#* love breaks my bones and i laugh ! — musings.

[cregansdingdong]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ɪꜱ ꜰɪɴᴇ.

Cregan Stark x pregnant!fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: pregnancy fluff, the tooth rotting kind <3

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“There you are.”

There he was. Watching from the threshold of their marriage doors—the only separation between their traditional chambers—Cregan gazes over the form of his bare wife, who was enjoying a nice bath in her alcove. His eyes moved slowly, deliberately, taking her in and committing her to his memory like it was the very first time. A sleepy smile graced her perfect face, head leaned back against the edge of the tub. Just barely breaking the surface of the water was her stomach, rounded and taut with his child; her wrist had been resting on it as he entered, a letter held loosely in her hand. “I am.” He murmured, feeling himself relax just at the sight of her, and he crossed the room to sit on the chair by the tub. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better now. Jace wrote to me.” She holds out the small paper to him. Cregan hums at the mention of her brother, and his eyes scan the words on the page, quietly snorting after a few moments of reading—he was as funny as he always was. Nothing new, really, in the letter. He’d mostly asked about how his sister was faring, questions about the pregnancy, and gushing over his coming nuptials to Baela. But it all brought a smile to his wife’s face anyway. Cregan felt guilty sometimes, knowing how far Winterfell was from King’s Landing. She missed her family often, but even more now that she was having a child. “He’s eager to be an uncle.” He muses, handing it back to her. “The second he learns the babe is born, he’ll be outside our quarters pouting.”

“Yes he will.” She laughs and places it off to the side. “Only a few weeks more.” Cregan peers down at her stomach, expression softened now, his hand reaching out to gently pet her bump, fingers caressing the skin. “The water is almost cold.” He notes, a slight chide in his tone. His wife nods along, obviously aware. “Mmhm. The maesters say hot baths aren’t too good for the baby—warm is fine, but it becomes tepid fairly quickly. I’m comfortable though, I promise. Supper was divine. I was craving that stew all day. And grapes, but mostly the stew. I missed you.” A pleased smile lifts the corners of his lips at her soft ramble. He loved hearing her speak—just as much as she liked to prattle his ears blue. “I assure you, wife, I missed you even more. You and our babe. How is she doing?”

“Are you truly still convinced we're going to have a girl?” She muses. Cregan gently splashes her in mock offense, tutting lightly at her teasing. “I know we're having a girl. I can feel it in my bones, wife.” He leans in, pressing a less-than-chaste kiss against her mouth, tongue just barely slivering past her supple lips. She tasted like something sweet. “Cake?” He asks, head tilted even though it wasn't really a question. She grins. “Sara brought the letter up here—and sneaked me some frosted scones from the kitchen. I love your sister.” Cregan rolls his eyes. “I should've known you two would scheme behind my back…and not leave me any. I'm your leige-Lord.” His wife reaches out to pull him in again, not satisfied with the previous kiss, and their mouths clash together nearly with a mutual clack of their teeth. "Get in." She was pulling him down into the jasmine scented water, hands fiercely tugging at the laces of his leather doublet. "This water is so damn cold—" He barely had a moment to remove his boots. "You'll be fine." What Lady Stark wants, she gets.

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[morning-star-joy]

half asleep, half awake

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader, ASHWAH Universe

Summary: Every time Joel Miller realizes he loves you. Every time he wants to tell you, and the time he does.

Warnings: Brief smut (unprotected p in v, possessiveness, creampie), brief reference to canon-typical violence, longing, Joel can’t communicate his feelings until he can, lots and lots of love. Multiple specific references to the main series. Joel's POV.

A/N: I’ve gotten asked a few times when Joel realizes he loves Reader in this series, and the inspiration hit me the other day to write out my answer to it. Because it could be one scene, but so many before, and so many after when he wants to say it. I miss these two and I love these two and I hope that this little companion piece to the fic makes somebody as happy as I was to write them again!

Wordcount: 1.8k

gorgeous dividers by @saradika

Important: Please read this post and how to help Palestine.

The first time Joel feels it—really feels it, settled into his bones with an undeniable weight, tugging at his heart with an unimaginable lightness—is the night of his 57th birthday.

Months of staying out of his bedroom, of keeping you off his bed, dissolve into a forgotten time the moment you tug the glass of whiskey from his hand.

Move over, you’d said, making room for yourself amongst the place where he laid his head every night. You finish off the drink, take the rest of the poison he’d been diluting his veins with to drown out the pain of all he’d lost, and settle next to him.

He thinks he wants to see you there every night.

You ask him things like his favorite fucking color, things that don’t matter. Not to him, not to you—but you ask anyway. You meet his eyes readily, open and honest and searching his soul for the same old breaks in your own, and he feels it.

You hold his hand, and it fits there. You would fit into his side too, he muses, if he pulled you in.

He wants to pull you in. He wants you in ways nobody’s ever had you—he knows they haven’t, can feel the trepidation in your soul when he looks at you for too long, or lets his touches linger.

You’ll fuck him like there’s no tomorrow, because maybe there isn’t, but you won’t let him hold you tender. Not that he’s tried, but he knows you. Not everything about you, but enough.

And that night, there’s more. More to you, wounds open and pain spilling out, and it looks like his own. It is his own.

I should probably go, you say when it’s become too much, and he feels the urge to ask you to stay.

Joel asks if you want a drink instead, because he’s an idiot, and you say he’s had too much, because you’re right.

He watches from his window as you walk home under the streetlights for once instead of sticking to the darkness, and though he won’t call it what it is, he knows it’s love.

Joel’s loved you longer than that, though. Somehow he knows it, but he can’t place when.

In front of his fireplace, maybe. You’re shivering from god knows how long you had spent in the rain, in the graveyard, in your own mourning. Broken, and he wants to find each piece of you that you’ve lost and put you back together.

Or at least hold you tight enough that you feel okay again. He just knows that he misses your damn smirk, your fucking laugh, and maybe that was love too.

Or maybe it’s when he wants you to be his, his, his only. When he wants to erase the image of that man’s hand on your back with his own on your skin, fingertips digging into your hips and pulling them back to slap against his.

Maybe it’s the skirt of a temptress bunched up around your waist, each desperate thrust of his cock into your needy cunt, dripping and squeezing as you say, moan, scream his name, his, his.

Maybe it’s when you’re half-naked after, admitting you don’t know what the fuck this is, don’t understand what it’s become, and he doesn’t know either. But it’s something delicate. Maybe it’s love then.

Maybe it’s love on the bathroom floor when he realizes you’re the first friend he’s made in years.

Maybe it’s love when he wants to kill every single bastard raider who took you from him, wants to tear them apart with his bare hands and make them bleed and bleed for how much blood they’d taken from you. Precious blood, blood that kept you alive, kept you snarky and angry and wrapped around him each time he took as much pleasure from you as he gave back.

Or it’s Halloween, the bright lights, loud music, and clothes of a bygone era. None of it real until Maria shoves the truth of the matter into his face. She tells him he’s an idiot and just what it all means, what you mean to everyone, and to him, and he finally accepts it.

That’s the first night he has you in his bed. The first night he sees all of you, feels all of you, skin against skin, and you come again, and again, and again. It’s not enough, he needs to keep feeling it, needs you to fall apart in his hands so he can put you back together. A single thread he weaves through you and tugs with each ripple of pleasure, pulling you apart again with each clench of your cunt around his cock, until you pull it from him too.

You fall asleep in a matter of minutes after. Lips parted, and he wished he could watch them swell after a kiss, but you were still holding back.

So he settles for his palm on your cheek, stroking the scar that he still doesn’t know how you got, and feels so much longing, so much love when you sink into his sheets, wrapped up in his favorite color that you knew because you cared to ask. Settled by just the touch of him.

Joel thinks you tried to say something that night, but he’ll never know what. He does know what he wants to say, but he holds back. He’d wait for you, even if you never wanted this too. He’d be whatever you did want him to be.

Time passes in a blur after that, as you tangle yourselves together in ways he never would’ve once thought possible. He doesn’t move, and you lean into him. He doesn’t move, just lets you come to him, too scared you’ll run away again if he holds you too tight, or at all.

Then that night. A meal shared with the family you’d found. He tries to go home alone after, and you chase after him, hold him tight, and he knows. He knows what he feels, and he knows you feel it too.

He doesn’t have to say it, but he wants to. Night after night he wants to, the more that you settle and the more that you’re his. The more that he is yours.

You kiss him, finally—or he kisses you, he can’t remember which. And it says it all.

Still, the words are trapped in his throat as his home truly becomes yours.

His body had already been your home for a year.

His heart, for longer than he would ever know.

But his house. Four walls that didn’t mean anything, not really, not until you lived within them and your sister’s art was on the mantle, your photograph of your parents was in your room that was his room, all your mugs in the kitchen and his coffee was your coffee—he needs to tell you.

He tries to every morning, in his kitchen with your cups of coffee—or tea, with complaints falling from both his mouth and yours if you were out of your preferred beverage. He doesn’t, but he knows you can taste it in the drink he brews for you, perfected to your liking.

He tries to before every patrol, in case somebody takes you from him again. He doesn’t, but he knows you can see it when his eyes seek yours, when he gives you a nod and a lingering gaze before you’re out of the gates and on your way. He knows you can feel it when you both get home, his arms wrapped around you tight and the tension seeping from his body when you’re pressed to him.

He tries to every night, but it’s lost on his tongue every time it slides into your mouth. He knows you know with every kiss, every thrust of his hips from where he’d found a home nestled between your thighs, spilling himself into you as you welcomed him in and made the most beautiful music every time.

You’re comfortable in bed months after the holidays, after that first kiss. Winter is warming into spring, the air feels like starting again, and he tries to tell you.

You’d been reading when he crawled into bed behind you after a shower. His face buried into your neck, each drop of water onto your skin so cold it makes you shiver. But your nails dig into his forearm when it wraps around your waist, the book tumbling from your fingers as you grasp at the nightstand with each drag of his pulsing cock inside your tight heat.

The lamp on the nightstand rattles with each thrust, sending waves of warm light flashing across the room. He’s mesmerized each time it washes across your face, pinched in the familiar climb for pleasure you trusted him to guide you through. He mouths at the scar on your cheek, caressing with lips and tongue as you gasp his name.

You’re so beautiful. His moon, his heart, his home, his everything.

Joel wants to tell you when you come, your eyes fluttering open and seeking his. Seeking that connection between you, as hungry as you are reverent, and he doesn’t deserve it, that undying loyalty. But you think the same for yourself, so what did either of you know, besides what this was.

Love, and he wants to say it. Wants to say he loves you when each flutter of your pussy around him sends him spiraling into an orgasm, a blissful moment of release he now only ever associated with you.

Half asleep after, you’re content, the warm light of the steadied lamp caressing your skin as he cleans it. You know what he wants to say, he thinks. Your eyes are heavy and lazily watching as he kisses the inside of your thigh, peppers his love up your body to your lips.

Half awake, Joel watches you reach for him, pulling him down into a soft caress of your lips against his, with more tenderness either of you ever thought you were capable of.

He won’t say it. You know he won’t.

But you know he will. Someday.

And that one morning amongst many that belong to just you and him, when you ask about other lives, when he realizes you’d want him in more than just this one—in every one—he says it.

You say it back, and everything is right.

When you ask him when he first felt it, he tells you the truth; that he hadn’t felt it just yet on that snowy street a year ago, but a part of him always knew he would love you.

And now, Joel knew he always would.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“So what exactly is this…” The villain grabbed the hero’s wrist before they could touch the electronic gadget.

“If you want to, you can play with it outside. Not in here, please,” the villain said, their voice low, controlled. Their expression serious.

The hero rolled their eyes.

“Ugh, I’m not a dog that plays outside,” the hero hissed. They freed themselves from the villain’s grip rather harshly and stared at their nemesis who merely raised their brows.

“You’re not?”

“Ugh, you—”

“Then don’t touch my toys, love.”

“I should be confiscating your ‘toys.’ They’re a hazard for national security.”

“Are suspended heroes allowed to do that?” the villain mused. Their lazy smile spread all over their face and the hero clenched their jaw hard enough to make it hurt. Because, technically, the villain was right.

The hero had been suspended. For reckless behaviour. For now.

“Fuck off,” the hero whispered. They turned around to look at the other weapons and technical devices in the (what the villain called) weapon room. It was more the size of an entire apartment.

And quite impressive. They knew the villain was rich, but rich enough to possess technology not even the government knew of?

In their training, the hero had learnt quite a lot about weaponry, but this was beyond them. They barely recognised anything in here, let alone how to use this technology.

“Don’t you have like…a normal gun in here? Something I can actually use?” the hero asked. The villain took a small quadratic device from a table where hundreds of them were arranged properly.

“What makes you think I’d let you use any of this?”

“Ah, so you just want to show off.” The villain turned to look at the hero and merely shrugged.

“Perhaps.” The hero couldn’t even tell which was worse: being suspended or crawling to the villain, asking for help.

But the hero had no choice, this case was important and without the agency’s help, the villain was the only person they could turn to. So far, the villain played no part in this, so the hero could only hope they were interested in a neutral approach.

Together.

The hero’s jaw hurt.

“This is all we need for now,” the villain said. “It’s a tracking device. Location, voices, if it’s close enough to the person you’re trying to observe, it can even measure their heartbeat.”

They showed the hero the little device, not much bigger than a fingernail.

“Hm.” The hero scratched the back of their neck. The bugs from the agency were much bigger, much less capable. “And that’s gonna work?”

The villain simply laughed. “It’s adorable that you think it won’t.”

“I just…need this to work,” the hero said. The circumstances around this case were complicated, but the hero was willing to use every mean necessary to solve the murder of a colleague. It wasn’t easy, not even after an entire year.

Maybe that was the whole reason for why the agency had suspended them. Maybe they didn’t want them to work on the case at all.

“It will,” the villain said. “You don’t want to know how many times I slipped through your fingers thanks to one of these.”

“…delightful,” the hero said. They took a careful look at the villain. As always, dressed in fine clothes, as always serious, but still amused by pretty much anything. The hero always felt quite small next to them, even though they were sure they were older than them.

If the villain betrayed them, the hero was probably going to lose their shit.

They needed a Plan B, needed to be prepared for such an event.

“Don’t worry, love. This one is on me,” the villain said. They leaned over, their lips nearly touching the hero’s ear. “Unless you have a few million dollars on hand to pay for this.”

The hero blushed immediately and pushed the villain away.

“My god. You’re horrible.” They were regretting this already.

“Play nice. You know my kindness has its limits.”

Indeed. The villain wasn’t afraid of breaking the hero’s bones. Their forearm still hurt when they were lifting weights.

The hero sighed.

“You’re right.”

“Apologise then.”

“I’m sorry,” the hero said. Their ears were hot enough to hurt. They tried to look at everything except for the villain but that was nearly impossible. The villain’s pure presence demanded attention.

“No, properly. On your knees.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Quite serious, love,” the villain said. They smiled, more than a little amused. It wasn’t their soft smile and it wasn’t their evil smile either. They simply looked quite happy with themselves.

Despite their raging heart, the hero dropped to their knees. There was no negotiating with the villain. They knew that.

“Sorry.” Their voice was flat. Their face beet red. They bit the inside of their cheek. Thank god they were alone, they knew the villain liked to put on a show for an audience.

Which made this also quite intimate and embarrassed the hero even more.

They swallowed.

“Good enough for me. Get up.” The hero did so and once again, the villain leaned over, smiling. They put a hand on the hero’s shoulder and with the other, they gave them the little bug. “Not a dog, huh?”

[ronearoundblindly]

Some Steve for you to enjoy 🥰🫶🏻

Gurl, this f***ed me up! I wanted to try to make it a snippet of Item 107 or The Cinder King, but the muses were just like "you know what you need? emotional damage." So now here we have my first semi-legit period piece (which has zero useful era detail eh) and truly is just the carrier for skinny!Steve love. Hint: It's thirsty, smutty love with hardly any plot ANGST.

Hello and welcome to Lexi's most self-indulgent fic ever. It's got everything: crippling insecurities about my real-life stuff, horniness unmatched even if there were sex pollen shot directly into their faces, and everyone is touch-starved. \o/ Enjoy! WC probably close to 3k but idk because I'm too afraid to look back at it. *slams post button*

Turned away again, Steve "4F" Rogers steps out of the recruitment center to see you standing there, staring up at the posters promising glory.

People hustle around you, several even knocking into you, but you remain transfixed, invisible. You're clutching your purse like a lifeline.

Down one step, worn-through shoes barely hiding every seam in the cobblestone, Steve has to get closer because that's the direction of home and a lonely, empty apartment he can hardly afford. He has to pass by. He has to, but then he sees the amber light reflect on trails of tears down your cheeks.

He has to stop.

"Miss?" Steve clears his throat, his own arm smacked by a rowdy man who then swats at your ass just as Steve tries to get your attention again.

You jolt and turn to him in surprise, hand flying up to cover a sob, sweeping to wipe the evidence of emotion from your face.

Fast--faster than Steve really processes--he's shouting for the guy to apologize before the guy makes to advance, Steve presses himself between you and the asshole still laughing at disrespecting you, and then he--Steve--is getting shoved into the alley with you still at his back.

It's dusk. The alley is nearly black. Steve can hear you crying but he's slipped on the stones wet from an afternoon rain. He scrambles to right himself.

Amidst the cries, he hears grunts of anger and resistance, terror creeping into his chest as Steve thinks you're being assaulted.

"Piece of shit," you bite out. The silhouette of you hurling your bag at the man's face repeatedly is clear from where Steve crouches, backlit as you are by the movie theater marquee.

Then the guy is down on the ground, too, being stomped on by your two-inch heel. "Piece of fucking shit."

"Woah," Steve jumps forward to hold you back. "Woah, language, ma'am. Let's go. Just leave him."

He has a weak arm around your waist, but you kick at the man one more time for good measure, hissing "liar" before turning to follow.

Your hand in his, Steve hurries through the streets, picking the ones he knows are busier but maneuverable to make sure you're not being pursued. Each time he looks back, he sees your sinking face, more tears, more exhaustion, and he makes a flash decision.

He doesn't stop until he locks the door of his apartment behind you both, and you break down on the bare wood floor.

"You hurt? Did he hurt you?" Steve's boney knees land a few inches from yours and he leans over, his long fingers brushing over your pinned hair and stiff curls that dislodged in the commotion. "You're alright. You're safe here."

Where your legs crumple underneath you, your slip lays over your thigh, uncovered by the skirt pooling on the other side of your hip. He can see the outline of a garter strap and the top of your stocking beneath the silky material. Steve's always loved pretty, delicate things. He also loves the faint bulge of flesh around the restraints.

There's meat on your bones, something to hold onto, and he shakes his head, chastising himself for noticing all the wrong things about the crying woman in his home. His lonely, empty home.

Steve attempts to think of anything other than your body.

"Do you know him? What'd you call him a liar for?"

You sigh in defeat, hands flopping into your lap, and confess that it wasn't about him so much as a man not here anymore. Gone. To war. You tell Steve a rambling tale of excuses and snide comments, of a parting that left you wondering why that man--any man--bothered to be with you in the first place, of a surety that you weren't ever wanted.

"I thought he loved me but he lied."

Steve sits cross-legged in front of you now, enthralled and utterly confused. Why would anyone...?

"That's the worst part," you exclaim, voice cracking. "I don't know. I'll never know." Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt. "I heard today that he died. Don't know where. Don't know when. And I hate that I still care."

"But he wasn't good to you," Steve soothes and wraps his hand around yours, "and he wasn't good for you."

All you do is shrug and hide your face. Tears falls to the fabric below your eyes and seep through in dark patches.

He scoots forward and lifts your chin with a gentle nudge. When your puffy red eyes meet his, he's struck by how lucky he feels to see you like this. It's odd to think someone who knew you more and for so much longer couldn't feel infinitely more attached and protective. You're so vulnerable, so open, so...

"You're beautiful." Steve's tongue swipes over his dry lips. "You're so beautiful."

The words are loaded heavier than tanks and pack the punch of a bomb. He can tell you don't truly hear him by the way you shrink and shake your head out of his hold.

"Don't do that," he pleads. "Please don't hide from me."

"You don't know me."

"No, but I--"

"You don't even know my name!"

He sits back and offers his hand.

"Hi, I'm Steve. It's nice to meet you, and I think you're beautiful."

"That's stupid," you lash out, bitterly spitting the half-hearted, heart-breaking words. "You must be an idiot, Steve."

It's not the first time he's heard it, but it is the first time he's not mad at hearing it. He believed those things, too, long ago, before his mom convinced him to see the possibilities in one's struggles. If you perceive it as an obstacle, it is an obstacle. Perceive it as an opportunity instead and use it. Those aren't her exact words, but Sarah Rogers has so many different ways of teaching the same fundamental lessons that Steve can't remember the phrases anymore.

He can remember the feeling. He remembers seeing both obstacles and opportunities.

"Is it stupid to want to touch you?" he whispers. "Because I would love to touch you."

The question is purposefully leading since he knows from your story that's exactly what you long for. It'll be more impactful if he shows you he longs for that too.

Slowly--so slowly--his hand comes up to your cheek again, his fingers tucking behind your neck.

"I don't want your pity." There's still bitterness but no power behind it. You gently shift closer and meet him halfway.

He's kissed girls before, he's fooled around, and he has, in fact, slept with one girl. They went all the way--twice--which means Steve knows what it is to be pitied intimately. He knows what it's like to want something so badly you don't care what the motivation is.

You deserve to know his motives.

"I don't pity you." His focus falls to your quivering lip. "I want to make you happy." He's close. He's so close his breath rolls warm over your face. "I want to make you smile."

A soft whimper leaves you just as his mouth arrives.

"I want you," he says into the kiss.

Instead of fighting, you grab at his jacket, pulling him until you're both falling into the stand lamp. You taste of salt and something sweet he can't put his finger on. Steve resolves to put that on the list of things to find out about you.

He keeps kissing you as you both fall, the lamp now wedged at an angle by the side table. Despite the tangle of tongues, Steve keeps his hands to himself. He doesn't quite have enough answers.

"What do you want, beautiful?"

Hesitant as he pulls away, gripping worn leather like your purse in the street, your eyes dart between his. You're a dream beneath him, but that sounds too selfish to voice.

"May I..." Steve is already panting "...get you off the floor? More comfortable?"

Maybe you haven't been able to say the words, but Steve doesn't need more convincing to know you want him.

He could tell from the way you pawed at him. He could tell from the multiple times you crashed him into the walls along the hall to makeout more. He could tell from the way you melted like hot butter at his every returned touch, but finally, you two made it to his bed.

He'd be embarrassed by the lumpy old thing if there weren't a curvy, luscious dame standing with wide legs at the foot of it, letting his tie slip through your hands as he sits stunned.

Steve swallows thickly.

"Let me see you." It comes out as more of an order than the hopeful question he intended, but when he sees the command shiver through you, he feels six-foot-six and powerful as all hell.

You two share the burden of unbuttoning all of your layers, spinning you a few times to release front and back and side to side. His hands spread and roam to relish each garment, each moment, until you're top half is naked.

He stares, fierce blue irises muted by the dim light on his bedside table, 'beautiful' on his lips every second you spend with your finger yanking the knot of his tie and sliding off the bond. When you lean to pop his shirt buttons, your breasts hang in his face.

Steve stops you by your wrists, peaking up at you through his long lashes as he takes a nipple in his mouth. He keeps thinking it--beautiful--while his tongue sweeps flat across pebbling flesh. Each subsequent swirl has you melting again, pressing more of you to his face, dragging nails up his chest, sighing long and deep. When he switches to the other side, your fingers bury in his hair. He takes his time to worship you, tracing his own fingertips around the hem of your slip and garters.

He doesn't get impatient, if anything Steve feels greedy for wanting more, for praying this lasts forever, for needing all you're willing to give.

His teeth graze your skin in wanton lust, and you flinch in surprise, knocking you off-balance.

You fall to your knees on the mattress, straddling Steve's slender body beneath your hot core.

"Sorry," you mutter, wriggling to stand, forcing Steve to wrap his arms around you and halt your retreat. "I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you."

"You can sit on me morning, noon, and night," he rasps. "I won't complain. I'll thank you, beautiful."

He groans pathetically when you relax, the grind of your ass making his slacks pinch tighter and tighter. Steve lets his head fall back on the sheets, eyes fluttering shut. The army might not want him, the world outside may forget he ever existed, but you see. He could get addicted to this feeling. He might get lonely without it.

Steve isn't strong enough to keep hold of you, but your weight never leaves, his erection still slotted between your cheeks. His mouth drops wide when your hips roll. Steve whines when you rise up enough to resume unbuttoning him. His lungs and heart go into overdrive, but even so, Steve doesn't want you doing all the work.

He flips you--using the sum total of his strength--and shuffles backward to stand, ripping the tails of his shirt from beneath his belt and shucking off his trousers. That part he could have been more patient for, but Steve smirks and brushes away the hair falling in his eyes, chest heaving from exertion.

He's pleased to see you watching him, ogling his body without judgment. You look like you want to eat him alive, and he is perfectly fine with that.

His palm lands on your knee to sneak higher beneath your slip, nimble fingers popping the clasps along your stockings and hooking through the band of your underwear. You lifting for him is all the permission he needs. Steve leaves your slip, garter belt, and stockings in place, and in a cheeky twist, he lets your underwear hang off one of your ankles, kissing your inner thigh, pushing your knees wider for him to fit.

He throbs in his boxers at the sight of your sex.

Nerves roil in his belly at the idea he is solely responsible for your pleasure. As he glances up to you, propped up on your elbows with a fearful and expectant gaze, he sees a poster promising honor and glory, a service to be proud of, and for the first time, he has doubts.

You see it in his eyes.

"Steve?"

He wants to participate and show that he's worthy of you.

This isn't about him though, and Steve Rogers is nothing if not dedicated anyone other than himself.

"Right here." He snaps back to reality, laying his hand to your thatch of hair and gently teasing his thumb along your folds. "I'm right here, beautiful."

It's an honor to touch you. He's proud of the moan elicited because he strokes over your clit rhythmically. The glory of watching you writhe is all his.

Steve's breath stays rapid as yours picks up. You're fisting the sheets, slick pooling beneath the pad of his thumb, helping him pick up speed. He dips into you, tests the breach while pushing his boxers down, and crawls over the edge of the bed. Like magnets, you guide each other higher till the pillows cradle you.

You're a broken record, repeating a desperate loop.

"Steve," you whimper.

"Won't ever lie to you." He captures your lips again. "Want you so badly. I'll want you all the time."

Steve doesn't understand why you won't talk to him, so he slows, eyes questioning and brow furrowed. You have to see. The light is right there.

Bottom lip trapped, you still say nothing, but your arms raise to his smooth face and plead in the silence.

He wants the same thing. He wants to feel. Not just the sting of rejection. Not just the slippery, rough stones through his shoes. Not just the empty ache inside. He wants to feel like someone cares whether he lives or dies.

You care even when you don't want to, but Steve can earn you, your care, your smile and your tears. He'll get up and come home to you every time. He needs you to come home to.

Otherwise, this is a lonely, empty apartment. Otherwise, he is a lonely, empty man.

Your hands bring him close, lips pausing just before contact while Steve sinks two fingers into you.

You gasp. His fingers curl. His thumb goes back to work. You kiss him with what little breath you can hold between muted cries until Steve notices your roving hands tug at his waist.

He wants the same thing.

Sitting back on his heels, Steve drapes your thighs over his, his slick fingers spreading you. He's mesmerized watching his cock disappear inch by inch, and the caress of your walls shuts down all other brain function. All he can do is slide against you, bent into your soft body, your breasts padding his jerky thrusts, the base of him perfectly laving the hood of your clit in the growing mess.

You're wet, and he's driven wild by the need to make you come. He tries to sit up again, to play with you properly, but he's stopped by the weight of your legs crossed behind his ass, the strength of your thighs anchoring him in place.

Steve takes huge, deep breaths through his nose because he won't last concentrating on how your body bounces and ripples, plush beneath his boney form.

You get wetter, looser in a welcoming way that spurs him to drive himself home faster. He sucks in air, though it's futile once his heavy balls start to seize.

Suddenly, you shout, stretching to push yourself completely flush with his pelvis, and he has to pull out, keeping aligned with the cut of you as aftershocks make you mindlessly hump him. Steve's cum shoots all over his belly and your chest, some drops dampening what clothes he didn't discard, stains of joy replacing stains of sadness.

His chest might explode. He's gasping, taxed beyond his naughtiest dreams, head lolling toward the ceiling with his throat high.

He feels your legs fall away, and Steve hopes for an instant that you embrace him even though he might suffocate in the process.

The envelopment never comes. The world is fuzzy and too warm beyond him.

He hears the sink in his bathroom turn on just as he lands palms-down on sweaty sheets. He tries every trick he knows to calm down. The water still runs after all the time it takes for him to recover and stand. The closer he gets to the doorway, the clearer the sound really is.

Sobbing.

"Beautiful? What's wrong? Did I--"

The faucet squeaks off, and you barrel out, nearly running him over, your arms covering your chest and your disheveled hair hiding your face.

"What are you doing? Are you cold?" Steve tries.

"I'm disgusting," you hiss in a mad dash for the pile of clothes on the floor.

He trips over his feet to stop you, corralling you as best he can, but you're quick. You certainly have fight in you. Steve only want to show you you do not have to fight him.

"Come back to bed," he commands hopefully, grabbing your wrist as you scoop up your wrinkled dress. "I should clean up, but please, please, come back to bed."

There is something broken and fearful in the way you finally meet his eye. He's torn apart, shredded down to nothing in a single look. That's not how a feral animal sees the world; that's how an animal, abused and betrayed, locks the world out.

Your protection is what you really took off for him. Your thick armor is what Steve got past.

"I didn't lie." He lets go of you and steps back as calm as his rasping breaths can manage. "I want you. I want you to stay." He wonders whether he ought to cover himself, too, because perhaps total vulnerability makes you more nervous.

So he presents himself as an opportunity, not an obstacle.

Steve finds his boxers a foot away and says one more time, "I hope you stay."

Unmoving, your eyes follow his walk to the bathroom, and in the split second he's looking down to turn the tap, you're gone.

Disappointment floods his system, but like all the other stamped failures in his record, Steve goes through the motions of caring for a body that thwarts his desire to live at every turn. In fact, it tries to die so often, he's always surprised to find himself here, staring at this mirror again, wondering why he gets back up.

He's also surprised to find you here, in the bed with the sheet pulled up to your chin, nodding to the side table where you've placed a cup of water.

The tiniest of genuine smiles curves your lips.

Steve's home is neither lonely nor empty anymore. He could cry.

A/N: this got so incredibly out of hand... I'm so sorry. But also, thank you for reading!

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads

[xjoonchildx]

kanalia | jhs x reader | final chapter: because i couldn't stay away

banner by the amazing @kth1 💕

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes. smut warnings in effect.

⚜️word count: 10.2K

⚜️author's note: happy birthday month to my forever muse, jung hoseok. i hope that i did this poor, tortured version of you some justice. and yes, it did take me years to finish this story (😭) , but i did. thank you to every single who has ever taken an interest in this story and cared enough to stick with me through long delays and rough writing spells. once again, i have to shout out the OG @hobi-gif who lent her eyes to part of this story. i appreciate you all so much and if you enjoyed it, i would very much appreciate a reblog as well as your feedback.

thank you guys so, so much 💕

previous chapter masterlist

Love doesn't discriminate Between the sinners and the saints It takes and it takes and it takes And we keep loving anyway We laugh and we cry and we break And we make our mistakes And if there's a reason I'm by her side When so many have tried Then I'm willing to wait for it I'm willing to wait for it

– “Wait for It”

Hamilton, An American Musical 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

One perfect loop is followed by another. And another. And another.

You need not look back and check your work, not anymore. Now you know simply by the pull of the thread that each stitch you place is snug and uniform. You sit in your chair by the fire and repeat the motion over and over again, staring unseeing into the pattern in your lap. 

“It’s a beautiful day, Your Grace.”

Hyeri’s voice taps at the edges of your consciousness, muffled as though she’s standing outside the chamber door instead of seated right beside you. You ignore it and push another loop through the fabric.

“Not a cloud in the sky,” she persists, gentle. “Perfect conditions for a walk, if you feel up to it. I could even accompany you, if you wish?”

There was a time, not long ago, when Hyeri’s prodding would have set your teeth on edge. But you do not have the energy to muster any such emotion. And so you give Hyeri the same answer you’d given her the day before. And the day before that one. The same hushed words, spoken in the same decisive tone.

“I’m content to stay in today, Hyeri. Thank you.”

“Very well, Your Grace.”

She drops the matter with a quiet sigh.

It’s unlike her. The Hyeri you know would fret and fuss for as long as it took for you to relent; until you had no choice but to quit your chamber simply to enjoy a moment’s peace. The Hyeri you know would be shooing you away from the fire, prattling on about how one errant thread could catch and send your entire dress up in flames. 

But the Hyeri seated beside you does none of those things.

So you sink deeper into the plush chair perched in front of the hearth and watch the flames dance. The embers at the base of the fire glow deep red, putting off a heat blistering enough to scorch your bare feet. 

But you cannot feel it. You cannot feel anything.

You’ve surrendered to the weariness now; let it consume you. Allowed it to fuse itself to the very marrow of your bones. For days you’ve done little beyond sleep and spend your few waking hours seated by the fire, needle in hand. 

Twice you’ve left your chamber and neither time by choice, but rather because the King had insisted on your presence at dinner. To what end you still cannot be sure seeing as you’d taken both meals in stilted, awkward silence. Apparently His Grace is far less bold without a bit of ale in him.

“The hunting party leaves in three days' time,” Hyeri says. “There’s been quite a fuss in the kitchens over it. They’re taking enough supplies to travel for months, by the looks of it.”

You make a non-committal sound under your breath. Hyeri forges on, undeterred.

“There will be a send-off in the courtyard, of course. Will you – “ she pauses to choose her words carefully. “ – Well, I assume that you’ll want to see the King off.”

You do not want to see the King off. Were it not for his pigheaded adamance that you keep up appearances for the sake of this sham marriage, you’d be content to never see him again. But you’ll not tell Hyeri that. Not when she’s made it clear where her loyalties lie and not when she still holds on to the delusion that one day you’ll decide to embrace your role as the placeholder by the King’s side.

So you say nothing at all. The fire pops as one of the logs crumbles in the hearth.

Hyeri clears her throat. “Your Grace, I only want what’s best for you. Surely you know that by now? And I don’t want people casting aspersions, which they most certainly will do if you’re not there to see the King off. The staff is already asking questions about why you’ve not been seen in days.”

“Has he asked for me?”

Hyeri blinks. “The King?”

“Yes, Hyeri,” you say slowly. “The King. Has His Grace requested my presence at this send-off ceremony?”

The color seems to drain from her soft face as she admits, “No, Your Grace. He hasn’t.”

“Then I see no point in worrying yourself over the matter.”

You return your attention to your needlework and place another yellow thread in the center of your Mugunghwa flower’s pistil. The flames crackle in perfect, undisturbed silence. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“It’s cold out there today,” Hyeri says. “But if you bundle up tight, it’s quite pleasant in the sunshine.”

“Thank you, Hyeri,” you reply evenly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a lie, and you both know it. You have no intention of leaving this chamber today and much to your relief, the King did not require your presence at his evening meal the night prior. Hyeri had ordered your dinner sent up and then proceeded to dine with you herself. An insidious voice inside your mind whispers she’s afraid to leave you alone.

You ignore it.

Instead you try to focus on your Mugunghwa flower. You study it, blinking until the riot of colors before you has clear, defined boundaries – fiery crimson at the center which slowly bleeds into a subdued pink which in turn dissipates into a milky white. You pull fresh white thread through your needle and set to work on the flower’s edges.

“Your needlework is much improved, Your Grace,” Hyeri notes. “You’ll be finished with that pattern by the end of the day, as I see it.”

You thumb over the fabric and consider her assessment. She’s right, you’ll be done with this pattern in a matter of hours. And the only thing that awaits on the other side is another pattern. And another. On and on and on. 

“Perhaps when you’re done, you’ll consider mending this for me,” Hyeri says, gesturing towards her lap. “My eyesight is not what it used to be. I’m terrified of ruining the old man’s beautiful design.”

You set your embroidery down and turn to look at Hyeri, gaze falling to the opulent plum fabric in her hands. Slowly, the details sharpen into focus. The rich velvet trim. The gold threads glinting back at you in the firelight. The room begins to tilt.

“A footman found it in the woods last night,” Hyeri explains, her cadence slow and deliberate. “By the stables.”

You are keenly aware of the way she watches you in the weighty seconds that follow, one gray eyebrow lifted as she awaits a response. You do your best to appear calm despite the panic clawing its way up your throat.

You’d lost that shawl in your mad dash back to the castle. You’d been tearing through the dark, paying little heed to the branches that tugged at your dress and occasionally scraped at your hands and face. One of them had caught the shawl, but you’d been so desperate to reach the refuge of your chamber that you’d hardly noticed when it was wrenched away. You’d had, after all, your humiliation to keep you warm.

And you’d earned it, hadn’t you? With your drunkenness. With your recklessness. You’d let every one of your baser emotions take control. You’d risked every advantage of your carefully curated life just to throw yourself like a wanton at the feet of one of your husband’s closest confidantes. Like a fool. 

When Lord Jung turned on his heels that night and abandoned you in the woods, he’d done far more than just rebuff your clumsy advances. 

He’d finished you. 

“Your Grace?” Hyeri’s curiosity is evident. “Are you alright?”

Hardly. Your mouth waters as your stomach threatens to cast up what little you’ve eaten today. One glimpse of that garment had been enough to bring a torrent of memories rushing back; vivid, awful memories that you’ve worked hard to banish to the deepest recesses of your mind. You grip the arm of your chair hard enough to make your knuckles go white. 

“Your Grace?”

You don’t answer until you’re sure that you won’t retch the very moment you open your mouth. Hyeri studies you in the interminable silence, lips parted in an expression of concern. Your tongue is thick when you finally collect yourself enough to speak.

“Please do thank the footman for me, Hyeri. And I think it best to leave the more intricate needlework to you.”

Hyeri stares as you reach for your needle and thread with trembling hands, but you don’t dare look her way. You try to place a loop at the edge of your flower but the Mugunghwa’s colors have gone blurry again and you’re forced to back the needle out and start over.

Perhaps there was a time when the Mugunghwa was as vivid as a rose. With petals of rich orange-red, opaque from pistil to tip. But perhaps it was asked to weather too many storms. Too many droughts. Too many winters. 

Perhaps the Mugunghwa looks the way it does today not because of how it was made, but rather what it’s had to endure. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first snow of the season arrives early.

You stand at your window and watch it fall, noting how quickly the fields turn from green to white. You press your fingertips to the windowpane and the cold seeps through it, chilling you instantly.

In the courtyard below, the horses are draped in heavy blankets. Stablehands scurry around them; dusting snow off their muzzles and checking their shoes. Footmen work in teams, sharing the weight of the heavy trunks they load on to waiting carts. 

“I’ll wear the blue walking dress today, Hyeri. The one with the white flowers on the bodice.”

“Your Grace?” Hyeri is on her feet at once to join you at the window. “You’ll see the king off, then?”

“I’ll need the matching cape too,” you direct, brushing her question aside as you watch the newly-packed trunks take on a layer of white snow. “If the conditions are as awful as they look.”

“Yes of course,” Hyeri breathes, hurriedly whirling about the chamber behind you as she gathers your things. In a matter of minutes she has you dressed and seated, fingers twisting your hair into a plait at the base of your neck. She loops the plait and pins it into an elegant bun, fingers smoothing the hairs into place before her hands come to rest on your shoulders. She squeezes them gently.

“I’ll not ask you why you’ve changed your mind, Your Grace,” she says softly. “But I’m so glad for it. It’s important that people see you. For them, of course, but for you most of all. And besides, you look so lovely.” 

You don’t feel lovely. In fact, you don’t feel anything at all. And if Hyeri had pressed you as to why you’ve changed your mind, she’d not be satisfied with your answer. You’ve changed your mind because you cannot bear to cause more conflict with the King. Because you have no desire to create a scandal that you’ll somehow have to fix. You’ve changed your mind because you have no fight in you left. This is the path of least resistance.

You rise from your seat and Hyeri’s hands fall away. She clutches them to her chest, rheumy eyes soft with sadness as she watches you take your place at the window once again. Outside the snow falls harder, and you watch the footmen leave deep divots in it with their boots.

“Tell me when it’s time,” you say quietly.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You can scarcely recognize anyone in the throng of well-wishers gathered outside the castle.

They’re all bundled tight in winter coats and pelts; some wear hats and scarves. The snow doesn’t help either, and from the moment you enter the courtyard you’re grateful for your cape. Not only for the warmth of its thick lining, but for its hood, too. It affords you a bit of privacy in this otherwise very public affair.

You weave your way through the crowd and do your best not to make eye contact with anyone. Surely Boram is among those gathered with sweet Yeona in tow, here to see Lord Min off on his adventure. But you cannot bring yourself to seek her out – not when she’s already called on you twice without so much as an explanation for your disappearance. At any rate, you don’t think you could bear to look at her right now. To see the worry and concern you know you’ll find written all over her face. 

So you keep your hood pulled tight and your eyes down as you set off in search of the King. And you have no trouble finding him despite your reticence to make your presence known. It’s not just that he stands a head taller than most. It’s in his stature, in his stance – in that self-assured air that seems to come naturally to those born with power. He catches sight of you as he’s speaking to a footman and pauses, gaze locking on yours.

Your legs feel heavy. Your boots sink into the snow as you approach, each step more tiring than the last. When you are finally standing before the King you bow, dipping your head as you peer at him from beneath your hood.

“Your Grace,” he murmurs, lips twitching into a cautious half-smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come down to say goodbye.”

“And yet I have,” you respond evenly. A snowflake lands on one of his long eyelashes and you resist the urge to reach out and sweep it away. “So I do very much hope that you are pleased.”

“I am pleased.”

The King reaches for your gloved hand. He waits a heartbeat before bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your leather-clad fingers. Beneath your hood, your cheeks burn. You withdraw your hand quickly and let it fall to your side. 

“Well. Then. I wish you a comfortable journey,” you say. “As well as a safe return.”

The two of you stand there for an awkward moment, the King’s expression expectant as though he’s waiting for you to say more. But you have no more to say. The words you’ve already offered him will do. They’re as empty as the vows you’d exchanged little more than a year ago.

“We ought to head out, Your Grace. We’re losing precious daylight and this weather will slow us as it is.”

The voice comes from somewhere in your periphery, but you need not see the man to know exactly who it is. Suddenly each breath you draw is painful, the frigid air pricking your lungs like a thousand tiny needles. You will yourself not to turn towards it, not to react in any way. 

“You’re right.” The King acknowledges Lord Jung with a brusque nod. “Have the stablehands check over the horses one more time.”

You won’t look at him. You can’t look at him. Not when the sound of his voice reverberates through every wounded place inside of you. Not when you can close your eyes and still feel the hot trickle of embarrassment that slid down your spine that night in the woods. But then he leaves you with no other choice.

“Your Grace.” 

The low timbre of Lord Jung’s greeting makes the fine hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end. You turn to him, slowly, and his dark eyes briefly connect with yours before he bends into a shallow bow. Your knees nearly give way when you return the gesture, along with a subdued, “My Lord.”

What must this man think of you now? What has he told the King? The nausea you’ve managed to stave off for days returns at once. 

You startle when a gloved hand wraps around your forearm and the King beckons you to face him. You flick your eyes up to meet his and find that they – along with his countenance – have darkened. By now Lord Jung is yards away, tending to his horse as the hunting party readies to embark. Your lungs ache with each deep pull of cold air.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Not at all,” you insist, contriving a weak laugh. “I’m not accustomed to this kind of cold, is all. I’ll need to go back inside to get warm.”

The King’s brows furrow as he studies you. But you maintain your mild expression until his face relaxes and the disquiet subsides. He leans in to place a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

“Hyeri assures me you’ll be well taken care of in my absence.”

You lift the corners of your mouth in a gesture that you hope will pass for a smile.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Be well.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Hyeri does not protest when you ask to undress upon your return to the chamber. Nor does she fuss when you climb into bed with the morning sun still high in the sky. She simply presses a soft kiss to your hair, draws the curtains tight and leaves you with a whispered rest well. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Your chamber is dark when you wake but for the soft glow of a fire. 

As you come to, so does an ache in your temples, a quiet thud that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Your muscles protest as you roll onto your side to find Hyeri seated at the hearth. 

She’s yet to realize that you’ve roused and so you lie there for a while, studying her. She has a strange, far-away look in her eyes as she stares into the flames, her grip tight on a book in her lap. After a few minutes she opens the book and begins to thumb through it and you watch, curious, as she pulls a worn piece of vellum from between its pages.

She unfolds the missive and reads over it, face crumpling as she fights back a sob.

“Hyeri?”

The older woman nearly jumps out of her skin when you call out to her.  She hastily folds the vellum and slips it back into her book, smoothing down her dress as she stands at attention. “Your Grace,” she says, voice huskier than usual, “I hadn’t realized you were awake.”

“It’s alright,” you say absently, voice rough with sleep. You steal a look at the book left lying in Hyeri’s chair as she hurries over to bring you some water. Her countenance is that of someone who’s been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. You stare at the glass she offers you, watching the water slosh back and forth. 

Is she trembling?

“You ought to eat something,” she admonishes gently, waving a hand towards the food waiting on the table nearby. “You slept through the evening meal. I had my mind made up to wake you if you’d gone much longer, but thankfully I didn’t have to. So come,” she beckons, “Eat something. It will do you some good.”

Your stomach twinges at the mention of food. It’s been in upheaval for days now, and as such it’s been far too long since you had a proper meal. But whatever awaits in the dishes nearby smells enticing enough, so you allow Hyeri to help you out of bed. Your muscles are stiff with disuse and you grimace as you make your way to the table. Your eagle-eyed handmaid takes note.

“A long, hot bath will do you some good, too,” Hyeri remarks as you spoon lukewarm bulgogi onto your plate. You eat slowly as she busies herself with lighting the torches and stripping the linens from your bed. “I’ll have the maids bring up the water after you’ve had a chance to eat.”

You’ve only managed a few bites of the bulgogi before there’s an army of maids filing into the chamber, flitting about the room like a swarm of bees. You watch the entire affair in a daze as the maids make quick work of the tasks set before them: tidying and sweeping the chamber, draping your bed in fresh linens, filling the tub with steaming hot water. And when all the commotion is finally done, Hyeri dismisses them with strict orders not to return unless they are sent for. 

You are grateful at once for the silence that immediately falls over the chamber. Even Hyeri leaves you for a while, disappearing into the antechamber to prepare your toilette. But when you glance over at her chair, Hyeri’s book is gone. Along with whatever was written on the vellum inside.

“Come now, Your Grace,” Hyeri says, at last. “I’m ready for you.” 

She leads you into the bathing chamber, where the air is humid and sweet. Then she helps you out of your rumpled nightgown and holds out her hand. You accept it, leaning into her as you step over the tub’s steep rim. Slowly you ease yourself down, sucking in a breath as the heat blazes a path up your feet to your legs and thighs. The water is hot almost to the point of pain but you withstand it, sinking until it laps at your shoulders.

“I used rose oil tonight,” Hyeri says, kneeling behind you and cupping your head in her hands. “I thought you could do with a bit of pampering.” 

The delicate fragrance envelopes you, carried on the curls of steam that rise just above the water. You breathe in the soft, floral scent and close your eyes; try to clear your mind. Hyeri presses her thumbs to your temples and starts making firm, soothing circles. 

“I remember the very first moment I saw you,” Hyeri muses softly. “I’d been so impressed by your poise.” Her hands move to the column of your neck and she kneads at the tight muscles there, pulling the tension from them with each pass. “You were little more than a girl then, but I could still see that you were lovely, inside and out.”

Were you? You’re not sure that you would even recognize the girl that stepped out of that carriage so long ago. You’d been so idealistic – so certain of the comfortable life that you would find here. Of the affluence and status and yes, perhaps, even love that you’d enjoy once you’d ascended to the throne. But that girl had been a nitwit. The woman you are now will never entertain such foolish notions again.

“I know that so much of this has not been easy for you,” Hyeri continues, setting to work on your shoulders. “I know that there have been days when you’ve struggled to put one foot in front of the other. But you have. And that means something.”

It does mean something. It means that your mother’s great work is finally complete. She’d spent her entire life molding you into the polished, empty creature you are today. If only she could see you now; see how biddable and pathetic you’ve become. It would fill her to overflowing with joy.

“Anyhow, when you’ve lived as long as I have you realize that nothing is forever,” Hyeri says thoughtfully. “Same as what you’re going through right now, Your Grace. It won’t be forever.”

Nonsense. Hyeri cannot change the King’s heart. She cannot save you from a lifetime of awkward exchanges and forced smiles simply because she believes things can change. And she cannot will a child into your womb simply by decreeing that it should be so. The swell of emotion that surges inside you is more powerful than anything you’ve felt in days. And it’s anger. 

“Hyeri, stop,” you order tersely. “No more.”

Her face falls at that, features going slack with dismay. But she heeds you, holding back whatever she’d meant to say next. Then she reaches for the soap and begins to wash your hair in silence. You chase the beads of oil that float along the surface of the water with a fingertip, cheeks hot with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to be ugly to Hyeri. 

But then you’ve done many things of late that you hadn’t meant to.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“It’s alright, Your Grace. I know you meant no harm by it.” Hyeri dries her hands off and then rises to her feet, looking down at you with a kindness you do not deserve. “I’ll leave you to soak for a bit. You can have a few minutes of peace before I return.”

You’ve been unfair to her, haven’t you? The realization cuts you deep as you watch her retreat from the antechamber. She’s served you in so many ways since your arrival here: as caretaker and as advisor and as confidante. And how have you thanked her? By being cold and distant. By unleashing all the frustration and resentment you feel towards the King on her. And what of the tears you’d seen her hold back while she’d been sitting by the fire? Have you been so mired in your own anguish that you’ve neglected to see hers? 

The water has begun to cool and your skin has begun to pebble by the time Hyeri returns.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she says upon her return, helping you out of the water. “The time got away from me. You must be freezing.”

“Only a little,” you lie, teeth chattering. Hyeri sets to drying you, throwing the damp linens on the floor to catch the rivulets of water that fall from your hair. Her dark eyes dart from your shoulders to your neck to your ears, but they do not meet yours. 

“Is something wrong, Hyeri?”

“No, no. Not at all,” she answers quickly, “Just a bit tired.” Her reassurance rings hollow because she keeps her eyes trained on the floor as she bends to reach for the rose oil. When she straightens, you catch her hand with yours, stilling her. 

“What were you reading tonight?”

Hyeri’s mouth opens in surprise and then quickly closes.

“I saw you sitting by the fire,” you admit. “You were reading something that looked to upset you.”

“And here I thought you were sleeping,” Hyeri grumbles, taking her hand back. She pours the oil into one palm and then warms it before pressing it to your neck, letting a long moment pass before she speaks. 

“It didn’t upset me,” she explains. “Not in a sad way. Those were happy tears, I suppose.” She pours oil into your hands and begins to gently massage it into your fingers. “It was a letter from my Sanghun, back when he’d been courting me so many years ago. You might find this hard to believe, but I wasn’t always the old woman you see now. I had more than my fair share of suitors.”

It’s not hard to believe. Time has been kind to Hyeri. Her features, though soft with age, are still striking. She must have been quite fetching as a young woman. 

“What made you choose Sanghun?” you ask.

“I don’t know that I had a choice in the matter at all,” she laughs as she helps you slip into a nightgown. “The moment I saw Sanghun, no other man existed for me. It was him or no one.” Her eyes go soft with a faraway look as she recounts the memory. “The other girls thought him too practical, too serious. But I saw a side of him that no one else saw. A part of him that was just for me.”

“You must miss him,” you say gently.

“Every day,” Hyeri admits. “Ten years he’s been gone and I think of him every day. Those letters remind me of what it’s like to be young and so in love that you’ll not see rhyme or reason. But –” she trails off and waves a hand as if fending off fresh tears. “Never mind that. Come sit.”

It’s unclear which of you she’s sparing from the memory. But as Hyeri begins working her comb through the lengths of your hair, you’re struck by how shortsighted you’ve been. There is suffering in never having the chance to love and be loved, certainly. But there is a different kind of suffering that comes with having that kind of love and then losing it. The thought humbles you.

Hyeri comes to stand behind you and begins working your wet hair into a loose plait.

“I’m sorry, Hyeri,” you say softly, gaze dropping to your hands. “I’m sorry that I haven’t thought to ask you about Sanghun. I haven’t been myself and I’ve just – “

Hyeri silences you with a soft hush. She secures your braid with a piece of linen and then drops to her knees to look her in the eye. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says softly, stroking a hand down the side of your face. “Nor do you owe anyone an explanation for feeling the things you feel.”

Her warmth thaws the frozen places inside you. It causes tears to spring to your eyes. And when she takes your hand in hers, you squeeze it gently — hoping that the gesture can convey the feelings you can’t put into words.

“Now put all of that behind you,” she says, smiling through her own unshed tears. “And come sit with me for a while.”

Hyeri leads the way into the chamber and you follow, only to stop short when the hearth comes into view.

When your gaze falls on the silhouetted figure near the fire, you nearly scream. You try to scream. But fear seizes your body, inch by inch – rooting your feet to the floor and closing around your throat like a shackle. You have no choice but stand there, staring in horrified silence as the figure begins to emerge from the shadows. In the span of one frantic heartbeat, the figure has a shape. In the next, it has a face. 

And in the next, it has a name.

“H-Hyeri?” you stammer, swaying on your feet as your legs threaten to give way. Your handmaid doesn’t answer and so you call out again, voice quivering. “Hyeri?”

You cannot take your eyes off the man standing before you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and so you stare as the firelight flickers over his stark, beautiful features. Shadows dance across his clenched jaw and knit brow. And his eyes – those dark eyes you know so well are fathomless, inscrutable – smoldering coal set in unblemished, unforgiving stone.

“Hyeri!“ you call out to her again, desperate – reluctantly tearing your gaze from the man to look for her. And when your eyes finally land on Hyeri, you find your handmaid standing near the chamber door, hands clasped together tightly. Streaks of color running up the thin skin of her neck and into her soft cheeks.

But she’s not surprised, is she? Not flummoxed in any way by finding Lord Jung lying in wait inside your private rooms. The realization comes over you slowly, wholly, until a strangle tingle runs from your scalp to the tips of your fingers. She’s arranged this, hasn’t she? 

“W-What is this?” The words leave you as more air than sound, but they ring out clear enough in the silence of your chamber. Lord Jung and Hyeri exchange a long look, but neither utters a sound.

“Someone speak!” you cry, wincing at the hysteria in your voice. 

Hyeri finally clears her throat, her face now fully aflame. “I believe the two of you – “ she pauses, swallowing hard. “Well, I believe the two of you have some things you need to discuss.”

Discuss? You and Lord Jung? Suddenly the panic you feel metastasizes, growing into something much darker. Has he come to admonish you, then? To punish you for your disloyalty? Has he come to lay bare every humiliating detail of that horrible night at the stables for Hyeri to hear? 

“No,” you whisper. You do your best to appear composed, despite the way your knees tremble. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Hyeri. I have nothing to discuss with Lord Jung.”

“Yes, you do.” The man in question speaks for the first time, his voice little more than a low rasp. “And we will.”

“No,” you repeat your refusal, shaking your head as though the movement will help sort your jumbled thoughts. “No. You have no right to turn up here and say what I will and will not do. And where did you come from? I saw you leave. I saw you mount your horse and ride off with – “

You stop yourself before you can finish the thought, flushing fiercely at the unspoken mention of the King. Your tedious, disinterested husband would be anything but if he had any inkling of this clandestine encounter.

“I was called back to the castle,” Lord Jung explains evenly. “A palace rider came bearing a missive bidding that I return at once to address an issue at the stables. I was but an hour’s ride away at the time.” Once again, he looks to Hyeri and they exchange another one of those maddening looks.

“But there was no issue at the stables,” you deduce quietly, the pieces falling into place, one by one. “Was there, Hyeri?” Your handmaid seems to shrink beneath the weight of the accusation in your eyes. 

“No, Your Grace,” she confesses weakly, “There was not.”

Oh, but your head is truly spinning now – each new revelation more disorienting than the last. How long have these two been conspiring together? What does Hyeri know about what’s transpired between you and Lord Jung? What does he know about the many private things you’ve shared with Hyeri? Both thoughts cause the bile in your stomach to rise.

“You can leave us now, Hyeri,” Lord Jung says. “Thank you.”  

Leave you? Has the man lost all good sense? You open your mouth to protest, but when met with the intensity in his glittering dark eyes, words fail you. You just stand there, mouth agape, rendered mute and immobile with shock. You look over at Hyeri, who has fixed her pleading eyes to your wide ones, her expression urging you to comply. And though you cannot make sense of a single thing that you’ve witnessed tonight, you do.

“Very well, My Lord,” she says quietly. “Rest well, Your Grace. The staff rouses at dawn.”

And with that Hyeri takes her leave, the chamber door closing behind her with a heavy thud that echoes the one in your chest.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Once you are alone with Lord Jung, you realize how truly vulnerable you are.

With little more than a thin nightgown to cover you, he can see far more of you than would ever be considered proper. All it would take was one shout from the man to bring the guards running, to compromise you both to the point of expulsion. Perhaps worse.

But the situation is far weightier than that. 

You’ve been vulnerable to this man from nearly the first moment you saw him. You’d been weak to his attention and charms. You’d allowed him to see you in ways that no one else has: not Chaehee, not Hyeri and certainly not the King. And the only time in your life that you’d thrown caution to the wind – and acted with abandon, not restraint – he’d mortified you. The memory of that night is a wound that’s just barely begun to heal, and now here Lord Jung stands, poised to pour salt on it. 

You’ll not allow him to devastate you again. 

“Go on then,” you say, lifting your chin and speaking with feigned bravado. “You’ve gone to great lengths to speak to me, so speak. I assume you’ll enlighten me as to which matter is so pressing that you felt the need to steal into my chamber and risk ruin for us both.”

“I know what I’m risking,” he growls. Then he stops to collect himself, exhaling deeply as he shoves a hand through his hair. “I know what we both stand to lose. But I could not come to you any other way.”

“Why have you come to me at all?” you demand. “You made your feelings quite clear the night of the festival, did you not?” You can no longer contain your bitterness and it drips from your every word. “You should go back to your sovereign, My Lord. Back to your King.”

Lord Jung looks stricken when you use his own words against him. There is a despair in his dark eyes that might have pained you once, but not now. Not anymore.

“You have every right to be angry with me, Your Grace,” he acknowledges. “And if you bid me to leave, then I will do so. But not without telling you the truth. You deserve to hear the truth.”

“Everything here is a lie. Perhaps you, most of all.”

He looks at you for a long moment before turning towards the hearth to gaze into the fire. Orange-red light illuminates his profile, sweeping across his smooth brow, over the elegant slope of his nose and down to his strong jaw. He is still the most beautiful – and most terrible man you’ve ever known.

“The King said he would give her up,” he says woodenly, staring into the flames. “When your marriage was announced, he swore it. And I believed him.”

Every muscle in your body pulls tight.

“I knew that he loved her. We all did. But he vowed that he would respect his father’s wishes and I’ve never known him to be a duplicitous man. I’ve never known him to say one thing and do another. And when I realized that he’d been deceiving you, deceiving us all, I – “ he stops and shakes his head at the memory. “ – I wasn’t thinking clearly. I confronted him at once and demanded that he explain himself.”

The argument in the courtyard. The memories come back to you in an instant. The way they’d both looked so irate, the way their voices would rise and then fall. Lord Jung turning his back on the King and stalking away into the dark. 

The tightness in your chest is unbearable now, viselike. 

“I was so damned angry,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “Never once in my life have I imagined putting my hands on the King, but in that moment – I don’t know. I don’t know what I might have done had I not walked away. But I confronted him because I had to know why.”

He rips his gaze from the fire and turns to you, eyes flashing.

“And do you know what he told me? Do you know what he said when I asked him why he would insult you by keeping a lover? He told me that he couldn’t stay away. That he’d tried to do the honorable thing but he couldn’t stay away.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The tremor in your voice belies your pathetic attempt at composure. “If you mean to cause me pain, it’s too late. I’ve known about the King’s lover since the early days of this marriage, and I’ve accepted it. Just as I’ve accepted that I’ll never amount to more than a trinket he dusts off to show to his people.”

Lord Jung takes a step towards you, his beautiful face hard in the firelight. There’s a maelstrom behind his eyes, a polite violence that sets you to shiver.

“I’m telling you this because I need you to understand,” he says. “I want to hate him. I have tried to hate him. But I cannot. I have no position of honor to stand on. No rightful claim to virtue. I have no right to condemn the King for his sins when I have so many of my own to account for.”

“I – I don’t understand,” you say weakly.

“I have no right – “ his voice breaks, thick with emotion, “-- I have no right to denounce the King for coveting another woman.” He drags a hand down his face, distraught. “Not when I have spent every single day since you stepped out of that carriage coveting you.”

You stop breathing entirely.

“So no,” he continues, voice graveled. “I cannot bring myself to hate the King. And you were right to think me a liar. I’ve pretended that my nearness to you was benign, nothing more than an act of service. I’ve tried to make myself look honorable to you, when I have been anything but. I’ve been a liar since the moment I met you.”

You are trembling now, head to toe. Rendered speechless by Lord Jung’s confession. Slowly, the maelstrom in his eyes starts to recede. He looks as vulnerable now as you feel. 

“You deserved to know the truth,” he says quietly. “If from no one else, than from me.” 

There is a heavy silence in the seconds it takes you to find your voice.

“My Lord, I – “

“Don’t call me that,” he pleads. “Please. Not now. Not when I’ve come to you like this.”

“Very well, Hoseok. But you sent me away. In the woods that night, I’d asked you to – “ you stop, not wanting to say the words aloud. “What’s changed? Why are you telling me this now?”

“I have tried to leave you alone.” His voice is ragged now, anguished. “I thought if I could just put some distance between us – if I rose earlier and worked harder and retired later – that I could exhaust this need out of me. But I can’t.” Torment is etched into every line of his beautiful face. It makes you want to reach out and touch him but you resist, uncertainty keeping your hands pinned to your sides.

“I cannot war with myself any longer,” he says hoarsely. “I cannot continue to lie to you or myself. And if he is not willing to give you the things you desire, then I will.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, your neck. It gathers in your belly, too.

“So if you’re asking me why now?” he says, taking another step towards you, closing what little distance remains. “It’s because I couldn’t stay away.”

He touches you then, takes your face into one warm hand and strokes his fingers down your temple, smooths the pad of his thumb over your lips. The featherlight touch raises goosebumps all over your skin. It’s more intimate than anything you’ve ever experienced with the King. 

“Do you still want me to kiss you?” he murmurs. 

“No,” you breathe. “I want so much more than that.”

He looks at you with such heat that the warmth in your belly goes molten. Then he presses his mouth to yours and slowly coaxes it open with gentle strokes of his tongue. He tastes of whiskey and smells of fine, heady soap and he does not relent until you are panting. Moisture gathers at the juncture of your thighs, beneath your thin nightgown.

But suddenly you are apprehensive. You’ve no idea how to kiss a man properly, much less satisfy him as a lover. And you’re not sure that you could ever live down the shame of disappointing him. When he finally pulls away to look down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, you have no choice but to confess.

“There’s something you should know, Hoseok,” you say, the sound of his given name still foreign in your mouth. “It’s just that – well, I am by no means a maiden but in some respects, I might as well be. I know almost nothing about how to please you.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, and for one terrifying moment you fear it’s for you.

“That is through no fault of your own,” he says darkly. “And if he’s been too much of a fool to see to your needs, then so be it.” He dips his head to press a kiss to your ear, then whispers, “Your pleasure will be mine and mine alone.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Hoseok spends an inordinate amount of time tending to the fire. 

You sit on the edge of your bed and watch him, feverish with anticipation as he moves the weakest logs and adds fresh ones. Once he’s satisfied, once the chamber is glowing with fresh flames and warmth, he cleans his hands and comes to you.

Your heart rattles harder with each step he takes towards your bed. 

When he’s finally standing at the foot of your bed, he takes off his belt. And then reaches behind his head to pull his tunic away. The sight of his bare chest is enough to make your mouth go dry. His body is lithe and sleek and strong, his muscles rippling as he puts his hands down on either side of you and lowers his mouth to yours for a kiss.

“Tonight is about you, pretty bird,” he murmurs, trailing more kisses across your cheek, down your neck. “So I want you to tell me everything you want.”

“I want to see you.” The words leave you in a rush an account of the way his mouth moves from the juncture of your neck and to the hollow of your collarbone. “All of you.”

Hoseok wastes no time in straightening to his full height to remove his breeches, and then his smallclothes. And try as you might not to stare, it cannot be helped. You’ve never been able to study a man like this. Not even the King.

“Can I touch you?” 

“Please,” he groans.

And then you are cautiously reaching for him, wrapping a hand around the length of him, marveling at the way he pulses in your palm. You run your fingertips down the skin of his shaft, awestruck by how silky and warm he is. But when your fingers reach the blunt head of him, he flinches.

“I don’t – I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “Did I hurt you?

“No, no. You didn’t hurt me,” he assures you, his voice sounding a bit strangled. “I’m just sensitive there, is all.”

“Will you show me, then?” you ask, curiosity far stronger than any self-consciousness you might feel. “Show me how to touch you.”

“Of course.”

He sits down on the bed beside you, taking hold of your hand. And then you watch with a heady mix of confusion and excitement as he takes your fingers into his mouth one, by one. He finishes the unfamiliar preparation by licking a long stripe up the palm of your hand. The stroke of his tongue sends a bolt of desire racing through you.

“It’s easier like this,” he explains, guiding your hand back to his length. You take hold of him again and this time he wraps his hand around yours. He moves your hand for you, up and down the length of him, until you can feel him growing hotter and harder in your hand. You’re fascinated by it all – by how firmly he wants to be touched, by how labored his breathing becomes, by the way the muscle and sinew in his legs seem to twitch at your command.

He leans over to capture your mouth as he begins to buck into your hand in earnest. And after a while his own hand falls away, leaving you to take control of his pleasure. And what an intoxicating power he’s given you – taut muscles in his abdomen flexing with each of his strained breaths.

“That feels so good, pretty bird,” he groans, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. “Just right. Your hand feels so good around me like this.” 

The wetness you’d felt between your thighs when he’d kissed you the first time returns, and each sound of pleasure he rewards you with makes you wetter and warmer. He is rock hard in your hand now, the dusky head of his manhood shiny with moisture. You watch a bead of it appear at the tip and you slide your fingertips over it, transfixed by how smooth it feels. Beside you, Hoseok shudders.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says, breathless. “I’ll be of no use to you if you keep that up for much longer.”

You have half a mind to protest, but then his hands are sliding over the thin material of your nightgown, cupping your breasts through the gauzy fabric. He takes one of your nipples between his fingers and teases it until it’s standing at attention. You sigh.

“Can I take this off?” he whispers, pulling at the nightgown. 

You hesitate. Not even the King has seen you nude. Not once has he ever asked you to remove your nightgown and so for a long time, that is what you’d assumed he preferred. That is, until you’d caught him in bed with his lover. 

“Look at me,” Hoseok says, sensing your anxiety. He tips your chin up until your gaze meets his own. “I’ll not ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. But I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to use my mouth and hands on you. On all of you.”

You inhale deeply, flustered by the way he speaks so plainly about his desires. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? What you’ve longed for all this time. And that’s what he’s promised you, isn’t it? Pleasure. Pleasure that will be his and his alone. 

You draw your nightgown up to your thighs and then raise up to pull it even higher. When you’ve finally discarded it, when there is nothing left between you and Hoseok you flush, looking away.

“You have nothing to hide,” he rasps. “You’re beautiful. Believe me, pretty bird – you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Emboldened by the praise, you draw nearer to him and trace the outline of his heart-shaped mouth with one finger. And then it is your lips that find his; your tongue that moves past the seam of his lips and your teeth that find the shell of his ear. You thread your fingers in his hair, and he groans, gathering you close.

“You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve dreamed of you like this,” he says, gently laying you back on the bed. “You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve taken myself in hand to these fantasies.”

Oh, but you can imagine, can’t you? The few times you’d dared to try and seek your own pleasure, it had been him in your mind’s eye as your hand was between your legs. It had always been him. 

Hoseok’s mouth leaves yours and when it  finds the tip of one aching breast, you gasp.

“Do you like that?” he goads, laving your nipple with his tongue, taking it between his teeth. The pang of pleasure he incites in you is so sharp, you cry out. “Your body is so responsive,” he murmurs. “So damned responsive.”

There is only so much of that particular torture you can take, and so when his mouth finally leaves your breasts you exhale a sigh of relief. But then his mouth is on your sternum, and then your stomach, and then –

You freeze.

“I want to kiss you here,” Hoseok explains, cupping your mound with one large hand. “I promised you pleasure and this is the surest way to it. Will you let me?”

He looks up at you from the edge of the bed, his dark hair wild and his dark eyes glossy with desire, his mouth hovering over your most secret place. Your pulse skitters, heart pounding erratically at the thought of him kissing you there.

“Is it – is it proper?” you ask, chiding yourself at once for asking such a stupid question. Your face flames when Hoseok raises a brow. “I don’t know that I’ve ever thought to consider the … propriety of such an act,” he says slowly. “But I know that you’ll enjoy it if you allow me to show you. And if you don’t enjoy it, I’ll stop.”

In the seconds that follow, you think about the way he’d let you take him in hand. How he’d showed you how to bring him pleasure, without reserve. How powerful you’d felt when he’d been shuddering under your touch. He’d trusted you, hadn’t he? Just as you now must trust him.

“Alright,” you whisper, nodding your assent. “I trust you.”

He grins at you then, wickedly, before lowering his mouth to your mons. And then he is kissing you there, softly, each brush of his lips moving lower and lower still. Until you feel the heat of his breath at your entrance. You tense.

“Relax for me,” he instructs, licking a long, wet stripe up the length of you. The touch sends a frisson of sensation shooting through your limbs. “Close your eyes and try to think of nothing but this.”

And then he sets his tongue to the tiny pearl at your entrance. 

And at once, you see stars.

“H-Hoseok!” you gasp, your hips flying off the bed at the contact. The urge to snap your legs shut is almost as strong as the urge to push deeper into the pleasing press of his tongue. Almost.

But he pins your legs down with his arms and continues the onslaught, stroking and licking at you with his tongue, nipping at you with his teeth. You grab fistfulls of the duvet as though it might ground you somehow, keep you from bursting into flame.

And then he slides one long finger into you.

You are incoherent now, moaning and begging in broken sentences that do not make sense. But your body is responding in ways that your words cannot, hips moving in time with his mouth. Each pass of his tongue sends sharp spikes of pleasure to your core. You’d thought you’d known what this pleasure felt like, that perhaps you’d be able to reach it on your own someday, but never once had it been like this. 

And then you can feel it – the coil turning inside you, the desperate ascent to the one place you’ve never been able to reach. And it’s so close, so so close – the promise of whatever awaits on the other side strong enough to sate this nameless craving that you’ve felt for so long. It’s within your reach now, if only you can just hold on.

And then it stops.

He takes his mouth and tongue away and the pleasure vanishes. “Hoseok, no,” you cry, sapped of all energy, robbed once again of the relief you so desperately seek. “Please,” you beg weakly, “please.”

But he’s at your side now, the length of his body resting against yours, his manhood hard and hot against your leg. “Come now, pretty bird,” he soothes, “I didn’t bring you this high just to let you fall.”

He presses his lips to your ear at the same time he presses his fingers back to the aching bud between your thighs. “Go on then,” he whispers. “Fly.”

He brings every sensation he’d wrought from you rushing back with his fingers. His mouth hovers at your ear, whispering his encouragement until the coil inside you snaps. He must have known that you’d not be able to contain yourself when you came apart because he covers your mouth with his own, swallowing the sobs he wrenches from you, bringing you down slowly as you come apart.

And when you finally come to your senses again, when your breathing has evened and your heart has slowed and every part of you feels liquid and languid, he smiles.

“I couldn’t risk you waking the entire castle,” he explains apologetically, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you shudder through your quiet laughter, aftershocks of sensation rippling through you. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve never – never experienced anything like that.”

“That’s mine,” he murmurs, going up on one elbow. “Just as I told you it would be.”

Indeed. But what about his pleasure? The firm reminder of it remains pressed against you, the rigid length of it leaking onto your duvet. You reach for it and he draws a sharp breath through his clenched teeth.

“I want to feel you inside me,” you say softly, noting the way a muscle tics in his jaw. You wrap your hand around him and squeeze, astounded by how feverishly hot he feels. “Please.”

Hoseok nods, climbing over you and settling his hips between your thighs. He takes himself in hand and when you feel the blunt head of him at your entrance, you tense again. But he doesn’t enter you right away. Instead he looks down at you, his dark eyes brimming with emotion.

“Are you certain,” he breathes, his brow dotted with a fine sheen of sweat. “I need to hear you say it.”

You lift up to kiss him, pressing your lips to his. “Take me, Hoseok,” you whisper. “Now.”

And in one sure stroke, he’s buried to the hilt inside you. 

Bodies sealed, fates sealed.

The force of his entry steals the breath from your lungs. And though you’ve been breached before, it’s never felt like this. You’re still sensitive from the pleasure he’d given you only moments before and each of his thrusts only heightens the sensation. 

You cling to him as he rocks against you, closing your eyes to revel in the fullness. He buries his head in your neck and thrusts harder, the sound of his skin meeting yours just as gratifying as it is lurid. And when he reaches between you to press his fingers to your pearl once again, impossibly you feel fresh pleasure begin to bloom.

Broken phrases fall from his lips, a string of curses and blessings and everything in between. And his coarse language doesn’t scandalize you; in fact it only causes you to hurtle towards the peak faster. And then you’re flying again – flying apart, scattering into a million pieces. Crying into his mouth as your release explodes into color and tiny wisps of fire slowly drift back to the earth.

But you come back to yourself just as his rhythm has started to falter, just as the steady cant of his hips becomes so frenetic that you know his own release is near. You have only a moment to mourn the loss of his weight and his warmth before he’s on his knees before you.

You’ve never seen anything more erotic. Firelight flickers over him as he throws his head back, the cords in his neck clenching as he takes himself in hand. And then he is groaning, long and low, as his release spills on to the duvet.

Then he collapses onto you, wrapping you up in his arms, turning you both until he’s on his back and your head rests upon his chest. And then you both lie there for a while, skin to skin,  watching the flames cast shadows on the stone.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Neither one of you sleep, the threat of dawn too near to indulge in any such luxury. 

“What happens now, Hoseok?”

You ask the question after he’s made love to you a second time, both of you too exhausted to move. Hoseok inhales and exhales deeply. “I don’t know. I have no control over the world outside of that chamber door, pretty bird.”

You map the lines of his chest with one finger, thoughtful.

“You told me earlier that if the King would not give me the things I desire, you would. Did you mean that?”

“I did,” Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your hair. “If it’s within my power, then I will. I will give you anything I can.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. “Thank you.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You sit by the window and take in the afternoon sunlight, eyes drooping as you fight to stay awake.

You cannot ever remember being so tired. You sleep in fits and starts now, two or three hours at a time. And your body is too fatigued to talk up walking again, though the fresh air and exercise would do you some good. But you will walk again, soon. It won’t be long before you’re sitting with your birds and reading in the gentle Spring breeze.

Hyeri charges into the room like a bull, the tea tray in her hand clattering loudly. You narrow her eyes at her as she approaches and she fixes you with a sardonic look.“Oh, hush you,” she grumbles, setting the tray down on the table and walking over to you. “I wasn’t that loud.”

But her scowl falls away as her gaze locks on the baby at your breast, her muted eyes glowing with admiration. 

“That’s a fine Prince you have there, Your Grace,” she says softly. Then she looks up at you and her scowl returns. “Though at the rate you’re going, I’ll never get to hold him, will I? You’ve an entire staff to help you with him, and still you refuse. You’re going to make that boy rotten.”

You chuckle under your breath as you stroke your hand over the tuft of downy hair at your son’s crown. He blinks up at you with his huge dark eyes, and your heart is filled to overflowing with a love that you once you thought you’d never know. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

y,all i finished it! hahah okay so listen. if you'd like to talk to me, i'd love to hear from you. please consider reblogging and dropping me an ask 💕

[izvmimi]

cw: fluff. reader has textured hair/is black-coded. a little bit suggestive but nothing explicit.

“Baby?”

You’re not as easy to rouse when you’re bone tired like this, but Izuku still manages to get you up and awake, rubbing gently on your shoulder as he calls your name. Turning over, you look at him with eyes only half-opened, his own green eyes gentle as he gazes on you. He’s just come home to see you curled up on the couch fast asleep, and kneeling to your eye level, he smiles; it’s not a position he’s unfamiliar with himself, but now that you live together, you can be accountable for each other’s comfort.

“Sleepy?” he asks. He’s pulling you into his arms already to move you to bed, and the scent of his shampoo - your shampoo that you now pack into his work backpack to shower before he gets home - fills your senses. Drawing close, he hoists you up carefully.

“Did you eat?”

“Mm.” An abandoned plate sits atop the coffee table which one of you will take care of later.

Your face nuzzles into his chest as he takes you to the bathroom. He helps you stand upright as you brush your teeth, engaging you in idle chatter as he does the same. 

How was your day? They work you too hard. Make sure you take breaks. 

Different ways you say to each other, I love you. I love you. I love you.

You sit between his legs on the bed as he helps you wrap your rarely-straightened hair, passing bobby pins to him as he works. He hums as he works, your body soothed by his voice and the passes of the paddle brush over your scalp, and as old memories return to you, you chuckle.

“What’s so funny, love?” he asks. 

You let your legs stretch out before you as you hand him your favorite headscarf. 

“I remember years ago being so embarrassed to explain bonnets and headscarves and everything to you,” you say, idly. “Or even explaining protective styles, wash days, etc.. and now you’re here being so careful and making sure I don’t mess up my silk press, bobby pins in your mouth.”

He laughs as he passes the ends of the scarf to you and you finish the job tying it into a knot at the front of your head.

“I mean my hair is curly, too.”

You turn in his hold, now on all fours, suddenly energized by the idea of messing with him. “You know it’s not the same.”

He pecks you on the lips as you straddle him now, playful and loving. “I guess it isn’t. But I want to take care of you.” His forehead presses to yours as your hands cup his face.

“All of you,” he adds.

You grin widely as you kiss him again, and his hands wrap around your waist.

“Weren’t you exhausted just a few moments ago?” he teases. He still smells like your shampoo and you wonder if the scent of the drops of oil he applied to your scalp are still on his fingertips. 

Your right hand runs through his curls as gently as he does yours. 

“Seeing you home has given me a bit of a second wind, it seems,” you muse. His eyes practically gleam at your response. 

“So what you’re saying is you have a little bit of energy left for me?” he teases back, and in seconds, you’re overturned, laying on your back as he hovers over you, grinning wide, soft green waves on his forehead.

Your arms drape around his shoulders.

“Always.”

In the next few moments, your headscarf will probably slip off and you’ll scramble to find it an hour later after you’re filled with love and tenderness, but of course, the love of your life will not hesitate to help you wrap it all over again.

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 18

Prompt: Choking Pairing: bf!Seonghwa x fem!reader WC: 700 Summary: A night where you two try something new.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Seonghwa nor any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

I feel the need especially with “rougher” prompts like this to put the disclaimer - fanfic should NOT ever be used as a guide to relationships or sex. ESPECIALLY SEX. Again, it’s fiction. Stuff gets glossed over for the sake of a good story. Please PLEASE please again, not fact, not a guide, just a fantasy.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

TW/CW: Choking, slight degradation (fucktoy), unprotected sex.

 Seonghwa loves the look of his long fingers tracing the column of your throat. He draws along where the shadows fall. It’s his after all, why shouldn’t he memorize it like this. The thrumb of your artery below the pads of his fingers, your lifeblood resting so easily in his grasp. It’s a reminder of how delicate everything he loves is.

 “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers like a promise.  “I know.”  Seonghwa doesn’t respond. Thumb pressing into the soft skin, your pulse pounds harder against the blockage. Your heart is so fluttery for him. A caged bird beating frantically against the bars of its cage.  Suddenly his first and middle finger tighten, pulling you into a heated kiss. He’s careful not to crush your windpipe as you gasp into the open mouthed kiss. He breathes into it, sharing his life, his air with you, pulling away to watch as your eyes roll back, letting go just in time to keep you from fully blacking out. The rush he feels as the color returns to your cheeks and your body squirms against his is incomparable.  He chuckles, “how was it for you?”  “I need you to do that with your cock in me.”  His smile breaks into a full laugh as you fall together into the sheets.  “What a greedy little fucktoy.”  “Only for you Hwa,” you giggle, snatching his waist between your thighs.  He half laughs half growls as he topples over you, careful to balance his weight on his forearms as he cages you beneath his chest. Lips snatching yours you gasp his breath as he breaches your entrance. “You’re still so tight.”  “Gotta fuck me more,” you reply. Your fingers find his shoulder blades, grasping him close to you. Guts stirring as he deepens with each stroke, you close your eyes. Seonghwa, breathtaking in every way.  Seonghwa’s fingers thread through the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging downwards ever so slightly to expose your neck to him again. If he could shrink at will he would live in the juncture between your collar bone and throat. His lips naturally migrate there, sucking pinkish bruises into the soft skin.  You shudder, clenching around him, a moan rumbling in your throat.  “‘m close,” you announce, fingernails digging cresents into his back.  Carefully he untangles from you, pushing your hips up further as he lazily ruts into your wet heat. “You talk so big and here you are, already so far gone,” he muses.  Whining, your hands reach up towards him, letting him playfully swat them back down to the sheets. Your eyes are unfocused, looking up through him more than at him. Mouth agape, his fingers wrap around your precious, fragile throat and press into your pulse points. His hips snap into you at a punishing pace, your thighs tensing just to steady yourself from the assault.  “Want me to cum in you?”  “Mmmfph,” you nod vigorously as your vision fades and hearing dulls. The world fades as your walls flutter and spasm around him. He can feel the resistance against the snap of his hips fading as you ascend. Your pulse in his hands, the pressure builds and builds until your eyelids flutter and eyes roll back. At the brink, he releases his grasp.  With a gasp, everything becomes wet and messy between the two of you, letting go all over his thighs and lower abs. Chanting expletives, you shake and claw into the mattress uncontrollably, releasing an unrecognizable part of yourself into the universe. Your stomach burns as your walls clench harder than they’ve ever clenched, violently peeling your back off the bed just as fiercely as you’d pinned yourself before. Seonghwa gathers your shivering body as his own peak hits.  “Gonna fill you up baby, gonna take all of it just for me,” he mutters, steady thrusts becoming uncoordinated as his cock twitches within your walls, releasing white heat deep within you.  The post climax buzz clouds you, weak spurts of cum still pumping into you as you drape yourself with him.  “I’m sorry,” he pants, “so soon.”  You shake your head. “Ssokay. Can do it again.”  He smiles into your shoulder with a sigh, “I’ve made a monster.”  “Your monster.”  “My monster.”

[kitybur]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜𝐰𝐡𝐲

⌦ in which you, your silly friends and silly boyfriend move in together & what i think would happen.

— warnings: gn!reader, craziness, fluff, swearing

| can you write some headcannons abt how y/n would be with the rest of the group! or how the group would react to isaac and y/n hehe ANYWAY THANK U SM , love all of your content |

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

• to start off, i think we can agree that living with the boys would actually be HELL.

• like you’d have to be scrubbing the house top to bottom after filming a groupchat video. but for the sake of this, let’s ignore the bad side 🤗.

• the boys would definitely love you, and treat you like their sibling (everyone but isaac ofc). they would probably be a little overprotective of you, but that’s them showing they care.

• you’re getting ready for a party? when and where. someone’s making you uncomfortable? who needs to step in. you feel me??

• these men would never fail to make you laugh if you were having a bad day. like if you had a bad day at school or work, they would instantly have you in cackles.

• they always make sure they try to include you. if you weren’t a streamer, they would make sure that you get some screen time if you like to be on film. if you don’t, they make sure that you at least go on adventures with them (especially willy vlogs)

• okay independently tho.. i feel like softwilly would be the one to include you in most things (if you weren’t a streamer like we just established). idk he looks like the type of person who wouldn’t want to leave anyone out or behind. if you were a streamer, he’d still try to include you on recordings.

• yumi definitely would not give two shits im ngl 😭 he does his own thing so i feel like he just wouldn’t bother with you (in the nicest way possible) if you didn’t want to hang out or go film a vlog. but he’s definitely like one of the funniest people when you get to know him so he’s basically your main bitch when you’re sad.

• larry would definitely be your best friend. he’s got such a sweet personality that you’d instantly click and just do stupid shit together. like you’d play loud music at four in the morning and wake everyone up because you saw a tiktok dance you wanted to try ☠️ i just feel like larry would be easy to get along with.

• along with larry, i also feel like grunk would be easy to get along with. you’d both go out shopping since he’s lowkey got drip and you’d bond over it. i feel like if grunk got close enough to you, he’d ask to watch spongebob together. whether it’s over discord or irl. it’s a special moment y’all get to have to hang out.

• tanner would be your workout buddy. he’d make sure that he spots you and vice versa, and make sure that you aren’t breaking your bones doing a new workout. if you don’t workout, he’d be your horror game buddy. tanner would even just have you in the room because he gets jumpy. and if he gets too pissed off he’d make you play. and just constantly grab your shoulders to scare you.

• and lastly, we have isaac. in this case, isaac is your bf and lord he would be the best boyfriend. 🙏 like he’s actually super tall and muscular that he would give GREAT hugs. bro and the best cuddles. literally could crush you and that’s lowkey hot 🫡.

• but no, isaac would definitely be your muse. he’s definitely got that golden retriever type vibe, maybe slight black cat. isaac would be the best at massages. idk why that came to my head. i feel like with his large hands he’d be able to give great back or shoulder massages.

• isaac would buy you a bunch of shit, like he does for the house. it could be something totally stupid and he’d be like “but it’s useful in so many ways” or “it’s cute!” when it’s really fucking ugly but you’d never tell him that.

• you WILL constantly hear gagging sounds from the rest of the members whenever you and isaac are in mere 2 feet of each other. mostly from yumi and softwilly. but it’s all jokes! most the time..

• they will also make kissing sounds when you two walk out of isaac’s bedroom and ask if you used protection. even if you have literally just woken up.

• larry and tanner would recreate any lovey dovey thing you guys do, but make it 10x more funnier. any photo y’all post together, they copy it and tag you both.

• ^^ stop tell me you can’t see that happening 😭😭

• grunk would be the supportive bsf but will threaten isaac if he takes you away when you’re supposed to watch spongebob together.

• overall, i think living with them would be such a hassle, but if you plan it right it may be fun. if you love cleaning and screaming children at midnight, this is right up your alley ‼️

• ‘kay but y’all gotta agree that living with them would actually be so fun cause they’re funny and have an amazing time doing actually anything. like they could make any regular night into an eventful night that would end in the kitchen a mess, empty cans in the floor and bodies sleeping anywhere they can find comfortable.

• and those are our youtubers/streamers 🥹

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a/n: okay pls tell me if you agree or disagree with any of these cause i was just going off the top of my head but i wanna hear what y’all have to say about it too! i didn’t really know what to write for this so it’s all based on my opinion and how i see it. i hope this fulfills your request!

[kenshiluvr]

Heeeey could I ask for Kenshi with an reader where on a mission reader gets badly injured please?

aaa of course!! i love writing hurt/comfort :3

shooting star

kenshi takahashi/reader

summary: you get injured protecting him.

tags: major injuries, both reader and kenshi are protective of each other, they’re in love your honour, angst, hurt/comfort, good bf! kenshi, stargazing

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Haha, very funny.” Kenshi chuckles sarcastically after you made another bad joke. You’d been reading them to him for a whole hour, because you want to learn how to ‘out-dad-joke’ Johnny, even if neither of you had kids. You giggle, lay on his chest, scrolling through your phone. “How about this one. Two fish are in a tank. One of them turns to the other and says: ‘you know how to drive this thing?’” You giggle softly at the ridiculousness of the joke. “Little bit of army humour.” You muse, listening to Kenshi hum briefly. “Very little.” He notes, listening to your soft laugh.

Kenshi runs his fingers over your back, rubbing up and down gently. “Baby… surely we’ve gone through enough jokes by now.” He chuckles, shaking his head with amusement. “Aww, c’mon… just a few more?” You look from your phone to his, letting him kiss the bridge of your nose. “Nope. I’m not letting this continue. Unlike you, I cherish my sanity.” Kenshi laughs, carefully taking your phone from you. “Fine, fine. Spoilsport.” You shake your head, laughing a little. You and Kenshi had been dating for a little over a year now, always sticking together, everywhere he went you followed… even with his troubled past.

Kenshi appreciates you, and your bad jokes, you bring a light to his days that he was struggling to find. With the gruelling task of bringing his family’s name out of the Yakuza, of tracking down Sento… he felt any sense of normalcy slipping through his fingers like sand… but you kept him sane. You made him feel loved. “Get some sleep. I’m sure Johnny can listen to your jokes tomorrow.” He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Alright, alright.” You smile, stealing a quick kiss.

-

Trudging through harsh conditions, you follow Kenshi as he leads the way, being guided by the item that Liu Kang had given him to help find Shang Tsung. “Do you think we’re getting close?” You ask softly, glancing at the little compass in his palm. “I believe so…” Kenshi murmurs, glancing down at it as well. “Good… I think someone’s getting restless.” You chuckle softly, glancing back at Johnny, who had been whining the whole time. Kenshi hums softly, continuing on the path the compass was guiding him on.

Finally, you all arrive at a ledge, overlooking a grizzly fight between a group of human people and Tarkatan people. “What’s going on here..?” you murmur, brows furrowing. Kenshi hums, uncertain as well. Spotting Shang Tsung, you nudge your boyfriend, pointing the man out. Shang Tsung has a Tarkatan brought over, plunging a needle into his neck, drawing bone marrow. You grimace at the sight, turning away briefly. “This is… disgusting…” you murmur, eyes moving back to see the Tarkatan break free of his restraints, ready to harm the man your group had been searching for. “Come on. We can’t let him get killed.” Kenshi doesn’t hesitate, moving down to help. “Ken, wait-“ your eyes widen, scrambling to follow.

With a scrambled fight, you, Johnny and Kung Lao manage to disperse a few Tarkatans and humans alike, with you focusing on helping the imprisoned Tarkatans out of their shackles, giving them their freedom to escape this cruelty. Most give you wary looks, but a few nod thankfully and leave. Turning around, you see Kenshi in a strong fight with the Tarkatan that Shang Tsung had recently drawn bone marrow from, immediately moving over to try and help. Kung Lao grasps your arm, stopping you from jumping in, not wanting you to get harmed. “He can handle this.” He tells you calmly, bringing you back a little. “But-“ you glance from your friend to your boyfriend, eyes full of worry. “Relax. Kenshi’s a strong fighter.”

Sighing, you focus on finding out where Shang Tsung had escaped to. A pained grunt catches your attention, and your gaze immediately snaps back to Kenshi. “Ken!” breaking free from Kung Lao’s grasp, you run to his side. The Tarkatan he’s fighting scowls at the sight of you, drawing his Tarkatan blade from his forearm. You steel yourself, more focused on Kenshi’s safety than your own. With a hard slash, the blade slices into your side as if you’re made of paper. Kenshi’s breath hitches, watching the blood spill. Your name utters from his lips as he grasps you tight, feeling you crumple onto him. Johnny jumps in, finishing the fight for the two of you as Kenshi sits up, holding you tight to his body. “Baby… shh-shhh… i’ve got you.” Your boyfriend stresses, hand pressing to your deep wound. “What the hell were you thinking?!” Kenshi scolds, eyes full of worry as he holds you tight.

“Sorry- I-I didn’t think.” You chuckle weakly, resting your head to his shoulder. You feel dizzy, a lot of blood pouring from your wound. “C’mon, doll… stay with me.” He whispers, grimacing as your blood covers his tattooed hands. “Mhh… m’sorry.” You mutter, slumped to him. “Shh… it’s okay. Save your strength.” Kenshi’s other hand strokes your back, trying to keep you awake. “Stay with me baby,” he murmurs, voice cracking a little. “I need you.” Kenshi stresses, squeezing you close. If he lost you… he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

-

“Hey…” a soft voice whispers to you, two warm palms grasping one of yours gently as you stir awake. A pained groan leaves your lips, sighing softly. “Kenshi?” You mutter, blinking blearily. “Shhh… I’m here.” Your boyfriend moves one of his hands, pressing his knuckles to your forehead. “I thought I lost you. You fainted right there, in my arms…” Kenshi whispers, leaning down to gently kiss your cheek. “Scared me, baby…” he mutters, closing his eyes as his head rests against yours. “Sorry…” you whisper, voice hoarse, fingers weakly squeezing his.

“Don’t apologise. If it weren’t for you, I probably would of been killed by that Tarkatan.” He sighs, squeezing your hand in return. You hum weakly, leaning her head to his. “How long has it been?” You mumble, noting that you’re both back at the Wu Shi academy. “Shang Tsung, is he-“ you go to sit up, but your boyfriend eases you back down onto the bed. “Shh. Don’t push yourself. It’s been dealt with.” Kenshi murmurs, stroking your cheek gently. You sigh softly through your nose, closing your eyes in pain.

“Do you need anything?” Kenshi asks softly. “Painkillers… please..?” you whisper, fingers moving up to grasp his. “Of course.” Standing up, he kisses your fingers briefly before gently putting your hand down onto the bed for you. “I’ll be right back.” Kenshi assures you, stepping out of the room. He rushes right back, pills and water in hand, carefully sitting beside you on the bed. “Here, sweetheart.” Kenshi murmurs, helping you take the painkillers; he even feeds you the water, not wanting you to strain yourself.

“Thank you,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his. With a soft sigh, you press your head to his thigh. “Ken, baby… can we go outside? I wanna get some fresh air.” You mumble, looking up at him. Kenshi smiles softly. “Of course, sunshine.” He responds, stroking your cheek lovingly. Helping you up out of bed, he’s careful of the stitches on your side, supporting you as you walk. “Nice and slow… just take it easy.” He murmurs, holding your hands gently as he helps you outside.

Finding a bench, he sits you down carefully to give your side a rest, sitting beside you. It’s late, stars out overhead. Leaning to his side, you feel Kenshi’s arm circle around your waist. “Better?” He mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you rest on his shoulder. “Yeah…” you smile, eyes turning up to watch the stars that dot the inky, dark sky. Spotting a shooting star, you nudge your boyfriend, pointing it out. “Hm. Would you look at that?” Kenshi muses, smiling a little. “Did you make a wish?” He asks, looking back at you. “Yeah. But I can’t tell you now, can I? Or it won’t come true,” you giggle softly, watching it disappear from sight. “Aw, c’mon… you can trust me with that secret.” Kenshi teases, laughing softly. “Mhm. Well, I guess I can tell you.” You respond, smiling softly. “I wished that, no matter what, we stay together.” You admit. Kenshi feels his heart flutter. “Baby, you don’t even have to wish for that.” Kenshi tells you, kissing your temple lovingly. “It’s already true. I’m not going anywhere.” He smiles, pulling you a little closer.

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

required reading (sirius/remus)

a/n: this is just a fluffy few words of wolfstar, really. they’re a little bit in love.

‘Tired yet, Moons?’ Sirius skipped the last two steps of the staircase down to the common room, and flopped down next to his friend, hair swinging behind him.

‘Only a tad,’ mused Remus, flipping a page with his wand. Books floated effortlessly in the air before him, and a little distance away a candle sat on the coffee table, flaring in time with each inhale and exhale of his breath. Outside, the sun had sunk into its usual slumber, and time had begun to pass in the liquid, dreamy kind of way it often does at night.

‘D’you really have to be reading this late? What’s it even for anyways?’

‘Charms.’ Remus’ eyes were vague and far away as he answered.

‘Mate, Flitwick won’t care if you miss a deadline for a reading. Come to bed?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Sirius elbowed him gently in the ribs and sighed when he was batted away.

‘Rem, I’m serious. You’re his favourite student, besides Evans - you could be stood over a dead body with a smoking gun and he still wouldn’t believe you murdered someone. He’ll let you off this once.’

Remus snorted.

‘I’m well aware of who you are, Sirius. And I don’t fucking care if Flitwick will give me an extension, I’m finishing this book on time.’

Sirius paused to regard his friend more closely, taking in his ink-stained fingertips, his messy curls. His eyes were tired, but his jaw was set with a firm and quiet determination and something told Sirius not to push it.

‘Fine. But give your brain a break, and let me read.’

‘I don’t want you pitying me, Padfoot,’ came the reply, as the book in question was vehemently yanked out of Sirius’ reach by an invisible string.

‘I’m not pitying you, you self obsessed fuck. I can’t sleep, and I reckon reading’ll help take my mind off things. Now give over, and swap places with me.’ A resigned grunt of agreement, and the two rearranged themselves, attempting to accommodate for Remus’ lanky legs and Sirius’ tendency to sprawl. Eventually, they settled down comfortably, with Remus leant sleepily against Sirius’ shoulder.

‘Christ Moony, have you read all of this since dinner?’

‘Mm.’

‘You’ve done well.’

Remus laughed a little, and averted his gaze so that he was staring into the embers nestled in the fireplace.

‘I do my best,’ he replied quietly.

Sirius felt a sudden wave of admiration for his friend in that moment. His friend, who worked himself to the bone trying to make up for the days he spent in bed each month, trying to prove he was worth looking at as something that deserved a future. His friend, who, even on the brink of exhaustion, would still entertain the Marauders’ antics with a smile and a sarcastic comment and a suggestion or two. His friend, who would attend every single Quidditch practice without fail, despite having very little interest in it, just to watch the people he loved succeed. His gorgeous, gorgeous friend with those deep, kind eyes that smiled even when his mouth didn’t and his pretty, lilting accent and- this was not the time. Sirius turned his attention back to the book, trying not to think about the warm weight of Remus’ body against his own, or how he smelled so pleasantly of parchment and chocolate and cologne.

‘Where am I picking up from then, Rem?’

‘Top of the right hand page.’

‘Gotcha.’

An hour or so passed, and the book drew to a dull close with a final chapter on the Proteo Charm. The darkness outside had deepened, and thickened, becoming viscous and heavy. It pressed against the windows, making the common room seem even cosier in contrast. The air was warm and sleepy, the fire completely entrancing, and for a moment after Sirius finished speaking the two of them sat in silence to let the last of the consonant softly fade away.

‘Thanks, Padfoot.’

‘Anytime, Remus. Anything for our Moony.’

[measurelessdreamer]

Part III of my musings of my scogan kid fic idea - How they tell Kayla

Part I | Part II

They need to tell her somehow. They need to tell all of them, obviously, but judging by the situation, telling her takes precedence over the rest, at least in some way. Logan and Scott might not agree on many things, but they have to agree on this.

Naturally, they have no idea how, though. Even if they put aside the fact she is only four, Logan doesn’t know her, and as for Scott, despite the endless list of contingencies he has up his sleeve, this is a situation anyone would be running short on.

It’s another one of these things that show just how different they are. Scott wants to settle on the exact words they’ll say, Logan thinks it’s ridiculous and that no words, no matter how carefully scripted and rehearsed, could make it any easier on her or them. Scott wants to rip the band aid off, Logan wants to avoid shattering that little girl’s world for as long as possible.

“She’s gonna know, Logan,” Scott says through gritted teeth and Logan knows he shouldn’t doubt that when out of the two of them, it’s no competition who is more fluent in her needs and feelings, but it doesn’t really occur to him how much out of the loop he can be about this until it happens and it’s so sudden, heightened senses or not, he doesn’t know he misstepped until it’s too late.

I imagine it’s not his fault, though. He and Scott are wired differently and as much as they both have it in them to easily love this little girl, they go about it in different ways. Scott needed time to become confident and comfortable in the role of a father to such a young child. Logan followed his gut because there was little else he could do when Kayla would thrash in someone else’s arms to the point bones would start breaking and he has at least adamantium to support him. There wasn’t much time to second-guess back then.

But she is older now and as much she has no way of knowing the full extent of her powers, she is much less prone to losing her control. She knows her limits with Logan, she knows her limits with Scott. She can see when they happen not to return the favour.

Logan’s as much to blame for it as a person who has never held a baby in their arms would be for holding them the wrong way, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting to see her smile one second and then look at him with something akin to fear glinting in her eyes for long enough that Logan sees the red beams that are threatening to be let out. It’s not that she wants to hurt him, but something is wrong and worst of all, something is wrong with Logan and she’s scared and she doesn’t know what’s happening until Scott makes his way into her field of vision and gets her to calm down.

I imagine she originally meant to tease Logan. With her teleporting ability, she would sometimes appear out of thin air where he could see her and she would scream “boo!” And laugh halfway through it because she could never catch him off-guard as her teleporting radius is small enough for him to catch her scent or hear her footsteps before she makes her move. But this Logan isn’t as in tune with her and, not only that, he happens to be deeply in thought when it happens and instead of maintaining his composure and greeting her with a smile, she sees him flinch for the first time and waits for the grin to come and for the sense of accomplishment to greet her, but it never comes and it’s terrifying.

Alternatively, I imagine it could have something to do with Logan having memories of drowning. I originally meant for one version to be sort of subtle to the point that no one else would notice Logan’s mistake aside from Kayla, and the other one would have to do with flinching, but it turns out they both are about flinching. But this other time would be scarier in a way. Let’s say that Kayla is playing with a watergun and she finds Logan and Scott and sneaks up on them and shoots and it’s bad luck she chooses Logan as her first target and that she hits him in the face. The Logan from this timeline would glare and groan and, in worst cases, tell her he’s not in the mood right now, but this Logan has no such memories to guide him. Instead, another memory of water resurfaces and it’s the last thing he remembers and he knows he’s no longer there, but he just forgets for a moment and the flinch comes along with the familiar sound of his claws coming out and as if scaring the shit out of Kayla is not enough, he now has Scott staring at him with something he can’t place. He wants it to be judgment but he has a feeling it’s not.

She doesn’t run away, but he thinks that has much more to do with Scott than it does with him. He wishes he could run away the moment Scott tries to explain things to her. It doesn’t sound rehearsed because he is taking cues from her which is so rarely what he does that Logan can’t help noticing.

She has questions because of course she does and as much as Scott could answer all of them to some degree, Logan is best suited for it and it’s damn time he actually looks at her.

“So… you travelled in time? Like Marty?” she asks.

“Marty McFly. From Back to the Future,” Scott supplies, making the math and realising the intricacies of Logan’s time travel far too late and so does not escape the look Logan sends him.

“I got that much. Nice to see something that didn’t change.” Even if it’s just a movie. Even if he has no idea why she could reference it.

She asks where he comes from and he tells her. She asks why he would want to change the future, he says it wasn’t the future anyone would want. He doesn’t see the trap door until it’s too late, doesn’t realise that she is too young to comprehend that her sheer existence is his doing and that everyone in this school would be dead by now if it weren’t for him. She only sees a man who looks like her father and isn’t and his being here means her dad is gone.

“I don’t like this. I don’t want it. I want my dad,” she says and neither Scott or Logan can come up with what to say. They both try, but she doesn’t listen and she runs away before they can try again and Logan feels dread unlike any other. The future was fixed, he’d done the impossible, but he can’t fix this.

“Give her time. She’ll come around,” Scott says, ever the diplomat, but there is an undercurrent to his voice that is the only reason Logan isn’t telling him to go fuck himself because the words sound empty but aren’t a jab and Logan knows he doesn’t know this Scott and how they possibly found themselves being fathers to a little girl, but everyone else seems similar to people he’d come to know and care about, and so things cannot be so different-

“Would you come around?” he asks and it is a jab because he remembers what it was like to see Scott after Jean’s death and even if it no longer applies to this Scott, it is in his head and he cannot unsee it. “Sometimes you just can’t come around, Slim.”

“Clearly,” Scott says and Logan doesn’t know what that means but before he can question it, Scott is walking away and Logan doesn’t stop him and then faces having Scott avoid him the following days.

[literatecowboy]

Dr. Feelgood

11. Almost Domesticity

Summary: You've been in trouble at work several times before for "lack of professionalism" but now you've gone too far. You've been reassigned to Task Force 141 as a temporary doctor to replace the ones they've made quit out of frustration. You must either prove yourself and earn your former position back at a prestigious military hospital in California or face dishonorable discharge. Author's Notes: Wrote most of this in a post-organic chemistry exam haze. Nearing the end! I'm thinking ~1 more chapter and than an epilogue to slap a wholesome happy ending bow on this fic. What should I write next? Trying to start/keep writing more frequently as a brain break bc all of my classes are hardcore STEM Warnings: Hospitals, minor mention of broken bone

Masterlist

-----

“Fucking– yes!” you shrieked, throwing yourself at Simon and wrapping your arms around him, squeezing him tight. He chuckled, setting the box on the ground and sitting down, pulling you into his lap. He kissed you gently, tangling his fingers into your hair as you kissed him back. You pulled away and rested your forehead on his, smiling as you stroked his cheek. 

“I love you, Simon,” you murmured, laying your head against his cheek and snuggling into him. He didn’t get a chance to reply before you winced and pulled away, rubbing at your cheek and giggling. 

“You’re pokey, you need to shave,” you giggled, caressing his cheek. He took your hand and pressed a kiss to your wrist. 

“I used to dislike my facial hair,” he mused, and you furrowed your brow. 

“Oh, what happened to change your mind?” you asked, leaning your head on his chest. 

“It grew on me.”

It took a moment for the joke to register and when it did your jaw fell open and you pushed away from him, unable to hide your laughter. 

“You terrible man!” you shrieked. “The wedding’s off!” you giggled, turning to run out of the med bay. You only made it a few steps down the hall before he grabbed you by the waist and hefted you up from the ground, making you shriek and giggle and playfully push him away. 

“Let me go!” you giggled, but he only held you tighter, cradling you as he carried you toward his bedroom. 

“Not gonna happen, love. You’re all mine,” he said. 

—

You and Simon were conspicuously late to breakfast in the mess the next morning, prompting grins from Soap and Gaz. 

“Ye know LT, those med bay walls aren’t as thick as ye think,” Soap said. Gaz elbowed him in the side and Soap shot him a look. 

“What makes you say that?” you asked, your brow furrowing as Simon sent the sergeants a withering glare. 

“Guess I didn’t peg you for a giggler, that’s all,” Soap said, wiggling his eyebrows. You felt Simon tense in his seat and rested a hand on his knee. 

“We weren’t having sex,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I save that for when I get the chance to visit your mother.”

This made both Soap and Gaz laugh, and Ghost relaxed under your touch, rolling his mask up to sip the tea the boys had made him. You reached into your shirt and pulled out the necklace Simon had given you the night before, letting it rest against your shirt before returning to eating your breakfast. 

It took them a minute to notice it. Gaz was the first to pause, his eyes fixed on the glittering metal as he elbowed Soap. 

“Ow, what was that for?” the Scot grumbled, rubbing his side. He only looked up and found what had fascinated Gaz when the other man extended a finger to point directly at the thing. They were both frozen then, eyes wide and mouths agape. Soap was the first to look up. 

“Is that - are you gonna get married to the LT?” he choked, the excitement evident in his voice. 

“Yup! We’re engaged now,” you said happily, leaning your head against Ghost’s shoulder. He just kept eating, ignoring the sudden commotion until Soap sprang from his seat and practically launched himself at the lieutenant. 

“Well done, mate! We oughta figure out where to have the stag party!” he shouted, pulling Simon into a bear hug. Simon indulged him for a minute before shaking him off and letting him slide to the ground. 

“Don’t want one,” he grumbled, downing the last of his tea and rolling his mask back down. 

“Come on, LT, going into a club or something wouldn’t kill ya. Think about it - all your drinks paid for, spending time with your mates, gettin’ a good bite after - doesn’t it sound like a grand time? Won’t even hassle you about dancin’!” Soap said. Ghost thought for a moment, then shook his head with a sigh. You rested your hand on his shoulder. 

“Love the enthusiasm, but why not something quieter? Hit the seaside, grill up some food, enjoy a day in the sun. Maybe a bonfire, just the lot of you spending time together.” you suggested. This made Ghost perk up a little, which made you smile. 

“I’ll think about it,” he said eventually, rising from his seat at the table. “Gonna go write up mission reports.” This made Soap groan and stand as well. 

“Fuck me, I’ve got recruit duty today. Just remembered. I’ll catch you later,” he said, trotting off after putting his tray in the dirty pile. 

“That leaves you and me. Want to go pick up the Captain from the hospital? He’s being discharged sometime this morning - told me to show up around 9:30.” Gaz said, offering you a smile. 

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss seeing that old grump for anything.” you said. 

—

It didn’t take long to reach the hospital, and as you were passing through the entrance, a familiar face caught your eye. The ER supervisor you had assisted previously was coming out of the doctor’s lounge, water bottle in hand, and seemed pleasantly surprised to see you. 

“Good morning!” you called out, offering her a smile as you approached. 

“It’s good to see you again! I’ve been meaning to call you - I heard about the court martial you’re being put through.” she said, a frown creasing your features. 

“I hope it has nothing to do with you assisting us here. I haven’t been contacted for any information, but I wanted to reassure you that I’d be happy to testify to your competency and decision making skills. You and your task force have served us well and I’d love to return the favor,” she said. You froze, shocked still by her words. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, your heart swelling at her kindness. “That really - it does mean a lot to me. You could really save me here.” 

“What are they trying to call malpractice? I saw to your captain when he came in the other day and he told me it was a life-or-death situation. Any reasonable medical professional would’ve been forced to come to a similar conclusion.” she said. 

“The charges are bogus. Someone is trying to take the doctor away from my squad. We can’t go on missions without medics nearby - it’s almost like someone is trying to keep the task force offline.” Gaz said, folding his arms, his brow furrowing. 

“My opinion is that the case will get thrown out the moment the judge examines the facts in the pretrial hearing. But, if you need me, you know where to find me for testimony. And please, don’t let this scare you and your task force away from continuing to volunteer here.” the doctor said, offering a smile as she turned and headed back toward the emergency room. You smiled. 

“Guess word of the 141 doing volunteer work these past few months has gotten around. You all seem to like it though, right?” you asked as you and Gaz made your way to the elevator, heading up to Price’s room. 

“Honestly it’s more fun than it seemed at first. I’m glad Price signed off on letting us spend a few hours here every week. It’s refreshing.” Gaz admitted as you stepped off the elevator and turned down the first hallway. 

Price was already up and out of bed, arguing with a nurse as she tried to get him to sit in a wheelchair. 

“Really, this isn’t necessary, ma’am. I feel well enough to walk.” he said. The woman was unflinching, her arms folded over her chest as she nodded at the wheelchair. 

“No, sit down. Would you rather spend another night here? I won’t have you collapsing in the hallway, sir.” she barked, pointing a finger at the wheelchair. 

“Best listen to what she has to say, Captain. We’ve got work to do. Can’t have you stuck here for the rest of your life.” you teased. He sighed and begrudgingly sat down. The nurse passed Gaz his things in a clear plastic bag and then you all set off for the car waiting down below. 

“Missed you, Cap. Got some news you might be excited about,” you said, hopping into the car and buckling your seatbelt as Price and Gaz did the same. 

“Did the charges get dropped? I’ve been laid up in that bed with no intel. Laswell’s working on it but nobody would tell me anything. The nurses kept saying I need to ‘heal.’” he grumbled, gazing out the window as Gaz pulled out of the hospital lot and toward the 141’s homebase. 

“Not yet, but I spoke to a colleague who said she’d be willing to testify on my behalf. It seems the charges are likely to be thrown out at the first hearing.” you said, fishing the necklace out of your shirt and turning around in your seat to show it to Price. 

“What’s that?” he asked, leaning forward to get a better look at it but wincing as his abdomen contracted. 

“Simon and I are getting married,” you said with a smile, taking the necklace off for him to better examine the thing. His eyes widened and a smile grew across his face as he took it in his hands, examining the delicate metal thoroughly. 

“Congratulations, love, you two work well together. I’m happy I’ll have you around for good now,” he said, the corners of his eyes creasing as he smiled. 

“Soap wants to have a stag party for ‘im but he’s a bit resistant to the idea. Help me talk him into it?” Gaz asked, looking in the rearview mirror. Price nodded. 

“Gonna talk to him as soon as we get back. Need to tell him I’m damn proud - I’m sure I can weasel in the suggestion of a little celebration.”

—

That night as you were busy treating a recruit’s broken wrist, Price slipped out of the med bay and made his way down to Ghost’s office near the back of the building. He didn’t have to knock more than once before the door opened. 

“Good to see you, cap. How do you feel?” Ghost asked, showing Price inside before shutting the door and sitting back down at his desk. 

“Good, now that I’m back here. Never much liked doctors or hospitals, but that woman of yours - she’s different. Makes me feel safe when she’s around.” he said, sitting heavily on the couch. 

“Me too.” Ghost murmured just softly enough that Price barely heard it. 

“She told me you asked her to marry you. I’m proud of you, son. You’ve got a good woman and you’re smart to keep her.” he said, producing two cigars from his pocket and offering one to Ghost, who took it and rolled up his mask. 

“I love her.” Ghost admitted frankly, rolling up his mask and accepting the light offered by Price. They sat in silence for a while, smoking together. 

“Soap wants to throw you a party. Doesn’t have to be anything outrageous, but you should let him. If he doesn’t throw one for you, he will for her, and who knows what kind of trouble they would get up to,” Price said. 

“Was thinkin’ - have an idea for something we could do,” Ghost said, leaning back in his seat. “It’s a bit big. Would need your approval.”

“Hit me with it.” Price said. 

“Want to take her back home to California for a little surprise vacation. Would bring the rest of you too. Could call that a joint stag and hen thing,” Ghost said. Price nodded. 

“Good idea as usual, Simon. We’ll go as soon as everything here is settled.”

—

The next day, as you were supervising training (and occasionally joining in) an official bearing documents from the legal department came in to notify you of your court date - three weeks to the day. You were set up for an appointment with your appointed lawyer. Everything was set. 

The time passed slowly. You spent your days with the 141: helping Soap and Gaz train recruits during the day before going out for drinks at night and keeping Price company as he healed and helping him manage the operations of the task force. You spent more time with Simon, though - cooking together, watching movies, going on dates and making love. You would almost use the word domestic to describe your life. 

Every week you’d wrangle the boys into the car to go volunteer at the hospital. Ghost was a delight in the NICU - babies, when placed into his large arms, would stop crying instantly. Soap was a preferred playmate in the pediatric ward and thoroughly enjoyed coloring with the children. Gaz spent his time at the hospital charming elderly women in their knitting circles and modeling their creations. Price also volunteered with the elderly but spent most of his time on the ward swapping war stories with old veterans. You assisted in the emergency and trauma departments where you could, having more than earned the trust of the medical professionals there.  

But the court date loomed, and before long, it arrived. You showed up to the courtroom early, the rest of the 141 at your back, but they were not allowed to sit up front with you. Instead, they sat in the bench directly behind you, all well-dressed in suits. Ghost had even swapped his balaclava for a black medical mask. 

You had helped him tie his tie earlier in the morning, and he had pulled you in for a long kiss and a reassuring word before you set out. 

“Whatever happens in there - whatever happens to us from here until forever - I’ve always got you.”

-----

Taglist: @iamaliceinwonderland, @itsmeamysworld, @ghostlythots, @oranoyaora, @keiva1000

[makeitmingi]

Cause Baby You're My Muse [Chapter 28]

Genre: Romance, Idol!AU, Music, Slight angst

Pairing: Mingi x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Producer!Reader, IdolLyricist!Mingi, IdolProducer!Hongjoong, Idol!Seonghwa, Idol!Yunho, Idol!Wooyoung, Idol!San, Idol!Yeosang, Idol!Jongho, cameo(s) by other celebrities

Summary: You always preferred producing underground, having an unknown face and governed by your own rules. But when you start freelancing for idol groups, you say goodbye to your lone wolf lifestyle as you learn to work with idol producers and lyricists.

Word count: 3.2K

When the solo recordings were done, you called for a break. You wanted to overlay the vocals temporarily for the group vocal parts that were coming up. Also, you needed a breather and the boys looked like they needed it too.

"Rest your eyes for a bit, okay? Stretch your legs and get a drink." Hongjoong patted your head. You hummed, smiling tiredly.

"I'm going out to get a coffee." He informed and left. You stood up and stretched your limbs, yawning as you felt the exhaustion sink into your bones.

"Indigo?" Mingi poked his head. His eyes scanned the room before they settled on you being alone. You smiled softly, feeling better already just from seeing him.

"You've worked hard, baby." Mingi teetered over and wrapped him arms around you in a bear hug. He showered you in kisses.

"You too." The two of you laughed.

"Did I look good when I was rapping?" He asked, a cheeky grin on his face. You scoffed, putting your hands on his chest to push him away with a look.

"Come on, I looked good, right? I could tell from the booth, you had that look on your face like you were falling in love with me again. You can fool the others but you can't fool me." Mingi teased. You cleared your throat, looking away as he exposed you. You didn't think you were so obvious.

"I have work to do." You sat back in your seat, turning back to the computer in front of you.

"You're so fun to tease, baby." Mingi leaned over you and planted a kiss on your cheek. He sat down in Hongjoong's seat next to you.

"Stop~" You whined but still buried your face in his chest in an attempt to hide. Mingi chuckled, stroking the back of your head. You reached up to swat his hand away.

"Don't do that, you're going to make me sleep." You mumbled.

"After this, promise me you'll go home and sleep, okay? Have a big meal and sleep." He said.

"Can you stay with me, please?" You asked. Mingi smiled softly at how affectionate you were being and hummed. You leaned down to lay your head on his lap instead.

"My poor, tired baby." Mingi continued to pat your head.

"YOUR WHAT?!" You and Mingi shot out of your seats. Hongjoong stood there, his eyes wide in shock. You felt your heart pounding on your chest, you couldn't breathe. Time seemed to have just stopped as everyone was frozen. No one dared to speak first.

"Indigo, breathe. You're turning blue." Seonghwa stepped out from behind Hongjoong, heading to you. You hadn't even realised how long you were holding your breath.

"Breathe." He spoke softly as he rubbed your back. Mingi turned to you, concern and worry written all over his face.

"Joong, stop staring like that. You're going to make her have a panic attack." Seonghwa said.

"I'm just shocked." Hongjoong blinked.

"This wasn't how I wanted to tell you. I wanted this to all be over before I told the two of you. I'm sorry." You buried your face in your hands. Hongjoong came to hug you.

"What are you sorry about pabo?" He laughed. Mingi visibly relaxed at how calm Hongjoong and Seonghwa were.

"So yes, Indigo and I are together. We have been for a while now." Mingi wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in against his side.

"That's so sweet. Congrats, you two." Seonghwa smiled. Hongjoong folded his arms, staring Mingi up and down with a small frown. He was like an unhappy father/ older brother now. Of course he knew Mingi well, he just liked playing the role of a protective older brother around you.

"How long were you going to keep this from us?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I was going to tell you after recording. But I wanted you and Hwa to be the first ones to know. Even if you don't want to role of parents, you're still like my older brothers." You said shyly.

"So the others don't know?" Seonghwa asked.

"Yunho knows because he reads Mingi like a book. The others don't know." You shook your head.

"But Wooyoung did think that she was dating you, hyung." Mingi rolled his eyes. Seonghwa's eyes bugged out, pointing to himself in disbelief. You nodded in confirmation.

"So, will you give us your blessing?" You chewed on your bottom lip. Mingi felt you grasp the material of his shirt tightly behind his back. Seonghwa and Hongjoong's approval meant a lot more to you than he realised.

"You don't need our blessing as long as you're happy. If you two make each other happy, that's all we want." Seonghwa smiled.

"I do agree with Seonghwa on this. But as the group leader, I would have to ask if you plan to go to the company with this or even the public." Hongjoong looked conflicted.

"I won't put Indigo in the spotlight by going to the company yet, much less going public. We will tell the rest of the group soon." Mingi spoke first.

"Agreed. I think we should tell them at the end of today." You looked up at Mingi.

"Sure." He smiled softly.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa looked at the two of you. The way you two looked at each other with such adoration and it was obvious that you both cared for each other, how could they say no?

"We'll keep your secret but you two have to be careful too, alright? I don't want any of you getting hurt." Seonghwa cautioned. Hongjoong nodded in agreement. Mingi let you get a hug from the both of them. A large weight lifted off your shoulders, you were worried that they would not have approved of the relationship.

"Actually, hyung, you almost suspected us together." Mingi chuckled. Hongjoong blinked in confusion.

"I did? When?"

"When you guys were drunk, you tried to push me away, asking me what I was doing to your 'baby sister'." Mingi scoffed. You and Hongjoong had wide eyes at Mingi's words.

"I was drunk! And also, what were you doing, huh?! Enough to make drunk me stop you." Hongjoong turned the question back to him.

"Geez, I was just helping her. You're over reacting." Mingi rolled his eyes.

"So when did you two get together?" Seonghwa asked you with a kind voice, drawing you away from Hongjoong and Mingi bickering. You giggled.

"We were together the day I sent Haneul back. He came to check up on me when I came home. But he asked me to be his girlfriend the day the producers met for the song review." You recounted.

"That's so nice of you, Mingi ah." Seonghwa praised, making Mingi smile proudly. Hongjoong still shot Mingi a wary look. If anything, he was just overly protective of you. He suddenly pulled you to stand up. You were confused but stood up obediently.

"Sit here." Hongjoong sat you down beside him instead of your original spot between Seonghwa and Mingi.

"Hyung~ Don't be like that. You know me! I won't do anything." Mingi whined.

"Don't worry, Mingi's nice to me. He takes care of me and treats me well like you and Seonghwa." You snickered as you patted the back of Hongjoong's hand.

"We're back." The others came in. Jongho handed you a strawberry milk and a cookie.

"Thank you!" You grinned, poking the straw into the top of the carton to drink. Jongho smiled and returned to his seat.

"I've layered the solo recordings we've done and it's coming together really nicely. But for the chorus and the ending, I want some group vocals. We'll go in groups of 4." You instructed.

"Okay, rock, paper, scissors."

"Before you do that, I'm going to have to stop you. I'm trying to balance out the different pitches so we don't risk drowning each other out with an extreme low note with 1 person who is good at high notes. Hongjoong, Yeosang, Jongho, San in one team and Mingi, Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Yunho in one team." You said.

"You can send out a representative to play and see who goes first." You told them. Of course Jongho represented his team. Seonghwa, on the other hand, was pushed forward.

"Oldest vs youngest!" San clapped, making Seonghwa turn to glare at him.

"Everyone test." You spoke into the mic.

"Ah~~~~" Yunho drowned out on the microphone. He and Wooyoung burst out laughing, resulting in you laughing as well. The 4 of them stood around the main microphone.

"Do a test of the first lines. Acapella. Just for me to check the volumes." You said. Mingi counted them in and they did the test.

"Mingi and Wooyoung's voice travels better so the two of you take half a step back. Seonghwa and Yunho need to come in closer a bit." You waved.

"Like this?" Seonghwa asked.

"Perfect. Let's try it with the music. We'll be doing the chorus." You reminded. They all referred to their lyrics sheet, Yunho giving you the 'ok' to play the track. You listened to them record then overlaid the recording on the raw vocals to see if it was cohesive.

"Okay, we're sounding good. Let's do it one more time before we move on." You put the microphone away to play the music again for them to record it.

"We'll move onto the ending portion." It sounded good with the mingling voices.

"Great job. Group 2 will go in now." You announced, taking a sip of your neglected strawberry milk and a bite of your cookie.

"Alright, group 2. We will be doing the same test as we did with group 1." They all put their headphones on with Hongjoong adjusting the volume and counting them in.

"Jongho, stay where you are. San will stay too. Me and Yeosang will move back slightly." Hongjoong was helpful with positioning the members when you played back the test audio for him.

"Chorus." You spoke and played the chorus for them. They started their recording.

"That was amazing!" You complimented. The balance of their different tones and pitches were so good especially with Yeosang's low pitch and Jongho's high pitch.

"Ahem, we're right here, you know?" Wooyoung rolled his eyes from his spot on the couch behind you. You shrugged, ignoring him as you continued with the second group's recording. When they were done, the other 4 from group 1 went to join them in the booth for the group background vocals.

"Sorry about the squeeze, guys. We'll finish this up quickly." You apologised, seeing all 8 of them in the booth, having the stagger themselves since it wasn't a big space.

"Don't worry about it." Hongjoong assured. Despite the space constraints, the boys were all professional, focusing on the recording.

"Nope, the timing is off. I can hear like two people starting a split second later. Again." You said.

"Yah, if I find who is starting late..." Hongjoong jokingly threatened.

You played the music again and they all recorded their voices. You took that recording blip and placed it at the specific part of the song, overlaying it with the other vocals.

"Playback." You told them, letting them listen to the raw vocals together. Of course, there was still some editing to be done.

"Sounds good!" The boys all cheered from inside the booth.

"Great job, everyone." You said into the mic, a smile on their face as you watched them celebrate through the glass. They all bowed their heads and put the headphones down to exit the booth. All 8 of them barged into the studio.

"Good job, Indigo! You did it!" You were lifted by Wooyoung as the others cheered loudly.

"It wasn't all me. You all worked hard too. I can't wait for this track to be done." You giggled, looking at each of them. Yes, there were still parts to record but at least the main portion was done.

"Thank you for being patient with me doing this for the first time." You bowed deeply to all of them, feeling warmth in your chest.

"What are you saying now?" San hugged you.

"You did great. We all knew you could do it. I'm proud of you." Hongjoong smiled softly. The validation for the team producer, Hongjoong, made you melt.

"Let's celebrate with supper. I'm hungry." Yunho declared and the others agreed.

"Supper? Wait, what time is it now?" You were confused. Only then, you checked the time on your phone and realised that it was close to 11pm. Had you really spent more than 12 hours recording with the boys? Time had flown by without you even noticing. Furthermore, all of you skipped dinner.

"Oh no, I didn't even realise that it was so late. And you guys skipped dinner... You should have said something!" You slapped Hongjoong's arm. He glared at you, rubbing his arm.

"Why are you always hitting me?!" He yelled.

"Don't worry, Indigo. It's not your fault, we were all so focused on the recording, we didn't realise how late it was too." Yeosang patted your shoulder.

"We're basically living the life of Indigo now. Working late, skipping meals." Mingi crossed his arms.

"Don't make fun of me!" You whined.

"Okay, okay. Let's go already." Seonghwa began to usher everyone out of the studio. The boys waited for you to save your work and pack up your equipment.

"We'll close up here. Go return your stuff to the studio." Jongho waved you off, helping the others coil the wires. You nodded and went to put back the stuff that you took from your own studio to use during the recording.

"Ready to go?" Wooyoung asked as you emerged from the hallway after locking up your studio.

"Let me help you." Mingi helped you carry your bag, moving your bag from your shoulder to his. The others didn't think much of because one of them would have done the same.

"Actually, there's one more thing. Before we go." You blurted out.

"What is it?" San tilted his head. You moved to stand beside Mingi and lacing your fingers with his. You smiled up at him.

"You and Mingi hyung?!" Jongho connected the dots before you could say anything.

"Yes. Indigo and I have been together for a bit. We thought it would be good to let you guys know." Mingi spoke, all the while smiling down at you. You nodded your head in agreement.

"Sorry, we didn't mean to keep it a secret. There was just a lot going on and our relationship is still rather new. Even if we aren't ready to tell the company and the public yet, we did want you guys to know since you're family. You all mean a lot to Mingi and I." You added with an uncertain smile.

"Are we all hearing this for the first time?" Yeosang asked.

"Nope. I knew, even before they officially started dating. Mingi can't hide anything from me." Yunho raised his hand with a proud smile. Mingi rolled his eyes in response to that

"Hongjoong and I found out earlier today." Seonghwa said. San was the first to come up and hug you.

"Congrats, you two!" He hugged you and Mingi.

"Thank you." You giggled, hugging him back. All this while, Wooyoung was quiet. You moved away from San and approached him. He stared you up and down.

"You lied to me." Wooyoung stated, folding his arms.

"Woo... I'm sorry, I was going to tell you but I didn't know how... And there was a lot going on." You reasoned.

"She didn't lie to you. You asked if she was dating Seonghwa hyung and she said no. That's not a lie." Mingi defended. He was still salty that the smaller male thought you were dating the oldest. The others turned to look at Seonghwa.

"What? It's Wooyoung who jumped to conclusions, nothing to do with me." Seonghwa held his hands up defensively. Mingi knew you felt guilty from Wooyoung's words.

"Come on, she was already stressing so much about telling anyone at all. And she wanted to tell the hyungs first before telling the others. Don't make her feel bad." Mingi nudged Wooyoung's shoulder.

"Mings... Don't say that." You scolded.

"No more hiding secrets from me. Or else I won't forgive you so easily." Wooyoung said.

"Deal!" You grinned, throwing your arms around him to hug him tightly. Wooyoung hummed happily, rocking from side to side as he hugged you tightly.

"Okay, that's enough." Mingi separated the hug, tucking you under his arm. Hongjoong frowned, pulling you away from Mingi.

"Congrats, Indigo. I wish you and Mingi hyung the best." Jongho held his hand out to you to shake. But you burst out laughing, reaching out to hug him instead. He was just so awkwardly cute you couldn't help it. He froze from the sudden contact but softened, patting your back with a small smile.

"Sorry to break the moment but can we continue the congratulations over food? I'm starving." Yeosang said. You nodded with a giggle and all of you squeezed into the lift.

"Does any of the managers know yet?" Yunho asked.

"None of them know. The ones who know about us are in this lift, apart from my mother." Mingi replied.

"You've already met Mingi's mother?" Wooyoung's eyes widened. You hummed, briefly recounting to them the dinner you had with Mingi's mother previously.

"Wow. Sounds like she likes you more than Mingi hyung." San teased. Mingi scoffed but didn't deny it, he knew that his mother absolutely adored you and wanted to have you as her own daughter.

"Come." Seonghwa and Wooyoung both took hold of your hands, leading you to their van. You blinked in confusion.

"But..." Mingi watched helplessly as you got dragged away to the other van. He thought telling the others meant he could openly hug and kiss you. But it seemed to be the wrong assumption because the others seemed to work harder at separating the two of you.

"Let's go, princess." Yunho chuckled, patting his best friend's shoulder before climbing into their van. Mingi sighed but followed, sitting in his designated seat.

"I shouldn't have encouraged her to tell the rest." Mingi sulked. Yunho laughed at his misery.

"Her older brothers are going to be even more protective her than ever now. You're the bad guy." Yunho teasingly reminded.

"I'm not a bad guy! I'm not going to do anything bad to her. She's been fine with me for months. If anything, shouldn't Seonghwa hyung and Hongjoong hyung be protective of me?" Mingi groaned.

"Of course not. They may have known you longer but she's their precious." Jongho snickered.

"Oh, shut up." Mingi growled.

"Mingi's sulking." You giggled softly, looking at the sad faces Mingi was texting you. Wooyoung leaned over your shoulder to read the text, laughing loudly.

"I think he regrets telling us now." Seonghwa said. Even if it was all for fun and jokes, you knew that Mingi didn't regret telling them. He wanted to proudly show off your relationship. You didn't regret it too, in fact you were relieved that they knew now. Plus, they were happy for you and wished you both well.

"Geez, he'll see you again at the restaurant." Wooyoung whispered, looking at the grumbling messages. You all spoke quietly, not wanting the manager to catch on to what you were saying.

"Yes but that doesn't mean we'll let them sit together." Hongjoong smirked.

~

Series Masterlist

[dragonrider9905]

What Tooka You So Long?

Happy birthday @imabeautifulbutterfly!!! I hope it is filled with many blessings and much happiness! It’s been so wonderful chatting with you and reading your stories. I’ve been a fan for so long ;D I hope you accept and like this little gift I have for you :) ❤️🤗

Also @clonexreaderbingo this fits for my square “alone”!

Bending over flimsi for long periods of time is not advisable. Fox would know this.

Not just from the bothersome brothers who are medics, like Kix, telling him to stop and take care of himself, but also from experience. Currently, he’s been bent over the same piece of flimsi for three hours alone. How long he’d been sitting there for the entire stack on his desk….he didn’t know. From the tension and ache in his back and shoulders, he had a pretty good idea.

….he hated to think about how long he’d been sitting there for all the paperwork he ever did….

…And how much more would he have to do for the rest of his life?!…..

Suddenly, a tooka jumped him from out of nowhere!

Breaking not only his musings but…

Spilling his precious, delicious, delectable piece of crap, no excuse for good quality, absolute awful caff all over his desk….and flimsi.

Fox’s heart sank. It was due tomorrow…

With a heavy sigh he stood up, bones popping and muscles protesting.

Ah great.

There was a krink in his neck too.

Now his paperwork was all messed up AND he was sore. He quickly cleaned up the mess with some rags he had around the office. He’d forgotten why they were there but he used them anyway. If he didn’t remember, then it wasn’t important.

With another sigh, he looked down at the little, adorable intruder currently purring against him. Secretly, Fox had a soft spot for these incredibly cute, fuzzy creatures, (he didn’t let it out lest he’d never hear the end of it) but not today.

Scooping up the tiny culprit, Fox headed out the door with his third sigh that minute. In one hand, he held the empty mug, in the other, the tiny fur ball increasingly becoming attached to him, not only purring but wrapping its tiny paws contently around his arm and hand.

He didn’t know where the little guy came from…it isn’t like they were allowed in the building or were easily let in. Someone must have smuggled him in.

“Whatcha got there, hey Commander?” Hound teased.

Fox’s unamused scowl would have been enough for most, but not his brothers. “Not caff, that’s what.”

Fox trotted on past the sound of Hound laughing behind him.

He growled and hefted the animal to a more comfortable position in the crook of his arm. He made his way through the halls, to where he didn’t know. He supposed he was just going to let it outside when he heard a woman call out. He saw your face light up at the sight of him holding the kitten and ran towards him.

“Ohhhhh, you found her! Thank you! I’m so sorry if she bothered you or got in your way!”

You took her from his arms, holding her up to look her in the face with an angry pout.

“Naughty girl, Zula. No running off.”

Fox tilted his head. He knew you; you were the psychiatrist for the Coruscant Guard. He liked you because you always treated them all like people and not headcases. It also didn’t hurt that he found you rather pleasing to look at. Which was a secret he kept next to his love for tookas. He’d been wanting to meet you for some time. He never had time to make his appointments with you but that freed up time for his other brothers to go. He didn’t have the guts to go up to you in person so deep down, the curse of this morning was secretly turning out to be a blessing. He liked Zula a lot better now than five minutes ago.

Now he just had to figure out what to say…

You looked up at the clone blinking blankly at you. He hadn’t said a word yet. You knew about the stoic Commander—you’d heard lots of stories about him but never met him in person yet. He refused to show up to his appointments with you. You didn’t know if it was an insecurity of his to talk about his problems or if he had a problem with you specifically. Either way, this was the first time you were ever encountering him.

“I’m so sorry. She helps my patients relax, but she’s not totally trained yet and this is the second time she’s snuck out. It only takes her one second.” You sighed. “Let me please get you something for your troubles…”

You noticed the empty caff mug, realizing what probably happened. “Oh no, let me get you a refill…I hope she didn’t ruin anything.”

“No problem ma’am. There is no need. Glad to be of assistance.”

Fox tilted his head but kept his stoic face plastered in stone.

“I can get you a refill real quick! I have my own machine…”

“It is alright. I, uh, don’t need any more for today. Don’t let her get away again though. But if she does, let me know and I’ll track her down for you.”

He inwardly cringed at how demanding he sounded, the slight growl he worked to perfection coming forward. Instead of being taken aback, you smiled, charmed.

“Sure thing, Commander. Thank you. And thank you for your offer. It was great to finally meet you. I hope I’ll be seeing you around?”

“Definitely, ma’am.” Fox titled his head respectfully again. “Have a good day.”

With that, Fox headed back to his office.

“You too, Commander! If you change your mind about the caff, I have a whole bunch, more than what is good for me so feel free to stop in!” You called after him cheerily.

Fox half turned to grace you with a small smile before turning away so you wouldn’t see him turning as red as his armor. There was no way you meant that to be friendly…probably one of your mind tricks to get him to show up for an appointment…but would that really be so bad? Fox ran over the encounter in his head again. It was so brief but his head was whirling.

If she does, let me know and I’ll track her down for you?! Really, Fox? Couldn’t think of anything better? That was real smooth…not.

He scolded himself. He knew you worked in separate worlds, but he hoped your paths would cross again, not in a professional setting that is. He found himself elated in the fact his grumpy exterior didn’t scare you away. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Kriff, why leave it to fate? Why not just set it up himself? He could do that. He was Commander for goodness sakes! And by setting it up himself, he didn’t mean to become your patient. There were other ways.

Double kriff! He didn’t ask you for your comm number!

Ugh, today was not his day.

But the tooka did wander into his room before…perhaps it would again?

Fox left the door open, hoping the mischievous tooka would find its way back to him.

— — —

Quinlan Vos’s debriefings had got to be one of the most interesting ways to debrief a debriefing. Fox rubbed his temples and headed back to his office. He liked the jedi. He was efficient and got the job done…but sometimes he was just…so….much. Goodness gracious he was glad to have him on his side but serving with him on the next mission would be…interesting. If the last mission was anything to go by, the next pile of flimsi was going to be six inches high again.

Fox might as well say goodbye to sleep for the next week right now.

He quickly shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

Fox took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. Shutting his eyes, he leaned his head back. He never allowed himself many breaks, but this would be an exception. He needed a moment.

Rubbing his eyes, a pleasant smell wafted into his space. One that he knew well. Man, Fox must be tired because he swore the scent of caf invaded his nostrils. He never refilled his caf, and if he did, it would be cold by now…no, this was warm and steaming and waaaay more rich than the swill he was used to.

Slowly, as if in a dream, he walked toward his desk, and sure enough in the center was a steaming mug of his favorite beverage. The container was unfamiliar to him so he stared at it blankly for two whole minutes wondering who left their caf on his desk. What they wanted and why they didn’t wait for him to come back or perhaps how they got in in the first place. His office was secured…

Then he noticed the little scribbled note beside it.

It was for him!

Enjoy on me! I know you said it wasn’t necessary but I wanted to do something for you. Sorry about the spill. Hope you like it! Thanks for being a hero. Zula is such a troublemaker; she needs rescuing every once and a while and I’m grateful to know that when she goes missing, I can rely on you.

The writing was yours. Of course he’d know your script anywhere—you wouldn’t have needed to sign it but he loved that you did.

Perhaps today wasn’t a total failure then. Unbeknownst to him, a small smile crept up the corners of his lips and stayed there for the rest of his shift.

— — —

A few days later, little Zula did indeed find her way back to Fox’s office. The tooka’s visits became sporadic and he worried the troublemaker would find a new favorite place. So, he started leaving little treats to lure the creature back to his office consistently just so he could return her to you. His plan worked rather well. Every day at noon, Zula would slip out of your office and find him. It was perfect because you both had lunch at noon, and not only would you not be interrupted but Fox could spare a full fifteen minutes to talk to you if he wanted. You would offer him caff most of the time, and it was heavenly. He tried not to accept it all the time so he wasn’t taking advantage of your generosity (let’s not discuss the flow chart he kept in his office of the days he accepted and didn’t just to be sure). You always smiled brightly handing him the cup, and Fox never ceased at the joy you received from giving.

He just wondered how long it would be until you’d tire of it…

— — —

Of course, you were well aware that was what he was doing. At first it was a pleasant surprise, but when you noticed a pattern of not only Fox showing up every day with your pet, but that she was leaving at the same time everyday….mouth slightly wet with saliva or covered with crumbs…..you knew. And you weren’t complaining.

You just played along with it for as long as you could. You figured you could only play dumb so long. Then again, he probably knew you were playing. Man was an investigator! Why he continued the little charade, you didn’t know. But you were fond of your guess and didn’t want to let it go. As long as there was no definitive answer, you could dream away.

You knew it wasn’t advisable; games of the heart weren’t safe to play.

But here you were. Looking forward to every visit he paid you and hoping it wouldn’t be the last. You actually got him to laugh last time. Actually laugh! You’d gotten him to chuckle on a regular basis, which you delighted in, but something rang different seeing the stoic man break down, holding his gut while tears fell from his eyes as his voice echoed in joyous waves. To be honest, you can’t even remember what you said, but you’d never forget that moment.

You stirred your caf dreamily, eyes far off and smile bright. You didn’t even notice Fox approach you.

“Hello? Tooka got your tongue?”

You looked up sharply to find Fox in front of you yet again, holding your ‘runaway’ pet. You smiled.

“Oh no, I was just thinking. Hello Commander Fox.”

Fox was glad he was wearing his helmet. The only other thing that made him blush more than his full title was when you just said his name. It felt so personal…he felt seen.

Here comes that unfamiliar feeling again. The only one he got when he was around you.

“What brings you here today? Other than the naughty girl,” you side eyed the playful creature purring against the red armor happily, “did you have any more crazy missions to report? One of the other legions playing pranks against the Guard today?” you chuckled.

“No…not today,” Fox chuckled back shyly, “there was actually something else,” he coughed, “something else I wanted to tell you…ask you!” he quickly corrected.

Grinning to the side stupidly, you encouraged him on, “Alright, go ahead.”

He let out a breath and swung his arms. “Okay.”

Seeing Fox so nervous was just too cute. You tried not to laugh and mess him up but your giddiness inside was trying desperately to make its way past your smile.

“OOOOkkkaaayy. Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeated, biting your lip. “Right.”

“No,” he looked down with a breathy laugh, “not that…”

“Then what is it?”

“I just…really need to tell you. I like you. A lot. Would you consider going out with me?”

You chuckled. “You have no idea how long I’ve ‘considered’ it. Yes!!!! What took you so long to ask?”

Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in Fox’s chest. He didn’t know quite what it was, but that was one investigation he was looking forward to. Deep inside, something broke.

It wasn’t something he needed anyway.

It was only the feeling he was meant to be alone.

Replaced with a feeling of belonging and love.

[corporatefrog]

╭₊˚ ๑︰Playing Mario Kart with Team Stan [headcannon + oneshot]

✧.* tags: college au

✧.* Characters: stan marsh, kenny mccormick, kyle broflovski, butters scotch

a/n: i love mario kart so much. I'm kind of awesome at it not to brag or anything (literally no lmaoo) I usually play luigi with the sports bike but I'd probably play dry bones if he was taken

masterlist

Kenny plays Dry Bones or Shy Guy

Kyle plays Toad or Luigi

Stan plays Yoshi or like the male villager 

Butters plays Rosalina (ofc. She’s the best one fr) or fucking baby peach

“Butters why the fuck are you playing as baby peach. No one is playing peach. You can be regular peach.”

“But she’s just a lil fella going through the world!” 

“SHE LEGALLY CANNOT DRIVE”

Yall make your own grand prix with electrodome, music park, maple treeway, and super bell subway (coconut mall if you’re playing the Wii version)

Loser of each grand prix switches out and you keep racking up points until the end of the night

LOTS of smack talk

Through the open window of the upstairs bedroom of the Marsh house on Tegridy Farms, a war brewed. The sounds flowing out the window stood in stark contrast to the peaceful night. A silent breeze rustled the budding cannabis plants, a soft movement that seemed to snap in the other direction as a wave of shouts pushed against the calm wind. 

“Good to know Stan’s still in last place where he belongs” 

“Well at least I’m not Kenny who needs an extra lightweight character to be farther than 6th”

Zooming into the room, a chaotic scene stood in stark contrast to the peaceful night. Various bags of chips scattered Cheeto and Dorito crumbs across the ground to be pulverized into the rug by sock covered feet. A hand pushed aside one of the bags, sending another wave of crumbs onto the ground as they reached for a can of soda. 

Kenny lifted the can to his lips. He drank with one hand angled to the side of his face to keep his eyes on the television screen. Finishing the drink with a loud sigh, he returned the drink to the ground to refocus his attention on the game. And on shit talking Stan. 

“Sorry I don’t listen to people who still drink Svedka.” He remarked, leaning his shoulder to the side as the cart with Dry Bones drifted around a corner. The trial of the cart sparked orange then purple as the speed boost charged. Dry Bones shot forward once the curve ended and pulled ahead of the NPC Bowser kart. 

“That’s rich coming from someone who chugged a week old borg with mountain dew and pinot.” Stan retorted. 

I gasped from my spot on the bed, attention breaking slightly to give Kenny a disgusted look, “Ew dude! Why the fuck did you do that?” I asked despite knowing the answer. There’s only one person who would make Kenny do something stupid like that. The one person who hasn’t been invited to the monthly Mario Kart tournaments in years because he’s a stupid idiot bozo.

“Cartman bet me $50 I couldn’t do it without puking-” Kenny’s response shifted tone as a red shell sent his cart flying off the end of the track “HEY WHAT THE FUCK KYLE! I WAS ALMOST WINNING!” He shouted as the perpetrator snickered on the floor. 

“Yeah, because 4th place is winning- god dammit!” Kyle cursed as his own cart slipped on a banana peel. My character threw a fist in the air to cheer the successful sabotage. 

“I really don’t know why you guys care so much about what place you get,” I mused as my kart pulled across the finish line, the large 1st Place symbol in the corner of my screen announcing the victory, “You’ll never be able to beat a god anyway.” A comical evil laugh boomed from my mouth, my arms raising to the sky as though calling upon the heavens to thank for my continuous win streak. 

Butters jumped up from the beanbag to add another 15 points to my total bringing it to a strong 45 after I’d won the two races prior. 

“I literally sent three blue shells at you. How the fuck did you still win?” Stan complained as he fell back against the bed, control dangling loosely from the wrist strap wrapped around his hand. 

Butters jumped in with a finger raised, “Oh well that’s because they look on the reddit forums during our philosophy class-” I leapt from my spot, rushing to reach Butters before he revealed my secret. My hand covered his mouth as I gave him a pointed ‘don’t you even think about it’ look. 

Turning back to the group with a shaky laugh, I waved off what Butters had almost said. “A Mario Kart god never reveals their secrets. Can’t have the mortals trying techniques they can’t master.” I gave Butters a pat on the shoulder, adding a warning squeeze before returning to my remote. Love the guy but he’s going to be the death of me one day, I swear. 

“Yeah, yeah” Kenny rolled his eyes, “I was just warming up anyway.” He stretched his arms above his head with an over exaggerated yawn. Grabbing his remote in one hand and a soda can in the other, he readied himself for the final race of the first round. 

“Okay? Then get better already? I’m hoping for a little bit of competition this time. Stan might even beat you if you keep racing like shit.” I snapped back at him with a wicked grin. A middle finger pointed my way came from Stan alongside some grumbled comebacks that weren’t loud enough to be heard. 

We all readed ourselves for the final tack, hearts racing in sync as the counter ticked down

3…

I hovered my finger over the accelerator. Not yet.

2…

Four fingers simultaneously pushed down on the controller as wheels spun in place on the screen.

1…

Butters gripped the whiteboard marker in his seat, falling victim to the infectious adrenaline of the room. 

GO!

And we were off.

[phr3ia]

Love Game (Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader) [Chapter 05 : Persistent]

The familiar dimness and scent of whiskey greeted you as you stepped inside your favorite bar. It was your haven, a place to unwind and escape the world's burdens.

"Evening, Detective." the young bartender, Hiro, greeted. "How's your day going?"

"Just fine, Hiro." you replied, sliding onto a barstool. "Give me my usual, please."

Hiro nodded, filling your glass with amber liquid. "You've got a new admirer tonight, by the looks of it. Lone wolf type, sitting in the corner."

Curious, you glanced over, spotting a man with a chiseled jawline and piercing gray eyes. A shiver ran down your spine as your gaze met his. "Is he causing trouble?"

Hiro chuckled, setting your drink down. "Not yet. But he's been looking at you since you walked in, so it's only a matter of time. Wanna play along, or should I give him the 'hands off' signal?

"Hand's off signal, please." you said hastily, taking a sip of your drink. You had no interest in dealing with anyone other than yourself tonight.

The night progressed, and several men approached you, only to be met with your cold, dismissive attitude. Hiro chuckled at your antics, shaking his head as he cleaned a glass.

Unbeknownst to you, Toji had slipped into the bar, sitting at a corner table. He watched you with amusement, impressed by how effortlessly you fended off the advances of various suitors.

"Damn, she's got ice in her veins." he muttered to himself. "I might have to raise my game to get through that shell."

As the night dragged on, your drink slowly emptied. You were becoming less guarded, occasionally laughing with Hiro. The world outside the bar seemed to fade away, replaced by the soft hum of conversations and the thud of glasses being set down on the counter.

Toji chuckled, enjoying the show. "Looks like she's finally loosening up." He popped a handful of chips into his mouth, watching you from afar.

"She's a natural at deflecting unwanted attention. I wonder if I can break through her walls." Toji mused, munching on his chips, seemingly content just observing your interactions.

He sat there for another hour, munching on chips and sipping on water. Toji dislikes alcohol because he doesn't get drunk, so why indulge in something he couldn't enjoy?

You were gathering your belongings, ready to leave, when suddenly, you felt a firm hand grip your ass. Your fist immediately connected to the man's face, and the sudden crack of bone echoed through the bar. Blood spurted from his broken nose, staining his shirt. You turned to Hiro with a deadpan expression. "Some signal, Hiro."

Hiro winced, apologizing. "Sorry, Detective. I thought he'd take the hint. Next time, I'll make it more convincing."

As the man scrambled to his feet, he spat out a string of obscenities, calling you a "stuck-up bitch." With shaky hands, he broke the beer bottle in half , the jagged edges glinting dangerously in the low bar lighting.

The room seemed to spin, and you stumbled back, leaning against the bar for support. Your vision blurred, and you wondered if you'd taken too many drinks.

The air thickened with tension, and the patrons went silent, watching with bated breath. The man lunged forward with so much aggression, ready to stab you with the broken beer bottle.

In a swift motion, Toji appeared behind the man, yanking his arm backwards with a sickening snap. The man screamed in pain, dropping the bottle. Toji gripped the man's collar, lifting him off the ground.

"This one's off-limits." he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And don't even think about touching her again. Understood? Do it one more time, and you won't be around to make any more."

Releasing the man, he turned to you, concern etched on his face. "You okay, Buttercup?"

You blinked, staring at Toji. "Yeah....Wait, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay away."

Toji smirked. "You didn't tell me to stay out of trouble. I couldn't resist saving the damsel in distress."

You rolled your eyes, pushing him aside to retrieve your bag. "I can handle myself, Toji. You didn't need to step in."

Toji chuckled, following you as you made your way to the exit. "I see you're still as stubborn as ever. And here I was hoping you'd thank me."

You shot him a death glare, not amused by his teasing. "Thank you? For what? Saving me from a punk who got what he deserved? I'll pass."

Toji shrugged, unfazed by your anger. "Suit yourself. At least, you've got someone to watch your back when you're out having a good time. You never know when trouble might find you."

You huffed, muttering under your breath as you left the bar. "Like I need someone like you to keep me safe."

Once you were safely outside the bar, you stopped and turned to face Toji. "Just how long have you been following me, Toji? And why?" Your tone was sharp, irritation lacing every word.

Toji grinned, unfazed by your anger. "Following you? Oh, I don't know. Since the moment you left the apartment, I think. I figured you could use some company or a bodyguard, whichever you prefer. You're quite the entertainer, you know."

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks.  "You've been following me just so you could watch? I'll have you know, I don't need a damn bodyguard! Not from a washed-up assassin like you!"

Toji's grin widened. "Ah, Buttercup, you're still as feisty as ever. Can't say I'm disappointed."

As you started to walk away from the bar, you tripped on the curb, tumbling forward. But before you could hit the ground, Toji swiftly caught you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. "Careful, Y/N."

The warmth from his body radiated against yours, making you feel strangely warm inside. Your eyes met his, and for a split second, you both blushed. Snapping out of your daze, you shoved him away, your cheeks flushed. "Get your hands off me, Toji!" you exclaimed, pushing against his chest to create some distance between you two.

He chuckled, his voice husky as he leaned closer. "Or else what? You'll box my ears again? I'd kind of like that."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you turned away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. "You...you're terrible. Just terrible."

With that, you stomped off towards your apartment, leaving Toji to follow at a distance, chuckling to himself.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

End Of Chapter 5 🥀....

@meowforluv @miizuzu