#ANSWERED. With burning passion or with vows

[justtr]

The soft hum of the evening wraps around you and Billie as you both retreat to a quiet, intimate corner of the living room. The room, warmed by the gentle glow of a crackling fireplace and the subtle flicker of ambient lights, is transformed into a sanctuary for your shared intimacy. Tonight, you embrace a new round of your favorite sensual ritual—a dice game that guides your desire with both playful challenge and profound tenderness.

Billie retrieves the carefully crafted dice from a small velvet pouch on the side table. With a graceful roll, the dice come to rest, revealing the conditions for this round: “20 minutes” the chosen position is “Missionary,” and the designated spot is right there in the living room, beside the inviting fireplace. The numbers and words are not just instructions, but gentle invitations to explore one another with love and urgency.

A quiet smile passes between you as Billie leads you to the plush rug laid out before the fireplace. There, in the intimate glow of dancing flames and soft shadows, you both settle into the classic missionary position a posture that brings your hearts and bodies into close, tender alignment. Billie’s hands, warm and assured, rest on your back as she draws you closer, her gaze filled with both playful mischief and deep affection.

For the next twenty minutes, every touch becomes a language of love and passion grows bolder with each passing second. Billie’s fingertips, previously gentle and teasing, now explore with an intensity that leaves no part of your body untouched. Her hands roam with an unashamed hunger: they press into your skin, seeking out every curve, every soft contour. The caresses grow raw and insistent, and her lips follow the path of her wandering touch, leaving a trail of fierce, lingering kisses along your neck and collarbone. Each kiss is punctuated by playful nibbles that, though tender, awaken a delicious ache a sweet, burning reminder of the depth of your desire.

In the quiet intimacy of that glowing space, your eyes lock in moments that speak of both devotion and wild, unfiltered passion. Billie’s gaze is fierce and inviting a look that dares you to surrender fully. Between soft sighs and shared laughter, she murmurs with a hint of mischievous urgency, “I want to feel every part of you tonight,” her voice low enough that it seems to vibrate against your skin.

Your own hands answer the invitation. They travel upward, mirroring her exploration as you trace the delicate lines along her shoulder and the curve of her back. The atmosphere is charged every touch is a promise, every lingering caress a silent vow of love and desire. In this dance of raw passion and tenderness, the ordinary becomes extraordinary. The tick of the timer on Billie’s phone, counting down the twenty minutes, only heightens the urgency a playful challenge to reach the peak of pleasure as you both give in to this exquisite communion.

As the minutes pass, the raw intensity of your mutual exploration deepens. Billie’s hands, now bolder, focus on the most sensitive spots, drawing soft gasps from you. Her kisses turn from gentle to fierce, a delicious contrast that makes your heart pound faster. You return her fervor with equal passion your lips and fingertips exploring her skin, finding the places that make her shiver with delight. There is an honest, unreserved quality to your intimacy now, where every raw, heartfelt touch speaks louder than words.

Between moments of unbridled passion, your eyes meet with a mix of tenderness and desire a silent dialogue that confirms how deeply you both feel. A shared laugh escapes as a particularly intense kiss leads to a moment of playful teasing. “I could get lost in you forever,” Billie breathes, her tone both sensual and sincere, and you can’t help but agree with a soft, impassioned smile.

The soft firelight casts dancing shadows across Billie's face as she slowly traces gentle patterns on your back, her touch leaving trails of fire. She moves rhythmically, intentionally, each movement purposeful and loaded with desire.

and in that moment where one trusted the other to make her reach happiness... in that same moment where they did not know how to differentiate if the heat they felt was attached to their body by the small sparks of the fire that flew around them or by the constant movements of each one looking for tears of passion that would touch the other right there surrounded in their own chaos with a soft alarm in the background that neither of them really paid attention to, all they could feel was the another... the heart of the other almost as if it did not exist... two hearts beating as if they were one

[burningembers91]

Three Little Words - The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Freak of Nature On Display A Game of Cat and Mouse Crime of Passion Rare Gunpowder and Lace Like a Dog

Synopsis: Frustrated by his inability to voice his emotions, The Salesman takes out his anger on the one he loves the most

A/N: This is probably the tamest thing i've written for the Salesman, and it's a bit of an angsty piece. But I thought it was important to showcase his internal struggle

You’d had your first argument. It had been him who had started it, frustrated by his inability to tell you that he loved you. It had been such a stupid fight, and he’d regretted it ever since. All you’d done was a leave a bowl on the counter, one single bowl that he could have easily put away himself. But instead he started shouting, and he couldn’t see to stop. You went round and round in circles for hours, the both of you growing more irate as the minutes passed. His frustration at not being able to voice his emotions had snowballed into saying the harshest things that he couldn’t even bring himself to think about. The hurt in your eyes was evident, and when you could take no more, you stormed off to bed.

He'd gone for a walk to cool off, to try and get his head straight. He wasn’t angry with you, he could never be angry with you. all his anger was projected at himself, but for some reason he lashed out at you. he returned home, sheepish and begging for your forgiveness. But you were already asleep, your body turned away from him. he spent the night clinging to you, silently begging for you to wake up so he could apologise. When sleep finally came, it dragged him under, and when he awoke, you’d already left for work.

He was due to head out on his yearly recruitment that day, a week long tour of the country looking for players for the Games. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to you, and his busy schedule left him little time to text and call you. The brief conversations he had with you were short, and he could tell you were still angry. Your answers were short, your tone cold when you talked to him. He so desperately wanted to explain himself, but the words still wouldn’t come.

He took his frustration out on the pathetic fools he attempted to recruit. His games of ddakji were especially harsh, the slaps he delivered to the losers unnecessarily forceful. He wondered, not for the first time, if he was perhaps somehow broken. He was certain there was something wrong with him, several therapists had confirmed it, but maybe not even you could fix him. The desire to say I love you was so strong; it burned on the tip of his tongue. But whenever he tried to tell you, he choked. He vowed he would make it up to you when he returned home and ordered four dozen roses to take back to you.

You were sitting on the sofa when he arrived, marking schoolwork. His face was entirely concealed by the bold red petals of the roses he presented to you, his disembodied voice grovelling as he begged for your forgiveness. He begged to be punished, pleaded for you to make him pay, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. he’d hurt you in a way he never had before. The teasing and torture you carried out in the bedroom hurt, but there was always an underlying pleasure that came with it. This time, you hadn’t enjoyed anything he’d said to you; it had cut you to your core.

“What’s going on?” You asked him as he sat next to you. He hadn’t been himself for weeks, always on edge, always fidgeting. You wondered if he was getting bored of you; whether he’d had his fun and was eager to move on. “Am I boring you?” He couldn’t believe you’d think that, couldn’t begin to fathom the fact that you thought you weren’t good enough. “Never,” he swore, sinking to his knees in front of you. He closed his eyes, willing the words to come to him. He’d said them in his head hundreds of times, he just needed to say them out loud.

You watched him as he knelt before you, his face contorted into an expression of visible pain. His hands gripped at the hem of your skirt, his cheek pressed against the top of your thigh as he willed himself to say those three little words. It was physically painful trying to speak, and he cried out in frustration, raking his hands through his thick hair.

“What is it?” Your anger had all but dissipated now, replaced by an uncomfortable feeling of panic. “Are you sick?” He shook his head, training his eyes up towards heaven as he begged whatever divine beings watched over him to allow him to say the words he so badly wanted to say. “Is it work?” you asked, sinking down to your knees so were level with him. Again, he shook his head, his jaw tightening as he fought with himself.

“I-“ He started to say it, but choked once again. He could see the concern in your eyes, could see the beginnings of fear in your features. “Just tell me,” you whispered, “whatever it is, we can work it out together.” Taking a deep breath in, he closed his eyes. If he didn’t say it now, he risked losing you forever. And if he lost you, life wouldn’t be worth living.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. The feeling of relief was immense, his chest aching as he repeated those three words again and again, clinging to you as his confession fell from his lips.

He made love to you on the floor of the living room, your gentle words of praise spurring him on. You were so gentle with him this time, coaxing his pleasure out as you told him how proud you were. You knew it had been hard for him to say, but you could see how much he loved you, long before he’d said it. he begged for you to punish him as pay back for the way he’d treated you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to torture him; not this time. You prolonged his pleasure, teasing him with your lips and mouth as he trembled against you. You straddled him, your hips meeting in perfect sync as you both chased your highs.

That night, as you lay in bed, your body nestled against his, he whispered those three little words against your hair. He’d always thought people who valued love were fools, weak and pathetic.

But as he watched you sleep, he realised that he didn’t mind being a fool. Not when you were the prize

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Reveal (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you can’t seem to quell Celebrimbor’s suspicions, and he finally learns the true identity of you and your husband

Warnings: evil!reader who fakes an injury and licks the blood off Sauron’s hand just because, light choking while kissing, you and Sauron being creepy together in general

Note: Can be read as a part two to Jealousy, but works as a stand-alone as well. Also, I have to say I feel awful for Mirdania and Celebrimbor in the show, reader is only antagonistic towards them in this fic for the sake of the plot.

The hours drag by most tediously as you assist Celebrimbor in the making of the Nine. The silence is broken only by the occasional request or observation from him, and your impatience grows by the moment. But you sit there, helpful and obedient, as you have in all the years you spent in Eregion.

You only need to endure this a little longer. Soon, everything will change.

There is a small break in your dull routine, though, when Celebrimbor suddenly says your name. He seems a bit more alert than he has been of late, and you see that he is now staring at the floor rather than at the Ring he had been tinkering with.

“Yes, lord Celebrimbor?” you reply, polite as always.

“That mouse,” he says. “You see it, don’t you?”

You throw a brief glance in the direction he is pointing. “Yes.”

“It’s not the first time it’s been here,” Celebrimbor says. His tone and the pointed look he gives you make it seem like more of a question than a statement, one to which he expects a positive answer.

“Indeed not,” you confirm. “Should I call a rat catcher?”

“No, that’s not what I...” Celebrimbor shakes his head, standing and walking to a different table. “This candle here. It hasn’t burned an inch. For hours, I am certain. And the embers in the fire—”

“Because I have replaced them, my lord,” you say, quite casually.

“I never noticed.” He frowns in your direction, unconvinced. You give him a small smile.

“It’s my task, isn’t it? To aid you in performing yours,” you explain softly. “You were quite absorbed in your own work.”

“I...” Celebrimbor looks to the place he had indicated when speaking of the candle, blinking in confusion. “I—”

“Why don’t I...?” you cut him off, standing from your seat at the worktable. “Why don’t I go and send for something to eat? I believe we have missed breakfast by quite a few hours.”

For a moment, he seems as though he might protest. But the kindly encouraging expression on your face deters him in the end. “Very well,” he nods his consent. With a smile and a respectful nod, you take your leave.

Your expression is anything but respectful, however, the moment you are out of his sight.

“A mouse,” you mutter to yourself as you descend the stairs to the bottom of the tower. “He had to invent a mouse.”

By ‘he’, you mean Sauron, of course. He may have many names, but to you he is, first and foremost, your husband. Long have you awaited his return, biding your time as one of Celebrimbor’s trusted smiths. Until, finally, your love had joined you in Eregion, posing first as Halbrand, then as Annatar. You had pretended not to know him, of course, only stealing moments of passion whenever you found yourself away from prying eyes. The ears have done nothing to diminish your craving for each other. Your bond is as strong as ever, your goals perfectly aligned.

There is only a small inconvenience to your shared plans now. When you bound yourselves to one another in marriage, those vows had a certain, mutually agreed upon effect. He could not use his power to deceive your perception, while you, in turn, received a part of his abilities—which you could not, however, use against him. As such, you can’t see the illusion Sauron has created for Celebrimbor, and can only hope to improvise correctly when the need arises. Had you noticed the discrepancies, you would have informed your husband of them long ago.

But it isn’t too late.

Chaos greets you the moment you take a look beyond the door that leads outside. Stone walls are being shattered by boulders flung from across the river, Elves are running every which way. What truly disturbs you, though, is the fact that your husband is talking to the Elf called Mirdania—again. And again, she is looking up at him with wide, doe eyes, practically begging for the slightest touch of comfort from him. Reaching out with your heightened senses, you hear what they are saying from a distance.

“Celebrimbor’s mind is gone,” Sauron says, sounding the perfect amount of regretful. “We are alone.”

Mirdania shakes her head. “No,” she says, full of sentiment. “Not alone.”

She puts her hands on his arms, tentatively lowering them to his wrists as if she hopes he might move to hold them in his own. It would be irritating if it wasn’t so pitiful. How he keeps his arms firmly planted at his sides while she searches his face for a sign of hope he might share in her feelings.

It would be an act of kindness, really, if you think about it—to open her eyes to the reality of things, once and for all. For now, though, you decide to put a stopper in this unbridled hope of hers without completely shattering the illusion. If only for a bit of personal satisfaction. You do still need her well within your husband’s power after all, same as the other Elves of Eregion.

Now, you may not be able to lock someone inside their own personal illusion, but you can alter your own appearance to the eyes of others. With a bit of concentration, your hand becomes covered in blood and your dress stained with it. You don’t need powers to make tears stream down your cheeks in an instant—your years of expertise in deception are enough for that. Holding your supposedly injured hand to your chest, you rush desperately towards Sauron and Mirdania.

“Lord Annatar!” you cry out. Mirdania quickly releases him as he turns towards you in haste, brow deeply creased with the concern he plays so well. “Lord Annatar, you must come quick! Lord Celebrimbor has—” you hesitate, glancing at Mirdania unsurely.

“It’s all right,” he says, understanding at once. “She knows of his state. Tell me, has he done this?”

He reaches for your bloodied hand, cradling it gently as he speaks. You see Mirdania avert her gaze uncomfortably, and—there. That’s better.

You suppress a smirk as you look up into Sauron’s eyes, nodding with the most helpless expression you can muster.

“He wasn’t pleased with the manner in which I was using the hammer. He-he snatched it from my hand to do it himself, and I don’t think he meant to do it, I truly don’t, but I didn’t manage to pull my hand away before—”

You dissolve into sobs, letting yourself fall against him as if you can’t stand on your own any longer. “Please, you must speak some sense into him,” you whimper into his chest as he wraps his arms around you for support. “I cannot bear it any longer!”

“Mirdania,” he says sternly, “you know my orders. See to it that they are followed.”

“Of course, my lord,” she promises, and promptly leaves. Maybe she looks pained because her city is under siege and its supposed leader has gone mad, as far as she knows. Most likely, that is the main reason. But you like to think a small part of it is seeing the object of her foolish affections holding his one true wife to his chest—even if she doesn’t know that is what you are.

You and Sauron keep up the charade for as long as you are visible to others, with you leaning against him as he leads you inside. Once the door has closed behind you, your tears and blood vanish as if they had never been there, and self-satisfaction replaces the feigned despair on your face. Your husband, however, doesn’t seem quite as pleased as he unceremoniously releases you to stand on your own.

“Must you be so dramatic?”

You smile sweetly up at him. “Would you love me if I wasn’t?”

“Depends,” he says coyly, “on whether you were still as wonderfully cruel as you are.” You delight in his compliment, but he grows serious once again. However enjoyable your twisted version of flirting, this is not the time for it. “What is it, really?”

You cross your arms with a small sigh. The fun was nice while it lasted. “You’re growing careless, and Celebrimbor is starting to notice. Apparently, there’s a mouse that keeps running in the same circle over and over, or something of the sort. And the candles never seem to burn out.” You tilt your head disapprovingly. “Really, it’s as though you’re barely trying.”

Sauron narrows his eyes slightly, but remains calm in the face of your teasing. “We are under siege, my love—”

“Which you orchestrated—”

“Still,” he insists firmly, “I was otherwise preoccupied.”

You might have made a snide remarked about who he had been preoccupied with—but a great rumble comes from outside, catching your attention and leading you to head for the window. The view that greets you draws a gasp from you.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” Sauron says, watching the mountain crumble. “They are damming the river.”

“Just as you expected,” you say. After all this time, your husband’s cunning still leaves you in awe when you see his plans come together so smoothly. Or at least smoothly enough—the Rings are yet to be finished. “But we need more time.”

“Tell them to prepare for ground assault—my orders.” Your eyes meet, his as determined as yours. “I shall deal with Celebrimbor, then leave him under your watch once more.”

“You truly are cruel,” you lament. “You’d have me sit still and play the obedient little smith whilst there is a perfectly good siege right outside.”

The ghost of a smile tugs at Sauron’s lips. “I would much rather stand in the midst of chaos with you at my side,” he confesses, his arm sneaking around your waist to pull you close, “but we must practice patience before we indulge in its reward.”

His voice is low and suggestive, drenched with lurid promises. His gaze is just the same, and desire washes over you with enough force to break any dam in existence.

“Keep looking at me like that,” you say, turning towards him fully and leaning in close enough for your breath to ghost his lips, “and the chaos shall have to unfold without us.”

A groan leaves his throat, right as he takes hold of yours and kisses your lips. The pressure on your neck is just right, only just enough to stake a claim and convey his greed for you in the most delicious way. You whimper into his mouth, grabbing his wrist, wishing that you could direct his hand to places more desperately in need of his touch. Yet you know this is going to be a short kiss, a parting kiss, and so it is. He leaves, as always, with a sliver of your soul caught between his teeth. But you don’t mind, because you know there is always an equal part of his soul, trapped under your thumb.

Right now, there is work to do.

Although, it seems his side of it doesn’t go quite as planned—because when you return to the forge a little while later, you open the door only to be nearly knocked down by a wildly panicked Celebrimbor who was in the midst of bolting out of the room.

“My lord!” you exclaim, catching him by the shoulders. “Where are you going in such haste?”

“We must run!” he cries out. “We must call the guards—!”

“But my lord—!” You hold fast, refusing to let him drag you along with him. Sauron, to your surprise, is merely standing next to Celebrimbor’s worktable, watching calmly.

“We have all been deceived!” he screams in your face, desperate to make you believe him. “This—all you see here—is but a prison of the mind. A trick!” He turn away, pointing an accusing finger at your husband. “He is Sauron! Look at his blood!”

You’ve seen his blood. You’ve seen it, clear as day, since the moment he cut his hand to replace the mithril that the Dwarves had refused to provide. But the fact that he’s now allowing Celebrimbor to see it himself...

Oh, finally.

Finally.

“His blood?” you ask, barely maintaining some semblance of your pretence as pure elation runs through you. “What of it?”

Celebrimbor practically shakes with frustration. “Don’t you see? It’s black as pitch!”

But when he looks back, Sauron is no longer there. In the blink of an eye, through a power unknown, he is now standing at your side, between Celebrimbor and the door. The smith gasps in terror when he notices, and stumbles backward. You, on the other hand, merely lower your gaze to Sauron’s bloodied hand.

“You’re right,” you muse, as if deeply intrigued by the sight. “It is black.”

Celebrimbor watches, locked in confusion, as you take Sauron’s hand with both of yours, tracing the open cut with a gentle finger. As Sauron allows you to do so, holding completely still as you lift his hand to your lips and—under Celebrimbor’s horrified gaze, you lick the palm of Sauron’s hand. Eyes closed, humming contently, as if the pitch-black blood is the sweetest liquor to have ever graced your tongue. Your eyes open slowly after, sinisterly drifting to Celebrimbor.

“Seems fine to me, though,” you taunt, wiping your thumb over the remnants of blood on your lips and licking that clean as well. No more masks of kindness, no more concealment of your true, twisted nature. You feel as though you’ve been loosed from a horribly tight shackle, and the sensation is divine.

Celebrimbor, on the other hand, seems like he is either about to faint, cry or throw up, in no particular order. “What...” he mumbles helplessly. “What?!”

“Easy, my love,” Sauron all but purrs, his clean hand caressing the back of your head as if to tame a newly awakened beast. “We would not want to disturb Lord Celebrimbor’s... sensibilities.”

“‘My love’?” Celebrimbor’s repeats in disbelief. “You... you’re one of my oldest collaborators—”

“And have you any idea how tedious it was,” you hiss, spitting out long-suppressed venom, “playing the devoted subject all this time? Obeying your orders, when I should have been the one giving them? I had half a mind to overthrow you and take Eregion for myself. But I knew my husband would need you, if ever he was to return.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes dart between you and Sauron, taking in the sight of you standing side by side—his loving hand at the nape of your neck, yours clasping his other hand like a most prized possession—and realization dawns on him. “All this time... you knew,” he murmurs, terror giving way to resignation. “It was all a lie. All a charade.”

Your face twists in a mockery of the concerned expression you had worn the day Halbrand had arrived in Eregion. “My lord, he appears to be hurt,” you repeat your own words from back then, the ones that had convinced Celebrimbor to finally allow him an audience despite Galadriel’s wishes. “My lord, the night is cold. Shall I bring him a shawl?” Cruel amusement mingles with the over-dramatism in your voice, a sickly sweet chuckle bubbling out of you at the end.

“She can be... overzealous, at times,” Sauron says, a subtle smile on his lips as his knuckles brush your cheek affectionately. “A most endearing quality.”

“No, this will not stand,” Celebrimbor mutters to himself. “This will not stand!” the poor Elf tries to convince himself as he musters the strength to rush past you and out the door, hoping to find salvation where there is none left. Sauron makes to go after him, but you tug at his hand to hold him back.

“No, let him go,” you insist with a sick kind of enthusiasm. “Just for a little while. Let him look the fool and do your work himself, for a change.”

Sauron turns back to you, persuaded for the moment. “Your heart has grown even blacker in my absence, love,” he remarks, gaze dark with admiration. You give a small shrug, pressing his hand flat against your chest so that his open cut stains the fabric of your dress, right over your heart.

“What matters the shade of it,” you murmur, “so long as it beats for you?”

His other hand cups your cheek with the kind of possessive reverence only he can convey. He leans to you, his tongue slowly swiping away a drop of his blood which had lingered at the corner of your mouth. Then, he puts his lips to your ear.

“Work now,” he whispers darkly, “play later.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Jealousy

Next fic with same reader -> Theatrics

[dyns33]

In the stars and the Book

So people wanted a new Dream of the Endless story for today. I hope you will like it !

It was rare for Destiny to give advice.

For several good reasons, which his family understood well, even if they were sometimes annoyed or disappointed that he did not break the rules to help them in difficult times.

His interventions were never really his doing, but permitted by his Book, if not obligatory.

More than any other member of the Endless, Destiny was fully and entirely his function. He loved his siblings though.

He always showed a small, almost imperceptible smile when he had the opportunity to help his family, who always listened attentively.

This time, Dream was the lucky one who received a call from Destiny's gallery.

Of course he was going to answer, it was part of his responsibilities. He'd had some problems since the Magnus had captured him, freed himself, gotten his tools back, rebuilt his kingdom, and ever since he'd felt a little empty.

His brother's call could be excellent news, or the start of new troubles. But he was going to answer anyway.

As always, Destiny greeted him quickly, not leaving his book and not clearly answering his questions. This was not what was supposed to happen.

Then, when Dream was calmer, he finally looked at him.

“Y/N.”

"The witch ? What about her ?"

“You will know happiness, true happiness, until your end, after she gives you a kiss.”

Morpheus remained stoic as he knew how to do so well, despite the storm that was brewing within him. The people of the Dreaming must have been totally panicked, even if they were used to their creator being quite upset after an encounter with any Endless other than Death.

“Goodbye, little brother.” was the last thing Destiny said, already turning his back on him, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His relationship with Y/N ​​had always been complicated. They had almost killed each other the first time they spoke. A real disaster. But she was still young, while he had yet to learn patience and empathy.

No doubt he was also too romantic, since he no longer even remembered the reason for their argument, but only her eyes full of passion, her hand on his cheek when she had the audacity to slap him, her perfume when she had vanished into thin air, vowing never to see him again.

They had seen each other again, several times, without ever doing it on purpose, as if fate was doing everything for them to end up together.

Over time, their exchanges had become more cordial, almost friendly. Dream had to recognize that Lucienne, Hob, his sister, many people had helped him a lot to realize the value of this little witch, who had also helped him on many occasions.

Yet he never thought he would feel love for Y/N. Admiration, affection, a need to protect her, but love ? Dream had often been in love. At least he thought he was.

It was true that each of his relationships had ended like shooting stars, passing very quickly, before burning and disappearing into nothingness.

His big brother had just revealed to him the secret of a certain, infinite happiness, a happiness that he seemed to deserve against all expectations, he who had ended up thinking that he was made to remain alone. There was no reason to hesitate.

Y/N clearly had some hesitations.

Despite his many advances, he still didn't seem to know that it was not proper for mortals to appear in a living room uninvited or unannounced.

First misstep, because it was not by scaring his sweetheart that he was going to succeed in seducing her. The poor thing even asked him what she had done, convinced that he was coming to punish her.

“I’m not here for ill reasons.” he tried to reassure her. "I needed to see you. It's been a long time, I forgot how beautiful you were, χαρα μου."

"… Is everything okay ? You need a spell and you're hoping it'll be for free ? You know, I heard what happened to you. It's not pity at all, but maybe I can lower my prices for you this time."

"Your concern touches me. But I don't need anything except you. I think we could be happy together."

"Wow. Okay, you're dying."

He was going to have to use all his wooing skills to get her to kiss him.

Certainly he could have kissed her, here, right away, but his brother had been clear. It was she who had to give him this liberating kiss.

Even though Dream was now sure of his feelings, Y/N probably needed a little more time. She hadn't received Destiny's advice.

Despite all his many improvements since his release, patience had never been Dream's strong point. Yet he was literally the expectation, the hope, all the ideas, the stories, the fantasies of humanity. Not getting the promised happiness right away shouldn't have bothered him so much.

Plus, beginnings were always the most exciting part. Observe Y/N responding positively to his advances, his compliments, his gifts. However, she remained suspicious, expecting a game or a disguised exchange of good behavior.

The witch set traps for him, to reveal his true intentions. The master of nightmares found this charming and amusing at first. Then Morpheus was a little hurt and exasperated that she didn't seem as infatuated with him as he was with her.

"… You say you love me ?"

"Indeed."

"Since when ? The last time we parted, I stole several of your books and you threatened to hang me. Fortunately your librarian likes me. I returned the books to her by the way. I don't t think we can be together, we'll end up tearing each other's heads off."

"It has to happen though. Destiny said we were meant to be together."

"… What ?"

The news did not please the little witch at all. She was making fun of him, but she wasn't necessarily having a bad time. Their arguments had become like a form of dance, a nuptial ritual.

Why did he always have to ruin everything ? He, the prince of stories, really had a problem with his choice of words.

He tried to hold her back, explaining that what his brother said had to happen, it wasn't his fault.

Seeing the tears in her eyes silenced him. The last thing he wanted to be hurt her, this vision pierced his heart.

"I can't believe I could be so stupid."

"You don't understand… We can be happy, together. Love each other."

"No. I loved you. And I thought maybe you loved me too, finally. But you're here out of obligation, like always. I never want to see you again ! I'm serious this time !"

There was no spell in the world that could hide a being thinking of Dream of the Endless. Those who thought always ended up dreaming, entering his kingdom.

Yet he left her sleep in peace, the rare times Y/N closed her eyes, trembling every night at the idea of ​​finding him in her dreams.

He wondered if she was right. If he only chased after her because his brother had put him on this path, and not by choice. By feeling. It was true that he hadn't asked himself the question before Destiny called him, and he had rushed straight to the front of his happiness.

Now that he was fully taking the time to think about it, knowing that the witch had loved him in silence all this time, that he had hurt her, that she deserved better than that, he thought that he had undoubtedly always loved her more than the others.

He loved her so much that he kept his distance, because everyone he wanted ended up leaving him, suffering, or dying. And he didn't want that for her, never for her. His tender Y/N, brave, intelligent, lively little witch. Who treated him normally, standing up to him without fear, making him see his missteps.

A whole week passed, before he showed up at her place, this time knocking on the door and waiting for it to open.

He raised his hand in a peace sign as soon as their eyes met, making no move to try and enter.

"χαρα μου… I'm sorry. For my behavior, and for my presence here, when you clearly expressed your hatred for me. But I owed you this apology, and as punishment, I agree not to see you again. Thus, I condemn myself to never knowing happiness, which I do not deserve after all. My brother did not say that you could not be happy with another. Just know that I loved every moment spent with you, and I will cherish them until the end. If it wasn't happiness, it looked like it."

"… Is this a ruse to get me to fall under your spell again ?"

"No. I still find it hard to believe that you could have loved a being such as myself. I don't think I would have ever imagined it, even in my wildest creations. My brother must have known, he who knows all."

"Hob says you're a sweet fool, full of pride, but with just as much kindness, fear and humanity deep down."

“I will have to think about visiting my dear friend very soon.” Dream said while keeping a stoic face.

This made Y/N laugh. Her magnificent laugh, accompanied by a smile that she gave him too rarely. He would populate the nights of many dreamers tonight.

But for now, Morpheus wondered if he was awake, seeing her continue to smile at him, placing her hand on his cheek. They had never touched each other like this, not once, since their first meeting.

"Don't sulk, it wasn't a criticism. I knew I could only love you when he assured me that you weren't as terrible as you showed yourself. A facade, necessary because of your status."

“I’m not sulking, I’m not…”

The kiss was quick. Morpheus would remember it until his sister took the whole universe with her. Those lips on his. All this love, for him, all this time, contained in a simple kiss.

He remained as still as a marble statue, which made her smile again. Then Y/N kissed him on the cheek this time, whispering that they could go to the New Inn for a drink, before closing the door.

"… Boss ?"

“Yes Matthew ?”

"You've been here for three hours, people on the street are starting to notice you. Are you going to stay long ?"

“Until my love came out and we went to the New Inn for a drink.”

"Yeah, I don't know if your brother helped you or not, but if the witch finds it cute and not creepy, that will be proof that you two are indeed meant to be together."

Y/N found this both creepy and adorable. The poor raven returned to the Dreaming with a sigh to announce the great news, although the bright sky was not unwelcome.

It was very often a magnificent weather in the future, and until the end.

[arctickat2400]

Jealousy Doesn't Suit You <> Damon Salvatore

Not sure if this is how I wanted this to turn out or not. My writing isn't how it used to be, but I hope y'all enjoy it anyways.

Request: The reader and Damon could be playing hard to get and is too stubborn to admit they both fancy and love each other so one day the reader flirts with a guy knowing that it’ll really make Damon annoyed and he gets all jealous. But maybe one night Damon cooks the reader a romantic dinner and tells her he’s been in love with her since the first time they locked eyes on each other.

~ ~ ~ ~

When Damon wants something, he gets it. However, with you, it’s easier said than done. He was so in love with you, but that was the last thing he would admit to you, let alone anyone else. 

This week had been a disaster. Your constant attempts at getting Damon’s attention have all failed miserably. You would never admit to liking him. Okay, that was an understatement. You had a fiery passion for this man, but that’s not something you would openly tell someone as news around this town travels quite fast. 

So now, you were drowning out your sorrows at Mystic Grill, sparking up conversations with Matt as he was working the bar this evening. When he wasn’t serving other customers, he was cleaning glasses and talking to you. 

“What’s gotcha down, (Y/Nickname)?” Matt asks, using your favorite nickname that only your closest friends use, as he leans forward on the counter across from you. 

“Oh, nothing,” You answer, leaning your head on your fist, your arm bent across the bar. You held a toothpick between your fingers as you traced random lines and shapes around the wood. “Just the usual. Work, mostly, among other things.” You shrugged, continuing your invisible art.

You always thought Matt, as one of your best friends, had this intuition, as if he knew almost if not everything about you. What you didn’t know was that he knew the one thing that you hadn’t told a single person, the one thing you didn’t want anyone to know. And, although he didn’t like the certain fact, he vowed to always be there for you, despite the situations you refused to tell him or anyone else about.

That’s why when he glances over at the door to see Damon waltzing in, Matt continued to keep up the conversation, keeping his eyes on the man that stole your heart without even knowing.

Damon immediately spotted you at the bar, his brain sensing your presence the second he walked in. He noticed a melancholic expression adorned your face as he made his way over to his usual booth in the corner. Damon didn’t show his emotions on the outside, but whenever he saw you, his emotions went wild on the inside. He wanted to know what made you so sad. He wanted to comfort you. When it came to you, every part of him that anyone has ever known is thrown out the window, replaced by a sweet, kindhearted man who wants to love and be loved by you. 

“Can I get you something to drink? Maybe (your favorite cocktail), your favorite?” Matt smiled your way, making your eyes flick to his, a smile crawling onto your lips. Somehow, you came here not wanting to be home alone doing nothing, just wanting to be out and about, and thought you’d see if Matt was working. So, when you came into Mystic Grill, you didn’t even think about drinking oddly enough, only looking for some friendly convo with your friend.

Matt’s suggestion pulled a laugh out of you, it coming out louder than you intended, but you didn’t care. “Oh, Matt, my friend, you know me so well,” You smiled sheepishly, getting one in return from him. 

You spin around in your bar stool, facing the restaurant to people-watch as Matt made your drink, only to be met with the piercing blue eyes of the one and only Damon Salvatore. Of course, he would be here. How had you not even noticed until now?

Your smile falls and you panic as you quickly spin back around to face the bar, your cheeks burning, most likely red as rubies. Just then, Matt slides your drink in front of you, pulling your attention to him. You meet his eyes and he already had a knowing look on his face. How did he know? You thought questioningly. Matt offered you a smile and a wink, and you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Damon’s POV

Watching Y/N with Matt, or any other guy for that matter, is torture. I should be the one to make her smile, to make her laugh, to make her feel anything at all. But, no. With Y/N, I’m a coward. I’m usually so confident, but with her, I can’t control myself. Why can’t I just go up to her and tell her how I feel? 

Because I’m not that kind of person. I can’t outwardly express my feelings. I don’t deserve her anyway. I can’t be the guy she deserves. But watching her laugh like that with someone who isn’t me makes my blood go cold. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve always been selfish. And if being selfish is what it takes to have her in my life the way I want, that’s how it’s going to be. And I know exactly how to make it happen. 

I stand and rush out of the grill, just barely missing what seemed to be a longing glance from Y/N as I storm out, her eyes glued to my retreating back. I pass by Stefan and Enzo on my way out. I was supposed to meet them, but the matter at hand is much more important. I speed home to get everything prepared. 

* * *

I’d say Y/N knows me better than I know myself. We’re inseparable and that’s why I can’t hold back anymore. I can’t handle not being able to hold her and kiss her and just show the world how much I love this woman. 

Damon: I need you to come over. It’s an emergency…

Y/N: What? Why? What’s going on? Is everything okay? Are you okay?

That’s a big reason why I love her so much. Always making sure everyone is alright, doing everything in her power to fix things and make everything okay. 

Damon: No, questions. Just get here as soon as possible.

Y/N isn’t a vampire. She’s so purely human that it makes me love her more. But, that’s also why I’m so surprised by how fast she got here despite not being able to run at an inhumane speed like me. 

“Damon!” She screamed through the house. I didn’t answer back, just waiting for her to find me in the kitchen. “Hello?” She called out again. 

When she did finally reach the kitchen, skidding to a halt, she seemed out of breath, naturally, and panicked, as she did at the bar, but different. Her cheeks were flustered as her eyes widened and she made her way towards me quickly. 

“Damon, what’s going on? What’s the emergency?” She attempted to catch her breath as she looked around at the large kitchen island that was covered in the ingredients of her favorite dinner. She may know me better than I know myself, but I also know every little thing about her. 

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted you to get here as fast as possible. Great timing by the way. Dinner’s almost ready,” I said in my normal nonchalant tone, turning to the oven to take out the main course. When I turned around, however, Y/N did not look happy. Stunned, maybe, her eyes still wide in disbelief as she stared at me. I froze in my tracks, staring right back into her beautiful blue eyes. That’s when I noticed what she was wearing. She’d changed from what she had on at the bar. It looked like she had gone home to get comfy and relax in her black lace cropped tank top and matching pj shorts. I couldn’t help but glance down at the stretch of tummy she was showing off. I couldn’t get enough of it, I couldn’t hold back a small smile, hoping she wouldn’t notice. 

She had thrown on a jacket and boots (as it was Winter), and she didn’t waste a second getting here. A twinge of guilt ran through me, but the selfish part of me was just glad she was here and looking gorgeous in spite of the casual attire. 

“Damon Guiseppe Salvatore!” Y/N started as she made her way toward me, stopping as she leaned toward me against the island. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You think it’s okay to just tell me there’s an emergency when there isn’t? To tell me to get here as fast as possible without a single reason?” She finished, her eyes burning with anger. I could see another emotion in there, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. 

“I did have a reason. I want to cook you dinner, that’s what I’m doing, and I wanted you to get here ‘cause I cook fast.” I shrugged as if it was obvious, getting back to the last of the food. 

“Damon…” She sighed in exasperation. The guilt was getting stronger the more negative emotion she showed, although I tried to ignore it. “You can’t… you can’t just…” I looked up after hearing her hesitation to see her eyes getting red and tears building up before they spilled over all together. The anger washed away as something completely different took over. She held her hand up to her throat, leaning down against the counter, attempting to hold herself up. I dropped what I was holding, not caring what it was, and sped over to her, pulling her upright and holding her against me. Every wall I’ve ever built came crashing down, and it was all for her. I held her close as she cried into my chest.

“Baby, why are you crying?” The nickname just slipped out, and if she noticed, she didn’t let it show. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would affect you like this.” She pulled away, something that looked almost like hurt evident in her eyes. 

“Damon, you know how I am,” Her voice didn’t sound as angry, but there was still a lot of emotion in her tone. “You tell me something’s wrong and I’m there within minutes. It doesn’t matter what it is. But you go and do this, especially after the week I’ve had. But, of course, you wouldn’t notice. No one ever does. No one ever notices the sadness, the depression, the anxiety. Why do I even try? Why-?” I couldn’t let her go on like this anymore. I leaned forward, taking her in my arms, and captured her lips with mine in the most passionate kiss, the one I’ve been waiting for since I first met her. 

I pulled away, holding her face in my hands, her hands latched onto my wrists. “I notice everything,” I begin, my tone firm as I stare intently into her eyes. “I notice every little thing about you because I love you!”

She gasped, her eyes that were frozen to mine widening in shock. “What?” She was barely able to let out a whisper of a word.

“How could you not see it? Every time we went out, I would notice your nervous ticks. I would notice how you tried to hide it with a smile so no one else would see. I would take your hands, calming you down. Every time you came here looking all sad and broken, I could see the tears and I would talk to you. Every time you had one too many drinks or you were just so tired that you couldn’t stand on your own two feet, I was there to help you and take care of you. And I do it all because I love you. I love you so much, Y/N, and I have since the moment I laid eyes on you. And I hate that I haven’t told you ‘til now, but I thought you’d be better off without me. I know you deserve better than me, but I’m too selfish to stay away. So, I’m taking you and I’m making you mine.” I stared into her ocean eyes, trying to gauge a reaction, an emotion, anything, but came up empty.

Until she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to mine and I welcomed them with all the emotion that I had built up for her. I bent down so she didn’t have to reach up anymore, her hand reaching up to curl around the back of my neck. I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding her tight against me as she arched her back to mold her body with mine, and she fit perfectly.

“It’s about time.” I chuckled at her words, almost missing her lips. “Ya know, jealousy doesn’t suit you,” She giggled, her face just centimeters from mine. I groaned, leaning my forehead against her, my thumbs brushing over her bare waist.

“Oh, darling, I can’t tell you how much I wanted to punch every single guy that touched you, let alone those who even looked at you. You’re mine and if anyone else sets a finger on you, I-” She interrupted me by placing her finger against my lips, hers turning into a sly smile. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you, my love. You have nothing to worry about. I am yours and I love you.” She admitted sheepishly, her cheeks turning red. I’ve always loved making her blush, even when she didn’t notice it happening. “But I will get you back for what you did. You just wait,” She tried to be menacing as she fisted my shirt in her hand. I found it quite adorable. I just smiled mischievously, leaning down and picking her up in my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist as I take her lips in mine once again. Oh, how I’ve longed for this magnificent woman. 

~~~~

Taglist:

@elenavampire21

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

~ Broken Angel |4| Mon Rêve

Pairing: Archdeacon! Jungkook x Romani! Fem! Reader

Summary: It all began with a mistake that followed you like a shadow on a sunny day. You crossed paths with the enigmatic Archdeacon of Notre-Dame, Father Jeon Jungkook, who promised to protect you from demons he couldn't fight. 15th Century, Paris. A lie. A stolen heartbeat and a confession that was never heard. He wanted you. You needed him. A secret turned into poison just as fate was cruel and it made him love you. Bounded by his vows and his position, Jungkook could only keep you as close as a dream at his reach. A cruel dream forged in a sanctuary of shadows and thorns.

Warnings: religious themes, dark romance?, forbidden love, AGE GAP (Kook is like 30-ish and oc is in her early twenties), angst,use of offensive slurs (not by koo), mentions/implications of rape, groping, pervy man, mentions of stealing, mentions of lying, talks about redemption/forgiveness, traumatic flashback, Jungkook is a priest 😳, oc is described as a petite woman, oc is described as being of Romani origin but no physical description is given of her other than her small stature (for canon purposes), injury, blood, implied attack on oc, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 5.1k words

A/N: I know it has taken me a lot to update this story and I am so sorry about that. I have good news tho, I just got my first job, darlings! I'm so happy to start on Monday and I'll do my best to keep on writing and posting here as you have all been a great support of my writing shenanigans.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter even though it is a bit more dense and it's longer than other chapters. Koo is a sweetheart (as always) and we'll finally see what has been going on with his woman all along!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments! You know I love to hear what you think of the chapter 🫶🫶🫶

Jungkook paced with anxiousness across his room. You lay on his large four poster bed. The covers were bundled at your feet while the physician examined and cleaned your wound. Your hair was spread out on the pillow, your body limp against the linens that were now stained with blood. 

The candles flickered yet his heart thundered. The room was quiet, but his mind was in chaos. Jungkook paced back and forth, back and forth in his room, his robes sweeping the floor. His hands tightened at his sides, fisting in helplessness. His nails bit at his sweaty palms and his eyes bore desperation in those dark pits of mysterious thoughts. 

“How is she?”

The archdeacon finally spoke. Stopping his pacing as he looked at the young physician. He was a friend of his, Kim Seokjin. A man that had travelled from far lands to learn medicine, picking knowledge from each place he set foot. 

Seokjin looked up, wiping his hands in a cloth as he turned to look at Jungkook. The slightly older man gazed at the priest with sympathy in his brown eyes. He put the cloth away, straightening up and walking towards him as he spoke in a soft voice so as to not wake you up. 

“I managed to stop the bleeding. The wound wasn’t deep, it was more of a slice on her side than an actual stab wound. She should recover with time. Let her rest.”

Jungkook nodded, swallowing the lump of emotions in his throat. It was a bitter gulp. For he was not afraid, not anymore. He was angry, furious at those who had dared to harm her, desperate to find answers. But most importantly, he felt a burning passion to protect her. To keep her safe, to keep her by his side. 

“Thank you, Seokjin.”

The physician nodded, placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder in shared sympathy. 

“She’s stronger than she looks, Jungkook. But you must ensure that she doesn’t strain herself. Her body will need time to heal, and she’ll need care—gentle care.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering over to your still form on the bed. The pale dance of the candle illuminated your beautiful features, shadows painted your face as if you were a delicate painting of gentle strokes. 

But the slight rise and fall of your chest was his reassurance that you were still with him. Still fighting, still clinging to life. His hands trembled as they rested at his sides so he clasped them behind his back, his grip on himself tight to control his emotions. These feelings that circled his heart like poisonous ivy yet he was already addicted to it. 

“I will. She will have everything she needs.”

And more. 

Jungkook spoke in a low and firm voice yet thought the last part to himself. Seokjin studied him for a moment. He observed the longing in his friend’s eyes, the swallow that bobbed his Adam's apple. The subtle purse of his lips. 

“It’s not just her body that will need mending, wounds like these… they scar more than flesh.”

Seokjin’s words were quiet, meant only for Jungkook to hear. The archdeacon looked back at his friend, his gaze hardening. Jin turned to look at you, sighing deeply at the sight of your limp form on the bed. 

“Whatever happened to her anyway?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw, his hands fisting by his sides as he lifted his chin in the air. It pained him to think what had happened to you. A part of him burned to know the truth. All the secrets you had been hiding from him. Yet the other half of his heart hesitated. Because he didn’t know what he was going to hear. He didn’t know what his reaction would be to that information. He didn’t know if he’d sympathise with you without wrecking havoc or burning down all of Paris for you.

“I don’t know. Not yet, at least.”

Seokjin nodded, looking back at the young priest with sympathetic eyes. He offered Jungkook a gentle smile, a resigned expression. 

“I hope you find out. Call for me if she worsens, be careful with her.”

The archdeacon dismissed the physician with a subtle inclination of his head and a gesture from his hand. Once alone with the door closed, Jungkook sighed to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trading through his brown and soft locks. His heart was a turmoil of questions and feelings he could no longer control. All the fear, the desperation as you had collapsed in his arms. The love, the lust, the guilt, the sorrow. They all mixed together, creating a cruel concoction of murky thoughts and shadowed desires. 

He walked to the bed —his bed— and looked down at your sleeping form. The sight of you like this, so fragile, so unlike the vibrant force you usually were, struck him like a physical blow to the heart. 

His eyes softened as he knelt by the bed, his knees pressing into the cold stone floor. His fingers hovered against yours, hesitant to touch you. Hesitant to harm you further. Weary of the feelings touching you would stir in his heart, the way they could taint his soul further with this burning desire he couldn’t suppress. 

But he was weak, in his temptation, in his religion. In his own boundaries when it came to you. His hand touched yours, enveloping in the warmth of his large palm. Your skin was cold, your hand limp in his grasp. 

“You should never have been hurt,”

Jungkook whispered, his voice breaking through the stillness of the room and the delicate cracking of the hearth. His fingers curled around yours, holding onto you, tethering you to him in this moment, in this instance of ardent emotions that seared through his soul. 

“I should have been there. I should have stopped this.”

His free hand moved to brush a stray hair from your face, his touch lingering more than what was necessary as his palm rested on your cheek. His dark eyes, normally so still and emotionless, were now tender and filled with worry that threatened to bleed out like tears of poison. 

The young archdeacon watched you with want, with desire. And a burning need to protect you. He took you in, the light shadow of your lashes against your skin, the curve of your lips, the shape of your nose. It looked as if you had turned more beautiful since the last time he saw you. As if you were the protagonist of one of the ethereal tapestries that hung on the cathedral walls. The candle at his bedside table flickered, the shadows sharpened your features. How beautiful you were. To him, there was no other beauty that could ever compare to him. Not the beauty of his faith, nor the one from the very cathedral. There was nothing as mesmerising as you. Mon Rêve. His dream. You were his dream. A perfect illusion of your soul.

“I swear to you,”

He continued, his voice low yet firm. It trembled with emotion yet it darkened with the weight of his promise. 

“I swear, mon rêve, over everything that is holy that no one will ever touch you again. No one will ever hurt you. Not while you have me, not while I breathe.”

His hand left your cheek as he adjusted the wool blanket that covered your frame on the large mattress. His other hand never let go of yours. You stirred slightly, a soft sound escaping your lips but you didn’t wake. Only God knew what you had been through. But he was going to protect you with everything he had now that you were in his domain. In his cathedral. In his life.  

Your eyes opened as a subtle groan left your lips. You looked around, your head hurt, drumming along the melody of your heart. You were first aware of the comfortable bed you were laying in. It was soft, cushioned beneath your weight. This was heaven. Perhaps you had died and your sufferment was over, perhaps you had died and this was the beginning of your torment. 

You looked at your right, spotting a large window of stained glass. The morning light streamed through it, making beams of scarlet, blue and gold reflect onto the stone floor. The room was tidy, austere but comfortable. At the far end of it there was a burning fireplace, the soothing sound of the cracking flames easing your mind. 

You took a deep breath, pushing yourself up on the bed. Pain shot through your side, a gasp escaped your lips and your eyes scrunched shut at the agony that seared on your abdomen. With a whimper, you leaned back on the headboard. Your hands fisted the dark silky sheets beneath you as the burning on your side subsided ever so slowly. 

The sound of a door opening made you look up, your heart skipped a beat when you saw him. 

Jungkook. 

He stood at the doorway holding a silver tray in his hands. His eyes locked with yours and you saw how his gaze softened. Relief washed over him as he saw you conscious once more,  or maybe a flicker of vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface. He closed the door behind him with his foot, the soft thud resounding in the otherwise quiet bedroom. 

“You’re awake.”

His voice was soft but it carried that air of authority that made your sink further into the pillows behind you. His calming presence made you feel safe, he allowed you to relax in this world of shadows and secrets you were caught in. 

He crossed the room to you as you nodded. Not once did you take your eyes off of him. You couldn’t. His long, dark robes swished with each step he took, his hands were steady as he carried the tray and settled it down on the nightstand at your left where an extinguished candle lay as well. 

“Where… where am I?”

Your voice was laced with the remnants of your pain. It was soft, vulnerable. And you didn’t know how the sound of it tugged at his heartstrings. 

Jungkook sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipped under his weight. He studied you with calculating eyes but his gaze softened as he took in the unnatural pallor of your skin, the slight tremble of your hands as they fisted the blankets and how your features were tense with what he could guess was pain. 

“You are in my quarters, it’s alright. You are safe here, no one will harm you now.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, but the memories still lingered, the way you had run, the burning in your lunds, the pain in your feet, the swinging of your long skirts; they were like shadows on the edge of your mind. You lowered your eyes, shame and confusion washing over you.

“How… how did I get here?”

He clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to take your hand in his larger one. Jungkook remembered what had happened last night, the intruders, the panic in your voice. The pleading for safety. 

“You pleaded Sanctuary. You were injured, badly. I couldn’t leave you, I could never deny you.”

Jungkook’s voice was steady, yet there was an unmistakable tremor of emotion that lingered beneath the surface. He watched as your lips parted slightly, as if you wanted to speak, but the weight of your secrets seemed to silence you. He reached over to the tray, lifting the cloth that covered a bowl of soup and a plate of bread. The scent wafted through the air, warm and inviting, making your stomach churn with hunger.

“You need to eat,”

He said, his voice soft as he placed the tray on your lap with careful precision. His hands moved with a gentleness that contrasted with the sharpness of his gaze.

“You’ve been through enough. Your body needs strength.”

You hesitated, your eyes darting from the food to his face. There was something in the way he looked at you—a quiet intensity that made it impossible to refuse. Slowly, you reached for the spoon, your fingers trembling as they wrapped around it. Jungkook didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. Instead, he reached for the edge of the tray and steadied it, his presence grounding you in this moment of fragility.

The first sip of the soup was like a balm to your aching soul. The warmth spread through you, soothing the emptiness that clawed at your insides. It was potato soup, the best meal you had ever tasted. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until now, and as you took another bite, Jungkook’s lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile.

“That’s it. Eat, my dear. You’ll feel better.”

He murmured, his voice low, you almost didn’t hear it. The bread was soft, the crust crisp as you tore off a piece and dipped it into the broth. You ate with a quiet desperation, each bite filling a void that had seemed endless. Jungkook remained by your side, watching over you like a sentinel, his dark eyes flickering with emotions he kept tightly under control.

As you ate, the silence between you felt heavy but not oppressive. It was as if Jungkook knew you needed this moment to gather yourself, to let the food and warmth begin to mend the frayed edges of your being. His presence was constant, unyielding, yet there was a gentleness in his proximity—a steadying force in the chaotic storm you had been swept into.

When you had eaten enough to dull the sharp ache in your stomach, you set the spoon down on the tray, your movements still trembling. Jungkook noticed immediately and reached out, his long fingers brushing against yours as he lifted it from your lap. The touch was fleeting, yet it grounded you in the present moment. He placed it on the nightstand with a quiet grace, his every movement deliberate, as if not to startle you.

“You were starving,”

His words made you swallow in nervousness. He wasn’t asking. He knew. And for that, you felt deeply conscious of your current situation, more so under his dark and sharp gaze. And yet, his voice was devoid of any judgement but in your self-reprimand, you didn’t notice the lace of concern that tangled with his words. His eyes locked with yours, searching but never prying for answers. 

“When was the last time you had a proper meal?”

You hesitated, your hands twisting the blanket in your lap. The memories of the past days—or had it been weeks?—were a blur of fear, exhaustion, and endless running. You couldn’t remember the last time you had truly stopped to care for yourself. Shame crept up your neck, painting your cheeks a faint pink. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

“I don’t know… it’s been a while.”

Your voice was quiet, hesitant and embarrassed. It was nearly a whisper but it pulled at his heartstrings to hear speak with such vulnerability. 

Jungkook leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his posture relaxed but his gaze intense. His brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he considered your words. He wanted to ask more, to unravel the mystery of your suffering, but he held back, sensing that you were not yet ready.

“Drink some water,”

He said, his tone filled with authority despite the softness in his deep voice. Once again, he wasn’t asking you. He commanded. With his presence, with his voice, with those eyes that were so dark you could lose yourself in them if you let go of your sanity. The young archdeacon reached to the tray once more, his long hand circling a silver cup filled with fresh water.

He handed it to you, and this time, you couldn’t suppress the shiver that racked through your spine when his fingers brushed yours one more time. You took a sip, your eyes fixed on the bottom of the top as you felt his attention fully on you, the cool liquid managed to sooth your dry throat and after you finished it, you cradled the cup in your hands. You looked down at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world when in reality, Jungkook’s gaze intimidated you. Not because you saw the monotonous archdeacon, but because his eyes spoke feelings you were too scared to acknowledge. 

After a moment of silence, Jungkook leaned back slightly, his dark robes pooling around him like shadows. His gaze softened, but his expression remained unreadable. 

“I will never force you to tell me, I hate myself for even asking but (y/n), you are clearly running from something—or someone. I can protect you, but only if I know who wants to harm you.”

His words were a quiet plea, an offering of solace that you hadn’t expected. Your hands tightened around the silver cup as the memories threatened to resurface, as the walls you had so carefully built began to crack under his unwavering gaze.

“I… I can’t”

He sighed, leaning forward. One of his large hands covered yours over the cup you held, steadying your grip around it. Your eyes snapped up to meet his gaze, feeling how your heart thumped in your chest. Your eyes filled with tears and his expression softened. 

“I only want to help you, (y/n). I do not wish to cause you harm, of any kind at all. You do not have to say anything if it pains you, but know that I seek to keep you safe.”

You bit your lower lip, breaking eye contact as you gazed at the still water in the cup. Jungkook pursed his lips, his hand tightened around yours before he let go and stood up, you clearly needed space. He didn’t want to seem like he was forcing you, he’d never force you to do anything but the moment he straightened up and his grip left your hand, your heart dropped. 

The moment his hand left yours, the room felt colder, emptier. Your chest constricted as fear bubbled up, overwhelming your senses. Before you could think, your hand darted out, grabbing his wrist with a trembling grip.

“Wait! —please…”

He looked down at you, his gaze cryptic. Your eyes filled with tears, pearls of sadness that reflected your frustration, your grief. Jungkook sat down on the bed, his hand still clasped in yours. You couldn’t hold your gaze, you couldn’t face him as you were about to pour out your soul, your secrets. You’d open your heart for the first time in your life. Your eyes were casted downwards, fixed on your hands that cradled his larger palm. 

“Can I be granted forgiveness?”

Your question made his heart seize, his posture relaxed and he did not make a move to take his hand away from your gentle grasp. 

“God forgives every sin, my dear.”

You bit your lower lip to stop it from trembling, the tears spilled down, the knot in your throat quieted your voice, making you speak in just a soft whisper. 

“Even for someone like me?”

Jungkook tilted your chin up, his thumb ran over your bottom lip, forcing you to stop biting it. You looked into his eyes, losing yourself in them for a moment. His eyes calmed your racing heart, your swirling thoughts. 

“We are all children of God, there are no outcasts in this holy place.”

You took a deep breath, the candle at the bedside table flickered. You saw the dancing flame reflected in his eyes and the deep compassion that shone brighter than the moon in a dark night. 

“I want to repent from my sins. I… I feel so guilty, so dirty.”

His hand left your chin and rested atop yours that still held his other hand between your palms. He didn’t pressure you, didn’t ask you. He only gave you his silent comprehension. 

“The governor is searching for me, I-I took something from him. I have lied, I have stolen from the people who fed me, I have sold myself. I–I only want to live.”

A sob escaped your lips, the tears came again, unbidden this time. They flowed down your cheeks like rivers of grief as you mourned for your sins, the loss of your innocent soul and the tainted spirit you now carried with yourself. 

1 year ago…

“Must you always be on the way, gypsy girl?!

You bowed down at the governor as he shoved past you in the ornate corridor of his big mansion. The plain fabric of your long skirt crumbled under your clenched fists, you heard the old and fat man walking down the hallways before disappearing into his study. The air in the governor’s mansion was always heavy—heavy with disdain, with arrogance, and with a suffocating sense of entitlement that reeked from every corner. You hated it, but you had no choice. It was survival. You were nothing more than a servant—“gypsy girl,” as they called you—never addressed by name, never acknowledged as a person.

The governor’s sneer as he passed you was something you had grown used to, though it still sent a cold shiver down your spine. The weight of his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have, and you hated how powerless you felt under it.

But it wasn’t just the governor who demeaned you. Every day was a constant stream of insults and sneers from the household staff and visitors alike.

“Filthy thing. Try not to stain the floors with whatever diseases you bring from the camps.”

One of the maids hissed at you as you scrubbed the marble floor, splashing dirty water onto your hands. You said nothing, swallowing the bitterness rising in your throat. Talking back would earn you a slap, or worse, a trip to the governor’s private chambers—a fate you dreaded above all else.

You remembered the first time it happened. It was silent and you were alone in the dining room one rainy evening. The sound of crystal chandeliers swaying above you as the faint hum of conversation drifted from the next room. The governor had entered, his steps slow, deliberate. Calculating. You hadn’t looked up. You weren’t allowed to. But if you had, you would have seen the evil smile that stretched over his languid features. 

“You have grown, girl.”

His voice was oily and oddly sweet. It made your skin crawl. His beady eyes ran up and down your form, despite the modesty of your simple dress, you had felt naked in that instant, wishing nothing else but to disappear and become one of the pretty ladies in the paintings that hung all over the manor. 

You had frozen in place, your hands clutching the rag you used to polish the silver. He had walked around you, circling like a predator cornering its prey.

“Do you know how lucky you are to serve in this house? To have a roof over your head, food in your belly?”

Your stomach twisted, you nodded, not uttering a single world. You felt him going behind you, your heart was drumming within your chest. As if it could somehow escape the confinement of your ribcage. His warm breath had brushed your neck as he took your hair and pushed it to the side, tears had gathered in your eyes. Tears of anger, of frustration, of helplessness. For you were alone in a world of wolves. 

“Then you will repay my generosity. You will obey, or you will find yourself back on the streets—or worse.”

He had whispered, his hand trailing across your shoulder, making your body recoil, your stomach twist and your heart to stop. 

You remembered the first time it happened. That night was your worst memory, your ugliest fear. You endured the cruelty of his perversion and the weight of his twisted mind.  It wasn’t just the physical torment—though that was bad enough—it was the degradation, the feeling of being stripped of your humanity. You were no longer a person; you were a possession, a plaything.

And yet, through it all, you had kept your mind sharp, your spirit quietly burning with a desperation to escape. You watched. You listened. You learned.

One night, you overheard him boasting to a guest in his study about a decree he had signed—an order to “cleanse” the city of your people. He laughed as he spoke, talking about how the Romani were a stain on Paris, how their removal would bring peace and order.

Your heart had pounded in your chest as you realized the danger looming over your family, your people. The thought of their camps being raided, of the children and elders being slaughtered, ignited a fire within you.

You knew you couldn’t stop it—not alone. But you could run. You could escape with the decree, use it to expose him or to bargain for safe passage out of Paris.

And when you saw your opportunity, you took it. Without hesitation, without mercy. Just like they didn’t have mercy on you. 

It came one night after the governor had stumbled back to his chambers in a drunken stupor, leering at you as you brought him his wine. His words were slurred while grabbing your wrist with an iron grip. “Stay. Entertain me.”

The memories of that night after he had said those words to you were a blur. You didn’t think much of that night, thanking that you were being protected by the obvious horrors your body and your mind had been exposed to in the hands of that bastard. 

You had crept into his study, the desk was a mess. And under the light of a single candle  your fingers quickly found what you were looking for: the decree. It bore his signature and the royal seal, its words a death sentence for your people.

You folded it, hiding it between the folds of your skirt. You had a second of hesitation, a heartbeat to think before you also grabbed the small, golden seal as well. Without it, the document was not valid and it was your opportunity of getting free passage out of Paris, this cursed city that had harmed your soul, taken your innocence and attacked your people. It was a promise of freedom that came with a signature of blood.

The memories dissipated from before your eyes. Your hands were trembling as you had let go of Jungkook’s hand and were now fisting the blankets of the bed. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, the pain, the memories, the humiliation. Everything came crashing back down at you like a tsunami of darkness. You were screaming underwater, where nobody heard. You were walking in snow, where no path was left behind and your destination could not be seen at all. 

“I had to do it. I had to escape. If… if they hadn’t killed me first, I would have done it sooner or later; I couldn’t bear it anymore.”

Jungkook sat before you, his warm hands hesitating before finally resting over yours, still fisting the blankets. His touch was gentle, his fingers barely grazing your trembling knuckles, as though he was afraid you might shatter if he held you too tightly.

“You don’t have to explain, my dear. No one has the right to judge you for surviving.”

He whispered, his voice trembling with compassion. His thoughts were a dark concoction of emotions he had yet to decipher. Mon Rêve, what has been done to you? He felt a simmering fury bubble within his chest, but there was this icy sadness that enveloped his heart at the truths he just heard. 

But you couldn’t stop. The words spilled out of you like an open wound, raw and unstoppable. 

“They think I’m a thief, a liar, a—” your voice broke, and you choked back a sob, your chest heaving as the weight of it all crushed you. “But I was nothing to them—less than nothing. Just a gypsy girl they could use and discard. I was never going to matter to anyone… I had to matter to myself.”

Jungkook reached up, cupping your face. His thumbs brushed away the endless tears streaking your cheeks, but the warmth in his touch only seemed to make the flood worse. His eyes searched yours, desperate to hold you together as you crumbled before him like a beautiful glass doll that was cracked by the world’s cruelty. 

“You matter to me.”

He said firmly, his voice breaking on the last word. His hands shook slightly, betraying the storm he was trying so hard to conceal. Your eyes softened and you couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks. 

“And to God, you are His child. You were never forgotten, even when it felt like the world had turned against you.”

You shook your head, the anguish and shame too deeply ingrained to believe him. 

“I am so broken. I have done terrible things, things that do not deserve forgiveness. I am tainted. Corrupted. I’ve become—”

“Stop.”

Jungkook said, his voice quiet but commanding. His hands slid from your face to your shoulders, holding you steady so you would hold his gaze. 

“You are not broken. You are not beyond forgiveness. You are not beyond redemption. You did what you had to do to survive. You are here now, and that is all that matters.”

The gentleness in his voice unraveled something within you. He untied the coil of your memories, letting them flow. Letting you cry as you sobbed. Your body shook and you whimpered and gasped and cried. Jungkook didn’t hesitate; he pulled you into his arms, his strong embrace engulfing your shaking form as he held you tightly against his chest. He let you cry, one of his hands rested on the back of your head as you screamed and wailed out your grief that had choked you for months. He rocked you ever so softly, his arms tightening around you, grounding your mind to the present, away from the memories that corrupted your soul and shielded you from your fears. 

“I promise you,”

He began, murmuring in a soft voice that seemed to come from the angels themselves. His words tangled in your hair as you clung to him like your only anchor in a sea of despair. 

“I promise you are safe here. As long as I breathe, no-one will hurt you again, mon rêve.”

The endearment slipped from his lips but you didn’t mind. His words felt fragile, fleeting, like a prayer cast into the wind. You clung to him, burying your face into his shoulder as the dam finally broke. The pain you had carried alone for so long poured out of you in waves, and he held you through every sob, every tremble.

“You are not broken, my dear. You are a survivor and I will always keep you safe. Always.”

January/23/2025

~ Masterpost

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

[wrestlezaynia]

"TLC."

Summary: Kevin hasn't been feeling like himself lately and is in need of a little TLC from his guardian angel, Sami.

Warning: Must be 18+ to read under cut.

"Kevin, look at me." Sami coaxes softly, cradling Kevin's face between his hands. "Breathe. You're doing great, mon cher." He soothes.

Kevin can feel the anger slowly fade as he leans into Sami's touch, calming his nerves. "You're on my side, right Sami?" He asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "You won't betray me like Cody did."

"I've got your back." Sami replies, not fully answering the question but providing moral support, something Kevin so desperately needs after pushing everyone away, leaving Sami to pick up the pieces.

Kevin's anger might've subsided, but he's stricken with a new emotion: Fear. Fear of losing his best friend, his soulmate, his- "Remember when I called you my guardian angel?" Kevin asks, his voice wavering. "That's what you are, Sami." He adds softly, eyes brimming with tears as he cups Sami's cheek. "I'm lost without you."

Sami smiles adoringly at Kevin and, very gently, places his hand atop his own. "I'm here, Kev." The redhead responds. A promise, a solemn vow that he would always be there for Kevin no matter what happens.

"But for how long?" Kevin inquires, searching Sami's face. "I need you, Sami." He softly whispers, fighting desperately to blink back the tears from escaping. "To guide me, protect me...love me." He breathes.

Kevin's words rang true, he did need him. He needed Sami now more than ever as he releases Kevin's hand to wipe away the tears that managed to break free. "I'll always love you, Kev," Sami whispers back just as softly, inching closer without realizing it. "I'll never stop."

Kevin's breath hitches as Sami leans close, his lips mere inches away, so soft and inviting luring him in. At long last, their lips connect and it's like a weight has been lifted. His worries a distant memory as he melts into the kiss, fingers tangling in Sami's flowing crimson locks.

Sami returns the kiss with fervor, passion coursing through his veins as he pulls Kevin's body flush against his own slender frame. Determined to wash or, in this case, kiss away Kevin's fears.

Temperatures rise when the kiss breaks, leaving both men gasping for air. Their chests rising and falling together, as if sharing the same breath. Soon they'd be sharing the same heartbeat as Kevin removes his shirt with haste, eyes full of lust. "Touch me, Sami." He murmurs.

Sami swallows hard as he watches Kevin take off his shirt, prompting him to follow suit. Knowing better than to keep Kevin waiting, Sami obeys, placing his palm on Kevin's chest. His heart beating fast as he ventures lower, skimming his fingertips over Kevin's body until he reaches his happy trail, stopping briefly to meet Kevin's gaze. "Touche moi." He pleads, desperation in his tone.

It's rare to hear Kevin beg, but when he does, it turns Sami on. There's an insatiable hunger growing inside Kevin only Sami's touch can satisfy as he fondles Kevin through his basketball shorts, earning a moan of approval from his partner. "Sami." Kevin gasps, his bare chest pressed firmly against Sami's. "Feels so good, mon amour."

Sami emits a moan of his own as he watches Kevin's face contort with pleasure, his cheeks flushed a rosy hue and his mouth slightly ajar, a truly breathtaking sight! A sight forever burned into Sami's memory as he proceeds to kiss Kevin's neck, soft and gentle at first then gradually becoming more rough, nipping and sucking his skin.

The silence of the room is shattered the instant Sami's lips brush against Kevin's neck, his moans echoing off of the paper thin walls. "Sami...Sami s’il vous plaît..." He whimpers, overcome with desire.

Sami smirks as he continues his descent, kissing every inch of Kevin, reveling in the explicit noises he's making his lover produce. Striving to provide Kevin with so much pleasure it'll help him forget his troubles. "Patience, mon cher." He soothes, taking Kevin's nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it sensually as another moan rings out, piercing the silence.

The word "patience" is not in Kevin Owens' dictionary. Kevin isn't a patient man, especially when it comes to Sami. He wants Sami so badly he can barely see straight, his vision clouded with lust. "Sami...please...you're driving me crazy." He whines, squeezing Sami's shoulder as he proceeds to pepper Kevin's stomach with kisses.

Sami grins at Kevin's phrasing. It's true, Sami did drive him crazy, in more ways than one. "Raise your hips for me, Kevvy Bear." He gently instructs, purposely skimming his fingers over Kevin's thighs to pull down his shorts. His breath hitching as Kevin's thick meaty cock is revealed to him. "I've forgotten how big you are." He breathes, noting the precum dripping from the tip as he slowly licks it off to tease him.

Typically Kevin would be annoyed by the pet name, but he's far too distracted by Sami's hot mouth to notice or care as his fingers become tangled in Sami's ginger curls. "Sami." Kevin gasps, arching his back into the mattress as Sami swirls his tongue around the head.

Sami hums, relaxing his throat as he takes more of Kevin's hard cock into his mouth, bobbing up and down Kevin's length at a steady pace.

"Sami...gonna cum..." Kevin warns, his voice low and husky as he cups the back of Sami's head, fucking his face until he reaches climax, spurting his warm seed down Sami's throat with a satisfied moan.

Sami swallows every last drop of Kevin's cum, licking him clean.

In a fit of passion, Kevin pulls Sami into a fiery kiss, massaging his tongue hungrily against Sami's to taste himself. "Take your pants off." He whispers against Sami's lips in a gentle yet commanding tone.

Sami adheres to Kevin's command, reaching between them to take off his pants. The sensation of their naked bodies touching sends shivers down his spine. Their eyes lock and Sami forgets how to breathe, the past twenty years forever engraved in Kevin's piercing blue orbs. It isn't until Kevin caresses Sami's cheek that he's shaken from his reverie. He smiles at him, warm and loving as he leans in.

Kevin watches Sami intently, his heart pounding so hard he knows Sami can feel it as their lips connect soft and sweet, their souls intertwined. Much like their storied rivalry things become heated when the kiss deepens, the taste of his cum still lingering on Sami's tongue as he spreads his legs for Sami to indicate his readiness.

Reading Kevin's body language, Sami grips his penis and inserts the tip into Kevin's tight hole, eliciting a moan of approval from Kevin as he wraps his arms around Sami's slender waist to bring him closer. Their bodies melding to become one as Sami starts to move at a slow and steady pace, allowing Kevin time to adjust.

Kevin gazes deeply into Sami's eyes, maintaining eye contact as he raises his hips in time with Sami's thrusts, finding a perfect rhythm. "Sami, tell me you love me." Kevin whispers, breathless.

Sami smiles at Kevin adoringly, placing his hand gently upon Kevin's cheek. "I love you, Kev." He confesses, meaning every word.

"En français." Kevin murmurs, his breathing becoming more ragged with each hard thrust, rocking his hips sensually against Sami's.

Sami isn't as fluent in French as Kevin, but he did teach him a few key words and phrases, "I love you" being one of them. "Je t’aime, Kev." He whispers, tears pricking his eyes as he picks up the pace, his grip around Kevin tightening. "Je t’aime tellement, chéri." He adds softly.

"Sami..." His name escaping as a whisper as a series of breathy moans and whimpers spill from Kevin's lips, savoring every last delicious sound as Sami finds his release, filling Kevin with his seed.

The two men cling to one another, bodies shaking and drenched in sweat. They stare at each other in silence, panting heavily as Kevin brushes Sami's damp curls out of his face, smiling up at him lovingly.

-The next morning-

"Don't go." Kevin protests, wrapping his arms around Sami from behind as he nuzzles the nape of Sami's neck, breathing in his scent.

Sami smiles, relaxing in Kevin's embrace and placing his arms atop Kevin's. His body heat warming Sami on impact after just having vacated the shower. "I have to Kev or I'll miss my flight." He counters.

"Cancel it and come to SmackDown with me." Kevin interjects, unable to bear being away from Sami for even a second. "I'll talk to Aldis and convince him to transfer you back." He adds, determined.

As tempting as the offer is, there are a lot more factors preventing Sami from returning to SmackDown. "What about Pearce?" Sami inquires, knowing he wouldn't be easily persuaded. "He has had a lot on his plate lately with the whole Seth and Bronson fiasco."

Desperate times call for desperate measures as Kevin lets the proposal slip: "Then we'll tell them we got married over the weekend."

"You want me to lie?" Sami asks, moving away from Kevin in order to look him in the eye. "I don't know Kev, I've never been very good at-"

"Who said anything about lying?" Kevin softly asks, meeting his gaze.

Sami's heart skips a beat, he never thought he'd hear Kevin mutter those words. "Kev?" Sami gasps, his name escaping as a whisper.

Kevin's heart is in his throat, never in his life has he been this nervous but seeing the look on Sami's face makes it all worth it as he gently takes Sami's hands into his own. "I think you and I are destined to be together forever." He confesses softly, watching Sami's eyes glisten with tears. "I know I'm not husband material but-"

In a fit of passion, Sami presses his lips to Kevin's. He kisses him long and deep, cradling Kevin's face tenderly in his hands as the tears begin to flow, streaming down his cheeks. "I will." He manages to choke out a reply, overcome with emotion. "Nothing would make me happier."

Tagging: @loki69zowens, @wrestlingdespairings, @unintentionaloracle, @who-do-you-want-to-be, @littleppl444.

@himbos-hotline, @expert-texpert, @wrestlingprincess80, @superkliqbaybays, @solo-uso.

@crxssjae, @jeysbvck, @surdelcielo, @thesamoanqueen and @fantasyismyonlyrealescape.

A/N: My apologies if you didn't want to be tagged, just let me know and I'll remove you from future fics. Thank you for reading! 😊💖

[sunsblaze]

Cont. || @gilded-sunrays

The flow of time would stop for no one, not for the virtuous, not for kings, nor those touched my the divine, time was a cruel mistress, something many tried to cling to only to rear back with blistering palms as it is ripped violently from tender hands.

A truth they had both come to learn through similar tales of not only love and loss, but betrayal. They had both been born with this curse- blessing and yet with such a gift they had still been unable to protect what truly mattered to them, they had been too late every single time. The contents of the future evaded her. Evaded them.

Her own days had been spent much the same, each day passing was filled an ebbing restlessness as her life began to stall leaving little for her to do in these day of involuntary retirement, though it wasn’t always like this, there had been a time where her days had been filled with warmth, shrouded in domestic bliss as she stood hand in hand with her husband.

They had been expecting, she spent their final days together nesting, preparing for the birth of their first child- a daughter, though as the moons leading up to labor came to pass everything she held dear would be ripped from her grasp. As her husband prepared for the morning journey he had to make to fetch a midwife, something made its move, striking the small family down, all she remembered was waking the next day, her hand clutching tightly onto her husband’s and intense pains wracking through her body.

Alone, she would give birth to a child that was destined to not breathe a single breath.

The coming days were a blur, she would not move from her husband’s side, instead she would lay there, the infant laying against her chest until a man she would soon know as Rengoku came to her, he had been in search of the creature that had snuffed her the lives of her family, he would help her back to her feet, help her put her loved ones to rest. Shortly after she made a decision, a vow to never have another suffer as she had, she would become a slayer and fight the shadows away with the burning determination of the sun itself.

For a handful of years she had kept busy, pushing forward as she fought tirelessly, following a path she had never truly wished to step foot on, but it seemed fate had other plans, this- being a demon slayer, it had been her destiny, she had found her purpose in that time and yet she seemed to lose it all the same.

Her own failure to cut down the demon lord, her allowing a demon to escape, and the betrayal of her own twin, it ended her time as a pillar and almost costed her life, many believed she should have atoned by committing sepukku, though both the young master and the flame pillar would not allow it, she would be given the mercy of exile- though was losing everything yet again really a mercy?

Nonetheless, she would take each day one at a time, hunting demons that lurked nearby, visiting the few loved ones she had left as her determination, her passions flickered and faded from a blazing inferno to a flickering candlelight. She often found herself doing the bare minimum for her survival, she would eat, drink, bathe, and tend to the repairs of her home.

That was until things would change around her…literally.

The sound of the teapot shattering was deafening in the still night and it was only accentuated by the seconds of silence that followed, the sounds of the woman’s gentle breaths filling the space between them. Though it was a rare occurrence, she was a bit shaken, she had almost killed this man, if she had been just seconds slower then his head would been sent rolling across the wooden boards beneath them.

While she awaited his answer she would just stare down at the man, her eyes the same shade of maroon as his, both like deep glasses of red wine- a finely aged vintage. For a second she had a thought that he might be a demon or that this was some kind of mirage, but it would only take her one glance to tell that not only was this real, it that he was just as human as she. Not only that, but he was her mirror image other than his more masculine features, she felt as if she were staring into a pool and on the other side laid a world so similar, yet different.

It made one wonder just how different things were on the other side.

As the man’s lips parted to speak a name- one that was all too familiar the woman would blink- she wasn’t exactly sure what to think at the moment, other than the fact that this man was her? Or was she him? It was all a bit complicated.

“…As am I.”

Her response was soft, her voice just as hushed as his own, as if this exact moment was so delicate that one word spoked too loud would shatter the world around them into a million pieces. She would make the first move, her hand. Bracing against his chest as she pushed herself to her feet before stepping to the side, a slender, yet calloused hand outstretched to him.

“I apologize for the disturbance, please, allow me to take care of the mess I have caused.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

the moon and the vast sky, m | myj

pairing(s): yoonji (fem!myg) x reader mentions of poly relationship with yoonji x reader x jungkook

summary: Min Yoonji loves a girl and she loves her tongue, too.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of f/f/m relationship; pan!f!reader x pan!Yoonji; fluff; wlw smut (fem reader; mentions of reader/JK having sex recently, f-receiving oral, fingering); non-idol!AU - Yoonji’s POV again, no dick here, just two women with pussies <3

--

“I don’t know how to…”

“You don’t need to.”

She was afraid of that. Afraid that was the answer. Her eyes followed as the line of her throat was revealed. She loved a ponytail. Loved it more when she saw the red-and-purple constellation of hickeys on smooth skin. A part of her wondered what it was like to be able to illicit that type of reaction from someone else. Envious of it, almost. The woman she loved had the kind of hold over Jeon Jungkook that others could only dream of.

Min Yoonji loved him, too.

Loved him like the moon loved the sun.

Slender hands decorated with a glittering red manicure curved around the inside of Yoonji’s thighs, pulling them apart. Heated breath sank as those piercing dark eyes rose, watching her reaction. Pink tongue sliding out between full lips baring a daring smile, and then the tension at her shoulders melted when that tongue pressed against her slick heat and painted upwards, sending a rush of forbidden pleasure stinging through her nerves.

Wicked and wanton, the other woman went down on her.

Yes, Yoonji loved Jungkook like how the moon loved the sun, and their girlfriend was the vast sky they vowed to stay trapped in.

Couldn’t breathe. Her hands found the edges of the pillows stacked behind her and her fingers twisted into them, desperately holding on to something as her lower half throbbed from the stimulations. Yoonji found she couldn’t stop staring at her. The lines of her body, feminine and serpentine. The perfect shape of her ass. Fuck. The way her eyes were closed, relaxed, her hair pulled back away from her face, and that face buried in between her legs. Those almond-shaped red nails spread over her thighs. Fingertips softly caressing her skin, contrasting the power of the persistent tongue sliding between her folds, dragging up, snaking inside her pussy, coiling back and rubbing against her pulsing clit. Hot breath overtaking everything. She could still see the shadows of love bites on her shoulders, the artwork of Jeon Jungkook.

She was so beautiful that Yoonji didn’t know what to do with herself.

It was wrong of her to enjoy it, but she did. Not the tongue, oh, no, she was ready and willing to relish in the blossoming bliss, ready to die at the talent of those lips slick with her juices pressing against her clit, doing only what gods knew down there. Yoonji no longer had the capacity to discern or comprehend between individual actions. The sucking combined with the flickering tongue was almost enough to send her over the edge. No, what was wrong of Yoonji to enjoy was not the act but what she knew must have transpired recently. She liked it. It was wrong to like it, but she did.

Yoonji liked knowing her girlfriend fucked their boyfriend and then came to please her.

She liked to know the same woman between her legs drove Jungkook insane less than a night before and then came to draw patterns over her nerves and burn ecstasy into her memory. There was wrongness in it and she felt guiltless about that, almost giddily so. The evidence of passion only made the image below more sensual. Only made the lust taste sweeter, more vibrant, more intense. A therapist would have a field day with all that, probably. Yoonji didn’t give a fuck.

Those predatory eyes opened.

Slivers of seduction.

Yoonji always thought the other woman was the most captivating presence she ever encountered. Maybe not willingly, but she did think that. Deep down. Two red-tipped fingers spread her upper lips apart with ease. Yoonji felt her breath catch in her throat. Her very blood seemed to be tingling. That minx tucked the tip of her tongue behind her lower teeth and lowered, pressing against her swollen clit, tipping her head back to stroke it with the center of that pink, wet muscle. Never breaking eye contact.

The electric sensation was amplified to impossible proportions by the directness of that stare.

Her lips closed in.

And Yoonji realized that she had only begun to feel real pleasure.

She had worried that she hadn’t known how to act. How to look. How to please. She still didn’t know, and now she couldn’t think either, dying the little death in the wake of a steady pace and a vacuum of euphoria. She could feel a hand slide up and down her thigh, but it was only another element into the web of strained tension building within. Yoonji gasped, clutching the pillows, trying to make sense of how to behave, but her back was arching, threatening, and then she felt a palm press down on her lower belly, long fingers fanning out and pinning her down.

Her breath was erratic, shallow, and Yoonji realized she was staring at the ceiling.

Her eyes shifted down.

The silver glitter of that red polish gleamed.

The other women’s eyes were closed. One hand on her thigh, the other on her stomach. The pace remained steady, sucking and licking, never leaving, building intensity in layers and pressure, closer, mind fuzzy, heat rising, pussy throbbing, muscles going rigid, there.

No time to gasp as Yoonji plunged into freefall.

Her orgasm seized her and twisted her insides, shooting scalding pleasure throughout her veins. She felt her legs threaten to close and they were forced open, the flat of that devious tongue surrounding her pulsing clit, and Yoonji shuddered, the harsh sensations expanding like hot air and then it collapsed, swallowing her inside the haze of desire, blinding, gasping, breaking the tension across her muscles into flinching, shivering limpness.

Suspended.

Soft lips to her quivering nerves.

Now Yoonji understood.

Men ate out women for the taste. To satisfy themselves. To satisfy their lovers. Women, too. Everyone in between. At best, for the connection. She panted, feeling her ribcage trembling from the aching bliss. Looked down. To lashes lifting. To dangerous dark orbs fresh off the high. To shining, plush lips with her taste clinging to flushed skin. The other woman cocked an eyebrow and dipped down, licking her trembling opening. Sliding her tongue inside, drinking the nectar, and Yoonji understood. She did it for the orgasm. For the pure experience of giving a mind-blowing high that no one else could match.

And she was fucking good at it.

At least the universe was still merciful in some ways, heh.

“What’s the matter?” Yoonji could feel each whisper on her slick skin. The little devil seemed smug, almost lazy with her licking. It made shivers dance up and down Yoonji’s spine. “Cat got your tongue?”

Her chest flushed.

A little late to be embarrassed about her own nakedness, but such was the delights of the human mind and post-cut clarity.

“Where…” Yoonji breathed in deeply to gain her bearings. “Where did you learn that?”

The other woman perched between her limp legs with too much poise and not enough shame. Probably didn’t even know the meaning of the word, Yoonji figured. “Here and there.”

She couldn’t help the frown. “So, you’re lying now. That’s not like you.”

An unassuming head tilt that could mean anything. “I’m not lying. I just don’t care to provide you with a hit list of pussy for you to pass your judgements about.” That stung. But she seemed unfazed by Yoonji’s instructive shrinking back, rising up to fill the space instead. Licking her lips. Ugh, her girlfriend looked so good naked that it was hard to stay focused. She tried not to let her eyes wander to those delectable breasts in the middle of their conversation. The sweet scent of sex mixed with their perfume. “Their names mean nothing to me.”

“That’s cold.”

“It’s true.” A flicker in those intense eyes. “Sorry to disappoint. They all got the worse versions of me, anyway.”

That attitude shouldn’t settle Yoonji, but it did. Perhaps that meant she was toxic. At the very least it meant she wasn’t deluding herself into thinking she was better than she was. Accepting her sexuality at a deeper level did mean she was becoming more selfish. Maybe she was childish, possessive lover deep down. She was done hiding her want in the wake of her desire, at least.

“Kiss me.”

A slow smirk touched those glossy lips tainted with her orgasm. “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”

Her hands raised to cup the other woman’s cheeks, drawing her closer as she descended, lips colliding, her own taste on her tongue and, yes, she was. Yes, she wanted. Yes, she knew that all her buttons were being pressed and yet she ran her hands over that soft skin, imprisoned by the fervor of their kiss. The world could tell her it was wrong, her upbringing could tell her it was wrong, her internalized self-hate could tell her at was wrong, but all that meant nothing when Yoonji felt those lips, that tongue, her touch commanding to leave the past behind for the present.

Right and wrong were the two sides of the same coin, after all.

Hungrily, Yoonji kissed down her neck, embellishing that smooth skin with her own marks beside Jungkook’s, addicted to the breathy sounds she could produce, to the way those agile hands cradled her head, to the way those elegant fingers curled into her hair, gasping, pressing her tongue against the soft curve above that beating heart. She could love a man. She did. But that was a known journey. Yoonji knew how to navigate that, at least generally. But this, oh, this was wandering without a map, tasked with the unknowing of what to do or how to do it, and yet the craving was so strong, so undeniable, so powerful that Yoonji refused to stop it, hovering her palm over the curve.

A hand enveloped hers and pressed it to another’s breast.

She was afraid.

But there was no time to be afraid.

Their hands moved together, across skin, from body to body, tracing lines and drawing invisible patterns, sharing the barely-there air. From warm to blazing hot. Lips to lips again, and their fingers interlocked across their chests while their dominant hands hovered below.

“I don’t know… How to…”

Those piercing dark eyes swallowed her up.

“You don’t need to.”

She followed. Mirrored. Cupping the drenched heat with her palm and containing it, breathing in the exhale given, their lips brushing against each other. Foreheads together. Yoonji was afraid and so she closed her eyes. It didn’t matter. She felt the hand move upwards, bringing two fingers together, sliding up and down. Ghosting her clit. She did the same, biting her lip, amazed by the softness. The wetness. The heavy scent musky sweet, blending with her own. She slid a finger inside, just wanting to feel it be closed in on, burrowing in the tight, slippery warmth, shivering at the wonderfulness of it.

“I can’t be doing that, lovergirl,” her lover playfully warned, skimming the tips of her almond manicure over Yoonji’s pussy lips. It made her skin sing with delight.

She gasped, thrusting in lightly, melting. “I… I know…” She couldn’t open her eyes. Could barely speak above a whisper. “I just… I just wanted to touch you…” So warm. So soft. So powerful.

“Well, then.” Plush lips brushed against the side of her open mouth. “Don’t stop.”

Yoonji felt a fingertip press to her clit and she jolted. Tipped her hips to the touch, searching for more pressure.

“Want a toy?”

“No, just you,” Yoonji murmured. “Just you.”

She moaned as she felt that tongue against her cheek, licking gently as the pressure deepened into slow, rhythmic strokes. Dancing kisses. She pulled her finger out to match the action, her heart skipping a beat as the other woman hummed in satisfaction, caressing Yoonji’s hair at the same time. Faster, rougher, using another finger to anchor the first and moving her entire arm rather than only her wrist. There was science to that, Yoonji was sure, but she was in too deep to deduce anything, her eyelids fluttering as the concentrated motion built the anticipation. She felt the grip on her head tighten. Lips pressing to her temple, breathing out her name, intoxicated, and Yoonji felt her lips form her name more than she heard her own voice, the pulse of roaring blood too loud, losing herself to madness.

“Don’t stop.”

She obeyed, keeping pace, her forearm burning, her mind muddled, but she fixated on the husky command, don’t stop, her own orgasm threatening, coiled, ready to strike, and Yoonji fought against the high, rubbing that concentrated bundle of nerves with every measure of control she could muster, breathless, turning her head or was forced to by another.

Yoonji opened her eyes, just barely.

Her girlfriend panted; pupils dilated with desire.

Their lips connected and they moaned into each other’s mouths, spilling over the exhilarating edge at the same time. It was not like the previous climax, but more like a satisfying descent into flinching, seeping pleasure, spreading over their bodies and crumpling into each other, into a deep kiss with palms cupping pulsating heat, containing the blissful beat from one beating heart to another. Her orgasm smelled wonderful.

She hoped Jungkook could smell her on her later, but that was asking too much.

A hand with glittering red nails raised, waving Yoonji’s juices in her face.

She raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, licking her traces off the other woman’s hand, sliding her tongue in between those talented fingers before lifting her own to lick off. Fuck, she tasted as good as she smelled. The two fingers she used went straight into her mouth. Sucking on them. Her girlfriend raised an eyebrow back. Yoonji did not share. She shot her a pointed stare and dared interference.

“Who made you glow like that?” her vixen teased.

“Your tongue,” Yoonji countered, ticking her head.

A smirk. “And my hands.”

And everything else.

“You don’t think about anyone else?” Yoonji wondered out loud, staring into those piercing dark eyes.

An unamused smirk. “That would be rude of me, wouldn’t it?” She chuckled. “Besides, I don’t see a reason to think about other people. Life took me out of theirs for better.”

That was how Yoonji viewed her own previous relationships too, but she couldn’t be sure it applied to everyone. A flutter in her chest. “Better?”

She felt a finger trace her cheek.

Her girlfriend smiled.

“Mhm. Better.”

It took everything in her for Yoonji to not explode from happiness. That would be very uncool of her. “O-Oh.” Excellent. Great cover-up, she thought to herself sarcastically.

“I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

“I’m not.” That was a lie. But some lies Yoonji preferred. “I was just curious.”

“Hm.” Her girlfriend mused, leaning over her. “Curious little kitty, aren’t you?”

“I don’t like pet names.”

“It’s an observation.” A red nail traced down her cleavage. Yoonji shivered, involuntarily. “Sorry about that in the middle, then. I won’t call you that again.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Lovergirl.”

She felt her cheeks heat. “That… That one’s fine.” She hadn’t even realized it. “That’s not a pet name, anyway,” Yoonji mumbled under her breath. “You made it up.”

Those dark eyes glittered. “Pet names are all made up.”

“Yeah, but that one’s mine,” Yoonji snapped.

She felt a finger on her chin and reluctantly let herself to be led, falling into another kiss. Felt a little better after that. Didn’t say it though. She felt fingers run through her hair. That one’s mine. A half-truth. She knew she shared it with their Loverboy, and that made it all the more imperative to keep.

“I don’t say it out of malice,” that silken voice murmured. “We don���t have to preserve what doesn’t serve us.”

“Don’t backtrack,” Yoonji maintained stubbornly, pressing against the other woman’s curves. “We are past games.”

Gentle lips pressed against her temple. “Yes, we are.”

They pulled the duvet up over their naked bodies. Legs entangled. Yoonji missed Jungkook but she couldn’t deny the loveliness of her embrace. A feline possessiveness. They curled around each other, Yoonji nestled in her shadow. She used to think she would have to get used to sharing a bed with another. Then again, everything she used to think was thrown out the window once she encountered Jungkook’s lady friend, somehow getting swept up into shining as her true self, against her better judgement.

Somehow.

Definitely not because she couldn’t stop herself in the presence of temptation.

“Can I have one of the pillows?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

A light kiss on her cheekbone. “Not good for your neck either. You should be more mindful of your health, lovergirl.”

“Shut up.”

--

min yoonji masterpost | masterpost

[sundaybee]

What Is This Feeling?

Elphaba x Galinda

I’ve risen from the dead after my love of Wicked has been reignited. As I sit here drinking out of my twenty year old Wicked mug I bought on Broadway in the 8th grade I hope I did two of my favorite witches justice. As always be kind and I hope you enjoy it.

How did this happen? A very frustrated Galinda pondered. Her quill nervously flickering against the ink vial as she sat at her desk.

She was supposed to be working on a paper on weather influenced magic and its effect on the environment in Oz. It was supposed to be the paper that would allow Madame Morrible to finally look at her with a smidge of respect, but instead her paper remained blank; and it was all thanks to her infuriating roommate.

Elphaba Thropp was determined to turn her world upside down. First, she invaded what was supposed to be her private suite. Secondly, her magical prowess was so advanced that not only did Madame Morrible dote on her, but she preferred her to herself. Thirdly, she had the audacity to have such beautifully striking features that made her heart skip a beat. Nothing made sense!

“Can you please still that jittering hand of yours? It’s making it hard to focus.”

Galinda looked up, pausing her hand, to see her roommate nose deep in a textbook. Not even bothering to spare her a glance with her request.

“Well excuse me for doing my work. We can’t all have the approval of our professors. Some of us actually need to work for it.” Galinda stated and turned back to her paper, this time actually writing instead of fidgeting.

Elphaba simply rolled her eyes. The words of someone that had the adoration of everyone meant very little to her. How she ended up with this…blonde for a roommate was just another thing to add to the list of unfortunate things that have plagued her since birth.

There was a comfortable silence but Galinda was quick to break it. She was back to fidgeting. The repetitive cling of metal against glass and not even on rhythm finally broke her.

With a heavy sigh Elphaba rose. She walked towards the door, textbook tucked securely under her arm.

“Where are you going?”

Elphaba paused and glanced over at Galinda.

“The library. It’s a place known for the quiet incase you were unaware.” Elphaba replied, and with that she was gone.

Galinda sighed and dropped the quill as soon as the door shut. Little drops of ink scattered across her paper ruining the few lines she managed to write down. She hadn’t noticed what exactly she had been writing until the abandoned quill drew her eye to the top of her paper.

Mrs Galinda Thropp.

Over and over in her perfectly crafted handwriting the phrase was written.

Cheeks burning red Galinda quickly balled up the paper and disposed of it. This wouldn’t due. Galinda Upland was above this. People fawned over her, not the other way around. It was then she vowed that whatever this feeling was she would kill effective immediately. How hard could it be?

Hard.

Galinda found it impossible to not admire her roommate. Her passion for her studies and how well she articulated herself was mesmerizing. The way she flicked her wrist so elegantly during sorcery seminar to make little trinkets float. The way she smiled at her sister lit up the room.

Why couldn’t she smile at her like that?

Galinda flushed at that and turned her head away, rejoining the conversation with ShenShen and Pfannee. It was mindless chatter, nothing of actual value, and because of it Galinda felt her head turning back towards her roommate.

“Hellllooo Galinda.” ShenShen snapped her fingers in Galinda face.

“So sorry. What were we discussing?”

“Elphaba.” Galinda’s heart skipped. “And how infuriating she is.”

“She shows up, not even formally admitted and walks around like she owns the place. Impressing the professors with her babble.” ShenShen ranted.

“Now ShenShen we must not lower ourselves due to frustration with the people around us.” Galinda answered perfectly.

“You get the worst of it, you poor thing. Being forced to share a room with that swamp colored girl.”

Swamp colored? Oh no. Elphaba was the color of emeralds that dazzled in the sunlight.

“If only we could get you out of that dratted situation.” Pfannee stated. “Someone of your status shouldn’t be forced to room with someone like her.”

“It’s really not -.” Galinda started but was quickly cut off.

“Someone should put her in her place. Maybe then she’d get the hint and finally leave.” ShenShen stated rather loudly. Chancing a glance, Galinda turned her face towards Elphaba to see her staring intensely back.

With narrowed eyes Elphaba turned her nose upward and wheeled Nessarose away. She couldn’t control what people said about her but that didn’t mean she needed to listen to it.

Galinda felt her stomach knot as the girl proudly stormed off. She wasn’t able to fester in this feeling for long before hiding behind her perfect mask and allowing her two acquaintances to escort her to their next class.

——

Elphaba avoided Galinda, only bearing her presence at night. She didn’t trust Galinda, or more so her friends. She was well aware of their dislike of her, of everyone’s dislike of her. She was used to the looks, the whispers, or the loud declarations of disdain. She was just thankful that Galinda had some sense to leave her in peace at night. No rude remarks, no teasing, just comfortable cohabitation.

One night days later both girls sat in their beds reading. Galinda kept stealing glances at her roommate. Elphaba was truly elegant. Long striking features in the flickering candle light made her pulse quicken.

“Is there something you wish to say?” Elphaba suddenly asked, not looking up from her book.

“Pardon?”

“You’ve been staring on and off for the past fifteen minutes. If there is something to say, simply say it.” Elphaba stated.

Galinda couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Always straight to the point that one.

“You have lovely features you know.”

That was enough for Elphaba to pause her reading and look up.

“Excuse me?”

“Your face is very symmetrical. High cheekbones, lovely almond shaped eyes, plump-“ Pausing, Galinda turned away.

Elphaba stared at her for a moment, her lips in a hard line, brow furrowed.

“You know, night is the only time I escape the teasing. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t do that here.”

Galinda’s head snapped back towards her roommate.

“I wasn’t teasing you.” She stated.

“Sure.” Elphaba responded with an eye roll.

“I’m serious!” Galinda rose from the bed and started digging through a drawer of her vanity. “I could work wonders if you’d let me. I could get this school eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Elphaba cocked an eyebrow.

“And why would you do that?”

Galinda paused and turned to look at her roommate.

“Why not?” Elphaba watched her curiously as she went back to pulling out tubes, vials, and brushes. She wouldn’t say it out loud but it would be nice that for once people would look at her and see her not just the color of her skin.

With that final thought Galinda successfully dragged her from the bed and sat her before her vanity.

Elphaba would never admit it but she was enjoying this impromptu makeover. Galinda was taking this so seriously and it was actually quite charming. She swiped shades of deep red on her green lips. She experimented with palettes of color. It was when Galinda freed her hair from its tight braid and began to run her fingers through it that her eyes slipped shut.

Elphaba wasn’t used to having others touch her. Her nanny was the only one who showed her a smidge of compassion growing up and one of those things was doing her hair. Having someone run their hands through her braids sent her into a safe place she had long forgotten about.

Galinda watched her face in the mirror and smiled widely at the reaction she was getting. She continued to play with her hair, tucking pieces here and there. Gently massaging her scalp in the process. Finally she leaned in close, resting her chin on Elphaba’s shoulder.

“Look at you. You’re beautiful.”

Elphaba’s eyes snapped open and was greeted with her reflection. Her pulse quickened at the closeness of the other girl, at the subtle colors that adorned her face, and she could feel tears threatening to form as her eyes subtly darted between her and Galinda’s reflection. She’d be damned before she let Galinda Upland see her cry.

“Don’t be foolish.” She said and rose from the chair, pulling herself away from Galinda, away from this situation.

Galinda cocked her head, a bit surprised at her reaction.

“I am many things but foolish isn’t one of them.”

“You’re foolish to think this would work. That anyone would see me beyond my skin.” Elphaba snapped, unclear who she was chastising, Galinda or herself.

“Elphaba-“

“Good night Galinda.” Elphaba said before disappearing into their shared bathroom.

Galinda walked to the door, hand on the handle but couldn’t bring herself to open the door.

“You're welcome.” She said but was greeted with silence. She thought for a second more.

“Anytime you’d like me to do your hair you need only ask.”

Galinda did not see her for the rest of the night, and by the time Elphaba emerged she was sound asleep. Makeup long washed away but hair still exactly as Galinda had done it.

——-

They fell into a comfortable routine after that. Elphaba did not actively ignore her at school and would even greet her if she wasn’t around ShenShen and Pfannee. They occasionally sat next to each other in the library while studying and Elphaba would offer her notes and suggestions on improving her school work.

In return each night Elphaba found herself sitting in front of Galinda’s mirror and the woman in question did her hair. Each night her eyes slipped shut as Galinda ran slender fingers through long strands of hair, and the first time a pleasant sigh slipped out Galinda knew she had her.

“Elphie, can I call you Elphie?”

“It’s a bit perky.”

“I know I love it!”

Elphaba chuckled but her eyes remained shut as Galinda continued her own magic.

“You really enjoy your hair being done.” Galinda stated. Elphaba was an enigma and she desperately needed to know more about her.

Elphaba blushed lightly and simply nodded.

“My nanny would always do it. She was the only one not afraid to touch me. The only one who had the sense to know green skin was not contagious.”

Galinda frowned as she continued to play with the locks. Contagious skin? How could people be so empty headed?

“It was my safe place. In my nanny’s room having my hair braided.” Elphaba said softly, relishing in the feeling of Galinda’s touch.

Galinda smiled softly as she continued to weave her hair.

“I’m glad you trust me to bring you back to that safe place.”

Elphaba’s eyes opened at that. Staring at Galinda in the mirror she felt a heat rise in her cheeks and had to force her gaze away.

“You know you really don't have to do any of this.”

Galinda hummed as she finished the braid.

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. It also brings me peace.” Galinda stated as she gently placed the braid over her shoulder. Fingers gently grazing the back of the girl's neck in doing so, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Elphaba swallowed and refused to look back at the reflection. Galinda simply smiled and let her be while she began reorganizing her vanity.

“You’re my only friend you know.” Elphaba stated. She had never had a friend before and while she put on the facade of it not bothering her, the way the words echoed off the walls was much sadder than she expected.

Galinda paused and turned to face her. Elphaba had never uttered the word friendship before. This was a pivotal moment.

“Even my own sister doesn’t like me very much. She tolerates me, sure, but only out of familiar duty.” Elphaba went on.

“I’m sure that’s not true. I’m sure she loves you dearly.” Galinda said and stepped closer to her. The woman in front of her was a hurricane who could match wits with the best of them. She was strong willed, proud, and outspoken. Yet under it all she was still just a girl looking for acceptance.

“Love is not a word that will ever be associated with me.” Elphaba muttered.

Galinda's breath caught in her throat and without thinking she reached a hand out and laid it gently on her cheek, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face.

“Please don’t say that. You couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Galindas hand was warm upon her cheek and she couldn’t help but lean into it. For a moment they stayed like that, in this peace, until Elphaba’s sense returned and she hastily rose and stepped back.

“It’s late. Madame Morrible will be cross if we are late to seminar.” Elphaba said and quickly fled to the joint bathroom.

Galinda was left standing there hand still hanging in the air. She sighed, that was the best she was going to get tonight.

“Goodnight Elphie.” She called out before crawling into bed. She pulled her hand up to her chest, cradling it as if it was a newborn. Smiling, she brought it to her lips and kissed it, imagining it was the girl herself.

That night Galinda had sweet dreams of pink and green.

——

Elphaba rose earlier than usual. Carefully she made her way over to the vanity and glanced at the items Galinda had strewn about the desktop.

“This is a foolish idea.” She muttered as she lifted a tube of lipstick. She examined it as if it would jump out and bite her if she moved too quickly. Fingers grazed the pallets as she tried to determine what to do first.

“Elphie? What are you doing?”

Startled Elphaba jumped, dropping the tube of lipstick. Eyes darted towards Galinda who was now sitting up in bed. How she managed to wake up already looking perfect was beyond her.

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing.”

Galinda did the quick mental math and smiled.

“Did you want to do your makeup today?” Galinda asked, trying to keep the excitement minimal. Was this the day Elphaba would allow her the pleasure to doll her up and send her out into the world?

“No no I couldn’t.” She stammered as she dropped to her knees searching for the missing lipstick. Anything to distract herself from Galinda’s hungry stare.

“You absolutely can!” Galinda announced.

With speed Elphaba didn’t know the girl possessed this early in the morning Galinda was over to her and yanking her off the floor.

“Sit! Let me create!” Galinda sang out and quickly got to work.

Elphaba was the perfect client. She didn’t twitch, complain, or grimace. She followed every direction Galinda gave carefully. Turn this way. Tilt that way.

As usual her eyes slipped shut when it came to her hair. This was Galinda’s favorite part so she took extra time and care to make Elphaba’s hair shine.

Glinda tapped her chin. Something was missing. Glancing around the room she scanned for inspiration. Her eyes landed on her desk and it hit her immediately.

“Every girl needs an accessory.” Glinda stated as she plucked the pink poppy out of the vase. Carefully she wove it into her hair while Elphaba silently watched.

“Perfect!” She announced and leaned down staring into the mirror with Elphaba.

Elphaba didn’t even recognize herself. Makeup, something other than a braid, pink, she had successfully been Galindafied. She stared at herself. For the first time in a long long time she felt pretty. She raised a hand to her cheek, momentarily forgetting about her friend.

“What do you think?!”

Snapped out of her trance she glanced at Galinda.

“It’s nice.”

“Nice? Elphie I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, you’re beautiful!”

After the first time it became easier for Galinda to call her that. She hid her attraction behind friendship which allowed her more freedom to subtly flirt with her roommate.

With Galinda’s freedom came Elphaba’s shackles. She couldn’t handle the compliments. They felt foreign and wrong still, but she was truly trying to accept and believe Galinda when she stated such things.

“I still think it’s foolish.”

“If that was the case you wouldn’t have entertained me.”

She had a point. Glancing back at her reflection she bit her lip and rose.

“Hurry and get ready for class, before I change my mind.”

With a squeal Galinda readied herself in record time. Linking her arm through Elphaba's, she all but dragged her out the door. It was going to be a great day!

Seminar went as expected. Elphaba received praise while Galinda struggled to even get a smile from Madame Morrible. She was aware that her power was nothing compared to her roommates but she was determined to prove everyone wrong.

While today wasn’t that day she would continue to work hard. She didn’t need the praise, at least not from Madame Morrible.

“Would you like to get lunch together?” Galinda asked as they departed. Elphaba faltered in her step. Never had she been asked to sit with someone for a meal before. She felt her heart flutter.

“Elphie?” Glinda began to question, but as they turned the corner ShenShen and Pfannee were waiting.

“Galinda, join us for lunch!” ShenShen sang out linking her arm through the blondes.

“Oh Elphaba got a makeover.” Pfannee teased. A small smirk appeared on his lips. “Trying to fit in huh?”

If there was any softness on Elphaba’s face it had quickly vanished, replaced with her hard exterior.

“Oh I was going to go…” Galinda trailed looking at the girl beside her.

“Oh please, don’t skip a meal with your friends on my behalf.” Elphaba said sharply.

“Elphie-“

“Elphie? What sort of name is that?” ShenShen asked, turning up her nose.

“It’s a fine name.” Galinda retorted.

“We’ll whoever gave it to her must not like her very much.” Pfannee stated. “And after all the work you put in to make her somewhat presentable.”

“Excuse me.” Elphaba stated before turning on her heel and with long strides she was gone.

“Why would you say that?” Galinda asked incredulously, turning to face her two acquaintances.

“What? It’s not a very pretty name.” Pfannee said.

If Galinda was stronger, braver, she would have told them off. She would have spilled her heart and chased after Elphaba; but the deep seeded need to be liked and to stay on top won in the end.

“We could be nice to her. She should join us for lunch.” Galinda offered up.

ShenShen and Phannee shared a look, a look that Galinda took note of as unusual. She couldn’t place her finger on it but something wasn’t quite right.

“If you really want her I’ll go fetch her.” ShenShen simply said. Galinda couldn’t believe her ears.

“Wait…really?”

“Of course. It’s lunchtime, she needs to eat too, right?”

Before she could question the sudden change of heart ShenShen was off and Pfannee was guiding her towards the dining hall. Galinda couldn’t have possibly known what was about to happen.

“She said that?” Elphaba questioned. ShenShen had hunted her down in the restroom and relayed Galinda’s request.

“While I don’t understand it she requested you at lunch.” ShenShen stated, hands on her hips. “So please let’s go, I’m hungry enough as is.” She held the door open and gestured for Elphaba to exit.

Elphaba was an intelligent woman. She prided herself on it. Everything told her she shouldn’t go. Every experience, every cruel word, every instinct screamed to decline but the thought that Galinda wanted her overshadowed her suspicions. So she confidently made her way to the dining hall. In all her wisdom Elphaba couldn’t have possibly known what was about to happen.

As soon as she pushed open the dining hall doors the bucket fell. Whether the act of pushing open the door or some unknown classmate caused it to happen did not matter. Elphaba Thropp was covered in a sticky syrup, quickly followed by a cloud of feathers. She had been effectively tarred and feathered.

The laughter erupted immediately and Elphaba forced her head up. In front of her at the center table was Galinda. Of course the ever popular Galinda was behind this. She had been foolish to think of her as a friend. It was all a con for this very moment. She lured her in with sweet words and makeovers. Betrayed her in a way that cut deeper than any word ever had. They locked eyes before Elphaba turned and fled.

“Elphie!” Galinda called out, but the girl was gone.

“Aww and she was all dolled up for once.” Phannee said as laughter began to die down. Galinda turned on her heel to face him.

Galinda didn’t show anger. She always told herself she was above that type of emotion. She always cleverly hid it and used her charms to manipulate situations as she needed and always stayed… well perfect.

Galinda was angry.

“Why would you do such a cruel thing?!” Galinda shouted. There was a calm that had settled from the student body.

“She doesn’t belong here Galinda! You know that better than anyone.”

Her head spun at the absurdity of it.

“We simply put her in her place. Maybe now she’ll go home.” ShenShen stated. The long forgotten comment came rushing to the forefront of her mind.

That’s right. This wasn’t actually surprising at all. Her acquaintances had all but stated their intentions early on. Galinda had been too foolish to notice or maybe even care. Her eyes scanned the room and they fell upon Nessarose. The girl simply looked embarrassed at the situation but made no attempt to chase after her sister.

“Imagine if it was you.” Her head snapped back towards the pair. “Imagine if you had no control over why people decided to hate you. Imagine waking up knowing people were going to harass and tease and outright bully you.” The room had fallen completely silent.

“She doesn’t deserve that and I hope you’re happy with yourselves.”

On that note Galinda, with her head held high, left the room and began the hunt for Elphaba.

——

Galinda carefully creaked open their shared room. She heard the soft sobs before she saw her. Elphaba hadn’t seemed to notice the intrusion as she plucked feathers from her now ruined hair.

“Elphie? Are you okay?”

Elphaba’s head snapped around to see Galinda standing in the bathroom door. To say she was seeing red was an understatement.

“You have some nerve to come here!” She yelled while she frantically wiped her face. As she once said, she’d be damned if Galinda Upland ever saw her cry.

“Elphie I didn’t know they’d do that.”

“Oh sure! When hasn’t the Queen ever known what her subjects would do!” Elphaba hissed. She clenched the sticky rag in her hand tightly trying to contain herself. Small cracks began to form in the bathroom mirror.

“You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with this! I would never!” Galinda cried out.

“Did you or did you not send your lackey to fetch me for lunch?” Elphaba said, taking a step towards her.

“No! I mean yes! I mean-“ Galinda stuttered before getting cut off.

“Did you not invite me to lunch moments before they appeared?” Another step forward, another crack in the mirror.

“Well yes but-“

“Have you EVER invited me to lunch prior?”

“Well no but-“

“Why would you do this to me?!” The mirror shattered, sending shards flying.

Elphaba was right upon Galinda. The venom was gone, replaced by just overwhelming sadness and embarrassment. Her skin was blotchy from crying and scrubbing.

Galinda couldn’t help the tears that fell. Elphaba wasn't an enigma anymore. She was simply a woman looking for acceptance. Looking for someone to care about her. Looking for just one person to actually see her.

“Elphaba-“

“Just go.” She interrupted a final time, ripping the pink poppy from her hair and throwing it at her feet. Elphaba proceeded to turn her back on her and slammed the bathroom door shut.

Galinda slid to the ground, scooping up the poppy, and rested her back against the bathroom door and softly wept. How did she let this happen? Elphaba did not deserve any of this. She did not deserve the hate, the torment, the bullying.

A few moments passed before Galinda wiped her eyes and rose. She was going to make this right even if she became a social pariah. Pulling out her favorite tube of lipstick she painted her lips, fluffed her hair, and stared at herself hard in the mirror.

“I’ll fix this.” She told herself and in her first act of bravery she stormed from the room.

——

Elphaba cracked the door open, peeking out to the empty room. Sighing, she closed the door and started the shower. She slipped into the warm water and shut her eyes as water ran down her body.

I am such a fool. Elphaba thought as she ran shampoo through her hair. The sticky mess slid off her as she carefully washed. Part of her had wished that Galinda would still be on the other side of that door waiting for her.

Don't wish, don't start. Wishing only wounds the heart.

She felt a painful lurch within her chest. She never admitted it, not out loud and certainly not to Galinda but she loved their evenings together. It was comfortable and intimate in the best possible way. She felt normal with Galinda. She wasn’t the green girl. She wasn’t the freak of Shiz. She wasn’t ugly. She was simply herself and there was something beautiful about that.

And that’s what made it so painful.

A sob escaped. She wanted so desperately to trust her. She wanted to believe she had nothing to do with ShenShen and Pfannee’s vicious attack on her. She wanted to believe they were truly friends. She desperately wanted to believe that Galinda valued her.

Maybe even more than just value her.

What made it so much more painful was the feelings that bubbled beneath her chest every time she spent time with the blonde. When long fingers ran through her hair and when she leaned in close to apply lipstick. When they just spoke to one another and even when they simply did work in silence.

Every so often we long to steal to the land of what-might-have-been. But that doesn't soften the ache we feel when reality sets back in.

Stepping from the shower she stared at herself in the mirror. Her skin was rubbed raw and her eyes were red. Her face screamed exhaustion but she could not let those people win. She wouldn’t let them win. She would dress and braid and walk with her head held high straight into Dr. Dillamond’s class and act as if nothing had even happened.

And that’s exactly what she did.

——

She was used to the stares and whispers and snickers. Proudly she walked campus, ignoring them all, books in her arms, as she crossed the courtyard for class. Her attention was slowly drawn to a growing crowd heading towards the east entrance. A flash of gold caught her eye and she slowed her gait when she saw Galinda amongst the crowd.

“I won’t stand for it anymore.” Galinda announced loudly to her peers.

“You can’t be serious Galinda! Why are you doing this?” Pfannee asked. Turning she doubled down on her stance.

“It was cruel! How do you not understand that?”

“Animals like her don’t feel cruelty!” A voice shouted from the crowd. Galinda’s head snapped around towards the unknown voice.

“Let me make myself perfectly clear. If anyone dares to lift a finger towards her you’ll have to deal with me!”

“You are going to ruin your social standing!” ShenShen hissed. She was mortified that Galinda was risking it all for the green girl.

“I’d rather lose all status than to treat someone as kind as her that terribly.”

There was hushed muttering as her peers tried to wrap their minds around Galinda’s sudden uprising in support of Elphaba. As Galinda scanned the crowd her eyes froze on Elphaba across the courtyard. For a moment she couldn't hear anything around her. It was just them.

Elphaba stared, trying to comprehend what she was doing, why she was doing it, and that unusually serious look in her eye.

“You truly are as good as everyone says.” A small voice said. Galinda was drawn to it and her eyes landed on Nessarose. She had her own opinions about Nessa at this exact moment but she kept her lips sealed shut.

Nessa’s comment sparked conversation and somehow her social suicide had turned her into a martyr. People were so fickle, switching from hate to compassion in mere moments.

“Galinda the good!”

“She truly cares about everyone!”

“If only we could all be like her.”

Galinda turned back towards Elphaba and once again their eyes locked. Elphaba couldn’t handle it, the thumping in her chest. Gripping her books tighter she quickly turned and fled. She needed to be where everything made sense, and in her case that meant a classroom.

As usual Elphaba was the first one to arrive. She liked to arrive early and prepare herself. Taking her typical front row seat she sat slumped in the pew.

Even when she does something that should ostracize herself she’s still beloved.

Elphaba couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Galinda was so loved and admired while she was so hated all because of one flaw. One thing she couldn’t change. She gritted her teeth and knew she needed to prove herself. She had to make good, show her power, and impress the Wizard himself. Only then would he be able to de-greenify her and make her worthy. Worry of her family, worthy of her peers, worthy of Galinda.

“Elphie?”

Elphaba straightened up at the sound of her perky nickname. Taking a breath she turned to face Galinda who stood framed in the classroom door.

“Galinda.”

The two simply stared at one another, trying to gauge what could possibly be going through the other's head. Galinda was the first to move and she swiftly made her way to the front row.

She took note of Elphaba’s face. It was scrubbed to the point of redness. Her hair was back in its typical tight braid. If she hadn’t witnessed it she would have never thought anything out of the ordinary had happened other than maybe a sunburn.

”Elphie, I am so sorry. I promise I had nothing to do with it.” Galindo pleaded. She needed her to know she would never do something like that. Especially to her.

Elphaba simply stared, scanning her face for any hint of insincerity.

She did just publicly defend you. She thought.

It was certainly a first for her, to have someone care enough to stand up for her. She went to open her mouth, not sure what was even going to come out, but quickly shut it as students began to filter in. Glancing away from Galinda she simply flipped open her text book.

”We can talk later.” She mumbled.

Galinda’s heart had been racing, waiting for any word to exit her mouth and silently cursed the class that began to filter in. She simply nodded and began to rise, to take her typical seat in the back but paused.

No, not anymore.

Galinda lowered herself back down beside Elphaba and took out her own book. She was no longer going to let others dictate who she was friends with.

Class went as typically as it could. Elphaba answering question after question and jotting notes down at a ridiculous speed. Galinda struggled to keep her eyes forward but she couldn't help cutting her eyes often towards her. How she was able to continue on as if nothing happened was beyond her. She was truly the strongest person Galinda knew.

Class ended and when Galinda reached out to get Elphaba’s attention she shrugged away. Galinda’s heart could have shattered in that moment if it wasn’t for Elphaba’s soft words.

”Not here.”

Galinda nodded and the two walked silently across campus back to their room. Galinda had begun to conjure up ideas of what Elphaba would possibly say once behind closed doors. Would she believe her? Would she request a room change? Would they go back to ignoring one another? That one hurt the most. She couldn’t imagine a life where Elphaba wouldn’t give her the time of day.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them Galinda’s exploded.

”Please Elphie, I need you to believe me! I had nothing to do with it!” She cried out. Rushing up to Elphaba she snatched her hands and held them tight. She scanned her face, worry etched on her own, as she tried to will the truth into Elphaba.

A slight blush overtook Elphaba’s cheeks at the sudden contact. She stared, really stared at Galinda and bit her lip. Her eyes darted down to their connected hands and back before she finally spoke.

”I believe you.”

The breath Galinda was holding came out. Thank Oz she believed her. Her grip loosened a bit on her hands.

“You almost ruined your own status to defend me, and while I can’t imagine why you’d do such a foolish thing I do believe you.” Elphaba added.

Galinda froze. Her eyes narrowed as she searched Elphaba’s face. She couldn’t possibly still be wondering why she did what she did.

”Elphie you are the smartest person at Shiz and yet you can be so incredibly dense.”

Before Elphaba could question her, Galinda tugged on her hands, pulling her forward, and kissed her. Elphaba’s lips were cool against her own and oh so soft. Galinda could have melted on the spot, but when she finally realized what she was doing she pulled back in horror.

”I…I am so sorry! I don’t know why I did that! I mean I do….I mean…wait I-“ Galinda stumbled over her words. How could she be so bold?! She had of course had many day dreams over what kissing Elphie, her Elphie, would be like. Romantic, secretive, seductive, playful. Never had she imagined after trauma.

Elphaba’s hand raised to her lips. Bright red wasn’t the right color to describe her face now. It was more of a deep purple, the blush mixing with the raw green skin. Galinda Upland had kissed her. Her. Her mind was racing as she tried to comprehend the hows and whys.

”Elphie, you’re crying.”

Elphaba hadn’t even noticed that tears were running down her face. She was in shock. It wasn’t until Galinda’s hand landed on her cheek and she began to wipe them away did a sob escape her lips. What had this girl done to her?

Galinda was quick to pull her into a tight embrace as they lowered to the floor. Elphaba wept as long slender fingers ran through her hair. Leaning into the blonde she gripped her shoulders tightly and buried her face into her neck. Galinda held her and didn’t dare break contact. Whatever Elphaba was feeling was beyond a kiss and she needed to process it. It wasn’t until a few moments later that Elphaba leaned back and quickly wiped her face and glanced down at her lap.

”Sorry.” She mumbled, feeling awkward at her emotional display. She had become a master of bottling her emotions, burying them deep deep down so she could outright ignore them.

“Don’t apologize.” Galinda said as she placed a hand on her chin and tilted it up. She offered a soft smile and scanned Elphaba’s face.

“I just…I’ve never imagined…the odds of actually…” Elphaba stumbled over her words and Galinda found it quite amusing that for once she was at a loss for words. Leaning forward she placed her forehead against Elphaba’s, noses just barely brushing one another in the process.

”I didn’t mean to overstep. I apologize for making you uncomfortable.” Galinda said.

”No! You didn’t I just…” She bit her lip trying to find the right words. “I am green.”

”Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Galinda replied with a grin.

”No one wants to kiss the green girl.”

”I do.”

As soon as the words left her mouth she closed the distance and captured Elphaba���s lips yet again. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what Elphaba was trying to say. What she was trying to convey to her. That never in her wildest dreams did she imagine a world where she would be wanted and desired. As Galinda kissed her she made a vow. A vow to show Elphaba every day just how wanted, needed, and desired she truly was. A vow she never intended to break for as long as she lived.

And she did just that.

[westanthewaterman]

Feel You - Dark x GN!DA!Reader

Rating: NSFW

Word Count: 1700+

Summary: Reunited after a century apart, Dark and the District Attorney spend some quality time together. Or more simply put, love sick Dark -> feral Dark.

Contents: handjobs, penetrative sex, no pronouns or body parts used for reader, standard Dark pet names (dear heart, pet, etc.), mild voice kink, blink and you miss it references to Dark's mind powers

AN: Idk where this came from, but it was fun to write. I'll post to AO3 and add all my usual links later, I should've been in bed an hour ago. If you're still here despite my hiatus, I appreciate you.

This fic is a sequel to 'Tomorrow, Tonight' but can be read as a standalone.

Fic Masterlist - Find it on AO3

         Dark hikes your leg up onto his hip. He relishes in the softness of your skin beneath his fingers, a concrete reminder that you’re here, that you’re together again after everything.

         The new position allows him more space to roll his hips, grinding down against the heat between your legs. You shudder beneath him. He repeats the motion once, twice, and you throw your head back against the pillows.  His hungry, grey eyes follow the column of your throat upwards until they land on your mouth. Your lips part around a whimper and he can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss against them.

“I’ll never tire of hearing you sing for me, dear heart.”

“Damien,” You whine before hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“I think it’s a little late to hide from me now.” He chuckles. “What’s gotten you so shy, darling?”

“You never talked this much before.”

         Dark tenses, a familiar, far-away look in his eyes, one he always gets when the two of you discuss the past. You cup the side of his face, gently guiding his gaze back to yours. He blinks. A melancholy smile settles on his face. You pull his head down so that you can press your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. There are bad memories, yes, but also good ones. In fact, I can recall quite a few memories of us just as we are now, bare in each other’s arms, locked in the throes of passion.”

There’s a wry smile on his face, one that reminds you of evenings spent tucked away between bookshelves, sneaking out of dormitories at the crack of dawn, a rendezvous in the storage closet of a crowded chapel. Your heart aches for all the two of you have lost and can never get back. But despite everything you had been through, the two of you were together again.

Dark presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I can feel how your mind races. I think about it too, even now. Almost a century without you and I never stopped feeling your absence. I ached to hold you in my arms, to have you beneath me, to feel you tight as a vice as you come apart around me.”

A thought creeps into your mind and turns your stomach to lead. He had been by himself for so long, sure you were gone forever. You couldn’t blame him or be angry, but still the thought makes you sick.

“Was,” you pause a moment, steeling yourself for his answer. “Was there ever anyone else? In your heart, or your bed?”

He looks at you as if your words have burned him. When he speaks, his voice is firm, unwavering.

“No. My dear heart, there could never be another. I vowed to love you in sickness and in health, in love and in death. There could only ever be you.”

“Oh.” You blush.

The intensity of his answer makes you feel foolish for even suggesting such a thing. You drop your gaze, absently picking at the sheets beneath you. It’s Dark’s turn to take your face in his hand and bring your gaze back to him.

“I loved you deeply, but I know my actions did not always convey that. At times, I allowed my responsibilities and ambitions to blind me to how I was neglecting you. You deserved a better man than I knew how to be back then, and I have spent a century regretting it. But now, despite terrible circumstances and the battles still to be fought, we have a second chance, and I intend to use it to do right by you.”

“Damien, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“There is no need to say anything, dear heart. I know you feel as strongly as I do; I feel it through our bond, and soon I’ll feel it here as well.”

Dark presses a finger against your entrance, pressing it into you slowly. You cry out, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him flush against you

“You said earlier that I never used to talk very much when we were intimate, and you were right.” His voice drips with venom as he continues. “The prim and proper mayor, so worried about civility and manners. Too obsessed with his image and what was ‘acceptable’ to truly speak his mind.”

You want to argue, to defend Dark’s former self against his own harsh criticism, instead a moan rips its way out of your throat when two more fingers fill you. Dark’s grin is wicked. He ducks down to press his lips to your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a quick tug. You clench around his fingers, earning an amused chuckle.

“I have no such worries. My only concern is pleasing you and, by the way your body responds for me, I can tell I’m doing just that. This little hole of yours is so hot and tight around my fingers, and it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

A shudder wracks your body and you moan, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Oh,” Dark purrs. “Now what got that reaction? You like when I talk to you like this, don’t you, pet?”

“Y-Yes.”

“But what is it that has you so responsive? Is it my voice in your ear? The things that I’m saying to you? Or maybe none of that matters. Perhaps I could say anything, and you would respond just as wantonly, so long as I have you filled with my fingers or my cock.”

“All of it, it’s all of it. Damien, fuck.”

“Dear heart, such foul language. Have I already wrecked you so thoroughly?”

You scowl at him but you both know there’s no mirth behind it. “Fuck you.”

         There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as Dark grabs a handful of your hair, pulling just enough to force your head back and bare your throat to him. Sharp canines scratch playfully against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You should be careful what you ask for, my love. I am a changed man with a century of pent-up sexual frustration. I could take you over and over and over again, never tiring until I have given you every drop of my spend and the only word you know is my name.”

Dark sets a languid pace thrusting his fingers in and out of you.

“You want it now, just as much as you did back then, isn’t that right? You wanted the serious, respectable mayor to break. You craved to be taken passionately, for him to make love to you like a man starved.”

“Yes, yes.” You nod frantically, bucking your hips against his hand.

“I have hungered for you for so long, dear heart; I feel almost ravenous with it.”

Dark removes his fingers from you and fists his leaking cock, stroking himself slowly. You find yourself mesmerized by the motion and the way his stomach muscles tense and flex with every stroke of his hand. Your eyes follow a drop of his arousal as it drips down the underside of his cock. You lick your lips. Knocking his hand out of the way, you take him in your own, his length hot and heavy in your palm.

         He groans appreciatively as you stroke him from base to tip, occasionally rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock. You guide his hand to rest over your heart.

 “You’ve spent all this time talking about what I want and how you can please me. What do you want?”

“I want to make up for lost time. I want to give you everything I could not before.”

“But that’s still about me. Damien, what do you want?

He falters. “I…I just want you. I want to feel you. I want to know that you are real, and not just some illusion he made to torment me.”

“I want to feel you too.” You guide the head of his cock to your entrance. “I’m here, my love. I’m real. This is real.”

Dark presses into you in one long, slow thrust that has him buried to the hilt. Both of you moan at the sensation. You wrap your legs around his waist and urge him forward, forcing his cock deeper inside.

“Fuck, my love, I never thought I would feel you like this again.”

You smirk. “Such foul language, Damien. Now who’s wrecked who?”

Instead of a response, Dark grabs your face and presses your lips together in a passionate kiss. So much is shared between you in this single moment of contact, decades of sorrow and grief, an emptiness immeasurable by time. But there is also hope and joy, lust and elation. Most importantly, there is love; a love that has weathered the test of time and survived even the most unthinkable circumstances.

The two of you pull apart, both crying and holding each other like your lives depend on it.

“I love you, dear heart. Thank you for coming back to me.”

“I love you too, Damien. Thank you for finding me.”

Dark speeds up the pace of his thrusts, breathing heavily in your ear.

“I am afraid it has been too long, my love. I have spent a century waiting to feel you like this again and now I find myself unable to hold back my release.”

“I’m close too. You feel so good.”

“I want you to cum with me now. Let me feel you.”

         He grabs your thighs and presses them back so that he can rut into you, ruthlessly. You cry out at the way the new angle causes the head of his cock to brush against a sweet spot deep inside that has you seeing stars. Your orgasm washes over you and you finish with a cry of his name. The tight heat of you bares down around him and the dam holding back Dark’s climax breaks. Waves of pleasure crash over him as he stills inside you, filling you with his release.

         The two of you lay together in silence, collecting your bearings. You think you might fall asleep until Dark gives a shallow thrust, his cock still hard inside you.

“How-”

He gives you a wicked grin and presses his lips to your ear.

“I told you I was a changed man, dear heart, and we have quite a lot of lost time to make up for.”

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 24

Ch. 24 | Ao3

Thanks as always to @witch-and-her-witcher and @popjunkie42 for being the best beta readers and loves of my life!

[TW for violence, blood]

All morning, Feyre had known the day of her task was upon them. 

She wasn’t sure how, something in the air or her bones, maybe. Some sort of knowing that this might be her last day alive. Of course, every day here had brought some semblance of that since she’d arrived, but today, it felt palpable– something she could nearly reach out and touch. Her mortality was oozing through her veins, pushing slowly against the magic within her as though every piece of her was restless and fighting amongst themselves.

Rhys seemed to know it, too. He’d awoken with his hands in her hair, then dipped wordlessly beneath the covers to languidly taste her again. He took his time with her, as though he was savoring every single minute. Feyre was all sighs and gentle scraping of her nails down his scalp and spine, and Rhys dragged her pleasure out as long as possible, as though it might be the last time he would. 

It could be. 

She wound her fingers through his hair, both to ride out the sensations and also to touch him, to run her hands along his neck, his ears, memorizing every detail of what he felt like. If she were to die, she would remember these things as she went. The feel of him this close, the gentle, tender touches that he placed reverently on her skin, even as he pushed their passion to the forefront. 

Without words, she returned his actions, intentionally and slowly, hanging onto every moment. She relished the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips and lips. She memorized the feel of his body beneath hers, the quiet sounds he made as he let himself go to the ways she made him feel. She would hold on to these memories and all their others until she was ash in the wind. 

After, they lay together, their bodies sated but their hearts still wanting and waiting and pulsing in time with each other. She could feel his heart beating with hers, not from where she lay her head on his chest, but within her own. Every beat echoed against his, sounding back and forth like the passing of life between them. They thrummed like a rhythm, beat like a song. Maybe even when she was gone, his heart might still beat for them both. 

It’s tonight. 

He knew. He put his fingers beneath her chin and gently pressed her face upwards to kiss him deep and slow. He kissed her like they had all the time in the world, like it wasn’t ticking down around them. 

They’d said the words time and time again. Promises had been made, hearts sworn, and there was nothing left to do now but hold each other close, hoping that with enough pressure they might permanently fuse, their bodies refusing to let go with the same adamance as their hearts. He had asked once since their first day under the mountain about the bargain, but all Feyre could do was shake her head, her eyes burning with tears. She hadn’t figured out what had gone wrong, and she had accepted she probably never would. The magic was still binding her from speaking, so instead she spoke the words I love you over and over so that, even after she was gone, he’d never forget the sound. 

They had made their vows, even without a priestess, without a ceremony, but those promises meant everything. 

Unbreakable vows, both spoken and soundless.

The words echoed in Feyre’s mind. The answer to the riddle hadn’t been love, and neither had her bargain, in the end. But the words still rang true for Feyre. Perhaps marriage or promises or friendships or family might work, but Feyre wasn’t willing to hang the freedom of everyone under the mountain on her guessing at a riddle. Like Calla, it would be her last ditch effort if all else failed. She hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.

Their time was destined to come to an end, and Rhys was summoned out by the guards to attend early with the other High Lords. They were to be the only attendees at dinner tonight, some sort of sick celebration before the final task that Amarantha wasn’t even trying to hide. Feyre was sure that was intentional, a bit of gloating, a bit of torture for Feyre as she waited, knowing what was to come. 

Rhys had kissed her again, pouring every bit of emotion into it, his hands on her face like he never wanted to let go. She’d pushed every thought and feeling down that bridge between them, solid and unfailing as ever, and she felt it when he sighed into her mouth. 

“I love you. I just want to say it out loud one more time.” Feyre wanted to look into his eyes and hear the words around them. 

“No goodbyes.” He kissed her again, the galaxies of his pretty eyes lined with silver. “No goodbyes, Feyre. You can do this, and I will see you after.” She nodded, the tears gathering, their fingers touching until the last possible moment when they had to drop hands. Once he’d gone, she whispered her goodbyes into the empty air instead. 

He’d made sure to leave her dinner, but her stomach roiled at the thought of food. She paced, she stretched, she meditated– anything to prepare her mind and body for the onslaught to come. Would it be physical? Another monster to chase her into the jaws of death? Or would it be logical? A puzzle she could struggle with, this time with no one left to help. 

She breathed deeply, remembering Rhys’s mindset on it all. What was coming was coming regardless of how she worried or paced. She bathed and picked at the food and tea, stuffing down a few bites. She wouldn’t be dressed in court attire tonight, and Rhys had left out a simple but soft tunic and pants for her, a leather tie to pull back her hair the way she liked. Her heart already ached with the absence of him, but she let it fuel her. Amarantha had done unspeakable things to him, the love of her life, and she planned to continue doing so long after Feyre was dead and buried in the ground. It gave Feyre incentive to fight, to watch Amarantha die in the cruelest ways imaginable. She wanted Amarantha’s blood warm and blooming across her skin as she pulled out her still-beating, black heart. She wanted to watch as the light left her horrid eyes. Feyre wanted to dance in a pool of her blood. Feyre would fight until her very last breath if it meant Rhys would never be touched by that horror again. The thought of it alone made her want to rip the wagging tongue from Amarantha’s throat herself.

When the knock came at last, she took a deep breath before answering, steeling herself. She would not make herself look afraid today. Today, she would be brave, and she would fight. 

The guards led her down the familiar path to court, one she could walk in her dreams now. At least, her nightmares. The magic of the room rippled over her as she entered, the coppery smell of it already in her nose. What magic was being used here so strongly she could already sense it? 

She reached out to Rhys, but felt him distant, closed off to her and barely recognizable. The panic leapt into her throat.

Of course. Amarantha had already cloaked her in the spell. The feeling of magic as she’d entered had been the barrier. Feyre’s heart sank. It wasn’t the help she worried about as much as his silence. It was the inability to say goodbye if things went wrong. She still had so much to say to him. 

She should have insisted she say the words. Should have left him a note in case it all went wrong. Should have, should have…

She lifted her chin. She would say them when she won. 

The crowds parted as she entered, flanked on each side by a guard as she made her way through the crowded room to the dais. It was silent as a tomb, none of the revelry she was so used to here in this macabre, beautiful prison. The fae did not speak, and money did not exchange hands. But as she passed, some kissed their fingers and held their hands out to her. A farewell to the dead, a good wish for the martyr. Their fates rested on her shoulders, too– their last chance at freedom. There was hope in their eyes; there was reverence. She wasn’t sure, after what she’d done, that she deserved it. But she intended to do her best to fight for them anyway, for all of them. She kept her shoulders squared and her head high as she neared the throne, Amarantha poised above them all with nothing but malice and intrigue in her eyes. 

Feyre wanted to kill her. 

Her hands twitched at her sides as she stopped in front of the dais. Tamlin sat by Amarantha’s side once again, back to looking like she was nothing at all to him. It didn’t hurt her anymore, but it did confuse her. He’d openly sat forward at the task with Calla; he’d shown interest. Everyone with eyes could have seen him. What could possibly have changed? She looked away from his expression to find Lucien or Rhys in the crowd, but the angle of those surrounding her made it impossible to see. 

“Hello, Feyre.” Feyre hated her name on Amarantha’s tongue– hated that Calla had given it to her so freely. The humans had warnings about the fae learning your name, and hearing hers tumble from Amarantha’s blood stained lips, she could understand why. Feyre fought the urge to curl her lip, keeping her face neutral but making a point to meet Amarantha’s eyes. “It’s time for your last task. I do hope you’re as excited as I am.”

Feyre didn’t speak, just kept her eyes trained on Amarantha. She rose to the challenge, the disrespect in the gaze raising her hackles, though she fought to remain calm. “I don’t suppose you’ve figured out sweet Calla’s riddle, have you?” She pretended to pout, then smiled. “Unfortunate. It was such a lovely answer.” 

She thought about Rhys, then, about all the lives that hung in the balance. She was ready, as ready as she could be.

“Any last words, my dear?” 

Feyre had plenty, but she chose them carefully. 

“I am not here out of obligation. I am here for love. You speak of our sordid, fickle human hearts, but you don’t know anything about the depths of my love. I may die here today, but if I die, I went knowing I did it all for those I care about. I don’t know that you’ve ever been able to say the same for yourself.” Feyre was taking a risk, a calculated taunt, but she needed the words to be in the ears of the people. She needed the final entreaty to ensure they were more likely to take her side if push came to shove. She felt her own anger, the residual exhaustion and hate and grief, all bubbling within her. Damn the consequences now. 

Amarantha snarled at her words, drawing back in the seat but leaving her scarlet claws digging into the armrests. “We’ll see.” The words were spit with narrowed eyes, but the smile that curved across her face was grotesque in its grandeur. Feyre worried that smile meant Amarantha had one last trick up her sleeve, and she braced herself for it. 

She still hadn’t seen Lucien or Rhys, but she could feel their presence there, she knew they were watching. Everyone’s eyes were on her as the great doors to the room opened again and the guards dragged in three figures, bound at the ankles and faces covered in burlap. From their statures, it seemed to be two females and a male, though the clothes were so baggy and ragged that it was hard to tell. They moved their heads around as though trying to place where they were without sight, their moves jerky and frantic beneath their hoods. One stumbled, and the guard ripped them back up roughly as they yelped behind what sounded like a gag. Feyre’s chest ached. Would this be another fight to the death? She wasn’t sure she had it in her to kill anyone else, despite what was on the line, unless it was Amarantha herself.

The guards dropped the figures at the foot of the dais, the prisoners' knees hitting the marble painfully hard. Feyre could tell the one in the middle was sobbing, their shoulders shaking violently as they kneeled, covered head bowed as though in defeat. 

What was this?

In another moment, a lacquered, shining wooden box was thrust into Feyre’s hands by a guard standing by. 

“Oh, do open it, dear. I love gifts,” Amarantha cooed from her throne. Nausea was rising in Feyre’s throat, the confusion over what was happening forming a dense stone in her stomach. Where was Rhys? She pushed out with her mind again, finding his presence there but still distant and unreachable. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the latch, the box light in her hands and yet feeling like the weight of the world. As she opened it, she understood why. 

In the box sat two sharp daggers, one glinting in the golden lights of the room, and the other shining dully with an expert wood polish. 

One iron, one ash. 

One for humans, one for fae. Her eyes shot back to the figures on the floor, her breathing accelerating in her chest. 

Amarantha drawled as though she were reading a to do list, and not doling out a final judgment. “Stab each of these unfortunate souls in the heart. They’ve done nothing wrong, of course. But that’s a judgment for you to mete out.” Her smile was filled with violent joy as she spoke the words. “Will your tender human heart kill three for the lives of many? You certainly didn’t seem to have a problem killing your own friend. So weigh them, Feyre– their lives, your options.” She sat forward in her throne, eyes glittering. “You can, of course, always spare them. It’ll cost you your life, unfortunately, but a bargain’s a bargain.” She whispered the last bit with such vitriol that Feyre felt it cut as acutely as if she’d used knives. Her heart was pounding from her chest, her temples beading sweat as she realized what Amarantha intended. 

Two humans and a fae, dead at her own hands for everyone’s freedom. For her freedom. The math was obvious, the answer obvious, but there would be no winning here. 

Three innocents for a future. Not just for her, but for Rhys and Lucien and Tamlin and Helion and Lucien’s mother and everyone here.

A future.  

But Calla’s face swam in her mind, the betrayal in her hollow eyes as Feyre’s knife bobbed in her throat. Could Feyre do it again? Could she do it three more times? Could she hold all four souls on her conscience forever? 

Could she hold the souls of everyone else she’d be forsaking if she didn’t?

She supposed she would be dead, at least. But everyone else would still be suffering here. 

She wanted to cry. Was it worth it? The balance?

Would she ever forgive herself?

She stepped forward, grabbing the daggers in her hands and dropping the box. 

She would do this for them. For everyone. And she would suffer the consequences later, but there could be no later if she did not make this sacrifice. Her guilt would be her price to pay, her penance, but everyone would be free. 

Three lives and her soul in exchange for the lives of thousands. She raised the dagger. 

“Wait!” The trill of Amarantha’s voice darted out over the crowd. “Wait, wait, wait.” Everyone seemed to let loose a collective breath. “We must remove the hood first, of course. Guards?” Feyre thought, then, she might actually be sick. She would have to look these people in the eyes as she killed them.

They had lives, families, too. They might have a loved one, a husband or wife, a mate, a father, a mother, sisters, brothers. She imagined the lives flashing before their eyes as the guard moved to lift the hood. Who was she to make this call? Who was she to decide their fate?

Do it, Feyre. Just do it. For Rhys. 

She nodded her resolve and blinked away the tears as best she could while the guard stepped forward, ripping the hood off in one motion and tearing a hole straight through Feyre in the process. 

There, on the floor in front of her, knelt Nesta, her steely eyes filled with horror and rage and fear. 

Feyre did vomit then, the reaction entirely out of her control and she turned and spit bile onto the floor. Her vision was swimming, the roaring in her ears almost canceling all other noise entirely. 

“No,” she whispered as she turned back, taking in Nesta’s messy blonde braid, her tear-streaked face. She had a gag in her mouth that she’d soaked through, and her teeth clamped over it like a frightened animal fighting for their life. “Nesta…” Feyre moaned quietly, the word rocking through her and tearing her to shreds. 

“Oh? Someone you know?” Amarantha’s voice was filled with pep and joy, and as Feyre turned with narrowed eyes, she did snarl. “Ooh, excellent. What a small world!” Her voice dripped in sarcasm, and Feyre ached to sink her own teeth into Amarantha’s neck. 

The panic was overwhelming her, cutting even through the rage to sit on her chest like a weight. She couldn’t kill her sister, no matter the odds. If she could only talk to Rhys, if she could–

But something about Nesta caught her eye. The likeness was remarkable, down to the stubborn hate in her expression that Nesta got when she dug her feet in about something. Feyre knew that look, had grown up with that look. She could see that look in her sleep, could replicate it on canvas if she tried. It was so entirely Nesta. 

And yet, this was not. 

The edges of her crinkled, the air around her glowing strangely in Feyre’s periphery. She searched frantically, her eyes scouring every part of Nesta as she pulled from within. 

And the glamour peeled back. 

Feyre could see the guard beneath the glamour, the ones with the red skin and sunken eyes that had watched the dungeons. The guards like the one that Rhys had misted in the very room for daring to call her a whore. They were Amarantha’s personal guard, and they had been glamoured to look like her sister. It seemed the magic block did not apply to Amarantha.

“Come now, Feyre. Make your choice,” Amarantha called over her head. 

But Feyre had no choice to make. 

Feyre shoved the knife into the guard’s chest, twisting it slightly at the last minute as she remembered their treatment of Calla. Taking innocent lives would destroy what was left of Feyre’s soul, but no part of these individuals remained innocent, and she had no qualms about sending a knife through their hearts and watching them bleed. When she turned, even Amarantha couldn’t hide the shock on her face as she took in Feyre’s arms soaked and dripping in blood. She prayed she had gotten it right.

Feyre knew that when Amarantha recovered, she would use this against her, another trick to prove humans were incapable of love. She would highlight for them how Feyre would so easily stab her own sister for her personal gain, and it would prove Amarantha’s point. But the crowd didn’t look horrified, they looked hopeful. 

Feyre was already moving on to the next figure. She knew who would be beneath the bag before it was ripped off of the golden curls. She forced herself to react, to gasp and squeeze out a few tears as she beheld the sobbing figure of Elain, and the guard beneath. Feyre turned and pretended to retch again, letting her back arch and the sobs bread through while the crowd watched on. If Amarantha could use this to her advantage, then Feyre could too. 

Look how the human would put the fae before her own family. Look what she is willing to sacrifice for the good of many. 

She could only hope they would forgive her once the truth came out. She looked back to the figment of Elain. They’d captured the big, brown doe eyes so perfectly, the freckles across her nose that her long eyelashes swept against when she blinked nearly identical. Feyre was sure that if she spoke, the voice would send shivers down her spine at the likeness. Feyre noted the same uncanny mannerisms as the Elain sobbed, the smell of honey and cinnamon even permeating the air. The quality of the glamour was unreal, and even though she knew it wasn’t really Elain, Feyre’s hands shook while she shoved the iron through her sister's chest, watching the blood burble down her sternum and stain the fabric of her dress as she fell. 

She felt no remorse about the guards, but felt ill as she took in what looked remarkably like the lifeless bodies of her sisters on the floor. 

Then the reality of it hit her. 

The likeness was remarkable because Amarantha knew what her sisters looked like. She conjured the likeness of them, because she could conjure the likeness of them. The understanding was a punch to her lungs. These were not her sisters, but Amarantha had eyes on them. She knew what they looked like. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. 

She was chanting the word like a mantra, a command. Her throat closed as she swallowed the tears and panic. She wanted Rhys— needed Rhys to tell her what this meant, what to do. 

“See how easily she kills the ones she loves? See the fickle, flippant human heart?” But Feyre was fighting the rising vomit again. Where were her sisters now? 

Think this through, Feyre. Take a breath. 

Calm. Calm. Calm. 

She tried to summon Rhys’s voice in her head, tried to imagine how he would reason with her if he was here. She sighed, focusing, as though his low baritone might swim around her consciousness at any moment. 

Rhys would tell her that if Amarantha had her sisters, they would be here. If she’d had full access, her sisters would be the ones dead on the floor, not just their image. Feyre fought for breath, the air gasping in and out of her as she placed her hands on her knees. Rhys would remind her that Amarantha was true evil, and that if she’d had the ability to get her sisters in her clutches, she would delight in nothing more than watching Feyre be forced to decide whether or not to kill them.

These were not her sisters, and they easily could be. For now, they were safe. 

Thanks, Rhys, she spoke in her head to no one. She felt him there even when he wasn’t, that presence of him living within her through all reason, through all obstacles and sense.

She stood and stepped to the last figure. Would this be her father? There had been a knife meant for a fae, but who else would they bother to glamour that she cared enough about? Lucien would die with her anyway, and Tamlin sat on the dais. 

The thought flitted across her mind like the dragging of a knife. 

Rhys.

She had felt him earlier. Far away and distant, but he hadn’t seemed distressed. The magic was blocked, but the smallest hints of it had crept through. 

It couldn’t be him. The guard ripped the hood off just in time, considering Feyre was about to do it herself. 

The blonde hair tumbled out of it as emerald eyes met hers through a gilded mask. His expression was wild as he fought against the gag in his mouth. Feyre had been expecting tendrils of inky black night, pleading yet forgiving violet eyes. She gasped when her mind caught up, the shock of it causing her to stumble back.

Feyre searched to tear the glamour away. And found nothing. 

There was no glamour. 

Before her, kneeling on the ground, was Tamlin. 

She whirled to look at Amarantha and the chair beside her. Where Tamlin had been, now sat the attor, grinning ear to ear, his rotted fangs on display while Amarantha smiled and tipped her head at Feyre.

She turned back. It was truly Tamlin in front of her. There were no glamours here, only Tamlin on his knees, his life about to end at the tip of her ash dagger. He breathed deeply in, then exhaled, his eyes begging her, pleading. Not for her to not do it, but for her to end it quickly. 

At all costs. 

His words from the night before rang through her mind, rattling and catching. It had been a goodbye. He had known yesterday. He’d known and been bound, Amarantha’s last special form of torture. Had she known they’d met and spoken? Had she set him up to make it hurt one final time?

He’d all but given her permission to kill him. Permission and forgiveness. 

The sob left her before she could strangle it back, her hand coming up to her mouth in shock. She felt something hot dripping onto her arm, and realized they were tears. She was crying. 

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “Gods, Tamlin. I’m sorry.” 

He closed his eyes, as though each word battered him. 

At all costs, he had said. But the price was too high. She nearly begged him to give her something else, anything else, but in his eyes all she found was desperation and forgiveness. 

Don’t forget what I said, Feyre, a long time ago in Spring about falling in love.

He had said that before when they spoke. He’d said it again, too, as he left. 

Feyre wracked her memory as she beheld him in front of her, ready to have the knife shoved into his chest. Expecting it. Accepting it. 

She remembered the porch nights, the setting sun and the sounds of Spring around them. Remembered their laughter and their jokes, their banter and their jibes. She remembered what it felt like as she eased into their companionship, that shock of understanding what it felt like to be a part of a family she’d helped build. To belong. 

“Tamlin, do you even want to fall in love?”

“Of course I do. Who doesn't want that? But not like this.” 

Lucien raised his bottle to him. “Love is pain, my dear friend.”

Tamlin forced a chuckle. “Yes, yes, Lucien. My heart of stone and I are well versed in your feelings on love.” 

She remembered. And it hadn’t been the only time. 

“Do you love her, Tam?” 

“No,” he said finally. “I could, one day, maybe. I care for her, even when she grates against my nerves. But no. Heart of stone, remember?” He thunked a broad hand over his chest, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before it disappeared. 

Feyre nearly gasped, pulling back at the last moment, but Tamlin had seen the change in her, his eyes glowing as he beseeched her to remember, to act. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. His heart was made of stone. It wasn’t a figure of speech, it wasn’t self deprecating. Amarantha had literally turned his heart to stone. 

Just like with the glamours of her sisters, she thought around it. Amarantha wanted Tamlin, more than anything. It was the entire reason they were all here. She wouldn’t risk him just to kill Feyre. Amarantha was ancient and clever, and she did not put all her hope on humans or their actions.

Which meant she knew that, even if Feyre did it, it would not kill him.

Do it, his expression said, the slightest nod back at her. Please. 

His eyes begged. 

And Feyre shoved the ash dagger straight into his chest.

Taglist: Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

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[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Fire

Kinktober day 19, Gale x Doe

He kissed her sweetly, softly, suffusing her chilled body with heat, igniting something in her belly. She burned gently, a smoulder of embers, enlivened by his touch.

'I don't want to be alone.'

'I know, my love.'

Gale stroked her sides delicately, cooing. Doe's answering sigh made him smile, teeth glinting white in the firelight. 'Beautiful girl,' he murmured against her neck. 'My lovely, sweet thing. My angel. You're alright. You're safe.'

'Don't go.'

'Never.' He stroked her hair, held her securely in his lap, his strong, warm hands splayed across her back. 'Doe, lovely creature, let me help you feel good. Please.' He kissed her throat, slow and sensual, tongue hot on her skin as he tasted it.

'Please,' she whispered. 'Please, please, please. I need you. I want you so badly...'

He kept his movements slow and soft, smoothing his hands to push her skirt around her hips, slipping past the little scrap of lace she wore to draw lazy circles on her clit, purring in satisfaction at her answering whimper. 'You beg so beautifully. More, love.'

'Ngh- fuck- Gale, please-'

He licked slowly up her neck, fingers dancing down her spine, the hand between her thighs continuing its meticulous work. Her gasps and sighs would not move him to pick up speed; his control was absolute. He was banking a fire, holding her hips still. Doe cursed, a pink flush in her cheeks, mouth rosy from his kisses; she surrendered each time, conceding more of her body to his touch.

'Good girl,' he crooned in her ear, drawing a shiver from her. 'So patient. I know that's hard for you, precious thing.'

She jerked in his grip, teetering. 'Can- can I-'

'Mmm.' With a deliberate pinch, he sent her body quaking, shuddering against him. He held her, let her grind down on his thigh and sob into his neck, soothingly solid and warm. 'You're perfect,' he said, removing his fingers and running his thumb slowly over her bottom lip. She made a small noise, a high pitched little mewl, and he claimed her mouth, finally devouring her with the passionate ardour of a raging fire.

'I'm yours,' he vowed against her lips. 'Forever.'

Tags:

@bluerosetarot @dansnotavampire @further-than-forever

@forget-me-maybe @poetryvampire @sasha199 @wandawillow

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

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[fushichoumomo-arch]

tagged by:  @biskael tagging:  @inmensapotentia, @opscurus, @hirak0s [shinji && ayame.]  EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

001. restless anger.

002. unfathomable guilt.

003. the drive to protect.

004. loyalty.

005. passionate.

VOICE / GREETINGS / SPEECH PATTERNS :

001. momo sounds quite young and soft-spoken; she feels like she needs to raise her voice to be taken seriously, which is especially annoying for her as a lieutenant.

002. seeing that she's mostly on her guard these days, she often doesn't speak first unless it feels safe to do so or the situation is dire.

003. she mostly talks like a normal person would — except when she's angry. that's when all those poetry lessons by aizen come in handy: her language becomes flowery and somewhat formal, yet she still manages to come across as the attack dog she is.

COLOURS:

001. any variation of pink . has always been her favourite colour, always will be. [even though her reiatsu is red, let that sink in.]

002. scarlet red . the colour that signifies the departure of the “momo hinamori” everyone knew, and her vow to bring purgatory to her enemies. the colour of her evolved form [bankai etc.]

003. dark purple . her hair.

004. black . her uniform.

005. gold . her hairpin and bracelets. associated with fudo myo'o, or acala, one of the wisdom kings in buddhist mythology.

SCENTS:

001. peaches , her namesake.

002. vanilla , a woman's signature scent.

003. bright citrus , in memento of the ‘self’ that was lost in the war.

004. burning wood , in the heat of battle and its aftermath. a side-effect of using tobiume.

005. wisteria , signifying the fact she had to grow up quickly.

CLOTHING:

001. momo modified her standard shinigami uniform to include frills [a skirt instead of the hakama pants she wore in the past, and detached sleeves.]. she's taking care of her appearance when she didn't before — because before, she didn't take herself seriously nor think of herself as someone important.

002. furthermore, her new outfit closely resembles a traditional tengu ensemble; rmoderately-heeled geta, pompoms, you name it. [fitting, because when in bankai, she might as well be a tengu — she has wings.] 

003. a set of plum flowers on the side of her head. 

OBJECTS:

001. TOBIUME, her most precious zanpakutō. they may not see eye to eye sometimes, but they got each other's back.

002. a pair of golden bracelets and a feather-shaped hairpin. fudo myo'o is often depicted with a lotus on his head, and since momo is a phoenix… it is feathers spread out akin to a peacock's.

003. an agate talisman that her beloved granny gifted her after the war; consecrated to fudo myo'o himself, it represents protection from evil.

VICES / BAD HABITS: 

001. deep-seated anger issues . you see, momo is both brave and overwhelmed in times of adversity; when confronted with something that she doesn't necessarily have an answer to? she lashes out. when her cherished comrades [understandably] don't understand her decisions? she lashes out. her enemies will get under her skin, no matter how much she tries to conceal it. 

002. prone to overthinking . it's no secret to everyone around her that momo still thinks about those that have died in the war against the quincy; she did nothing, and yet she was among the living when her squad fought till their last and were less capable than her. and no matter how much she's reassured that it wasn't her fault — she doesn't believe it.

003. fear of failure . above all else, momo fears a situation that will leave her just as powerless as the war had left her. worse, that this time, tōshirō or granny might be dead because of her. the latter, at least, will have respite — tōshirō will go to HELL.

004. she's fucked up . she talks about the most morbid of things with an airy voice and a languid smile, and will even go as far as to say that aizen's betrayal [and stabbing] have made her stronger — that he is far more interesting now than when he was her captain.

BODY LANGUAGE:

001. very straight and upright when leading her subordinates into battle. momo, despite her small stature and meek voice, is still a gotei 13 lieutenant. 

002. though she does not realise it, her hands have a slight tremor, and the way she carries herself appears… tense. like she's always on alert. 

003. she's not much of a gesture person. when her hand is not on tobiume, she keeps her hands folded. 

004. cold, lifeless eyes [like aizen] and a languid smile when she is in the zone [read: when she is in the heat of battle.]

AESTHETICS:

001. the phoenix . momo hinamori is a woman that has died a total of three (3) times — metaphorically, of course, but still. one, when aizen shattered her whole world by revealing to her who he really is. two, the deaths of her comrades. and finally… when she became a deceiver herself. each of these deaths gave rise to the person that she is today.

002. a crimson bird's mask . both figuratively and literally [her hollow mask; verse-dependent].

003. a rope of kidō . it is said that the gods feared fudo myo'o because he could bind their transgressions and hurl them at them.

004. higanbana . known as lycoris radiata, this flower blooms at eternal partings, and guides to HELL.

SONGS:

001. angreifer // unlucky morpheus .

002. heavy is the crown // linkin park.

003. city of delusion // muse .

004. the walls // THE SIXTH LIE .

005. genshindou // autodidactic studios.

006. honkai world diva // mika kobayashi

[rosekisspeach]

TAROT READING//Mingkey Sexual Attraction - Ming

Date: 5/Feb/2024 Marker: Transparent Umbrella - SHINee Deck of Cards: Trungles' Star Spinner Tarot (Inclusive, Diverse, LGBTQ Theme); The Romance Angels Oracles; Manara Erotic Oracles

Notes Upfront:

I don't ask my cards questions that I already have answers;

I don't prey on information I should not know;

I respect their personal lives and;

This is for FUN ONLY.

In the following sexual attraction readings, be aware everything is "delulu" and I am just saying what I am seeing. Don't read this if you only see them as platonic friends/co-workers. . . . . .

Action: Knight of Wands R, 6 of Coins R, Hermit, 4 of Swords, Moon, Queen of Wands, Wheel of Fate Consciousness: Romantic Feelings, Getting to know each other, Chemistry, Weeding, Let your friends to help R, Make Effort Subconsciousness: Creative Intimacy, Dreams of Repressed Lust, Lure of Easiest Way, Freedom to be Yourself R, Fire of Desire R

~ some notes: Again, happy lunar new year everyone, and hopefully you enjoyed a great valentine's day. I will summarize ming's in one part because his energy is, as always, straight forward. And after the lunar new year celebration (Feb 17), I will do Jinki's view too.

Group 1: Creative Intimacy

“His body was a canvas. It was painted with pleasures, decorated with guilt, and exalted by giggles. His body was a willing canvas, and your love the brush of a masterpiece.”

Doesn't the image says it all? Gifting bum is ming's unique, and creative (don't you wonder what's in his mind when he thinks about gifting bum?) approach to love kibum. We have reversed knight of wands, reversed 8 of coins, and hermit cards in ming's first group actions. These cards outline how much more ming wants to love bum emotionally, financially, and even physically. Minho is always generous, he saved 6w won in the little prince book to buy bum birthday gift when he was barely feeding himself in debut days, and it is no secret how hard to get luxuries like that croissant bag even as a celebrity...in fact, ming would bring a star back if bum dares him. Like a true knight that vows his loyalty. But he can't. He can't buy something that is eventful, a home, a car, or the wedding ring, when he could afford them easily. Ming is not allowed to love bum the way he deeply desired. Romantically. Sexually. Spiritually. The guilt of hurting bum in the past still haunts him, and ming suffers in loneliness like the hermit holding a light who only hopes one day, one day that he will find a way out of this sweet misery.

The money is saved to buy birthday gift for Key.

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Oracle reading of Creative Intimacy:

“Let love create beauty, rather than beauty create love. When the intimacy that came from sincere attraction blossoms, a soul may light up. Warmth and love become a breeze that can shake trees that stood still for an entire life. There will be only light, energies, and bodies. Let love be fun, if it cannot be passionate. Let love be witty, if it cannot be ardent. Let love be tender, if it cannot be overwhelming. Love has many ways. Some are good at the beginning, and more are good farther along the journey. ”

Group 2: Dreams of Repressed Lust

“Winged demons do not sleep, but ominously whisper words of temptation and seduction. They started as dreams and became nightmares. They were desires and turned into terrors I cannot shake away.”

Feelings don't build themselves in one day. How can one's arch enemy turn into their friend, someone trustworthy, loveable, and lust. Lust. Lust. Lust. Ming groans kibum's name when he touches himself, as pleasure building up, sensation burning any rationality left in the shell that is conquered by primitive instincts. It feels so wrong, and so good. The four of swords card and the oracle card in subconsciousness give the exact same energy. Fantasizing kibum in bed...fantasizing himself with kibum in bed is too easy. Ming can always feel kibum because they have known each other and breathed the same air for way too long. They slept together in so many occasions. Ming would know how bum bends his body, spreads his limbs, looks at him with those luring and glassy eyes. He would know what voices bum makes, faces he shows, and lips, lips, bloody lips in red and covered with saliva. Kibum tastes like chocolates that ming wishes for every Christmas. Fucking kibum must feel amazing.

Yet ming can only fantasizes. And they are dreams that's all.

꿈이 아니라고 해줘 너에게로 빠져버린 heart 영혼까지 잠기도록 데려가 줘 너의 waterfall

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Oracle reading of Dreams of Repressed Lust:

“I want to fuck. Is that so hard? To say it aloud, in front of other people? In front of parents, sisters and brothers, strangers and colleagues? It is. It is in-deed. Maybe not so hard to admit to oneself, among dreams and fantasies. But to say it aloud? Like our lust is a shameful secret that doesn't belong to us. Like it's wrong. Like it's despicable. And hear this … like it's strange. After a life lived day after day-denying that we are allowed to be healthy humans, exiling our lust into dark dreams or properly approved intimacies … what will remain of us? ”

!! Avoid the group 3's image if you do not believe in 2heart relationship!!

Group 3: Lure of easiest way

“I found a shortcut. If I buy, someone will sell, and if I sell, someone will buy. I am the trade, the negotiator, and the currency as well. Do you desire a bargain?”

Does ming have other options? Yes. He has options. Too many of them actually. People stay for a night, or two, sometimes even longer that ming thinks maybe this time will be different. Yet deeply ming is a helpless romantic and once he decided, the decision is final. He wants to marry kibum. But why does it sounds so impossible? Or the better question is, why the wedding card dropped in both their readings, yet they find it so hard to express their true feelings in front of the other? There is always an "easier" version of the mingkey story - they date whoever come by and support each other as colleagues, friends, even best man that stands beside the beautiful newlyweds in the wedding. Bum will bring handmade dumplings to ming, and ming will comfort whoever complains about bummie not answering their messages. I find it amusing that woo asks ming to tell bum replying his messages in the radio, when, bum doesn't respond to ming that much much either...things change. Ming now joins the competition and it is not going to be easy. He knows it too well. And He is determined to succeed.

Also, hey, it was never just fan service for ming.

결혼해줄래

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Oracle reading of Lure of the easiest way:

“Why should one beware of the easy way? It promises everything, and it promises it now, with no price whatsoever. Behind every easy road, however, there is a hidden price. The easy way is a seduction by itself. And it's hard to say no. Especially because it promises to be ... well, to be easy. It may be that the easy way-like any shortcut-carries some form of disharmony. It makes everything a trade, where one can use the other just by allowing the other to use them. Still, it is possible to surrender to seduction. A seduction of power, a seduction of youth, a seduction of empty promises. The challenge is that if someone gets used to the easy way, they will find it much harder to leave the easy way behind.”

Group 4: Freedom to be yourself

“I was made into a mannequin. Molded as a prisoner, I fit the standards of someone else's beauty. I feared death, but I refused it. My dignity was paper thin, and yet it was the canvas of my life.”

We have talked about this in ming's personal reading. He is trapped because it is the normality he held on for too long, and is reluctant to ask help from friends. He doesn't really have too many friends to ask questions on this, especially the only one around him (and practically an expert) is who he has a massive crush on. He can't really ask chanmin hyung or jinki either, and this is why minho deeply misses jjong, who always has an answer for him. But ming is exploring, slowly and surly because we know ming isn't someone just gives up. I am also glad that the Queen of wands shows up because this demonstrations ming's will power to "dig to the end of it."

bum's fav bookshop, huh.

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Oracle reading of Freedom to be yourself:

“What can a person live without and still be that person? What is stolen from us may one day be reclaimed. But what we surrender willingly is lost forever. There is only one freedom that we need to truly treasure: the freedom to be ourselves. If we surrender that, our soul will lose the essential spark that can redeem our life and give it meaning. We might dance to an artist's tune of our own free will, but if we are constrained and controlled by another, it is death to the spirit. We cannot be puppets and still be happy.”

Group 5: Fire of Desire R

“I wanted it all. And I wanted it now. I was so young at that time, and I failed to grasp that I was too small to use the word "all." I had first to look at the Universe to understand my real desires. ”

Ming wants it all. The love. The Sex. The hugs, the kisses, the touches, and the pleasure that makes his body shake in euphoria. The urge is fire that burns through his bones and skins and he wants bum to feel just as much. To fuck till their muscles give up and the bedsheet turns into a swap of bodily fluids. He wants bummie. All of it. He also wants bummie to call him his, wants to be perfect for whatever kibum needs him to, to lick over kibum's fingernail and scars and tears just because he could. Ming wants it all and he is going to put all the effort in so he can have it all. It is destined. The upright wheel of fate is a strong sign that no matter how difficult the journey is, ming will overcome and celebrate the beautiful result in the future. And kibum, just like him, surrenders before their sexual attraction.

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Oracle reading of The Fire of Desire:

“What you desire defines the road you are walking and where you are going-your ambitions, dreams, drives. These are part of you, and they can burn strongly, becoming a fire that can light the darkness of life. But no matter how strong that fire may be, it can only brighten a little space around you and make the darkness beyond it thicker and more frightening. You need a different kind of light to make the road safe. Without understanding, dreams and ambitions are like childish tantrums. With understanding, they become something that can be truly reached.”

Minho-ah, just go kiss him.

-over-

find me on Twitter @rosekisspeach

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New Releases

A fun fantasy, a swoony romance, and a touching contemporary headline this week's new releases. 

Click below to read about this week's releases.

Of Jade and Dragons (Fall of the Dragon #1) by Amber Chen Viking Books for Young Readers

Eighteen-year-old Aihui Ying dreams of becoming a brilliant engineer just like her beloved father – but her life is torn apart when she arrives a moment too late to stop his murder, and worse, lets the killer slip out of reach. Left with only a journal containing his greatest engineering secrets and a jade pendant snatched from the assassin, Ying vows to take revenge into her own hands.

Disguised as her brother, Ying heads to the capital city, and discovers that the answer to finding who killed her father lies behind the walls of the prestigious Engineers Guild – the home of a past her father never wanted to talk about. With the help of an unlikely ally – Aogiya Ye-yang, a taciturn (but very handsome) young prince – Ying must navigate a world fraught with rules, challenges and politics she can barely grasp, let alone understand.

But to survive, she must fight to stay one step ahead of everyone. And when faced with the choice between doing what’s right and what’s necessary, Ying will have to decide if her revenge is truly worthwhile, if it means going against everything her father stood for . . .

With Love, Miss Americanah by Jane Igharo Feiwel & Friends

17-year-old Enore Adesuwa doesn’t dive into things, she wades in very carefully. So when she and her mother and sister move from Nigeria to America shortly after her father’s death, she wants to be as prepared as possible for attending an American high school. Her cousin, Adrian, doesn’t have time to explain the ins and outs to her but, luckily, he recommends the perfect research teen movies.

Still dealing with grief but armed with a list of rules of survival (including no drawing attention to herself) gathered from these beloved movies, Enore is ready as she’ll ever be for senior year. But when she meets Davi Santiago, it may be much harder than she thought to keep to her rules. Because not only is he super thoughtful (and okay, very good looking), he encourages Enore to share her incredible singing voice. She prefers the background but it just might be time for her to take center stage, even in spite of her mother’s own strict rules and desires for her.

With help from Davi, some new friends who don’t quite fit the roles she expects them to play, and her younger sister, can Enore get through senior year with a new passion, new boldness, and new love?

Where Wolves Don’t Die by Anton Treuer Arthur A. Levine

Ezra Cloud hates living in Northeast Minneapolis. His father is a professor of their language, Ojibwe, at a local college, so they have to be there. But Ezra hates the dirty, polluted snow around them. He hates being away from the rez at Nigigoonsiminikaaning First Nation. And he hates the local bully in his neighborhood, Matt Schroeder, who terrorizes Ezra and his friend Nora George.

Ezra gets into a terrible fight with Matt at school defending Nora, and that same night, Matt’s house burns down. Instantly, Ezra becomes a prime suspect. Knowing he won’t get a fair deal, and knowing his innocence, Ezra’s family sends him away to run traplines with his grandfather in a remote part of Canada, while the investigation is ongoing. But the Schroeders are looking for him. . .

From acclaimed author Anton Treuer comes a novel that’s both taut thriller and a raw, tender coming-of-age story, about one Ojibwe boy learning to love himself through the love of his family around him.