#(by split hair i mean part dark part light)

[mouseoho]

starting to think i have a thing for idols with split hair colours

[volleychumps]

Kurōo cheating on his s/o for his new manager but quickly falling out of love with her and she realizes so she quits as manager. But when he comes back to you he realizes you’re with someone else so he begs you to lie to him and say “I love you”.

Won’t You Lie to Me?

- the one in which Kuroo Tetsurou would do anything to hear the lies that stain your tongue

xFem! reader

Warning(s): cheating! angst, lots of tears, reader doesn't want Kuroo's touch in the last part, read with caution this was a painful write but I love angst soooo

---------------------------------------------

If you could go back in time, you wonder if you would take the detour to stop by your boyfriend’s volleyball practice again. It’s a bitter afterthought really, an afterthought to the scene before you. 

She yelped, manager tracksuit zipping up quickly in the process as one of her hands flies to her hair, attempting to smooth down the mess of it as if it would magically fall back into place.

But you're not staring at her. How could you? Why stare at her when the raven-haired boy standing behind her with a slackened jaw and crumpled t-shirt was just such an interesting sight to see?

"Someone's hard at work." your tone is sarcastic, but the slight crack in the tinge of your words is enough for Kuroo to take a step towards you, watching the light fade from your eyes as the cowering manager of their team stares like you're a bomb about to explode.

"Y/N-"

"Don't."

Your reaction is mild and tame, simply tilting your head to the side as you don't break eye contact with him. It was a silly high school love story to begin with, perhaps one of those where happy endings don't exist and things are too good to be true.

If you knew that, then why does it feel like every inch of you won't stop trembling?

"Go to hell, Tetsurou." But he knows. He sees it in your eyes, the finality in your tone that sealed things in place. He knows you mean it. He knows you never say things you don't mean, the same way he knows things will never ever be what they once were.

So why can't he will his legs to move towards you?

Instead, dark eyes watch you hang your head with a heavy sigh, as if you were suddenly exhausted before shoving something in the manager's hands, ignoring the yelp that left her swollen lips.

"It's for the headache he claimed he had." Your voice was monotone as you refused to lift your gaze. "He's your problem now."

"Y/N."

It almost broke you. Almost. The gentleness in his tone, the way in which a shaky hand lifted towards you, but you simply took a step back. Staring down at the manager you once called a friend, you giggle humorlessly before simply turning on your heel and walking away.

"She's so calm about it, Tetsu-kun." The manager sniffed at your absence, trying to put a hand on one of his broad shoulders. "She must have never loved you, I told you so."

But Kuroo knew better. He wasn't sure why he gave in. He wasn't sure why for a second he believed what Yue was saying before she came onto him, not denying her when she advanced. Something about your plans to break up with him? Something about how you had giggled to Yue about how you were planning on leaving him for someone better?

He can't recall why or what was said. All he knows is as he's watching you, he strangely feels quite empty inside. This must mean he doesn't have any outright feelings for you anymore, right?

If he isn't hurting when he watches you go, isn't this for the best?

He's lost in his thoughts when the gym doors come to a tight shut, your knees hitting the soft grass outside as your legs give out from underneath you, a silent wail wracking your whole body as your heart splits into pieces, taking the form of salty tears that slide down your cheeks.

--

Kuroo Tetsurou still isn't really feeling much of anything.

He didn't feel much when he told Yue he still didn't want to be with her despite the deceptive steps taken. Not when she slapped him across the face. Not when Kenma had eyed him with a look of pure disgust with a sharp warning not to speak to him for the next couple days.

The only twinge he felt was when you handed in your resignation as manager, the gym an eerie quiet before the first years hug you tightly, teary-eyed as they exclaim that they didn't want you to go but they understand. Yaku glared at him the whole time, but Kuroo kept setting up the net as the first years tackle you in their last couple of embraces, glancing your way as you stroke their hair lovingly and explain you'll still find the time to hang out.

Kuroo was waiting for you to be on your way, out the door to catch you and say one last thing-

"Y/N, you have to know I'm so-"

"Sorry." Your voice is a little breathless, like you just had the wind knocked out of you. "But let's not, okay Tets-" You catch yourself, inhaling a shaky breath before managing a small smile.

"Okay, Kuroo? I'm happy being strangers. I don't hate you, okay?"

Your shoulder taps his as you stride past, a finality in your footsteps.

"I just wish we never met."

Kuroo stands there, a single emotion stirring in his chest as his gaze stares straight ahead, his shoulder on fire from where you had gently grazed it.

Confusion. Confusion swirls in his chest as his eyes brim with unshed tears he can't exactly match an emotion to.

--

A couple weeks pass...maybe a month or two? But the raven-haired third year doesn't even notice it. He goes through the motions of school and club activities, his team eventually having to slowly begin speaking to him again as preliminaries near the corner.

Kenma taps his head against the doorway of his room, staring at him blankly.

"Hey cheater."

"Funny." But Kuroo isn't laughing, sitting up in bed to eye him with an even stare. Kenma doesn't like the look in his eyes, the usual sarcastic and confident glint in his irises and smile nowhere to be seen. "What's up."

Kenma shrugs, taking a comfortable seat on the floor before pulling out his handheld device, Kuroo blinking once in surprise before laying back down in bed, listening to the click of the buttons and the movements of the joystick.

The cat-eyed boy glances at him, looking back down at his device before taking something out of his pocket and placing it on the end of his bed.

"Y/N wanted me to return this to you."

Kuroo eyes the red scarf at the end of the bed, Kenma focusing on the next level of his game before he sits up again to examine the fluffy fabric, the characters for Nekoma High School on the corner of one end.

His chest seems to twist.

"Don't be a brat, Y/N, it's cold out here."

"What if you get sick, idiot?"

""Stop calling your best friend an idiot! You're the worst, you know."

"Don't kid yourself. Kenma's my best friend."

A lump forms in his throat.

"Fine, whatever." Kuroo had smirked down at you from his towering height, wrapping the scarf around your neck despite your wishes as you eyed him weirdly. He leans down to your height, his eyes twinkling with something you can't pinpoint.

"I don't wanna be just your best friend anyway."

You glare at him a little, tip of your nose colored from the cold before standing on your toes to lean up and kiss him, smiling as your bag hits the snow beneath you, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as the first snow falls around you.

"Promise me." Your sweet voice is hushed, eyes staring at him brimmed with straight adoration as you cup his cold cheeks, Kuroo's onyx eyes holding yours carefully.

"Let's go see next year's first snowfall together."

"Cheesy." Kuroo's grin is cocky as you swat his chest in slight embarrassment, but he grabs your hand anyways, stopping your attacks before leaning a little closer to your face, so close your breaths are mingling. His fingers are touching the scarf wrapped so carefully around your pretty neck, stroking your cheek with a gentleness you didn't know he possessed.

"We'll get a front row seat, kitten, don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Tetsu?"

"Hm?"

You smiled, snow in your hair as you kissed him again.

Kuroo Tetsurou could now feel again.

"I love you."

And it was his heart absolutely breaking as regret fills the beginning of the onslaught of tears.

Kenma looks up, eyes widening a fraction as his childhood friend hunches over the now clenched red scarf, his body trembling as sob after sob pours out of him, the fabric smelling of you as he holds it close to his seemingly irreparable heart.

No, it wasn't that he couldn't feel.

His body was numb and in shock with the loss of you.

--

Kuroo Tetsurou wasn't a complete idiot.

He knew the damage done was nearly permanent. There would be no fixing things, the "nearly" part of that statement lingering on the sense of false hope he had that you would at least begin talking to him.

Strangely enough, it wasn't that difficult. You began nodding to at least acknowledge his existence when dropping off a packaged treats at practice. You even began saying hello when he was with Kenma, Kuroo only being able to manage an awkward greeting back before watching you walk off with a longing in his eyes.

"Doesn't Y/N-senpai seem so much brighter these days?" Inuoka slurps his yogurt pouch, brightening up as he mentions your name. He finishes tying his shoes, stretching out his arms overhead with a careless yawn.

"Maybe she's seeing someone new."

Kuroo misses a spike, chest heavy as the first year looks up at his captain, startled.

"Relax." Kenma scolds him, not missing a beat. "It's probably not true."

Yeah.

Kuroo jogs back to center court, watching Kenma's fingers set the ball up perfectly.

It's probably not true.

He misses the spike again.

--

"After we win this, I'm going to ask Y/N for another chance."

Kenma doesn't look surprised, eyeing Kuroo seriously before releasing a heavy sigh.

"Kuroo, you should really know that-"

"Oi. Get a move on, you two, this is the last preliminary match before the qualifying match to Nationals." Yaku cuts off the team's setter, Kenma groaning a little as Kuroo jogs ahead of him onto the court, Fukurodani waiting for them on the other side.

Kenma waves to you in the stands, and you smile, waving both hands in the air at the entire team as Kuroo's heart skips a beat.

That smile was still his, it has to be.

Bokuto greets his friend with a wide grin, slapping Kuroo on the back with a little less energy than usual as the two teams begin their warm ups, the two captains meeting once in awhile since the training camp.

"Hey hey Kuroo!" The owlish boy crosses his arms, smirking a little as the crate of balls gets rolled out onto the court. "You look great, better than I was expecting!"

"So you heard?" Kuroo sighs, a hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck. "about me and Y/N breaking up?"

"Hm? Oh, that too. I just thought it would've been a little weird seeing as she's dating Akaashi now and all."

What?

His hand freezes midair, voice caught in his throat by the huge lump that forms. Slowly, even though his body was screaming at him not to, he looks back up at the stands.

Akaashi had draped his jacket around your shoulders, slight smile on his lips as he seems to be immersed in conversation with you, Bokuto allowing him to run up real quick to see you before the match began. The setter's blue eyes were brimmed with so much adoration, the beginning sparks of new love evident between the two of you as you shyly nodded along to what he was saying.

Akaashi looks down at the court once before looking back at you, bringing your hand up to kiss once affectionately with a content smile on his face before placing a quick one on your cheek, jogging back down the stairs afterwards.

You don't know what to expect when you look back down at the court, warmth in your cheeks and chest with a foreign form of love you're not accustomed to yet. You want to meet Akaashi's eyes, cheer on Kenma and the Nekoma team, wave a greeting to Bokuto-

but the look of Kuroo's absolutely broken stare was not within the scope of your expectations.

Among the feelings Kuroo Tetsurou was learning how to feel again,

Panic was not one of them.

Panic is all he knows as the whistle blows in his ears, the game calling for someone to serve the first ball.

--

"Y/N."

"Kuroo." You say his name so easily, as if you're not the same person you were that day in the volleyball practice that never existed.

The one where he took your heart and completely discarded it.

"Where are the others-?"

"Washing up after the game." Kuroo can't meet your eyes, his head swimming with the things he rehearsed for hours on end, yet unable to communicate them.

"Oh." You say softly, and Kuroo hates it. He hates how you grow awkward and uncomfortable, like he wasn't the one kissing down your neck as you giggled for him to quit teasing. Like he wasn't your first love.

Like he didn't mean anything to you anymore.

"Y/N." Panic. Panic is what paints his voice as he steps closer to you, reaching an arm out to tug you into his chest, pretending like he doesn't feel you grow rigid at his touch. "Please."

"Let go, Kuroo." Your voice lost it's soft edge, void of emotion-

just like he used to be. You love him right?

"Say it."

"What-?"

"Won't you lie to me? Say that you love me, please say it."

False hope. He recognizes the next feeling when you shakily put your arms around him as well, your tears beginning to soak through his shirt.

Please say it.

"T-Tetsu." Your trembling in his hold. "I..I love you."

Confusion is next. He feels it when you break out of his hold, pushing him back abruptly with an ocean of emotions across your face, the feeling of holding him simply wrong.

Kuroo doesn't even know he's crying, not until your placing a careful hand on his cheek to swipe at his tears messily before laughing a little at the situation.

"Tetsu, let's put us in the past." Your voice is quiet, the air freezing as your warmth creates a slight puff from the contrast. "It's over for us now, don't you see? There's too much hurt-"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Don't go to him. Please, I love-"

"I won't lie to you again." The tone in your voice is gentle, Kuroo's breath stuck in his throat again as his eyes well up with fresh tears. "I don't feel the same anymore, you broke my heart first...why do I have to take responsibility for yours?"

Kuroo says nothing, another familiar feeling inching towards his chest.

"But look-" You point up at the sky, snow falling down almost mockingly for the first time this season, a sad smile on your lips and wet tears down your cheeks. "It's the first snowfall."

You've never looked more beautiful, with snow in your hair and warmth in your lips.

"You kept your promise."

You turn around after that, continuing to cry as you walk off to go find Akaashi to apologize for the lie you let stain your tongue as Kuroo falls to his knees, his skin numb from the cold-

but his chest isn't numb.

No, he knows this feeling. He knows this feeling a bit too well, the snow seeming to shower at his expense in a rueful manner as he stares at the dark swirl of the sky above.

Heartbreak.

--

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 3 - Bolt

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Back again! I have split the final chapter into two parts as it makes more sense that way, you’ll see why when you read the last one – which hopefully I should be able to post later this week, or early next – I’m just working on getting it right. Warnings for angst, angst and angst in this part – sorry in advance. I felt a bit weepy writing this. I’ve been blown away by the support this story has received, especially as it was written on a bit of a whim, so thank-you for all your reblogs and comments – it means a lot!! Also shout-out to the recent Variety SebStan photoshoot - very inspirational...

💔

You were sleeping like the dead, it was a miracle that anything could’ve woken you – but the soft click of the hotel door opening must’ve cut through the void somehow, because you shot up in bed awake, disorientated and suddenly on alert. Your breathing was heavy as you adjusted to your surroundings. What…where were…?

Bucky gently closed the door behind him and rushed over to your bedside.

“Hey, hey…it’s just me, you’re okay doll. I’m sorry I startled you. I was trying to slip in quietly…” he cooed, “I thought knocking might be too jarring…stupidly…”

You blinked at him, you were just able to make out his face in the dark as recognition sunk in. His features were subtly illuminated by the parking lot lights, the room’s curtains doing little to keep that glare out. He looked tired and drained; his hair unkempt. There was a weariness in his face that you hadn’t seen before. You groggily flicked on the bedside lamp as your brain caught up with the rest of you.

For a blissful moment you’d forgotten it all, from the haze of sleep, you’d forgotten why you were here. Bucky! Bucky is here! Your safe place. You began to smile and instinctively moved towards him. He smiled too, a relieved smile, holding out a hand to you so you reached for it with your own –

Wait.

Oh.

You saw the hope in his eyes dwindle when you jerked away from him, a scowl hardening your expression as you whipped your hand back as quickly as if it had been burnt. You pulled the sheets high and tight, covering your body as if you didn’t like that any of you was visible to him.

As he tried to lean over to get closer to you, you greeted him with a blunt, hard slap across the face.

He recoiled, his hand moving to his stinging cheek as he stood up to his full height and stepped back, “fine. I deserved that…”

“What are you doing here?” you sneered, “How did you even get in?”

He tilted his head towards the door and held up a key card, “They let me in. They gave me a key”.

“Well, they shouldn’t have! They shouldn’t just give away door keys to random people…”

“They don’t, just me,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes and turned away, “You think this is funny?”

“Doll…” he reached out to you again, but you smacked his hand away.

“No,” you growled.

“I found out the truth…I know it wasn’t you. I’m so sor-” he sounded frantic, stuttering and jumbled, worlds away from the cool and collected man you knew so well. But you were unmoved, his betrayal still stinging and raw.

“I don’t care,” you interrupted, your tone flat and cold, “it’s too late”.

“I should’ve listened to you. I’m so sorry, baby. I flew off the handle without talking to you. I should’ve trusted you…” he pleaded.

“Yes, you should’ve,” you snapped bitterly, “but you didn’t. You wouldn’t let me talk, you just shouted…then you threw me out with nothing! Like I was trash! I walked for nearly two miles alone in the dark, in the middle of the night, Bucky. Anything could’ve happened to me…” your voice wobbled slightly at the end of your sentence; you took a deep breath – refusing to let anymore tears fall for him.

He dipped his head, his gaze dropping, unable to look at you. “I know, you’re right…I keep thinking about it…I keep…”

“Save it!” you shouted, a little more emotional than you intended. “All I wanted was for you to listen to me. I don’t know anything about a recording, or my phone pinging, or whatever you were ranting about. I just can’t believe you wouldn’t believe me, after everything we’ve been through…”

He sighed heavily, then withdrew his phone from his pocket. He began to scroll through.

You scoffed, “what are you-”

And then your voice, clear as day, rang out from his phone. Bucky held it up towards you, his face pained. You listened, stunned, as you heard yourself on the recording. It was so real you almost considered that it was you, and you’d somehow forgotten that you’d actually said it.

“Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything…”

After it had finished, you furrowed your brows in confusion, your mouth hanging open.

“But that wasn’t…” you whispered.

“I know. I know that now,” he sighed, putting the phone back in his pocket. “Rumlow set it up. He put it together with cutting edge AI, some advanced tech Stark helped develop. He also planted fake footage of you on the CCTV. Took your phone to an incriminating location. But Sam caught him tonight. He’s been working with the feds to bring me down, to make room for a HYDRA revival. He knew I’d be weaker and easier to takedown if you and I fell apart, so breaking us up was a two-birds-one-stone deal”.

You blinked, bewildered, a chill running through you as you thought about the lengths someone would go to in order to break you and Bucky up. You knew a little about HYDRA, the rival syndicate that Bucky used to work for before he struck out on his own. They’d been defunct for years, or so Bucky had told you. The implication of someone being able to make your voice say anything they wanted also haunted you. Rumlow could’ve even framed you for a crime with such technology. It was…scary.

You could see why Bucky freaked out, presented with all of this incriminating evidence, but…

“Rumlow didn’t break us up, Bucky”, you said quietly as your words sharpened. “You did. You could’ve come to me first. You could’ve showed me this and we could’ve set everything straight. Instead…you went nuclear…”

He dropped his gaze again to the threadbare hotel carpet, unable to meet your eye. It was almost funny, he looked small for the first time since you’d met him. Despite his towering height and hulking frame, he almost seemed like a little boy in that moment.

“…I just can’t believe you thought I’d do something like that to you. That I’d betray you like that. That I could look you in the eye every day and lie to you and…”

He suddenly looked up, quickly snatching your hand, “I’m so sorry, doll, this is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made…I’d do anything to take it back…”

“Well you can’t!” you sniped back at him as you tore your hand away from his, tears in your eyes. “You must think so low of me that you think I’d be capable of this. And all the stuff you said about me leeching off you for your money! I’ve never been comfortable spending your cash and you know that! I can’t believe you’d throw it all back in my face…”

“Baby, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean of it. I was hurt…” he said, the desperation building in his voice as his eyes widened, “I was just trying to hurt you the way I thought you’d hurt me. I didn’t really think it. I never have”.

“It must’ve come from somewhere!” you spat venomously, “you didn’t pull it out of thin air…”

“I promise. I was just throwing words out and didn’t care what they were as long as they hit. I just was so mad,” he sat down on the bed and began running his hands through his hair as he closed his eyes, he always did that when he was stressed.

He sighed heavily, then turned to you, “Look”, he began – his voice soft now. “I guess part of me always thought this was too good to be true…everything happened so quickly when we met. I’d always been content with one-night stands and casual hook-ups. Then I met you, and…” he trailed off as he chewed his lip, carefully choosing what to say.

You watched him, your earlier anguish now hardened into pure rage, you wanted to kick him out – send him out into the street the way he had with you. But you also wanted to hear this. You wanted to understand what possible reasoning there could be for causing of this pain. What weak excuse he could use to try and justify his cruelty. He looked at you again. His eyes were kind, warm. But you couldn’t help but remember the coldness in them from earlier. You didn’t think you’d ever forget it.

“I guess…everything changed. I fell for you so hard. You took over my life. Invaded my thoughts, my senses. I just wanted to be with you all the time. And to my surprise…you felt the same. This sweet, wonderful woman wanted to be with me, too. I was sure you’d turn away when you found about my job…my past…my scars, my arm... Because why wouldn’t you? You were kind and decent. You saw the best in people. How the hell could you love someone like me? A killer. A monster…”

“Bucky, I…” you croaked.

“Please, just let me finish…” he pleaded, “but somehow, you did love me. And I know you moved in with me quickly, but it felt right. You had a rough start in life, and all I ever wanted to do was take care of you and fix it so you didn’t have to worry about money or paying bills or any of that ever again. I wanted you to sleep soundly, knowing I would protect you and do right by you and you wouldn’t have to sling burgers and fries to get by anymore. And part of me knew it was selfish…because you deserved better than me. You deserved the white picket fence, a dull but decent man with a boring job who comes home and tells you about whatever shit Janet in Accounting got up to that day. But no, you had me – who stole you from that peaceful future to make myself happy. I worked late and committed violent acts. I had to give you bodyguards just in case. I uprooted your entire life. I did my best to give you the love you deserve, but I couldn’t even get that right. When I heard that tape…it was like the universe telling me what I already knew - I wasn’t worthy, and the debt I owed was getting collected. I guess part of me always expected I’d inevitably screw it up, because I never deserved you in the first place. And I’m just sorry that I proved myself right”.

You sniffed back your tears, bowled over by his words. He’d never said anything like this to you before, you had no idea he held those insecurities. The silence hung heavily between you, until you finally spoke, your voice shaky.

“But I was happy slinging burgers. And I never wanted the boring guy. I never wanted the white picket fence. I wanted you, Buck. Only you. I knew who you truly were, and it didn’t matter. It never mattered. You did deserve me. You did deserve love and everything we had…until…well…this”.

He nodded sadly, taking your hand in his.

“I know that now, doll, I do. I ended up sabotaging the best thing that ever happened to me because of my own fears. And that’s on me. But look…I need to ask, do you think you could ever forgive me? I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll go at whatever pace you want…We can just be friends and see how it goes. I’ll go to therapy to sort out my shit. Anything. I’ll never doubt you again. All I ask is that you give me one final chance to fix this. Please, doll…I’m begging you…”

You looked into his big blue eyes, glossy with his unshed tears. Your heart ached and twisted at the sight. You’d never seen him looking so vulnerable before, so lost. You loved him so very much. You would’ve taken a bullet for him if he’d asked. He was correct that the two of you had moved fast in your whirlwind romance, but it always felt like a natural progression. It had always felt right.

But something had shifted. Something monumental. And you didn’t know if it could ever be like it was. It was wrong now.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I can’t….I…” you whispered, squeezing his hand as your tears began to fall. “I want to…I just…I don’t know if I can…”

He inhaled deeply and your heart shattered as you saw the flash of anguish in his eyes. But then he took a moment, a sad but accepting smile creeping over his face. He leaned over and wiped away your tears with his thumb.

“It’s alright, doll” he told you softly. “This was my fault. I’m not gonna force it or push you to forgive if you’re not comfortable doing so, okay? Not because I don’t care or don’t want to fight for you. But because I love you, and loving someone means sometimes you have to let them go”.

You nodded as you looked up into his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

“Hey, c’mon…” he soothed.

He quickly vanished into the en-suite bathroom, returning with a small wad of toilet paper to dab at your tear-soaked cheeks. He extended a finger and gently moved it under your chin, propping your face up to look at his. The tenderness and care he showed you was what you were used to with Bucky. This was the version of him you’d always known. It almost made you forget about everything. Almost.

You both shared a small smile. A melancholic smile, a smile that you both understood meant too much had happened here tonight. Too much had changed. You can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. Nothing was spoken, but everything was said.

It was hard to know how much time had passed, but eventually he got up and moved to the door. You didn’t stop him, and he didn’t ask you to. He ran a finger over your trusty red backpack as he passed the desk. He chuckled and picked it up, “I should’ve known this old thing was involved. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how you left with no clothes or money…but you’ve always been the most resourceful person I know.”

You smiled back at him weakly.

“It’s funny…” he mused as he caressed the straps, “you had this emergency kit already to go. Just in case…”

You shook your head, “no…it wasn’t meant to be a kit, it was just left from where I moved in with you. I didn’t-I just dumped it when I…”

“Yes…left fully packed and untouched. With clothes and cash. And debit cards, presumably. Stashed in a closet by the front door. That doesn’t strike you as a choice? A plan? Even if you weren’t fully aware of it?” he asked.

You didn’t respond as the silence laid thick between you. Incisive Bucky, as always. He could read you better than anyone on the planet. You knew he was right, he knew it too. You swallowed, looking down at the frayed thread on the bedsheet.

“You are always planning, doll. Because you always had to, with the life you’ve had. You always had to keep moving and stay one step ahead. We both know that”.

Again, he was met with your silence as you pulled at the thread. But there was no denial. You couldn’t deny the truth.

“Guess we both had our own ejector seats for this plane,” he mused as he moved the bag back to how he found it. “Looks like we had even more in common than we knew”.

He was right, again. It seemed that both of you had your anxieties and insecurities about this relationship. Both of you were maybe a little too cynical and world weary to believe in happy ever afters. His had manifested in anger, in rage…yours in being ready to flee at any time. Both of you had been on the starting line waiting for that pistol to fire.

But it had only finally imploded because of him.

He continued his slow march to the door, clearing his throat as he looked back at you.

“I meant what I said, every word. I’d do anything to get you back. I’d go at any pace, I’d take whatever you offered – in any form, as long as I’m still in your life in some way. I’d spend the rest of my days apologising if I had to. But honestly, I’d also be happy just to be your friend. Okay? So, you can call me, text me, anytime. Hell, just send me an emoji. Even if you just to talk. Even just to yell at me. I’ll always pick up, I promise”.

He pulled a business card from his wallet and placed it on the desk, “here. Put my number in your new phone when you get one”.

You stayed mute, but your eyes followed his hand as he gently put the card down.

“Will you be okay? For money, I mean?” he asked as his hand rested on the doorhandle, “because I can…”

“I’ll be fine Buck, I always am”.

“Yeah doll, I know”, he said softly.

Neither of you said goodbye. Maybe it was too hard to actually say the word out loud. Speak it into existence and accept its reality. So, he just nodded at you, and you smiled back, and you tried not to think about the tears glistening in his eyes or that painful tugging in your chest.

A few seconds later he was gone, and then it was as if he’d never been there at all.

[gojosprettyprincess]

Tw- Tw dubcon, degradation, spitting in the mouth, blackmailing. Gojo calls reader a bitch and slut, Really dark content.

Mean bully Gojo that literally hates you, he hates how fucking smart and weird you are, how you act like you know every fucking thing, how you always have some shit in your mouth to say, how you speak so fucking loud, it's like you just don't know how to shut the fuck up, it just makes him so mad but thankfully he came up with a few things in mind that he can do to help you change that.

And that's how you end up being bent over on the school desk in an empty classroom while he's splitting your little cunt apart with his thick cock. "Fuck yeah that's right bitch keep that stupid little mouth shut" he lands a hard slap on your already red and bruised ass. "Always fucking talking" he grunts, pushing your head further into the table, earlier he placed his hoodie on the part of the desk where your face would be so it would muffle your moans. His cock was stretching your cunt so much, your pussy was fucking aching, tears leaking from your eyes as you cried out into the hoodie.

You felt his cock twitching inside of you as he slams his hips harder against you, his balls slamming against your clit driving you crazy. "Gonna stuff that annoying little mouth of yours watch" he hisses, feeling your cunt tighten around him like it's trying to milk his cock empty. He grips onto a fistful of your hair and forcefully pulls you onto the ground, you're now on your knees with his hand still gripping onto your hair as he forced his cock into your mouth, fucking it in so mercilessly, more tears start prickingly from your eyes as you felt his tip hitting the back of your throat, his balls slapping against your chin with each thrust. Even with your gagging and choking he still kept rutting into your mouth while looking down at you laughing, "Yeah this is what I like to fucking hear, keep choking on my dick bitch".

Each rut of his hips had his cock buried deep inside your mouth; your jaw was aching so much fucking much because of how fat his cock was. You felt so lightheaded as you tried desperately to fight for air against his thick girth, breathing through your nose while he kept slamming into you. You felt his cock twitching on your tongue, he started moving faster, loud groans escaping his lips. "F-fuck gonna cum, n you better fucking swallow all of it". Before you knew it, you felt ropes of hot cum spurting into your mouth, it was absolutely disgusting but it's not like you could do anything about it because of his tight grip on your hair to keep your head still, you looked up at him, seeing how his head falls back while he’s cumming, loud moans escaping his lips.

He thrusts his cock into your mouth a few more times before finally pulling it out, it was so so messy, strings of mixture of spit and cum connecting your lips and his cock before it finally snaps apart. "Open your mouth f'me" he demanded, you obeyed him and opened your mouth wide revealing a puddle of his cum on your tongue waiting to be swallowed. Next thing you knew, you heard a loud "puh" followed by a chunk of spit landing into your mouth, he looks down laughing at you. "Swallow it right now or we'll restart and do all this shit again", he sounded so scary and serious, and you didn't wanna risk doing anything like this again, so you did what you were told, closing your eyes, slowly swallowing whatever is in your mouth.

He chuckles, leaning down to get closer to you on your knees. He grips your jaws forcing you to look at him. "See that wasn't so difficult, was it? All ya needa do is shut your mouth and everything will be fine princess, or I'll just shut up for it instead understood?" you nodded your head in approval. "Good girl, from now on your gonna do and listen to every fucking thing i say or else" he angled your jaw to a random bookshelf in the room, seeing the red light from a camera blinking at you. You wanted to die right there what the fuck.

"Why-why are you-u doing this to me?" you stammered, fat tears start leaking from your eyes again as you start thinking about all the bad possibles that could happen if it gets leaked, What will your parents say? What will your friends think of you. What if it affects your job? You straight up start bawling your eyes out while he's just looking at your face smiling.

"Cause it's fun princess". he chuckles, attempting to wipe away your tears.

[dinosus]

𓆝 𓆟"Threads of Devotion" 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Summary : How each Arcane character might feel if the reader called them their favorite person Pairings : Violet, Ekko, Jayce, Victor, Jinx x Reader Warnings : Too much fluff A/n : I'm trying ways to make my posts attractive and more approachable, so i hope this is a tiny bit progress ! ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Vi (Violet) 𓆉 ⋆.˚𓇼 ⋆.˚𓆟

Vi stops dead in her tracks. She was mid-conversation, her usual cocky demeanor on full display, but your words—“You’re my favorite person, Vi”—hit her like a sucker punch. Her brows furrow slightly, almost as if she didn’t hear you correctly. “Say that again?” she asks, her voice lower, more serious. You repeat it, softer this time, and it’s like watching a storm give way to sunlight. Her tough exterior crumbles just a little, enough for you to catch the faintest pink rising to her cheeks. She exhales through her nose, shaking her head like she’s trying to brush it off, but her lips curl into an unguarded, lopsided smile. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she mutters, hands finding her hips. Her fingers fidget slightly against her belt, betraying the nerves she rarely lets show.

There’s a pause before she steps closer, her shadow falling over you. Her scarred knuckles brush against yours, hesitant, searching for permission. When you don’t pull away, she grips your hand with a firmness that’s comforting rather than overwhelming. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that,” she says, her voice rough, almost cracking, “but… thanks. That means more than you know.” For the rest of the day, she’s quieter, stealing glances your way with a softness that’s rare. You notice the way she keeps you within arm’s reach, as if silently claiming you as hers. ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Ekko ⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Ekko stops in the middle of adjusting his goggles, the usual smirk on his lips faltering as your words register. “Wait, wait,” he says, holding up a hand like he needs a moment to process. His brown eyes, bright with youthful energy, widen, and for a split second, he looks utterly vulnerable. “You serious right now?” His voice cracks just a little, his usual smooth confidence giving way to something rawer. When you nod, his grin comes back tenfold, wide enough to rival the light of the sun. He laughs, the sound bubbling out of him uncontrollably. “Man, you really know how to make a guy feel special.” But it doesn’t stop there. Ekko steps closer, his movements brimming with energy, his curls bouncing with each step. He plants himself in front of you, arms crossed, but the playful gleam in his eye is unmistakable. “Favorite person, huh? That’s some serious stuff,” he teases, though his voice softens at the edges. His fingers tug at the chain around his neck—a small, nervous gesture—as he leans in, his tone dropping to a near whisper. “Guess what? You’re mine too.”

Later, you find him tinkering with something in his hideout. It’s a small, intricate pendant, the gears moving in perfect harmony. When he hands it to you, there’s no mistaking the pride in his voice. “A favorite deserves somethin’ special, right?." ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Jayce ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

Jayce freezes, his broad shoulders going rigid as your words sink in. He was mid-laugh, hammer slung over one shoulder, radiating the confidence of someone who’s used to leading and inspiring. But this? This was different. He turns to face you, the sunlight catching the gold accents of his armor and the stray strands of hair falling across his forehead. His dark brown eyes search yours, the vulnerability there stark against his usual bravado. “You mean that?” he asks softly, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper. When you nod, his lips part in a smile that’s so genuine it could melt steel. His laugh comes next, warm and boyish, and he shakes his head like he can’t believe his luck. “Wow,” he breathes, rubbing the back of his neck. “That… that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” For all his brilliance and ambition, you can tell your words have touched a part of him he doesn’t often let show.

He sets the hammer down with a soft clink and steps closer, his larger frame almost shielding you. His hand brushes against your shoulder, tentative at first, before it settles there firmly, grounding you both. “You’re something else, you know that?” he says, his tone a mix of admiration and affection. “Guess I’ll have to work extra hard to keep that title.” ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Viktor ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆

The room goes still. Viktor’s pen stops scratching against the paper, suspended mid-air as if your words had reached out and taken hold of it. His head tilts slightly, golden eyes peering up at you through strands of messy brown hair. “I—what?” he stammers, the faint tremor in his voice betraying his disbelief. It’s rare to see Viktor, the ever-focused genius, so utterly disarmed. He sets the pen down carefully, as though afraid any sudden movement might break the spell. “You’re joking,” he says, though the slight hitch in his tone suggests he desperately hopes you aren’t. When you shake your head, his lips part in a soft, almost boyish smile—one that carries no trace of his usual guardedness. “Your favorite person…” he repeats, testing the words as though they were foreign. His slender fingers, ink-stained and delicate, fiddle nervously with the edge of his sleeve.

“I… don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favorite anything,” he admits quietly, his accent thick with unspoken emotion. There’s a long pause before he meets your gaze fully, his eyes shining with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. “Thank you. Truly.” Later, you’d find him working late into the night, crafting something small but exquisite. When he finally hands it to you—a delicate charm inscribed with intricate patterns—it’s accompanied by a shy, almost bashful smile. “For my favorite person,” he murmurs, the words soft but heartfelt. ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Jinx ✩°｡‘(* · * )⸝

Jinx’s entire body reacts to your words. Her head snaps up, her electric blue hair flying as she whirls around to face you, pink eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait, WHAT?!” she screeches, her voice high-pitched and chaotic. She grabs your shoulders with both hands, her grip firm but not painful, as if she’s trying to ground herself in the moment. “Did you just—did you just say I’m your favorite person?” Her face is a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, glee, a flicker of doubt, and then unrestrained joy. She laughs, a sound that’s wild and unhinged but full of genuine delight. “Oh, man, you’re not pulling my leg, are ya? Swear on it! Swear on a cupcake!” When you assure her, she lets out a triumphant whoop, throwing her arms around you in a tight, slightly chaotic hug.

But as the laughter dies down, something softer emerges. Her hands linger on your shoulders, her manic energy settling into something more vulnerable. “I mean… that’s cool and all,” she says, trying to play it off, but her voice wavers. “Didn’t think anyone’d ever say that to me.” She pulls back, her grin still wide but tinged with something deeper, more fragile. “Guess that makes you my favorite, too.”

Later, you find a crumpled piece of paper in your pocket, a messy doodle of you and her, surrounded by stars and hearts. At the bottom, scrawled in her uneven handwriting, are the words: “Faves 4ever". ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ Hope you enjoyed >:D !! (yes i edited this post lol) ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─ IGNORE THESE <3

[ivyues]

Tangled Lines | 1 | - Seungmin

Seungmin x Lee Know's sister

What started as a simple favor, dropping off a bag, spirals into a whirlwind of unexpected feelings and unspoken tension.

Part 2: Caught in the Middle | Part 3: Future Hyung-in-Law

It was supposed to be a quick errand. Lee Know had left his bag at home, and you were on your way to Seoul for a short trip anyway. You’d planned to drop it off at his dorm – no big deal. You didn’t expect much, certainly not a run-in with anyone other than your brother.

You followed the directions Lee Know had sent you and pulled up to the apartment complex. He'd mentioned his dorm several times, but this was the first time you’d ever actually been here. As you walked up to the door, you hesitated for a moment, unsure.

You rang the doorbell and waited. After a few moments, the door swung open, and there stood a guy you didn’t recognize.

He was tall-ish, dressed casually, with messy dark hair and an easy smile. And though you didn’t know exactly who he was, you couldn’t help but notice how cute he looked, his eyes lighting up with surprise and curiosity when he saw you standing there with a bag in hand.

“Hi…?” You hesitated, unsure if you had the right place. “Uh, I’m looking for Lee Minho? I’m his sister – he left something at home and I’m supposed to drop it off.”

The guy blinked in confusion for a split second, then his expression softened into something warmer. “Ah, so you’re his sister. He didn’t really mention that he has one. I’m Seungmin, by the way. Hyung isn’t home right now, but you’re welcome to wait.”

You were still standing at the door, processing everything. This was definitely not Lee Know. You had imagined this whole interaction would be simple: drop off the bag, say a quick hello, and head out. But there was something about Seungmin’s easy going demeanor that made you hesitate.

“Oh,” you said, realizing you were probably standing there awkwardly. You tried to adjust the bag in your hand, giving him a nervous smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can just leave it here—”

“No, no,” Seungmin cut you off, holding up his hands in a gesture of reassurance. “It’s fine. Come on in. He would probably kill me if I didn’t let you inside. Lee Know’s stuff is everywhere, though – warning in advance.” He gave a sheepish grin, clearly used to the chaos.

“Okay, thanks,” you said, stepping inside.

As soon as you entered, you realized that he was right – Lee Know’s ‘stuff’ was indeed scattered everywhere. Shoes piled near the door, jackets on the couch, random snacks, and clutter in every corner. It felt so… lived-in. Real. It was kind of charming, in a messy, chaotic way.

“So, do you guys always live like this?” you asked, half teasing, half amused by the clutter.

Seungmin chuckled. “You should see Felix’s side. This is nothing compared to his mess.” He led you into the living room, where he motioned to the couch. “Make yourself at home. I’ll grab some water for you while you wait.”

As Seungmin disappeared into the kitchen, you sat down on the couch, looking around. You hadn’t expected to spend time here, but the laid-back atmosphere made it feel oddly comfortable. You noticed a few framed photos of the group on the wall – some from concerts, others just candid shots of the guys laughing together.

Seungmin returned with a glass of water and handed it to you. He sat down on the arm of the couch, casually resting one foot on the seat. He didn’t seem rushed, nor did he act weird about the fact that you were here in Lee Know’s absence.

“So, I take it you and Lee Know are pretty close?” Seungmin asked, taking a sip from his own glass of water.

“Yeah, we’re close,” you said with a smile. “He’s my older brother, so, of course, he’s annoying. But that’s what older brothers are for, right?”

Seungmin nodded, his lips curving into a grin. “I know exactly what you mean.”

You laughed, the easy back-and-forth making you feel more comfortable. And, truth be told, you found yourself glancing at him more than you had planned. He was cute, undeniably so, with his expressive eyes and the way he seemed so effortlessly relaxed even in the middle of a stranger walking into his home.

You casually brought up something about how Lee Know was always messing around with his bandmates, and Seungmin smiled at the comment, sharing a story of their last rehearsal and how Lee Know had pulled a prank on Hyunjin. It felt so easy, like you were just chatting with a friend you’d known forever.

A few minutes later, you heard the door open, and you looked up to see Lee Know walking in with Felix and I.N trailing behind him. He froze when he saw you sitting there with Seungmin, a strange look flashing across his face.

“Uh,” Lee Know said, his voice tinged with surprise and something else you couldn’t quite place. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought your bag,” you said casually, holding it up for him. “You left it at home. Seungmin was nice enough to let me wait for you.”

Lee Know shot a quick glance at Seungmin, who was now grinning, clearly enjoying the moment. “So you two are already chatting it up?”

“Yeah,” Seungmin replied smoothly. “We were just getting to know each other. Your sister’s cool.”

Seungmin didn’t just mean it as a compliment; there was a teasing note to his voice, and you could tell he was just enjoying the moment with Lee Know. But there was something in the way he spoke, as though he was daring Lee Know to be annoyed. You could tell it was playful – he wasn’t quite serious, and he didn’t think anything more would come from it. After all, he didn’t even want to start anything that might cause trouble. But for now, he wanted to tease Lee Know, especially since it was so easy to get a rise out of him like that.

You stood up, handing Lee Know the bag. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

You could tell by the way Seungmin looked at you that he wasn’t just teasing you; there was something more genuine behind the conversation. But of course, you’d never let your brother know that.

-----

Felix, ever the social butterfly, had exchanged numbers with you long before, and somewhere in the process of joking group chats and shared chaos, Seungmin had slid into your messages.

The texts started off simple.

A casual “thanks for the water” message after your first visit turned into occasional updates about Lee Know: "Your brother’s sulking because Changbin ate his snacks again" or "Did he always hoard laundry like this?" 

You didn’t think much of it at first. After all, Seungmin was easy to talk to. He had a quick wit that matched your sarcasm, and his humor always made you laugh harder than you’d admit. But the conversations had shifted somewhere along the way – becoming more personal, more frequent.

It wasn’t just updates about Lee Know anymore.

Seungmin: “Did you see that new ramen place on your side of town?” You: “I’ve heard it’s good. Why, thinking of coming all the way here?” Seungmin: “Maybe I just needed an excuse.”

It was subtle, these shifts. A lingering tone of something that felt like flirting but stayed safely within the lines of plausible deniability. But you caught yourself smiling at his messages more than you should.

The problem was, you liked him.

Not in a passing way or a harmless crush you could laugh off later. No, Seungmin’s steady humor and surprising kindness were becoming harder to ignore. He wasn’t just cute; he was the kind of guy who listened, who noticed little things, who made you feel at ease even when you were overthinking everything.

But every time you thought about it – about what it might mean – you hit a wall.

Your brother’s voice played in your head whenever you thought about crossing that invisible line. What would he think if he knew? Worse, what if it messed things up in the group? You didn’t want to be the reason Seungmin hesitated during practice or avoided Lee Know’s eye.

And Seungmin? Well, he had his own internal battle.

The teasing texts and playful banter were easy – familiar ground that didn’t require him to confront how he was starting to feel about you. But when you sent him a photo of the ramen you’d finally tried, captioned with "Guess you missed out", he stared at his screen longer than he should have.

It wasn’t the photo or the food. It was your smile, that small, effortless curve of your lips that had been stuck in his mind since the day you showed up at the dorm.

"Get it together, Seungmin," he muttered under his breath.

Lee Know was his friend, his brother in everything but blood. And falling for you wasn’t just breaking an unspoken rule; it felt like betraying that bond.

One night, after a long day of rehearsals, Seungmin found himself scrolling through your chat history. His finger hovered over the keyboard, debating whether or not to reply to your latest message. You’d sent him a photo of one of your cats – curled up in a pile of freshly folded laundry.

He smiled despite the unease feelings, typing back before he could second-guess it:

“Looks like you’re more of a cat person too. Must run in the family.” You replied instantly “I love my cats, but I don’t mind dogs either. Don’t tell Lee Know though – he’d probably disown me for even saying that.” and the conversation spiraled into a late-night exchange about pets, chaotic siblings, and everything in between. It was easy. Too easy.

And then you said something that made his heart stop.

“I always feel like I can tell you anything. Weird, right?”

He stared at the words, feeling a tug in his chest that he couldn’t ignore anymore. He wanted to feel proud of that – of being someone you trusted. But all he could think about was how wrong it felt to be the person catching feelings for you.

He set his phone down, rubbing a hand over his face. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You’d noticed the shift in his texts lately – the hesitation, the shorter replies. You felt a pang of guilt. Maybe he was pulling back, realizing that this… whatever it was between you… shouldn’t be happening.

And you couldn’t blame him. You’d thought about pulling back yourself.

But instead, late one evening, you found yourself typing out a message you weren’t sure you’d send.

You: “I feel like we’ve both been avoiding something. And I get it – I do. But… I can’t keep pretending I don’t care about you. And I don’t want to mess things up for you or my brother, so if this needs to stop, just tell me, okay?”

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity before pressing send.

Seungmin: “I care about you too. Probably more than I should. But I don’t want this to hurt anyone – least of all you.”

The relief of his words hit you immediately, but so did the weight of his hesitation.

You: “So what do we do?”

Seungmin hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard before he finally typed:

Seungmin: “We take it slow. We’re honest – with each other, with Lee Know, when the time’s right. And if this starts feeling wrong, we stop. No questions asked.”

-----

Seungmin sat in the practice room long after everyone else had left. He fiddled with his phone, the screen dark, but his thoughts racing. He had made a decision, one he couldn’t back out of now.

He unlocked his phone, scrolling to your name in his messages.

Seungmin: “I’m going to talk to him.”

The three dots indicating your reply appeared almost instantly.

You: “Are you crazy?”

Seungmin could almost hear your voice in the text – half incredulous, half offended.

You: “I mean, I get it. He deserves to know, and I respect that. But seriously… you’re telling him this?”

Seungmin: “I don’t want to go behind his back. It’s not just about this – it’s about the group, too. This has to be on the table.”

You: “Fine. But don’t expect me to save you if he kills you.”

He smiled faintly at the reply but couldn’t shake the nerves coiled in his chest.

When Lee Know walked into the practice room, his phone still in his hands, he paused, eyebrows furrowed. “What are you still doing here?”

Seungmin stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Waiting for you.”

Lee Know gave him a wary glance, closing the door behind him. “What’s this about?”

“Hyung,” Seungmin started, his tone unusually serious, “can we talk for a minute? Like, for real?”

Lee Know’s expression shifted slightly at the earnestness in Seungmin’s voice. “Okay… What’s up?”

Seungmin sat back down on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s about your sister.”

Lee Know’s posture straightened immediately, his eyes narrowing. “What about her?”

Seungmin hesitated for a moment before forcing himself to meet Lee Know’s gaze. “Since she dropped off your bag… we’ve been talking. Just texting, mostly. Nothing serious has happened, and I swear it hasn’t crossed any lines. But… I like her.”

The room went uncomfortably quiet. Lee Know blinked slowly, his face unreadable.

“You like her?” he repeated, his tone flat.

Seungmin nodded. “Yeah. And I wanted to tell you before anything else happened because…” He exhaled, his voice softening. “Because I respect you, hyung. You’re like a brother to me, and I don’t want to screw that up by hiding something like this from you.”

Lee Know stared at him for a long moment, his expression somewhere between disbelief and scrutiny.

Finally, he sighed, crossing his arms. “I don’t even know where to start. First of all, you? Of all people?”

Seungmin let out a dry laugh. “What, am I not good enough?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lee Know shot back, rolling his eyes. “It’s just… unexpected.”

“Trust me, it’s unexpected for me too,” Seungmin admitted.

Lee Know rubbed his temples. “You’re not messing around, are you? This isn’t some prank or… I don’t know, something stupid?”

“It’s not a joke,” Seungmin said firmly. “I mean it. And honestly…” He hesitated, then added, “Maybe it won’t even go anywhere. I don’t know. It’s early, and nothing has really happened yet. But I’d rather be upfront about it than hide it.”

Lee Know studied him for another long moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “Look, I’m not thrilled about this. She’s my sister, Seungmin. And you’re…” He gestured vaguely. “You’re you.”

Lee Know leaned forward, his voice dropping as he let out a soft groan. “But I get it. She’s great. And I can't exactly tell her who to see.”

Seungmin’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, relief flickering across his face.

“That said,” Lee Know continued, his tone sharpening again, “if you screw this up – even a little – I will make your life miserable. And I don’t mean in a fun, teasing way. Got it?”

Seungmin nodded seriously. “Understood.”

Lee Know leaned back, shaking his head. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t,” Seungmin said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Good. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

Seungmin stood up. “Thanks, hyung.”

As Seungmin left the practice room, Lee Know called after him, “And don’t expect me to go easy on you during dance practice!”

-----

Later that night, Seungmin texted you.

Seungmin: “Mission accomplished. I’m alive, and your brother didn’t kill me.”

You: “I’m surprised. I half-expected him to throw you out a window.”

Seungmin: “He might have, but I reminded him how irreplaceable I am. Also, he threatened me, so we’re all good now.”

You laughed at the text, shaking your head.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Lee Know.

Lee Know: “Seriously? The dog? I’m telling Songie, Dongie, and Dori that you don’t love them anymore.”

masterlist

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART I: HEAVEN KNOWS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part II // part III // part IV // part V

wc: 4.7k cw: guns, brief descriptions of violence author's note: ty @mirconreadzztuff22 for being my arcane encyclopedia!! This is gonna be a seven part series so buckle up!!!

You blink awake, the world slowly coming into focus as a cacophony of muffled sounds pierces your slumber. Squinting one eye open, you’re able to see shadowy figures dragging your companions away, their struggles futile against the intruders' iron grips. Your heart races, but instinct kicks in. You remain still, feigning sleep, as footsteps approach.  

Someone looms over you - in the dim light filtering through the drugstore's grimy windows, you catch a glimpse of her scarred face and steely gaze. As she reaches for you, adrenaline surges through your veins. In a flash, you slam into her, catching her off guard.

For a split second, you had the upper hand - but it's short-lived. The woman recovers with lightning speed, her combat skills levels way above yours. She easily corners you against the cold, dusty shelves, her knife finding its way to your throat. The blade's edge kisses your skin, a thin line of warmth trickling down your neck.

"Move any further, and I can end this now." she growls, her breath hot against your ear.

You raise your hands in surrender, and she roughly drags you to join the others. You're thrust into the main area, forced to your knees alongside Vander, Vi, Caitlyn, and Powder. The scene before you is horrifying - Through the front window, you see a horde of walkers slamming against the glass. Their decaying faces press against the surface, leaving smears of rot and congealed blood. 

At the fore stood the woman who captured you, her gang forming a menacing circle around your group. You noted how tall and muscular she was, her dark skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat in the dim light. A red shawl draped over her left side, obscuring her arm and shoulder.  Her short, styled hair framed a face set in stern lines, but her eyes, they sparkled with something dangerous, almost predatory.

The woman’s gaze swept over your group, lingering on each face before settling on yours. "Looks like we've got ourselves some lost lambs," she drawled, her voice a low, smoky rasp.

You felt Vi tense beside you, her fists clenching. On your other side, Caitlyn's fingers twitched near her now empty holster. Powder, uncharacteristically quiet, had her gaze fixed on the panels with the undead clawing their bloody fingers at.

The air crackled with tension as Vander spoke. "We're just passing through, we don’t mean to cause any trouble."

"Do you know whose territory you're in?" she demands, her voice cutting through the moans of the undead outside.

"No… but we weren’t going to settle here, let us go and we’ll get out of your hair."

The woman's laugh is harsh and devoid of humor. "I don't care," she sneers. Her eyes scan the ransacked shelves of the drugstore. "What I care about is where the remaining medications are. Hand them over."

Your throat tightens. You know exactly where they are – hidden in your pack. "I have them."

Her gaze locks on you. "Hand them over."

"Why should I?"

In an instant, she's in your face, so close you can see the flecks of amber in her dark eyes. Her scarred lip curls into a snarl. "Because you don't want to know what happens if you don't."

Your mind races, torn between protecting your group's precious resources and avoiding the wrath of this formidable woman and her gang.  Would she really let you go if you acquiesced? 

The tense standoff is suddenly interrupted by a burst of static. One of the woman's group members fumbles with a radio clipped to their belt. A male voice crackles through, urgent and clear.

"Sevika, the store's surrounded now. Get out before dark hits. Over."

The tall woman - Sevika, you now know - snatches the radio. "Copy that," she replies tersely, her eyes never leaving your group.

With a sharp whistle, her group springs into action. They wordlessly pack supplies, secure weapons, and prepare for evacuation. The efficiency is impressive, and you can't help but admire their coordination even when you had two of them keep their guns trained on your group.

“What about us?"  

Sevika's lip curls in amusement. "What about you?"

"Are you going to let us go?" Vander presses, his voice steady despite the circumstances.

"Sure," Sevika drawls, then points directly at you. "After she gives me the meds."

"What? How the hell are we going to get out of here ourselves?" Vi protested. 

Sevika's response is cold and indifferent. "If you want to get out that bad, do it yourself."

You watch Vander's mind work, always strategizing. "You have a base, it’s obviously well-supplied based on the amount of weapons and people you have. Take us with you, we can fight and help."

Sevika scoffs. "Now, why would I do that? You're lucky enough I'm letting you go alive."

Someone in her group chimes in with a smirk, "If they can get out alive." Snickers ripple through the gang, and your stomach turns at their callousness.

As Sevika's group continues packing, she allows your group to stand. You seize the moment, stepping forward. "I've got EMT training. I know how to use the medications I took."

Sevika dismisses you with a wave. "No thanks. We've already got a doctor."

"More help wouldn't hurt."

Her patience wearing thin, Sevika snaps, "I'm not picking up strays, especially ones so easy to put down."

You step closer, your face inches from hers despite the notable height difference between you two. "We were easy to capture because we were sleeping. That's a coward's move."

One of Sevika's people moves to intervene, but she halts them with a raised hand. Her eyes lock with yours, and to your surprise, her scowl turns into a smirk. 

"Okay," she says, her voice low and challenging. "Prove to me right now that you can survive.  However many survive, we'll take them in. But anyone left behind, I'm not coming back for. You're responsible for this."

Vander nods grimly. "Fine with us."

The moans of the undead grow louder outside.  While Sevika's group finishes their preparations, your group hurries to gather what few possessions you have. 

Vi angrily stuffs clothes into her backpack. "This is bullshit," she hisses. "We can take 'em. I say we fight our way out."

Caitlyn shakes her head. "That's suicide, Vi. They outnumber and outgun us."

You kneel beside Powder, helping her gather her collection of odds and ends - Her hands shake slightly as she works.

"It'll be okay, Powder," you whisper, giving her a reassuring smile. "We'll stick together, just like always."

Powder's eyes dart nervously between you and the others. "But what if they separate us? What if-"

"Shh," you soothe, squeezing her shoulder gently. "We won't let that happen."

Vander's deep voice cuts through the murmurs. "Enough," he says firmly but quietly. "I know none of us like this, but we're out of options. We can't keep running forever."

Vi whirls on him, eyes flashing. "So we're just gonna roll over and let them take us? After everything we've been through?"

Caitlyn places a calming hand on Vi's arm. "Vander's right, Vi. We're exhausted, low on supplies. This might be our only chance at something better."

You stand up, looking around at your makeshift family. "Maybe this is an opportunity. We don't know what their community is like but it could be a chance for a real home."

Vi scoffs, but there's a flicker of hope in her eyes that she quickly tries to hide. "Yeah, right. And I'm sure they invited us out of the kindness of their hearts."

Vander steps into the middle of the group, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Listen to me," he says. "I don't trust them any more than you do. But right now, we need to play along. Stay alert, watch each other's backs, and be ready for anything. We're stronger together, remember that."

There's a moment of silence as his words sink in. Then, one by one, you all nod in agreement.

As you finish packing, you catch Sevika watching you, that same unreadable expression on her face. 

"Alright, time's up," Sevika calls out. "Let's move."

The moans of the undead grew louder outside, time was running out. With one last look at each other, your group falls in line behind Sevika's squad. 

Sevika's group snap into formation, they move with a fluid precision that speaks of countless drills and shared experiences. Sevika stands at the center, her scarred face set in grim determination as she outlines the plan to her team. You edge closer, straining to hear every word.

"Listen up," Sevika's voice cuts through the air. "Dustin, you're the distraction. When I give the signal, toss the radio into the parking lot. That should draw most of the horde away."

"Margot, Ran, Renni take position at the rear, pick off any stragglers that get too close. Conserve ammo, make every shot count.  Finn, you’ll lead - make sure everyone is accounted for, then go, don’t wait for us."

"The rest of you, we're on supply duty. Grab everything you can carry, and prioritize non-perishables." Sevika's eyes sweep over her team, then land on your group. "I'll be keeping an eye on our new 'friends'."

As the plan springs into action, adrenaline courses through your veins. You dash to your pickup truck, sliding into the driver's seat. Powder hops in beside you, her eyes wild with excitement. In the rearview mirror, you see Caitlyn and Vi taking up defensive positions in the truck bed, their guns at the ready. Vander moves with surprising agility for his size, efficiently loading supplies.

You hear hard rock playing from the blaring radio that Dustin hurls into the parking lot. The walkers' heads swivel towards the noise, their groans intensifying as they shamble after it.

Gunshots crack the air as Sevika's shooters pick off the walkers that didn't fall for the distraction. You grip the steering wheel tighter, ready to peel out at a moment's notice.

Sevika appears at your window. "Ready to prove your worth?" she challenges, eyebrow raised.

You’re about to respond when a voice from above steals your attention.

"Sevika!"

All heads turn to the roof. A kid stands there, panic evident on his face. Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief.

"What the fuck? They forgot Ekko?" she snarls, livid at the oversight.

The momentary distraction costs you. Walkers, drawn by the commotion, shamble towards your truck. Only one corner of the store remains clear, but it's too far for Ekko to reach safely.

Your mind races, and adrenaline sharpens your focus. "I know how to drift," you blurt out. "If you guys can clear as many walkers as possible near that open corner, I can whip the car close enough for him to jump down."

Sevika eyes you skeptically. "You have an interesting set of skills…  you’re confident you can get us close enough?"

"I can do it in my sleep. So, are we doing this?" you ask.

She nods curtly. "Fine. But don't get tempted to fling me out of the car."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Sevika barks orders into her radio, relaying the plan to Ekko. The air fills with gunfire as both groups focus on clearing a path. You rev the engine, calculating angles and timing in your head.

"Hold on!" you shout, then slam the accelerator.

The truck lurches forward, tires screeching. You weave through the thinning walkers horde, your heart pounding in your ears. As you approach the corner, you crank the wheel hard, initiating a perfect drift. The world blurs around you as the truck slides sideways, stopping just beneath Ekko's position.

"Now!" Sevika roars.

Ekko leaps, landing with a thud in the truck bed. You don't wait for confirmation, immediately spinning the wheel to face the exit. In the passenger seat, Powder whoops with glee, while gunfire erupts from behind as Caitlyn and Vi pick off any pursuing undead.

A sharp tap on your window startles you from your laser focus on the road. You roll it down, coming face to face with Sevika's intense gaze.

"Need some directions?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you realize you've been blindly following the road away from the store. "Uh, yeah. That'd be great," you manage, trying to mask your embarrassment.

As you follow Sevika's directions, a sight on the horizon makes your jaw drop. A gated community looms in the distance, its high walls painted with the word “Zaun” on it represent safety you haven't seen in years. Suddenly, the organized efficiency of Sevika's group makes perfect sense. This is nothing like the ramshackle shelters you've cobbled together over the years.

The convoy of trucks comes to a halt in front of the gates. You expect them to open, but Sevika raises her fist. Your brow furrows in confusion, but before you can ask, she's out of the truck, moving with predatory grace toward the other vehicles.

She stops at one truck, yanking the door open with such force you're surprised it doesn't come off its hinges. In one fluid motion, she drags out the man who was supposed to be in charge in her absence earlier, Finn, and slams him against the side of the vehicle.

"You coward," Sevika snarls, her voice dripping with contempt. "You're a disgrace to this group."

You're transfixed by the sheer intensity of her anger, the way she towers over Finn despite not being much taller.   Then you see it - movement in your peripheral vision. A walker, stumbling closer to Sevika's unprotected back. Your heart leaps into your throat, panic flooding your system.

"Sevika!" you try to shout, but it comes out as a strangled whisper. Ekko's grip on your arm tightens, holding you back.

"Don't." he warns, but you barely hear him roaring in your ears.

Your mind races, unable to comprehend why no one is reacting. The walkers are mere feet away now. You struggle against Ekko's grasp, every fiber of your being screaming to do something, anything.

The walkers' rotting hands reach out, inches from Sevika's shoulder. Time seems to slow down. You're about to break free, to hell with the consequences, when-

CRACK!

The walkers crumples, a clean hole through its skull. The bullet whistled so close to Sevika you swear it must have grazed her.

But Sevika doesn't even flinch. 

"You're pathetic," she spits, her eyes boring into the man.

And suddenly, it clicks. The walker was never going to be a threat, but Finn was going to let the walker get her.  That decision was a huge fucking mistake.  

Before she let go, he leaned in to whisper something imperceptible but it had enough effect that she practically threw him onto the ground in response.

The gates begin to open, and as Sevika strides back to your truck, you can't help but feel a mix of admiration and fear.   The woman before you was no ordinary one, she was willing to put her life on the line to protect her people and weed out the weak links.

Sevika slid back into the seat next to you, her eyes meeting yours.  You feel exposed, like she can see right through you. There's a challenge there, a silent question: Do you know what you’re getting into?

You swallow hard, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

As you drive through the gate, you couldn’t conceal your awe. The scene before you is like stepping into a different world - one untouched by the horrors of the apocalypse you've grown accustomed to.

Neat rows of houses line well-maintained streets. Lush gardens and small farms dot the landscape, bursting with life and color. People - actual living, breathing people - stroll along sidewalks, chatting and going about their day as if the world outside these walls hasn't ended.

You count maybe 15-20 houses in total, but the sheer number of people you see is staggering. There are more living souls in this one community than you've encountered in years of scavenging and surviving.

Sevika directs you to a parking spot, and as you're climbing out of the truck, a woman approaches. She's tall and dressed in a neat uniform, with short-cropped gray hair and a face etched with the kind of hardness that comes from years of survival. Her sharp eyes remind you of a hawk's.

"How much longer were you gonna keep talking before you let me shoot?" she asks Sevika, a hint of amusement in her gruff voice.

"As long as it takes to make my point, Grayson." Then, gesturing to your group, she adds, "I picked up some strays today. Oh, and a spot just opened on my team, by the way. If anyone in your group wants to switch sides..."

"Enough of stealing my patrol, Vika."  For the first time, you see Sevika truly laugh. You notice her tooth gap, she looks almost carefree.  

“Well, looks like you survived,” Sevika says, turning to your group.

“You could say that with a bit more enthusiasm next time.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips at your quip.  “It’s your turn to uphold your end of the bargain now.”  She puts out her hand.  

You retrieve the bag you stuffed under the seat, it rattles with the pills as you hand it over.  Without even a goodbye or thank you, she turns to leave, and you watch as her group immediately follows suit.

Grayson gives you a once-over, then nods. "Alright, let's give you the grand tour."

The houses were luxurious and belonged to a class you never knew. Some have solar panels on the roofs, explaining the electricity you can see being used. There's a central square with what looks like a communal dining area. The smell of cooking food makes your mouth water - real, fresh food, not the canned goods and stale rations you're used to.

You pass by a building that Grayson identifies as the infirmary. Through the window, you can see shelves stocked with medical supplies. It's more medicine in one place than you've seen since the world fell apart. You notice guard towers strategically placed along the walls - despite the idyllic appearance, it's clear this place is well-defended.

"I've got a meeting to attend but Ekko here will take care of you, though I do hope that we will meet again - my patrol squad is always looking for new members." With that, Grayson strides away, leaving you all trying to take in the scenery.

"Come on, let's get you settled in! Sky will get you guys all sorted out." Ekko waved at your group to follow.

He leads you through the streets, and you can't help but marvel at the sense of normalcy. People are going about their daily lives, talking, and laughing. It's like stepping into a memory of the world before.

"Welcome!" Sky says, her voice gentle with a hint of anxiety at the sight of your group - soot ridden and blood stained clothes weren’t the most friendly image. "We got a spare house. It’s not huge, but it should accommodate all of you comfortably."

She hands Vander a set of keys and a small map. Then, with a delicate clearing of her throat, she adds, "If I may suggest... There are showers in your new home. I think you'll find them... refreshing after your journey."

Vi snorts at the polite understatement, while Caitlyn looks slightly embarrassed. 

Sky continues, "Once you've had a chance to clean up, Ekko can show you to the pantry. We'll make sure you have enough food to get started."

You can hardly believe what you're hearing. Showers? Fresh food? It seems too good to be true.

As if reading your thoughts, Sky's expression softens. "I know this must be overwhelming. Take your time to settle in. It must be hard adjusting to how it is here, but this place didn’t happen overnight. Everyone here has a part in maintaining things the way it is. "

Ekko nods, gesturing towards the door. "Ready to see your new digs?"

As you follow him out, you exchange glances with your companions. There's hope in their eyes, but also caution. This place seems like a dream come true, but you all knew that nothing was ever permanent. 

The moment you step into your new house, chaos erupts. Bags fly everywhere as you all rush to claim spaces. Vi tosses her pack onto a bed, while Caitlyn more carefully sets hers down. You and Powder are a whirlwind of motion, exploring every nook and cranny.

Tears prick your eyes as the reality sinks in. A real home, after so long.

"I call the couch!" Powder shouts, leaping onto it.

Vi raises an eyebrow. "You can have the bed, you know."

"Nope! This is perfect," Powder grins, bouncing slightly.

You all burst into laughter, the sound foreign but welcome after so much hardship. As the laughter dies down, you realize just how hungry you are. Powder’s stomach growls loudly, causing another round of giggles.

"I think that's our cue to hit the pantry," Vi says, standing up and stretching. "Come on, let's see what they've got around here."

At the pantry, you're shoveling food into your mouth, barely pausing to breathe. "I know this is canned, but why is it so good?" you mumble around a mouthful.

Ekko chuckles. "We have fresh fish, vegetables, and fruit too."

Your eyes widen in disbelief just as Sky walks in, Sevika close behind.

"Oh perfect, we were looking for you guys!" Sky says warmly.

Sevika's eyes scan your group. "I see you're settling in already. We’ve got jobs for you."

She starts assigning roles, Vander and Vi in food gathering. Then she turns to you, Caitlyn, and Powder. "You three will be working here in the pantry."

"What? Even after all those 'interesting skills' you said I had?" The words are out before you can stop them, tinged with disbelief and a hint of anger.

"This is a serious job. Making sure everyone gets the right rations is important. Preventing theft, too." Her tone is cocky, almost challenging.

Fury bubbles in your chest. After everything you've been through, all the skills you've developed to survive, you're being relegated to... food inventory? You want to argue, to prove your worth, but the words stick in your throat. You're acutely aware of how precarious your position is here.

Beside you, Caitlyn looks equally stunned. She's an incredible shot, her skills were wasted on this task. But like you, she remains silent.

"Understood," you manage to say, the word tasting bitter. You exchange a glance with Caitlyn, seeing the same resolve in her eyes. 

The days blend into one another as you settle into a routine at Zaun. It's surreal, to be able to think beyond mere survival. Conversations here with others touch on memories, hopes, dreams - luxuries you'd almost forgotten existed.

You're lost in thought, mentally cataloging the supplies, when a familiar voice cuts through your concentration.

"Looks like our newest recruits are really getting into the swing of things."

You turn to see Sevika leaning against the doorframe. Her presence fills the small space, making the pantry feel even more cramped than usual.

"Don't you have something more important to do?" you mutter, trying to hide your annoyance. "Like, I don't know, running this whole place?"

Sevika chuckles, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the pantry. "Multitasking, sweetheart. I can keep an eye on you and run this place at the same time."

You roll your eyes, returning to your task. But Sevika doesn't leave. Instead, she picks up a can, tossing it from hand to hand.

"You know," she drawls, "when I brought you in, I thought you might be more... useful. Didn't peg you for the grocery store clerk type."

Her words sting more than you'd like to admit, and it was also enraging - how dare she act like it wasn’t her fault you were assigned here in the first place? 

"We can't all be badass scavengers," you retort, reaching for a high shelf. Before you can grab it, Sevika's arm extends past yours, easily plucking the item you were struggling to reach.

"Here," she says, handing it to you. Your fingers brush as you take it, and you're struck by the calloused warmth of her hand.  You mutter a reluctant thanks, hyper-aware of her proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Caitlyn watching your interaction intently from across the room. Her gaze flicks between you and Sevika, a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes.

Sevika notices too. She turns to Caitlyn with a raised eyebrow, the casualness in her voice from earlier gone. "Something on your mind?"

Caitlyn quickly averts her gaze, busying herself with her task. 

As you reach for another box, Sevika beats you to it, effortlessly lifting the heavy container. 

"How do you even have time for this?" you blurt out, frustration and confusion coloring your voice. 

Sevika sets the box down, her eyes meeting yours. "I don’t." 

The moment stretches between you, fraught with tension. Sevika's typical scowl returns, and she turns to leave.  "Try not to burn the place down with your expert can-stacking skills," she throws over her shoulder as she exits.

These encounters with Sevika were becoming more frequent, each one leaving you more uncertain than the last. But the random checkups made sense - you don't trust her, and neither does she.  

The pantry job was a way to keep your group in check but it coincidentally became a test of patience as well. Powder flits in and out, her time increasingly spent with Ekko. While part of you was frustrated by her lack of help, a larger part was glad she actually got to enjoy her childhood.

The breaking point comes during an argument with a burly man demanding extra rations. 

"Sorry, but rules are rules," you say, trying to keep your voice level. "Take it up with Sevika if you have an issue."

His face reddens. "Screw that, I'll go straight to Silco!"

The name hangs in the air, the mysterious leader of Zaun you've yet to meet. You knew Sevika's role as his right hand, but Silco himself remains an enigma, spoken of in hushed tones.

As the man storms off, you lock eyes with Caitlyn. Without a word, you both know - it's time for a change.

You find Grayson at the tennis courts, an incongruous sight that still makes you do a double-take. She's lounging in a weathered lawn chair, a beer in hand, watching a lackluster game between two residents.

The sun beats down on the cracked concrete court, weeds pushing through the fading lines.

Grayson spots you approaching, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes a long swig of her beer. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You can smell the alcohol on her breath as you draw closer, noting the slight flush on her cheeks. Despite her relaxed posture, there's a sharpness to her gaze that tells you she's far from incapacitated.

"We need to talk," you say. "About our roles here."

"What about them?"

Caitlyn steps forward, her posture straight and confident. "I want to join your patrol team."

You nod, adding, "And I want to join Sevika's scavenging group."

Grayson snorts. "If you want to join Sevika's group, why come to me? Why not ask her yourself?"

You feel your cheeks heat up as the memory resurfaces. "I did..."

Sevika stands before you, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk on her face. You've just finished explaining your request to join her team.

She laughs, the sound both mocking and somehow enticing. "If you can beat me in sparring once, sure." Her eyes rake over you. "But we both know that's not happening anytime soon, pantry girl."

"I need you to train me," you tell Grayson, determination in your voice. "Make me a better fighter. All I did was drive and fix wounds, but I know I can do more."

Grayson's eyes narrow. "How do I know I won't be wasting my time helping you two?"

Before you can respond, Caitlyn moves. In a blink, she's drawn Grayson's pistol from its holster and fired at a beer bottle perched on a table at the end of the court, shattering the bottle.

"Because we have the skills to prove it," Caitlyn says coolly, handing the gun back.

For a moment, there's silence. Then Grayson's face splits into a grin. "Alright, I'm convinced." She stands, stretching. "But today's my day off. I'll see you two at the west watchtower tomorrow morning." 

Her expression turns serious. "If you're late, don't bother asking again.  Do we have a deal?"

You and Caitlyn share a look.

“Deal.”

[peachii-nitenite]

Much Needed Support Part 3 (semi-nsfw)

JayVik x Reader

Synopsis: Your dutiful friends nurse you back to health, and they get back to work on your braces. After 2 weeks of anticipation, they stop by; and the three of you figure a lot of things out about each other very quickly. (3.8k words) Content: reader with feminine pronouns, sexual tension, fluff, mutual pining, self-doubt, idiots in love, getting sick, friends to lovers, pervy daydreams, mentions of chronic pain, descriptions of chronic pain, heavily implied hand kink, enthusiastic consent, Dom!Viktor, Service Top!Jayce, subby reader

taglist: @chickentenderx, @miraculousasscheeks

the smut is coming I promise! this chapter had to be split in two because of just how much there is, but that means the final part will be done VERY soon! I thrive on making ridiculously self indulgent bullshit these days lololol

anyways, you know the drill, have fun!

You woke up fully clothed, sweaty, hot, and congested in the dead middle of the night, with a prominent mind fog. Your voice was gone, your body was achy, and it took a bit of effort to remember how you’d gotten home.

And then you remembered, oh, how you remembered.

the fleeting touches in the lab, the warmth of Jayce's chest, Viktor's cool hand against your face--

You wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

You evaluated the situation-- there was a glass of water and a few aspirin on your nightstand, your door was slightly cracked open, and the lights in your living room were still on.

They were probably still there.

The thought was comforting, and made your heart flutter ever so slightly.

Through the muggy sick-fog of your mind, recounted your earlier encounter with your friends in the lab. You could almost feel the phantom traces of fingers and palms against your skin, the breath of kind words against your ear. You smiled. They were so kind, so understanding, so reliable-

And so, so attractive

You could no longer lie to yourself, not when the facts were laid so plainly in front of you.

You had it bad. For both of them.

But examining that any further would have to wait, as your waking senses became acutely aware of your aching joints and muscles. You glanced at the water and pills on the nightstand.

“Up we go” you mumbled in a near silent rasp.

You coughed, weakly attempting to sit up, and promptly failing. You groaned against your pillow in frustration.

Everything hurt. 

You wouldn't be able to tough this out alone, you begrudgingly realized.

You had had similarly bad pain flare ups in the past, but being sick on top of it made it significantly worse. Getting up on your own was no longer an option. 

You opted for the next best thing. 

“Guys?… you there?” You rasped out, hoping they could hear you. You weren’t sure what time it was, but you knew your friends were night owls. There was a 90% chance both of them were still up.

It was embarrassing, having to ask for help getting out of your own bed…. but at least you had the excuse of being sick, instead of it being solely due to your aching joints. 

Small victories, you supposed.

Within seconds you could hear the heavy patter of Jayce’s footsteps, and the soft metallic tapping of Viktor’s cane against the floor. The door creaked open further as Jayce poked his head inside.

“You called?” He asked softly, hesitating before stepping fully into your room.

 While he had hung out at your place before, he had never actually been inside your bedroom. Though he couldn’t make out much of the details in the dark, there was something…thrilling about it. It smelled like you; like the lotion you used, like whatever you put in your hair, like your favorite candle- and the realization was briefly dizzying.

And there you were once again, bundled up in your bed and beckoning him over with a weak hand. He shuffled over to you quickly upon your nonverbal permission. Viktor suppressed a chuckle at the sight. Always so polite, always so eager, and always, always so obedient.

But now was not the time for such thoughts.

After all, their main focus was nursing you back to health at the moment.

“Help me sit up…please..” you whispered, knowing speaking any louder would just hurt. Jayce nodded and swiftly, yet still gentle as ever, got you upright against your headboard. He switched on the small bedside lamp, causing you to wince at the light. “Sorry, sorry…” he cooed, patting you back as you rubbed your eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Viktor inquired, following Jayce to your side and sitting on your bed. He brought his hand to your face once again, and you sighed at the temporary relief of his cold palm against your cheek. “Like shit….gross and sweaty…” you grumbled, leaning into his cool touch. It was nice. He felt so nice…

You pouted when he pulled away. It did not go unnoticed.

“Are you hungry?” Jayce asked with concern. His natural inclination to help was very sweet, you thought. “We can make you something, if we can borrow the kitchen…”  

You shook your head, reaching for your water and the aspirin. It went down smooth; soothing, but only temporary. That fact made you groan. “Nn…no…too achy…” you saw him deflate a bit, with those big, sad puppy eyes….

How could you refuse him?

“…soup. In the upper left cabinet.” You relented hoarsely, watching as his face lit back up. It was adorable how he wanted to be helpful, but it felt wildly unfair at the moment. 

But you could tell they were pleased that you were asking for help, so you decided to let it slide. “First. Too warm, too many clothes…” you didn’t have the energy to be bashful about it, as you started weakly tugging at the collar of your sweat laden sweater.

Though, it didn’t go unnoticed how the two of them tensed up.

Who’s hands would help you now?

You shuddered as the thought, alongside the memories of their calloused palms against your bare skin, slithered into your feverish mind.

Viktor looked away, avoiding your eyes lest he give in to your request first. ‘Sorry Jayce, you’ll have to bear with it for now’ he thought pityingly.

“Please?” You locked eyes with Jayce, and he swallowed audibly.

So cute. So kind.

How could he refuse you?

“O-of course, just a second-“ he stammered before reaching under your sweater to help you shimmy your way out of the clammy fabric. He averted his gaze the moment he caught a glimpse of your navel, opting to tug semi blindly until it was finally off. 

And then you giggled.

Giggled.

A slightly delirious, wispy sound, but still a giggle as you asked--

“J…Jayce…why so stiff?”

It took every ounce of strength in him not to turn back to you, to drink in your bare, flushed form in the dim light of the lamp.“It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen already, and not much to see anyways…” you joked, peeling off the covers.

So cruel.

And you didn’t even realize how much you were torturing them.

Or, just how perfect you were to them.

You started fumbling with the zipper of your skirt, grunting at the clumsiness of your hands at the moment. They were quickly replaced with long, cold, pale fingers effortlessly unzipping the offending article of clothing and opening it just enough for you to shuffle out of it. 

“Mm…thanks V..” you mumbled, sighing at the cool air against your skin.

Viktor had moved before really thinking about it, managing to keep more of a level head about it. 

That is, until he laid eyes on a small, thin, painfully familiar strip of fabric.

Your panties, now in full view, and no longer dismissable as a trick of the light or a figment of his perverted imagination.

They were cute.

You were so cute.

His eyes slowly drifted back to you in full, exhaling slowly through his nose. The labored rise and fall of your chest, the soft glow of the light on your skin, and the little, goofy smile on your face. If he hadn't known you were sick, the scene would have been intensely erotic.

Well…It still was, but he told himself otherwise to reign in the thoughts racing through his mind a mile a minute. Focus. Now was not the time.

He couldn’t help but start to feel like his plan to wait was now in jeopardy.

He cleared his throat, pulling his hands away as he got back up.

“Is… is this better?” He asked, turning his face away as casually as he could in this situation. 

“Mhm…thanks…” you sighed in relief as you kicked the skirt off of the bed, re-tangling yourself in your covers. You winced, having moved your leg a bit too harshly. Jayce noticed immediately, moving to help you lie back down with tense, but gentle hands. 

His stupidly big, warm hands.

“Why’re your hands so damn…big..” you quietly thought out loud, closing your eyes as you relaxed into his grasp. You could feel him still for a moment, before continuing to situate you on the bed. You paid it no mind, cocooning yourself under your comforter.

 Jayce backed away, stiffly b-lining for the door. Viktor sighed as he let his partner slip past, following suit in leaving you to rest. “We’ll be in the kitchen, I will leave the door open, so call if you need us.”

You hummed in response, and he swiftly left your doorway.

Your two friends stood silently in your kitchen; tense.

“....we have to wait until she is no longer sick.” Viktor whispered, gaze never leaving the floor as he gripped his cane.

“I know.” Jayce sighed, looking down at his hands.

Thinking of how soft you were under his palms.

Viktor looked up, locking eyes with Jayce.

“.....”

“.....”

“It will not be easy.” he admitted, letting himself lean against the wall.

“Not at all, no.” Jayce groaned as he brought a hand down his face.

“But…I do have a feeling I am correct” Viktor smiled, moving over to his partner’s side. 

You had to get better first. Their own dilemma could wait.

—-

They persevered, all things considered. They kept a vigilant watch through the night, making sure you ate and took some cold medicine, adjusting the pillows on your bed to keep you comfortable- anything at all that you needed, they did their best to provide. Luckily, you had no classes the following day, and they made sure you remained in bed even when you insisted you were feeling well enough to be up and about. You hated feeling so unproductive, but you could admit that it was nice to be taken care of for once. You felt guilty for taking up so much of their time, knowing that they were often busy; but they reassured you that it was no burden whatsoever.

“Please never hesitate to ask us for help. With anything.” Viktor had implored, noticing your apprehension about allowing them to take care of you. They were unconvinced by your promises that you could look after yourself, knowing full well that if they left you would not rest properly. You gave up on resisting on the third plea.

You were well enough to attend class the day after that, and it was back to your dreaded daily academic routine. You almost felt spoiled, being so well taken care of those past two days. It made you daydream of a reality where that could be your everyday.

The three of you, together.

The days flew by uneventfully, until two weeks had passed in the blink of an eye; your dreams consistently permeated by the two of them. Endless, fleeting fantasies of what could have happened that night in your bedroom. Steamy images of Viktor’s head between your legs, Jayce holding your thighs open for him. Taking turns, the meeting of lips, and lewd, desperate noises. 

Without fail, you woke up hot and bothered before the climax.

And without fail, it grew harder and harder to ignore.

Who could blame you? You could hardly blame yourself at this point-

Not when you kept replaying their reactions that day in your mind, picking them apart and trying to rationalize them. Every lingering touch and heated glance sent your mind on a tailspin straight into the gutter. “Was it delusional to think they might feel the same?”  you worried, pacing around your living room. It was the end of the week, your work was done, and you had nothing to do but think.

You flopped on your couch, yelling incoherently into the cushion. It only helped slightly.

 It had been two weeks, and you had barely seen them. Jayce had reassured you once you felt better that they would continue working on your braces. But since then, you'd heard no updates. You could have visited the lab to check on them, sure, but something odd inside of you made you refrain from doing so.

You were anxious.

 It's not that you didn’t trust them, it was simply that you didn't want to bother them, or interrupt them further. And you certainly did not want to make a fool out of yourself on account of your yearning. “They haven't updated you for a reason, obviously.” you mentally reprimanded yourself. “Don't get all stir-crazy over nothing”

Despite thinking that, you were still overjoyed to hear a knock at your door. You scrambled to the door, straightening your clothes and taking a deep breath. You swung the door open, and there they stood: the men that plagued your dreams. “I hope we aren’t interrupting anything,” Jayce beamed down at you “We just couldn’t wait much longer.” 

The way that Viktor sighed and shook his head made you tilt your head ever so slightly.

“We brought dinner, if you're not busy.” Viktor held a bag of takeout food. Your favorite takeout food. You were touched that they remembered what you liked. Meanwhile, Jayce held a rectangular gift box, not unlike ones that would normally hold clothing. Your eyes lit up in recognition.

The braces.

 Forgetting your anxiety, you could feel your nerves buzz with excitement. Viktor smiled at how your face lit up when you saw them, feeling accomplished. “Of course! Come in, come in!” you chirped, stepping aside to let them into your dorm. 

They insisted you eat first; having correctly guessed that you hadn't had anything since early in the morning. Your anxiety was doing a number on your appetite, and after failing to assure them that a snack counted as a meal, you relented and dug in. It was like nothing had changed, like you hadn't spent your nights desperate and lonely out of yearning. You spent the time catching up, complaining about class, asking about their week– and another realization sunk in.

You had missed them. A lot.

You felt horribly clingy, but it was true.

After you’d all had your fill, the moment of truth was finally there.

“Keep in mind that these are “technically” still in the prototype phase, so let us know if you want to change anything” Jayce explained, an anticipatory grin on his face as you opened the box. The knee braces were a stark, sleek black, made out of a soft yet sturdy neoprene-like fabric. The internal cording to provide support and structure were light and flexible, and judging by how they felt under your fingers, much stronger than the shabby boning of your old ones. In a motion that set off just a smidge of deja vu, you pulled up your skirt and chucked off your old braces without a care.

 Viktor raised a brow, raking his eyes over your clothed torso, before asking– “You’re…you are not wearing the corset as well, are you? I thought I told you-” he began to reprimand, taking a seat next to you on the couch. 

 “-that it will do more harm than good, I know.” you cut him off, sighing as you flexed your freed knee. ”I'm not wearing it, only the knee braces, I promise” you assured him, smiling. He huffed, a sort of half-laugh as he smiled back. 

“Don’t mind him, you know how he likes to nag” Jayce said teasingly, winking as he helped slide one of the new braces onto your first leg. You flushed ever so slightly at the proximity, as well as how…natural it felt this time. Like he belonged there, kneeling in front of you, assisting you so tenderly. Without skipping a beat, he had gently guided you into the brace, adjusting it against your skin and ensuring it was properly in place.

God, how you had missed his hands.

“I do not nag. I remind.” Viktor corrected, throwing a sharp glance at Jayce. The larger man ignored it, testing him further. “Same difference– now, other leg please?” he had turned his undivided attention to you, and when you locked eyes with him, there was something…different in his gaze. It wasn’t bashful like it had been in the lab, not at all.

There was want. And there was mischief.

A thrilling, and dangerous combination, assuming you hadn't imagined it.

You hadn't.

You slowly gave him your other leg, letting yourself lean back onto the couch, shifting your eyes to Viktor, as if for guidance.

You found that he was observing you in a similar manner; analyzing you, watching your reactions, and watching the path of Jayce’s dedicated hands. You almost felt naked under his gaze. “Jayce.” he softly murmured, with a warning tone. Just as the second brace was put into place, his hands stilled at the sound of his name. Your eyes flickered between the two of them, caught in the midst of the building tension.

“Oh…. there was definitely something going on between the two of them”  you thought, examining Jayce frozen in his spot kneeling before you like a dog in trouble.

And Jayce is definitely not the one in charge.

“Two weeks away, a successful prototype, and his ego inflates tenfold. What do I do with him, hm?” Viktor mused, a glint of…something in his eye. The question was definitely rhetorical, but something made you want to play along– to see how far you could take it.

“What…do you usually do about it?” you asked quietly, shifting in your seat on the couch.

The pause felt eternal, as every suppressed emotion and desire began to bubble up to the surface.

Best case scenario- your feelings are requited, and everything is fine

Worst case scenario- you can laugh it off and cry about it later. And then everything is fine.

You weighed the possibilities as you glanced between them. Viktor smiled, chuckling quietly.

“Jayce?” he called, tone eerily sweet. Jayce wordlessly turned to him, the air heavy with expectation. “Come here,” he said simply. Jayce got up, sheepishly moving to stand near Viktor’s end of the couch. “Now wait.” he ordered. You noticed Jayce’s expression for a fraction of a second. Was he…pouting?

Yes. yes he was.

And Viktor laughed dryly. “He’ll listen, so long as you ask him… correctly. So that is what I do.” He smiled slyly as he gestured for you to stand; and you did. You became less focused on their dynamic, however, when you immediately noticed the difference of the braces. They felt significantly more supportive than your other ones, and leagues more comfortable on top of that. There was a giddy excitement welling up, as well as just plain gratitude.

This was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for you.

“They’re amazing! I don't know how to thank you guys!” You beamed as you shifted your weight between both legs. While it wasn’t a cure for you pain, it would definitely aid your day to day, and that made all the difference. They looked thoroughly pleased just to see how happy you were with what they had made, exchanging proud glances as you tested them out.

“Don’t thank us just yet, you still have to try the back brace!” Jayce reminded you, expectantly looking between you and Viktor, as if for permission to present it to you.

“I said wait. I will help with it.” Viktor replied, reaching into the box to retrieve the garment in question. Jayce deflated.

Permission denied. 

“Do not sulk, you started it.” He reminded, scooting closer to you with the brace in his hands. It’s design matched the knee braces, made of the same sleek material and sturdy boning. It had no laces like your old corset— this new brace was elegant and seamless, with sturdy hooks and eyes to close it rather than the worn metal busks you were familiar with. You eyed it with curiosity before he piped up once more.

“If you could remove your sweater, I can help you try it on.” 

“Huh?”

You blinked.

Of course you’d have to take your shirt off. It only made sense. But they’d seen you shirtless twice now. Twice! Something about that fact made you hesitate, some odd feeling somewhere between giddiness and anxiety causing your fingers to tremble as they went to the hem of your shirt.

You didn’t really intend to do it so slowly, really.

You weren’t trying to tease.

But when it was finally off, and you saw the looks on both their faces, you couldn’t help but be a little smug. A pretty blush had painted its way across Viktor’s cheeks, cutely tinting his ears as his eyes remained fixed on you. Jayce was much the same, still glued to his spot on the other side of the couch.

You hadn’t lied, you weren’t wearing the old corset. In fact, you weren’t even wearing an undershirt. There you sat, your top half completely bare as you looked expectantly at Viktor’s hands, currently tightly gripping the brace conveniently covering his lap.

 You felt warmth pool in your core under their gaze. It was hungry; and if not for the extremely real draft in the dorm making goosebumps ripple across your skin, you’d’ve thought you were simply dreaming again.

Wordlessly, the slim man shuffled closer to you, gesturing for you to turn around so you he could help you into the brace. Your breath hitched in your throat as he reached around you from behind, nearly pulling you into his lap as he fastened the hooks and eyes in the front. “Is it too tight?” He whispered, lips dangerously close to your ear. You shook your head, shakily exhaling and he made his way to the final hook. “There. How does it feel?”

It was a perfect fit—just the right amount of structure and flexibility, without restricting your breathing or range of movement too much. You would have said as much, if you weren’t currently distracted by tantalizingly close he was as his breath tickled the shell of your ear. You swallowed, running your hands over the fabric. “It…it’s really nice too. Thank you…” you murmured, not moving an inch. 

It was now or never.

“H-hey, I have a qu-“

“Let me ask you something-“

The two of you paused as your voices overlapped. A dense silence filled the room.

 “Sorry, uh…you go first.” You giggled nervously. 

“…very well.” He said lowly, tone heavy with yet unspoken want. You felt him tense behind you for a moment, before you felt his hands snake their way onto your hips, up to your waist, before resting just below your breasts. Dangerously close. You gasped, pressing your thighs together at the spark of arousal the sudden touch sent through you.

“Let me ask you something— and be completely honest” he muttered into your ear, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. You whined softly as you nodded, not yet trusting your voice.

“You like it when we touch you— don’t you?”

You didn’t even have to turn around to know how intensely he was looking at you. His tone was accusatory, but held no malice. It was something closer to amusement, maybe anticipation. But he said it with all the confidence of a man that knew he was correct.

And how could you lie?

“Y-yes…I— I do…”

The words tumbled out before you could even think of being coy about it.

And that was all either of them needed to hear

-----

<prev. next>

[strawchocoberry]

RISKY

‘Cause you’re wearing nothing but your perfume… It’s one hell of a view…

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ featuring. blade x fem reader

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ content warnings. smut, meanperv!blade, potential dubcon, car sex, outdoor sex, jerking off, degradation kink, praise kink, rough sex, nipple play, choking, slight manhandling, breeding kink

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ synopsis. you call him out for being a perv — word count. 2.1k

Blade is quiet as usual while driving his sleek red sports car. You’re sitting on the passenger seat, occasionally stealing glances of him. You can’t help it—and I’m not blaming you. Bladie looks so attractive all focused on the road ahead as he shifts gears and accelerates the car. You’ve grown used to having a sleep-deprived, suicidal driver. And though your heart continues to beat like crazy, now it’s for entirely other reasons—impure reasons. 

The two of you have just finished a successful infiltration mission given to you by Elio. Everything went according to the ‘script,’ so all’s well that ends well. You barely remember what the mission was about, too focused on the man driving next to you. Suits look good on him, you think as your eyes roam over his body, clad in that perfectly tailored dark suit. Your own dress is just as perfect, a little gift from Kafka; a fitted long black dress of silk with a split leg on the right side. No wonder you and Blade stole the show back there. 

“You’re staring,” Blade says, not missing a beat, his eyes still focused on the road ahead. They flicker to you for a brief second, the hint of a smirk ghosting over his lips, before he turns his attention back to the peaceful night street. 

“I’m not,” you retort, folding your arms to your chest. Your defensive tone betrays you, earning a chuckle from him. 

“Mhm,” is all he responds, the sound laced in sarcasm. He doesn’t believe you one bit. 

“As if you weren’t staring at me back there,” you mumble begrudgingly. You prop your elbow on the door and lean against your palm, your eyes taking in the blurred images of your surroundings as the car pierces through the night, the air caressing your skin, your hair dancing behind you. You’re determined to ignore him, though you can’t help but murmur, “Perv.” 

Blade bursts out laughing, the sound rich and filling the entire car, lingering in your eyes long after he’s calmed down, somewhat. His shoulders are still shaking with small laughs. You narrow your eyes at him, clearly annoyed by his laughter, though he doesn’t look at you once, keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

“So funny, yes,” you say, sarcasm dripping all over your words. “I called you a ‘perv’ and you’re laughing. My, I didn’t know you’d find that so funny, Bladie.” 

“Were you hoping for another reaction?” he asks, his tone suggestive, hinting at what you were indeed expecting. 

“Hmph!” You turn your head towards the other side. “In your dreams.” 

The car comes to a stop at a red light, which confuses you, since you’re the only car around. Plus, you’re Stellaron Hunters, wanted posters of you are hung around all over the cosmos. A minor offence like crossing a red light is nothing compared to all the other stuff you’ve done. 

“Since when do you care for—” 

The sound of his seat belt unbuckling barely registers, as Blade interrupts you by capturing your lips. For a moment, you’re just looking at him, eyes widened, staring into his own, feeling his smirk against your lips. He wraps a delicate hand around your neck, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp, giving him the perfect change to slide his tongue through your parted lips. Your hands come up to his chest, meaning to push him away, but they ultimately just remain there, palms planted over the hard muscles of his chest, as you lose yourself in him. 

When Blade finally breaks the kiss, your ragged breaths echo in the deafening silence, though that infuriating smirk on his lips is louder than the thrumming of your heart. He looks so maddeningly smug as he buckles up again, you want to smack that smirk off his face. You raise your hand to hit him, only for Blade to catch it midair, interlacing your fingers, as your entwined hands rest now on his thigh as he drives away. 

“Fucking perv,” you curse under your breath, though you can feel the heat increasing in your cheeks. 

Blade casually handles the car with one hand, while raising your hands to his lips. “Right, I’m a ‘perv,’” he murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin. He doesn’t break eye-contact with the road ahead as he kisses your hand, sneakily biting you, before resting your hands back on his thigh. You try to slip your hand from his, but he only tightens his grip. And eventually, you give up. 

After a while, when the car comes to a halt and Blade cuts the engine, you look around at the secluded spot he’s stopped. No cars, barely any lights, only a vast and open space by the side of the highway. This time, you hear it, loud and clear, the sound of his seat belt as he takes it off. Blade leans closer to you, his eyes roaming over you like a predator sizing up its prey, his fingers threading through the silky locks of your hair. 

“Why did you stop here?” you ask, your voice thankfully coming out steady. “We need to head back and report to Elio.” 

“Elio can wait,” Blade responds, clicking your seat belt open and leaning even closer, practically caging you between himself, the seat and the door. “But a ‘perv’ like me can’t.” 

“Y-You mean…” You gulp down hard, your eyes nervously looking around at your surroundings as if expecting someone to show up. “Right here?” 

“What?” Blade says, feigning ignorance, though his smirk betrays him. “Isn’t this what you wanted, princess? I thought all that staring and you calling me a ‘perv’ was because you wanted me to pull up to the side of the highway and pay attention to you.” His hand slips underneath your dress through the opening, climbing higher to your core. His fingers briefly rub over your panties, the damp fabric making his smirk more vexing than it already is. “Or was I wrong?” he taunts, as if the answer isn’t obvious. 

His hands cup your ass, lifting you off the seat, as he kisses your body over the fabric of your dress. One hand keeps your hips up, whilst the other fists the dress, pulling it up to your waist. You watch with a bated breath as Blade takes the waistband of your panties between his teeth and slides it down, lifting your legs up to take it off. When he slides it off your ankles, he brings it to his nose, inhaling the scent of your arousal, your cheeks catching fire at the sight. 

“You—! What are you—!” 

“Isn’t this what a ‘perv’ does?” Blade asks, stuffing your panties into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. His fingers grab the zipper of your dress, easily unzipping it and taking it off over your head, throwing it down on your legs. He cannot help but let out a low growl, the sound reverberating through his chest at the sight of your naked body. 

“S-Someone might see us,” you protest, although you lean your head back to give him better access to your neck, as he kisses you, sucking and leaving hickeys. 

Blade smirks as he looks up at you, his hands moving to your waist. “Nobody will see us,” he reassures. Before you have the time to complain once more, he shuts you up by kissing you again. One arm wraps around your waist, while the other slides up, gripping the back of your neck, as he pulls you closer to him. He keeps you hostage as he devours you, pressing your naked body against his suit-clad one, your breasts flattening against the hard muscles of his chest, your nipples erecting into little buds at the friction. 

When he pulls back, he lets you slump on the passenger seat as Blade leans against his own seat. Your eyes never leave him, watching him effortlessly unbuckle his belt and unzip his trousers, shoving them down along with his underwear just enough to free his aching cock. You watch as he angles himself better to look at you, his calloused hand wrapping around his dick and stroking the shaft, as his eyes roam over you, focusing on the marks he’s already left on your neck. 

“Your gaze tells me you want to ride my dick,” Blade coos, his hand still stroking his cock, his eyes now locked on yours. 

“I-I don’t!” Your cheeks burn and you hate how your high-pitched tone betrays you, even though all you want is to refute his words. But even if you managed to sound more unbothered, he can see it in your eyes and all over your body that you’re burning up with desire, just like him. 

Blade reaches out to you and helps you climb on his lap, your back to him. You feel him align himself with your entrance and your hands reach up to grab onto the windscreen. He grabs your waist and roughly slams your body down against him, groaning at the familiar sensation of your sweet cunt wrapped around his girth. 

“Fuck… I missed this,” Blade breathes out. His hands hold your waist as he sets a relatively slow tempo at first, giving you some time to adjust to him. Soft moans and mewls leave your lips, the sounds all the reassurance he needs to pick up the pace. He thrusts up inside you in rhythm with him slamming you down on him, hitting that spot deep inside you that has your eyes gazing at the back of your skull. 

“B-Blade, s-so big…” you shamelessly moan into the night. “Slow down…” 

Blade slaps your ass harshly, making you clench around him, as he caresses the already reddening spot. “I thought you were scared we’d get caught,” he coos. He leans closer, leaving a kiss to your shoulder blade. “What happened? Is this perv’s cock so good, you forgot all about your shyness now? Hmm, princess?” 

His hands move up to cup your breasts, feeling their weight and how they fill his palms. He toys with your nipples, pinching and twisting them to draw out more of your sweet little whimpers he adores. All the while you’re now riding his cock all on your own; just like he had said you would. Your knuckles have turned white from how hard you’re gripping the windscreen, but you couldn’t care less right now, your mind only filled with Blade. 

He kisses your back, biting at your sides and inhaling your signature perfume, getting intoxicated in the aroma and that scent that’s uniquely you. He can feel you getting close to your orgasm and can’t help teasing you. “Look at you, princess,” he taunts. “Such a good cock sleeve for a perv like me. Will you let me cum inside you too? Hmm? Will you let me fill this pretty pussy?”

“Yes! Oh Aeons— Yes, please!” you moan, completely out of your mind. The only thought ruling over you is your impending orgasm. “Please, Blade!” 

“My my,” he coos, his hands returning to grab your waist. Wasting no time, Blade grips your waist bruisingly tight, as he starts fucking you even rougher than before, driving both of you to the edge of pleasure and ecstasy. 

You’re babbling all kinds of incoherent words along with his name, when Blade slams you down on him one last time, burying himself to your depths as he cums thick ropes of cum inside you. Your pussy flutters and convulses around his shaft, milking every last drop of his seed, as he pulls your trembling body to rest against him. 

“Such a perfect cum slut,” Blade whispers in your ear, eliciting a whiny moan from your lips. He tilts your head to the side and kisses your lips, consuming all of your whimpers and complaints along with the rest of you. 

When the kiss breaks, you’re slightly dazed, the remnants of your orgasm still gleaming in your beautiful eyes, letting your body rest against his. Blade doesn’t move for a few moments, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion. 

But then, he starts thrusting up inside you, a white ring forming around his cock from your mixed essences. 

“Blade!” you scold. “We need to get back! Elio will be furious if we take any longer!” You try to escape, but his hold on your body is as solid as steel. “And… I’m somewhat sore…” 

Blade laughs, the sound reverberating on your back. He sucks on your neck and leaves another hickey to an empty spot, all the while still pounding into you. “Elio can wait,” he finally responds to your concerns. “As for being sore already…” he trails off as his eyes lock with yours. 

There’s a fire in his red orbs that threatens to burn you alive. And despite your mind’s warnings, you find yourself wanting to eternally burn in this man’s fire. 

“I can only promise you’ll be sore for a long time after I’m done with you, princess.”

© strawchocoberry — do not copy, repost, translate or reuse my work

[hisunshiine]

—eternal reign | knj |

🥀 pairing: vampire king!namjoon x concubine!namedreader 🥀 au/genre: arranged marriage au, joseon era au, s2l, fluff, smut, angst 🥀 rating: M 🥀 wc: 7,748 🥀 warnings: some Joseon Dynasty research, reader starts as a concubine, mentions of murders, minor character deaths (off screen, minimal detail), patriarchal society, this is a vampire story, so some things come with the territory, like: mentions of blood, dubious consent, blood drinking, bleeding, scars, predator/prey feelings, explicit smut: unprotected vaginal sex, blood play, marking, eating out, nipple play   🥀 an: I used some of the historical figures of the Joseon Dynasty, and while I researched a lot for accuracy of this time period to respect the culture to the best of my knowledge, some historical information has been shifted and molded as this is a fiction story. For more information on Korean Coronation Events. Dual POV of 3rd and 2nd person, but the reader is named.

special thanks to the beta readers: @moonleeai, @colormepurplex2, @downbad4yoongi, @heathfritillary-blog, and @pars-ley

🥀 summary: In the shadowed courts of the Joseon Dynasty, a new King rules—one who holds a centuries-old secret that could unravel the kingdom. Namjoon, cloaked in mystery, is forced into a political marriage with the cunning yet unknowing Taelani, who soon discovers that her husband is no mere mortal. Drawn into his dark legacy and a web of alliances that could seal their fate, Taelani faces a choice: fulfill her family’s long-hidden destiny or defy it in pursuit of a forbidden love. As whispers of blood and betrayal rise, the throne itself may be the ultimate sacrifice.

🥀 an#2:🎃This wicked treat was written for Theresa - @mrsparkjimin18 as part of the “Sweet Tricks & Wicked Treats” BWHQ Fic Gifting Event 🎃and was also written for the @bangtanwritershq’s 4th Quarter Writing Event: Monster Mash

masterlist ❁ ao3

Joseon Dynasty year 1483

🥀🥀🥀Namjoon🥀🥀🥀

Namjoon never expected to sit upon the sacred altar in Changdeokgung Palace, as the recipient of the Three Cheers from the crowd, where the people hurrahed for his longevity and for the dynasty. 

“We are meant to rule from the shadows,” the memory of his grandfather’s voice flits through his head as if he’s standing beside him. “An absolute and eternal reign relies on the eternal flame which burns with our dedication and loyalty, and which must remain out of sight from those who wish to douse our light.” 

And yet, mere hours ago, under the beating heat of the Korean sun, he participated in the Transfer of the State Seal with Queen Sindeok, listened to the Three Solemn Calls, watched as the Three Kowtows were performed, and returned it with the Four Ceremonious Bows.   

The room around him is loud, and Namjoon struggles to focus for a moment as he gazes across the crowded space. The gilded walls encapsulate the refreshments and revelry as the noble families celebrate his ascension to ruler of the country. He looks around, eyes finally landing on his family members split between being wall flowers blending in and meteor showers glittering as they shine across the night sky. 

He takes an unneeded deep breath, sighing in his discomfort. He knows it was his idea; something had to be done to maintain the balance in the realm, but he’s not used to being a figurehead for something so much larger than himself—for the very thing he sacrificed everything for to protect. 

“Ah, Yi Bang— I mean, King Namjoon, my apologies,” the greasy-haired Chief State Councillor Jeong Dojeon bows lowly in apology at using the given name of the prince and not his newly appointed royal title now that the transition to king has been completed. 

That is one upside to this position, Namjoon thinks as he stares at the man. Even if I must hide my identity, at least I am able to keep my true name. 

“I wanted to present to you my family’s gift for your coronation.” His eyes, small and squirrely, gleam with a dark intent that Namjoon has always detested. As one of the government officials appointed by the previous Queen’s father, Dojeon craves ultimate power, pushing for the Councillors to make decisions for the King, instead of enacting and enforcing the King’s decisions. “This is Jeong Taelani, my eldest daughter. She is now yours, Pyeha.” 

The honorific term is not lost on Namjoon. The Chief State Councillor’s schmoozing actions are as oily as his hair, but Namjoon’s not a squeaking door, and his disdain only grows as he tracks the sweep of Dojeon’s hand towards the girl next to him, as if he needs a concubine to loosen him up. 

But Namjoon has to work hard to school his features back to stoic boredom when his eyes fall onto the—unable to believe he called her a girl—beautiful woman standing a pace behind her father. 

Red hanbok lace and silks flow over her curves. Gold threading is woven intricately at the hem, along the cuffs engulfing her delicate hands, and at the lapels that tie above the swell of her breasts, glimmering, resplendent swirls that captivate him. He doesn’t show it, though. Despite his next words, his tone is full of boredom and his eyes barely linger on her. 

“Thank you, Dojeon, she is a true beauty.”

The older man smirks, rubbing his bearded face thoughtfully. “She has been trained for, ahem, her position—assisting your every need—in the palace her whole life, and vetted through the steps to be placed here just last week. I am sure that you will find her to be up to your standards.” He bows once more, this time much lower, before backing away from the elevated seating area and disappearing back into the party. 

“Emperor,” Taelani bows deeply, her knees gracefully meeting the floor as she pays him the respect of a ruling monarch. Her voice is a deeper honey sound, more seduction than the tittering pitch of the female nobles Namjoon is used to. 

“Jeong Taelani,” Namjoon tests her name in his mouth, her jasmine fragrance invading his senses as she resumes her previous standing position. Her large eyes look away from his gaze quickly, but that’s all he needs to feel the heat of the lightning they struck him with. He can feel his pants tightening—thankfully, his gujangbok covers his crotch from the view of both Taelani and his attendees. 

He stiffens, feeling something else begin to lengthen in need, and he turns his eyes swiftly away from Taelani, looking at the palace guards nearest him. 

“Please escort Taelani to her chambers, and send for the Huwon guards. I will meet them shortly.”

🥀

Sharpened ivory glistens under the moonlight before piercing the unblemished bronze skin of the woman’s throat, his venom silencing the beginnings of a guttural shriek before it can really begin. He settles in the gazebo with a jimil nain, or lady-in-waiting, straddled across his lap. Her throaty sounds transition instead to a pleasurable moan as she attempts to grip the lapels of his ceremonial robes. 

He grasps her hands, pulling them away from him and moving them behind her back, clutching both wrists in one hand so his free hand can resume controlling her head for his monthly feeding. One that he should not have needed just yet, thanks to the retaliatory massacre last week, but he ignores that fact for now. 

The blood fills his mouth, sharp pulls draining the essence from the woman as her movements against his body slow. He’s thankful—her body is not the one he craves to be writhing above him in pleasure, despite her lovely sounds and curves. 

He has to play this role smartly. His family’s legacy is on the line. He withdraws his fangs, feeling the dull ache of thirst dissipate fully as his blood lust retreats. The woman is nearly unconscious, and the two guards who brought her approach her limp form silently.

“Thank you,” he says to his younger brothers, both adorned in the traditional wear of the Naegeumwi Royal Guards. They take the woman from him as he stands before the youngest of the two, Jungkook, takes her fully and holds her almost in a lover’s embrace. Namjoon looks at them as he steps several paces away and Taehyung, his other sibling, approaches him and straightens his robes to help him look presentable again.

“NaBi was the only one we could get on such short notice,” he explains quietly as the sounds of Jungkook feeding crescendos and subsequently drops as he heals the bites on the now sleeping woman’s neck. “She was already in Kook’s room waiting for him.”

Namjoon runs his fingers over his silks, tightening the belt at his waist. “Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t mean to mess up his feeding schedule. The hunger just took over and I…”

“He understands.” Taehyung places his hand on his older brother’s shoulder. “We’ve never taken on something like this, so we didn’t know what to prepare for. We’ll move more of the feeders into the palace in various positions, and Jimin can oversee them. Your plan was the best one, and we will find a way to make it work.”  

Jungkook cradles the woman’s body in his arms bridal style as he steps towards the door. He and Taehyung lead Namjoon out of the garden and back towards the main palace. Jungkook turns to the left down a hallway after they enter shelter as Taehyung and Namjoon continue toward the Emperor's chambers. 

“Have Jimin order more of the blood tea for the feeders. I’m not sure how often I’ll need to feed now that…” he trails off as they walk, thoughts conflicted with this strange turn of events. He stops once he reaches the doorway of his room. “And Taehyung? Discretion, please.”

Namjoon feels the tension leave his body once he is in his own space. He didn’t expect to feel the voracious pull to feed so soon—he drank more than his fill merely a week ago. Typically, he feeds once a month, so the blood lust he just quenched is strange. Could it be because of his new concubine? Her scent is oddly alluring to him, and his attraction to her is undeniable. He hasn’t ever experienced such a thing, but maybe one of the elders knows something more. 

🥀🥀🥀Taelani🥀🥀🥀

Confused. That’s how you feel as you are led away from the king, his eyes regarding you cooly before you disappear into the quiet halls of the palace. Your slippers and the silks you wear are the only sounds you hear as you are shown the pathway to your quarters, and then the low hum of the maids' voices as they help you undress and prepare for bed. 

The next week continues much the same as your first night in the castle. The other court members are seemingly always busy, leaving you bored and unsure of yourself. On the one hand, you are happy that you haven’t been called upon like you were warned would happen—like you’ve been trained for. Your womanhood remains intact, something you did not expect to happen, but it allows your time of the month to come and go without any issues. 

A part of you did fear that your menstrual cycle would agitate the new king should he come upon you that first night, but instead, he had shied away, allowing you time to spend in the royal library reading and writing letters to your sisters. At the end of the first week, you squeal with happiness when a courtier brings you a sealed parchment marked with your family’s crest. 

Dearest Taelani, 

How have you been? We are so pleased that you’ve had time to write to us. Is it nice there? I so wish we could have joined you on the trip, but Father said no. Are the rumors true? Is the king as bloodthirsty as his predecessors? Is there war on the horizon? Will you be able to throw a fancy ball so we can visit? I know you’re his only concubine right now, do you think you will become his wife? Father is not telling us much, and he’s making it seem like we shall never get to travel to see you. 

Don’t forget us!

As if you could ever forget your sisters. And a ball sounds like a lovely idea…really. You wonder if the king would allow you to do such a thing and if your father would allow your sisters to come. Maybe if the king demanded their presence. Your sister made a good point that right now, there’s no one else to compete with for his affections. If you can charm him, is there a possibility..? If only he would see you or talk to you. How else could you convince him of this one favor, or even that you’re worthy of a more legitimate role? 

It couldn’t be so easy as to show up at his bedchamber tonight and try and convince him with a well-placed massage? Could it?

Deciding to reign in all of your thoughts, you hold off on writing back so as to see first if you could plan a soiree of some sort, and turn back to the book you were reading before the courtier arrived. It was not written all that long ago, but it details some of the more recent history of the country, including the king’s grandfather. 

You had always thought it to be an urban legend, the stories whispered in the dark about when his grandfather was in power, but as you read through the history of the family, you realize with each story of the king’s grandfather that he truly was blood thirsty for power—he apparently murdered all of his older siblings for the throne. 

There is a massive family plot to the south of the palace that holds his deceased siblings, and ever since, despite the number of enemies the crown has acquired over the years, his family line has been the only one to rule. Every attempt to maim and murder the royal family has been thwarted, and the groups leading the coups are never to be seen or heard from again. Bloodthirsty isn’t even half of it. 

Closing the handwritten tome, you gather your skirts about you so that you can climb off the comfortable lounging spot. You have spent all week reading through to try and understand this family that you now reside with, but all you seem to find is death and despair. Through the window you can see the sun is setting, and now that you have a plan in mind, you decide to seek out the king instead of waiting for him to come to you. With your cycle gone, you feel confident enough to seduce King Namjoon. As his first concubine, you are sure you won’t be the last, but you want to make an impression. 

As a woman in this world, your power is lacking. The power you do hold will be in the sons you can bear for the king, and in the ability to wield your feminine wiles to seduce and keep the king wrapped around your finger. Best to start now. 

🥀

The palace corridors are well-lit as you traverse the pathway towards the king’s chambers. You made a quick stop at your own rooms, shedding the hairpins that bound your hair tightly, allowing your tresses to fall in subtle waves from the earlier styling. You also shed some of the layers you typically wear, allowing you to show off more of your curves. 

There doesn’t appear to be anyone outside the door to his room, so you slip in easily, taking a look around. The room is tidy, with barely anything on display on the walls or in cabinets to show his personality. Cold, just like he was the first time you met. A few minutes pass as you observe what you can, until voices outside the door alert you to the king’s approach. You position yourself on his bed, sitting at the edge with a leg crossed over the other and your palms behind you as you lean back slightly. 

Your loose hair is over one shoulder, and you attempt to flutter your eyes demurely as King Namjoon steps into his bedchamber. 

🥀 

Ten minutes later, you stand in your own room again, confused by what had occurred. The King, a young, virile man, sent you out after you all but threw yourself at him. If anything, he seemed in a rush to get you out of his rooms, all but promising that you had nothing to worry about when you voiced not carrying out your duties. 

“I know you worry about your standing in the palace, but you have nothing to fear. I will not be taking in any other women—you are the only one for me. You will be my Queen Consort. So please, you don’t have to stoop to these levels. You are excused.”

You definitely hadn’t prepared what to do in the event that the King said you didn’t need to seduce him and that you would be his Queen Consort. All of the stories the women told you about had prepared you for losing your virginity and other sexual acts to seduce the King and win his favor. Nothing they shared with you implied you wouldn’t have to do anything sexually with the man and he would raise your status one step, though a large one in the eyes of the nation. A wedding already in the works, unbeknownst to you. How strange this new king is. 

🥀

The royal wedding that everyone has been waiting for a month to arrive is nearly here, with you in your red gowns of silks and satin, awaiting your cue for the ceremony. As much as you’ve enjoyed not having to behave wantonly, a part of you is drawn to your betrothed, and you realize: you want to. His movements as he walks through the palace, the grace with which he moves and speaks, all of these small things seem to thrum through your body, lighting all of your nerve endings on fire. 

Why he denies himself the access he has to your body, you aren’t sure, but you hope that this wedding means that will come to an end. Maybe he’s just been waiting for tonight to consummate the marriage, instead of behaving how you were warned all men with power behave. 

Everything is a blur as the hours pass, the sun crossing the sky until it descends below the horizon, allowing the moon to rise into its rightful place. With all of the revelers now sated in thirst or hunger or desire, they’re all sequestered away in the places that allow them to unwind. Most of the palace is now quiet, and you tiptoe with feather-light steps across the bedchamber towards your newly betrothed. 

The King sits at an ornamental desk, metallic paints wrapping around the curves of the furniture as he leans over and writes, the scratches of the quill on the parchment revealing the short strokes he writes in Hangul. He’s shirtless, wide shoulders unblemished and you want nothing more than to mar the skin with signs of pleasure.  

Your fingers lift to lightly trace along his right shoulder, but before you can touch him, his left hand grasps your fingers as he half turns to face you. You let out a small gasp in surprise—you didn’t think he would have heard you sneak up on him.

“Perhaps you should head to bed, Taelani, it was a long day.”

He barely looks at you as he speaks, and you feel yourself wilting. It’s fascinating, but deeply disturbing to you that it seems like he’s attracted to you but keeps turning you away. Everything you’ve been told about men is wrong. You want him to have his way with you, and he can’t be bothered to even stop drafting a letter to look at you for more than a second. 

You feel yourself pouting, and it seems to work for a moment. Namjoon’s eyes soften, and he tugs you closer when you attempt to pull your hand out of his. 

“I know this is not the most normal of situations, but I won’t stop you from seeking out your needs. You can take up with anyone as long as it is discreet, and any children you should bear will all be raised as if they are my own.” You freeze as he releases his hold on you and turns away, back to his missive.

You step away from him, trekking backward until the backs of your thighs touch the silk sheets on the bed. Embarrassment heats your neck and cheeks, because you do not understand why your husband turns away from you. It makes you feel…unwanted. Sitting down, you can only blink as you attempt to understand the man before you. But nothing thus far has made any sense.   

🥀

The movement of the bed slowly wakes you, and you stretch your limbs out as your eyes blearily try to take in the low lighting in the room. 

“...need the Huwon guards as soon as possible, I will meet them there.”

You stay still when you hear his voice, your brain instantly becoming more alert as you try to hear more of his request, but it only grows quiet again as the door shuts. You can barely hear his footfalls as he flits about the room, and you sneak a peek through cracked eyes as you keep your breathing level. He’s grabbing his upper garments and re-dressing, and in only a few more moments, he’s slipping out of the door.

You get up, immediately grabbing for your robes as you slip from the satin sheets to follow your new husband.

You stay as far back as you can, drifting between shadows as you make your way towards what you now know is the Huwon Secret Garden. While the garden grounds themselves take up a large expanse of the palace area, there is a beautiful and intimate pagoda of sorts that lies in the rear after crossing a small bridge with a tiny waterfall. You lose sight of Namjoon, but you know he must be headed there, so you continue on your way, avoiding the minimal guard presence. 

Approaching the enclosed garden pergola, a gasping moan sounds and you quicken your steps, evermore the curious. Peering through one of the open slats of the enclosure, you see your king—your husband—with his arms wrapped around another woman. His mouth is to her neck as she straddles him, and though her face is hidden between the shadows and behind his bulky build, you know you heard the pleasure she felt. When he pulls back from her, you watch, entranced, as he laves his tongue along the skin he’s just marked. A burning jealousy shoots through your veins until a cloud moves out of the moonlight and a beam shines straight through. 

Your eyes widen as they take in the elongated fangs, the blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, and the way the woman now lay limply in his arms. Spinning on your heel, you flee back to your room, praying that your pounding heart calms enough before he returns.

🥀🥀🥀Namjoon🥀🥀🥀

It’s almost debilitating to Namjoon having his new wife around him. It’s been only a week—one mere week of his eternal life—and you have made him into a ravenous, salacious blood fiend. This lust for the iron-smelling essence that runs through mortal veins, and one in particular more so than the others, means that he hasn’t been handling all of the new changes to his life well. 

Going from the shadows and becoming the face of the nation he loves so much, that his whole family has given their lives for, is not exactly what he expected. He is much more used to using violence with his bare hands—and teeth—for their gain. Having to navigate politics with his wife’s father, Chief State Councillor Jeong Dojeon, is a whole new experience for him.

Not to mention that he’s insatiably drawn to his titillating wife, but knowing that her father is actively working against the reigning family has Namjoon’s guard up. The way she keeps trying to throw herself at him… Admittedly, he knows he’s spied on her letters and conversations, and she seems none the wiser to what her father is doing, but too much is at stake for him to risk it without knowing where she stands for sure.

Namjoon stretches his arms above his shirtless torso, then sets down the quill to mull over the letter he needs to finish and send to the front lines of their war efforts against the rival faction. They’ve quieted down some, ever since their attack on the true prince which led to an almost absolute destruction of said rival faction, but money will unite anyone against a common enemy if paid enough. 

His ears perk up as he takes in the thrumming melody of your heartbeat as you move around the adjacent bathing room to your communal bedchamber. It’s late, much later than a person would typically bathe, and without the aid of maids, but he’s in no hurry to overwhelm his senses with you. He focuses on the sounds; of the water draining from the side of the palace, of the soft garments sliding along your skin as you dress, and he tenses—readying himself for your scent to overtake him as he turns and stands to face your re-entrance into the room.

Beautiful. Your large eyes are bright, warm even, and the way your body gracefully moves in that—he forcefully exhales as you approach him in an ornately sewn, semi-transparent lace robe. The vision of your full breasts with lace flowing over the peaks stuns him momentarily, and he allows himself a moment to drink you in. He’s so focused on trailing his eyes along the cupid’s bow of your full top lip that he doesn’t realize you’ve spoken to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“Oh,” you look down demurely, taking him by surprise. “My king, please. I would like just a moment of your time.”

“Of course,” Namjoon replies, but hesitates as he sits back down, unsure of what could have triggered such a formal conversation. Though, to be fair, he knows he hasn’t been the best conversationalist with his own wife.

He watches as you pull a small, stuffed stool closer to him and sit on it regally. The robe parts with the movement and he’s able to see that only a thin sliver of fabric covers your mound. Everything else is revealed to him. Your navel, your thighs, so much skin… 

“I know that you’ve given me permission to seek out other men, but I—I don’t want that.” 

Namjoon is still as he reigns in his impure thoughts and focuses all of his attention on you. “What is it that you want?”

“I want my husband. I–don’t you also feel—I just…” you sigh, and the weight of your next words would bring Namjoon to his knees had he not been sitting. “I know who you are. And I don’t care. I—”

Namjoon stands to his full height, eyes slightly narrowed at your small frame. 

“You know who I am?” he questions with disdain. Of course, you were too good to be true and exactly what he expected of your father. 

“Yes, you may be the king, but more than that, you’re my husband.” 

Namjoon pauses, listening on, but can see how tense you remain to continue speaking. “And what exactly don’t you care about?” He questions.

“I don’t care that you’re a—a vampire,” you rush out and continue speaking. “So please, don’t hold yourself back from me, I don’t want you to seek out your pleasure from others in the castle when I’m right here.”

His brain reels with an overwhelming amount of thoughts as you look up at him from where you sit, shoulders tight and lifted towards your ears as your chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath you take as you wait for him to speak.

You know he’s a vampire. How, he isn’t sure, because he knows that your father is not aware of that fact. No, he only assumed that your father had figured out that he was not the true prince, and instead a cousin filling in for the role, and shared this information with you. Nope, you meant you knew that he was immortal and knew of his late-night proclivities. He slowly lowers himself into the chair he vacated, wholly unprepared when you throw yourself forward onto your knees before him.

“Please, I’m right here. I only want you to touch me. No one else.”

Unable to resist, Namjoon does touch you, reaching beneath your arms to lift you to him. Even while standing, your eyes are only a few inches above him as he sits, and you step between his parted legs when he gently tugs you further into his space.

“I didn’t realize that my words made you feel unwanted.” Namjoon speaks slowly as he gathers his thoughts to organize his words. “I’m unsure how you came about this information, but I.. th-there’s some things we should clear up.”    

Your eyes appear to study him intently, brows inching closer as your face wrinkles with apprehension. The flooding of your veins as your heart rate increases leads Namjoon to pause and hold his breath before speaking.

“There is a reason that I have been so distant, and yet have only sought out to take one wife and no others. It came to my attention that your father has been one of the main financial supporters of a rival political party that supports more control from Chief Councilors and less from me. This money helped supply weapons and mercenaries, and there was an…attempt on my life recently. It was nearly successful at bringing down this clan’s reign and ending our family line.”

You gasp as he reveals this partial truth, and say, “I swear to you, my king, I knew not of such plans, I know my father has ambitions and a dislike for the lack of his power due to the crown, but not that he would steep to such levels for gain.” Namjoon can feel the way your pulse reacts as he holds your wrists in his large hands. You truly were not aware, and this knowledge helps quell any lingering doubts he has about sharing more information with you. 

“I believe that you had no knowledge of his plans or his financial support. But, because of that event, it is what led me to say yes to you as my concubine. You see, I felt that by having his daughter in the palace and by my side, that he would pull back his support of any rivals, and even decide to stop pushing for less control, especially since any heir would be his own grandchild to be on the throne.” Namjoon knows this last part is a lie, since he could not provide you with any children and the plan that is in place would not allow any child of yours to be on the throne, but he can’t tell you that. 

You nod, eyes rapt with attention as they pour over his face, gleaning any additional information you can. 

“My king, I do not support my father in his ventures. I promise you, I…he has never been much of a father to me. More like a tyrant or like…like he believes that my life does not matter more than what I am able to provide for him. You have saved me from him in so many ways, and I just want to show you my gratitude. I want you to feel my appreciation.” 

Your tone holds not an ounce of seductive undertones as you continue, “I care not that you are a vampire, I—” he allows you to pull free from his hold, turning your hands so that your palms lay on the outsides of his and you guide them carefully through the opening of your robes to your bare bosom, cupping his hands around your full chest. “I ache for you, Namjoon. I have never felt such a desire before, have never sought out the affections of a man. In truth, I’m terrified, but not because of what you are, but because I have never crossed this line before.” 

And Namjoon, still a man with carnal desires despite his blood lust, wants to be the one you cross that line with. He can feel the weight of your breasts as you move closer, stepping in such a way so that you can straddle him—which you do moments later. He feels his hands tighten around your chest without your fingers leading the motion, and the tiny, breathy moan that you release brushes against his lips from your proximity. 

He’s hardening, lengthening; his cock pressing against your clothed heat and his fangs inching from his parted lips, both aching to open you up for him. And just as the circling press of your pert nipples to the pads of his thumbs begins, you cover his mouth with yours, moaning for his ears only as you lean into his touch at all junctions where your body touches his.

It’s intoxicating; your scent wraps around him and the feel of your blood thrumming within your body as you tremble from the pure lust that seems to ooze from your pores as you, you! devour his lips with no care of his fangs. Your tongue is tentative, but curious—seeking to glide along his and taste all of him. 

When you pull back, he presumes to breathe since he need not this human action, his fang nicks your tongue on retreat. That one drop makes his muscles spasm—you pull back from him faster as his touch turns painful for a moment and then you are flying, landing on the bed in a frenzy and in a blink Namjoon is pressed to the wall farthest from you, his fists clenched tightly as he holds himself back from you. 

“There is…still much you need…to know and understand.” Namjoon strains to get the words out, actively fighting his thirst for his wife—for you—whose blood has never been tasted by another, and whose tight cunt has never been taken by another. “Please, walk slowly to the door and get the Huwon guards…”

“No, please, Namjoon, I want—”

“Now!” he roars, watching fear filter into your eyes as you spring from the bed and rush towards the door. With a speed rivaling light, he is in front of you before you can make it three steps from the bed. His predator instinct couldn’t allow you to leave the room now. Grasping you under your thighs, he lifts you effortlessly, drawing his nose along your neckline.

Instantly, your fear melts away from your body, leaving you boneless as he deposits you forcefully to the bed you just vacated.

“You will take me, and I will drink from you, and then, I will tell you everything, but I can’t…can’t let you go. I must have you.”   

🥀🥀🥀Taelani🥀🥀🥀

The gentle husband whom you had straddled mere moments before, who had kissed you with a softness that you have never known, was no longer the man above you. Instead, a predator climbs onto the covers as you scramble backwards, but his hand grips your wrist and slides you along the silk sheets back underneath his body.

His hands box in your head, with his knees bracing either side of your hips. Your heart is pounding, and you freeze beneath him, finally understanding why he said to walk slowly. 

~~

“Grandfather, what do I do if I encounter a bear or something of the like in the forest?” Five-year-old Taelani asks as she walks along her family grounds with her maternal grandpa. 

“My dear Taelani, you must never run if you encounter a large animal. Predators are wired to chase after prey. Be steadfast, like a deer or a hare. Freeze and watch first. They may not mean you any harm, but if you should run, they cannot stop themselves.” 

~~

Going stockstill seems to work, just as you remembered learning about as a child. Namjoon mimics this, freezing his own body and his dilated eyes close as he leans closer into you and…inhales. 

“I’m sorry, but I—I need to feed.” His voice is tense, a quiet murmur that fills the silence.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” you say, proffering your own neck. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

“This is not—I wanted this to be different, I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve—”

“—a husband who will make love to me, and feed from only me. Because I am yours, and you are mine.”

His eyes open with a blazing, hungry stare and before you can do anything else, he descends on your lips with a fierceness. His hands move from the sheets to your robe, ripping it open to expose your dusky nipples to the chilled air. He grips the hem of the clothing preventing you from full nudity and all but destroys it as he pulls it from your body in a feral show of strength.

“Mine.” His words are a low growl before his mouth is once again on yours, this time his hands now free to roam your body without clothing to hinder him. His deft hands move in symmetry to cup your breasts, giving them a supple squeeze before drifting down your hips and he moves his body lower along yours so he can hook his arms around the backs of your thighs. 

The silks beneath you allow him to easily slip between your skin and the satin, giving him the right angle to push your legs up and bare all to him. You shiver in anticipation, feeling how wet you are by the air now meeting the heat between your thighs. You want him. The throbbing of your clit makes you want to clench your thighs together for some relief, but the way he’s holding you won’t allow it. 

His kisses trail lower, mouth hovering over your nipple until his lengthened teeth graze the sensitive skin. Arching your back, he takes this as a sign to suck the peak into his mouth, tongue swirling as you moan. He switches sides, treating them equally before continuing lower, tongue dancing across your navel. The caress of the wet muscle has your body jumping with desire. 

“Oh!” You can hardly keep quiet when his tongue tastes you, laving flat across your open warmth before making short, quick passes along your clit. Your hands grip the sheets in desperation—for him to stop, for him to continue—the pleasure is overwhelming. 

“You taste…divine,” his voice rumbles, and you try to keep your eyes on him but squeeze them shut when his mouth returns to devour you. Sensual, plump lips kissing you, sucking you, tongue fucking you—you writhe beneath him. His hands press you wider, keeping you open as your muscles fight against the pleasure and threaten to close around his head.

And he doesn’t stop. Not until you're dripping, and the lower half of his face is glistening with you. You barely register his movements, can barely tell that he’s naked and climbing above you until he’s suddenly in your eyeline. Floating…that’s what this feeling is, like floating on a cloud, carefree. And when the blunted tip of his cock nudges at your still quivering heat, you widen your legs and welcome him, urging him to fill you. 

And, oh! You don’t expect the pressure to build as he thrusts within you, and you cry out in pain, in pleasure, in ecstasy at the fullness he brings as your walls quiver around him. 

Your hands tighten on his shoulders as he begins to move with more gusto, continuing to keen at the feeling—all of the feelings—and slowly the pain lessens and he glides with less stilted motion, bottoming out again and again and again.

A rhythmic chanting sounds, and it takes a few moments for you to recognize your own voice, so laced with desire and lust, pleading for him. “Please, gods, don’t stop, please!” along with a guttural reply, “I won’t,” filling the bed chamber that surely the others in the palace must be awake and able to hear. Namjoon appeases your request and his hips continue to piston fluidly, his strong thighs creating a cacophony of sounds as they meet the backs of yours. 

An inhale, sharp and stilting—a grunt, with hips stuttering—his fangs piercing the tender skin at the crook of your neck as you feel the blood weeping from your vein as he drinks deeply of you. And you shatter from the ecstasy, like a fallen vase of porcelain, pieces scattering like twinkling stars across the galaxy in a vibrant bursting of flames. 

🥀

“I am…older than I look.” You lay with your head upon Namjoon’s chest, fingers dancing along the smooth, glistening skin of his chest. His voice reverberates in your head as his low timbre continues. “And I am not truly the Queen Mother’s son, but her relative.”

You tilt your head to look up at him.

“I died a little over 50 years ago. Many of my family within these walls are like me. Forever frozen in time. When my father was just a boy in 1390, his uncles and aunts all fell ill of the fever. One by one, they passed away, and his father, fearing death, sought out the answer to life. When all was said and done, the only one to survive the fever was my grandfather’s youngest brother. In order to secure his place on the throne, stories spread that the youngest son killed all of his older siblings for power. In reality, my grandfather helped spread this and protected him all the while from assassination attempts.”

Looking with wide eyes at him, you almost can’t believe that what he says is true. Almost.

“This became our family’s mission. To protect the youngest sibling's line. For all of the children born to the older siblings who did not pass from the fever, upon approaching their 30th year and after having a family if they so wished, would endure the change and live forever. We have grown in our numbers and have always worked to protect the one line that history can know about. The Queen Mother’s great-grandfather is that youngest sibling. Merely days before I took the throne, her son, the true heir, was murdered.”

With a gasp, you sit up, clutching the satin sheets to your naked breasts.

“In order to hide that this attempt was successful, I stepped into his place and took the throne. And the Queen Mother will have another child, one who we will raise as our own and be the next successor, rightfully restoring the line to power once more.”

 “I have so many questions, I can’t even begin to list them!” you pout, stifling a yawn at the late hour. You understand that you will have to raise the Queen Mother’s son as your own child so that the correct lineage remains on the throne, but what of your own children? 

“We have plenty of time for your questions, my love. Maybe I shall answer some of them as I tell you more?”

As Namjoon continues to regale you with his tale, spelling out exactly how your lives will be, you settle back into his body and listen intently to his deep tenor rumbling against your cheek, curling your naked body around his own, until you fall asleep. 

🥀🥀🥀

Epilogue

Eighteen years have passed since Taelani first entered the palace as Namjoon’s concubine. 

Eighteen years since you learned the truth about your husband and his family, and full of questions and curious for more information, had kept him up the following nights with all of your thoughts until he lay you down and forced you quiet with his lips on yours and his hands seeking other truths between your legs. 

Now, you are a mother to twins—at least, as far as the kingdom was concerned. Your daughter, Seojin, is truly yours and Namjoon’s, a miracle that even Namjoon’s family had not anticipated. Due to most everyone else in his family waiting until they had chosen a mate and had kids to turn, this was an unprecedented event. And Seojin’s twin brother, Jiho—though not truly siblings—but instead cousins, is the answer to keeping the family line on the throne. 

Queen Mother Sindeok had hidden away, where she bore a son and then quietly returned to the palace with you and Namjoon, cradling a secret that only your family knew. A secret that she bundled tightly for the trip back and handed into your arms a mere day before your Seojin was born.  

By royal decree, the news of the double royal birth spread across the lands, and in short, the Queen Mother’s pregnancy had never happened. Instead, Taelani, beloved Queen Consort to King Namjoon, had given birth to twins—a boy and a girl, heirs to a prosperous future. Together, the twins' birth was celebrated by the populace and secured the power that Namjoon’s grandfather had cultivated over the years, maintaining their hold of the throne their line refused to give up.

The birth of your twins also made sure that your father no longer tried to challenge the current rulers for power over the people. The Chief Councilor must have immediately withdrawn his money and support of the rival factions, as their attacks and their false propaganda dwindled to almost nonexistence. 

With the belief that his grandson would take the throne, as the twin who was born minutes before his sister, your father seemed to think better of his past alliances, and instead made to be a better grandfather to them than he was a father to you, in the hopes that his name would be next to theirs in historical records as a formative familial link to the throne. 

You still watched over his actions, even now, knowing that he may no longer hunger for the death of the emperor, but that his gusto for power and manipulation was never far from the surface. You and Namjoon had raised your children well though, teaching them to think for themselves and avoid manipulation tactics from even the most persuasive of grandparents. 

At eighteen, Seojin showed no outward signs of her father’s affliction, but for a glint in her eyes that she could do more, hear more, see more, smell more—than her human counterparts. Her brother Jiho was smart, empathetic, and set to be a great ruler, carrying on the legacy his forefathers set before him.

It may have been a little over a decade since you joined your husband in an everlasting life, but you have never regretted that decision, not even for a moment. Standing next to him as he pens his speech for Jiho’s coronation, you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair as you stare out at the full moon, large against the backdrop of the stars and dark clouds. 

“My love, come to bed,” you suggest, wanting to lay with him, to embrace him, to love him.

“One more line and I’ll join you,” he promises with a smirk. He still looks the same, jovial eyes crescenting as his lips quirk up at you. “Strip, and I’ll make sure to keep you warm.”

His lustful gaze watches as you step backwards towards the bed, eyes staying on his face.

A few moments later, he replaces his quill and caps the ink, fingers tugging at his pants to loosen them from his waist. Your giggles carry with the evening breeze as it whistles quietly through the slats in the window, rustling the parchment Namjoon was writing on and drying the last lines he had written. 

“And for our country, with Yi Jiho as emperor, this nation will finally have all we have fought for: strength, power, and a promising future.”

And for you and Namjoon, your sacrifices eighteen years ago continue the legacy of a kingdom destined to be ruled by a lineage of

eternal reign.

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2024. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[goblinontour]

For Him

it’s all for him

warnings: explicit love

word count: 6k

Love doesn’t even begin to cover it. Love — the all-encompassing, all-consuming, above-all-else feeling. Love doesn’t feel adequate. Love doesn’t even come near enough to describe it. To describe what this is, what you feel, what he is to you. Love is a shallow word, a placeholder, a stand-in for something bigger, something you can’t name and never will. Will not be able to. 

It was there, though. Love was there. From the first moment you felt him. The moment you touched him, and you wished, in the quiet, echoing depths of your soul, that you’d met him earlier. Earlier, because there will never be enough of him.

And maybe if you’d had another year, you could have settled for love. Another month, and maybe it would have been enough to fill the spaces he’s carved out of you. Another day, and maybe you wouldn’t be here, aching, wanting, needing more. Another minute, and maybe the hollowness wouldn’t ache so much. Another second, and you might have been fuller.  

Fuller of him.

Because every second he doesn’t fill feels empty — even when they’re crowded with the thoughts of him. Those haunting thoughts of him. They are heavy. They linger. They never leave. Because you won’t let them. Because you can’t bear to let them go, even when they so desperately fight to dissolve. To let him go, even in your mind, feels unbearable. Because you can’t miss any more of him. You won’t allow it. It would hurt more than hanging onto those desperate thoughts. 

And the thought of goodbye? Nothing’s worse than saying goodbye. Saying goodbye to him, even the him you keep stored away in your head. It feels a little bit like dying. 

It feels worse than dying.  

You don’t miss him. You can’t. He’s here. His body beside you, his warmth in the bed. But you still long for him, as if there’s a piece of him somewhere else, just out of reach. A part of him you’ll never touch.  

If love’s not enough — will never be enough — then why? Why do you love him? Why do you love him so much that it splits you open and spills you out to make more room for him? Why do you love him when it hurts more often than it doesn’t?  

But then, he stirs. A faint, lazy shift beside you, and your heart lurches toward him. His hair is mussed, dark locks curling over his forehead, and you can feel the warmth of his skin before you even touch it. His breathing slows, evens, and your chest tightens. You lean in, closer than close, lips grazing the shell of his ear. 

There is nothing to be afraid of.

“I love you.”

The words come quiet, soft. You whisper them because saying them too loudly would only make it feel like acknowledging their insufficiency. Like shining a light on the void that still exists, even in love. So you keep them quiet and hope — hope — hope that they’re enough. At least for him. Enough for him to understand a fraction of what you mean. Of what it truly is. 

Because it’s more than love. It’s greater than affection. Beyond. Beyond the hugs and beyond the words or the way you hold him. More. More than the way he holds you back, like the two of you are all that’s keeping the world from breaking apart. Because you’d fall apart without each other there. Holding it all together, together. Yourselves and the other. 

“I think you’re supposed to say, ‘Happy Birthday.’” he murmurs, his voice slow and drowsy, still thick with sleep even though the sun hangs high in the sky. 

Almost noon.

You glance up at him, his eyelids heavy, his lips curling into the faintest trace of a smile. The kind of smile that’s more reflex than effort, born out of his teasing rather than true amusement.  

He doesn’t sleep well at night. He never has. He calls it wasting time, lying awake in the dark, restless, as if sleep itself is a thief robbing him of moments he’ll never get back. Time. Precious time. He treats it like gold dust, hoarded and spent with care, but never wasted.  

And yet, come morning — or afternoon — he always regrets it. Always drags himself out of bed with a sigh, muttering about the hours he’s lost. Same guilt, same cycle. A war between the time he holds too tightly and the time that slips away.  

Precious, precious time. 

You smile faintly against his skin. “I don’t want to remind you you’re getting old.”  

“You don’t want to remind yourself.” he corrects, his lips twitching into a knowing smirk. He’s always right, even when you don’t want him to be. Especially when you don’t want him to be. He’s always right.

“It’s okay, little love.” he says, and his voice wraps around you like a blanket never could, soft and warm but never suffocating. “I don’t mind it. But don’t worry too much. You’re making it sound like I’m eighty.”  

“Sorry.” you whisper, and you don’t know why you’re apologising, but you do it anyway. You shift closer, nuzzling into his chest, inhaling the faint, musky warmth of him. Now that he’s awake, you don’t have to be so careful. No tiptoeing so as not to disturb. You can disturb him now, without feeling as guilty. He won’t mind.  

“I love you too, just so you know.” he says, his voice soft, almost shy.  

You press your ear to his chest, to feel, and listen, and then feel some more. His skin is warm and sticky, still, from sleep. Sticky enough that your ear almost gets suctioned on there and you can hear the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your cheek more than his voice. 

Thumping. 

B-dum. B-dum. B-dum.

“I know.” you say. Barely audible. You don’t want to risk drowning out that sound. Of his heartbeat. You close your eyes and let it fill you, every hollow, aching part of you.  

B-dum. B-dum. B-dum.

Time feels cruel. You don’t say it, but you feel it. Time that keeps slipping through your fingers, dragging you both forward. But for now, there’s this. 

For now, it’s enough.  

It has to be.

“I didn’t get you anything.” you whisper again, even quieter this time, as though saying it aloud might further cement your failure. 

Your breath feels shallow, as though the confession has siphoned all the air from your lungs. You can feel his chest rise and fall beneath you, his warmth enveloping you, but it’s not enough to quiet the churn of guilt in your stomach. Your hands fidget against the hollow in the middle, that perfect slope that you imagine deepens every time you lay on it, tracing patterns in the heat of his skin.  

You didn’t. You didn’t get him anything because nothing felt like enough. If love wasn’t enough, how could a thing — a mere object, bought and wrapped and handed over — ever suffice? How could you trust that a trinket, something so tangible and small and fleeting, could carry the weight of everything you wanted him to know? What you needed him to feel? Everything you couldn’t say. If love wasn’t enough, how could you put your faith in anything else?  

If love wasn’t enough, how could anything be?  

“That’s fine.” he says. He’s impressively calm, unbothered, compared to your chronic restlessness. His fingers brush over your arm in slow, lazy strokes, as if to soothe you. He shifts slightly beneath you, adjusting his arm around your back. His fingertips trail lightly against your spine.  

Tap. Tap. Tap.

But his reassurance doesn’t land. You can’t stop. You can’t stop the words from spilling out, your voice trembling, faster now, desperate to explain, disjointed and raw. “I just-” You swallow hard. Your throat tightens. You press your cheek harder against his chest. “You already have it all. I didn’t know what to get you that you couldn’t just…get yourself. And I- I ran out of time…time. I thought about it too long, and then I woke up today, and it was too late.”  

“Sweetie…”

Your hands press against him, fingers curling slightly, clinging to the safety of his presence. You can’t look at him. You can’t risk it. You can’t risk seeing the disappointment that might linger in his eyes. The possibility of it burning in there would undo you completely, and you’re already teetering on the edge.  

You keep your gaze fixed on his collarbone, unable to look up. 

You can’t risk it. 

“Sweetie, stop.” he says. He’s firm. The words slice through your spiralling thoughts.  

You hear the barely there hiss of his breath, a flicker of frustration. And in that moment, your chest tightens, and the guilt surges forward. You fucked up. He exhales a soft huff that brushes against the crown of your head. You feel the faintest shift in his chest. You’ve said too much, and now you’ve ruined something.  

Everything.

But then his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer. He wraps himself around you like armor. Firm, his hands warm against your back, his hold so secure that it feels like the world outside of him doesn’t exist. He wraps himself around you so completely. The kind of embrace that makes you feel small and safe, protected in a way that nothing else does.  

He holds you tighter, tighter still, until the edges of you blur into him. He holds you so tightly you know you’d have to fight to escape. Until you know that escape is impossible.

Not that you’d ever try. You’d never want to.  

“Sorry.” you murmur against his chest.  

“No.” he says, sharp and immediate with an insistence that leaves no room for doubt. His hands move, one slipping up to the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, the other splaying wide across your back. “No, no. You were right.” His voice softens and drops into something gentler. 

You hesitate, confused, and your body tenses slightly against him. He must feel it, because his hand on your back begins to move in slow, soothing circles, the friction of his palm against your shirt creating a faint warmth.  

“I have everything.” he continues.  

He pauses, and the silence stretches out. And again, all you can hear is the steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear. 

Beating.

B-dum. B-dum. B-dum.

The rhythmic pulse of life. It’s almost enough to drown out the self-doubt still clinging to you.  

“Right ‘ere.” he finally says, his voice breaking just slightly on the words.  

And then he inhales, so deep you feel the tremor in him, the slow expansion of his chest pressing into yours, the way he seems to pull the air in as if it might just be the thing holding him together. He holds it in. Exhales slowly. Like he’s releasing something, letting it go into the space between you. 

“I have you ‘ere.” he whispers. “That’s enough.”  

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just lie there, your body pressed against his, your hands gripping him. His words feel warmer and heavier than his body, sinking into your skin, and for the first time in hours — maybe days — it begins to ease.  

Slowly, cautiously, you lift your head. You finally look up at him, chin resting on his chest — right in that special spot. When your eyes finally meet his, you see nothing but softness. There’s no disappointment there. No frustration. Just him. Just Alex, looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.  

And for a moment, the ache eases.  

You search his face, your gaze tracing the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the messy curls that fall across his forehead. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t blink. He just watches you, patient and steady, like he’s willing you to understand.  

You do. 

You let yourself believe him.  

For a moment, you let yourself believe that you are enough. 

So you watch.  

You look, and you study, and you wish — desperately — that your eyes were fitted with tiny microscopes so you wouldn’t miss a thing. You don’t want to miss a thing. You want to memorise every detail, every imperfection, every fleeting expression that might escape you if you look away too soon.  

Your gaze drifts to the corners of his eyes, to the faint wrinkles that fan out like delicate etchings. You start counting them, one by one, as you always do, wondering if there are more than last year, or even yesterday. You always count, and yet you never remember the last number. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Your eyes move to his forehead, and you study the lines there, the ones that seem a little deeper than they used to. They’re there constantly now, carved into his skin like tiny scars from years of raising his eyebrows just so. He says it’s to soften his expression, to make himself look less unapproachable to the outside world.  

You think it’s ridiculous.  

You’ve told him that before — how silly he looks when he does it, like he’s trying to imitate some wide-eyed, overly eager version of himself. You’ve teased him for it, and he’s laughed, but still, he does it.  

He says his face falls weird when he’s neutral, and this, apparently, is the fix. You think it’s unnecessary. You like his face as it is — neutral, serious, tired, upset. Whatever he is, it’s fine.  

Because it’s him.  

It’s him, and it’s real, and you wouldn’t change a thing.  

Your hand moves instinctively, your fingertips brushing against the faint lines there, on his forehead. You trace them gently, lightly, and harder as you’re trying to memorise their shape. He doesn’t flinch or pull away. He just watches you, patient as ever, his dark eyes soft and steady, as always. 

“You’re staring again.” he says. There’s no real reproach in it. He doesn’t mind the spotlight when that spotlight is you.

“I know.” you murmur, not bothering to deny it.  

He raises an eyebrow slightly, and there’s that look again — that playful tilt of his lips, the one that’s almost imperceptible, like he’s fighting the urge to smile.  

“Am I passing inspection?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.  

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You always do.”  

His expression softens further, the teasing edge fading. His hand comes up to rest over yours, his fingers curling gently around your wrist, holding you there against him.  

“You don’t have to, you know.” he says quietly.  

“Don’t have to what?”  

“Look so hard. It’s like…like you’re afraid I’ll disappear if you don’t.”  

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. Your hand stills against his forehead, and your breath hitches slightly, your chest tightening.  

“I just…” you start, your voice trailing off as you search for the right words. “I just don’t want to miss anything.”  

“You won’t.” he says simply, his thumb brushing lightly against your wrist. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”  

You nod, but that ache in your chest doesn’t fully subside. Because time doesn’t care about promises, and no matter how tightly you hold on, it always finds a way to slip through your fingers.  

“You’re struggling to breathe.” he announces, his steady voice pulling you back to yourself.  

You hadn’t noticed until now, hadn’t realised how shallow your breaths had become, how your lungs felt heavy, like they were carrying too much. The moment he says it, the awareness hits you — harder and harder, a wave crashing over you, dragging you under.  

Your chest tightens, and the sting in your nose starts to surface, hot and sharp. Your eyes feel like they’re being pressed from the inside, the pressure swelling until you can’t ignore it anymore.  

“Don’t cry, my baby.” he whispers, a plea as much as an attempt at comfort.  

But it’s too late.  

The cracks in you deepen, widening into fissures that can’t be held together anymore. The tears come, spilling over before you can stop them, before you can even think to try.  

He tries. He always tries. 

He wipes at your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, murmuring soft reassurances, holding you closer, tighter, like he can somehow stop the flow through sheer force of will. 

But it doesn’t work. He knows it won’t work.  

So, finally, he lets it happen. He lets you break, lets the tears fall freely, lets the overwhelming weight of it all pour out of you. Because it’s too much.

It’s too much love, too little time.

And when love feels like this, when it swells so big it aches, clothing is just another barrier. A suggestion, for that reason, never an imposition. 

He breaks it down with clumsy hands, fumbling with the neckline of your shirt, pulling it over your head in a movement that’s more desperate than it could ever be classed as graceful. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t hesitate, just keeps going until there’s nothing between you but skin.  

The moment you feel him — him — warm and solid, the familiar press of his chest against yours — it hurts a little less.  

You press yourself against him, a wet cheek against his shoulder, hands clutching at his back because you’re still afraid he might slip away. His arms wrap around you again, this time even tighter, to the point it almost hurts. It hurts. But not as much as not having him hold you. His hands spread across your bare skin like he’s trying to hold you together, to keep the fissures from splitting into something irreparable.  

He doesn’t speak now. There’s nothing left to say. He just holds you, lets you cry into him, lets the warmth of his body seep into yours, lets the moment stretch out until the edges of your pain start to dull.  

And in his silence, you feel it. The unspoken truth. The promise that doesn’t need words.  

The fissures won’t turn into holes. Not with him here. Not with the way he holds you, the way he keeps you from falling apart completely.  

You can breathe again.

And you can breathe him in again.  

Ah, there it is. That sweetness. It clings to him, a scent that feels like home. It soothes. It’s calming you.  

But now…now, he’s restless.  

You feel it first in the subtle fidgeting of his fingers against your skin, then in the shifting of his limbs, the tightening and untightening of muscles as he tries — and fails — to settle. The closeness that was comforting moments ago has turned into a puzzle, the edges too tight, the pieces overlapping awkwardly.  

“Oh.” you gasp softly. He’s restless all over, his body betraying him.  

“Sorry, girl.” he mumbles, his voice tinged with embarrassment. His hands move hesitantly, unsure whether to pull you closer or let you go. “I didn’t mean to. It- it’s just… you’re naked. Almost. It just…”  

“It’s…” you start, but you trail off.  

“I’m sorry.” he repeats, firmer this time, like he needs you to believe him.  

Why would he be sorry?  

It’s only…natural.  

“Who are you?” you ask suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at him, your eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.  

He blinks, startled, but before he can answer, you lean in again, pressing a kiss to the dip in his collarbone.  

“Just me.” he says with a nervous giggle. His cheeks flush, the color creeping up his neck, and you feel his chest rise sharply beneath your palms.  

He’s so fucking cute when he’s like this.  

“I don’t know you.” you tease. 

You’re purring.  

Up now, your knees bracketing his sides, your hands splayed across his chest. His breathing quickens further, his flush deepening as he looks up at you. From his point of view, there’s something there. A spark, a shift, something playful. But your eyes are still red, rimmed with the remnants of tears. 

And yet, he can’t help it.  

Not when you’re like this, pressing up against him, leaning over him, commanding his attention so effortlessly. His eyes flicker over you, wide and unblinking, like headlights catching something fragile in the dark. He knows he should look away, should steady himself, but he can’t.  

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

A palm reaches out, hesitant at first, then bold. It cups you, warm and engulfing, his fingers splaying instinctively, mapping every inch of you. The other joins. 

“Security! Security!” you call out dramatically, a breathless laughter.  

The corners of your eyes crunch as you smile, betraying any hint of real fear. The peaks of your skin, hot beneath his squeezing fingertips, send a rush of heat between you both, and you feel his hand falter for a split second before tightening its hold.  

The act of innocence.  

“I don’t mean to…” he says, his voice dipping low, a rasp threading through his words. He tilts his head back against the pillow, his eyes half-lidded, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m just a tortured artist, baby.”  

“Yeah?” you challenge, shifting your hips, enough to feel the friction between you both.  

“Yeah.” he breathes.  

Hips roll.  

Heat intensifies.  

The wetness that once blurred your vision now pools low, deep, undeniable. It seeps into the space between you, pulling you both into its gravity.  

He groans softly. And…God! It’s so beautiful…his grip on you tightening as his body moves in sync with yours. His gaze never leaves you, even as his lips part, his breath hitching with every shift, every roll, every press of your skin against his.  

You smile, a wicked, knowing smile, and lean down until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Tortured?” you murmur.  

“Always.” he whispers, his words swallowed by the heat between you as his hands guide you closer, closer, until there’s no space left at all.

“Is that solely a bad thing?” 

It strikes him harder than you intended. His body stills, his breath catching as he processes what you’ve just said. He doesn’t answer right away, his silence stretching out, heavy and charged, while you wait.  

You’re hesitant in your approach, your fingers hovering, dancing lightly across his skin. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A rhythm that mirrors the beat of your heart. You’re waiting, always waiting, for his sign.  

And then it comes.  

A nod. Another squeeze of his hands on your breasts.  

Green light.

You move, reaching in just barely, your fingers brushing against the warmth of him. He’s sticky already.  

“I think…that…suffering is necessary.” he says, his voice uneven, halting. His legs twitch beneath you, begging to squeeze together, to curl inward, but he can’t. You’re holding him down without even trying, just by being there, your weight and presence enough to pin him in place.  

“In order to- to access the high levels of feeling- fuck-” His voice cuts off, his words swallowed by a sharp intake of breath.  

He can’t.  

His right hand quits its job of squeezing, abandoning your chest to join yours below. His fingers wrap around yours, warm and insistent, guiding you, begging you, leading you.  

“Of love.” he finally concludes, his voice trembling.  

Love.

It echoes in your mind, that single word reverberating.  

“Profound…” you start, leaving the word open, unfinished, unsure of how to follow it.  

Your hips shift, your body moving instinctively, rubbing yourself against his thigh in time with the rhythm of your holding hands. The sensation sends sparks shooting through you, but your focus stays on him, on the way his breath hitches, on the way his fingers grip yours tighter.  

He’s soft there, on his thighs. The skin is plush and fluffy in a way he rarely shows to anyone but you. It’s intimate, that softness, a vulnerability he keeps hidden from the world but offers to you without hesitation.  

“…ness.” he completes.  

Profoundness.  

It feels bigger than the moment, bigger than the two of you, and yet it’s tethered here, grounded in the heat and closeness of your bodies.  

His hand tightens over yours, guiding you with more urgency now, his movements less controlled, more desperate. His eyes lock on yours, wide and glistening, and you can see everything in them — his need, his fear, his devotion.  

And love. Always love.  

You lean forward, lips brushing against his ear, and whisper, “Show me?”  

A command, a plea, a promise all wrapped into one. And he does. 

“I can count this as my present…if it makes you feel better.” 

His fingers toy with the bow on your panties, that delicate little detail that always seems to fuck with his head. It’s so small, so dainty, so perfectly out of place between the rough pads of his fingertips. His hands aren’t particularly big, but somehow, you make them feel enormous. You make him feel enormous.

Almost…wrong.  

You nod, your breath catching, and the sight of you offering yourself like that — open, willing, waiting — pulls a groan from deep in his chest.  

“God…” he breathes, the word dragged out.  

The way you give yourself to him. Every time. All the time. It feels so wrong.  

It feels like the only thing that’s ever been right.  

His hand dips lower, and he rubs the tip of himself over the fabric that clings to you, already damp, already sticking to every curve and dip of your shape. Now it sticks to him too, and the friction of it, the teasing pressure, makes his jaw clench.  

You shiver, your body trembles as you try to hold yourself steady, but it’s too much.  

And yet, not enough.  

Your legs weaken, and you drop back down onto him, pressing yourself against his lap with a need that borders on desperation. The heat of him, the solidity, the sheer realness of him, makes your breath stutter.  

It’s too much-  

It’s not enough.  

He exhales sharply, his hands flying to your hips to hold you steady, to keep you from sliding away, but his grip isn’t tight enough to stop you from moving. It never is. You grind against him, the thin barrier of fabric doing nothing to dull the sensation, and his head falls back against the pillow with a muffled curse.  

“Fuck, baby…” His voice is strained now, thick with the weight of everything he feels but can’t quite say.  

The bow beneath his fingertips feels almost absurd in contrast to the heat between you, but it grounds him somehow. He tugs at it gently, watching it stretch and twist, and the sight of it makes his head spin. It’s delicate, almost too delicate. 

Like you.  

He knows better. You aren’t fragile. You just let him treat you like you are. It ruins him every time.  

You both need more.  

His hand slips lower, finding the edge of the fabric, and with a slow movement, he pushes it to the side. The wetness there makes him shiver, his breath catching as he lets his fingers toy with you for a moment, drawing soft, stuttering sounds from your lips.  

And then, finally, he pushes himself in.  

Slowly.

You wince, your body tensing, and the ache is back. That familiar, consuming ache — the one that feels like it starts in your chest and radiates outward, like it’s eating you alive.  

The closest of closeness.  

The most you could possibly get.  

And you still feel so utterly empty.  

He notices, of course he notices. He always notices.  

“It’s okay, baby, it’s ‘kay…shhh.” he whispers, like he’s trying to soothe a wild animal — you feel like one. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you gently into the curve of his neck. “I don’t like to think of people…of…I don’t want to think of you suffering. But then you do.”  

His hips roll, slow and measured, and the stretch of him inside you makes your breath hitch. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you don’t know how to reconcile the two.  

“You breathe at such a rate that you’re bound to suffer, sweetie.” he murmurs, his words almost lost in the rhythm of his movements.  

“I…I don’t know if it’s pain or pleasure.” you choke out, your voice muffled against his shoulder. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, and you sniffle, clinging to him, to the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.  

His pace is so slow, so tender, that it hurts in its kindness. Every thrust feels like a question, every withdrawal like an apology.  

“Reality is pain,” he says, his voice breaking slightly, “but we bring out the pleasure, in each other, with each other.”  

You can feel it in the way his hands roam your body, always searching, always reassuring. But even as he speaks, you can tell he’s fighting his own demons. His mind flickers through the darker corners of himself, the parts he tries to keep hidden. He wonders if he’s hurting you more than helping you, if his presence in your life is a blessing or a curse.  

You, meanwhile, can’t stop cataloging him.  

The way his jaw clenches and unclenches with every thrust. The beads of sweat gathering at his temple. The soft, almost imperceptible tremor in his voice when he whispers your name.  

You wonder if he feels it too — that emptiness. If he’s trying to fill it the same way you are, with this act, with this closeness.  

You wonder if it’s working for him.  

Because for you, it’s both too much and not enough.  

You press your lips to his shoulder, kissing the damp skin there, tasting salt of sweat and tears, and heat, and him.

“Do you feel it?”  

His movements slow even further, his body stilling for a moment.  

“I feel everything.” he finally says. His hands tighten on you, pulling you closer, as if that’s even possible. “You make me feel everything.”  

So you kept offering yourself to him. Because it was the only thing that made sense. Because in those moments, when words failed him, when he avoided eye contact like the answers were buried somewhere else, he’d offer you the deeper meaning of his touch.  

He was avoidant, yes. Could be classed an asshole, if you wanted to simplify it. He wouldn’t talk. Not too often, not too much. 

Unless he did.  

When he thought you needed it so desperately that you wouldn’t make it out without the explicitness, without the explanations. He’d relent. He’d offer you a sliver of his mind, a glimpse into that labyrinth of thoughts he kept so well-guarded.  

And sometimes, those words would only make it worse.  

It’s hard to overstate. The impact he had. 

Has.  

The chokehold.  

“Tighter.” Your voice is a rasp, your breath already unsteady, but you say it anyway. His hand rests on your throat, not pressing yet, just holding, and you arch into the weight of it. “Tighter.”  

His gaze sharpens. There’s something unreadable in his eyes. A pause. A moment of hesitation. Then his grip tightens, and the air between you seems to still.  

He turns pain into something beautiful.  

“Take me.” you whisper, your voice a low, almost imperceptible plead. His fingers begin to move.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Against your neck, as if testing the rhythm of your pulse.  

Intuitive. Always.  

Then he takes.  

His free hand finds your jaw, thumb pressing against your lower lip until your mouth falls open. He’s watching you, watching the way your body responds to him, the way your chest rises and falls in its shallowness.  

Knuckles knock against your teeth as he slides his fingers inside, pads pressing against your tastebuds, filling the space until you’re choking on him. Nails scrape against the back of your throat, and you gag, tears springing to your eyes.  

Impactful.  

“Good girl.” he murmurs. Like velvet over steel. The praise is quiet, but it ignites something primal in you. You whimper around his fingers, and he groans, barely holding himself together.  

He watches the tears spill over, watches the way your lips stretch around him, and something in him snaps. His hand tightens further on your throat, cutting off just enough air to make you feel weightless. To make you float in that space between pleasure and pain. Until you can’t tell them apart. Until you can’t settle on either one. 

You grab at his wrist, not to pull him away but to anchor yourself to him. Because…he’s everything. Your air, your gravity, your entire world condensed into the roughness of his touch and the way he looks at you.  

“Breathe, baby.” he says. His hand loosens slightly, giving you just enough to draw in a shaky breath around his fingers. “I’ve got you. Always.”  

You believe him.  

You have to.

He is your only salvation from this pain. The doer and undoer. Cause and effect. The wound and the salve.  

And the aura of him remains, remains…

Remains.

“Oh-”  

“Fuck-”  

The words tear from both of you in unison. A tangled cry. You’re unravelling together. And it feels like the closest you’ve ever been to him. And yet…it still isn’t enough.  

His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers pressing into your flesh. He thrusts deep, every movement a combination of tenderness and force, as though he’s pouring everything he can into you, trying to fill the empty spaces you both know he never fully can.  

At this moment, it feels like he could.  

He drags against every nerve inside you, heavy and thick, and you feel the way he throbs, the heat of him building, threatening to spill over. It’s overwhelming, the way he stretches you, the way every inch of him feels. He moves with an unsteady rhythm now, hips stuttering, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.  

You’re both trembling. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins.  

“Shit…” he gasps, voice strained, breaking, as his pace falters. He’s so deep now, the tip of him brushing places that make you cry out.

Again. And again. And again.

That make your body tighten around him, pulling him even closer. It’s messy now, desperate. He’s losing himself inside you.  

“Fuck, baby, I-” His voice catches, and then he’s gone. 

You feel him twitch inside you, sharp and insistent, and then he’s spilling, warmth flooding you in waves. It’s a slow, pulsating release, and you feel every surge of it, every shudder that wracks his body as he empties himself into you. He presses as deep as he can go, burying himself completely, as if he could carve a place for himself inside you, as if he could leave a part of himself that will never fade.  

He’s soothing from the inside. A plea for forgiveness he can’t bring himself to ask for aloud. He gives you little pieces of himself — small, fragmented traces of his love, his essence, his everything.  

And it’s insufficient.  

It will always be insufficient for the vastness of your longing, for the endless craving that gnaws at the edges of your soul. He feels it too. You can tell by the way his hands tighten on your waist, by the way his forehead presses against yours, like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.  

He knows.  

He can’t help but feel that way, that what he gives you will never be enough. But what more can he offer than this? Than himself?

The peak caves slowly, unbearably, and it’s not just pleasure — it’s everything. It’s love and desperation and grief for the moments that slip through your fingers. 

It’s heartbreaking.  

So you smile.  

You don’t mean to do it. You don’t even realise you’re doing it until you see the reflection of it in his eyes. But it’s there — a soft, almost involuntary curve of your lips that speaks to something deeper than words.  

You don’t have to keep smiling.  

But you do.  

Because this is the best thing.  

The best he can give you. The best you can take. The best the two of you can be in a world that feels like it’s always working against you.  

And when the peak finally crests, when your body shatters around him, you don’t stop smiling.  

Even as the tears spill over. Even as the ache in your chest sharpens. Even as the world starts to creep back in, threatening to pull him away from you.  

You smile, because for this fleeting, fragile moment, he’s yours…

Yours. Yours. Yours.

…Completely.

He gives you a great desire to love. 

a/n: Happy Birthday, Al.

[aemonds-favorite-rider]

NSFW BELOW!

(a/n i am so happy you guys enjoyed my Aemond alphabet, this is for all my Jacaerys girls :) enjoy!)

Jacaerys Velaryon NSFW Alphabet!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

King of aftercare. Jacaerys is amazing at aftercare. Making sure you drink some water (he will occasionally send a maid to fetch a sweet treat for you on), before delicately cleaning you up with gentle praises falling from his lips.

Letting you know you took him and his seed so beautifully and how gorgeous you look in the afterglow of it all. Making sure you're nice and cozy and feeling safe before allowing himself to rest beside you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jacaerys loves his thighs. They're nice and toned and before you two wed, they were the perfect way to get you off. Allowing you to ride his toned and muscled thighs from his dedication to training. He loved watching you fall apart when you'd both sneak off for a moment of privacy before your wedding and even after!

Jace loves stomachs. He is absolutely obsessed with the soft skin and build of your stomach. He loves to rest his head on it at night when you both lay and talk before bed, he loves the way it squishes under his touch...he loves the way the way it bulges while he splits you open on his cock especially. He's especially affectionate after you two have your first babe...and all that may come after.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think he had a lot of cum. He's always gushing from between your lips when he finally pulls out. And he loves to watch it run down your pretty legs before pushing it back in with a soft murmur of praise for taking every bit of it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a secret fantasy of breeding you on the Iron Throne. Having you bounce up and down on him while you both sit on it before spilling inside of you watching it drip ever so faintly from between your legs when you stand up. It's his favorite nasty little fantasy he hopes to make a reality one day.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jace would 100% probably wait till his wedding night to you to do the actual deed. That doesn't mean he isn't completely inexperienced, and he's always an eager and experimental student. He enjoys growing with you in all aspects of your relationship including sexually :)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves missionary. He is so obviously obsessed with your body, he loves to watch every twitch and response to pleasure your body will give him. Watching you squirm under him? He doesn't stand a chance at all. He also loves to be able to make contact as much as possible...he just likes to see what he does to you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jace can find some humor in the moment sometimes. He's kind of a dork as we know so sometimes he'll take that into your chambers. It keeps things comfortable and light. You both have enough serious matters, sex is a stress relief and reconnect for you both.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I don't think a full bush but he definitely has a thatch of dark curly hair around his cock but that's it. Nothing too crazy, he likes to keep it trimmed up neat for you (it's so he can see your juices glisten off his pubes)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

King of affection. He loved to hold your hand, rest his forehead against yours. whatever the moment calls for appropriately. Always making you feel so worshipped and gorgeous at your most intimate...don't be fooled though, if you truly wished for it, he'll fuck you senselessly.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He used to be ashamed of masturbating to the thought of you, he is a gentlemen of course, but sometimes he just couldn't help it. Though he prefers to just try wait it out...

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Again. Top three.

Breeding ofc. He is obsessed with finishing in you and hoping it sticks so he can watch your body swell and become sensitive for him. He swears you look like The Mother herself when pregnant.

Praise kink and body worship. Jacaerys jumps at any and all chance to give you praise and this includes your body. He could spend an entire night kissing your body if you let him. But...dare he even say he enjoys it equally when you praise him in the same way with the same enthusiasm as him if you catch my thought.

Oral kink. Obviously. He loves putting his mouth on your body. Sucking and nibbling delicately on your pretty nipples, leaving a hickey on your tummy, licking your sensitive pearl. He's obsessed.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Believe it or not, Jace likes to fuck you in front of the fireplace. Forming a little bed in front of it for you both after a long day, before making love to you with the warmth of the fire on your bare bodies.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The noises, the moans, the praise. He lives for your praise and love. You take such great care of him so he sees it as a way to return the favor.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I think he would say no to any impact play. Choking is on a thin line as well. His brain can't comprehend harming you or degrading you in such a manner as to cause bodily harm. He simply refuses.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He 100% prefers to give. He could spend forever between your soft and warm thighs. Devouring you until you're absolutely shaking and whining under him. If he died between your thighs he would die a happy man.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He liked slow and deep. It's more passionate and special that way according to him. He is the definition of making love and treats every time as if it's the last pretty much...but he does enjoy an occasional rough fuck with you that leaves you crying out for hours until you're an absolute wreck.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not really his thing honestly. Some times he can't help but take you in passing after you both haven't seen each other in a while. He'll pull you off for some quick relief. He prefers to eat you out or take you from behind with a hand over your mouth while whisper how good you are and how much he missed you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Not his thing either I don't think (aside from his little Iron Throne fantasy). He has a reputation and role to play as Prince and unlike some he intends to be a poised and proper prince.

He is 100% willing to experiment. Sex is an outlet for you both and something special and he wants to always make sure you have whatever you want and need. He will try anything twice at the least.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Stamina was NOT Jacaerys thing at first bless his heart but he eventually lasts quite a bit after awhile. He usually can't do more than two rounds before he usually has to take a break. I have a headcanon the first time he ever saw your bare body he immediately came his pants on your wedding night.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

This is fifty fifty for Jace. He has to be careful about acquiring the toys lest anyone find out you have them. But he has a couple of simple toys for you both, nothing complex or heavy. Perhaps some silk ribbons, and a blindfold even?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man is a MESS if you tease him so for the love of the Seven, use this wisely. He always remembers and he isn't above teasing you right back when it matters most...

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He lets out the occasional breathy moan and whine but mainly it's just little whispering of love and praise in your ear just above a soft loving whisper...not to be specific.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jace is obsessed with spoiling you i like to think. Getting you beautiful jewels and gems for you. He's obsessed with watching the beautifully glinting jewels against your titties and skin. They make you look so stunning and breathtaking according to him, plus it's a bonus to always spoil you as you deserve :)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

OH this boy is pretty thick. Have you seen his build? I think it's quite long and slender as 4 inches soft and 6 and a half hard! It also leans to the left if that matters to anyone.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

For you? If you give him the chance he's is down. All he needs is to warm up a little and he's absolutely ready. He doesn't really tell you no, because being with you so intimately is one of his favorite things about life.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once the aftercare has concluded then he falls asleep pretty quickly. Never before though! Not until his beautiful wife is safe and has all she needs.

[lale-txt]

❉ confessing to you w/ Geto, Toji & Shiu

➸ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏: Gojo, Nanami & Higuruma

a/n: reader is gn! obviously i lied when i said that i won't write a part 2 for this, but here we are. the scenarios plagued my mind and i had to get them out. both Toji's and Geto's part turned out a little sad and angsty, but that's what you get with those tragic chars, i guess.

❦ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

Toji doesn’t confess. Deep, deep down he fears that he might put a curse on you if he speaks what weighs on his heart. 

You gotta forgive him, he’s a burned child. 

He’s afraid that you’re gonna vanish once he says these words out loud; without a trace, making him wonder if you were merely a fever dream. But you’re here, next to him in the dark, the heat of your body seeping into his when you roll over in your sleep and cling to him. He has to keep you safe, it’s what his life revolves around.

Toji’s hands are surprisingly gentle when he brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You wouldn’t think that the same hands were covered in blood only a few hours ago. Some days he wouldn’t stop scrubbing them until you wrapped yours around his, giving him that look that makes his heart flinch. There’s no fear in your eyes, only compassion and a calm adoration, enough to make the lump of unsaid words in his throat swell. Sometimes he wonders if he’s gonna suffocate on those one day; if you’ll be able to forgive him for loving you, for touching you with those bloodstained hands, for engraving himself into your being.

He hopes you know. You do, don’t you? You wouldn’t curl up besides him otherwise, tangled in sheets he’ll never stay too long because he fears his world will melt down to just the two of you. So he keeps his gun on the nightstand and one foot out of the door, but his eyes will always dart back to your sleeping figure. You mumble out his name in your sleep and Toji responds by pulling you closer to him, only for a moment, holding his breath when you stir awake for a heartbeat. 

Maybe he can love you in between.

In those split seconds when you’re not asleep but not awake either; neither dreaming nor conscious. Not in this life, not in the next one. But in another life, when the stars have aligned and lead you back into his arms. Maybe he can hold you without worrying about staining your soul, your heart; maybe then he can kiss you with the absence of fear. Until then he’ll bite his tongue till he draws blood, choking on the words he chose not to say.

You will forgive him, won’t you? 

❦ 𝐆𝐄��𝐎

In the dark and hazy mind of Geto, you’re the golden light that always guides him back to life. Even though fears he’ll dim you once he encases you, he can’t stay away from you for too long, your warmth way too addicting to him. You never push him away, instead you open your arms to embrace him. It’s as if you’re blinded by your own light, choosing not to see the sins he had committed because it would mean you’d have to stop loving him, and that would mean your whole world would simply fall apart; it’d mean Geto would fall apart.

Geto never asks for much. He did once and maybe that’s the heaviest burden he has to carry; that night when he showed up at your doorstep, asking you to leave everything behind and come with him. It was selfish, he knows that much. But how could you have denied him anything, when both his voice and heart were close to breaking, when he mumbled your name like an apology, his hands trembling till the moment you wrapped yours around them?

It’s too late now, and saying those words out loud now would feel like a binding vow, destroying you in the end. He can’t do that to you. Not to the person who saw the core of his soul and still chose to stay by his side, over all these years. Not budging, not complaining.

An unconditional love with eyes closed. A black hole where his heart is supposed to be, from dusk but never to dawn; while you’re burning brighter than a thousand suns. Maybe he has always been in your orbit, inevitably drawn to you.

When Geto trails kisses from your fingertips to your wrists, he can’t help but wonder when the day will come when he’ll slip through these fingers and plunge into darkness. He imagines your desperate cries and the scratch marks on his skin when you attempt to pull him back, back to the light, back to you. One day, it will be too late, he’s sure of that. His end won’t be a kind one. 

All he can hope for is your forgiveness when he places his bleeding heart in your open palms, and that you’ll swallow him whole like he did with the burden of never being able to openly telling you how deeply, madly he loved you.

❦ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐔

Whenever he pulls up in the driveway, Shiu can’t help but wonder if you’re gonna be there, waiting for him at his doorstep with that mischievous grin of yours. You’re just a neighbor who he occasionally shares a cigarette with, he keeps telling himself, knowing it’s a full blown lie at this point. 

You’re tugging at his heart strings, night for night. Sometimes the thought of you just lying a few meters away from him, on the other side of a wall, drives him insane. You should be here, in his bed, in his arms. His sheets should smell like you in the morning, not like this creeping loneliness. Yet he never invites you inside and you never dare him to, like a stray cat tiptoeing at the edge of an open door, hoping for sweet treats and head scratches. It’s a game you’re both playing.

“My sweet,” he mumbles in that raspy voice you’ve learned to love so much when he spots you sitting at your familiar spot. Without hesitation he takes off his suit jacket and puts it around your shoulders. He never asks how long you’ve been sitting and waiting there for him, but he can easily tell from your cold fingertips when you hand him the lighter. Just a neighbor.

Inviting you in would mean something more than just opening the door. Within his profession, you don’t do love. There’s simply no room for it. Affection is exchanged through bundled yen notes and comes with fake laughter and lots of regret and headache in the morning. It’s just how things go. It’s the life Shiu chose for himself.

So why did his heart yearn so much for you? He should break this up before it even gets started. But he cannot, not when you inch closer while you talk, until your knees and your shoulders are touching, and the smoke from your shared cigarette is blown from lips to lips, as if you’re both testing just how close you can get before the resilience crumbles.

Maybe a kiss won’t hurt. Shiu knows that the lies he tells himself are piling up at this point. Of course it will hurt. A simple kiss won’t satisfy him, he’ll always find himself craving for more of you. A kiss first, then waking up by your side while you’re wearing his shirt that hugs your figure so nicely and next thing he’ll catch himself staring at the displays of the jewelry store, thinking which ring he should get you.

No, he can’t do that. He shouldn’t. And yet still, he cups your face so gently, lifting your chin up and catching your gaze. So let it hurt, he thinks to himself, before leaning in to kiss you, softly and deeply.

[shadesslut]

rough

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Smut, mention of blood)

Summary: After New York, Ethan still hungered to kill, but what happens if he gets caught by Y/N? What happens if she likes it?

(a/n: this is lowkey bad D:)

✮

✮

✮

The sound of flesh splitting open that emitted from Ethan stabbing was one of his favorite noises. Sometimes his chest would tighten from the way it made him feel. The way the blade sliced easily against skin like butter, the way skin would swell at the faintest cut. His favorite part though, was the kill. The way the shine in their eyes disappeared made Ethan giddy; he loved it.

Moving was supposed to be his fresh start with Y/N. After becoming the only member of his family alive, he promised Y/N he’d change after New York. And he did. For three months. Three months of isolation in the tiny apartment the couple shared was hell for Ethan. The day Y/N let him wander into the city he killed. 

It was four-thirty in the morning. The rattles of the windchimes that hung in their small porch combined with the creaky steps Ethan made in their kitchen filled the air. He looked out to their porch, staring at the open slide door. He shook his head as he made his way over to close it; and he wondered why Y/N left it open every night. The bedroom door was cracked open, and Ethan hoped he would be able to sneak washing the blood off his forearms without waking her. He tip-toed to their bathroom, checking over his shoulder ever so often to make sure she was asleep. He turned on the faucet halfway as he washed his arms in the dark.

He told himself he needed to calm down. He needed to be able to lay in bed still, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that with all of the tension inside of him from the kill. The cold water spilled off of his hands into the drain, catching the blood with it. Ethan looked dead ahead into the mirror. Only his eyes and highlights of his hair glimmered in the moonlight, and for a split second, his gaze gave himself chills. 

“Shit,” He hissed as the harsh light flipped on. He squinted his eyes at the glare and whipped his head towards the doorway, seeing a very annoyed Y/N. She wore one of Ethan’s shirts, the neckhole too big it hung at her clavicle, and a pair of booty shorts. The sight would usually make Ethan’s dick hard, but right now he felt shriveled up in fear. 

“Where were you?” She asked sternly. 

Ethan blinked repeatedly in a nerve wrecking manner. “What do you mean?” He asked lowly. She rolled her eyes and huffed. 

“You were gone for almost three hours. Where the hell were you?” She asked once more. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” Ethan mumbled in response. He knew she wasn’t budging. She squinted her eyes at him suspiciously and walked towards him, stopping once she saw the blood streaks in the sink. Her gaze flicked down to his shoes, coated in spots of blood. Her eyes widened in shock, along with Ethan, and the next thing she did shocked Ethan more. 

She immediately raised her hand to his neck, forcing him to bend over into a heated kiss.  Ethan moaned in surprise, but didn’t protest. Instead, he sighed heavily and snaked his hands to her waist, tightly gripping flesh. Their lips moved sloppily against each other in sync, the noises of their heavy breaths flowing to each others’ ears. He roughly pulled her against his body, and through lidded eyes Ethan saw her immediately look down. Her upper pelvis rubbed against his clothed erection, and Ethan threw his head back in pleasure. 

“This is what you do to me, baby,” He said as he watched her start to quickly undo his jeans. “You fucking ruin me.” 

She let out a dry laugh as she tugged his jeans and boxers down, letting his hard cock spring up. He hissed at the cold air, and his grip on her tightened as he left marks. She started to bend down before Ethan jerked her body up by her underarm. In one swift move, he picked her up by her thighs and set her on the bathroom counter. “As much as I love your lips, I need to be inside of you right now.” He whined, nudging his nose into her neck as he peppered kisses. 

“So needy for me, huh?” She cooed softly, her fingers raking his curls. He whimpered and nodded as he began to thrust into the air. “I missed this version of you. The rough, violent, you.” 

This made his head jerk up, his eyes full of admiration. 

“I’ve been trying to change you,” She whispered. He continued to stare at her, and he started to tug her shorts off . “I just need you to be rough again, please.” She begged. 

Ethan softly kissed her forehead. “You want me to be rough?” He asked, making sure. She nodded her head frantically, begging him. He nodded once. Then he quickly ripped her panties off, making her gasp as she stared at the torn material. He lined himself up to her entrance, and without hesitation, slammed his cock inside of her. 

A deep, guttural yell came out of her at the stretch. It burned and stung, but oh did it fill her up oh so good. Ethan, having the time of his life, continued to ram himself in and out of her. 

“Fuck honey,” he cooed down at her. “So wet for me, all for me.” 

She whimpered at his words, hair bouncing as Ethan jerked both of their bodies against each other. The arch of Ethan’s dick slid beautifully inside of her. She inhaled heavily as she shut her eyes, taking all the pleasure in. She needed this, she needed him. Ethan grunted as his hips slapped against her. He talked her through his climax, and he screwed his eyes shut as he came. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop because he knew she hadn’t finished yet. 

A hiss escaped his lips as he continued to thrust. Y/N looked up at him with big doe eyes, smiling as if she knew she had him wrapped around her pretty little finger. His thumb found her clit, immediately circling the sensitive bead. She gasped his name, and she involuntarily started grinding her hips against him. Ethan chuckled. 

“Always so needy for me, so needy for my cock that you become so limp in my hands.” Ethan teased in her ear. He was still hard even after finishing; Y/N always praised him for his stamina. She felt overstimulated, like her entire body felt goopy at his touch. Her tits bounced at Ethan’s rough movements, and Ethan whined as he watched the fabric of his shirt she wore move. She clenched around him as she approached her climax, and Ethan used his free hand to grip her jaw, forcing her into a heated kiss. 

“Ethan,” she whined. Her core tightened, and her mind went into a daze. 

“I would kill for you.” He said. “I would kill to feel you, I would kill for this pussy. I was made to kill for you.” He peppered kisses against her jaw after each sentence, and he felt the warmth of her cheeks radiate. 

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” She started, sitting up slightly as she grabbed and clawed Ethan’s back. Ethan nodded, shutting her up with another kiss. He quickened his pace with his hips and thumb, smiling into her mouth as he heard her mutter curses. She gasped loudly as she finished, and he slammed into her once more. 

Their breaths were loud and hot against each other’s skin. Beads of sweat slid down Ethan’s back, sending a chill down his spine. He pulled back to look at her state; disheveled and used. She blinked her eyes open, and with the smile Ethan gave her, she knew he would still kill. And he would do it for her.

(a/n: SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN AWHILE)

[breaddippedinorangejuice]

Afterlight

-in which you're the ex of an infamous baseball star, Ken Sato. Months later after the confusing breakup, he showed up in front of your home, begging for you. All of it in his vulnerable and drunken state.

words: 2,219 tags: second chance

The cold, harsh breeze had brushed on your skin, urging your body hairs to stand in itself. No warmth to reach out to or comfort you. You winced, eyes closed and contemplating if it's time to retreat to the warmth of your home. At least the warmth of the electronics gave. You stood up, decisions made in your mind, holding the railing of your balcony as you gaze at the sea of glowing orbs, how each one –despite their difference– complements one another. Admiring from afar, finding peace in the stillness of these stars.

At least these wouldn't suddenly disappear.

A smile tug on your mouth's corner, lips parting, eyes gawking at the sight you perceive as nothing but perfection.

Will I ever shine as brightly?

Your chest rises and falls as you sigh, a hopeful and wishful sigh. Well to be fair, someone told you that you did. You shone like a piece of priceless kind of diamond he said, a star or better yet, a constellation.

“Hey, Kenji. Babe” a mellow voice, tone laced with love and affection, called out to a boy –his hair disheveled from all the training– who turned his head to his lover in response.

“Yes, baby?” his voice contrast to the woman, it was husky and, the tone was reciprocated. A slight pudgy corner formed on his under eye as he smiled, anticipating what she was going to say. Her hand found its place on his chest, the moonlight bathing the two. She looked at him as if he's the sun himself, so blinding yet irresistible.

“Do you think..” her eyes shifted to the dark sky, shining orbs adorning the vast space. “... I shine like those stars?” his head tilted closer to her, followed by a tender kiss on her forehead. She turned her gaze back to her lover, eager to hear his voice, his words.

“Of course you do, sweetheart. Just like the stars, you shine too.” a soft smile adorns his face, words being chosen with care. “Remember when I was struggling with …you know what” for a split second, his face and demeanor falls. “You helped me out of that dark place. You… you light my way, made me feel alive again, y'know? Like a…constellation. When I look at you, I find meaning. ” a chaste kiss of understandment was placed on his delicate, plump lips, two fools in love smiling into the kiss.

You feel your heart swell at the sweet memory. A sigh slipped out of your mouth again, this time a heavy and dejected one.

Don't dwell on the past.

You reminded, though more like a scold, yourself. You promised yourself. To be a person that could stand alone with conviction, to be self-reliant. Yes, you promised so you shall uphold it. Unlike him, you're not the type to break a promise, right?

The breeze brushes your body once again, pulling your mind back to your body. An incoherent mutter of “I should sleep” encourages your body to retreat, putting one foot inside and soon the other. You turn around to lock the door of your balcony but just as you reach the lock, a loud bang from outside is what you heard, followed by a voice you last heard from a television you abruptly switch channels.

“... Y/n..”

Your eyes seek the source and lo and behold, there he was. "Stupid asshole" your inner voice spat with fury. Ignoring the displeasing clamor outside, you switch the lock to on, and turn to sit at the comfort of your living room. Planning to sleep there for the hectic schedule you have to wake up early for.

Not a minute has passed and the incessant sound of the gate's buzzer rang out loud in the, now disturbed, comfort of your home. You brow furrows, lips forming a pout, as you try to further ignore it but only such a person could endure that much annoyance. Displeased and irate, the sound of heavy stomps vibrate in your room and to the gate. As you stopped on your tracks, a breath for needed relief slipped past your lips, ruminating on what to say to the one hell of a stubborn man outside. Another buzz was the tipping point so you begrudgingly opened the door, the weight of the man falling into your arms.

“I’m…sh..sorry. hic I-I didn't want to…it…mistake” his words are slurred, almost like a mumble. The sickly-sweet scent of alcohol assaults your nose, making your stomach churn in revulsion.

“All this… responsibility stuff. Being a hero then- It- it just..I didn't want you to leave. ”

He lifted his head upwards, looking at you with glossy eyes, so full of regret, so pained. Lips parting to mumble a muddled “I miss you”s and “I’m sorry”s. Your gaze landed at the man before you, disbelief and annoyance painted your face. Still somehow, just a tiny part of you pity him, wanting to take him in your arms once again, whisper sweet promises and tell him it's okay, that it's going to be fine, that you still love him.

But you no longer do, right?

You shut your eyes for a moment and think. Soon, you started dragging the heavy weight of the man into your humble home, and at last, dropping him at the sofa capriciously. His face contorted in inebriated sorrow. Tear stains glistened under the electric light, leaving evidence on his face and shirt as his lips are pulled together in a frown. The sofa dips as you sat, resting your arms atop. He clings to you, arms locking around your waist which kept you from leaving, his disgruntled sobs muffled by your nightgown as he buried his face atop of your collar bone. Muttering about how his heart aches for your warmth, how since you left, every night feels like the stars had hidden itself. How every morning, the sun is no longer there to welcome him. How cold it is for each and every second of his existence.

How his world feels so empty without you

Despite sounding like muddled pleas to you, that part of your brain screams to your body to just embrace him and perhaps, give him a chance. And that’s what exactly your body did, rebelling to what the usual rational you would do. Well, if you were being rational, you wouldn’t let him in, you would've called his friend – if he has one– or his dad or just whoever, but you did… so why? This time, you can’t comprehend or at least make an assumption that would satisfy nor comfort you.

With doubt and whatever paradoxical emotions you’re feeling right now, your mind fogs. Tears just tethering and waiting to fall out and soon they do. The waterworks overtaking you two and the overwhelming feeling of everything that had amounted to this situation, leading to you falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Ugh...

You groan, feeling some kind of pain in your eye when something bright and gleaming pierced through. As your eyelids flutter open, you feel the consequences of last night. A back pain from sleeping upright and an ache pulsating in your neck. Soon, you find the sleeping figure of your ex, his hair pointing in different directions, akin to a chicken's nest. By instinct, your index finger nudges his cheek, poking the soft honey toned skin of his, an airy giggle vibrating in your chest.

“.. mmhm..” the man mumbled before you, his eyelids slowly opening, only to open his eyes and have his vision laying on your pelvic area. His body jumped in complete surprise. It's not like he's unfamiliar with the view but to wake up and it being the first thing he see, he felt like he just committed a sin befitting of a death sentence.

As he sat upright, facing you, his arms were in a square shape, his right covering his eyes.

“I-I'm sorry! Oh god- shit- uh, I didn't mean to-” you shut him up with your index finger pressing to his plump lips. You relax your brow as you stare at him, trying to ease him up. His gaze shifted from being worried to confused, tilting his head like one of those dogs. Relaxing his palms on the soft, velvet couch.

“Let's just… have closure, Kenji. ” you uttered, demanding and firm. He kept quiet as you paused.

“Kenji.. Why uh… What happened back then? I just don't understand. It was just so sudden. ”

Your brows knit together, eyes getting glossy as your mind replayed that memory and trying to fill those missing pieces of why.

As Kenji try to explain, you press harder to his lips. “Let me speak first. I just want to let this all out, please… kenji” your tone was soft and persistent, he only nods slowly in response.

“Since we were just classmates in college, you confessed to me everyday. Yes, I know I doubted you and took it as a joke at first because it sounded like one, and hell! You use that tone to every girl that tried to cling to you. And when we started dating, you always try to act fine and all! I felt close to you but you…you felt far to me.” a tear ran down your cheeks, the salty taste reaching your lips. Kenji brings his hands close to you and caress it –as if you’re a delicate statue, made to be worshiped, not damaged– and wiping it away.

A treble in your throat present.

“Don't get me wrong, I know you did love me. I never once doubted your love. I feel it everytime we were together…when we were still dating. And that's the problem, you see? Only when you're with me I feel your love. The moment you leave or go to your practices!.. There was no us. You would go on days without contact, only to comeback then promise something then break them again.. It’s..hic… It's tiring, Kenji” your hands fall to your lap and your vision gets blurry. An inkling of pain circulating in your heart.

“All I ask of you is to allow me to be your comfort. I told you- I-.. You don't need to run away. Just… just run to me and I'll comfort you. Isn't that what partners are for?” your gaze meets his, searching for acknowledgement, only to see him drowned with guilt, ambivalent thoughts constricting his actions.

You took a breath for a second, composing your words once again. “...When it was our anniversary, you promised me. You said it was going to be the last time you run away. The last time you be an asshole. The last time you keep me far away...”

“Then just a few months later, you broke up with me on the phone! and the day after, I fucking see the news that you were in japan…And you-...you were smiling” you hic, speaking slow and bitter.

That day, you felt abandoned, desolate, and in complete utter disarray. You can't think why. He told you- He promised! How one day, when the time feels right, when stability is present, you two would one day stand before each other, the serene blue ocean, a row of people close to the both of you, would witness the sacred pledge of the undying love for one another. In pleasure or pain. In sickness or health.

“Even if death do us apart.”

he spoke softly, tracing the promise that hung on the necklace you gave each other on your anniversary.

That familiar pang stilled in your heart, drilling itself deeper and deeper until all that's left is a hollow hole where sorrow echoed. That very night, your pained cries filled the sickening silence he left in the house- no, home you built together. Now, that place is nothing more than an evidence of your past, a testimony of what was once.

Disgruntled sobs cut the silence, staggering in irregular patterns as a result of trying to hold it in. You see Kenji, head hanging low and hands covering the source of the sobs, breathing but not how he usually would, it was abnormal. His irises flickering from looking at you and to anywhere, hesitancy pooling in those eyes of his, tears making it shine like the galaxy, like the universe itself. Lips just barely parting from time to time to let out a few words, only to close for a needed quick breath.

By the time you saw him enter that state, your arms already found their way to embrace him once again. Soon, one hand covered his eyes, the other clasped his hand to let him sync to your heartbeat. Breathe ragged, to slow and steady. Your mouth makes a whirring noise, him trying to match your rhythm and soon he does.

“I-I'm sorry… I… I still love you so p-please, Y/n. Take me back, please.” lips quiver as he spoke, hands firmly close to you.

With your heart so fragile for him, how can you say no?

“Just… Be better. And stop being acting like an asshole. ”

A kiss was pressed onto your lips, full of warmth, full of deepened affinity. Just two hearts beating in sync, healing and anticipating for a better future.

In love and once again,

Hopeful.

After 2 months of being in and out of sickness, I finally got the chance to post it. I had finished this actually a month ago but migraines been hitting the shit out of me so yeah, everything totally went well. Man, is this the fanfic writer's curse ?I was also quite worried that this might seem drag out and way too extra (especially on the thoughts of y/n, I want to show inner turmoil) Also hopefully, I conveyed Kenji's panic attack and lack of proper communication well, while Y/n being the says too much and think too much. I was originally gonna delete this cuz of fear nd anxiety but here we go( ´･ω･)

All constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. Thank you for reading my first ever posted fic, stardust! (❁´◡`❁)

[metafurrikitty]

i've never liked how pokemon always looked the same except for some cases in the anime where they needed characters to not get confused. like realistically wouldn't they have a slight variety of patterns, hues, eye colors, fluff levels??

anyway i decided to make edits of the eeveelutions because this was bothering me. i also wrote headcanons i have about them so here it is

eevee's can come in darker or lighter shades of brown, and have a variety of cream and/or dark brown markings including spots, stripes, and points. some species of eevee have cream tufts of fur in their ears. the length and thickness of their fur can vary depending on their climate. they can also have lop ears. depending on what they evolve into, all of these traits can carry over into their eeveelution.

vaporeons may have a dorsal fin on its tail depending on its species and where its from. certain climates require faster or easier turns in the water, which results in them evolving this additional fin. they may also have fins on their forearms and legs. despite them being sort of blubber-y, vaporeons can appear fluffier if they are from a colder environment. of all patterns, they most often have spots and stripes like a tiger shark. they can have purple, pink, or blue eyes. when a lop eared eevee evolves into a vaporeon, their ear-like fins are lower.

like the domestic cats that they resemble, espeons have a wide variety of purple hues and patterns. they also have many different shapes of forehead gems, sometimes even being a heart. people speculate horoscopes for the shape of an espeons forehead gem in relation to their personalities, but none of it is professor oak approved. their tail can be split at diffurent points from the base of the tail to the very end of it. on rare occasions, an espeon will have two tails or one tail that is ever so slightly split at the end. an espeons eyes can be purple, pink, or blue. when a lop eared eevee evolves into espeon, it is not very noticeable as espeons ears are more cat-like as compared to the rest of the eeveelutions.

flareons can grow a lot of head fur, which is fun to cut into different haircuts. in the wild, a flareon will simply burn the extra hair off if it gets too long. (unsure of this since that would mean it is not fireproof, but whatever) they can have lots of patterns as well, especially point patterns and stripes. their orange and yellow coat can vary in darkness and hue as well, and although blue is most common, their eyes can be lots of different colors.

umbreons have the longest canines of all the eeveelutions, and sometimes they can be big enough to poke out from their mouths when closed. an umbreons rings also vary a lot, and can be anywhere on their bodies as long as they are symmetrical. they can also sometimes have freckles in the same color as their rings. even though they are black, they can have patterns that are visible in the light, including stripes, spots and points. their eyes can be red, brown, orange, or pink. umbreons sometimes grow a hyena-like mane along its head and back.

sylveons can have any number of bows on any part of their bodies, though the most typical places are at the base of the tail, the front or back of the neck, the ears, and the top of the head. multiple ribbons can grow from a sylveon's bow, and they can be all kinds of lengths at rest. the ribbon colors of pink, blue and cyan can be in any different order. they can have pink markings including stripes, spots and points. a sylveons widows peak can dip very low or not at all. their eyes can be blue, pink or purple.

jolteons can sometimes have longer tails depending on their species. the size of the spines on their back also varies a lot, and they can grow as the jolteon gets older. they most often have orange stripes, but can also have spots and points. they will have white markings sometimes, too. sometimes they have markings in the shape of a lightning bolt. a jolteons eyes can be purple, pink, or red.

leafeons can grow lots of sprouts all over their bodies, and will usually have more the older they get. they can also grow flowers of many kinds, which will bloom and wilt with the seasons like normal. it doesn't hurt the leafeon to pick their flowers or trim their leaves, but it is reccommended to leave their sprouts alone unless they get excessively long as they help the leafeon photosynthesize. spots of brown or light greenish colors can appear on a leafeons leaves. they can also have stripes, spots, or points. they can have any shade of brown or green eyes, as well as blue on rare occassions.

lastly, glaceons vary a lot in their fur thickness depending on the fur it inherits from its eevee form. they don't require long fur as they don't need to stay warm, so its really only a vestigal leftover trait from needing to stay warm when it was an eevee. a glaceons "bangs" can be diffurent in shape and size. the same hard, thick ice that they are made from can sometimes appear on other parts of glaceons body, clinging to its fur like makeshift armor. if the ice is broken it does not hurt the glaceon. they too can have all kinds of patterns, including stripes, spots and points. they will often have diamond shaped patterns. their eyes can only be blue or brown.

somewhat inspired by @belamew

that's all. might add more to this :pp