so shiny and attractive as gold on another man’s wedding night, even as Laios insisted Kabru wear whatever he pleased. Still, Kabru chose silver earrings and accents. Sparkling and flattering, yes, but nothing so bold. He did splurge with a sapphire blue kirtie that made his eyes shine brighter, and a simple chain of pearls. He felt attractive, and joyous.

Joyous for tonight. Joyous for a wedding! Yes, simply so ecstatic for tonight’s marriage.

Truthfully, Kabru is so overjoyed for his king, he really could just fucking die.

From joy. And happiness.

Because what makes it even better is how you look happy. Actually happy. No low gaze or siren simper, just pure, carefree merriment as you link hands with Laios. Reciting vows from a flushed, teary-eyed Marcille. Neither of you has that gleam or honeydew sparkle of pure love, but Kabru is good at his job: zero doubt swims in his mind that you two will be a pair truly enamored with each other.

His misery must be unfiltered in the back of the grand hall, far behind the rest of the wedding party, because Rin’s dark eyes are piercing through the side of his skull. She’s frowning up at him, arms folded.

She murmurs, “You should’ve said something.”

Kabru grins at her sardonically, “I should’ve broken up their engagement? You didn’t even like us interacting when they were in our party.”

“That’s- !” her cheeks stain red, an annoyed huff rattling her whole body, “They never told you why they rejected you, right?”

Kabru’s silence is answer enough. It’s also more unsettling to Rin than any dungeon monster she’d encountered.

“They knew that I wanted you,” Rin clears her throat, embarrassment trying to choke her into silence, but she overcomes it for the sake of her friend, “So, out of respect, you were refused and never told why.”

Kabru loves Rin, as a sister. He loves her so much he’d kill for her, because she’s like his sister. He loves her so so so much that he cannot even be mad at her, because part of him always considered her somewhat to blame for your rejection of him.

For an agonizing, silent few seconds, Kabru just stares down at her with those crystalline eyes. Blinking himself from his stupor, Kabru asks the dumbest question he could think of, “Did they want to say yes?”

Rin’s frown deepens, forehead wrinkling, “Is that something you really want to know?”

Laios is a terrible kisser, and out of respect you cover your mouths with a hand as he maps out your lips with eyes clenched. Kabru told him not to close his eyes too early, and naturally Laios did not listen. Thankfully you’re there, hiding Laios’ possible humiliation with one hand and guiding him with your other on his jaw.

“No,” Kabru sighs, “Not really.”

That’s the biggest lie he might’ve ever told Rin.

Still she pats his back sympathetically, even laying her head against his shoulder.

Celebration begins, food laid free for grabbing and wine flowing like water -- especially into Kabru’s gaping maw. It's sour on his tongue, but as far as he’s seen it's him alone that scrunches his face and shakes out his hair at the taste, which only has him feeling crazier.

.

.

.

“Isn’t this foul?” Kabru scoffs, slumped over one of the many strewn tables in the general ballroom, cramped posture making him seem smaller. Ordinarily this is embarrassing. Ordinarily he’s not drunk.

“I don’t notice anything,” Chilchuck swigs from the clear chalice in his hand.

Marcille takes a civilized sip for herself, unspoken concern that their friend’s taste in alcohol is not utmost dependable, “I don’t notice anything either.”

Kabru swirls his wine, staring into the dark spiral and wondering if a bug of some type sensed his grim mood and decided to drown itself and poison his cup.

“I’m going to get a new drink, then,” Kabru rises, bidding the pair well as he guns for the barrels of frothy ale.

People cheer and clack maizers, spilling various toxic cures onto the floor making his shoes stick with loud clicks. Something he doesn’t bother with knowing Laios will seek him out once the stains are discovered.

Laios, Laios, Laios: speaking of.

Kabru’s gaze floats across the party to find his king, who is staring off with hands fidgeting in the drape of his Winged Lion’s pelt as your father speaks. An unfortunate sight, one he’s itching to rectify when a lengthy gown flows into his vision.

Dashing and soft and yours.

Sage fabric glides along the floor, intricately sewn floral trim skittering along the ground. Flowers of lace and yarn decorate the bust and sleeves, even a crown of colorful buds blooms atop your head. Rings of gold link around your fingers. Hair swept away to unveil your face, coiled and braided with, unbelievably, more flowers dancing between the tresses. Faint lavender and tangerine lingers around you in a hypnotizing haze, culling lovestruck head-turns of men and women with your every step.

“Your husband’s alone with your father.”

“They’ll come out alive, or we’ll hear them killing each other,” you pull out a seat at the longest central table and gesture to the chair directly beside you, “Sit. We never got to properly catch up.”

Kabru sees you have wine. He suddenly craves the sour grape flavor (maybe all he was missing was the sensation of licking it off your lips). From what he remembers, Laios was holding wine as well. Kabru considers stretching out to steal a second taste.

Although, sugary enough is the sound of your voice, suddenly his fresh mug of ale is entirely forgotten.

“Kabru?”

You’re so pretty, Kabru could tear his eyes out now and not miss a single greater sight. Especially when you’re -again- bathed in the pouring gold sunlight through grand windows, tranquil beside him at the long table. As if there isn’t a single other spot you prefer, you sit right next to him with a chalice of the worst wine he’s ever had.

“Hey, Kabru…”

His hands shake with the need to hold you. Chest raging with his uncontrollable heartbeat. His head hurts with the knowledge that there really isn’t a place he prefers more than by you (even if he’s forced to drink alcohol so foul it's comparable to sewage).

“Kabru,” your touch startles him, pout and knitted brows capturing his whole attention, “You’re not even listening to me!” you laugh, shaking off his incompetence so easily it makes him want to thank you with a kiss, “Are you drunk?”

“Huh?” he lowers his head into his hands, “Yes,” he lies to you, “Yes, that must be it.”

“Poor thing, I thought you were better at holding your liquor.”

“Your memory is fading…”

“Oh, well, suppose me and the king will have to tuck you in. Make sure you get to bed safely without bumping into anything expensive.”

Kabru gags, pushing himself up from his seat and dashing towards the nearest bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach (wine, mead, beer, and beer’s good brother ale).

Tears sting his eyes, snot beginning to leak from his nose as he spits into the toilet bowl. You and the king. The king and you. You and Laios: married. Perfect union. And Kabru did it all to himself. He wanted so desperately to drink himself under the table to forget, and you just had to go reminding him.

You are the worst person he’s ever met, and so is Laios! Your commitment to respect is disgusting, and Laios’ trust in him is an absolute travesty. You two should just hurry up and keel over instead of shoving your romance in Kabru’s face; and if either of you ever thanks him for setting you up then he’ll gut you both that very instant.

Laios and you are terrible, awful, no good devils -- and he wants you both so bad he’s vomiting in the bathroom on your wedding night.

Maybe he can send you both off on a honeymoon? Yes, yes. And while you’re away, he’ll drown in responsibility by day and pretty faces by night. Upon your return, he’ll have forgotten he was ever smitten.

No, who is he kidding? That would be a pointless venture.

You’d be so giddy to tell Kabru allllll about your trip while Laios would show off trinkets he picked up with that charming smile, Kabru would fall right back here. Puking and crying. He should just resign totally. Rot away in bed and die so he never has to see either of you again.

How cowardly.

How unbecoming.

Kabru could kick himself.

Rin was in his position more or less (...less, though, definitely less) and still had the nerve to face him every day for years. She didn’t run away, and she didn’t make her party suffer because of her feelings -- so how could Kabru extend the kingdom’s wellbeing over his? Without him, Laios would socially drown with a village chief’s firstborn as a life preserver.

You’re smart and well-versed in reading others, but you’re not Kabru for God’s sake. You can’t apply half of what you know, not to mention you don’t even care to learn.

Wiping off his mouth and flushing the toilet, Kabru stumbles toward the doorway with a prayer in his pocket to find water soon.

Returning to the chipper scene, Kabru can instantaneously spot Laios flagging him down, with his spare hand curved into the base of your spine.

He dodges you both and retires to bed. Lightheaded and miserable, he’s asleep quickly.

Then, suddenly, he’s not.

.

.

.

He’s outside Laios’ room.

Did his feet carry him here subconsciously? How pathetic…

Kabru is fully prepared to turn back and amble to his room when there’s a sound from the other side of the door. A sharp gasp and whine, then your giggling, and Laios’ voice pleading for you to be nice to him. More murmuring, then a soft moan. A lofty sigh.

Song of a consummation.

Foolishly, Kabru hadn’t thought that your sex life was something he’d have to encounter directly. And despite knowing he should step away, if not out of honor then at least to preserve his own heart, Kabru’s curiosity bolts him to the floor.

He’s never seen Laios fuck.

He’s never seen you fuck, either.

He feels compelled to study -- how does your subdued front mesh with Laios’ eager hands? Which of you takes control? With his bigger size and more powerful title, one would assume Laios, but Kabru bets it's you. Will you make him wait? Would he dive between your thighs with fervor? How will the lip stain your ladies painted you with look slathered across Laios’ pale skin?

Despite knowing what it says about his character, Kabru stays. On some level to get it through to himself that you two are together and off-limits; and on a deeper, truer level because he’s sick in the head.

As was the plan anyway, until a booming, “Hey!” echoes from down the dim hall. A guardsman fast approaching from his patrol route. Kabru’s face is hidden by the dark, figure easily mistaken for a passing servant. But even if the guard could recognize him, would it matter?

What reason does the royal advisor have for lingering outside his king’s chambers so late into the night?

Lies fly through Kabru’s brain as the guard bristles closer, none of them plausible. Finally, the idea of killing this man cycles through his mind, and he reconciles with the fact that must be his only option to avoid an obscenity charge.

“Oh, you came!” a soft hand lands between Kabru’s shoulder blades, voice floating past him and to the guard now two feet away, “Thank you for your faithful service, but don’t concern yourself with him. Our king summoned him,” your laugh soothes Kabru’s tensed muscles, “I wasn’t sure he’d make it because of the hour.”

Kabru stares at you, not bothering to hide his confused, jaw-hanging stare as the guard retreats to his typical patrol.

A thin silk robe drapes over you, loosely tied at the waist and exposing much of your chest.

“I never took you for a pervert, Kabru,” such a mellow voice makes even your scalding accusation sound sweet. You whirr him around by the arm and lug him into yours and Laios’ newly shared room. All proprieties trapped outside but trepidation slithers through, lodging in his gullet.

Laios lays on the bed, exposed completely. Tousled sheets bunched between his hands and under his thighs. Cheeks flushed redder than the head of his cock, hard and slapped against his stomach. Wide spread thighs and heaving chest bountiful eye candy.

“How’d you know it was him?” Laios sounds devastatingly breathless, eyes low and ruby lips swollen.

“Hunch,” you answer plainly, petting down Kabru’s arm until your fingers lace with his.

Kabru murmurs your name, wide eyed. You knew?

Of course, you knew. How could he have thought anything else? Your calm nature about the whole ordeal solidifies that you must’ve known for a long while. Longer than him, even. When would you have figured it out?

“He’s beautiful,” you perch your chin on Kabru’s shoulder, cooing into his ear, “You were always so focused on his face, you’ve never gotten to see anything beneath his clothes, have you?”

Oh, right. The very first day you got here, obviously.

Laios rolls his head from one shoulder to the other, brows pinching in frustration, heated gaze straying from Kabru to you, “He’s going to touch me, right?”

“Depends,” your hands skim up Kabru’s spine, nudging him forward, “Kabru, do you want to touch your king?” one arm glides around his front, fingers toying with the band of his trousers, “And myself?”

“Uhhh…” can he be honest with himself? Can he lay himself bare before not one, but two people? Two people he’s interested in above all else. Heat laps from the barrel of his chest, scorching from cheeks to ears to forehead as sweat beads along his hairline and the back of his neck.

“I asked a question. I need a response.”

Laios’ cock twitches against his abdomen, throat croaking around desire.

“Yes,” Kabru exhales, heavy, barbed, and thorny, cutting him up inside until he’s too weak to stand. Sinking onto the mattress by his knees, “I will.”

Laios’ eyes flick from Kabru’s face down to his weepy erection.

He wants Laios in his mouth. Wants the warmth slapping his tongue, burrowing towards the cinch of his throat. He wants to grope the bulge his king forces through his neck and feel your hands buried in his dark hair. The latter need is fulfilled, your fingers combing through dark curls to push him into your husband’s crotch.

“What a pretty mouth, Kabru, you love to run it,” you climb onto the bed beside him, holding Laios steady by the base, “Try something new, hm?”

“New is- ”

“Try it, Kabru. Now,” regardless of the choppy demand, your voice remains dulcet. Pillowy and fluffy. He could melt into your sound.

His tongue lolls to slather the underside of Laios’ cock with hot saliva, enveloping the man in his mouth. Cheeks hollowing and lashes batting wetly up at the king, crimson deepening on Laios’ face. Behind him, the mattress dips and shakes, Laios’ eyes jumping from baby blues to over Kabru’s back, hips jerking against his chin.

Your hand lifts from inky hair, curls slipping between your fingers in vain attempts to tether you against his skull. Now both your palms run up Laios’ chest as you mold against his side. Your thighs spread around one of his arms and robe nowhere to be found, painted lips smear rouge up Laios’ neck and cheek before you claim his lips.

One of Laios’ hands cradles Kabru’s head, not rudely pushing nor wrangling his hair, just an affectionate reminder of whose cock is in his throat. Meanwhile, the hand between your thighs crooks towards your heat, middle finger ringing your clit -- earning a jump and heave from you.

Laios coaxes Kabru off, winded as he requests, “Can you two kiss? Please?”

Kabru gives the king no time to abjure before he’s spearing you with attention, not that you’re more patient; hurriedly cupping his cheeks and legs spreading to welcome him between. Sat up enough to give Laios a proper view, Kabru fondles your ass as you happily cram your lips to his. He wonders if your lip stain wipes off on him as well. He hopes it does.

“So beautiful,” Laios muses stroking his cock, casually flicking his wrist and thumbing the head, as you reach for Kabru’s.

Kabru’s lips sear down your neck, urged to bite. He does not.

“Soft, right?” Laios lays his head against your shoulder, poking obnoxiously into Kabru’s space (not that he minds), “Still sweet with wine.”

You taste better than the fucking wine.

Does Laios?

Your lips curl, drifting away just to whisper against his lips, “Would you like to kiss the king?”

“Can I?”

Before you can reaffirm, Laios snatches Kabru by the chin to kiss him.

Laios is not sweet like wine, he tastes like beer and salt and iron from a raw lip, and yet Kabru cannot drink him down fast enough.

Hands, big and calloused and sweltering, brand Kabru’s hips -- spinning him around to face the door as you unwork the man’s nightshirt. Tossing the flowy cloth aside, you press a final kiss to Kabru’s lips, before laying out beneath him.

Kabru’s eyes hone on the honeydew slick glossing your slit, hands scrambling for perch on your bracketing thighs as Laios’ settle on his ass. Anticipation builds and flows out of his mouth, rich and thick and in the form of a lashing tongue. Broad and cozy, Kabru sweeps up your cunt, thumbs parting you for the purest taste. Audible sighs fan over your pelvis in time with Laios burying his spit-slick fingers into Kabru’s hole.

A groan vibrates through your hips, Kabru’s electric eyes flashing over the quiver in your thighs as you grind onto his nose. Both hands knotting through his hair.

Fingers prod inside you, curling toward your stomach before scissoring apart just to noisily slurp out leaking wetness.

Burly hands rearrange Kabru again, manhandling him until he’s got his back against Laios’ chest with legs thrown out across the bed. Exhilaration surges through Kabru’s whole body, extremities jittering and whines dribbling down his lips. Slowly, he’s lowered onto Laios’ cock with teeny rasps inspiring you to grab him by the shoulders. Again, sweet lips meet his, but he realizes the ploy quickly: torturous pleasure rips through his gut as you push him back to prime for riding.

Laios’ hand finds your chest, tweaking your nipple while snapping his hips up. Pounding into Kabru’s clenching hole in time that you sink down on the poor man.

Over Kabru’s shoulder, you and Laios swap spit with noisy kisses and if he weren’t sweating ecstasy then maybe he’d find the power to be embarrassed over his desperation to join. Regardless of getting his brains ground into mush by your combined, incessant pistoning, Kabru finds himself giddy to be involved further.

You’re purposeful and elegant; excruciating, tantalizing bounces with nails digging into the meat of Kabru’s chest. As if you could easily tear him apart, only dangling in front of him like a carrot-drawn-horse.

Laios is frantic and overwhelming; hips unrelenting and thick muscled arms belting Kabru against him. Skin clapping skin, moist with sweat, and fat rippling from the impacts of Laios’ fucking. Each thrust into Kabru sends him rocketing further inside you; bulging deep, deep in your squelching cunt.

Contrasting in all ways -- your hands pet and scratch while Laios’ anchor and tug, you moan and mewl while Laios groans and growls. When you’re not kissing your husband you impress downy lips upon Kabru’s chest while Laios tears bruises from his neck with full teeth.

Passion swells each suck and stroke and pap, pap, pap until Kabru’s bursting from the inside out. He keens, body tensing.

“Breathe,” Laios huffs into his ear, voice low and crackling, “Breathe, it feels better when you don’t tighten up.”

Kabru heeds, blowing hot air across your bare chest as he cums, and you coo, “Good boy.”

A slush of your combined juices cascades, soaking and matting Kabru’s pubes. Wetting his and Laios’ balls. Three hard rams and Laios is spilling inside Kabru as well. Pants and gulps echoing around the room.

Reclining against the headboard, Laios slowly pulls your exhausted body off Kabru before slipping his cock out of the man. Each of you is fully aware the hygienic option is to wash yourselves, change the sheets, and maybe even comb through messy heads of hair.

None of you do, though.

Laios, grinning bright and alluring as the sun, has an arm nestled around both you and Kabru to keep you flush against his sides. Your head finds a pillow in your husband’s chest, Kabru copying the motion. Swamped exhales pass between yours and Kabru’s blissed out faces, but only measured breaths pull a serene rise and fall from Laios. Drool even leaks from the corner of Kabru’s mouth, he groans in disgust but can’t manage the strength to wipe it away. Neither can you, exhaustion poisoning you from the knees up.

A careful thumb dabs the spittal away, only to grossly end up smearing it across Kabru’s shoulder when Laios replaces his hand on the man’s bare arm.

“How…” Kabru shudders for breath, “Why…” his eyes flutter drowsily, “Not tired…?”

“I didn’t do much,” Laios reasons (whether he genuinely thinks that or is bluffing, nobody can be sure), voice low as he notices you’re beginning to drift asleep, “Wore yourselves out, though.”

“Still…” Kabru huffs defiantly, yawning against the moist valley between Laios’ pecs, “I… more stamina…”

“Ass,” you drowsily pitch in, eyes closed and lashes stark against your cheeks.

“Ass?” Laios looks down at Kabru.

“Ass,” Kabru yawns again, now capable of slurring full sentences together with his breath sufficiently caught, “First time taking it in the ass. Probably took more out of me than I expected…”

“You should’ve said something,” Laios lours, “Even monsters like Orcs that have sex for pleasure stretch their partners more than I did. It helps prevent tearing. I wish I could’ve seen more mating rituals before getting cursed.”

“You could read more…”

Kabru’s too tired to negate your yawn of a suggestion. He doesn’t need to before Laios mutters again, seconds away from passing out altogether,

“I’ve read about them a lot, I just wanted to see it for myself.”

Year 515. Some days later.

Laios suddenly turns in his throne, angling his body towards Kabru, “You think I can make polyamorous marriage legal?”

“Why?” Kabru’s sure he knows exactly where the king’s head is, he just wants to hear the man say it.

Sticking out his thumb, index, and middle finger, Laios scrunches the digits towards his palm twice, “Aren’t we all getting married?”

“You’ll have to ask your real spouse about that first.”

“I did.”

“Huh?!” that makes Kabru’s heart explode, blood and meat blowing through his orifices. Teasing Laios is easy now that he more clearly understands the man’s motives, but you?

You’re intimidating even after he’s been inside you, he doesn’t know how Laios can so casually ask you something like that (he does though, it’s due to Laios’ many loose screws).

“I already asked about us marrying you.”

“And…?”

“They thought it was a good idea!” Laios shakes off, as if Kabru should have just known you would go along with your husband’s insanity, “So, can I legalize it?”

“Probably,” Kabru settles a hand over his chest, hoping to calm his racing heart (or what remains, anyway), “I’ll look into it.”

“Yay! Thank you!”

~~~

kabru miserablism POV my beloved

beast laios and fae reader and treasure kabru imagery makes me so hard