#BUT there is one called 'i will find you' so that's cool
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moonlightwritingf1 ¡ 2 days ago
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First Time | LN4
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❤︎ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando finds out Y/N is a virgin.
❤︎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader
❤︎ word count ━━━━━━━ 5.3k
❤︎ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, unprotected sex, p in v, oral sex (f receiving)
Based on this request.
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Friday night settled over London with a quiet hush, the city lights flickering in the distance and the occasional sound of cars passing below Y/n’s apartment building. Although the night was still and cool, a charged warmth filled the cozy living room. She sat on the edge of her couch, legs tucked beneath her, trying to focus on the movie playing on the TV screen. But it was impossible. Not when Lando Norris was sitting just inches away from her, his presence like a magnet pulling at every nerve in her body.
It had been two months since they’d officially started dating, and yet, the tension between them still crackled like a live wire. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared laugh—it all felt charged with something unspoken. Something waiting to burst free.
Lando leaned back into the cushions, one arm casually draped behind her. His fingers traced lazy patterns along the fabric of the couch, dangerously close to brushing against her shoulder. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint hint of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. It made her stomach twist in the best possible way.
Lando studied Y/N’s features in silence, his gaze lingering as if he were trying to decipher a puzzle. He noticed the subtle tension around her eyes, the delicate way her lashes fluttered as she blinked, and the gentle parting of her lips with each soft breath. The slight flush on her cheeks hinted at something more—nerves, maybe, or a thought she wasn’t sharing.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, as if afraid to break whatever spell she seemed to be under. “You doing okay? You seem a little distracted.” 
Y/n swallowed. “I’m fine,” she replied quickly. She noticed her own voice sounded defensive. “Just… I was thinking about work. It was a long week.”
He nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I know the feeling. Meetings, calls, deadlines… not as glamorous as I used to think a normal nine-to-five would be.” A teasing spark lit his eyes. “At least you’re off the clock now,” he added, his lips curving into a soft smile.
Y/n found herself smiling despite her nerves. There was something about his tone—soft and playful at once—that disarmed her. This was why she had let him in, despite all her reservations. His earnestness, the puppy-like devotion in his gaze. He was so unlike the rumors—so unlike how she once imagined him to be.
She stood up abruptly, the need to put a little distance between them overwhelming her for a moment. “Want some tea? I can put the kettle on,” she offered, forcing herself to sound casual.
A small frown tugged at Lando’s brows, but he quickly covered it with a smile. “Sure, I’d love some.”
While she busied herself in the kitchen, Lando took a moment to look around her apartment. It was modest—comfortable and intimate, with personal touches here and there: books carefully arranged on a shelf, a photograph of her parents near the TV, soft throw blankets on the sofa. He couldn’t help picturing how often she might curl up under those blankets, reading a novel after a long day. He yearned to be there during those quiet moments, to share them with her, to make her life a little less lonely.
The clink of the kettle switching off caught his attention. Y/n returned shortly, two mugs of steaming tea in hand. She handed one to him and then sat back down on the couch, leaving only a cushion’s width of space between them. The delicate scent of chamomile filled the air.
“Thank you,” he murmured, taking a slow sip. “You’re too good to me.”
“Trust me,” she said with a small laugh, “I’m not. You just make it so easy to want to do something for you, seeing as you’re always doing things for me.”
Y/n’s mind wandered briefly to the memory of him sending her all those gifts—flowers, perfumes, expensive clothes that made her squeak in shock when she saw the price tags. She had been torn between excitement and embarrassment, but also a bit of suspicion. There was this question that kept haunting her: Could Lando be serious? She needed more than sweet gestures and pretty words. She needed true depth, true commitment. And if he wasn’t that kind of man, she’d rather know now than be hurt later.
Lando watched her expression shift, as if lost in thought. Ever perceptive, he set his mug down. “Y/n,” he said, voice quieter this time, “I can see it in your eyes that something’s bothering you. Is it us… or something else?”
She offered him a tentative smile. “I’m just… still adjusting to us, I think. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”
He couldn’t hide the relief that seemed to soften his features. “I understand,” he said, reaching out and gingerly placing a hand on her knee. “I know I might come on strong, but you have to believe me—I’m in this. No matter what.”
She placed her hand over his. His words chipped away at some of her armor, and she felt a stirring of warmth that had little to do with the tea. “Thank you,” she whispered, letting her thumb brush over his knuckles.
Time felt suspended. The city noises outside turned into nothing but a faint backdrop. In the hush of her living room, the only sounds were their breath, their quiet laughter, and the hum of electricity in the background.
Eventually, the conversation shifted to lighter topics: a fun memory from Lando’s last race weekend in Europe, a comedic mishap at Y/n’s office that had everyone trying to fix a computer glitch that turned out to be user error. The atmosphere grew playful again, but a current of tension remained, rolling through the space between them like a gathering storm.
They inched closer until their shoulders touched. Lando placed a finger beneath her chin, guiding her gaze to meet his. His voice was a whisper in the stillness. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”
Y/n’s lips parted, a bashful chuckle escaping her. “You’re just saying that.”
“No,” he murmured, leaning in, close enough to brush her ear with his breath, “I’m not.”
And then he kissed her. Gentle at first, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the feel of her lips. She responded softly, her heart fluttering. The warmth of his mouth against hers turned every cell in her body alive.
His hands drifted from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer so that no space remained between them. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming against her own. Every time their lips parted, he whispered her name, as though it were a plea and a prayer all at once.
The kiss deepened. His hand went up, tangling in her hair, and a soft moan she couldn’t restrain slipped from her lips. Sensations flooded her: his warmth, his scent—a mix of clean soap and the faintest cologne—his unwavering focus on her and only her.
It wasn’t long before the passion of their kisses caused them both to shift. Lando’s palm skated gently over her waist and up toward her ribs. His lips traveled along her jawline, down her neck, tasting the soft skin there. She clutched at the fabric of his hoodie, eyelids fluttering shut.
The moment felt too perfect, too intense. A fierce desire blossomed in her chest, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She could feel Lando’s heart racing, or maybe it was her own.
His mouth found hers again, deeper, hungrier this time. When she felt his right hand cup her breast over her sweater, an unexpected jolt of panic mingled with excitement. The swirl of emotions—desire, fear, anticipation—was suddenly overwhelming.
She let out a quiet gasp and quickly placed her hand over his, stopping him in the motion. It wasn’t intentional, the way her body stiffened, the way her breath caught in her throat. Instantly, Lando pulled back, eyes wide and full of concern.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and rough from the heat of the moment. “Did…did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”
Y/n drew in a shaky breath, her cheeks burning, unsure how to explain. She felt her entire face glow with a complex mix of longing and worry. “Lando…” she began, biting her lower lip. She slid her hand into his for a moment, a silent reassurance that she wasn’t rejecting him, but the intensity. “I just…maybe we’re moving too fast right now.”
He nodded, pulling away a little more to give her space. “It’s okay,” he whispered, gently brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek. “We can slow down, I promise. I don’t ever want you to feel rushed.”
She looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. A fresh wave of nerves welled up in her chest—but this time it wasn’t just about caution, it was about her own decision, a burgeoning sense that maybe she was ready to take this leap with him. She’d been holding onto her secret for so long that it almost felt easier to keep the status quo. Yet tonight, something had shifted inside her. She had been convincing herself that her wariness was purely about trust, about not wanting to rush. But if she was honest with herself—truly honest—she wanted him, more than she’d ever wanted anyone.
“There’s… actually something else,” she said in a voice so soft he had to lean in to hear her.
His eyes filled with anxiety. “Talk to me, love. Please.”
She swallowed. “I’m…still a virgin.”
For a moment, the air left the room. Lando stared at her, silently processing, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his face. He exhaled slowly, as though trying to collect his thoughts. “You’re…a virgin?” he repeated quietly, the disbelief evident in his tone. “Wow, I—I’m sorry,” he quickly added, holding up his hands as though in surrender. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just… I’m surprised.”
She nodded stiffly, her gaze fixed on the space between their knees. “I know we’re the same age. I know how it sounds. You probably had…way more experiences than I ever have.” She tensed, voicing the insecurity that had haunted her for months. “I just, I never met someone I trusted enough. Or maybe I was too busy convincing myself I didn’t need it… didn’t need them.”
Lando, still coming to grips with her revelation, took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. “Hey,” he said softly, “look at me.”
Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. And what she saw wasn’t judgment or disinterest—it was gentleness, acceptance… and maybe even awe.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said, voice trembling with raw honesty. “I know that couldn’t have been easy.” He lifted his free hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “And please don’t feel embarrassed about it.”
She let out a shaky breath, tears threatening to form. “I thought you’d think it’s weird,” she confessed. “You’re so… experienced. You’ve had so many women and—”
“Let’s not talk about them,” he interrupted gently. A slight sadness flickered across his face, as though all the old choices he’d made suddenly seemed trivial or even shameful. “They don’t matter. You do.” He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “And I don’t want you to feel any pressure from me.”
She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “Lando, this is… important. But I—” She paused, feeling that swirl of fear in her stomach again. It was now or never. “I think… I’m ready. To be with you,” she admitted, voice barely audible. It was the first time she had truly spoken the words aloud. The admission sent a flush of heat through her entire body.
His eyes widened at her confession. “You’re… ready?” he echoed, as if carefully testing the meaning of those words. Hesitation and tenderness mingled in his expression. “Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want you to do this if you’re not one hundred percent.”
She swallowed, nodding. “I’m sure,” she whispered. A small laugh escaped her, colored by nervousness. “I can’t believe I just said that. But… yes. I—I want this, with you.”
Relief, joy, and something deeper flooded Lando’s features. He reached for her hands again, clasping them between his own. “We don’t have to rush,” he said, though the excitement in his voice was clear. “Just because you’re ready doesn’t mean—”
“It’s my choice,” she interjected softly. “I trust you. And it’s taken me a while to let myself feel this way, but… the truth is, I’m tired of being scared. Of holding onto my hang-ups. I want to share this with you.”
Lando exhaled, a million emotions running across his face—gratitude, longing, protectiveness. “Y/n,” he said, voice thick. “I promise I’ll be gentle. I promise I’ll take care of you.”
She offered him a trembling smile. “I know you will.”
He stood then, carefully pulling her to her feet. They stood close, the fabric of their clothes brushing against each other. Lando dipped his head so that his eyes were level with hers. He could see the mix of courage and trepidation in her gaze.
“Do you want to move to your room?” he asked, the question laced with quiet anticipation.
She nodded, sliding her hand into his. They walked slowly toward the short hallway that led to her bedroom. Every step brought a new spike of adrenaline and longing. The overhead lights were off, leaving only the faint glow from a small lamp on her bedside table. The walls were painted in calming, muted colors—soft grays and blues. The bed itself was made neatly, a plush duvet folded at the end.
Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. A whirlwind of thoughts chased each other through her mind: He’s here, he wants me, I want him, I’m ready, no turning back… Yet overshadowing all of it was a sense of quiet determination. She had chosen him. After all the months of hesitation, she was certain.
When they reached the bedside, she paused, turning to face Lando. The uncertainty still flickered in her eyes, but it didn’t come from doubt in him—rather, it came from the enormity of the moment. Her first time. Something she had guarded for so long.
He noticed. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and bent to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “We’ll go slow,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath tickling her skin.
She nodded, inhaling deeply. “Slow,” she repeated, as if the word itself were a grounding tether.
Carefully, they leaned in for another kiss. This one was warm and tentative, a promise rather than an urgent demand. Lando’s hands drifted to her waist, and Y/n reciprocated, sliding her arms around his neck. The heat between them was more controlled now, more intentional, and yet somehow even more intense. She felt safe—reassured by the unspoken vow in every gentle touch.
After a while, their kisses grew deeper, more confident. He guided her backward until her legs met the edge of the bed. They sank down together, lips never losing contact. Soft gasps and hushed whispers began weaving an intimate tapestry of sound around them. Even the hum of passing cars seemed distant, as though the outside world had fallen away and left them in a private universe.
The warmth of their kisses lingered, slow and deliberate, as Lando hovered above her on the bed. His lips moved from her mouth to her jawline, trailing soft, featherlight kisses down the column of her neck. Every touch was a promise, every sigh a silent reassurance. Y/n’s breath hitched when his tongue flicked against her pulse point, sending shivers cascading down her spine. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him close, her fingers trembling with anticipation.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and rough with desire. His lips continued their journey downward, skimming over her collarbone before settling at the hollow of her throat. He paused for a moment, his breath warm against her flushed skin, and then gently tugged at the hem of her sweater.
“Can I take this off?” he asked, his eyes locking onto hers, dark with arousal but still filled with tenderness.
She nodded, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Lando’s hands slid beneath the fabric, his fingertips brushing against her waist as he slowly lifted the sweater over her head. The cool air kissed her skin, and she shivered—not from the temperature, but from the way he looked at her. His gaze was reverent, almost worshipful, as he took in the sight of her bare torso. His eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts, encased in delicate lace, and a soft groan escaped his lips.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, his hands already moving to cup her through her bra. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, drawing a sharp gasp from her. She arched into his touch, her body betraying how much she craved him.
He leaned down, pressing his lips to the slope of her breast, just above the edge of the lace. His kisses were slow and exploratory, each one sending jolts of pleasure radiating through her. When his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra, she reached behind her to help him, her hands shaking slightly. The bra fell away, and his breath caught as he took her in completely.
“Y/n…” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “You’re stunning.”
His hands caressed her breasts, his palms sliding over the soft flesh before his mouth followed. He captured one nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak while his hand teased the other. Y/n gasped, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure coursed through her. Her moans spilled freely now, no longer restrained, and each one seemed to spur him on. 
“L-Lando,” she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders. “That feels… so good.”
He responded by sinking his teeth gently into her nipple, eliciting a sharp cry from her. His hands squeezed her breasts together, his lips moving back and forth between them, leaving her a trembling, moaning mess beneath him. He worshipped her like this, his touch and his words making her feel cherished, adored.
“Lando,” she whimpered, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Please…”
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Please what, love?” he teased, his fingers pinching her nipples lightly, making her gasp again.
She shook her head, unable to form the words. He laughed softly, kissing her lips briefly before sitting back on his heels. His hands drifted to the waistband of her leggings, his thumbs hooking under the elastic. “Can I take these off too?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with anticipation.
She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. But… take your top off too.”
His grin was irresistible as he tugged his hoodie over his head, revealing the toned planes of his chest. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. He was breathtakingly handsome, his muscles defined but not overly bulky, his skin smooth and warm.
He returned to her, his hands sliding her leggings down her legs slowly, peeling the fabric away inch by inch. She lifted her hips to help him, her heart pounding as she lay before him in nothing but her underwear. His gaze lingered on her, heat and adoration burning in his eyes.
“God, you’re stunning,” he said, his voice rough with want. He knelt between her legs, his hands resting on her thighs. “Are you sure about this? We can stop anytime.”
She nodded, her voice steadier than she expected. “I’m sure.”
Lando leaned down, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. She gasped, her hands gripping the sheets as his lips traveled higher, closer to the apex of her thighs. He nuzzled the thin fabric of her underwear, his breath hot against her already soaked core.
“So fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with desire. He kissed her through the fabric, dragging his tongue over her clit in a slow, teasing motion. She cried out, her hips lifting instinctively toward him.
“Lando!” she gasped, her thighs trembling as he continued to tease her, his lips and tongue driving her wild. He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.
“Patience, baby,” he purred, his hands sliding her underwear down her legs. He tossed them aside, settling back between her thighs. For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression reverent. “Fuck, Y/N. You have such a pretty pussy.”
Her face burned, but before she could say anything, his tongue was on her, lapping at her folds with long, slow strokes. She moaned loudly, her head falling back against the pillows as pleasure shot through her.
Lando devoured her like a man starved, his tongue circling her clit, dipping inside her, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from her body. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her hands fisting the sheets as she writhed beneath him.
“Oh my God, Lando,” she whimpered, her thighs shaking. “That feels so good…”
He groaned against her, the vibrations making her cry out. He slipped a finger inside her, curling it just right against her walls as his tongue continued its relentless assault. She swore she saw stars, her entire body tensing as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter within her. Just when she thought she might scream, he pulled back, his lips glistening and his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Do you really want this?” he asked, his voice ragged. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
She nodded, her eyes glazed with need. “Yes, I’m ready. I want you, Lando. All of you.”
He nodded, his breath hitching as he reached for the waistband of his trousers. In one swift motion, he stripped them off, along with his boxers, leaving himself completely bare. Y/N’s eyes widened as she took him in—hard and flushed, his length straining toward her.
He settled between her legs, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he leaned down to kiss her. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell me if it hurts.”
She nodded, her heart swelling with affection for him. “Okay,” she whispered.
He pressed forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation. It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable—and mixed with the pain was an overwhelming sense of closeness, of being connected to him in the most intimate way possible.
“You’re incredible,” he breathed, staying still to give her time. “How do you feel?”
“Full,” she admitted with a shaky laugh. “But… good. Really good.”
He smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly. “You’re doing so well, love,” he murmured against her lips. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”
Lando began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts. Each glide of his length inside her was met with a soft gasp from Y/n, her body still adjusting to the unfamiliar fullness. He kept his pace gentle, rhythmic, almost teasing, as if he wanted to savor every second of this moment with her. His eyes never left hers, searching for any sign of discomfort—but all he found was desire, trust, and a growing need.
“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “So fucking perfect.”
She whimpered in response, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his chest, where she could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Her own heart raced in tandem, her breath coming in shallow bursts as arousal coiled tighter and tighter in her core. She arched instinctively, her hips rising to meet his next thrust, and Lando groaned low in his throat at the sensation.
“Lando…” she breathed, her voice trembling. “It’s… it’s so much.”
He paused, concern flickering across his face. “Too much?” he asked, his tone laced with worry. “Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head quickly, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “No… no, don’t stop. It’s just… overwhelming. In a good way.” Her fingers traced the muscles of his chest, marveling at the way they flexed with every movement. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”
The relief in his expression was palpable. He leaned down to kiss her again, his lips slow and sweet, before whispering against her mouth, “Then let me show you how good it can be.”
His thrusts grew slightly firmer, the rhythm steady but unhurried. Y/n’s moans grew louder, each one sending a jolt of pleasure straight to Lando’s cock. He ground into her deeper with every push, angling his hips so that he brushed against a spot inside her that made her gasp and clutch at him desperately.
“There…” she whimpered, her nails lightly scratching his back. “Right there, Lando… please…”
A groan rumbled in his chest as he obeyed, focusing on that spot with relentless precision. Her reactions were intoxicating—every sigh, every shiver, every desperate plea only fueled his own need. But he refused to rush, determined to make this first time unforgettable for her.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes dark with adoration. “Watching you like this… hearing you… it’s driving me insane.”
Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she met his gaze with equal intensity, her eyes clouded with passion and something deeper—something that made his chest ache with emotion.
“Touch me,” she begged softly, her hand sliding down to guide his. “Please…”
Without hesitation, Lando reached between them, his fingers finding her swollen clit with practiced ease. He circled the sensitive nub gently, watching as her entire body jerked in response. Her moans turned into breathless cries, her hips rocking against his hand and his cock in a frenzied rhythm.
“Fuck, Lando—oh god—” she gasped, her back arching off the bed. “I’m… I’m close…”
“Let go, love,” he urged, his voice thick with passion. “Come for me.”
The combination of his hand and his cock pushed her over the edge. She cried out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her inner walls clamping down around him in a vice-like grip. Lando groaned loudly, his thrusts faltering as her climax overwhelmed him. He clenched his jaw, fighting to hold on just a little longer—to give her every last drop of pleasure she deserved.
When her tremors finally subsided, she looked up at him with dazed, unfocused eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. She was utterly breathtaking.
Still buried deep inside her, Lando kissed her again, his lips tender and reverent. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Absolutely fucking incredible.”
Y/n smiled shyly, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pulled him closer. “Don’t stop,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Not yet…”
He nodded, his own arousal still burning hot and urgent, but tempered now by the reverence he felt for her. He resumed his slow, deep thrusts, each one deliberate, each one meant to draw out every ounce of pleasure she could take. Her soft moans filled the room, a melody that made his chest ache with something deeper than desire—something tender, something sacred.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice rough but laced with adoration. His hands cradled her hips as though she were fragile, precious. “Anything, love… just tell me.”
Her fingers brushed through his hair, her touch featherlight yet electric. “You,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Just you.”
Those two words shattered him. Not in the way of losing control, but in the way of surrender—to her, to this moment, to the depth of what they were sharing. He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating in sync. His pace quickened, not out of urgency, but out of a need to give her everything he had, to make her feel how much she meant to him.
Her body arched beneath him, her moans growing louder, more desperate. Her hands roamed over his back, not clawing, but caressing, as if she wanted to memorize every inch of him. She clung to him, not out of desperation, but out of a need to be as close as possible, to erase any space between them.
“Y/n…” His voice was strained, but it wasn’t just from the physical strain. It was from the weight of what he felt for her, the intensity of it threatening to spill over. “I’m not gonna last much longer…”
She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure began to crest. “Neither—“ she managed, her voice breaking. “Oh god, Lando—“
He felt her tighten around him again, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cry was raw, unfiltered, and it echoed through the room, a sound that would forever be etched into his memory. Her nails dug into his skin, not to hurt, but to anchor herself as she rode out the blissful aftershocks.
That was all it took for him. With a final, shuddering thrust, he spilled himself inside her, his release tearing through him with a force that left him breathless. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his ragged breaths hot against her skin as he whispered her name over and over, like a prayer, like a vow.
For several long moments, neither of them moved. Their bodies remained tangled together, sweat-slicked and spent, but closer than they’d ever been. Gradually, the haze of pleasure began to fade, replaced by a bone-deep satisfaction and an overwhelming sense of closeness that went beyond the physical.
Lando was the first to stir, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone before pulling back to look at her. His heart swelled at the sight of her—flushed, disheveled, and utterly spent, but smiling up at him with such tenderness that it nearly brought tears to his eyes.
“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice husky but filled with genuine concern. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin.
She laughed quietly, the sound warm and content. Her fingers trailed along his jawline, tracing the curve of his face as though committing it to memory. “Like I just discovered heaven,” she admitted, her smile widening. “And you?”
He grinned, leaning down to capture her lips in a lingering kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes held hers, dark and full of emotion. “Like the luckiest man alive,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. “Because I get to call you mine.”
Her smile softened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, her touch achingly gentle. “You already had me,” she whispered. “Long before tonight.”
His throat tightened, and he kissed her again, slower this time, pouring every unspoken word into it. When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet stillness of the room.
“I love you,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They weren’t planned, but they were true—so true it hurt.
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she just stared at him, her eyes wide and searching. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, brighter than anything he’d ever seen. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice steady despite the tears pooling in her eyes.
He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her as though he never wanted to let go. And in that moment, with her head resting on his chest and her heartbeat echoing his own, he knew—this was where he belonged. With her. Always.
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bogleech ¡ 2 days ago
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top edits I'd retroactively make to whatever that version of the bible is that my country has such a big boner for (sorry I don't know what the different versions are actually called)
Drop the damnation/salvation system in favor of the kind where seriously only really really cruel selfish people go to hell but they can get out if they're actually nice deep down and are SUPER sorry for real
Take out any kind of sin that's stupid and doesn't make sense, replace with more sensible things like "don't drain wetlands" and "don't have slaves" and "if you find black goop in the ground just leave it there, trust us"
Throw in some handy instructions on what electricity is and how to build a solar panel. I wanna see what this does to the state of technology when I get back.
Explain what germs are and to wash your hands with soap please
Make the apostles more fun, like one of them should definitely be a skeleton guy and one should have plant powers.
Add a B-plot that canonizes the complete events of Adam Sandler's "Little Nicky"
Have God apologize for the existence of suffering but unfortunately all his power got used up to get Darwinian Evolution up and running
Sprinkle details about God's physical appearance all throughout until it's impossible to ignore that this is a description of a little dapper toad
I already ditched the garden of eden obviously because it's stupid but to make doubly sure western society likes snakes let's make jesus a big snake all along, and a venomous one. Biting becomes Jesus's main way of dealing with problems.
Ruin the modern protestant perception of absolute good and evil by having Jesus befriend a cool bad boy demon, which God is only a little concerned by like "(grumpy toad noises) I'm not so sure about this friend of yours young lady"
he will however slowly come around to meeting the demon's parents at a very funny dinner where everything goes TERRIBLY wrong but in the end they can all share a laugh about it
The apocalypse is a cool concept so I'd keep that but change it around so it's heaven, hell and earth uniting against a common foe: the god of the alternate, darker timeline I just erased. Nobody would know what that means but I think that would be compelling in itself. I'd like to see those philosophical debates.
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lerootude ¡ 5 hours ago
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I live by the phrase “fuck around and find out” but like…less in a threatening way, more in a, “let’s fuck around and see what happens.” It’s science if you write it down, the magic of “hold my beer,” all those types of phrases associated with thr sense of adventure and new knowledge.
That sense- it’s led me to some really cool things. I moved 1000 miles away, on a whim, at 19, because the apprenticeship program I was in had closed down, and there was an opening across the country. I had no family or friends out there. I’d never met the trainer before. I’d never stepped foot in that state. I had no support from the family I did have. But I did it, because, well, other people had and surely it couldn’t be that hard?
Ha! It was hard. It was painful. Things went directly to hell posthaste in my personal life, I wasn’t being paid, and I had no support outside a few close friends I made during apprenticeship. I wanted to quit; but I couldn’t afford to get back home, so I stayed. It sucked. I also would not ever trade that experience for anything.
4 years later, I now call that state home. I’ve changed careers, made more friends, found a new community, started a new business, and did it all with lot of grieving and upheaval. I’m happy now, but it took A LOT of strife.
So yeah, bigger idiots than you have done it, and they’ve done it worse than you could. If you come across this reblog somehow, I want you to know one thing: I believe in you, and your ability to do the thing you thought was impossible. Bigger idiots have tried and already succeeded. You can do better. And if you don’t, then you learn and try again.
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Well put. (Source: Writing About Writing Facebook page)
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777heavengirl ¡ 2 days ago
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Bless the Telephone ; ##04
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James Potter x f!muggle!reader
word count: 1,163
warnings: none?
a/n: HELLO IM ALIVE- ummm did break up with my boyfriend, after spiraling for a week i am feeling much better! I did what was right for me and i am happier for it!! JAMES OR SIRIUS WOULD HAVE NEVER TREAT ME LIKE THAT! so yea I'm back :D thank you for putting up with my disappearances i should be uploading SEMI regularly just bc classes r in full throttle now
series masterlist
main masterlist
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It hadn't been as difficult as you thought. Getting rid of Josh was a pending item on your to-do list for months. But for some reason or another, you never could, not completely. More often than not, he’d find some weak spot in your resolve, and crawl back in like a cockroach. 
But not this time, at least not yet. After that day, when James’s call saved you from a bit of an uncomfortable situation, you managed to easily avoid his calls, if he knocked at the door Charlotte and you stayed unbearably still until he went away. He left voicemail after voicemail, called Charlotte’s phone with a bit more anger, and called your phone with crocodile tears. 
But you weren't sweating it. You had fallen into an easy pattern with James, he’d fill the time that you would've been itching to fill and end up calling Josh out of boredom. 
James was a good friend! At least that's what you’d tell Charlotte. She’d look at you with a glint in her eye and a smirk on her lips that you ignored. If only she was so keen and observant with women that she liked, she tended to lack awareness often. 
You didn’t dare tell her about the playful jabs, the comments you didn't dare label fully as flirty, or god forbid the butterflies that fluttered at the pit of your stomach every time he called, laughed, or gave you some stupid cloying nickname. 
“Come on pretty- just tell me” You could hear the pout in his voice
You groaned in defeat, “Okay okay- if I had to be any creature…” You thought about it for a second more “Potter this is stupid”
“Indulge me”
You sighed “Fine, I think I would be… a witch”
“That's not a creature love”
“Well they are to me”
“I know a few that would be greatly offended by that comment” he retorted
“Oh yeah? You’re friends with witches?” you mirrored the smirk you heard in his voice
“Quite a few actually, nasty women the lot of them…” James smiled, thinking of his friends. How Marlene would probably flick the side of his head, and Lily would wholeheartedly just roll her eyes. Dorcas would definitely send a book flying straight to his head if she heard, not that she hadn't done that often enough during their time at school. It was always deserved. “love them nevertheless though- Pick something else, witches are human”
You hmph in disagreement and thought about it momentarily
“I don't think it would be very pleasant to be a werewolf you know? A bit inconvenient-” you thought out loud
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said under his breath
“Vampires sound kind of cool… wouldn't be able to go out into the sun though so that's quite a shame” James hummed in agreement “Maybe a mermaid, they’re pretty right?”
“Allegedly, they’re more scary than anything else- foul foul creatures” The ones in the Black Lake had messed with him more than once. 
“Oh, what do you know Potter?”
“Quite a lot thank you- more than you anyway”
“And why do you think that? Mermaids aren't scary dummy”
“You say that because you haven't seen one pretty” James’s mouth was faster than his thoughts, he prayed you’d just laugh it off.
“Oh, and I suppose you have?” He slapped himself on the forehead as he thought of some excuse. The witches' comment he was able to get away with, maybe his tone had been too matter-o-fact.
“Well, yes I have!” he said, confidently, ironically. You started laughing, his worry melted away. Would you even believe him if he told you?
“Is that so? Well okay, what creature would you be Potter?”
“A hippogriff I think”
“What the hell is that?” James burst out in laughter
-
You could feel Charlotte’s eyes on you as you scooped ice cream into your lips. You focused on the cold chocolatey flavor and whatever movie she had found. You didn’t know what you were watching, you thought of James.
James and his stupid laugh, and the way he always called you pretty or doll or some other completely repulsive nickname you wanted to hate. But you couldn't. He was sweet, and he always asked how you were, after he found out about your roommate’s existence, he asked about her too. 
“y/n”
“yes charlotte?”
“What does he look like? is he cute? Is he tall? I reckon that’s an important one with men is it not” you groaned as she launched question after question
“Char, I already told you I don't know anything about him”
“But you talk all day, every day” She scoffed
“It’s not every day- nor is it all day I have things to do you know”
“It is though, every bloody day, you come in and launch yourself at the telephone like clockwork” You stared at your pint of ice cream, suppressing the small laugh that threatened to leave your lips. 
You felt a tad silly.
“It’s just-” You started to say, Charlotte leaned in with an excited smile on her lips as if egging you on. “It feels stupid, I could be getting totally scammed right now- sure he sounds young, and sure he said he’s twenty- but he could be anyone, anywhere” 
“Let’s think about it though- you guys talk a lot he has to be in England no? Calls out are so expensive” She grabbed the pint of ice cream from your hands, shoving a spoonful into her mouth. 
“That doesn’t change anything Char, I don't know him” She waved the spoon around dismissively. For someone who was so cynical about her own love life, Charlotte was always ready to be invested in yours. You never minded though, you were happy to bond over the raging disaster that it seemed to be.
“You guys have never thought about meeting up? You haven’t even talked about it?” You shifted uncomfortably as she wiggled her eyebrows “Have you even asked him what he looks like?” You took the ice cream tub back, shoving ice cream into your mouth
“We’re missing the movie y’know?” She scoffed at your weak attempt to change the subject
“As if I care about that- come on, you’re rolling in laughter every time you’re on that damn phone so there is clearly some chemistry there”
“So what I also have chemistry with circus clowns?” You said, turning to give her a deadpan stare. 
“You know what I mean” She took the ice cream back
“What if I meet up with him and he kidnaps me…” she offered you the last few scrapes left in the tub. When you shook your head she ate it gingerly, a small smile on her face. “Suddenly I’m in the arctic tundra being trafficked”
“As long as it's not with Josh,” she shrugged her shoulders “I reckon anything is better,” she said, snorting 
“You’re terrible” You both fell into laughter
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tags ; @ilovejamespottersomuch @ravisinghs-wife @hidontmindtheintrovert @stella-thestars @caspiankingofnarnia @lovelyteenagebeard @starkluvrr @hisparentsgallerryy @leilani13gc @katsusayhi @auroresce @lovemiss-vale @alessiaparigim @unconventional-lawnchair @moonydoodlez @eissaaaa @ailoda @nahhhwhatthefrick @notapoetjustscar @hiireadstuff @the-rat-king1902 @n1ght-vngel @littlewhitel1es @rreporterbby
permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr
PLEASE PLEASE LMK IF I MISSED YOU I HAVE BEEN GONE FOR WEEKS AND I DID MY BEST TO COLLECT EVERYONE AHHHH thank you for reading <3
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shinningdance ¡ 1 day ago
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Taste tasting
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Roommate au because @beloveds-embrace captured my heart with this au q(≧▽≦q)
warnings: none!! Pure fluff!
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The Kitchen was a mess, to put it nicely. It actually looked like a bomb hit. Multiple Pans on the stove, cake icing on the counter - slowly dripping down to the floor, egg shells next to a big pile of flour.
The oven is on, finishing the cake you've been working on for the last 2 hours, the cupcakes are already cooling down by the dinning table. Very carefully you transfer the steak from the pan to a plate, where perfectly cooked potatoes are decorating one half of the plate. Finishing off the meat, you sprinkle a bit of sea salt on top.
You do this two more times, having bought too much meat and not wanting to waste it, it leads to this mess. You only wanted a small piece for yourself, after all you need to practice.
That's what got you into this situation, a cooking competition. Now, why would you waste your time on some silly work competition? Easy, the winner gets two days paid time off. In those two days you can catch up on your series, sleep late, enjoy life until work calls again.
The front door opens and a soft "Hello" was heard, looks like your Guinea pig arrived.
"Perfect timing!" You call back and make your way to the door, meeting Kyle halfway there. He's still wearing his jacket and scarf, good to keep warm in such a weather.
"Perfect timing for what?" He smiles down at you, obviously a bit confused, and maybe a tiny bit scared.
"I need a lab rat" You reply, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the kitchen table.
Kyle doesn't even try to fight back or ask, he simply follows as you pull him along. A small huff leaves his lips as you hurry him towards a chair, forcing him to sit down, only then does he dare to removes the scarf and winter jacket.
"I'm scared to ask but..how am i lab rat?" He mumbles and lays the clothes over the chair next to him.
"Easy.." You start talking while grabbing a full plate of a juicy cooked steak with a perfect sear, paired with golden, crispy potatoes, seasoned to perfection. "You have to taste test everything i made today."
At the mere sight of the fresh food his mouth began to water, eyes scanning the masterpiece.
After a short moment of silence he forces his eyes away, looking at you with a cheeky smile. "Everything? There's more?" He asks as he grabs a knife and a fork, immediately digging in.
You bite back a small laugh, nodding your head as you watch him eat. "I made cake..i just need to wait for it too cool down and decorate it, also, i made cupcakes." You smile and walk to the oven, checking on said cake. Finding it perfectly cooked you turn the oven off and grab oven mittens.
As you move the cake from the heat to the counter you hear the sluttiest groan ever. "That good, huh?" You chuckle and look over your shoulder, seeing Kyles eyes closed as he enjoys the steak.
"That has to be the best steak I've ever had..." The steak is so good he forgot his table manners, talking with food in his mouth. "I can't wait to brag about being your first ever taste tester when you start your famous cooking career."
"That's a no for me." You correct, grabbing the icing you made earlier, along with freshly cut strawberry's. "I just want to win a cooking competition to win 2 days paid time off."
"Oh you're winning, don't worry about that." He mumbles and brings another piece of a steak to his lips.
"What's that lovely smell?" A deeper voice comes from the entrance, standing there is John, snow on his hat and shoulders.
"Birdie cooked the best food ever." Kyle calls out before you can explain yourself. A bit of head rushes to your cheeks at the complement.
"I made way too much, so i hope you're hungry." You smile and walk back to the kitchen, grabbing a plate and putting the same food on there as before.
John doesn't even hesitate as he sits down next to the younger man, waiting for you to pass the plate. Just like Kyle, his mouth starts to water at the sight of the steak with the potatoes.
"This looks magnificent." He remarks as you hand him a knife and a fork.
"Taste it first, then you can give me feedback." You smile and get back to the cake, finishing up the icing as you hear another groan from the table. "Don't eat too much, there are two rounds of deserts."
"Two rounds? You're spoiling us, dove" John claims as he continuous to devour his food.
"Not complaining though." Kyle mumbles as he finishes his plate, quickly getting up to put it in the dishwasher. As he gets closer he sees the now finished cake, strawberry's on the top. He smiles and cleans his plate. "Good luck with that cake, it's Johnnys favorite, I'm giving him till midnight until it's fully gone."
"Speaking off, where is he? and Simon?" You question as you cut off two pieces of the cake, putting them on smaller plates and walking back to the table with Kyle.
"Last minute shopping for Tuesday, we have to leave again, remember?" The older man answers as he too finishes his plate, already looking at he cake.
Right. Sometimes you forget they actually have a job when they're at home for more than a week.
"I did forget." You hum and put the two cakes down, watching as both men immediately grab for one.
Like before, both of them groan as they swallow, apparently you're a really good cook. A small yawn escapes your lips, causing both men to look up.
"Getting tired? How long were you in the kitchen for?" Kyle asks, eyes on the clock on the wall.
"A while." You answer, making your way to the couch.
"Don't fall asleep just yet, your sleep schedule is already bad." John calls out as he watches you lay down and pull a blanket over your body.
"Just a few minutes" The words are mumbles, face pressed against a pillow.
The couch sinks near your head, a soft hand landing on your cheek. You've never fallen asleep faster.
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"Be quiet." John calls out softly the moment the two missing house members enter through the front door.
Both man freeze mid step. Johnny holding his phone while Simon carries two bags. Not long after do they realize why.
You're asleep, blanket over your body, legs on Johns lap and head resting in Kyles lap, his hand stroking your hair softly.
"Aww.. look at 'er!" Johnny calls out, getting shushed by both men on the couch.
"Foods in the kitchen, she made steak, cupcakes and your favorite cake." John answers and watches the Scot almost run to the kitchen.
"Any special reason why?" Simon asks as he sets down the bags by the the table, quickly sitting down next to Kyle, who rests his head on his shoulder.
"Practicing for a cooking competition at work." Kyle answers and watches as Johnny walks back in with a piece of cake.
"She ruined me foe Military food." he claims, shoving another large bite down his throat.
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a/n: not proofread...kinda gave up at the end...>﹏<
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thatfeelinwhenyou ¡ 2 days ago
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SAFE & SOUND — part 3
Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.
word count: 7.4k
MASTERLIST
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Whispers.
Soft at first, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. But they grow louder, more insistent, wrapping around you like tendrils of smoke. You’re alone. Back in the forest, standing in the middle of that clearing.
You spin around, your heart pounding in your chest. They’re here.
Rotters.
They shamble toward you from every direction. Some are missing limbs, dragging broken legs behind them. Others have half their faces torn away, flesh hanging in ragged strips. But it’s their eyes that hold you captive—clear, human, and horrifyingly aware.
They’re whispering.
You can’t make out the words, no matter how hard you strain to listen. The whispers slither into your mind, incomprehensible and maddening, sending a shiver down your spine.
You take a step back. They take a step forward. 
Every time you blink, they’re closer. Closing in, tightening the circle around you. You’re surrounded. 
“Y/N.”
Their whispers begin to merge, forming one singular voice. It echoes through the clearing, sharp and cold, making your blood run icy.
“Y/N.”
It’s louder now. They’ve reached you. Hands—cold, skeletal hands—grab at your shoulders. Tugging. Shaking.
“Y/N.”
The voice isn’t distant anymore. It’s right there. Right in your ear. Your chest tightens, your breath caught in your throat as panic seizes you. The hands grip harder. Shaking you so violently you think they might throw you to the ground. 
There’s nowhere to go.
You’re going to die.
“Y/N!”
You gasp, your eyes flying open. The forest, the rotters, the whispers—they’re gone. Instead, you find yourself staring into a familiar pair of dark eyes. Jungwon’s hands are on your arms, gently shaking you awake.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice soft but steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe and sound.”
Your chest heaves, your pulse still racing as the remnants of the nightmare cling to you. Sweat beads on your forehead, and your hands tremble as you push yourself upright.
Jungwon’s brow furrows with concern. “You were shaking. I tried waking you earlier, but you wouldn’t come out of it.”
You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. “It… it was nothing,” you say, your voice hoarse. “Just a nightmare.”
Jungwon doesn’t look convinced. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he sighs, leaning back slightly. “You sure?”
You nod, forcing yourself to steady your breathing. “Yeah.” But even as you say it, the whispers linger in your mind, a haunting echo you can’t quite shake.
You take a look around, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the surroundings come into focus. The others have already alighted the van, their silhouettes moving quietly in the dawn light. The sky is painted in soft hues of orange and pink as the sun slowly rises from the horizon, casting long shadows over the road and surrounding trees.
“Are we there already?” you ask groggily, your voice raspy from sleep.
Jungwon, still seated beside you, reaches for his canister and hands it over without a word. You take it gratefully, the cool water washing away the dry, bitter taste in your mouth.
“No, we ran out of fuel,” he replies.
You glance toward the front of the van, where Ni-ki is tinkering under the hood, muttering quietly to himself. Jake stands nearby, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders, his gaze drifting toward the distant village down the hill.
“Jungwon,” a familiar voice calls from outside. Heeseung appears at the foot of the van, one hand resting on the roof for support. “We’re thinking about checking out the village down there. Hopefully, siphon some gas and scavenge for supplies.”
Jungwon nods thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the horizon. He’s calculating the risks, weighing the possibilities before making his decision.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Let’s do that. But not all of us. Just a few.”
You watch as the group gathers around to discuss the plan, their voices hushed but purposeful. There’s an underlying tension in the air—a shared understanding that every move counts, every decision could mean the difference between life and death.
Heeseung crosses his arms, his sharp gaze landing on Jungwon. “Who’s going?”
Jungwon’s eyes flick between the group, assessing each person in turn. “Jay, Ni-ki, and I. Us three will check out the village. You guys stay here to keep an eye on the perimeter.”
Sunoo lets out a scoff from where he leans against a tree. “You’re sending Ni-ki? What if we need the van fixed while he’s gone?”
“We’re not leaving him behind,” Jungwon says firmly. “If there’s gas to be found, we’ll need someone who knows how to siphon it properly.”
Ni-ki straightens from where he’s crouched by the van, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Relax, Sunoo. I’ll be back before you miss me.”
The feeling of guilt rises again—a familiar weight you’ve carried for far too long. It creeps up your spine and settles deep in your gut. You shouldn’t be sitting here, letting them take all the risks. They’ve already been through enough. And yet here you are, another mouth to feed, another body to protect.
It doesn’t sit right with you.
The words slip out before you can stop them. “No, Ni-ki should stay.”
Jungwon’s gaze snaps to you, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What?”
Ni-ki frowns, his usual playful expression replaced by something more serious. “Why? I’m the only one who knows how–” and he yawns. Self-explanatory.
“Because you’ve been driving all night,” you reply, your tone steady but resolute. “You need rest”
“I know how to siphon gas,” you say, your voice firmer this time. “My dad’s a mechanic back in the province. I used to help him all the time at his shop. I know what I’m doing.”
The group falls silent, everyone turning to look at you. The weight of their stares presses down on you, but you stand your ground, refusing to back down.
“You’ve done it before?” Heeseung asks, tilting his head slightly as he studies you.
You nod. “Plenty of times.”
Jungwon’s expression remains unreadable as he considers your words. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to shut you down. Because at the end of the day, whatever he says goes. But when he speaks, his voice is measured but tinged with something you can’t quite place—concern, maybe.
“It’s not just about siphoning gas,” he says. “It’s dangerous out there. You saw what we ran into last night.”
“I know,” you say quietly. “But I can handle it. You need me to do this.”
The silence stretches for a moment before Heeseung speaks up, breaking the tension. “She’s got a point.”
Jay scoffs from where he’s still leaning against the tree, arms crossed over his chest. “This is insane. We barely know her, and you want to let her go off into the village?”
“Jay,” Jake’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and steady. “Again. Not your place to speak.” He doesn’t even look up from the med kit he’s reorganising again for the tenth time, but his tone is enough to silence Jay instantly.
The weight of Jake’s words hangs heavy in the air. You can see Jay tense, his jaw clenching as he looks away. It’s clear Jake hasn’t forgiven him—not entirely. That wound still festers beneath the surface, a quiet reminder of what they’ve lost.
You take a breath, your fingers curling into your palm before you speak. “Trust me. Or better yet, don’t trust me. If anything goes wrong, it’s easier to leave me behind anyway.”
Your words come out too easily. Too naturally. They’re the kind of words you’ve told yourself for days now—an unspoken truth you’ve lived by. The moment they leave your mouth, though, you see the ripple of discomfort they send through the group.
Every one of them shifts, guilt flickering across their faces. Heeseung’s hand falters over the strap of his bag, Sunoo looks away entirely, and even Jay’s hardened expression cracks for a split second.
“Y/N, that’s not—” Heeseung starts, his voice soft with concern, but you cut him off before he can finish.
“I was just joking,” you say quickly, forcing a smile you don’t feel. “Relax, guys.”
But no one laughs. No one even cracks a smile. Instead, their discomfort seems to deepen, the awkward silence stretching longer than you anticipated. It hits you then—you’ve triggered something you didn’t even realise was sensitive. Maybe it’s because those words carry a truth they’ve already lived through. Maybe it’s because the thought has crossed their mind before.
Either way, the tension is palpable. You’ve misjudged your audience.
Jungwon steps forward, his expression calm but serious. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet but firm. “Don’t joke about that.”
His words linger in the air, not harsh, but weighted with something you can’t quite name. There’s something in his eyes—a heaviness, a flicker of guilt or regret—that makes you realise he’s not saying it to admonish you. He’s saying it to comfort himself.
You hold his gaze for a moment, searching for the meaning behind those words. There’s no accusation there. Just a quiet plea.
“Alright,” you say softly, nodding once. “I won’t.”
The group falls into silence again, but it’s different now. Heavier. 
The road leading into the village is eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the crunch of your boots against the gravel. Jay walks a few steps ahead, his bow slung over his shoulder, his posture tense as he scans the area. Jungwon stays closer to you, his gaze sweeping over every abandoned house and overgrown field, ever the vigilant leader.
It’s a small village—the kind you’d expect to see bustling with life, where neighbours of neighbours know one another by name, where doors are left unlocked, and everyone exchanges gifts on Christmas and rice cakes on New Year’s Eve. 
But now it’s nothing more than a graveyard of memories. Weeds grow wild through the cracks in the pavement, creeping up the sides of empty houses. Windows are shattered, doors left ajar, swaying gently in the breeze as if still waiting for someone to come home. Faded signs and rusting bicycles lean against walls that haven’t seen a human touch in years. 
Unfortunately, a small village also means there’s no need for cars to travel around. No gas for you to siphon.
But among the dense field stretching miles out of the village, something catches your attention.
Overgrown crops, long since withered and dead, stretch endlessly in every direction. Tangled weeds twist through the rows, choking out what little life might have remained. And in the middle of it all, sitting like a forgotten relic from a time before, is a tractor. Its rusted frame gleams faintly in the early morning light, patches of red paint barely visible beneath layers of rust and grime.
Gas.
The three of you stop at the edge of the field, taking in the sight.
“That thing’s been sitting there for a while,” Jay says, his tone sceptical. “No guarantee it even has gas left.”
“Only one way to find out,” Jungwon replies, already moving toward it.
You and Jay exchange a glance before following him, cautiously weaving your way through the wild weeds and brittle stalks.
The field is too quiet, too still. The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl, as though something is watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to move. The overgrown weeds brush against your legs, and every rustle sets your nerves on edge. It feels like something is going to pop out from beneath the ground and take a chomp out of your feet. 
The unease prickles at the back of your mind, but you push the feeling aside.
When you reach the tractor, Jungwon pulls out the siphoning kit Ni-ki packed for you. He hands you the tube and a canister. You kneel beside the tractor, unscrewing the fuel cap before inserting the tube.
“Let’s hope this thing’s got something left in it,” you mutter, giving the tube a few pumps. It takes a moment, but then—finally—liquid begins to flow.
Jungwon gives a small nod of approval before stepping back to keep watch. Jay crouches nearby, pulling out a knife and absently running his thumb along the edge of the blade.
The silence stretches as you wait for the canister to fill. The distant rustling of leaves in the breeze is the only sound. Until you decide to break it.
“It might not mean anything, but I would’ve done it too,” you say softly, your voice carrying across the field. Both Jungwon and Jay turn to look at you, confusion flickering across their faces. You meet Jay’s gaze, holding it steady. He knows what you’re referring to, but you spell it out anyway. 
“Going after him—I mean.”
Jay’s jaw tightens, and he looks away. “You don’t have to lie to comfort me. I know what I did was wrong.”
“There’s no right or wrong in the apocalypse. But even if you think it’s wrong, you don’t regret it” you say, your tone calm but unwavering.
Jay’s head snaps back toward you, his brow furrowing. “What are you trying to say?”
You shrug, leaning back slightly on your heels. “What I’m trying to say is, what you’re feeling is valid. If it were up to me, I would’ve shot him in both ankles. Make sure he couldn’t run to begin with.”
There’s a beat of silence. Jungwon shifts slightly, his gaze flickering between you and Jay, but he doesn’t interrupt. He’s listening too.
Jay’s expression is guarded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re not scared to say that? In front of him?” He gestures toward Jungwon with a tilt of his head.
“Why would I be?” You glance at Jungwon briefly before turning back to Jay.
“You probably already figured it out,” Jay says quietly, his gaze fixed on the blade in his hand. “But the whole point of this group—the way Jungwon leads us—is to make sure we don’t become the monsters we ran away from.” He pauses, his jaw clenching briefly before continuing. “Whatever Jake or the others feel about what I did… that’s valid.”
You watch him carefully, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tighten around the knife as if it’s the only thing keeping him steady. There’s guilt there, deeply rooted, but also defiance. He doesn’t regret what he did—he regrets what it cost him.
“Protecting your loved ones comes at a much too high cost sometimes,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the heaviness of the conversation. “Frankly speaking, if I saw someone I love die in front of me, I’d do much more than just shoot someone in the ankle.”
Jay’s knife stills in his hand. For a brief moment, something shifts in his expression—a crack in the hardened exterior he’s built around himself. In that moment, he looks younger. Less guarded. More human.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, tinged with something close to regret. “It doesn’t bring her back, though.”
“No,” you agree gently. “It doesn’t.”
The words hang between you, heavy with shared understanding. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the sound of the wind rustling through the overgrown field filling the silence.
“But,” you add, your gaze locking on his, “you seem to forget that it’s also human to want justice. Or revenge. Whatever you want to call it.”
Jay lifts his head slowly, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—recognition, maybe. Like he hadn’t allowed himself to think of it that way before.
“Justice or revenge,” he repeats, almost to himself. “I guess it depends on who’s telling the story.”
You nod. “Or who’s left to tell it.”
He lets out a quiet exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “I don’t know what that makes me, though. A monster or just… someone who’s trying to survive.”
You offer a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe it makes you both.”
Jay huffs a soft, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Jungwon, who’s been standing quietly off to the side, finally speaks. “It makes you someone who’s still here. Someone who’s still fighting. That’s all that matters.” His voice is steady, filled with that quiet authority that makes people listen. Jay glances at Jungwon, something unspoken passing between them before he nods. 
The canister fills with a soft glug, and you pull the tube out, wiping your hands on your jeans. You glance at Jay again, his gaze distant as he processes your words. You screw the fuel cap back onto the tractor and Jay picks up the canister.
The three of you head back through the field, the morning light casting long shadows across the overgrown crops. You and Jungwon walk a few feet ahead while Jay trails behind in silence. For the first time, the silence between you and Jay feels a little lighter. A little more bearable.
Jungwon doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the weight of his unspoken words in the way his gaze flickers toward you. He glances at you, then away, like he’s searching for the right moment to speak—or maybe the right words. It’s subtle, but you notice it every single time.
It’s fascinating, really.
Just days ago, back at the auto shop, he was an impenetrable shell. Guarded, unreadable, every word measured and calculated. His presence then felt heavy with the burden of leadership, the weight of keeping the group alive pressing down on his shoulders.
But now? Now, you see something else. There’s a quiet shift in him. A softening. 
It’s in the way his shoulders aren’t as tense, the way his eyes don’t carry the same storm they did before. He still holds himself with purpose, still walks with that quiet confidence that commands respect. But there’s something more now—something vulnerable. Something real.
He’s finally living up to his name.
Garden.
Not the enclosed, walled-off kind. But an open, untamed one. Wildflowers breaking through cracks in stone, soft green creeping over hard surfaces, reaching out toward the light despite everything.
And it makes you wonder if you’ve planted yourself there, too. If, without realising it, you’ve taken root in the cracks he kept so tightly sealed. The thought sends an ache through your chest—one you can’t quite place, one you’re not sure you want to name.
But it doesn’t change the facts.
Your plan to slip away quietly still stands. It has to. The moment you start to care too much, the moment you feel like you belong—that’s the moment everything falls apart. You’ve learned that lesson the hard way, and you’re not about to forget it.
You glance at Jungwon, his gaze once again flickering toward you before settling ahead. There’s trust in his eyes now, trust you never expected to earn. And it terrifies you.
Because when the day comes, when you finally decide it’s time to leave, it won’t be as simple as walking away. You’ll not only have to pull yourself out of that garden—you’ll have to dig. Dig deep. Find every root, every tendril of connection that’s wound itself around your heart, and sever it.
And that’s what scares you the most.
You’ve always been good at surviving. Good at keeping your distance. But something about this group, about him, makes you question whether you’re as detached as you like to think.
You push the thought aside, your grip tightening on the knife at your belt. Not yet. Not today.
For now, you keep walking. 
But with each step, the weight in your chest grows heavier. The more you procrastinate confronting this—the way your walls have started to crumble, the way the cracks are widening—the deeper the roots grow. 
And one day, those roots will grow too deep. So deep that no matter how hard you dig, no matter how determined you are to sever them, they’ll remain. Buried beneath layers of regret, fear, betrayal and everything you’ve been running from.
And deep down, you know this. You’ve always known. 
It terrifies you.
Because in a world where nothing is certain, where survival often means cutting ties and leaving before things fall apart, you can feel yourself tethering to something—or someone—that you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.
Knowing this and yet, you keep walking.
The three of you near the foot of the hill, the climb back to the van just ahead. Your legs ache from the trek, and your mind is still spinning from your earlier conundrum. But just as you’re about to start the ascent, something stops you cold.
At first, you think it must be your mind playing tricks again—another hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But no. These voices are real. They’re vivid, sharp, and far too close.
“Get down,” Jungwon whispers, already crouching low. His eyes scan the surroundings, quickly assessing the situation.
You drop to your knees, heart pounding in your chest. The voices grow clearer, drifting through the trees just ahead.
“When are your stupid friends coming back with the gas?” It’s a voice you don’t recognise—rough, impatient.
“If they’re taking this long, it better be because there’s so much gas for them to siphon,” another voice replies, laced with irritation.
“Or maybe there’s no gas at all, and you idiots are just wasting your time on us.” Sunoo, the ever so convincing diplomat. He might as well tell them to shoot him right there and then.
Jungwon glances up from his crouched position, subtly peering over the tall grass. His blonde hair, ironically, blends into the wildflowers scattered around, making him almost invisible from a distance.
He raises two fingers, silently indicating the number of visible threats.
Jay crouches beside him, his bow already in hand, an arrow notched and ready to draw. “I can easily take them out,” he whispers, his tone steady but eager. “One shot each.”
“No.” Jungwon shakes his head firmly. “Think about it. Sunghoon, Heeseung, and Ni-ki could’ve taken them out themselves. They wouldn’t let themselves get caught off-guard. Which means there’s more of them. Armed. Hidden.”
The realisation sends a chill down your spine. Of course. It’s not just two men holding your friends hostage—there’s a whole group. And they’re lying in wait, hidden in the trees or behind the van, ready to strike if anyone makes a move.
Jay curses under his breath. “Fuck, I knew I should’ve brough the pistol along.”
Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his eyes scanning the area for any possible advantage. His mind is already racing through options, calculating risks. His hand twitches toward the knife at his side, but he doesn’t draw it. Not yet.
“We wait,” he says quietly. “We need to figure out how many we’re dealing with.”
“And if they hurt them?” you ask, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to stay calm.
“They won’t,” says Jungwon, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “Not yet. They want something. And as long as they think they can get it, they’ll keep them alive.”
You swallow hard, nodding. But your eyes drift back toward the direction of Sunoo’s voice, your chest tightening with worry.
The seconds crawl by, the tension weighing heavier with each passing moment. Every whisper from the strangers ahead feels amplified, mingling with the rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds. You try to focus, straining to pick out anything useful—a clue about how many of them there are or where they’re positioned—but the sounds blur together, indistinct and frustratingly useless.
Then, from the corner of your eye, you catch it—a flicker of movement. Your head snaps toward the tail of the van, heart pounding. For the briefest moment, a hand emerges, fingers twitching in a silent signal.
Three.
The hand disappears just as quickly as it appeared, but the message is clear. You nudge Jungwon lightly, your fingers brushing his arm. His gaze follows yours to the spot where the hand had been, and you watch as his expression hardens. His eyes narrow in that calculating way you’ve come to recognise.
Three. 
No—more. The hand reappears, flashing another quick signal.
Five.
Your stomach twists, the tension tightening like a noose around your chest. Five? Does that mean five hidden threats, or five including the two already standing out in the open with your friends? You curse under your breath, frustrated that you hadn’t thought to establish hand signals with them sooner. Anticipating a situation like this should’ve been second nature by now.
Your heart skips a beat as the hand emerges once more. But this time, it’s more than just fingers. You catch a glimpse of hair, dishevelled but unmistakable.
Sunghoon.
His hands are tied behind his back, but he’s doing everything he can to communicate. His fingers form a fist, except for his thumb and index finger, which he cocks repeatedly.
“They’re armed,” Jungwon whispers, his voice low and steady, cutting through your thoughts. He’s already figured it out. Of course he has. Sunghoon’s making the universal sign for guns, cocking his thumb like a makeshift trigger. When he raises two fingers, it clicks.
Two guns.
Three hidden threats.
Five in total.
You turn to look at Jungwon and Jay and it’s pretty clear they figured it out too. Their faces mirror your own dread, their expressions tense and focused. There’s no room for error here. 
Sunghoon’s hand twitches again, slower this time. He forms a clenched fist before making a sweeping motion inwards, his fingers pointing to the back of the van.
“He wants us to come up behind the van,” you whisper to Jungwon, barely able to hear your own voice over the pounding of your heart. Jungwon gives a slight nod, his eyes never leaving Sunghoon.
But then Sunghoon’s fingers start counting down.
Five.
Wait, what?
Four.
Panic flares in your chest. What’s the plan? There’s no time to figure this out.
Three.
Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his hand inching toward the hilt of his blade.
Two.
If you rush out now, you’ll be spotted. You know it. You’ll be shot before you even make it to the van.
One.
You freeze.
“So, what’s the plan, lady and gentlemen?” Sunoo’s voice rings out, light and sarcastic despite the weight of the situation. “Gonna stand there all day?”
He’s creating a distraction. Of course he is. Turning the strangers’ attention to him, giving you a window of opportunity to sneak around. For a brief moment, you’re struck by how well this group operates together—how they fill in the gaps for each other. It’s seamless, even in chaos.
You also catch the nuance in Sunoo’s words. Lady and gentlemen. One woman. Four men.
One of the men steps closer, his rifle glinting in the light. “Keep talking, pretty boy. See how that works out for you.”
“I understand,” Sunoo says lightly. “But I really do need to pee. Would you be so kind as to help me out?”
The man doesn’t even flinch. “No. Pee your pants.”
Sunoo lets out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, come on. I know it’s the apocalypse, but you can’t strip me of my basic human rights. Back in the day, you’d be charged with kidnapping on multiple counts.”
“This isn’t ‘back in the day��� now, is it?” says one of them.
“Fine. But at least unzip my trousers and help me take it out, please!" you make a mental note that Sunoo and lack of decorum do not go well together, even in the apocalypse.
The man’s face twists in disgust, and a woman’s voice pipes up from the other side, exasperated. “Ugh. Just help him.”
There’s shuffling. Movement. Now.
You push yourself off the ground, body low as you crawl across the curb and step into the open road. You creep behind the van, the gravel crunching quietly beneath your boots. Jungwon and Jay follow close, silent shadows trailing in your wake.
Sunghoon stands just a few feet away, Jake perpendicular from him, both still bound. The tension between the three of you is palpable, a shared understanding that one wrong move could cost everything.
Unfortunately, from your position, you can't see where the oppressors are without risking exposure. The van offers some cover, but it’s not enough to make a clear assessment. Your pulse drums steadily in your ears as you scan your surroundings, searching for any advantage.
Then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jake shifting slightly. At first, you think he’s adjusting his position, but then a glint catches your attention—a flash of sunlight reflecting off the knife secured in his belt. Your brow furrows, curious.
Jake moves again, this time more deliberately, tilting the blade just enough to catch the light. The reflection bounces toward the treeline, and you realise with a start that he’s not just adjusting—he’s positioning himself to show you something.
He’s using the reflection to signal.
You narrow your eyes, focusing on the faint gleam in the knife. It flickers as Jake tilts it, revealing small glimpses of what lies beyond your line of sight. Through the distorted image in the reflection, you can make out the silhouette of a woman standing near Sunghoon. She’s clinging to the arm of a man with a rifle.
Jake tilts the knife again, revealing two more figures standing near the van’s hood. They’re not moving much, but the muzzle of a rifle glints faintly in the light.
Four.
Your chest tightens as you try to piece together the situation. You glance at Jungwon, who’s crouched nearby, his gaze locked on the same reflection. His lips press into a thin line as he absorbs the information.
Four by the van. One unaccounted for.
“What? Are you going to watch me pee?” Sunoo’s voice drifts through the trees, loud and mocking. He sounds far too relaxed for someone tied up and at gunpoint. It would almost be funny—if it wasn’t terrifying. But you know exactly what he’s doing—keeping the focus on himself. No, not just that. 
The pieces fall into place. Four by the van. One with Sunoo. Two confirmed firearms.
You take a risk, tilting your head just enough to peek beyond the edge of the van. The road stretches out before you, dappled with sunlight filtering through the trees. And then you see it—an opportunity.
Your gaze sharpens as the woman catches your attention again. She’s unarmed, still clinging to the man with the rifle, her hands trembling slightly. The way her fingers grip his sleeve, the tension in her posture—it tells you everything. She’s scared. Not just for herself, but for him.
Girlfriend? Wife? Sister? It doesn’t matter. It’s a weakness. 
Your heart pounds as you glance at Sunghoon, signalling with a subtle nod. He inches to his left, giving you a clear path. Every movement is slow, deliberate. The woman remains oblivious, her focus entirely on the man she’s holding on to. You shift your weight, exchanging a glance with Jungwon. His eyes narrow, and in an instant, he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
Don’t.
The silent message is written all over his face. His hand twitches, reaching toward you, a last-ditch effort to stop you. But you’ve already made up your mind.
You step out from behind the van, your footsteps soft but purposeful. The knife in your hand feels like an extension of your arm. The woman’s head snaps up as she senses your presence, her eyes widening in shock.
Before she can react, your arm wraps around her neck, pulling her close. The blade presses against her throat, just hard enough to make her freeze. A gasp escapes her lips—a fragile sound, filled with fear.
“Move and I’ll slit her throat,” you say, your voice cold and unyielding. Something in it that scares you even. The woman stiffens in your grip, her breath catching in her throat. The man in front of her spins around, his rifle swinging toward you before he freezes, wide-eyed and panicked. 
Beside you, Jungwon stays hidden, crouched low behind the van. He signals to Jay with a subtle nod, motioning for him to circle around to the front of the van now that every pair of eyes is locked on you.
“Let her go!” he shouts, his hands tightening around the weapon.
"Not a chance," you reply, pressing the blade just a little closer to the woman’s neck. Her breath hitches, a strained gasp breaking through the tense silence. She trembles in your hold, her fingers clawing weakly at your arm—not to fight you off, just instinct, pure desperation. Her nails barely scrape your skin, like she knows it won’t help but can’t stop herself from trying.
You know what must be running through her mind. You wonder if she feels like prey in a trap, heart pounding, mind racing to find a way out. Your mind spirals further, unwanted thoughts clawing at the edges of your focus.
This moment is a reflection. A sickening dĂŠjĂ  vu.
Would this woman be feeling what their friend felt when that man held her at knifepoint? 
Would this man be feeling what Jay had felt when he witnessed his loved one on the verge of death?
Would they see you in that same light? 
Then again, why would you care what they think about you? It’s not like you’ll be staying long anyway.
So, you don’t let go. You can’t let go. Because you know what will happen when you do.
The man with the rifle looks like he’s calculating his odds, his gaze flicking between you and your hostage. The tension is palpable, each second stretching out endlessly. The woman whimpers, her body trembling against you. She’s scared. Good. Fear keeps people compliant.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “We didn’t come here to hurt anyone.”
You scoff, the sound bitter in your throat. “Funny. That’s not what it looks like.”
The man with the rifle shifts again, and your grip on the woman tightens. “You really want to test me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “Because I promise you, I don’t care about her life nearly as much as you do.” 
“No!” he shouts, his voice raw with desperation, his grip loosening on the rifle. “Don’t hurt her!”
For a moment, everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. The trees sway gently in the breeze, the leaves rustling like whispers of a long-forgotten world. The morning sun filters through the branches, casting dappled shadows on the road. And yet, all you can focus on is the pulse beneath your hand—the steady, panicked thrum of the woman’s heartbeat against your arm.
Mentally slapping yourself out of your trance, you command. “Drop your weapon.”
He hesitates, his knuckles whitening around the rifle. His fear is palpable, radiating off him in waves. You press the knife just a fraction deeper against the woman’s skin, enough to make her whimper. “I said, drop it.”
The man hesitates for a long moment, his grip tightening. His gaze flickers to the woman in your grasp, then back to you. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he weighs his options. But you also see something else. 
Fear. Not fear of you—but fear of losing her.
That’s the thing about love, isn’t it? It makes you vulnerable. It cracks you open, gives someone the power to hurt you. And if someone knows where to press, that love becomes a liability.
Slowly, he lowers the rifle, the barrel pointing toward the ground.
“Good,” you say, your tone steady. “Now kick it over.”
The rifle skids across the asphalt, stopping just a few feet from Jungwon. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jungwon’s expression—tense, calculating, but not surprised. He moves slowly, staying low as he presses himself closer to the van, positioning himself to take control of the situation once the opportunity presents itself.
"You don’t want to do this," another man, closer to the hood of the van, says slowly. His voice is calm, measured. Too measured. Like he’s trying to steady not just himself, but the entire situation. His eyes flick between you and the woman you’re holding. He’s trying to be the voice of reason, the negotiator, but there’s a tremor in his tone—one he can’t quite hide.
"You don’t want to hurt her."
"Don’t tell me what I want," you snap, your voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. Your grip on the knife doesn’t waver, but inside? Inside, it’s chaos.
Because he’s right. You don’t want to hurt her. Not really. Not if there’s another way out. They’ve got guns and they’re desperate, just like you. 
Desperation makes monsters of everyone.
The thought claws at the edges of your mind as you adjust your grip on the woman. She’s trembling, tears slipping down her face, but she stays silent. Her breath comes in short, shallow gasps, her chest heaving against your arm. You can feel her fear, taste it in the air, and it makes your stomach turn.
This whole situation, it’s just the natural order of things now. The strong preying on the weak. Demanding supplies, food, whatever it takes to keep their own people alive. You’ve seen it before, lived through it. Hell, there’s a whole organisation running rampage out there doing exactly that.
Regardless of their intentions and how they do it, it’s survival. But that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.
And you know—you know—these people aren’t much different from you and your group. They’re just trying to survive, trying to keep moving, to keep the people they care about alive. They don’t want to hurt you any more than you want to hurt them. At least not until you give them a reason to.
And you did. The moment you grabbed the woman, the second your knife pressed against her throat, you gave them all the reason they needed to pull the trigger. Because you touched something they care about.
That’s the thing about people. It’s all about who and what they care about. And when you touch it, threaten it, everything changes. Logic, reason, morality—it all flies out the window. And now? Now they’re counting down the seconds until they can shoot you in the face without a second thought.
But they forget one thing.
They touched your people first.
"You’ve got about thirty seconds," you say, your voice steady, cold. "Drop all your weapons, let my people go, or I swear I’ll slit her throat."
You glance at Jungwon out of the corner of your eye. He’s still crouched low behind the van, waiting, watching. His expression is unreadable, but you know him well enough now to see the tension in his shoulders, he’s waiting for the right moment.
Jay is out of sight, somewhere on the other side of the van. You can’t see him, but you know he’s moving, circling, trying to find an angle. Trying to protect your group the only way he knows how. 
Your gaze flickers to the others. Jake and Heeseung is still bound, but their eyes are locked on you, a mix of shock and something like pride flickering in their expression. Sunghoon remains frozen, his body tense but ready to spring into action the second he gets a chance. Ni-ki is pinned down on the hood of the van but his eyes are on you, unwavering, waiting.
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flicker of movement in the treeline—Sunoo. His figure is barely visible through the dense foliage, but you can tell his hands are free. He must have managed to cut through the rope binding him, probably using the rough bark of a tree. That—or the guy tasked with watching him isn’t very good at his job.
You keep your gaze locked on the man in front of you, careful not to let your eyes betray Sunoo’s presence. The last thing you need is for them to catch on. Instead, you let your peripheral vision do the work, tracking Sunoo’s slow, deliberate movements as he inches forward, his footsteps light and calculated.
He’s closing the distance. The guy guarding him hasn’t noticed. Too busy shifting from foot to foot, fidgeting nervously with his knife. He’s jittery. Out of his depth. They’ve clearly never done this before. Not properly, at least. There’s no confidence in the way he stands, no calm resolve you’d expect from someone used to wielding power.
But the man closest to you—the one with everything to lose—is different.
His jaw clenches tight, muscles flexing as he shifts his weight. You can tell he’s getting impatient, barely containing his frustration. His hand twitches at his side, fingers curling and uncurling like he’s itching to do something, anything. He keeps glancing at the rifle on the ground—probably kicking himself for letting go of it in the first place.
“What’s your plan here?” he sneers, voice low and venomous. His eyes bore into you with disdain. “Think you’re walking out of this alive?”
God, you hope so.
But hope isn’t a strategy, and you know that better than most. You don’t answer him. Instead, you move deliberately, swinging your free hand up to cover the woman’s face, pressing your palm over her eyes. She gasps, stiffening in your grip, her hands scrabbling weakly at your arm. She doesn’t fight hard enough to hurt you—too paralysed by fear. 
The man in front of you frowns, taking a cautious step forward, his confusion clear in the crease of his brow. Yes, that’s right. Let him think you’re escalating the situation. Let him think you’re panicking, acting out of desperation.
But It’s nothing more than a calculated move—meant to look like you’re trying to intimidate her further. Really, it’s to cover her vision. Keep her from seeing Sunoo.
“Shh,” you murmur harshly against her ear, low and threatening. Your voice doesn’t waver, even as your heart pounds relentlessly in your chest. She lets out a muffled whimper, trembling, and you press your hand more firmly over her face. The other man with the rifle steps forward, his brow furrowing in confusion. Perfect. Let him focus on you. Let him take the bait.
Sunoo is closer now, creeping along the treeline like a shadow. His footsteps are almost silent, his movements fluid and precise. He’s patient, careful. Waiting for the right moment.
Behind you, you sense Jungwon shift slightly, adjusting his stance. You know he’s seen Sunoo too. His hands hover near the discarded rifle on the ground, his body taut like a coiled spring, ready to move at a moment’s notice.
But it’s Jay’s absence that nags at the back of your mind. Where is he? He should have circled around by now, taken position. The fact that he hasn’t reappeared yet only heightens the tension coiling in your chest.
“Let her go,” the man demands, his voice harder now. “We’re done playing games.”
Games? You almost laugh at that. This isn’t a game. This is survival. Still, you keep your tone even, your grip steady. You tilt your head, letting a slow smirk curl at the corners of your mouth. “It’s kind of fun though, isn’t it?” you mock, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “This little game.”
Sunoo’s almost there now. Just a few more steps. He’s inching closer, creeping along the treeline with the precision of someone who knows how to stay invisible. His hands flex at his sides, ready to act.
And then—
The sharp crack of a branch echoes through the air like a gunshot. The noise is deafening in the tense silence, slicing through the moment like a blade. Your heart lurches into your throat as the man with the rifle reacts instantly, swinging his weapon toward the sound, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“Sunoo—now!” you shout, your voice breaking through the moment of standstill.
Bang.
A singular gunshot rings out.
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part 2 - warmth | masterlist | part 4 - ?
♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡
notes from nat: *laughs menacingly* i'll shout out the person who guesses the title of the next part first when i post it HAHAHA also lowkey had a breakdown writing this part because of the whole sequence at the back. it was so challenging trying to portray her anxiety and levelheadedness at the same time.
perm taglist. @m1kkso @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @catlicense @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee @hueningcry @fakeuwus @enhaslxt @neocockthotology @Starryhani @aishisgrey @katarinamae @mitmit01 @youcancometome @cupiddolle @classicroyalty @dearsjaeyun @ikeucakeu @sammie217 @m1kkso @tinycatharsis @parkjjongswifey @dcllsinna @no1likeneo
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h7p3r4ct1v3-h0rn3t2 ¡ 7 hours ago
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hi joey :3 I'm using the emojis from the O.P. bc otherwise i'll forget what the questions were and i'll have to scroll back up every time
📷 It's a screenshot of Max Pacheco in What If You Were A Bird
🍫 Choese ..
✨ some of my friends call me The Jingler sometimes. and Joey calls me Ronald Reagan.
🎵 right now im listening to Headfirst For Halos because it's on my Johnny Mcfly character playlist which you should ask for if you want to listen to it because johnny mcfly is cool
✏️ yes :3
😏 Yes :3 jingles_miserably ! send me a frq if you Wuant
 💛 My ears are pierced and i think abt getting angel bites some time. i dont remember if the one im thinking of is angel bites or snake bites. what ever
🐰
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🍪 I would be a gingerbread cookie because the wikipedia page for paraphasia uses "gingerjed" as an example for perseverative paraphasic errors
🐶 I consider myself a cat person but not because I Dislike dogs I have 2 . I just Mesh Better with cats is all
🎧 Headphones because i have yet to find a pair of earbuds that fits .
🌼 "Penis" just so i could say it was penis
🙃 Once in sweden some dentists went to like a mental asylum or something and fed a bunch of the patients candy to give them cavities on purpose and i dont remember what they wanted to prove
🦉 I don't have a well-defined circadian rhythm so whenever my brain and body cooperate is when i function best
🧸 my BED hashtag bed
🏳️‍🌈 yes
🦋 i dont knowwwwwwww
👖 sweatpants. preferably leggings but i like sweatpants too. I HATE jeans. jeans haters rise up
🥤 i dont drink coffee and if i did i wouldnt get it from starbucks
🧡 i dont like khaki like im not like A Beige Hater but khaki is usually in like. uglyass pants. like jeans (bad) but without any of the visual charm (worse)
💎 fuckkkk. maybe my 2002 skyscraper calendar with the world trade center for january. it is probably that actually
☕ tea .. they call me the tear . the tea-er .
🦖 i love you thylacine
🌙 like 2 years ithink. maybe 3
🌴 my hashtag phone.. phone life hazshtag phone
🐸 I assume this question is regarding clothing. and if im correct then my style is generally Scene kid meets old woman meets 1800s fop
🔮 my dream job. Used to be marketing. but i recently came to the conclusion that i could never want that without betraying my communist sensibilities. so idk . teacher??
💙 single . Who Want Me (Not rhetorical)
🌿 i have this pop-art ish nasa shirt and a plaid skirt (which im wearing right now!) and trhese green and black arm warmers that i wore to a county spelling bee once (I lost). i also have these willy wonka sunglasses and a hat i got from a gemstone slash cosplay store with 2 little robots in it in oregon that i like to wear with Most outfits
🎤 many. first that comes to mind (it's on as i type this) is Black Diamond by Lilac Roadkill
🤎 green
💌 all the time !!
💄every morning before school i spend like 10 minutes putting on JUST eye makeup. and that's all i wear is eye makeup. sometimes i do sfx makeup for cosplays and such but other than that just eye makeup
🌸 People tell me im funny sometimes which is nice because most of my jokes fall flat in my head
💞 my favourite blog is @fuckyeahbenbernanke-blog because i believe in their beliefs
~ 💖 ASK GAME 💖 ~
📷 What’s set as your phone’s lockscreen?
🍫 Cheese or chocolate?
✨ Do you have any nicknames?
🎵 Last song you listened to?
✏️ Have you ever written fanfiction?
😏 Are you on discord?
 💛 Do you have any piercings?
🐰 What do you think says the most about a person?
🍪 If you were a cookie, what kind would you be?
🐶 Are you more of a dog person or a cat person?
🎧 Headphones or earbuds?
🌼 What’s the last thing you said out loud?
🙃 What’s a weird fact that you know?
🦉 Are you a morning person or a night owl?
🧸 Favorite place to nap?
🏳️‍🌈 Are you a member of the LGBTQIA+ community?
🦋 Describe yourself in three words.
👖 Jeans or sweatpants?
🥤 What’s your go-to Starbucks order?
🧡 A color you can’t stand?
💎 What’s your most prized possession?
☕ Coffee or tea?
🦖 Favorite extinct animal?
🌙 How long have you been on tumblr?
🌴 Desert island item?
🐸 Describe your aesthetic.
🔮 What’s your dream job?
💙 Relationship status?
🌿 Describe your favorite outfit.
🎤 Is there a song you know all the lyrics to?
🤎 What color is your hair?
💌 Do you talk to yourself?
💄 Do you wear makeup?
🌸 Best compliment you ever received?
💞 @ your favorite blog.
Reblogs are appreciated!
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yandere-daydreams ¡ 1 day ago
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Secretary birds specialise in knocking down and pinning their prey to the ground and immobilise it and Suguru is no different, though today his quarry of choice is hunted for a different purpose. He had seen you many times from a distance using his keen eyesight and powerful wings to watch unnoticed as you went about your daily routine.
Cobra!reader who is rough and reckless, always top of the food chain and always can rely on venom in a fight.
Secretary Bird!Suguru who engages you in a fight and once you're on the ground wastes no time in getting on top to pin you down
not completely immune to the venom himself he secures your mouth with a muzzle so as not to risk incidents in future
Even bound and secured you haven't given up but that's okay, Suguru has plenty of time to teach you that your true place is below him... besides, cobras can lay more eggs than a secretary bird...
tw - hybrid au, non/con.
hmmm perhaps i will take a dip after all. just a little one though.
i think it's a matter of perspective. you think of yourself as the strongest thing on or below the ground - not particularly physical imposing, but equipped with a venom potent enough to paralyze a full-grown giraffe and cocky enough to make a show out of it. you spend your days lounging in the sun, filling your stomach with cool water and warm prey, and generally being a menace to whatever living creature happens to be nearby. you're less of a snake and more of a pest, but don't worry - geto finds it endearing.
geto knows he the strongest thing on, below, or above the ground. what's more, he chooses to spend his days watching you. there might've been a time he thought of you as prey, something to be beaten and consumed, but recently, he's taken on a more charitable mindset, come around to the idea of domesticating what he can't bring himself to devour. you might struggle against it, might thrash you tail and bare your fangs and call him such ugly names as he pins you down in the tall grass, but all your attempts to bite him do is earn you a harsher touch and your own wrist forcibly impaled on those vicious little teeth of yours. by the time he's done with you, you're a sniffling mess, wallowing in your own self-pity and unable to so much as blink as the byproducts of his love drip from the slit in your scales. you aren't a very good mate just yet, but that's alright.
he's sure you'll make a wonderful pet, in the meantime.
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emptymanuscript ¡ 6 hours ago
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XD!
So, laugh rule but also:
What’s kinda throwing me is that I think this is actually pretty close to the central thesis of the actual mystical/religious tradition/lineage I’m actually in.
Like, the belief is absolutely that the god we call God is real (as are many other gods and other things) but that the fundamental idea of Divinity vs Mortality is not real. That the fundamental purpose of most religious thought is so the Divine can keep us in our place, even though we’re perfectly capable of doing what they do and achieving apotheosis into being without a difference. The problem with God is that He thinks He’s it and the problem with people is that we think we aren’t.
And, yeah, the fundamental task of the novitiate (initiate? I’m always fuzzy on those. The person just starting out who knows enough to look but enough, yet, to do. Early level apprentice who is learning the ropes sort of person) is to Self Create.
Like that’s the most necessary part of the tradition. You’re supposed to study your little butt off (obviously why I am drawn to it XD, studying everything as a religious devotion? Sign me up! I am a B+ child and I want you to love me teacher XD). But the purpose of the study is to find the hidden resonances, what is actually true, that is not actually recorded in full anywhere because you are divine so only you can fully define you.
It’s self definition by using the other. I am that. I am not that. I am like that but not in this way, etc. Just using metaphysical principles rather than your social group.
Or, I suppose, in ADDITION to your social group.
My actual biggest criticism of my tradition lineage is how often we’re inconsiderate assholes. Not just that we’re not nice people but that we’re not nice people in and on principle. For whatever reason (some I know and some I don’t) the first thing we seem to say we’re not is good, kind, and caring. Like, the exact thing we would want in our own deities and berate the Demiurge (the god who thinks He is God because He was the deity that did all the original creating as far as He is concerned) for not being is what we’re not going to do, too.
Which I get as an act of anger and provocation and boundaries. But I really don’t understand as a mature decision for the path of one’s life. I hear it’s better to reign in hell than serve in heaven but nothing I see demands that that is the actual choice at hand.
There IS a lot of worship. And, yeah, I think part of the draw to my tradition/lineage is that it speaks to lonely weird people who are happier surrounded by books than crowds. But there’s nothing actually NECESSARY to the path about starting a cult, claiming that you’re evil, and then proving it by manipulation and lies. But somehow, those are all the famous people writing the influential texts.
Like, why not be the sort of person you wish that a deity would be. Be your own dream fulfillment. And instead of putting yourself up at the top of a pyramid of something icky, just be the sort of person that other people like hanging around.
Of course, that may just be me being a novice. Wizards aren’t exactly known for their EQ. We know the forbidden names of gods and a whole mess of trivia. My current joke is that if you want to find one of us, go looking for a party. Go to the weirdest one you find. Like, these are not the cool kids, you get me? Look at the people who are up against the wall, not partying. Find the most boring person out of them. That’s your most likely candidate to be a Wizard.
If they are, the questions to ask are ones that lead you to awareness of their humility and sure confidence in themselves.
The more confident they are that they know the secrets of the universe, as a whole, for everything and everybody, the farther back toward initiation they are. The more they need to fight for their own self definition and boundaries, the closer they are to being in the “middle” of their journey. It’s not really the middle it’s simply that you’re very self confident at the very start and very self confident at the end. But the majority of the journey is taking a hammer to the ego when we’re often the sort of people who don’t have a lot of ego defenses to spare.
Which means defensiveness and love/worship cravings are rampant. A great area to promote Narcissistic impulses.
That’s actually a big warning I’ve run into a few times now. That a lot of people simply break and become these megalomaniacal monsters who are just completely full of themselves and their arcane power. They become Demiurge like. They think they’re it. You’re just a prop to them and their power trip fantasy.
Mostly, I hear the solution to be this gray ascetic humility. That the world is illusory and transitory and that includes me and my feelings. So you become this immovable, unimpressable center point. Nothing bothers you. It’s why I talk about my own lineage as shit-eaters. Because that’s a literal example from them. That you should be able to have the same experience and same emotional impact whether you have the best meal of your life or eat literal feces. All that matters is your will and willpower and, yeah, power… so you can enact your will.
Can’t say I like the idea. I do not particularly want to eat feces. I like enjoying food. And this dichotomy strikes me as false. You either reject life or are conquered by it. Meh. I like dialectical thinking not dualistic thinking. And the entire point is to make something new. Something you. Not to simply repeat the old lies and oppression.
If you’re a god, great. Namaste. In all humility and seriousness. I see and acknowledge the divine in you. I welcome it. But as a living, breathing, experiencing person who participates in the world with other people, I would ask some questions:
What are the benefits of your worship to you?
What are the benefits of your worship to your worshippers?
How are you the same as your worshippers?
How are you different from your worshippers?
What are the drawbacks and costs to you that come from your being worshipped?
What are the drawbacks and costs to your worshippers from worshipping you?
If you put yourself in the place of one of your worshippers (pick a few at random) would you feel the benefits and costs weighed out in your favor?
If you put one of your worshippers in your place (pick a few at random) would you come to the conclusion from the outside, with a godlike view of the whole situation, that it weighted out to an activity that was ultimately favorable to them?
For the worshipper you have put in your place, would you be satisfied with how their worshipper’s lives would work out for them in the care of that other?
What would be the benefits to you of rejecting the idea of being worshipped all together?
What would be the costs to you of giving up that particular place at the center for just being one of that particular group you get along with?
DO you actually get along with your worshippers when they aren’t worshipping you? Or do you only like them for their worship? Are they the people you would surround yourself with if you weren’t in this group together?
What benefits might they get from being let go from worshipping you? From being let go from the group?
What would it cost them if they were to stop worshipping you? What would they necessarily lose if they left the group?
Looking at the balance of your answers to these questions and comparing it to likely possible alternatives (NOT the best, NOT the worst, NOT the strangest), is worshipping you the best thing for your worshippers?
Looking at the balance and considering the likely possible alternatives for yourself, is being worshipped in this way the best thing for you?
Looking at all the answers that you’ve written out, and being honest with yourself, with the full divine view of what is and what could be, is this situation what you actually want? Would that answer change if it was for someone else? WHY? WHY is this the best arrangement? Or WHY isn’t this good enough? WHY does it matter who the worshipped is versus an alternative versus the worshippers? WHY? WHY? WHY? There is a reason that children demand this endlessly. It is the most necessary question to understand their lives. That doesn’t really change when a child grows up and realizes their own divinity.
They say you gotta worship god because he created stuff, but I created myself, and my epic boobs, and I'm real, so aren't I better than god? Maybe I should be worshipped. Much to think about
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moonselune ¡ 2 days ago
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Heyo! I was the one to send the ask about a Tav hiding their past from their companions and the romanced one realizing the other day. I forgot to add which romanced companions for the request 😅
Astarion, Karlach, or Shadowheart if that’s ok
No worries! I couldn't actually find the original ask as my inbox likes to snack on them so it worked out perfectly!
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Karlach:
The two of you were sprawled out on a grassy hill, the stars blazing above like a million tiny promises of hope. Karlach, ever radiant, had her arms behind her head, her warm laughter still lingering in the cool night air after she'd recounted some ridiculous tale of a fight she'd gotten into years ago. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her—there was something about Karlach that was utterly disarming.
“Y’know,” she said, rolling onto her side to look at you, her face half-illuminated by starlight, “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“That’s always dangerous,” you teased, earning a playful swat on the arm.
“I’m serious,” she said, her tone soft but thoughtful now. “I realized... I don’t actually know much about you. Like, really know you.”
You tensed slightly, your smile fading, and she noticed immediately. Karlach wasn’t the type to miss when someone’s defenses went up—she was too attuned to cracks in the armor not to see it.
“I know you're amazing, and you're kind, and you’ve been through some stuff, but...you’ve always been pretty vague about your past. Why is that?”
“It’s not important,” you said quickly, brushing it off as if it were nothing. You turned your gaze back to the stars, hoping she’d let it go.
But Karlach wasn’t one to let things go easily.
“Not important? You’re important. What made you who you are is important,” she said, her voice gentle but insistent. “Come on, you know everything about me. You know about Zariel, the Hells, all of it. But you...you’ve got this wall around parts of yourself, and I don’t like not being able to reach you.”
You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Karlach, it’s...it’s not something I like to talk about, okay? Some things are better left buried.”
“But buried things tend to rot, love,” she said softly, placing a warm hand on your arm. “Please. Talk to me.”
You hesitated, staring at her hand on your arm. The warmth of her touch was grounding, comforting, and yet it made the ache in your chest all the more acute. When you finally looked at her, you saw nothing but patience and love in her eyes. And it broke you.
“Fine,” you muttered, sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. She sat up too, waiting quietly, not rushing you.
“I grew up in a family that looked perfect from the outside,” you began, your voice low. “We had money, status—everything people think makes a family happy. But behind closed doors? It was a nightmare.”
Karlach said nothing, letting you continue at your own pace.
“My parents...they hated each other. And they weren’t exactly quiet about it. Every day was a war zone. Screaming matches, accusations, the kind of anger that seeps into everything. My siblings and I were caught in the crossfire, always trying to stay out of the way, always trying not to make things worse. But no matter what we did, it was never enough. Someone always got hurt, one way or another.”
You paused, your throat tightening as old memories clawed their way to the surface. Karlach reached out and took your hand, her grip firm but reassuring.
“And then,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly, “one day, it all fell apart. My older brother tried to leave—tried to get out of the hellhole we called home. My father...he didn’t take it well. There was a fight. Things got...violent. And my brother never made it out. After that, everything just...collapsed. I left too, eventually, but by then I’d lost everything that mattered. My family. My sense of who I was. All of it.”
You finally looked at her, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “That’s why I don’t talk about it, Karlach. Because what’s the point? It’s just a mess I crawled out of, and I don’t want it to define me.”
For a moment, Karlach was silent, her expression a mix of astonishment and heartbreak. Then she shook her head, a small, incredulous laugh escaping her lips.
“Damn,” she said softly. “You’re...incredible, you know that?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“How are you so well-adjusted after all that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe. “Seriously. If it were me, I’d be a total wreck. But you...you’re strong. You’re kind. You’ve got this huge heart that somehow survived all that pain. It’s...it’s amazing.”
Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They spilled over, and before you could even think to hide them, Karlach was pulling you into her arms. Her infernal warmth enveloped you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into someone else completely.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just...I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Shhh, it’s okay,” she murmured, her hand stroking your back soothingly. “I get it. I do. But I’m here now, okay? You don’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore.”
You clung to her like a lifeline, her warmth chasing away the chill of old wounds. And in that moment, for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as broken as you thought.
“I love you, you know,” Karlach said softly, her voice thick with emotion.
You pulled back just enough to look at her, your eyes still glistening with tears. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of everything you’d just shared.
And as her lips met yours in a gentle, grounding kiss, you realized that maybe you didn’t have to bury your past anymore. Not with Karlach. Not ever again.
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Shadowheart:
The two of you sat side by side on a quiet patch of forest floor, the campfire flickering in the distance as the night crept in around you. Shadowheart had been unusually quiet, her sharp eyes scanning the stars above before settling on your profile.
"You know," she started, her voice soft but probing, "for all the time we've spent together, I realize I don’t actually know much about you."
You blinked, glancing at her, caught off guard by the sudden turn in conversation. “What do you mean? You know plenty about me,” you said lightly, trying to deflect.
Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “Do I? I know who you are now, sure. But your past? Where you come from? What made you...you? You’ve kept it all locked up tight.”
You shifted uncomfortably, your gaze dropping to the ground. “It’s not important,” you muttered.
Shadowheart leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she studied you. “Not important to who? Because it feels pretty important to me.”
Her persistence made you squirm, and you quickly stood, brushing off your clothes as if that would somehow shake the conversation away. “Shadowheart, I don’t—can we not do this right now?”
You started to walk away, but her voice stopped you in your tracks.
“Alright. But I’ll find out eventually. You know I’m not one to let things go.” You glanced back at her, giving her a pointed look, but she just smiled sweetly, her tone deceptively innocent. “You’ll tell me, willingly or not.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it. Still, you didn’t realize how serious she was about her little promise—until the next evening.
Shadowheart wasn’t just clever; she was sneaky. The next day, she found ways to chip away at your defenses. She asked questions that seemed harmless at first—what foods you liked, what your childhood home looked like, what kind of trouble you got into as a kid. Bit by bit, she pieced together fragments of your past until you realized too late that she’d woven a net around you.
It wasn’t until you were sitting by the riverbank after another grueling day of travel that she struck her final blow.
“So,” she said casually, dipping her fingers into the cool water, “was your family always so chaotic, or did the drama start later on?”
You froze, your stomach twisting as you realized she’d cornered you.
“What are you talking about?” you said, feigning ignorance.
Shadowheart smirked, tilting her head. “Oh, come on. I’ve been paying attention. The little things you’ve let slip, the way you dodge questions—it’s obvious there’s more to your story than you’re letting on. So, spill. What happened?”
You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
She just smiled, her expression softening. “Only when it comes to things that matter. And you, my love, matter.”
Her words cracked something open inside you, and before you could stop yourself, the dam burst.
It all came tumbling out. The family drama that felt like a never-ending storm—arguments, betrayals, and secrets that tore your home apart. The tragedies that left scars too deep to heal. Scandals that painted your family in a light so harsh, you’d spent years trying to escape it.
But it wasn’t all darkness. You found yourself sharing the funny stories too—the times you and your siblings played pranks on each other, the little moments of joy that somehow shone through the chaos. You talked about the people you’d loved and lost, the lessons you’d learned, and the weight you still carried from it all.
By the time you were done, your throat was raw, and your chest felt hollow, like you’d just carved out a piece of yourself and handed it to her.
Shadowheart had been silent the whole time, her expression unreadable as she listened intently. When you finally looked at her, self-consciousness crept in like a cold shadow.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, averting your gaze. “That was...a lot. I probably should’ve kept some of it to myself.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said softly, her voice filled with a kind of reverence that made you look up in surprise.
Her eyes were shining, and there was an almost tangible warmth in her expression. “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“You’ve been through all of that,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon as if the weight of your past was hanging in the air between you. “And here you are—still standing, still fighting, still...you. It’s astonishing.”
You shook your head, a small, incredulous laugh escaping you. “I’m not incredible, Shadowheart. I’m just...getting by.”
“No,” she said firmly, leaning closer and taking your hand in hers. “You’re so much more than that. You’ve been through things that would break most people, and somehow, you’re still...kind. Still hopeful. Still...loving. I’m in awe of you, truly.”
Her words broke something else inside you—not in a painful way, but in a way that felt like healing. Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you could stop them, they spilled over.
Shadowheart cupped your face gently, brushing the tears away with her thumbs.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice steady and certain. “All of you. Your past, your present, your future. Every part of you.”
A shaky laugh escaped you as you leaned into her touch.
“I love you too,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
She pulled you into a tender embrace, holding you as if she could shield you from the weight of your past. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to carry it all alone.
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Astarion:
It was a quiet moment in camp, the kind of peace that always felt precarious, balanced on the knife's edge of your group's chaotic lives. Astarion was lounging next to you, his chin propped in his hand as he studied you with a curious intensity.
“You know,” he began casually, his voice dripping with charm and mischief, “for someone I’m hopelessly enamored with, you are a remarkably well-guarded mystery.”
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, already suspicious. “Am I?”
“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” he purred, sitting up straighter. “You’re practically a ghost when it comes to your past. You’ve danced around every question I’ve ever asked, dodging and deflecting like a master illusionist. Honestly, it’s impressive. I think I might even be proud of you.”
You smirked. “Well, thank you, but some things are better left in the past.”
Astarion let out an exaggerated sigh, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Ah, but darling, I hate being left in the dark. You can’t expect me to simply accept this vagueness when I’m dying to know what secrets you’re hiding.”
You gave him a pointed look. “I don’t expect you to do anything. But I’m not telling you, Astarion.”
That should have been the end of it, but of course, it wasn’t. Over the next few days, Astarion’s curiosity morphed into relentless determination. He needled you at every opportunity, his charm turning into playful persistence. Every time you dodged his questions, he only seemed more delighted, like unraveling your secrets had become a personal challenge.
“You know,” he said one evening, leaning close enough that you could feel his breath against your ear, “this is getting downright insulting. Do you think I can’t handle a little drama? Please, I thrive on it.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” you said, rolling your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that week.
“And yet,” he countered, grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary, “you still haven’t answered me. Come now, my sweet enigma—indulge me.”
Eventually, you snapped—not in anger, but in exasperation. Sitting by the fire that night, you threw up your hands. “Fine. You want to know? I’ll tell you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Astarion’s eyes lit up like a child on their name day, and he settled in with a gleeful smirk, clearly expecting a story worth his persistence.
BlasĂŠ, almost flippant, you began to unravel the sordid tale of your past.
You told him about the family dinners that ended in shouting matches—or worse, murders over disputes that ran deeper than blood. You recounted the endless scandals: the illegitimate children, the betrayals that made even the most dramatic bardic tales look tame, the backstabbing that left no one unscathed. The drama unfolded like a grotesque tapestry, each thread more tangled and wild than the last.
Through it all, you remained indifferent, recounting events as if they had happened to someone else entirely. “And then there was the time my cousin poisoned the wine at a wedding. That was a mess. Oh, and the twins—turns out one of them wasn’t even my uncle’s child. But really, what did he expect when he married his mistress?”
Astarion sat in stunned silence, his lips slightly parted as you continued to nonchalantly recount the chaos of your upbringing.
“And, of course, there were the power struggles,” you added with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Everyone vying for control, alliances shifting faster than the wind. It’s all so...exhausting, really.”
When you finally finished, the fire crackled in the silence that followed. You looked at Astarion, expecting...something. Disbelief? Judgment?
Instead, he burst into delighted laughter.
“Oh, my dear, dear love,” he said, clutching his chest as if he might collapse from mirth. “You’re right—it does sound like a poorly written bardic tale. But gods, what a deliciously awful one!”
You rolled your eyes. “I told you it wasn’t worth hearing.”
“Are you joking?” he asked, still laughing. “It’s magnificent! The drama! The intrigue! And you—you just walked away from all of that and turned into...well, you. It’s incredible.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re impressed by all of that?”
“Of course I am,” he said, leaning closer, his expression softening into something genuine. “You survived a storm of madness and somehow emerged as the person I’ve fallen utterly in love with. How could I not be impressed?”
Heat rose to your cheeks at his sincerity, but before you could respond, his grin turned wicked.
“Although,” he added, “you simply must take me to your next family dinner. I need to witness this circus for myself.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “Not a chance. They’d eat you alive.”
“Darling,” Astarion purred, his voice dripping with confidence, “I’ve been surrounded by vampires for two centuries. I think I can handle a few backstabbing relatives.”
You laughed despite yourself, and Astarion leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek, his hand brushing yours in a silent promise.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “For trusting me with this. It means more than you know.”
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awh this was wholesome, as someone who comes from a chaotic ass family this was cathartic to write aha. Hope you guys enjoyed it -Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
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monvirtu ¡ 2 days ago
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𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇
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⋆ precis ~ headcanons on how quackity acts when he has a crush!
⋆ tags ~ profanity, romance, and fluff.
⋆ notes ~ taking c!quackity, q!quackity, cc!quackity, and k!quackity requests. bro's cool so yeah.
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⋆       hear me out, it would be hard and easy to know when quackity has a crush on you.
⋆       if you were a streamer like him, he would constantly watch your streams or raid them with his own viewers.
iwatchquackityhaha: RAIDDDDD !!!!!
greenbeans: QUACKITY RAID!!!!
mynamesjeff: THIS IS THE 5TH TIME QUACKITY HAD RAIDED [NAME] HE'S OBSESSED
quackity: @.mynamesjeff SHUT UP JEFF
⋆       his viewers would absolutely call out him on this, but it would be a little tease that happened because it wasn't that big of a deal. he was only watching your streams, and that could simply be because he likes your content. he might be raiding your streams because he feels like it.
⋆       you, of course, never speculated about it either. it was simply him being nice and you always greeted him once you noticed his presence in your chat.
⋆       but then it got to the point where he would donate to you.
⋆       if it was a little bit of money, then no one would have batted an eye.
⋆       but this man would donate hundreds just to see your reaction.
⋆       why? because one, it makes you notice him, and two, he enjoys watching how your reaction changes every time he donates.
⋆       when he first donated, you were shocked and made sure to thank him every minute of your stream. you could be talking about something else and then randomly thank him again for the money.
⋆       then after a few more times, it got to the point where you'd lecture him for donating so much, and it eventually turned into a war with you both donating loads of money back and forth.
⋆       he always won, by the way.
' quackity donated 200 ! '
"hi"
despite the fact you had a robot reading your donations out loud, you still found yourself looking at the screen as you read what quackity had sent.
"did you seriously just donate to tell me hi?" your words echoed throughout your room, and before you could assume that he wouldn't answer, another donation appeared on the screen.
' quackity donated 100 ! '
"yes"
"quackity, we're throwing hands."
⋆       eventually, he would start texting you on discord to ask if you wanted to do a stream with him.
⋆       at first, you believed that streaming with him would be like a one-time thing, but then it became a consistent thing for viewers to see you both streaming together.
⋆       streams with similar titles started popping up all over youtube and twitch.
⋆       "minecraft with [name]" or "playing roblox with quackity"
⋆       things like that.
⋆       and that's when people started to get suspicious.
⋆       i mean, who could blame them? you both just seemed to click, and given how fast it happened, everyone was just curious.
⋆       eventually, everyone's curiosity turned into a chance to ship you and quackity, and that led to fanfics, fanart, and even edits.
⋆       to which quackity reads, views, and watches them all.
⋆       he was amused by people picking up on his little crush, but this is where him being 'a hard person to know when they like someone' comes in.
⋆       he never confirms that he likes you.
⋆       at least to you.
⋆       he'll constantly like and comment on edits or fanart of you both, or repost them to where everyone can see that he did.
⋆       it's never a shock to find you and him trending all because he decided to comment a ';)' on an edit he saw.
⋆       this would happen for a little bit until it got to the point where you started questioning what you and quackity were, so he'd ask you out later on.
⋆       he wouldn't do it on a stream because one, he wouldn't want you to feel pressured, and two, he wanted it to be a moment between you and him. nobody else.
⋆       it'd probably be around vidcon time, and that's because you'd both be in the same place, and you had more time to be around each other.
⋆       he'd invite you to hang out with him for a day, and he seems like the type of person to pull a move out of a romcom.
⋆       like, he studied romcoms a week before because he wanted to do something special.
⋆       if you're at a resturant, he'd write a note on your napkin asking if you'd be his. if you go to a beach, he made sure to write the question with seashells he found prior on the sand. if you don't like big gestures, he'll just ask you while you're on a walk or something.
⋆       but no matter what gesture he ended up pulling, his reaction would be the same to each one if you said yes.
⋆       a wide grin would spread on his face, and he'd probably give you a hug if you were okay with it.
⋆       if he ended up asking you on the beach, he'd jump into the water.
⋆       there's no denying that.
⋆       if you were okay with making your relationship public, he'd probably post a picture of you two kissing or whatnot with the caption telling fanartist to remake it.
⋆       his lockscreen would be that photo, and every art remake his followers made for him.
⋆       now if you aren't a streamer like him, it would be a little bit different.
⋆       he probably met you at your work, or just a random place in general.
⋆       if he met you at your work, you best believe he'll be constantly going there just to talk to you until he gains the confidence to ask for your number.
⋆       and that might take a bit, so you're better off asking for his number first.
⋆       he would text you all the time.
⋆       the type of man to apologize if he left you on delivered for like ten minutes.
⋆       the type of man to quickly text you back when he's streaming to let you know why he might not answer, and then proceeds to talk about you to his viewers for the rest of the stream.
"who are you texting?"
his friends taunting voice rang in his headphones, yet he could only laugh a little bit while he continued typing his message to you.
it wasn't a simple sentence that stated he would be busy, but rather a paragraph saying that he was playing games with his friends, and that he would make sure to text you as soon as he had the time.
"someone i met a while ago." quackity finally responded, and his friend hummed. "you like this someone?"
"like is an understatement."
⋆       eventually, you both would start to hang out, and then he'd ask you out once he felt like the time was right.
⋆       since you weren't a streamer, though, his chat would literally be jumping with joy once they met you.
⋆       they'd give you a nickname to match quackity's, preferably something that refers to a duck, or they'd just call you by your name if you preferred that.
⋆       if you're ever lacking confidence, quackity could sit you down in front of his stream, and with his viewer's compliments towards you, it wouldn't even take you that long to feel amazing again.
   
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©𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐔𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓
writings are to not be reposted, translated, or plagiarized. if you wish to show your love for my work, feel free to reblog, comment, or like.
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thechekhov ¡ 2 days ago
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heyo! im in the planning stages of a comic id like to make and im getting way too excited about details haha
do you have any tips on hiding easter eggs and hints in comic form? obviously its far different from doing so in more interactive media like videogames, but itd be cool to hear your thoughts :]
Oh boy! That's fun! :) I love the Planning A New Thing stage, it's always so exciting!
As for tips.... hmmm.
I suppose my tips would be different for Hints (foreshadowing?) vs Easter Eggs.
Effectively, Easter Eggs are just fun details you throw into your story that may mean more upon further inspection, but may also just be For Fun.
Traditionally they're not really tied, chronologically, to Big Reveals that happen in the future of the story.
My tip for Easter Eggs are just - do whatever you want! It's your story, so you can add whatever details you think are fun.
For example, on the soundtrack to Inception the movie, one song is "Non, je ne regrette rien", just slowed down. In the Artemis Fowl books, there's a gnomish script on the bottom of the bottom of the pages that can be decrypted into fun messages. In One Piece (which I have not read nor interacted with, sorry) there's a character called Pandaman who apparently appears in the background shots of crowds constantly. Bluey the children's show does this too - I think they hide some sort of small long dog in the background shots of each episode?
You can add small, fun things like this - things that don't disturb the overall plot but add bits of flavor for someone looking closer. Characters from your other works in large crowds! Or just small objects from your favorite media to fill you characters' room with. OR a secret third thing!
Meanwhile, foreshadowing is specifically things that hint at future plot things. I did this in WD!AU with the jar of 'locally sourced seaglass' that appears in the background of an episode while Steven and Connie discuss Steven being able to make gems.
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Obviously this was before Seaglass was discovered - a whole Season prior in fact! So it was a fun bit of foreshadowing, albeit VERY vague.
For me, foreshadowing like this is basically like telling a story that I know the ending to, and muttering to myself under my breath "But little did they KNOW!" with a little grin every time I talk about another plot point.
I do want to say that foreshadowing oversaturation is also a thing. You can't possibly foreshadow EVERY SINGLE PLOTPOINT and you shouldn't have to. Just do whatever feels natural. Sometimes that, if you read it again after knowing the ending, makes you go "AHHHH THAT'S THE THING! THAT'S THE THING THEY DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT BACK THEN, BUT I KNOW IT NOW!"
Basically, my tip is to pretend to be a huge fan of your own story - and ask yourself what you'd love to find when reading for the 2nd, 3rd time.
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jrjeremy ¡ 2 days ago
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what a silly little thing this is 😁😁
main account > jrjeremy/junior fraudulent: lowkey the funniest thing about this specific name is that it kinda has like lore ☝️☝️☝️
jrjeremy - i was a huge tf2 scout fan back then when i was still pretty much young, so i often use(d) the name jeremy 🫱🫱🫱at one point i started to add junior (jr) to my name cus i thought it sounded cool
junior fraudulent: heheh i remember making like a bunch of tf2 scout AUs back in the old days, pretty sure i still have like a whole list where i wrote down the names of the AUs…… but im pretty sure ivd forgotten what theyre about 😋😋😋 > fraudulent came from pretty much one of my favourite AU (and edgiest one, 🤔🤔🤔actually most of the AUs were edgy as ghell) but the reason why this one was my favourite cause it's technically the ☝️☝️☝️ 'main' or center part or whatever its called
okay i basically have no idea where to start this 😁😁 so im gonna start off with the fact that fraudulent was meant to be an…… 'alternative' class name for the scout, "the fraudulent" is basically where oh the guy is a fraud and the reason why i made this class name was cause i thought it sounded cool, like legitimately 🔥🔥🔥it just sounded cool but other than that one of the lore part is where the guy is a fraud behind uhhh everything so like tf2 scout if he was a faker ((ok i went to look at the list and turns out there is a faker AU i made for the edgy, but it's completely unrelated heeheehaw))
if im gonna be fr, the lore is technically all around the place cus you have the before backstory and the after lore 🤫🤫🤫 1 was where in the backstory the scout was sent out on some sort of mission where he plays as a spy to gather whatever information (scout if he was he was his dad i guess hehe) but that was the backstory ☝️☝️i have no idea when he was given the name the fraud (but the name might be given outside of the lore so bro probably has no idea i named him the fraudulent) or how he ended up where is he right after wwwwhich is what im gonna talk about right now;
dude got knocked into some isolated place where there are a bunch of rooms that are completely all white other than that grey door that opens to the next area, and he has to like beat up a bunch of really disfigured versions of the rest of the mercs and like their bot versions bur covered in gross flesh i guess, but apparently this guy didn't know about that (until the end after he like murdered everyone) cus the enemies look really unrecognisable > it's pretty similar to like a DOOM gameplay setting, but it was all inspired by spooky's jump scare mansion somehow hehehe
that was the main part it's like supposed to be me thinking about a game-like way for the lore, but in the after lore bro encounters a mirror at the end level, falls into a void, realises the guys he were bashing their heads in were his coworkers or something, and then spirals into insanity cause i really liked (and still like) the psychological part of all things ☝️☝️ i might say this is the craziest part of it cause bro then finds himself in some sort of black void that contains like an office, where he technically resides for the rest of his now immortal life, and that office leads to like a whole entire place of doors that lead to the rest of the edgy scout AUs i made of this guy > key aspect is that all the AUs are intended to be edgy, like every single one of them, to the point i had to make a section like a small part of the void of the non-edgy AUs i made
((extra: the guy in my profile picture (my mascot) is an alternate version of the way the fraudulent looks, yeah technically this guy is just an inspired au scout guy but i don't bring that up usually ☝️☝️☝️))
okay i think that might be it 😁😁😁 just a lore dump
other accounts aka uhhhhhhh ask blogs > the fallen pizza tower "Pizza Tower's Aftermath", the super schoolhouse
the fallen pizza tower "Pizza Tower's Aftermath" - a pizza tower AU ask blog of the fellas right after the crumbling tower of pizza, except it was meant to be like a collaboration of another alternate au with an old pal of mine (oddy 🤫🤫🤫) sounds kinda crazy lowkey
the super schoolhouse - my version of another baldi ask blog that takes place in you know 😁😁 the super schoolhouse from baldis basics plus instead of the classic schoolhouse and allat ☝️☝️pretty cool ask blog might come back to it when i have the motivation heh
tagging other guys: @fandomandangstlover (the guy who ive shared alla this back in the days btw 🤙🤙🤙) @remaking-machine @jevthejester @talikaskbbg and everyone else 😋😋 wouldve tagged my buddy too but they already got tagged hehe
Tag game🎉
Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!
For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)
They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.
That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.
Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well
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metaphorfordeath ¡ 2 days ago
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Anti-Psychotic
A person living with schizophrenia finds that their delusions may have more basis in reality than they thought. Originally published in the Fall/Winter II issue of Diet Milk Magazine, available here. Content warnings for depiction of psychosis, violence, ableist language.
No one is watching me.
Julie has me write that down at our session. She never listens to me. She says, it can be comforting to realize that people don’t think of you as much as you think they do. I know this already. She asks, what evidence do you have that you are being watched? I say there isn’t any. Just a feeling. She writes something down, and asks about my meds again. 
So fucking patronizing. Of course I take them. I have taken mine like clockwork, every day, for five years. Maybe I missed a few days, but who doesn’t forget sometimes. My meds are cleat spikes jabbing into the earth. Helping me keep my footing. Making sure I don’t slip.
Last week I started getting the prickle again. Like fingers up my back. Someone standing behind me, breathing. I live alone. When I felt it, I wasn’t scared at first. These things happen sometimes. I’ve been around the block. The prickle and I are old friends, practically. When it finds me, I have ways to forget it. 
I drew the blinds, which helped a bit. I had a drink—nobody's perfect—but the prickle didn’t dull. So I peeked through the shades at the street below. Normal street stuff. The sun was setting, painting the world in shades of fire. Cars went by, all the usuals. Some kids were yelling in a driveway. A wasp tapped at my window, wiggling its feelers at me. No obvious source for the prickle. So, probably nothing. For the rest of the evening I puttered, read my book, ate some frozen nothing heated in the microwave, and took my meds. The prickle was temporary, I told myself as I lay down to sleep, the usual fog settling over me in a cool, clammy layer. No one was watching me. No one ever is.
That was a week ago. It’s only gotten worse since then. The prickle turned into a terrified stomach ache that kept me up for nights and nights. I called in sick to group, told Cheryl the caseworker that I have the flu. She sounded alarmed, but she’s only worried because of what happened to Devin.
Devin was like me: good at meds, good at therapy. We were friends, in a psycho kind of way. A few weeks ago, Devin started to get bad. Stopped showing up to group, didn’t even call. I haven’t seen him in a while, even when I went looking for him in his usual bad places. I miss him. I told Cheryl not to worry. I’m steady, just sick. I’ll see her again soon. 
I keep taking my meds, but they aren’t helping like they should. The fog I count on to sleep is thin, or missing. Something scrabbles at my skin from underneath, and I keep catching myself scratching little bits off of me. When I lay down, a low, neutral voice whispers nonsense at me through the pillow I clamp over my head. I can’t shower; that’s when the prickle gets stronger. Someone standing on the other side of the shower curtain, someone looking down at me through the water stain on the ceiling. I hiss and babble out loud just to hear myself talk, to shut up the voices that aren’t mine. I get sicker by the day.
By now I haven’t been outside in over a week, but my meds are ready to pick up. I don’t want to miss a dose, so I put on shoes and the big jacket that makes me feel safe, and I go outside. Birds leer at me from the tops of buildings. Walking in the opposite direction, an old lady frowns at me.
“Hmph, same to you,” she snaps.
My stomach lurches, but I don’t say anything, just keep walking. I hadn’t spoken. Had I? 
The drug store is brightly lit. It hurts to be inside. Too many things to look at. Faces on packaging look strange now. Confrontational. Interrogative. But at least they look like faces. When I look at anyone real, their features shift. Static snow eats at the air around their heads in a halo. It frightens me, so I keep my eyes on my shoes. The pharmacy tech who’s always there gets the packet for me, rings it up.
“Any questions about your medication?” he asks. I shake my head, pay with a card. He has glasses that give his face a sort of stability, so I look at it. His eyes are brown, beard gray, no hair on his head. He smiles at me. “Have a nice day, miss.”
“You too,” I mutter.
And then I go home, have to stop myself from running for safety. The walk is twenty minutes each way; harrowing, the passing cars huge and hungry, huffing and snorting at me. The prickle is more than a prickle by now. It feels like someone is pulling out the hairs on the back of my neck, one by one. My heart thuds against my ribs so hard that I’m afraid it will burst out, plop on the sidewalk and keep throbbing without me. The paper bag with my pills turns damp and tattered in my sweaty hand. 
And getting home doesn’t even help this time.
Julie says too much TV can be a trigger for me, but I start leaving it on all the time. Noise beats silence, any day. No empty spaces that need filling. I can’t watch sitcoms or anything fictional, so I tune it to the news. The news is always. Steady, real, factual. There’s a story about a body they found by the freeway. Pushed out of a moving car. No one knows or cares who it was. There’s a picture of the scene, taped up yellow and covered in those little numbers that say where a bit of evidence is. A tattered jacket lays in a ditch, dark with blood. 
I stand and race to the bathroom, cool porcelain against my hands, bile and nothing coming up as sweat pours down my back. My head pounds, edges of my vision sparkling. I can only see the jacket. Not dirty or bloody or ruined but the way it used to look. Devin’s jacket.
Something is horribly wrong. Men-in-black wrong. The-end-is-nigh wrong. 
The prickle wasn’t imagination. It was intuition. 
Someone got Devin. Who else did they get before him?
---
The next week, I force myself to go to group. I need to see faces. See who else is there, or not. Cheryl picks me up for these, since I don’t drive. I’m sicker than I can remember being, and try to remember to ask Julie about my dose on Tuesday. I sit silently in the passenger seat, feeling Cheryl’s eyes on me. Caseworkers all have the same eyes.
“Feeling alright today, X?” 
My name isn’t the name she calls me. You don’t need to know it.
“Fine,” I say, pinching my hands between my knees. They shake if I don’t. “Still getting over that flu.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she says. Her sedan has beige fabric seats. The passenger seat is dark, stained with sweat and whatever else from all the people she’s ferried around. A vanilla air freshener dangles from the rear view mirror.
Someone shouts in my ear, so close I feel a little blast of hot breath on my neck, and I flinch. Cheryl looks at me suddenly.
“Everything okay?”
She didn’t hear that. “Yeah. Sorry. Weird itch.”
“Hmm.” 
Group is fine. It’s usually fine. I don’t say much this time, just look around at everyone in their folding chairs. Their faces are wrong. It makes me nauseous to look, but I look anyway. I need to see who isn’t here.
There are no empty chairs, but there are fewer. One or two down from usual. All the other regulars are here, picking at their skin or looking at the clock or chewing their hair. I glance across the room and for a second I think I see Devin, sitting in his old coat. But when I look again, it’s just Tom. I almost hoped.
When it’s over, there’s bad coffee to drink. I suck on a red straw and let the bitter taste anchor me to my tongue. I inhabit my body, touch my fingers to the side of my face to know that it and my fingers exist. Sufficiently convinced of my realness, I go to Amber, our de facto leader.
She’s drinking water from a bottle with cucumber slices in it, cloudy with pulp and seeds. Ectoplasmic. It makes my stomach turn.
“Amber,” I say. My voice feels far away. She looks at me, expectant. “I missed last week. Have you seen Greg, or Mariah?”
“Oh, no, I haven’t. Greg was here last week, but I haven’t seen Mariah since like, last month. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
A crinkle appears between her eyebrows. I focus on that, since the rest of her features won’t stay put. “You’re worried because of what happened to Devin?”
“I think Devin is dead.” There is a sudden hush as other people in my vicinity overhear. “I saw his jacket. On the news.”
Cheryl appears beside me. “X, would you like to talk in the hallway?” 
She pulls me out before I can answer. “Have you been feeling alright?” she asks again. “Taking your medication?”
“Yes,” I say, a little forcefully. She clicks her tongue.
“Really? Because if you need to move up your next appointment, I can make some arrangements for you.”
Despite the fact that I do want to move my appointment up, her tone hits a button in my brain and my face turns red. “No,” I say. “I’ll wait until the next one. I’m fine. I just need to know what’s happening.” A rancid taste creeps up the back of my throat. “Where are people going?”
“Honey, everyone’s here that needs to be here.”
“No—that’s not right. I need to know.” 
I can tell from the way she moves that she thinks I’m getting agitated. She doesn’t understand what I’m saying. “People call in sick sometimes. You did, just last week. Mariah was having issues sticking with the program, so we’re working something out. No one’s gone.”
“Devin is gone. Devin is dead. He’s dead and no one knows it.”
Cheryl comes closer, her voice so low and venomous that it starts to meld with the others. “I’m going to give Dr. Bern a call and try to get you in with her sooner than Tuesday. If you can’t keep up with your regimen, we’ll have to consider another in-patient stay.”
Anger chokes me until my vision goes white. “Okay,” is all I can manage. I have some unsavory thoughts, which I won’t repeat to you now.
“Good,” says Cheryl, holding my leash. “Let’s get you home.”
I don’t sleep. I don’t even try. Someone is watching me. I think about Devin, the last time we spoke before he was gone. He got paranoid, too. He jabbered sometimes, when we would see each other. The same face, he said, with glass eyes. Looking at him. Following him. He said his pills were replaced, his furniture moved, nothing looked the same as he’d left it. No one listens to me, he said. I’m scared, he said. I’m scared of what will happen next.
“I’m scared, too,” I say to no one. A chorus laughs at me. 
---
“So,” says Julie. “Cheryl told me you’ve been having some trouble sticking to your medication.”
“I stick to it,” I say, and set the pill bottle on the desk in front of her. “Count them and tell me I’m not.”
She doesn’t move to count them. I’d hoped at least that she would humor me. “It sounds like some of your persecutory thoughts are returning. Tell me about what you’re worried about.”
“I saw on the news that they found someone’s body in a ditch off the interstate. They showed pictures. I think the body was Devin.”
“Devin from your group?” I nod. “We actually just heard from him last week. His brother answered when we called his phone. Devin is currently in a private rehabilitation clinic in Cincinnati. He’s alright, X.”
A numb feeling falls over me all at once, like a sheet. Something crawls up my thigh and disappears into a deep hole in my flesh. “Oh.”
“Amber talked to us, too. She said you asked her about Greg and Mariah’s absences this week?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I followed up on those for you, too. Greg had an accident at home and was in the emergency room during your meeting time this week. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to reach Mariah personally, but her father informed me over the phone that her family has pulled her out of the program. She won’t be returning.” Julie leans across her desk. “X, can you please look at me?”
I look at her. Her face is twisted, like a mask, papier mâchÊ, drooping strips of plaster bandage. The static threatens to consume her, and me.
“I’m going to increase your dose to eighty milligrams. For now you can take two of what you have at the usual time, but I’m sending in a new prescription to the pharmacy.” She scrawls something on a pad at hand, and I take the opportunity to look away. “I’ll see you again this time next week, okay? And if anything’s the matter, you can call the nurse’s hotline. We’ll take care of you.” She hands me the script. 
“Thank you,” I say, and then someone brings me home. I am silent for the drive. Thinking.
Wasn’t Devin an only child?
I start doubling my dose. The fog doesn’t come. The prickle intensifies into ceaseless paranoia. I check the window locks three times a day to make sure, even though I live on the third floor. Chair under the doorknob, empty bottles stacked on it so I’ll hear if someone comes. I can’t stop thinking about Devin, and the others. Were they all really fine? Was this just a breakthrough-breakdown, pills ceasing their function and leaving me alone, spiraling? 
I hadn’t tried calling Devin in weeks. He didn’t pick up the first few times, and anyone in that state doesn’t usually want to talk anyhow. But Julie said someone answered when they called. Maybe they would answer for me.
The phone buzzes. Surging forward and receding, like a tide. Devin could be there on the other end. Getting better. Being cared for. I close my eyes and wait to hear his voicemail, or something else.
Click. “Hello?”
The voice startles me so much I can’t speak. A stranger.
“Hello?” says the phone. “Who is this?”
“Um,” I say suddenly, “Devin?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice says. “Devin isn’t here right now. May I ask who’s calling?”
“I’m—his friend. X,” I clarify. My voice is not of me. “Can I talk to him soon?”
“No, unfortunately he can’t talk. But I’ll let him know you called, he’ll be happy to hear people are checking up on him.”
“What’s—who are you?”
“I’m Eric, Devin’s brother. I’m taking good care of him, miss. Have a nice day.” 
The call ends. Something in my stomach shrivels. I run to the bathroom, but there’s nothing to bring up. I don’t know why that voice scared me so much. Why had I thought Devin was an only child? He hadn’t mentioned his family—maybe I’d just assumed, or forgotten if he’d said. Of course he had a brother. He was alright. They all were, now.
---
Days pass. Bugs make their homes in me. My medication runs out, the new pills ready for pickup. I’d rather die than set foot outside. But I need my stability. I steel myself to leave, and exit my apartment into the world. 
Everyone looks at me. They all want to hurt me. A car drives slowly past me and I try not to look at the people inside. My head hurts. It’s hard to see where I’m going, but I go.
The drug store is bigger than it was last time. Brighter. Angrier. People avoid me as I shuffle towards the pharmacy counter. The pharmacist who’s always there smiles at me again.
“Do you have any questions about your medication?”
I shake my head, fumbling for my card. He’s staring at me through his glasses.
“Do you need me to call someone for you?”
His voice makes me want to puke. I shake my head again, take the pills and make for the door. A crowd of voices shout at me as I stagger out into the air. I miss the way things were. My cleats don’t fit anymore. I tear the bag open, pop the lid off the bottle and shake a pill into my mouth, force it down dry and sticky and hope it does its job. My mouth is sweet where it lingered. It didn’t used to be so sweet.
There is a dull shock of understanding that blooms at the edge of my mind. The prickle rises on the back of my neck, and I look over my shoulder again. The pharmacist is looking at me from his position behind the counter. His face ringed in static. He waves at me. And I take off running.
There is no one I can call. No one who will listen. There are only doors that will slam in my face, white speckle tile and fluorescent lights and needles. He knows that. He knew it for Devin, too. He knew it for the rest of them. The wind in my face feels like fingers grasping at me, tugging at my hair, slowing me down. I race home, up the stairs and lock the door, brace it with furniture and then I sit on the floor and cry and cry. They’re laughing at me. Trading whispers. Look how stupid. Look how gullible. Go on and cry, crybaby. 
So I do. It’s all I have left.
The next time it’s group, I don’t come to the door. Cheryl calls me, but I don’t answer. There will be a wellness check if I don’t come. I want them to, now. When her calls finally stop piling up, I wait fifteen minutes, then step outside. I leave my door open, leave what I can to show that I am gone. I leave the pills out, and the script. Crush a few with my heel for good measure. I hope they can put the pieces together.
It’s dark, cool. It reminds me of the fog, makes me wish I could sleep. Eyes follow me through the evening. Headlights burn me as cars move past. I walk slowly in my big jacket, letting myself be watched. Letting the prickle come up my neck, creep over my scalp, trickle down over my face until it covers me in a thin layer and I prickle all over. The prickle and I are old friends. It tells me when to be afraid.
Then there are headlights at my back that don’t go away. The growl of an engine crashes into me. I stop walking, and someone gets out. I don’t turn to look. I can’t stand to look at faces anymore. Suddenly, I have a funny thought. Maybe I do have some questions about my medication, after all.
Something whistles through the air above my head, and the world disappears.
When I wake up later, I’m not sure if I have. There are stars. It smells like gasoline, copper and dirt. My jacket is gone. My mouth is gone, too. My hands. You’re caught, someone says in my ear, you let it happen. With my eyes, which I still have, I look across the floor. It hurts to look. There’s blood under me, sticky black. The prickle is gone. I discovered its source.
I’m alone for a long time. It’s hard to say how much. I realize that there’s a door behind me when it opens. Light falls across the floor, yellow tractor beam coming to take me away. I long to be weightless, but the earth won’t let me. Then the pharmacist who is always there puts his shoe against my face and turns me over. He doesn’t speak. He crouches down and looks into my eyes like he is trying to take something from me. Then he takes the tape off my mouth.
All I do at first is scream. It's all my body knows how to do. He sits and watches me. When I can see his mouth, it’s smiling, and I realize he likes it when I scream. So as soon as I can, I stop. Silence rushes back into the gaps, roaring in my ears.
“Good girl,” he says when I am quiet. His voice is a distorted growl, infrasound, rattling my eardrums. “Aren’t you such a good girl?”
I think about his throat in my teeth. I think about his blood on my face. For a moment it feels like I am lunging for him, jabbing thumbs into soft and fragile places. But he still has my hands, turning numb and purple at the small of my back. So I sit up as much as I can and spit at the floor near his feet. Faster than my eyes can track, he lurches forward. Fist in my hair, hauling me up to hip height.
He looks into my face with his glass eyes. His mouth is monstrous, all his white teeth sharp in a thicket of gray.
“I’ve been watching you,” he says. 
I know this already. There is nothing satisfying in the confirmation of it. 
He is not the man in black I always pictured. He could be anybody.
“Think of this as a favor I’m doing you.”
Then he hits me again. And other things.
When I’m alone, voices chatter in my ears. No one is coming, they say, you are alone. They will not find you. You and the ditch will be friends soon. So you amounted to this—better than nothing, we suppose. I shush them, rock myself against the cement floor and hum and think about grass, and birds. I try not to leave myself room to cry. I don’t want him to have the satisfaction.
A thousand years go by. Outside the room, there are voices. Not any of mine. His, and others. They start loud, and get quiet. His voice goes away completely. Doors open, distant, then closer. Light falls over my body again, and I feel the weightlessness. Real this time. My hands come back to me, but I can’t move them. There are faces, more than I’ve seen in a while. They scare me, but I can’t run, so I try not to look. Except at his. They take me past him, and I look. Through his glasses I see his eyes, still trying to take something from me. He has, by now. But not what he wanted.
I sleep for a long time, and when I wake up, the world is the way I remember it. My feet on the ground, cleats and all, not slipping. When I’m well enough they bring me to identify Devin’s body, since he didn’t really have a brother after all. They find Mariah’s, too. Greg really was in the emergency room, turns out. But there are others. Too many to think of.
Cheryl changes careers afterwards. Probably for the best. I find this out when she drives me to group the first time after I get out of the hospital. She doesn’t look at me much, but when she does, I can see her eyes are different. Not caseworker eyes anymore.
“Lauren is going to be taking over your case starting next week,” she says after a long silence. “So this will be the last time I see you.” I can tell she’s trying not to cry.
“Okay,” I say. 
She never apologizes. No one does. They all say they’re sorry for what happened to me, but that isn’t the same thing. People who don’t listen never think to apologize for it. They think they were listening all along.
Things are mostly the same as before, except I get my pills mailed to me now. And I think about Devin a lot. When I pour myself a drink, I pour one for him too and pretend he’s with me. I don’t have any pictures, so mostly I think about his voice. The last time we ever spoke, he told me, no one listens to me, X. 
What I said then was, I know the feeling, man.
But now I just tell him I’m sorry.
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shariasweet ¡ 1 day ago
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HER HIGHNESS'S WISHES .ᐟ | S. JAEYUN
when you're finally free from your usual duties as princess of your father's kingdom, you're consumed by an unbearable boredom. luckily for you, your jester is always willing to give a helping hand with his thoughtful charm.
featuring ::: s. jaeyun wc ::: 2220 ws ::: princess reader x jester jake, reader calls him jaeyun because... idk I said so, fingering (f), pnv, pet names (princess, angel, etc.), slight praise, mdni !!!
a/n ::: it's been like a month :( I kinda forgot how to write smut... plus obviously kissing but !!! I hope you enjoy regardless ^_^
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one… two… three… soft pink blossoms swayed in the gentle wind outside of your window. and one… two… seven white ones lay clustered beneath them.
this is how you spent your afternoon — locked in your chambers... bored out of your mind. counting the flowers visible from your window was only an attempt to ease said boredom. each one was a half-hearted attempt to distract yourself from the monotony of your day.
you bit back a sigh as your advisor, jungwon, stood statured in the corner. 
he’d report your every move to your mother. princesses do not whine, you reminded yourself, nor do they complain… her voice rang inside of your head.
but jaeyun… jaeyun would know how to solve this… as he always did.
your finger tapped lazily against the cool brick of the windowsill,  a fond memory of the man washing over your thoughts.
“my princess…” he cooed, his voice a soft melody. “where are you…?”
barely stifled giggles had bubbled past your lips as you crouched behind a pillar in the library. most would insist you were far too old for hide and seek… even servants would argue that such a thing was simply not princess-making. yet in jaeyun’s presence, such rules ceased to matter.
of course, if your parents ever learned of this… disowning you might be the least of their worries — the reality of their jester’s head on a stick was not far-fetched. you shivered at the thought.  but until then, you’d keep whatever this was with jaeyun — well alive…
“jungwon,” you called, twirling around to face him.
“yes, your highness?”
“i am dreadfully bored,” you frowned, the weight of your words drew a polite smile from him. “i’ve no lessons today, correct?” you perked back up, your head leaning towards the side as you awaited his response. 
“that would be correct, your highness.” jungwon nodded.  “would you like to be entertained?”
with a sly smile tugging at your lips you nodded. “the jester.” you spoke plainly, “fetch jaeyun for me, will you?”
jungwon hesitated, before bowing and retreating from the room. 
content, you resumed at your spot by the window, picking up where you left off and diligently counting the flowers. twenty-eight, twenty-nine over there... and then…
“how does boredom find you, my princess?”
A familiar voice sent a wave of excitement through your body. you turned around to find jaeyun leaning casually against the doorframe, his usual lopsided grin lighting up on his face.
“unwell, as always… i have no lessons.” you sighed, hopping down from your perch as a small smile etched itself across your face. “jungwon, you’re dismissed.” you chirped, sauntering towards the man in front of your door. 
the advisor bowed once more before slipping out… hearing the door click shut, jaeyun’s grin widened.
“sneaking off again, are we?” he teased, his arms snaking around your waist effortlessly.
“perhaps,” you murmured, locking your own arms around his neck. his lips brushed yours in a gentle kiss, leaving you breathless as you smiled against his mouth.
“it’s been a week,” you whispered.
“far too long,” he agreed, that playful mischief glimmering in his eyes.
you grinned — you couldn’t help but to when he was around.  “you’ll entertain me, won’t you?”
he chuckled, leaning closer. “always, my princess.”
jaeyun’s lips captured your own in yet another embrace. his lips were soft — like always they molded against your own at a breath-taking pace. “it seems  you’ve missed me more than I thought, my princess,” he teased you once more… his voice sending waves of arousal throughout your body. 
“don’t flatter yourself,” you replied with your breath still caught in your chest. your lips were tingling with the lingering warmth of his.
“you’ve been counting flowers all afternoon,” he murmured, tilting his head ever so slightly as his fingers brushed along your jaw, holding your chin in place. “i’d say that sounds like you’ve been waiting on me.”
you opened your mouth to retort… though he was correct. but before the words could even escape past your lips, he’d leaned in yet again... his mouth capturing yours whilst your tongues moved in a synchronized rhythm, each kiss deepening the connection and closing the space between you.
. “jump up for me.” he commanded you, his voice was clouded with lust and inviting. 
only in a setting like this would a jester hold any sort of dominance over you. much like hide and seek, you're sure many would argue that the idea of a jester giving a princess commands seems absurd.
“you could’ve just said you missed me,” he whispered, his hands slid down, clawing at the fabric of your dress, the delicate silk material bunching up beneath his fingertips.your legs wrapped around his waist as he held you close, your bodies pressed together against your chamber’s bed. 
the throbbing bulge of his length against your core made your cunt ache. you yearned for him, arousal dripping from your fluttering hole, painting your puffy folds with slick. your heartbeat quickened as you pulled away and  looked up at him — your eyes meeting as he held your gaze. “maybe i did,” your breath fanned across his face… the confession slipping out only loud enough for the two of you to hear. 
his thumb grazed your lower lip, and for a moment, the world outside of your window — the flowers, your mother’s consistent nagging, your boredom… it all faded away. 
it was only you and jaeyun, just the two of you basking in this stolen moment.
“say it again,” he begged softly, his voice dripping like honey..
you smiled, cupping his cheeks with your hands as you leaned in, your lips just inches away from his. “i missed you.”
his signature grin widened, but before he could respond, you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and whispered against his skin, “and i want you.” 
“who am i to refuse her highness’ wishes? sit up, angel.”
jaeyun’s hands traced up your spine, carefully untying your dress as the fabric fell off of your shoulders, leaving lace pooled around your waist as he admired you. truth be told, a weeks time wasn’t so long ago… however, your beauty seemed to stun him each time. “fuck…” his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as his pants seemed to grow even tighter — suffocating his hardened cock.
“ah!” you gasped as he gently pushed you onto your back, his head shoved into your neck as he trails kisses down your body. “mpf! jaeyun…” he nips at your neck, kissing your collarbones and your chest — venturing between the valley of your breasts. “you’re so, so beautiful…” jaeyun coos, whilst his hand beneath you works at slipping the rest of your dress off, the other rolls your nipple in it’s fingers as he takes the other into his mouth. “you’re absolutely ravishing, my darling.”
“jaeyun, please.” you managed… the overwhelming feeling of his tongue swirling around your sensitive mound taking over. “p-please touch me.” your hands immediately tangle in his hair as his lips continue to explore the expanse of your body… your stomach and your thighs — he messily leaves wet marks down your torso until he’s face to face with your pulsating cunt. “so gorgeous…” 
 the man eagerly jumps up, a whine ripping past your lips as the cold air brushes against your skin. jaeyun pulls his shirt from over his head — stripping himself of his pants as well, kneeling before you once more.
without warning, he flicks his tongue against your clit, causing you to jolt. your back arches off of the mattress. “you taste divine, my love.” jaeyun grins against your slimy cunt, and just like that, every thought — along with any sharp retort you might have mustered… melts away; they all bubble into pornagraphic moans as the man continues lapping your up juices. 
“o-oh my… mh..!” your soft mewls of pleasure echo throughout your chamber as your jester hungrily devours your weeping cunt. 
“you’re so incredibly wet… i’m the luckiest man in all of the kingdom.” he grunts, humming against your slick hole. “It’s all f’me right? this perfect little cunt?” he licks another fat stripe up your burning core… a knot forming in your stomach as you nod feverishly. “mm… it-it’s all for you, j-jae…” the nickname rolls so gracefully off of your tongue.
already, he can feel your cunt flutter and clench around his restlessly determined muscle. 
feeling your orgasm near, he further indulges you… slipping two of his slender fingers within the swollen gummy haven of your walls, slick lathering around the base of his fingers whilst he curled them against your g-spot. “i-if you c-continue, jaeyun.. i..!” 
“go ahead, angel… cum all over my fingers. make a mess, be good f’me… good princess.” jaeyun purs. 
before you can even let it slip past your lips (puffy and tender from holding back your yelps), you’re interrupted by the waves of pleasure crashing over you; eyes dramatically rolling into the back of your head, your grip on the silk sheets faltering. "shh... sh—oh my god!" you take a breath, holding in curses as a wave of ecstasy shoots through your body.
“how was that, my love?” his fingers retreat, leaving your throbbing cunt feeling empty once again. 
"it was perfect," you whisper, a lazy smile tugging at your lips as your arms slot themselves around his neck. “good, cause we’re not done yet.” he chuckles into your mouth — your lips capturing his in a passionately soft kiss… the sweet tang of your cunt lingers on his mouth. jaeyun’s tongue darts out, caressing your bottom lip as you invite him to explore your mouth once more.
if it weren’t for his size, you wouldn’t have even noticed the tip of his cock aligning itself with your entrance — slowly digging into your soaked core.
after the leaky mushroom tip came his shaft… “ah… ‘give me more…” you whined, as if he were made for you, you could feel each vein adorning his cock drag against your walls as he carefully stretched you out. “a-always so fffucking tight. ‘love being inside — so close to you.”  jaeyun hushed you as he continued to fuck into you. “all the way, right? you can take it, can’t you, my princess?” with your foreheads pressed together, you nodded, utterly desperate to take whatever more jaeyun had to give you — intending to take it all. “speak to me…” 
“ngh! yes! jaeyun… ‘want it s’bad.”
a sharp sting rushed through you as your stomach tightened, feeling jaeyun’s cock effortlessly split you in half. “o-oh shit…” he threw his head back, bottoming out. 
he gave you mere seconds to adjust, eager to feel you squeeze and come undone on his dick… before thrusting into you at a painfully steady rate. 
with each drag of his cock his tip to kiss your cervix — brushing past that sweet spot, sunken inside of you.a satisfied smirk played on jaeyun’s lips as he watched a flush of heat spread across your face. quickly, you turned away, grimacing in embarrassment as you struggled to stifle your moans. “look at me, angel.” he cooed. “your pleasure is my sole purpose… l-let me know that i make you f-feel… feel good.” 
“fuck!” you couldn’t hold it in any longer. “feels good..! sosososo good, you’re so good, jae!” you spewed out the rushed string of words… your stomach forming a tight knot once more as the man continued fucking into you.
“Is that right, princess? d’you feel me right…” his hand grazed the flesh of your stomach, finding his bulge before pressing his palm firmly down. ”right there.” he slammed into you — balls gently tapping against your ass as the both of you cried out. “mmpf! yes, yes right t-there oh… fuck!” 
“are you going to cum? go ahead, be good, make a mess.”
jaeyun was entranced by the ring of creaminess you’d left around the base of his cock. “cum for me, y/n.” it’s the only time he would ever call you by your name. but on demand, the knot in your stomach snapped, untying itself and unravelling as you came all over him. “hah… ah! i love you, oh my! ‘love you s’s’much!” he let you ride down your high, incoherent babbles still spilling from your throat. 
“i love you more.” he kissed at the side of your lips, fucking into you one last time before white spurts of cum decorated the walls of your cunt. 
one... two... three... twelve. jaeyun had cured your boredom for the twelfth time. first in the library, then in the gardens, and now... here.
lucky for you both, you weren’t particularly fond of even numbers.
“jungwon!” you called, knowing your ever-watchful advisor stalked outside chamber doors. as expected, he appeared calmly. 
his expression remained still, unbothered by the sight of you and a naked jester tangled in the aftermath of your affair. this wasn’t his first encounter with your little secret…
“have my ladies draw me a bath… one for him as well,” you instructed, nodding toward jaeyun — a worn, sleepy smile glued onto his face.
“yes, your highness,” jungwon replied with a slight bow before turning to leave.
“oh, and jungwon,” you stopped him. “i do not have any lessons for tomorrow, correct?”
“that’d be correct, your highness.”
perfect. tomorrow would make thirteen. 
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all works are works of fiction. they do not reflect the reality of anyone mentioned... all works owned by @shariasweet on tumblr {do NOT repost on other sites} ≽^•⩊•^≼
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kaitlyn-chukwu ¡ 2 days ago
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Katsuki Bakugo headcanon:
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-Bakugo is confident and brash, but when you're alone, he’s much softer.
-His love is demonstrated through acts of care, though he doesn’t always say it outright.
-A typical date might involve him dragging you to a spot he finds interesting—maybe a new training ground or a place where he can show off his skills.
-He tries to act cool, but his cheeks flush when you praise him.
-Despite his tough exterior, Bakugo loves surprising you with small gestures, like buying you your favorite snacks or leaving a note for you in an unexpected place.
-His “romantic” moments are blunt but meaningful: "I don’t need anyone else. You’re the one I want."
-Sometimes, he’ll watch you silently with a small smile when he thinks you’re not looking, but you catch his gaze, and he quickly looks away, embarrassed.
-Bakugo is fiercely protective of you. He might not always show it in the most gentle way, but you’ll never feel unsafe when he’s around.
-Bakugo’s not big on PDA, but when you’re alone, he’ll surprise you with small, unexpected gestures like running his hand through your hair or pulling you close for a brief hug.
-He’s not the type to say “I love you” every day, but he’ll call you something like “damn, you’re pretty cool” or “you're the best damn partner I could ask for” when you least expect it.
-If you’re going through something difficult, Bakugo will show his support in a straightforward, sometimes blunt way, pushing you to overcome challenges with his “stop being weak” attitude, but it’s always coming from a place of care.
-He’s not one to hide it, so when other people flirt with you or give you too much attention, he’ll get irritated and make sure everyone knows you’re his.
-When you accomplish something, Bakugo gets proud—he might not show it immediately, but he’ll make sure others know how impressive you are (especially if it involves him being involved in some way).
-If you’re good at something he’s passionate about (like training or a hobby), expect him to challenge you to a friendly competition, just to prove that he's the best... but secretly, he loves when you beat him because it pushes him to be better.
-Bakugo is fiercely loyal. He’ll always have your back, even if he doesn’t show it with words. He’d go to great lengths to protect you and keep you safe.
-While he’s protective, Bakugo respects your independence. He’s not going to hover over you or control your every move—he trusts you to make your own decisions.
-He’s not the type to plan romantic dinners, but if you’ve had a tough day, he might show up with your favorite food or take you out somewhere to help you unwind.
-Bakugo’s not the most emotionally expressive person, so it can take a while for him to truly open up about his feelings. However, once he does, it’s meaningful and deep.
-Bakugo loves to tease you, but it's all in good fun. Sometimes his teasing can get a little intense, but if you ever tell him it’s too much, he’ll tone it down (even if he acts annoyed about it).
-He gets irritated if anyone tries to steal your attention away from him for too long. Quality time is important, so if you’re busy, he’ll make sure you find a way to spend time with him soon.
-When it’s just the two of you, he’ll occasionally let his guard down and show a side of him that’s softer, often without even realizing it. He trusts you enough to do so.
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