#I just don't know how to sincerely accept things like this

[greenerteacups]

Hello GT, I absolutely love Lionheart!

I published my first fic and have been dealing with some criticism; it’s not anythjng super hateful, but it’s not anything meant to make me improve either. I’ve been feeling sort of down because of it. My question is: have you ever dealt with hate or criticism before? What is your attitude towards it?

I find your work and answers on here super insightful and inspiring! I hope you have a nice day ❤️

Fuck em. Like, seriously, just fuck em. There's a time and place for writers to take critique and be strict with themselves; it's necessary for any artist to grow. That place is with a chosen group of creatives whose work you admire and whose judgment you trust. A rando on the Internet, while they may in fact be the next Marcel Proust, probably isn't. And I was raised to believe that while it's appropriate and kind to pay compliments to strangers when they're performing — just as you'd smile at a busker on the sidewalk, and or compliment a chalk artist — it's not appropriate to criticize them when what they do isn't to your tastes. They're providing you with their art for free. No one forced you to read it; no one forced you to listen. If you don't like it, it costs $0 to shut the fuck up.

Also — that thing I said about artists taking critique? That assumes that you're doing this out of a desire to improve your writing, which, while noble, is not actually a thing you need to do if you're a hobby writer. I like trying to improve; it makes me feel good. But at the end of the day, I do this for fun. I do this because in my real job, I am ruthless and self-critical and try really fucking hard to do well, and you need parts of your life that Aren't Like that. You need parts of your life where you're not worrying about whether you're Doing It Right. And living without that anxiety of critique is, paradoxically, the only way you'll find the artistic courage to take risks and develop new skills. Everyone is a little bit rough around the edges to begin with. (Not saying you're a beginner — you merely said "publish," and I certainly wrote a lot of things before I started publishing! But every artist is always trying to develop new skills and techniques; in the grand scope of things, we're all beginners.) Giving someone blunt critique when they're in the beginning phases of their journey as an artist is about as helpful as screaming at your six-year-old kid because he can't swim the butterfly.

And the thing is, these people will bluster and say "well, I'm just being honest, I'm just trying to be helpful," but like: mmmmmmno, you're not! You're not. And it's disingenuous to say so. Because if you were actually trying to be helpful, you would introduce yourself, offer your skills as an editor/beta reader, and start building the relationship of trust that grounds any meaningful co-creative partnership. People do not just accept random critique that comes flying at them from the blue nowhere. And issuing it in that form is the best way to make them hostile, defensive, and unreceptive to it. Delivering harsh feedback without a context of care and support is almost sure to fail as a method of actually changing behavior, and either (1) you know that, and are doing it anyway — presumably because you want people to know how Terribly Clever and Better At Writing you are, or (2) you sincerely have never thought about the effect that context and word choice have on how other people receive your meaning.

Which tells me you are the last fucking person on the planet I want writing advice from.

[lovelyatomicpeace]

The silence between us

Plot: Steve and y/n have been friends all their lives, separated during adolescence. Thanks to what happens in '83 the two will be able to meet again and build a stronger friendship than before. One day y/n proposes to Steve to go to the beach together, he will accept, but what will happen during this week? and especially once they return to Hawkins will the two have the opportunity to understand what happened between them or something horrible is going to happen?

Hello everyone, this is the second part of the story, I sincerely believe that it came out much better than I thought and I'm very satisfied... instead, I'll give you a preview of the third part, contains something spicier 😏. As usual if you like the story leave me comments, feedback to know how it's going and if you want me to change something! ❤️

Third day (part two)

The sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks into the room we had been sharing for three days: the light poured into the room like liquid gold, illuminating the small details: the specks of dust dancing in the air, and the shiny surface of the furniture. This was our sanctuary: a small hotel room in a pretty town, three days filled with laughter and fleeting moments that seemed both ordinary and extraordinary. I awoke slowly, slipping from the beautiful haze of sleep to the gentle murmur of sunlight that enveloped the room. Golden rays filtered through the window, spilling into the cozy space we had claimed.

Steve lay there, curled up under the last remnants of sleep, his shaggy hair falling over his forehead as a hint of sunlight painted his features: the light danced across his face , highlighting his cheekbones and those mischievous dimples that etched his cheeks when he smiled. It was a wonder how such simple moments seemed exquisite, making my heart beat with warmth.

I absorbed it, taking a moment to admire how the soft light accentuated his beautifully sculpted jaw, the delicate curve of his lashes resting on his cheek. I caught myself smiling; how could someone be so easily endeared?

"Hey," I whispered, my voice barely higher than a breath. The room seemed so quiet, our conversations blending into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional chirping of birds outside. I didn't want to disturb this sweet peace, but I was curious to see if the warmth might awaken him from his dreams.

He moved, turning slightly toward me, one eye opening. "Good morning," he said, his voice thick with sleep but that familiar warmth inherent in it, Those deep brown eyes sparkled with cheerfulness and, though it was morning, had a delightfully sleepy quality. "You're awake," she teased me, in a low, melodious voice, rising up on her elbow, a casual movement that somehow made my heart leap. "I couldn't sleep forever," I replied, stretching lazily as I traced the patterns of sunlight on the bedspread.

"What time is it?" , "Just past ten," I replied, watching him rub his eyes from the remnants of sleep. "We wasted another morning." He chuckled, the sound was deep and playful. "I don't mind. Maybe the world can wait while we enjoy the vacation a little longer." "If only every day could be like this," I thought, leaning back on the pillows, the weight of the day before still clinging to me in a lazy haze.

"Yes," he replied, moving closer so that his shoulder bumped against mine. "Isn't it strange how the simplest things, like waking up in a new place, can seem so ... liberating?"

We both fell into a comfortable silence, the air around us thick with unexpressed feelings. We knew what we meant to each other, but there was uncharted territory we had not dared to explore. Our friendship was an intricate tapestry of shared jokes, late night conversations and a million little moments that had sewn us together. How could we redefine it when it seemed perfect as it was?

"What's on the agenda for today?" The question hovered in the air between us, an invitation to return to the present, but also a gentle acknowledgement of what had gone unspoken.

"How about we go explore that market we've heard about?" I suggested, trying to keep the enthusiasm in my voice without sounding too impatient. "I hear they have great local crafts and street food."

"I'm sold," he said, flashing that boyish smile that lit up his entire face, turning it into a beacon of warmth. The effect he had on me was magnetic, awakening something familiar and irresistible. "But first, I need caffeine." "Of course, the vital fuel for adventure!" I replied, laughing as I gave to him a military salute and shrugged off the covers, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed. The coolness of the floor sent little chills running down my spine, but they quickly vanished with the promise of the day. I turned to look at him just in time to catch him staring at me, a contemplative look in his eyes.

"You know, I'm really glad we did it," he said, the sincerity in his tone unraveling some of the threads of uncertainty that were intertwining in my mind. "I wasn't sure how it would turn out, but ... it's nice." A warmth enveloped me. His words weighed heavy, enveloping my heart, but leaving it light as a feather. "For me, too. It was ... refreshing." We had gotten so close that I could feel his warm skin resting on my shoulder.

"Well, let's focus on the market," I said, exhaling the breath I had forgotten I had been holding. "And on the amazing street food." "I can't wait to see what's on the menu," Steve replied, his eyes shining with mischief. He awkwardly got off the bed, with a playfulness in his movements that drew a laugh from me. "The last that arrive at the cafe pay all!" I shout

"Hey, that's not fair!" The challenge hovered in the air, igniting the competitive and playful spark between us. As we hurried to get ready, the morning light danced across the room, altering the hues of our familiar surroundings into something new and vibrant. It was these moments, the shared laughter, the playful banter, that formed the foundation of our friendship, the safe haven we had carved out for ourselves in the midst of uncertainty.

We competed each other all the way to the small bathroom, pushing each other and laughing, only to explode into more jokes as we crossed our eyes in the mirror. In that small reflection, I saw two souls at ease in their shared space, navigating uncharted emotional waters with cautious jubilation. I tossed my hair behind my shoulders, observing Steve's playful gaze. He mimicked my movements and, for a brief moment, a sense of belonging pervaded me. Time seemed to suspend, allowing me to appreciate the moment just before it turned into something else.

He was wearing a light T-shirt, the fabric fitting his physique perfectly. I couldn't help but admire his naturalness, the way his casual charm seemed to attract me. Steve was someone who attracted people; that much was clear. And today, he was attracting me, a magnet drawn by the gravity of his presence.

"Hello?" he asked, distracting me from my thoughts as he smiled, the sunlight illuminating his eyes again, making them sparkle. I wondered if he knew how intoxicating he could be or if he simply exuded this accessibility without realizing it.

The bell above the bar door jingled as Steve and I entered.  The bar was a cozy nook, with wooden beams spanning the ceiling and oddly spaced tables dotting the floor. We strolled side by side, the morning light filtering through the worn window panes, casting a golden hue on everything we touched.

"Let's sit by the window," Steve suggested, pointing to a small table overlooking the busy street ahead. I nodded, attracted by the warmth of the sunlight pouring in around the chairs. Once seated, I glanced at the menu. "I think I'll try the cinnamon roll," I decided, my stomach growling at that prospect. "How about you?"

"Pancakes. You can never go wrong with pancakes." He grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "And, of course, great coffee." I cast him a furtive glance, a sense of contentment pervading me.

The waiter approached, a warm smile lit up his face. "Good morning! What can I offer you?"

"I'll have a cinnamon roll and coffee," I asked, looking up with a smile, "And I'll have the pancakes and coffee, please," Steve added, looking out the window: The waiter nodded and disappeared into the crowded café kitchen. I shifted in my seat, watching the world move outside. A couple strolled by, their intertwined fingers a harsh reminder of life outside our little bubble. "What do you think they're talking about?", I asked aloud, pointing at the couple.

Steve leaned his elbows on the table, wrinkling his forehead playfully. "Probably discussing the best places to have brunch. You know how everyone is into brunch."

I laughed, remembering our endless debates about breakfast preferences. "I think you're right. Brunch lovers can get very intense about their pancakes." He chuckled, shaking his head. "I can see it now: a heated discussion about toppings: maple syrup versus whipped cream."

As the mood lifted, I watched his eyes ripple with laughter. In those moments, we were just two friends enjoying breakfast, devoid of any labels or expectations. Yet there was an undercurrent in our conversations, a depth that lingered in the pauses. It was an unspoken understanding that allowed us to proceed gently around the things we did not say. "What about you?" he asked, moving closer as his expression turned into something more curious. "What's your ideal breakfast setting?" I pretended to think, touching my chin theatrically. "Hmm, a rooftop in Paris with the sun rising over the Seine, fresh croissants and strong coffee ... maybe a cute waiter named Pierre." I couldn't resist teasing him a little, leaning back with a smirk.

"Pierre, huh?" He raised an eyebrow, feigning jealousy. "I knew it! You have a crush on French waiters."

"Oh, please, you know you're my first choice." I waved him away, but deep inside my heart leapt for a beat at his playful challenge. "Nice parade," he replied, leaning back and crossing his arms, flashing that annoyingly charming smile of his.

The waiter returned with our orders, set down the steaming plates and let the aromas waft toward us. "Enjoy!"

"Thank you!" I replied, stealing a piece of the cinnamon roll before he could grab a fork. "A taste!"

"That's cheating, but okay." He laughed, cutting through the stack of pancakes, generously pouring syrup over the golden discs. The bar buzzed around us as we dove into our meals, punctuated by the clinking of cutlery and the distant chatter of other customers. I watched Steve between bites, reading the way his eyes lit up with delight at the sugary pancakes, the way his hair casually fell over his forehead. We exchanged stories about our past, silly memories wrapped in laughter, as if trying to fill in the unspoken with nostalgia. Each anecdote seemed to deepen the bond, bringing us closer without ever naming it. Eventually, the meal drew to a close. I pushed the plate away, satisfied. I saw Steve looking out the window, lost in thought. "Are you okay?", I asked gently. He turned with a wry smile. "I was just thinking about how beautiful this morning was." "Yes," I replied, feeling a warmth spread through me. "It really was."

As we gathered our belongings, ready to return to venture out into the outside world, I could not shake the feeling that those moments were just ours, laden with unexpressed but undeniably special feelings. I adjusted the strap of my sundress, the fabric clinging to my skin as I entered the crowded market, the warmth enveloping me like a warm embrace. Steve walked beside me, our bodies brushing against each other with every step, igniting a wave of exciting tension. The clamorous voices of the vendors shouted their wares, their calls mingled in the warm air as I observed the colorful and chaotic scene before me: our movements fluid and spontaneous. We lost track of time and the air hummed with shared laughter as we dodged tourists and locals. Then a small drum circle arrived and I couldn't resist but headed toward it in time to the music. Steve looked at me with that warm, admiring gaze, and I twirled under colorful flags and the beat of the drums. I felt alive, vibrant and invigorated by the passionate atmosphere. The world blurred as laughter flooded my senses; I was free and for those blissful seconds, I was consumed by the rhythm.

"Join me, idiot!" I shouted at him, and he laughed, shaking his head, but finally intervened, imitating my movements with playful abandon. Our fingers brushed against each other, and our dances turned into a chaotic mix of rhythm and laughter. There was an unmistakable chemistry, a jolt in my breathing that stole my concentration each time our bodies drew closer, sharing the warmth generated by the music and our shared presence. Later, spotting an old coffee shop nearby, we decided to catch our breath and treat ourselves. As we sipped aromatic coffee, I crossed Steve's gaze, observing all the unspoken things swirling between us. It was exciting but terrifying, a fine line we were always walking, but just then, surrounded by the noise of the market and each other, I felt an undeniable connection.

The evening sky glowed a warm amber color, the sun slipping away to kiss the horizon. I made my way through the crowd, my shoulders brushing against Steve's. It was like a spark each time our skin met; a memory of all that had not been said swirled in the air between us. The market was alive, full of colors and aromas. Fragrant cumin danced in the air, mingling with the sweetness of candied fruits, creating an intoxicating mixture that made my heart flutter.

Steve walked beside me, relaxed in a casual way but with an urgency in the way he approached slightly. Beneath the chaos of laughter and chatter, among the pottery and spice stalls, we were an island of unexpressed desires. Every time I crossed his gaze, my stomach turned over and a wave of warmth flooded my cheeks. It was exhilarating, our secret, our moment, hidden in plain sight.Examining the range of goods around us. There was something about being in this market, the way it drew you in with its allure. We were strolling through the stalls when I saw it: "Steve, look at that," I exclaimed, nudging him playfully as we passed a stall adorned with intricate pottery. The vibrant blues and terracottas seemed to call to me. I picked up a small vase, running my fingers over its cool surface. "Isn't it beautiful?" pointing to the vase. When he turned around, his gaze lingered on it for a moment, and I moved closer, our shoulders brushing against each other once more (I could not know that at his response steve the vasonon was looking at him at all but had his ovchi aimed at me). Steve took the vase from my hands, his fingers brushing against mine, conveying a charge to me. "It is," he said, in a low voice. Our eyes met for a moment longer than necessary, the world around us faded into an eerie silence. In that moment, it was just us, suspended in a bubble that would burst if I said too much or if he got too close.

"Do you want it?" he asked, reading my expression impeccably, as always.

"It's a little out of my league," I replied, trying to rationalize why it would only be a fleeting dream, but Steve was already heading toward the salesman.

"Let me get it for you," he insisted, in an unyielding tone. "It will be a gift from me. You can consider it a souvenir."

I opened my mouth to protest, but it slipped out as I watched the vendor carefully pack the jar. Tension wrapped around us like a spring, resonating with the unspoken between us. My heart quickened at his kind gesture, feeling the gratitude turn into something much deeper as he paid without a second thought.

"Thank you, Steve," I murmured as he handed me the vase, our fingers brushing against each other just as they had done all evening. My heart was pounding, but I kept my gaze fixed on the vase. "You really didn't have to do that."

"I know. But I wanted to," he replied softly. Looking into his eyes, I felt a chill run down my spine. There was so much sweetness there, the kind that promised to melt the walls I had built around my heart. We walked for a few more moments in silence, the weight of the vase resting gently on my hip, but my thoughts remained on the tension hovering between us: as we entered the marketplace, the golden light of the setting sun cast a soft glow, enveloping us like a warm blanket. A musician was strumming a guitar nearby, his lively melody bringing people closer together. I could feel that magnetism between us tightening more and more, as if the notes echoed the rhythm of our hearts.

"What do you think of all this?" asked Steve, gesturing widely. "A little overwhelming, isn't it?"

I looked around at the crowd of people entwined in laughter and joy, hands loaded with bags of treasures. "Yes, overwhelming. But it's wonderful chaos," I replied, sensing his desire for an escape from reality that matched my own. We both had duties waiting for us at home that seemed so lifeless compared to this. His presence beside me was intoxicating, like a forbidden fruit waiting for the right moment to be plucked. We walked, sharing our observations: the colorful hats at one stall, the hand-painted pottery at another, the sweet pastries dusted with powdered sugar. We pointed, proclaimed excitedly and shared our laughter, all punctuated by that intoxicating tension that never quite dissipated. As the sun went down, people's silhouettes began to blend into the vivid tapestry of goods around us. I could feel our previous tranquility slipping into something more electric. I caught Steve casting furtive glances at me: his eyes were promising, as if he were pondering how to unravel the secrets that made me who I was, while I lingered to think about tracing the line of his jaw, the softness of his skin under my fingertips.

We came to a stall full of colorful scarves that cascaded like cascades of fabric. I took one, a deep indigo dyed with intricate patterns that resembled waves under the moonlight. "What do you think?" I asked, holding it in front of my face. Steve leaned forward, his breath warm, whispering against the side of my neck. "You'd look stunning in that," he said, and the sudden boldness of his tone made my heart quicken. I could feel the pulse between us pulsing like the drums of nearby musicians: loud, insistent and impossible to ignore.

We lingered in that intimate space, my breath halting, daring to drift into a world in which the jingle of the marketplace honed in as background music as our world honed in. Maybe it was the atmosphere, or maybe it was the sour scent of spices hovering between us, but I felt an invincible urge to let go of the chaos, to reach out, to bridge the gap.

"Steve-" I began, my voice trembling slightly. The rest of the sentence choked in my throat. What was I supposed to say? That I wanted this moment to last? That the world did not exist outside of what we shared? I swallowed hard instead. "Hey!" he interrupted, smiling suddenly, with a flash of mischief in his eyes. "You have to try one of those sweets. I saw them at the last booth."

I laughed, grateful for the reprieve, but my heart was still pounding in his presence. We walked together, searching for the kiosk, casting glances at each other like two ill-fated playmates. Eventually, we found it. A display of golden pastries glittered under the fading sunlight like treasures just waiting to be enjoyed. Our laughter mingled and echoed over the sweets: two friends poised on the brink of something deeper. Each friendly nudge weighed on my heart, bringing me closer to a point of no return. I could see it in his eyes, just as he probably saw it reflected in mine: a desire and need so palpable that we transcended simply being together. We were almost crossing an invisible line. With our sweets in hand, we drifted apart, the sweet, satisfying bites momentarily distracting us from the wave of emotions beneath the surface. But even then, I could see the way Steve's fingers brushed against mine, a lingering caress that hinted at uncharted territory.

As night fell, the stars exploded in a thousand glows above us, flooding the market with an enchanting glow. I paused, looking up at the sky. It was beautiful and, for a moment, I felt weightless in its splendor. Steve shifted his gaze from the box in front of us to me. "You are incredible," he murmured, and the way he looked at me made every nerve in my body sing. "You make all of this . well, you make it seem magical."

There he was again: his voice pierced the cheerful atmosphere like a dart, igniting a fire I had only glimpsed before. I turned toward him, my breath catching in my throat. I could feel the world shrinking around us, and in that moment, everything seemed possible.

"Just like this market?" I asked softly, feeling bolder now, refreshed by emotion.

"Just like this market," he repeated, drawing closer, the space between us narrowing, my pulse quickening under the weight of unspoken promises and dreams yet to be revealed. And as we stood in the heart of that bustling marketplace filled with the hum of life and the sweetness of hidden desires, the tension peaked. It was electric, a tapestry woven with our secret, each touch of skin, each shared laugh, an anticipation of a drama unfolding under the canopy of stars that whispered of futures only we could understand.

In that moment, amid the chaos of the market, I felt better: thriving among the stalls, among the touches, perfectly entwined in the magnetic pull of what could be. And as the night enveloped us, I clung firmly to the promise: no matter if the sun would rise again in the timid light of day, in this chaos, we were creating our own little universe, free from the constraints of the world beyond, just for us.

[smile-files]

there's something interesting to be said about how nickel's female friends have to constantly school him on how horrible he is but animationepic won't say it

[loregoddess]

saw the first volume of Cursed Princess Club in the store last Sunday as I was walking by the manga section, and the name was so unusual that I looked it up online when I got home, and found out it was on webtoons to read for free, and just finished it, and holy shit

literally one of the best stories I've ever read

[senselessalchemist]

apparently I preordered an audiobook when I had a free one from audible (yes I know but if they want to give me a poor person an audiobook I am too weak to resist, also it's how I get my stormlight archive fix every few years) and I don't know what it is and I am also afraid to check because I am a very weird coward with issues about notifications

[dan-crimes]

Mfs can't understand a blunt mf they always gotta try and read between the lines or straight up deny the words you're saying and deny how you feel

[myeagleexpert]

The Perfect Boyfriend

𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖒𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖛𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒 𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖚𝖕 𝖒𝖞 𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖊𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘

Doppleganger/Skinwalker!Yandere x YN (AFAB) Summary: Despite living in a pink world, there's a little voice in the back of your head that tells you that there's something strange with your boyfriend. It can't be anything important, right? (You'll regret not listening to it) Warnings: (Toxic relationships, obsessed relationships, mental manipulation, the smell of rot, description of death, description of fear and panic, a little sentimental smut, The thing loves you - too much.) Uncertain motives. He tries to keep you trapped. The term 'YN' and 'you' is used several times in the fanfic for better grammatical use, my first time writing something like this, so please be gentle. <3 PT1: Candlelight dinner PT2: She Knows

It was already night when your boyfriend showed up at your door, well… er-EX boyfriend. You and Kain had been together for a few months, but when you realized how toxic and rude he was, you felt the need to break up with him. Just a week later, he shows up at your door asking for forgiveness and begging to have you back.

“Shall we at least talk?” Kain’s voice sounds like a broken record that became softer and more pleasant to listen to as he spoke, like a person with a hoarse throat from a hangover, which… well, that was Kain almost every day.

He says, offering you a beautiful bouquet of Japanese flowers, in shades of pink and pastel pink, of various sizes, wrapped in paper that imitated butterfly wings, wrapped in such an elegant and harmonious way. It was an incredibly beautiful and thoughtful bouquet. It was actually an image you had recently visualized at the flower shop and in your desired heart. Point 1 that something is wrong.

Kain has only given you flowers exactly 3 times. All three of them were cheap plastic red roses, still with the price tag on them when YN picked them up and an unmistakable smell of old invaded her nose so much that it made her cough, she has always been sensitive to smells.

These smell of harmonious and enchanted nature, as if one of Monet's beautiful paintings had come to life. But YN is hurt by the aggressive breakup, mulling over painful old memories while trying to maintain her pride with a glass or two of wine. With her mind clouded by sadness and anger, she fails to realize that the man in front of her is strangely… strange.

"What's the bouquet for? You're not going to buy me with that." YN crosses her arms and looks skeptically at the beautiful flowers.

"Please! Accept it as a peace offering!" he says approaching YN with the bouquet, trying to place it in her arms almost desperately.

They were too stupidly beautiful to refuse… but there is something in her heart that tells you to close the door immmediatly.

Sensing your hesitation, he tries to convince you once more.

“Just a conversation, nothing more. I know that… we didn't end up on the best of terms… but please, I need to talk to you.” The man looks at YN with sincerity and devotion in his… blue eyes? YN could have sworn that his eyes were beautiful brown.

“Okay. Okay. Just ONE conversation. And after that… I don't want to see you in front of me anymore.” The girl stomps her foot and maintains her angry and indifferent posture as she receives the flowers and opens the door wider so he can enter.

“And don't even think about jumping on my couch like last time! I'm still paying for the conc-“ Normally Kain would have thrown his muddy sneakers on the floor and sprawled on the couch, but to the girl's surprise, he was right next to her, waiting for her to guide him.

“Did I break your couch? I'm sorry, let me pay for the repair now, okay?” Don't pretend to be nice in front of me, just look at him pretending to be innocent as if he hadn't thrown in my face that the problem was mine.

“I don’t want anything from you, let’s get things moving.” YN spits out the venom, entering the room and placing the bouquet on the table while the man follows her wherever she goes, until they sit on the couch (the one that isn’t broken) in the living room.

In better light, YN can see that there’s something different about him. And Kain dyed his hair, his short black hair was chin-length, the ends highlighted in rich caramel tones. The skin that was once worn out by tiredness and nights of drinking was almost porcelain, clean, with hardly any prominent pores. The thin, frowning mouth had soft, kissable lips, his jaw was well defined too. The post-breakup glow, huh?

“You look different…” you make the observation as you settle into the couch, trying not to seem interested in anything he might have to say, but curiosity is addictive, right?

“Did you like it?” He lights up when you notice and runs your hand through his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear as he approaches you.

It's for you.

When he tries to get closer, you aggressively place a pillow between the two of you, much to Kain's dismay, who seems to immediately wilt at your attitude. "I said different. Don't let it go to your head." As sharp as a Tramontina knife, you cut him off immediately.

"You said you wanted to talk, come on. Talk." You snort, putting on a serious posture and looking him straight into his fake eyes. Contacts, Kain? Seriously?

"Ah.. yes, I wanted to talk to you YN." He turns towards her, giving her all the attention she once begged for. A bitter taste invades your mouth, like the feeling of receiving a gift that your child would dream of receiving, but you miss as an adult. A belated gift, that means less than the dust on the soles of your shoes.

“I ask you to reconsider… we've had our ups and downs in our relationship, but I know it has a lot of potential. Let's try again, let me show you how much I've changed, how happy we can be together.” He tries to give a friendly smile.

Change in a week? Nah, spare me.

“Nobody changes that much in a week, Kain. I don't move out of resentment and you've never changed out of guilt.” YN puts him against the wall coldly. “Why do you want to get back together? You called me worthless and now you see the potential in us? Humph… Your offer isn't the best.” She snorts as she looks at him with disdain, wanting to know where all this is coming from.

“Wait! Please!” Kain approaches and desperately takes her hand. “I know I was rude and rude to you… I was selfish and I never gave you the value you deserved. I was terrible and you have every right to refuse me…”

Oh, and how I do.

“But if you give me a chance, I promise you won’t regret it-“

“Oh, I don’t want to pay to see. In the last fight I ended up punching the wall… I don’t want to wait for you to hit my head.” Your gaze is furrowed, irritated and for a moment you notice the same look pass quickly through Kain’s. Is he upset that you threw that in his face?

“I’m sorry about that scene YN, it wasn’t me…” the last part rings so true that YN raises an eyebrow skeptically “You didn’t deserve to go through that.”

Masculine hands move to hold YN’s cheeks as he gently caresses them. They seem too big.. but let’s leave that thought for later. He’s different.. and little by little you’re feel disarmed by his attitude.

“I can’t live without you. Please… just give me one chance to prove to you that I’m your best option. That I’ve changed. That I can be better.” Kain's voice is like a warm blanket, enveloping all your senses… like a mermaid would envelop a sailor until he drowned.

He's never spoken to me like that. He's never used that tone with me.

As the red lights in your head go off, you try to pull away from his hands. Seeing your attempt to pull away, he tightens his grip and moves even closer to your body. There's something strange in his blue eyes… maybe it's a devotion you weren't used to… or something strangely… uncanny.

"YN…" he whispers sweetly and delicately, moving even closer until your eyes are staring directly into each other's.

"I love you… so much. You mean so much to me." He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours. "Give me a chance… just one."

Something possessed you at that moment. The wine must have messed with your head. You must have been drugged. The water was bad. You must be sick. You must have been PMSing. Or ovulating. Or menstruating… because there's no rational reason why you gave in, and nodded slightly with your head tilted to accept his offer.

"Are you serious?" He looks into your eyes and finds no lie, just a hesitation. "I'm so happy! You won't regret it!" He hugs YN and wraps her in strong arms, burying his face in her shoulder while placing small kisses on her face.

When you hug him back, very suspiciously, you notice that his body is different. Taller, more muscular, more attractive… he couldn't make such a change in a week, he didn't even go to the gym.

"YN, look at me…" with a delicate hand on her chin he guides her to his lips, where they kiss delicately, savoring each other's presence. Until the smell of his perfume invades your nose, enveloping you in a light trance.

Kain smells like expensive perfume.

He always smelled like alcohol and cigarettes, something you always complained about. He now had a feeling of cleanliness and elegance, the leather jacket was new too. The smell of perfume is almost suffocating. Why would he be wearing such a fragrant and expensive perfume?

When the two of them are separated for air, Kain looks with so much devotion and love while caressing her lower lip "I love you."

Kain smiles in a way that YN had never seen him smile like that. Big mouth, too white teeth and some sharp hidden fangs.

There's something wrong with her ex-boyfriend.

----

But two weeks later… YN forgets about it, keeping any survival instinct or voice of conscience in a drawer at the back of her mind, along with the unpleasant memories of the relationship. Mentally thanking him for having changed.

It was as if she was floating on clouds and Kain was her ray of sunshine.

As time went by, YN fell more and more in love with Kaius, as if she was getting to know a new side of him. It was as if he had created a rosy and passionate world, where he controlled all reality around her, solving everything for her. YN felt trapped in a state of enchantment and dependence almost like a drug addict, laughing alone and going limp in his presence.

It was fascinating for Kaius to manipulate YN's emotions, keeping her trapped in a state of passion and blind trust while he himself fell into a state of disillusionment. Every gesture and behavior of his was calculated to make her fall even more in love, while he tried hard to hide any detail that could reveal the truth. YN found herself increasingly trapped in the spell, unable to realize that the man she had fallen in love with was… too perfect, a romance novel, the kind she had most innocently dreamed of until the adventures in hidden paragraphs. Kaindid everything perfectly and still left her wanting more.

It's been two great weeks, YN visits him at his house almost every day and they're getting ready to live together, she's been going out with her party-loving friends, she's been so productive at work that she got a promotion today!

“Congratulations YN! I knew our project would boost you in the company.” Your boss praises you, it was hard and delicate work but she knew that by putting herself in your hands she would prosper.

“Thank you very much for your trust.” You smile at her.

“The guys are going to celebrate the success after work, are you coming?” she asks, noticing that you're not getting ready to go out

“Oh no, I promised I'd go out with my boyfriend to celebrate today. But I'm going to celebrate the weekend with you guys!” you say, reminding her that you're still going out with the company this weekend, but she looks confused

“Your boyfriend? Didn't you guys break up two or… three weeks ago?”

“We're back together, and he's better than ever, can you believe it?” you show her a picture of the two of you at the eco-park, him holding your waist while smiling beautifully.

Your boss looks suspicious, she could swear by the name of the company that she'd seen him somewhere before, like a piece of information on the tip of her tongue that's soon forgotten strangely… but she tries to give you a vote of confidence “Err… I'm happy for you. But remember, we've had clients who were wolves in sheep's clothing. Enjoy the honeymoon phase.” She gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving. “Call me if you need anything, dear.”

Wolf in sheep's clothing… interesting.

You think about this as you ride back to his house on your motorbike, and right on the way you enter the usual flower shop and meet Thomas, the friendly old man who sells the flower shop.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Thomas!” you greet him as soon as you arrive at the store. His tired eyes soon find your presence as you explore the garden in search of a plant that catches your attention.

“Good afternoon, girl.” He walks towards you in slow steps, supporting himself with his old wooden cane.

“I think I’ll take this one here-“ you point to beautiful white alstroemerias.

“Your boyfriend is allergic to these.” He warns, looking at them. “He came here the other day and when he was going to touch this one, it looked like my cat, he started coughing and almost vomited when he touched the plant.”

You turn your head to him in confusion. Kain has never been allergic to flowers.

“I found it strange, because people usually aren’t allergic to this type of alstroemeria.” The old man scratches his chin thoughtfully but then laughs to himself. “But I suppose, each organism works differently.”

“That’s true, the human body has one of those.” You laugh with him, but then you notice him staring at you. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s taking good care of you, isn’t he? You look very radiant, girl.” The old man’s soft voice breaks any tension you were feeling before, and with a slightly blushing face you admit that yes.

“You know, the first time he came in here I thought he was a drunk when I bought those red, plastic roses… on your first date.” Mr. Thomas’s body shivers with disgust at the boy’s lack of romance.

“Oh my god… my head hurts just remembering, he dropped some flowers and came staggering, he smelled terrible of cigarettes.”

“It’s likely he wasn’t drunk… but high, Mr. Thomas.” You whisper to him.

“And how did you fall in love with something like that?” the rolled eyes make YN laugh a little at the florist's drama but before she could say anything he continues

“But the second time he came, he seemed like a gentleman. He walked elegantly through the plants and I was surprised when he chose that bouquet of Japanese flowers…”

“Me too! I wanted them so much!” you sigh in love

“Exactly the flowers you wanted…” he murmurs softly as he picks up a dead leaf from one of the vases

“But that's not what caught my attention, dear…”

“What caught your attention?” Was it his muscles? His hair? The beautiful way he speaks?

He spends a few seconds thinking about how to tell you exactly what it was that made him feel....

“A few years ago, when I was young, I traveled for work and spent a week away. When I came back, the first thing that caught my attention was the smell I could smell from the door…” the old gardener narrates his story with his eyes clouded with nostalgia and worry, as if he wanted YN to understand his point making you feel anxious…..

“My wife had been dead for 3 days… The putrid smell was terrible.” The words are almost like a whisper “I never forgot that smell.”

“That boy smelled like death the second time he came here.” As the gardener looks directly into your eyes YN feels her breath catch in her lungs.

What does he mean by that?

“What did she die of?” YN curiously asks him

“Heart attack or something like that.. I'm sorry. I…” the old man shudders and sits in a nearby chair visibly shaken by such memories while you get him some water trying to somehow give him comfort.

“Oh YN, the smell was very strong and terrible…. when that man came in here I could only remember that.” The man's vision was blurred because he loved his wife very much, he held on tightly to his cane to keep himself steady.

"I'm sorry about your wife, I'm sorry I made you remember all this…" YN crouched down next to him as she picked up the glass of water, feeling guilty for such emotions in the old florist.

He then looked at YN with pity for her kindness, big confused and kind eyes stared back at him, old Mr. Thomas and decided to swallow his tears as he tried to compose himself.

"I'm not saying your boyfriend is a zoombie or anything like that" he laughed as he slowly stood up "But I'm saying he smelled really bad when he got here, remind him to take baths, okay?" he said with the same funny tone as always, playing with the rhymes and tones of the words while to lighten the mood she laughed at him.

"Oh, he smells much better now." You said remembering the bubble baths you took together

"Was it you who gave him that perfume? Good choice.”

What?

“What perfume, Mr. Thomas?” you ask, helping him to the counter.

“It’s an expensive perfume, very good… I think I’ve only smelled one person wearing it, the mayor of the city in 1980. Good taste, it’s an extremely refined perfume.”

“O-oh… yeah.”

“Now he wears it a lot, I felt suffocated in his presence…” he says, adjusting his clothes and cane. “Well, me and my plants.” He laughs to himself.

“Sorry about that, I know they’re sensitive to strong smells.” You laugh.

"I give him a second chance, he brings me really pretty flowers, huh?"

"Oh, the romantic ones."

YN drives confused back to Kain's house, she remembers the drive being longer before they got back together, there were more houses in the neighborhood and that he still lived with his parents. In two weeks she has never heard of his parents… or the neighbors… or the dog he had… where are they?

Her steps are automatic and before she knows it she is in front of a cozy and chic house, with plants in front decorating a beautiful backyard with very green grass and all doubts and questions disappear when she knocks on the door, anxious for her dear boyfriend to answer.

Almost immediately the door opens, he seems to always be waiting for her like a dog anxiously awaits its owner, he would never leave her waiting.

“Good night, darling, I missed you so much.” He wraps her in a comforting hug and gives her a sweet kiss on the forehead, inviting her to come into the house, taking off her coat and boots, a gesture that always makes butterflies fly in YN’s stomach.

Oh, the little gestures < 3…

Wait, what is he wearing?

“Oh, you look beautiful in an apron, you know?” YN compliments her boyfriend, giving him a mischievous smile.

He was wearing a pastel pink plaid apron, with red lace the same shade as his cheeks when he hears her compliment.

“Oh, did you like it? I-i just wanted to surprise you, my love. Let’s celebrate, remember?”

“And how could I forget?” YN hugs him and he quickly wraps his arms around her again “I’d rather be here with you than go out to celebrate with the company.”

“And I’m going to make you enjoy every bit of tonight…” he murmured with a smirk on his lips as he brushed their noses together in a delicate gesture. He took YN’s chin between his fingers, guiding her head to within inches of his mouth. At this moment, YN’s hands began to roam Kain’s body, transforming the moment into something more intimate.

“Oh darling, what a big body you have…” she said in a husky tone, playing with the hem of his shirt. A sneaky hand left trails of fire on Kain’s body.

“It’s to protect you better, my love…” he chuckled, pulling her closer to him with his hands on her waist. The air was heavy between the two of them, and YN delighted in seeing her boyfriend’s pupils dilate like a cat’s.

“Oh darling, what big eyes you have…”

“It’s to see you better, my little one…” he chuckled softly, and his large hands began to explore her body, from her hips to her breasts, firmly cupping her breasts. goosebumps on both of them, some sparks of passion starting to turn into dangerous flames….

“But darling, what big hands you have…” the young woman's body is pressed closer against his warm body as she bats her eyelashes innocently, an innocence that doesn't reach the small smirk on her lips

“Oh, yes darling, I have nice big hands, don't I? It's the better to hold you, sweetheart……” in a husky and low voice he answers, bringing his mouth to YN's neck giving long kisses in the region Kain lets out a soft moan as YN runs her hand through his hair encouraging him, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure down his spine.

He looks at YN, blue eyes full of desire and an almost primal hunger, as he continues to kiss and tease the delicate skin…

“Oh but.. darling?” YN breathed

“Yeah?” Kain breathed back

“And why such a big mouth?”

He licks his lips as he brings his girlfriend's face closer with one hand, inches away from her succulent lips, possessively squeezing her curves with the other, making YN moan slightly, their heartbeats synchronizing as they look intensely into each other's eyes…

"It's fo-" The oven alarm goes off, a high-pitched and unromantic sound, making the two young lovers frustrated by the break in the moment.

YN grunts, leaning her head against Kain's chest, feeling embarrassed now that the sound of the alarm has brought her sanity back. She always feels like she loses her self-control around Kain. He laughs lightly at her reaction and strokes her hair gently.

"Hey, it's your surprise in the oven…" he kisses the top of her head "Go take a shower, honey, it's time for me to finish the preparations, okay?" She nods and lets go of him, climbing the stairs to the first floor, almost floating, still recovering from the previous moment with a silly smile on her face, the same one Kain had while preparing the frosting and strawberries for the cake…

YN's nose only realizes now that the house has a very sweet smell, normally she is already used to the smell in the house but today the traditional smell of roses and homey is more like an open candy store, when entering the room she notices that there are more air fresheners than usual in every corner and corner. Kain knows that Yn has a sweet tooth, always looking for desserts and sweet smells and he was very happy to make this house as comfortable as possible… but is he not exaggerating? Nah, never.

The young woman enters the marble bathroom, now with feminine touches everywhere the eye can see: Skincare that smells like tutti frutti gum, soap that smells like strawberries, shampoo that smells like raspberries, towels in a shade of pastel pink, matching the bathroom rugs and the flowers near the mirror.

YN laughs dreamily, who would have thought that for such a big man with such a rough appearance, Kain wouldn't be more than happy to have the same feminine smell as his girlfriend? He insists, as they take a shower together. He insists while using the same floral perfume as his girlfriend, claiming that he wants to have the same smell as his girlfriend, he feels closer to her every time she does leave and he could recognize her sweet scent.

YN leaves the bathroom refreshed and radiant and puts on a comfortable dress but with a slight neckline, delicate pink with white polka dots to match her boyfriend's cute apron. She sighs in relief that the day is finally over and all she will do now is enjoy the night with Kain, he always made her worries melt away with the slightest touch, and with the slightest touch from YN, Kain felt determined to do everything for her.

They were a perfect couple and beautiful to behold.

The world was pink with cotton candy clouds.

The background music was like a fairy tale from an old romance.

What more could she want?

As she dries her hair, she receives a message from her boss and ignores it thinking it must be a photo of the company's celebration or a request to reform some document. Not today, she thought to herself. When the messages became frantic, YN began to find the situation strange and, shrugging her shoulders, decided to pick up her cell phone and check what was happening.

She held her breath.

It wasn't a photo of the company party.

It was an image of Kain's body, dead in a car accident.

It wasn't a message asking her to reform some document.

It was a message in capital letters that screamed in desperation:

Boss: YN THIS IS NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND. Boss: KAIN DIED IN AN ACCIDENT THREE WEEKS AGO. Boss: RUN AWAY IMMEDIATELY!

YN feels the world fall apart as she lets her cell phone fall from her cold hands, while she keeps the storm of emotions inside her in a confused way. Trembling, she sits on the carefully made bed, and a cold hand tries to cover her half-open mouth. In a state of shock, all the girl can do is stay paralyzed, staring at the emptiness in the room while her hair drips and wets the bed.

No… this can't be real…..

She looks at the photo once more, a big red circle marking the date: It happened three weeks ago.

How….. is this….. possible?

She tries to reason while catching her breath, a mixture of sadness and fear taking over her heart.

"Honey, everything is ready! Are you going down now?" Kain's voice echoes through the house, he is asking at the foot of the stairs while drying his hands.

Fear is not enough.

Panic takes over YN's body so much that she starts to shake horribly and any logical thought disappears, becoming paralyzed.

"Will you be long, sweetheart?"

I need to get away from here. This man wants to kill me. OMG. OH MY GOD! WHAT DO I DO?

"YN?" a voice with more authority in its tone, as if demanding to know why she is not responding.

Amidst the accelerated beats and the pressure in her ears, she hears him take a step on the stairs and terrified she tries to hide it.

"N-no!… ah…. I'm looking… for my perfume." She tries to hide it by stretching to open and close the drawer next to the bed, pretending to be looking.

“Don’t be long, my love, I already miss you <3” he hums in a sweet and passionate tone as he returns to the kitchen.

Quick.

Action plan. Quick. I need help.

YN: Okay, what do you mean by that? (message not sent)

YN: Who is this man then? What is he? (message not sent)

YN: I need to get out of here, please come and get me! (message not sent)

A shiver runs down the girl’s spine when the internet suddenly goes out, what could have happened to her? Will I have to deal with all this alone?

Oh my God…..

She runs a trembling hand through her wet hair trying to calm herself down with all this and for the first time in two weeks she hears the little voice inside her head, the one that said there was something strange with her boyfriend.

He doesn’t know that I know.

An advantage? Yes.

Disadvantage? Anything could be in his plans.

What is he using me for? Why is he pretending to be my boyfriend? Is he behind the real Kain's accident? What if I call the police? What if he wants to kill me while I'm sleeping? What if he poisons me…? Oh no.

YN's eyes widen at the possibility and an overwhelming anxiety takes over her body, her breath catching in her throat, her heart racing, sweat running down her forehead.

"Sweetheart, do you want me to escort the princess to her royal kitchen?" the voice of the aforementioned person is heard in the hallway, he is in the middle of the stairs humming "Have you found your perfume yet, love?"

A second passes.

And another.

"YN, are you okay?"

You need to get out of here. Quickly.

"…… y-yes…… I, I'm… coming down now, okay?" disguising it in a shaky voice, she slowly gets up from the bed and picks up the perfume on the headboard next to the bed, applying it with difficulty because the sweat on her hands made it slip.

She swallows the terrible urge to scream for help, to jump out the window, to tear her hair out, and takes robotic steps until she leaves the room, passing through the damn hallway like a sheep going to the slaughterhouse. At that moment, the various sweet air fresheners make her feel nauseous and her head spins. She rests one hand on the wall as she goes down the stairs, her eyes wide as she holds her breath.

Slowly she takes in the scene: The dining room looks like it came straight out of a romance movie, there are rose petals on the floor and candles in vintage candelabras on the table, in the middle of the table there is a beautiful decorated pink cake and at the entrance is the perfect boyfriend.

"May I have the honors, my princess?" He extends his hand in a chivalrous manner and YN, as an instinct of her body for having done this scene many times, gives him her hand.

Kain's eyes are full of devotion as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of YN's hand, looking her directly in the eyes during the act, the action takes seconds to finish.

“I’m glad you chose me. And as promised, you won’t regret it.” He takes her by the hand and gently pulls out the chair, waiting for his lady to sit down. YN is doing everything she can to not freak out, trying to act as normal as possible, trying to relax at any cost so he doesn’t notice.

“T-thanks for the… kindness, dear.” With a dry mouth she says.

He hums in return, “Oh, anything for you.”

YN can’t help but think that everything he says and does has a hidden meaning now, like a predator sadistically toying with his prey. The young man brings the cake closer so YN can appreciate the vitsa, which he spent the afternoon learning on YouTube how to decorate a cake with icing and create a romantic setting.

“Well…” he clears his throat “I hope you like it, it was my first time doing something like this and I really wanted you to like it.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear while giving a charming smile

“Y-yes… yeah, it’s beautiful, love.”

YN forced a smile as she struggled to stay calm, trying not to show the chaos that was unfolding inside her. Her hands were still shaking as she watched Kain cut a piece of the cake and place it on a plate for her.

The strange man, still in the role of the perfect groom, decides to be more romantic and proposes to feed her, in a cute way. He asks YN to open her mouth while trying to make it seem like a sweet and loving scene.

"Open your mouth, honey. Let me give you a piece of cake. Say 'Aah~"

YN opens her mouth automatically, while her mind is still stuck on her boss's words. Her expression is almost absent, as she tries to maintain the facade of apparent calm in front of her boyfriend. Kain puts the piece of cake in YN's mouth and observes her face, thinking that her apparent passivity was a product of the romantic scene they were having. Meanwhile, YN could only think about finding a way to escape from there as quickly as possible.

With each bite, YN felt the fear increase even more, praying to any being in the heavens to save her, for someone to clean up this mess, for her to have the strength to stop him. A wave of ultra sensitivity hits her mind, a result of stress and anxiety, and she can't stop thinking that it's all too much… too much. The cake is too sweet, sickly sweet, the frosting is too pink, the cherries taste too much like cherries, the background music was a soundtrack from her favorite romantic movie making her hair stand on end to the point of pain, capturing every sound and vibration in constant alert, as if at any moment he would take out a knife and stab her.

While YN ate the piece of cake, her mind was still stuck in trying to find a way to escape that situation without giving herself away. She tried to act as normally as possible in front of the stranger in front of her, while her heart was pounding with anxiety and fear.

“Are you okay, love? You seem tense… isn't the cake good?” Kain asks, gently running a hand over YN's cheek and involuntarily she pulls away.

Kain's eyes widen and a twinge of sadness passes through his blue eyes.

YN regrets that.

“S-sorry, love… I'm just tired from work.” YN tries to act as normal as possible but he can almost see through her that there is something bothering her, or to be more exact, he can see through the neckline of her dress that the beautiful woman's heart is abnormally racing.

“But… but the cake is delicious!” To prove the point, she herself picks up the fork and takes a piece of cake to her mouth, holding back the urge to vomit. “Beginner's luck, maybe?” she laughs and teases him a little.

Act normal, woman. Act normal or he'll notice.

“Who knows?” He smiles at her, not understanding what happened but decides to save this subject for later to enjoy the romantic dinner

“I've always been lucky on my first times…” he winks at her

“O-Oh…” YN laughs embarrassedly, not hiding the blush that rises on her cheeks

Dinner soon ends, YN comments a few things about work while Kain gives details of how his day was and in the end they go to watch a movie on the couch cuddling wrapped in soft and warm blankets. YN who was previously so interested in the cinematography of films, obsessively observing each character and each angle now doesn't even know the name of the film or what genre it is.

Would it be horror like a terrible joke of the storm inside herself? Would it be a romantic movie to continue this psychotic game of house?

All she can think is that now is the perfect time to run away.

Now that Kain is sleeping so soundly in her arms with a contented smile.

The clock strikes midnight and with a little trick she manages to leave without waking him, making her steps as light as a feather as she walks to the door, the only source of light being the TV playing scenes from the movie.

Her heart was beating strongly in her veins, she could hear her own heartbeats in her ear as she took a deep breath until she reached the door she had dreamed of, the exit to salvation.

As soon as she puts her cold hand on the doorknob, a brutal realization hits her in the face, she doesn't have her cell phone… and she doesn't know where it is.

With a sharp gulp she decides to go without it because this might be her only chance of survival, she tightly holds the motorcycle keys and opens the door.

"Where are you going at this time of night, sweetheart?" the creature's voice was like a roar held back by teeth, Kain's figure was on the other side of the door making her blood run cold immediately, YN's cell phone was in his big hand with the messages with her boss open.

His figure towers over her trembling form, his head twisting in an inhuman manner, watching YN intently, a horrifying smile on his lips.

For the first time in two weeks, YN smells a repulsive, rotten smell.

A scream is heard.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Every like, repost and comment is very welcome and appreciated. ♥

[serawritesthings]

hi! Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. I don't know if you're accepting requests, if you not, just ignore. But I'm wondering how you would write something related to a jealous Arthur Morgan, high honor of course (with smut or without smut sincerely you know what looks best). the way you write is addictive and passionate, i believe anything you write from this would be great.

OUR DEAR, GREEN LITTLE FRIEND

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | Oh, jealousy. When the thought of you straying too close to the comfort of Charles, the green monster claws its way into Arthur's head. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, tiny bit of angst, description of violence and wounds, fluffy at times, smut Word Count | 10k A/N | Hi everyone! I just HAD to write this request, hope you like it! Also, thank you dearly anon♡

While many found the biting cold of the climate north of West Grizzlies to be bitter–sharp air seeping into your very bones–you saw it oddly liberating despite the current predicament. The circumstance was dire, indeed, and you pondered many times if this would finally be the end for all of you, thinking of the incredible luck you had managed to have so far. Fate, or an astonishingly fascinating knowledge on how to escape the grappling arms of the law with a suspicious amount of people trashing through the roads in utter, sheer panic.

Glancing around you as you huddled closer to the fire, hands rubbing furiously against the wool of your gloves to gain even the slightest warmth to your biting fingers, you were met with the flushed cheeks of your comrades. The skin that now glistened from the melting snowflakes was caressed by the warm, orange glow from the flames lighting up the small hut you had taken residence in. 

The road leading to here had been long, and the time spent in the wagon that did nothing to shield you from the penetrating wind that howled into the night, your thoughts had been entirely focused on the man who now lay dead a few meters away, tucked in some fabric to shield the paling flesh of a corpse. While the thought might not make you uncomfortable, it did its thing on the others who looked weary at the covered man. 

You had done your best to tend to him amidst the severe trembling of your fingers and numbness spreading through you the longer you rode in the worrying storm, finding his blood still staining the cotton of your gloves–a reminder that you had done what you could to help the poor fellow. Despite not knowing him well enough to shed a tear, death was still a death, and a slight melancholy set its claw in all of you as you tried to regain some warmth. 

“Stupid man.” Glancing beside you, you took notice of the dark-haired woman muttering angrily as she held a sleeping Jack close to her body. 

“What’s wrong?” You inquired quietly, curious of her obvious disdain.

“John Marston is what’s wrong.” Blazing heatedly into the fire, you could almost see the depths of hell through her furious eyes. “He didn’t come back with the rest.” Shifting her eyes to yours for a quick moment that, although short, showed the worry hidden beneath her anger. 

Nodding slowly as you leaned against her slightly in comfort, you realized you hadn’t taken notice of the man’s absence until now. Returning with empty hands and another mouth to feed had instead been the case, no Marston as far as the eyes could see as he probably whirred around in the blizzard somewhere.

“Do you think he…” As you spoke, you trailed off, growing unsure of your words while realizing your comments might be prodded into a sensitive subject. 

“No.” Firmly, she sniveled harshly, shaking her head in protest. “No, he wouldn’t leave again.” Although her words were sure, you still felt a lingering doubt cloud your mind, remembering being told of his earlier departure from the gang that caused more scars in their relationships than good–not that it wasn’t faulty from the very start.

As you were about to let your prying win against your common sense, you were interrupted by the door being audibly slammed open, the noisy winds from outside growing louder as snowflakes whirled inside. Walking inside was the prominent figure of Charles, nodding respectfully to its residents as the door shut behind him, once more letting the warmth settle.

“Folks.” He mumbled quietly, treading through everyone huddling by the fire as he glanced curiously at the new woman before settling beside you. You glanced up at him, taking in his snow-covered self before lingering on his hand that rested motionless on his legs, bandages visible under his gloves.

“It’s not too bad; the cold seems to numb the pain.” A slight smile graced your lips at his observance, finding it unique to the man to be so tentative to everyone around him. Letting out a small laugh, you reach to remove your gloves before taking his hand in yours so you could lay it in your lap, unwrapping the bandages to examine the burns covering his skin.

You had given it a quick look-over before you had to tend to Davey, doing the best you could to ease his pain you were sure would be unavoidable. Although the sight was quite gruesome, it didn’t look as bad as you had expected.

“You’re stronger than me, that’s for sure. I would be a crying mess if I burned my hand like that.” Your voice was gentle as you started to rewrap the fabric around his hand, finding it increasingly irritating you didn’t have the tools you usually did that would indeed do a fine job at lessening his pain.

You had managed to gain a slight smile from the otherwise aloof man, probably finding your words humorous. “Let’s hope it’ll never come to that.” 

Sharing a look, you heard the door open once again, the irritated voice of Uncle damning whoever was letting in the cold for the second time. Both you and Charles laughed slightly, and as you looked up, you were faced with a pair of squinting, blue eyes, the icy cold from the outside seemingly enhancing their sharpness although making a welcomed warmth spread through you as they gazed over you in a quick motion–departing to look at the hand that rested in your lap.

“A sad loss, folks,” Hosea stated as he stepped onto the wooden planks, speaking out loudly in the otherwise calm hut, groaning as he helped Arthur lift Davey’s lifeless body, limp like a ragdoll. 

Glancing subtly, you observed him as Arthur’s bulky form lifted easily, unlike Hosea, admiring how he made it seem so effortless. The others called him the camps workhorse, and you didn’t fail to see why, keeping your eyes firm on the man as he carried him towards the door. 

He shrouded you in uncertainty; he did, and you weren’t sure how to behave in his bold presence. You often felt like a goody two shoes, and even though you weren’t the perfect picture of a law-abiding citizen, you could honestly say you were a wimp compared to Arthur. 

You should be embarrassed, you really should, but there was something in his eyes– something that made your heart race. Utterly shameless, yet desperate to lock gazes again despite contradicting yourself and avoiding them every chance you could. Before you could get caught this time, you directed your eyes, focusing on tightening the bandages so they wouldn’t come loose. 

“Try to be careful, will you, Charles?” You spoke quietly while patting his hand, motioning that he was all set to go, but his hand stayed, giving you a grateful look. 

“Thank you.” His soothing voice was hushed as the loud bang of the door slammed shut not long after, ridding you of the tumult after their departure. 

–

Oh, it burned. It burned so deep in his loins that it felt like he would erupt into flames any second. Despite the cold surrounding him, he was sure it could be possible the more he was left with his thoughts. The hushed whispers, the soft touches, and the ever-so-gentle look in your eyes made him want to empty the little food in his stomach. 

“Sneaky little rat,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he shoveled his way through the deep layers of snow. Here he was, out in the cold, tortured by the howling winds of the snowstorm, while Charles remained inside the warmth of the hut, seated next to you, all because of a slight burn. 

He knew what he was up to–what any man would do if it meant getting your attention–and he wasn’t humored. Taking advantage of your good nature was downright uncalled for, bordering on immoral, which Arthur would probably realize wasn’t Charles’s character if his mind didn’t seek to find faults with the man the more his blood boiled.

He scoffed to himself, stabbing the ground maliciously, imagining your warm hands around his instead, the nimble fingers of yours tending to him as you moved in closer, your sweet smell reaching his nose as you gazed up at him, face blushed from the cold with lips begging him to warm them up with his. The thought did nothing more than cover his whole body in shivers, only to be reminded that it wasn’t him that received that attention from you.

“What are you huffing about over there, Arthur?!” Hosea’s strained voice attempted to shout over the loud winds, standing up to rest momentarily.

“Why don’t we just bury him when the storm has settled?!” Annoyance was apparent in his voice, the green jealous monster still wreaking havoc in his mind.

“I told you, the snow will be too heavy tomorrow, so we need to finish it while we still can!” He groaned, starting to shovel once more. “And I’ll be damned, we are going to give Davey a proper burial. He deserves that much!”

As Hosea blabbered on about justice and other forms of respect Arthur had no intent on listening to, he zoned out, feeling sorry for himself as he imagined you might be keeping close to Charles right this moment, warming yourself to his body in a desperate search of bodily heat. Rubbing the melted snow off his face, Arthur damned the heavens above for making him the unluckiest bastard in the West. 

Despite Arthur seeming dead set on you being lovey-dovey with a man you barely knew, Charles had left you after making some small talk, mentioning that he would try and get some well-deserved rest after the tumultuous past few days. Many others did as well, attempting to ease their minds from the constant threat against their back amidst the terrible cold.

Although, as days passed and John being back rid you of Abigail’s constant muttering, the cold only seemed to take its toll on you, unlike the others who quickly got used to the environment. Furthermore, the days only seem to get longer up in the mountains, and you wondered obsessively when you would get the chance to leave–damning everyone who thought seeking out Colm O’Driscoll in your compromised state a good idea instead of moving forwards.

Despite your dismay, you put yourself to use like the others, preparing to help Pearson in the grim act of cutting through the poor deer that had been brought back. While the sight gladdened you, knowing you would finally get a meal in your stomach, the brooding aura of a chestnut-haired, blue-coated man seemed to rain over you endlessly.

What could you have done to gain his stinging glare? It was almost cutting through you entirely from the burning that resided deep in his eyes, watching you ferociously, making your hair stand on edge. When he had returned with Charles, it had been nothing short of unpleasant ever since, although thankfully–despite his glare–his harsh words were directed towards Pearson instead of you, which you were glad for.

“How’s the cold treating you?” Glancing away from the two men bickering, you laughed slightly at Charles’s innuendo, dressed worse for wear as you pulled the thick, woolen scarf tighter around your neck, hugging yourself to keep warm.

“Could be worse, I guess,” you said, clouds like smoke surrounding you as you talked.

“I suppose. Still, I don’t want you freezing your fingers off.”

“Mhh,” you nodded thoughtfully, speaking up after silence. “Who would look after your hand if that happened?”

He chuckled heartily at your unsuspected joke, and you glanced up at him bashfully, a light smile covering your face at his apparent amusement. While your embarrassment of being so easily swayed by the cold, it felt nice having someone take notice of your obvious discomfort, even though you would say you were pretty good at keeping it to yourself. You couldn’t be surprised, though, well aware you and Charles were both tentative to your surroundings, always knowing but rarely telling.

“Here.” Taking off the large gloves covering his hand, no doubt doing an excellent job keeping him warm, he grabbed your trembling hands in his, rubbing them between his pleasant temperature hand and bandage-covered skin before gliding the fabric over yours. 

“No, Charl-” you protested, trying to stop him from continuing. 

“They’ll do you more good than me, I promise. They’re just in the way.” Stubbornly, he planted your hands back into your lap, petting them like you had done to him some nights ago before raising with a huff. 

“Thanks for the help, Arthur.” Charles nodded at the now grumpy man observing him as he rested against the wood of the wooden wall with arms crossed, seemingly ignoring Mr. Pearson’s lecture about the navy he felt so strongly about, only providing a quick tilt of his hat before heated eyes were set on you.

Your gaze faltered, the blush on your face from the cold only intensifying the spread of warmth you felt from gaining his profound stare–something you rarely took notice of. It wasn’t that he didn’t look at you; he probably looked too much at times, but he was never so ardent with it, scrutinizing you under their heavy weight–making you feel ten times smaller under his towering height. 

“Well, why don’t you skin the deer, Arthur? I’ll help you cut them up in a while, miss.” Mr. Pearson’s words were hasty, and you didn’t miss the bottle glistening under the sunlight as he tried hiding it behind his coat, scurrying away. He would, in fact, not be back; you were sure of that much. 

It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with Arthur, and you never strayed too close, finding his presence somewhat daunting. Not that you’ve had many chances to speak amidst all the chaos surrounding you, and being relatively new to the gang meant the trust lacked significantly from both sides. But, the intrigue was always present in every glance and movement.

You felt his gaze fixed on you a moment longer as you stared heedlessly at your hands, rubbing them together anxiously, having no clue what to do with yourself. While you weren’t one to speak the ears of others, you never had any problem socializing with those around you–but Arthur, he was something else entirely. Finally, though, he moved, approaching the hanging carcass.

“How are ya?” His sudden words surprised you, hanging awkwardly in the air.

“Oh, um. Good?” You cringed at yourself, finding the words stuck in your throat as his voice rumbling was loud and confident.

“Cold?” 

“A bit,” you said softly, staring at his back as he heaved the skin away from the animal, movements rigid and harsh. “Charles gave me his gloves, so it’s a little less chilly now.” You stumbled over your words, admiring his strength unabashedly as he hauled the skinned deer over his shoulder, slamming it down the table with a loud bang. He gave you no answer, instead bringing out the knife in his belt to do the job you were assigned to.

“Oh, let me!” Standing abruptly from your seat, you stepped towards him hurriedly in shame, feeling like you were just lazying around while Arthur was doing all the hard work. 

Grabbing his thick coat to let you take his position, you found him staying right where he was, looking down at you when your hand rested on his bicep. It was unusual for him to be so close, and a blush warmed your cheeks as his towering frame became more apparent when standing a short distance from one another.

“S’alright.” He spoke lowly. “I’ve got it.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as he gazed wholly at you, letting you know he had no problem with helping you. It warmed you, finding his action kind–just like the small acts of kindness he reserved for the other girls. You would sometimes glare after them, intensely jealous that Arthur seemed to have a soft spot for them, yet acting like you didn’t exist.

“Anything else I can do to help since you just did my job for me?” A shy smile found you, peering up at him as he sniveled, glancing at you while you sat on the bench again.

“Well, you’ve already done your charity work for the day, so you’re fine.”

“Charity work?” You wondered, staring at him curiously as he cut through the meat. “What do you mean?”

He only sighed heavily, like you should be able to understand his cryptic words. 

“He won’t die from a small burn; it ain’t enough reason to coddle the man like a child,” he grumbled. 

It took you a while to get the gears turning, but when you did, you felt yourself grow shy from his statement. “Charles? His hand isn’t looking too good…”

“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t be so forward. You’ll give the poor man false hope.” He scoffed, stabbing the poor carcass harshly.

Staring at his back in disbelief at the sudden hatred, you had trouble understanding where it came from and why he suddenly grew so invested in whom you diverted your attention. You and Arthur rarely spoke, only changing quick words occasionally ever since you found yourself staying with the gang, and for that reason, you had failed to understand the reason for his hatred.

It seems all you ever did was look after everyone else, paying attention to their various troubles and tribulations regarding bodily harm. It wasn’t strange to you, and by no means did you give anyone false hope, merely trying to find your place with these people, an attempt to prove your usefulness.

“False hope?” You questioned, baffled. “I’m trying to help; I fail to understand how that is a problem.” 

“It ain’t a problem!” He grumbled, voice roaring hotly in his chest as he resheathed his knife and began to make his way out, repositioning his hat without glancing at you. You followed him, stopping short by the table as you didn’t want to stray too close to the fuming man.

“Well, it is since you are so angry about it?!” If this was how he carried out every conversation, you were glad the exchange of words wasn’t typical between you, more so the simple fact that your company had never seemed to bring him any enjoyment. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wha-” He stops short, suddenly turning around and stalking towards you in significant strides. Gasping at suddenly having him so close, you backed away; his sharp eyes penetrated you as the warm blue of his orbs turned ice cold, glaring daggers into your own.

“What’s wrong with me?” He spoke dangerously low as his brows raised, grabbing your upper arms as he hoisted you up the table without an ounce of struggle. “I’m not the one taking every small, insignificant chance to take advantage of your good nature.”

“Charles’s not like that. He’s very kind.” You spoke in his defense, leaning back from his prolonged stare that seemed to cut through you deeper the more he stared. You had always pitied the people who got on Arthur’s lousy side, finding his presence at those times unnerving. 

Now, it seemed you were at the receiving end of it, and while it chilled you to the bones, you weren’t sure if your beating heart were because of fear or the thought of him being the closest to you he’d ever have.

You had never quite got to admire his eyes, always hidden under his furrowed brows and squinting eyes. Now that it wasn’t because of the blazing sun down west, it was from the blaring whiteness of the snow surrounding you as you found his eyes glaring at the current climate more often than not–displeased.

His eyes being dead set on you didn’t help as you could hear his breathing grow heavier, the warmth of his breath hitting your cold cheeks as his broad frame blocked the chilly winds from reaching you.

“Kind, huh?” Although momentarily distracted, you recovered as you heard him speak in a low voice, still finding his assumptions wildly out of reach while insulting you and Charles. Times were hard, and if you couldn’t look after one another, it would surely lead to your doom–Arthur, if anyone, should know that.

“Yes, kind.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he backed away from you, shrugging his shoulders while walking away–like your conversation hadn’t happened in the first place.

“Sure.”

–

It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t know how to restrain himself, for he applauded himself for avoiding his apparent anger when Charles had, yet again, stolen away your attention–not that Arthur had any plans on striking up a conversation with you anyway. 

It became clear to him that when you two were left alone, you almost turned into a living statue, barely responding to him. It was unlike you, for the time he had spent observing you, you had no problem talking to anyone else–and although it was usually calm, it never deterred you from gaining the likes of the others and liking them in return.

Why did you cringe away from him and not Charles, he pondered, glaring at the picture that plagued his mind. The reason he knew, deep down, but his stubbornness didn’t let him justify your actions. In all honesty, Charles was a more reliable man than himself, intentions often apparent with a slight sense of, well, goodness perhaps—something Arthur didn’t possess in the slightest.

Goodness, in all honesty, wasn’t something he was too familiar with, and he didn’t doubt one second that you found his character to be callous, seeing as the dirty work no one wanted to do fell upon him; work everyone else found to be too cruel to do themselves. He could almost feel your disapproving gaze when he picked up his slack from Mr. Strauss’s poor victims that he always tried to prolong, and while it wasn’t his most favorable way of lending a hand, sometimes he did it out of spite. 

If that’s what you thought about him, then he couldn’t do much to sway your opinion, finding it much easier to continue with his ways than realize that your sudden carefulness off him wounded him more profoundly than he let on.

And, he was indeed a harsh man in your eyes, and although his company wasn’t entirely unwished for, he was still grim–ignoring your presence like you weren’t there most of the time. It made you wildly unsure of him, but the allure he had kept bringing you back, always wondering when you would see a glimpse of him again. You chastised yourself for it, more so now that you got a taste of his famously sullen mood that pestered everyone around him, but your eyes were still drawn to him when he was nearby. 

Maybe it wasn’t what everyone else would describe him as, but you thought of him as mysterious. Gods, you have stayed with this group for quite some time now. Not once had he spoken to you more than the standard greeting, and you didn’t know much about him besides the sharp-shooting, brutal force of a man who had no problem letting his thoughts be voiced, even though the listeners might be less inclined to its harsh deliverance.

He had been cruel, sure, but you couldn’t help but remember how close you had been before when he spewed words that clung so viciously from his tongue. Faintly, you remembered the deep scent of gunpowder and smoke, something you were certain probably penetrated his skin by now, but also the slightly musky scent hidden underneath. Your head raced in curiosity, wondering how his hands would grab you if it wasn’t in anger. Was he even capable of that, you pondered.

It’s ridiculous you knew those thoughts were born from misconceptions and assumptions. You had heard how he behaved amongst the camp women, forever gentle and careful, and you had sharpened your ear when you’d been told timidly about his earlier flings. He could be more heartfelt than your head let you acknowledge, and the thought made your head spin even more with your endless imagination.

Despite the inner turmoil that filled you from your earlier argument, you had avoided him for some days now, and it seemed to grow easier the colder you got, huddling close to the fire with every chance. It was the only thing keeping your thoughts occupied, wondering when you would get to leave this desolated mining town that grew more covered in snow the longer you chose to stay.

“Do you need help, Hosea?” Just after you spoke, heavy blankets were handed to you, the fabric made from a thick wool that looked heavenly. “Yes, thank you. I take one step outside; I fear that it will be the end of me.” You only stared warmly at Hosea, who patted you on the back. “Don’t you worry, miss. We found more blankets we thought had been lost in that dreadful storm, so we all will sleep warmer tonight.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll help-” Despite the whistling winds that had picked up as the sun shone its last tendrils, you didn’t oppose the idea, but you were interrupted by a mischievous look handed to you by the older man.

“Make sure Arthur grabs one, too; you know how he gets.” Before you could question his meaning, he slunk away, pulling the warm fabric tighter around his shoulders without a glance at you, chuckling merrily. You chose not to ponder too hard on his strange ways, instead making your way to the door, shivering badly as you stepped outside.

Smiles were all you were greeted with as you handed them off, and it was no surprise as it was a welcome sight to everyone to gain some extra warmth to wrap around themselves. Although feeling content by being of help, you couldn’t help but wonder where Arthur could be, a single blanket now left in your hands.

Grumbling to yourself, you stepped out from the hut Dutch and Molly resided in, glancing at a smaller building some paces away, finding the orange glow of a candle lighting up the smaller barn where the horses were kept. A small smile found you, finding it very fitting for him to be where there were fewer people. 

Although slightly fearing what could come to be an awkward encounter, you found yourself being too forgiving many times, and you damned yourself for it. What he said hurt you deeply, making you ponder if you had given Charles other signals than intended. It could be a possibility, yet you had never had too many romantic dealings with men to presume that that was the case, but his eyes held something tender the last few times you spoke as you recalled it.

“Arthur…” As you stepped inside after pulsing through the thick snow, you searched for the blue coat you had grown familiar with in this weather. “Are you here?” You asked quietly, wondering if he could hear you.

You cautiously stepped further into the barn, placing your feet steadily on the ground before you so you didn’t slip and embarrass yourself. It was friendly out here, you could admit, the snow muting every sound and almost making every slight sound caress your ears. 

As you stepped further inside, it turned out he was here, and he took no notice of you as you rounded the corner to gaze at his seated form, seemingly writing something in his journal. It was an unusual sight. Sometimes, you observed him as he wrote in his journal back at camp, yet you didn’t make a habit of it, too shy to question him at the time.

How he didn’t freeze to death in this climate was beyond you, his fingers bare as he scribbled, fingertips red from the cold and dirty from the chalk. You made a motion to speak up once again but found yourself tongue-tied as you took him in, and as you did, the thought struck you that he wasn’t writing but drawing.

How unlike him, you thought, watching his brows furrowed from time to time, fingers moving expertly while the soft glow of the candle beside him almost softened his features. Your presumptions might be harsh, but you had never found him to be a man well-versed in the creative aspect of life, and while the brutal ways of his life spoke for him, you found it to make him slightly more approachable. 

“I didn’t know you draw.” You stated fondly, his eyes fitting into yours the moment the first word left your mouth, growing visibly stressed as the journal was planted into his coat pocket. A rough cough left him as he did, eyes faltering when he saw your observant gaze linger on him unabashedly.

“I don’t.” A small laugh left you at his abrupt words, not teasingly but perhaps warmly, choosing not to bug him since he grew uncomfortable before your questioning eyes. 

You were given an expectant look that reminded you of your actual business here as you stepped inside the building, closing the barn door behind you to shut out the wind that somehow managed to find its way through the cracks in the walls. 

“Here, we found some more blankets. Hosea asked me to bring you one.” You met his eyes briefly as you stretched out your arms for him to take the blanket, eyes faltering to it at his piercing gaze.

“Hosea, huh?” A scoff left him, resuming his arms to cross over his chest, shaking his head slightly. “You keep it.”

“No, I-” 

“Nah, you chattering your teeth keeps us up at night. Take it.”

His words should have taken you back since his voice was stinging, but a light laugh left you, knowing he was right. Wrapping yourself in the soft, warm blanket, you surprised Arthur by sitting beside him, heavily clad shoulders touching each other as you did. 

“I don’t understand.” You stated, staring at the large shadows that flickered on the wooden wall before you. “How can you not be cold? I feel like if I spend one more day out here, I’ll freeze to death.”

You turned your head towards him, caught off guard when you felt his gaze already set intensely on you. Your eyes faltered to his chest, growing shy as you always did when you had his attention on you. It wasn’t unwanted, but you didn’t know what to do with yourself in moments like that, unused to the fire that always burned so deep in his eyes.

“Used to it, I guess.” His voice rumbled hotly in his chest, fingers flexing against his will as he took the chance to observe you. He had never had the opportunity to see your face this close. Your wet lashes clung together as you blinked, undoubtedly from the heavy snowfall outside, framing your eyes that Arthur always noticed were so very easy to read, yet at many moments also locked away.

“I don’t believe you.” How could anyone possibly get used to this? It was raw, pure torture. 

You didn’t get an answer, and as you returned your gaze towards the wall, Arthur’s eyes found your features again. He had indeed been cold before you came, but it was his only chance to find a moment of peace; the thought of spending another night in that god-forsaken hut with his dear friend and his lover giggling the night away grew incredibly distasteful.

Here, he could finally hear his thoughts, the solitude of the snow muting every sound heavenly; the only noise was the familiar scribbling in his journal as he wrote about the past few days. Though his head was calmer than before, he still dreamt of your fingers encasing his like they had done Charles, the small, elegant touches rising his arms slowly, making him shiver wildly as the scene flashed before his eyes. 

He knew he shouldn’t think of you like that, and he certainly had no right to be angry at Charles since he felt so unabashedly filthy things about you, but he couldn’t help it. Your every scent, every motion set his blood afire; small deeds of good you always found yourself doing so harshly contrasted his actions he couldn’t help the fact that you intrigued his whole being. 

So good, so… soft and warm. As he stared at you, all he wanted was to reach out and pull you closer to him so he could feel your shivering body close to him, knowing many ways to warm you up. Sighing, he removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair as the thoughts took a turn he always hated himself for.

“Hey, I uh…” Arthur trailed off, finding the words he wanted to speak stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, like I did back then.” He stared before him, yet he felt your eyes heavy on his.

He did feel bad, and it had been the reason for his brooding temper since then, not coming to terms with his wrongdoings until now. He had probably scared you, he concluded, and could only assume he was right as you had done your utmost to avoid him as of late.

“Don’t be,” you said with a light smile, not expecting his apology, even though he didn’t say sorry directly. “It’s a lot right now, I understand. But I still don’t understand why you’re so angry at Charles.” You were briefly met with a light sigh, eyes flickering to yours before diverting the flickering candle. 

“Nah, forget it. Just me being stupid is all.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe you’re mean sometimes and grumpy,” you said, giving him a teasing glance. “But not stupid.”

A scoff left him at your words, yet you could see the corners of his mouth chirp up lightly. “You’d be surprised.”

As your snickering died down, you rested your head on the wall behind you, not wanting to leave the quiet comfort you found yourself in nor the conversation that panned on longer than you had anticipated, much to your surprise.

“Why are you out here if you are so cold, girl?” He questioned you, catching a glimpse of your almost blue lips. “Go on inside; you’ll freeze to death if you stay here.” It would be best for you to return because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his thoughts progressed like they did before in your presence. As he placed the hat on his head again, he glanced down quickly, doing a double take as he found you staring at him. 

Was the cold finally getting to your head, or was it simply being in the presence of the man you were so unsure of but wildly intrigued by? You couldn’t tell, but the warmth spreading in your stomach as he glanced down at you spread ferociously through your stomach, almost warming you to your fingertips. 

Suddenly, Arthur moved his arm slightly, and the motion made you jump, leaning away from him as you unconsciously drew closer to him. You couldn’t tell, but it almost felt like your body sometimes contradicted your mind, defying your sense of morality.

“Are you afraid of me?” He questioned, gazing at you unexplainably. Both of your breaths were audible in the quiet night, blowing like smoke out your mouths as the world around you blurred. It wasn’t like Arthur couldn’t contain himself around women, but you were something else entirely. Only in his wildest dreams did you stare at him like that, like you were expecting–waiting– for him to do something. 

Yet, you looked guarded, like a cornered lam, waiting for the right moment to sprint away. You pulled away, only to lean in further, the cogs in your head turning something so awful in your mind, observing his every move yet not registering your own that reached out to him.

And gods, did he want to do the same; his internal battle proved to be more difficult as your hand gripped his coat tightly, only wanting to warm your blue lips with his own and show you how he could warm you up better than Charles’s damned gloves ever could.

“Sometimes.” You let on, voice shaking from both anticipation and uncertainty.

Leaning down towards you hesitantly, he felt hot all over when he realized you didn’t shy away from him like expected, mouth only parting further as he drew closer. As you did, you felt your breath hitch when a hand was placed on your upper back, Arthur’s weight only making you glide further down the wall until your head was resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Arthur…” He was so close now you could almost feel his heartbeat through the vast amount of clothing, breath hitting your cold, blushing cheeks as he leaned closer, the calling of his name only drawing him in. He was sure you had bewitched him, for not a single thought in his mind was about anything but the woman in front of him, entirely and utterly overtaken by what was solely you.

And through those few moments between frustration and desperation, all senses of logic disappeared as the skin of your lips conjoined, drawn together like magnets that snapped together like they never wanted to be apart again. Eyes grew shut, the only sound now the deep humming in Arthur’s chest as your hands found his cheeks, caressing the chilly skin under your palm with your thumbs.

It was ragged and scarred, a deep contrast to your own that had never tasted the metal of a gun and the blood of a foe, and the thought made a gasp rise in your throat as his weight fell heavier onto yours, pressing you into the hay-filled, snowy ground. 

“Tell me to stop.” He grunted against your now wet lips, only taking a second before joining them again. He was covering your entire body as he lay above you, resting his weight on his elbows as your head rested on his arm. 

“No…” You mumbled, words almost not audible against his desperate mouth, feeling just as affected by the desire as he did. You felt his face scrunch up almost painfully before he took the hand that rested on your back to glide under your coat, resting it on the side of your waist as he stroked gently, feeling the curves that hid underneath the damned fabric.

It was torture. It was an unexplainable torture that you would freeze to death if he removed the clothes that covered you, and he would surely go insane if he couldn’t feel the skin he imagined would be so very soft under his rough fingers. Just a taste, he thought sinfully to himself, slowly lifting the fabric of your shirt from under your skirt’s waistband, worming a freezing hand inside to feel the warmth that hid underneath.

You gasped at the sudden sensation but were quickly silenced as his tongue massaged your own, and the slight moan that left you only made a groan rumble loudly in his chest. The feeling of his cold hand rose your skin, stroking every bit it came across as if memorizing it to his brain, mapping out every single inch. 

It was too much for you, the sheer desperation and want, not knowing what to do with yourself or how to dampen the intense feelings that nailed your firm to the ground. Every bit of you grew into static, and every touch from Arthur sent shockwaves through your body as his fingers caressed you.

“Come here.” Opening your eyes, you found his, although lidded with desire, gentle eyes gazing into yours, pulling his hand reluctantly from your waist to help you sit up. “I won’t let you lay on the ground.” 

You only stared at him as he seated you on his lap, chest flush against his as his hands stroked along your arms as if to warm you up, tightening the blanket around your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat pick up at his actions, your stomach fluttering fiercely as he ensured you stayed warm.

You could tell he grew wildly unsure as you remained silent, clearing his throat as if he had been in a daze before speaking. 

“If you’ll have me, that is.” You didn’t give him a chance to say more, hands finding sanction in his hair as the motion knocked off his hat, exposing the sandy locks he always kept hidden underneath it.

“Stupid question.” You mumbled softly against his mouth, pressing yourself closer to him as your fingers started fiddling with the buttons on his coat. You could already feel the heat emitting, and your fingers grew hasty as you tried to move faster, the motion of your lips faltering against his eager ones.

You would have been ashamed if it weren’t for Arthur being just as stressed about getting the buttons of your coat loose, hands wounding their way around your waist and pressing you closer to him the moment they became undone. Likewise, you wormed your arms under his shoulder, gasping as you felt the heat buried underneath the fabric, hugging him close as you placed your face into the crook of his neck. 

Breathing in your scent, Arthur revealed in the way you nuzzled against him, feeling a warmth spread in his groin when the thick coat didn’t keep the pressure of your middle away from him any longer. It was heaven, he concluded, trailing his hands down to your backside as he caressed the curves, pushing you flush against his.

Oh, how he reveled in it. He was selfish; there was no denying it any longer, but he craved you so profoundly it would eat him up bit by bit if he couldn’t have you. It wasn’t about Charles any longer; it was about the fact that you had never spared him a glance, almost bordering on fearing him, deciding that everyone else company had been much safer than his own. 

He knew it and had seen it in your eyes countless times. Arthur wasn’t unfamiliar with the look of utter horror plastered on people’s faces, for he faced it every day, and he wanted nothing more than to show you that you had no reason to feel that way with him, for he would never put a single finger that was unwished for on you.

And he couldn’t possibly hold it against you, for he wasn’t a good man, quite the opposite actually, and every lingering touch made him hate himself even more, wishing you would find it in you to push away from him–let him know that if he ever touched you again, you would kill him. 

But, he would find that you didn’t, instead only pressing yourself even harder against him in the cold of the night, breath shaking something so terribly as he moved your lower region against his in a gentle movement. It only fueled his want for you, hands struggling their way up your skirt, caressing your stocking-clad legs as he did, reaching your undergarments with a content sigh. 

His touch lighted a path up your legs, the cold nothing but a memory now even though the brisk air found its way underneath your skirt, following his hands that caressed your inner thighs in soft motions.

It was suspenseful, waiting for the skin to touch the skin, for his strong hands to wound around you as he had already wormed himself around your heart. And as he did, the coil in your stomach grew so incredibly tight you felt like it was too much like his touch alone wounded your every fiber, but instead of hurt, it was an undeniable pleasure that hit you tenfold.

The hand that had crawled its way inside your undergarments stroked alongside your tender parts, never touching you where you wanted him the most–the place that longed for his touch. He had to be teasing you; there was no other explanation as he smiled softly at your expression, gasping for air as you gripped the sides of his arms, trying to push against his fingers. 

“Ah, sweetheart.” He only cooed at you, gripping your wrists with one hand as his other finally glided over the wetness of your heat, gazing directly into your eyes with his sharp gaze, admiring your pleasure-filled face that begged him to give you more, to provide you with his all. And, as he spread your folds with his fingers, the filthiest whimper of pleasure left you, laying its noise into the quiet night with no worry about anyone hearing, only fools deciding to stray outside in this bleak, frigid night. 

Falling into his arms yet again, you let him enter a finger into your warm cavern, gasping desperately for air as the unfamiliar stretch widened you, dragging wonderfully against your clenching walls. It was vile, the way Arthur reveled in how tight you felt against his finger, and as he pondered on how you would feel when he pushed it you. The thought made a striking, white pleasure shoot through him, making him grunt out against your neck.

“That good?” He spoke out, adding another finger into you while placing wet, hot kisses against your blazing neck, wanting nothing more than to hear your heavenly sound of approval. 

You attempted to nod, but the motion was interrupted by the increasingly more extensive stretch from both of his fingers; gasping like a madwoman as you moved against his hands, wishing to pull his fingers even deeper into you, dissatisfied when you realized it didn’t do the job.

He could only groan when he realized your intention, slipping his coated finger from your warm heat, bringing them to his mouth quickly while his other hand found the zipper of his jeans, fumbling in a stressed fashion to get rid of the constraint.

A dissatisfied moan left you as he did, wishing for nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch yet again carry alongside your walls. But, as he fumbled with his zipper, you quickly got your senses together. You helped him undo his suspenders, then slipped underneath the fabric to trail your hand alongside the apparent bulge that stretched underneath, finding his groans to fuel your actions. 

For a short while, your eyes met amidst the hurry your bodies experienced, and the moment slowed down to a halt as your lips found each other once more, moving against one another like starved men. You couldn’t be closer to him, and he couldn’t possibly be closer to you, and while you earlier had pondered that this was a good idea, you couldn’t imagine anything else at this moment.

And, as your hand wrapped around him momentarily, Arthur could feel his brain’s short circuit, like he had never been able to hold a single thought in his mind his entire life. You had to have bewitched him, for he complied to your every touch, body moving against your every move like your hand was glued to his body.

“God,” he mumbled against your lips that massaged his own, thrusting against your hand as you stroked him tenderly, gasping against him quietly. It wasn’t hurried but warm and slow, basking in each other’s presence like you had never before discovered the feeling of another’s touch against your own.

“That good?” You replied teasingly, mimicking his earlier words as you smiled a toothy smile, feeling him chuckle lowly at your apparent teasing, giving you a playful slap on your behind as his breathing picked up.

Suddenly, you felt a hand encase your own. As he removed it from his throbbing member, he only grabbed you closer, wounding his arms around your back as he pulled you into a hug, the feeling of him underneath you wonderful as you glided along it–moaning wantonly as the friction shot sharp streaks of pleasure up your body.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll warm you up.” As he spoke, he could feel himself shudder as your wet lips encased his tip, groaning audibly as he thought you rubbing against him. You were illegal, he concluded, for nothing could ever be allowed to feel this good–it wasn’t possible.

“Please,” you gasped against his lips, moving your hips slightly as you felt his hands circle your waist. “Please, Arthur.” 

He hushed you quietly, finally feeling you wrap your lips around him as he slowly entered your warm cavern, the walls fitting him snugly as a grunt left him unexpectedly, lost in the pleasure you brought him. 

While it felt too good to imagine, you could only keep your mouth open at the sensation, wondering how something could ever fill you up quite as good as this. Without a single thought, you sat down entirely, feeling him stretch you wonderfully as you wrapped around all of him, wounding your hands around his neck. 

You didn’t need to move much, for he thrust up into you when you had gotten used to his size, feeling yourself being hitched up to his body as the motion made your whole body rise to then fall back down on him, once more filled to the brim. His grunting in your ears filled your senses, and while the slight consciousness entered your mind, wondering what you were doing, you pushed it far back, relishing in how your body responded to his.

Despite the cold that was surely creeping into your bones the more you stayed out here, the sound of skin against skin filling the empty spaces around you made you feel more connected to each other than you had ever felt with anyone else. 

You started to move with him, bringing down your hips to meet his while he thrusts into you, growing more desperate by the minute. You found the hands hugging your waist, circling their arms around it, pushing you even further against him as you rested your hands on his cheeks, having no choice but to stare into his lidded eyes as he grunted roughly underneath you. 

God, how he wanted to push you down onto the ground and drive into you, damning the snow that covered the ground. Instead, he glided down further from the wall, feeling your weight press against him more as your head found sanction in his neck, feeling his thrusts grow more in power as he pistoned into you harder from the new position.

“Arthur.” You breathed out, feeling the stretch of him grow as the position made him reach even deeper inside you, one arm reaching down to grab your bottom so he could hold you firmer against him.

“I know, honey.” He murmured, head growing dizzy as you clenched around him so wonderfully, mewling sweetly into his ears as you let him take control. 

Did it make him an evil man for reveling in what he knew Charles would never gain from you? Maybe it did, but those thoughts were placed far back in his mind as your lips found his, small moans now muted as you grew desperate for his affection, growing insatiable to once more feel the fondness that laid in his every touch.

He had been so angry that someone else had gained the courage to do what he couldn’t, realizing he had been too late. Yet now, as you remain unknowing above him, it only made his lips plant themself firmer against yours, determined to make you understand that nobody could make you feel this way except him.

Grabbing the blanket off your shoulders, he threw it down towards the ground as you gasped, stroking your waist tenderly before slowing his movements. 

Your breath heaved something so terrible, your voice shaking as you spoke. “Don’t stop, Arthur. Please.” He felt his stomach coil at your words, throbbing inside you as he moved to a seated position.

“I ain’t stopping, sweetheart,” he let on, leaning you backwards lightly. “Lay back for me, okay?” You did as he said without a protest, the cold now gone as your legs spread from him.

He almost groaned from the sight, taking a moment to observe you as you stared at him through lidded eyes, blushed cheeks so wonderfully red against the whiteness of the snow you almost looked like an angel–your hair spread like a halo around your head where you laid on the blanket.

Crawling over you quickly, he grunted as he felt your hand encasing itself around him, stroking slowly as you guided it to your clenching hole. For a moment, he felt a relief spread through him at the feeling of your walls surrounding him before the sheer and utter desperation set in, beginning to move into you at a faster pace than before. 

Your breath hitched at the sudden movement, yet you gripped his arms to keep him there, not baring the thought of him stopping again. Being over you gave him more control, and his primal instincts set in as the coil in his stomach shot burning flashes throughout his body, wanting nothing more than to feel your warm walls around him forever. Maybe it was the desire talking, but he swore that the thought of you being like this with any other man than him would make him heave.

Encasing his arms around you as your hands found his hair, he felt your legs wrap around his waist, now so close he was grounding into you relentlessly. Rough yet tender, he moved into you with care, but you could feel that he was holding back as he panted above you.

“Don’t stop!” You begged him once more amidst his thrusts, pulling on his strands as his lips found the softness of your neck. Why you were begging, you couldn’t say, oblivious to the words leaving your mouth in utter bliss.

“Hm?” He mumbled, smiling lightly from hearing your ruined voice beg him. He felt like a sick man gaining pleasure from it, but his mind was too hazy to take notice, longing to hear those words leave your sweet mouth once more. “What was that?”

“Don’t stop,” you voiced breathlessly as his hand found your breast, rolling the nub softly between his rough fingers. Despite your begging, for his own sickly twisted pleasure his hips ceased their movements, moving torturously slow as he raised his elbows to stare at your tear-filled eyes.

They shot open as he slowed his pace, displeased he didn’t listen as you already felt shameful for sounding so desperate. You couldn’t help it, for it felt too good, and now that he had stopped, you wished he never had. Was he teasing you? The thought made you blush from embarrassment and annoyance, pleading with your eyes.

“No…” You mumbled, trying to move against him, yet his hands held you firm against the ground.

“Say it.” Arthur’s voice was coarse as he spoke, grabbing your hand to place tender kisses on it as your displeased sounds reached his ears. He only got a confused look, smirking slightly at the longing and apparent dissatisfaction plastered on your face. A biting shadowed lust replaced his usually sharp eyes as he watched you, carnal written deeply in his eyes.

“My name, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it.” Suddenly, he pistoned his hips against you, driving up your wet walls as a mewl left you from the sudden force. You felt his intense eyes on you as your eyes shut momentarily, and through your blurred vision, they didn’t stay open for long.

“Arthur,” you moaned, eye-rolling into the back of your head as your back arched, a wave of pleasure shooting through you at his demands. He held the same controlled yet sensual pace, knowing he’d slip out of you if he went any harder. Still, his accuracy was wicked–hitting the right spot with every move.

“That’s it,” he praised you, placing another kiss on your palm as his thrusts increased, grunting roughly as your walls squeezed him tightly. You break into sobs as you reach out to grasp his arms, tilting his head up just enough to let you know he’s watching you, his hazy gaze roving over the devastation on your face. 

The snow around you mutes the sound of skin hitting skin as he sets a brutal pace. “I didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart.” The deep rumble in his chest as he spoke the words laced with possessiveness made your heartbeat pick up faster than it already was, the light ringing in your ears increasing as your body was hoisted up with each of his thrusts.

You call his name like a prayer amidst the pleasure, and satisfaction at hearing his name come so sinfully from your mouth made his eyes roll back, knuckles turning white from gripping the ground so harshly. Oh, you had no idea that every noise you let out from his advances made his heart soar with pride, feeling the softness of your skin under the palm of his hands.

Arthur feels the abrupt stop of movements from your hand, gripping tightly on his arms as you spasm around his cock, clenching tightly as the pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen nub as your orgasmed, a loud whine leaving you at the contact. It’s too much for you, the sensation too unfamiliar yet devastatingly addictive–not knowing if you wanted to drive your hips away from his brutal assault or enjoy him even more profoundly. 

Even if you had decided on the prior, he didn’t let you, pushing you firm against the ground as he twitched inside you at the noises you let out, groaning lowly as he came inside your warm walls, planting himself deep inside you. 

“Christ-” He grunts out, teeth clenched as you feel his cock throb inside you, cum gathering at the base of him as his hips slow to deep thrusts, grinding into you in sheer pleasure as the knot in his stomach unleashed, feeling you placing small kissed on his neck.

The slight motion made him smile amidst his pleasure-filled mind, caressing the curves of your waist as he nestled his head into your neck, still panting heavily. As you both calmed down, it didn’t take long for your hand to find his, fingers wounding themselves around the others in the blissful aftermath.

As you opened your eyes after catching your breath, you found a pair of blue ones already gazing at you. You didn’t speak for a while, both of you trying to digest the situation as tiny snowflakes could be seen falling from the sky through the cracks in the walls. It reminded you of how cold you should have been, but with Arthurs’s broad chest covering you, it felt like you were clinging to a furnace.

“Shit, you must be freezing.” He suddenly let out, shaking his head slightly as if in a daze before rising to pull you with him. As he pulled your skirt down your legs, rubbing them between his hands to warm you up, you could only stare at him in quiet wonder.

“What?” He grumbled out, sniveling lightly as he glanced at you. Had you not wanted this, he wondered, doubt starting to fill his mind. You were too quiet for his liking, only staring at him as he tried to prolong touching your soft skin, fearful of the hurtful words that were sure to come. 

“Are you jealous of Charles?” 

If crickets had been this far north, they would surely be the only thing audible as Arthur stopped. Bear of a man, hardy and stubborn to many, yet a faint blush could be seen rising to his cheeks as his face lowered–wishing so dearly he could find his hat that had seemingly disappeared so he could hide.

If he had been looking at you, he would have seen the toothy smile covering your face, a tender laugh leaving you as your assumptions became reality. You had to give him credit, though, for he had you completely and utterly fooled. 

“No.” He stated firmly, rising on his legs to pull up his pants. He found himself unable to, though, your hand grabbing his suspenders to pull him back down. The same heat that had lessened in his stomach came back as he felt your nimble touch caress him through his pants, gaining a mischievous look from you as you widened your legs. 

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll give Charles his gloves back if you stay here and keep me warm.” 

Oh dear, that would do it. Whatever thoughts that filled his mind flew out the window, wholly consumed by you as your hands caressed his back, staring expectantly up at him. 

“Only me, right?”

“Only you, stupid.”

[dead-boys-club]

†  do you love me? : the fatui.

❥ scenario: their mute s/o asking if they love them. ❥ no triggers ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ requested. [ my pending isn't updated, it's a liar. ]

you had thought over it for a while, curious as to where you actually stood with your lover, no.. partner? did they love you? as your curiosity grew to a sickening need for an answer, you decided to write your question down, small and neat; 'do you love me?' before approaching to hand the paper off.

❥ la signora.

as she took the paper from you, you'd be unable to read her expression, something that was awfully common. you couldn't help but become slightly anxious as a few moments of silence went by, giving her the time to process the question. you had learned that signora was a very complex someone, someone who was guarded and difficult to read, but you had grown to understand those things about her. when she finally looked to you, there was a warmth in her gave and she set the paper down, now folded in half. she wouldn't have much to say, a simple 'yes' being whispered, full of sincerity and adoration for you, even if her expression didn't match. she reached out to cup your cheeks, the touch tender with her gloved hands, and she leaned to press a kiss to your forehead. it wasn't easy for her to express how she felt but she would never allow you to live with doubts on how she felt for you.

❥ scaramouche.

unlike signora, scara's response would be heavily complicated. he would be reluctant to take the paper to begin with, his expression immediately showing discomfort and clear distaste. love had never been something that worked out for him very well, nor did he understand it as much as others - love was one of the reasons his life had been filled with betrayal and manipulation. he was wary of emotions to begin with but love held a different kind of weight - it was almost like the word alone left a bitter taste at the back of his throat. he would quickly narrow his sharp eyes, masking the vulnerability with agitation. 'what kind of stupid question is this?' it would have hurt you had their been any malice to his tone. even as he crumpled up the paper and tossed it away, you could see some type of softness slipping through the cracks. it would take time but after a few minutes, he'd glance to you, gaze softening slightly. 'i don't know,' he admitted, voice quiet as he decided to be honest, 'i don't know if that's something i'm capable of but.. i don't hate you, if that's what you're worried about.' for scara, that was the closest thing to a confession you'd be getting and you understood and accepted that. besides.. he was a lot better with his actions than his words, even if he didn't realize.

❥ childe.

childe is always happy to accept your notes, be it during full conversations, asking him about missions, and so forth. with that happy expectation, he took the paper, only to falter briefly before a warm smile formed. 'of course i do,' he answered without hesitation. he'd wave the little piece of paper between two fingers before setting it down, 'this is a silly question.' he wasn't being demeaning, just pointing out what he thought - hoped - was obvious to you. his arms would find their way around you, hugging you close to lift you off your feet with a soft chuckle. 'why would you even feel the need to ask that?' childe had always done everything in his power to make sure his love was open and honest, being hidden from no one because he never wanted you to doubt him. he would actually wonder if he'd done something wrong that lead you to asking but it would be put on the back burner for later. 'you're one of the most important people in my life,' he whispered as he set you down, pressing a kiss right below your ear, 'and, i'll always love you.'

❥ dottore.

you knew such a question could leave you with an aching heart but you'd prepared yourself before hand, knowing the day you agreed to be the doctor's lover, it may not be in such a manner. as he took the paper from you, he read over it with an impassive expression, which you'd expected nothing less. minutes passed as he worked through your question. love was not something dottore considered valuable - emotions, in general, were considered a hindrance to him. love, most of all, was the worst there was. the paper was set down without an answer as he returned to his work, leaving you lost and hurt, despite knowing this would be the outcome. you began to turn on your heel to leave when he glanced to you. 'love is a trivial thing,' he said coldly, almost bitter. 'it's a distraction and a weakness.' you stopped yourself from frowning. contrasting his words, as you looked closely at him, you found something - a hint of conflict that told you there was more he wasn't willing to acknowledge. dottore never was one to answer things directly but his actions - his way of keeping you close, keeping you safe and granting you attention in ways no one else was allowed - that was enough, you decided.

❥ arlecchino.

she would take the paper from you and take no time in reading it, her expression calm. she isn't brought to emotional response easily - you were sure you'd never seen her flustered. she set the paper down with a thoughtful hum before looking at you, her gaze gentle. 'love isn't something i give easily or take lightly,' she answered, steady and serious, 'but if i didn't care for you deeply, you would not be here.' in another of situation or context, you'd have taken the words as a threat but instead, they calmed any frayed nerves. arle's way of showing how she feels is protective and pragmatic, something that doesn't rely on cheap words. she wouldn't give flowery words or pointless gestures - but she would make sure you felt valued in your relationship. 'yes, i do.' she finally admitted, her tone leaving no room for doubt, even as she turned away from you. 'you are mine, and i protect what's mine.'

❥ columbina.

immediately going off of your facial expression, she knew she didn't need to read the paper to know the type of question you had, a gentle, knowing smile forming. columbina is the most attuned to emotions, her own and others, especially yours. she would quickly be able to feel the vulnerability and doubt behind your written word. without hesitation, she collected your hand in her own, making sure to hold your gaze. 'yes,' she said easily, 'i love you more than words will ever be able to express.' columbina leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. 'you needn't doubt that,' she whispered, letting your hand go only to pull you into a hug, her eyes closing, 'i always will, beloved.' her love was soft, open and nurturing, a presence that never ceased and you almost felt guilty for doubting her. she had done her best to make sure you felt cherished and adored and she would continue to do so.

❥ pantalone.

he wouldn't question why you were suddenly handing him paper but he would be curious, eyes shining with interest as he read the question. panta is a man who sees emotions as secondary to his ambitions and goals, especially with his wealth and power. however, he wouldn't hesitate to admit that you, are different. this may be something that lead you to thinking you were more of a possession than a lover - he would be smart enough to figure out where the doubt blossomed from. folding the paper neatly, he set it down and let a thoughtful smile show, turning his attention to you. 'love, like any valuable asset, is not something i take lightly,' he began, head tilting slightly, 'but you, my dear.. are more precious than anything to me.' reaching out to you, his fingertips brushed over the apple of your cheek. 'yes,' he answered directly, 'i love you, and i will make sure you never doubt that again.' like the others, panta's love is often expressed through actions - keeping you comfortable and safe, your happiness being of utmost importance to him.

❥ il capitano.

he would take the paper without a second thought, reading the words slowly and feeling the weight of them. it would take him a moment to find how to answer, knowing if he was careless, it would bring you unnecessary hurt. love has never been something capitano was accustomed to, not when his life was outlined and defined by duty, loyalty and the cold fate of a soldier. he briefly wondered if love was something he could feel or understand. would he know if he was in love? after what seemed like an eternity, he would slowly set the paper down and look to you, speaking just as careful. 'love is a concept i have little experience with,' he began, his tone apologetic, 'i do care for you, deepy.. your wellbeing, your happiness. i want to keep you safe.' his answer would be straightforward, almost as though he was searching through his own words. he wished he could use the same pretty, poetic words he'd heard in passing, but that wasn't possible. 'if that is love,' he nodded slowly, 'then, yes, i do love you.' he wouldn't be as confident in those words as he wanted to be but he felt as thought it was as close to what you wanted to hear as he could get.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Sometimes your lovely boyfriend can have a hard time with the word 'no'.

Genre: Fluff <3

Warnings: swearing, discussions of consent (nothing bad happens at all!! I promise!), implied sexual relationship

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

James didn't always know when too much was, well, too much. 

He had this impulsive tendency to take things way too far. Of course he always had the best of intentions, it was just that sometimes his initial excitement would cloud his judgment. Like now, when no matter how many times you insisted, he couldn't take your, "No, I don't want to swim in the freezing water," seriously. 

"Come on! Everyone's in, sweetheart!" James whines childishly. 

He isn't wrong. All your friends play happily in the water while you sit on the bank of the lake. It's an early summer morning and the air is still too chilly for you to even consider jumping in, so you've adamantly (and politely) declined all their invitations to join them.

However, your darling boyfriend can't seem to accept the no.

"James, love, I will hex you if you don't shut up." You warn with a playful smirk. Sirius uses James's distraction to splash him, which makes the latter squeal. Remus wraps his arm around James's neck, pulling him half-way into the murky water. When they emerge, they laugh breathlessly.

You adjust the strap of your bikini over your shoulder and simply lay your head on your arms as you smile at them.

"You are in your bathing suit, Y/n." Lily reasons with a small smirk and you glare at her. Traitor, you think, she's supposed to be on your side. 

"Exactly, thank you, Lily!" James jumps up and starts to waddle through the water towards you. He's dripping wet when he stands over you, bends over, and shakes his hair. You cover your head with your arms as small, practically freezing, droplets of water hit your warm skin. 

"James!" You exclaim and scramble up to move away from him.

You hear Remus, Sirius, and Lily chuckle in amusement before they turn around and mind their own business. Traitors.

Your boyfriend just sends you smirk and outsretches his arms, "Hug?" He honeys, faking a pout.

You hold out your arm, "Get away, you nutter." You say sternly.

"Please." James sounds more sincere now and moves towards you a little.

You squint at him, hiding a smile behind a look of suspicion, and ask him, "Just one?" 

James nods. 

You pick up your towel from the grass and then throw it to him. James catches it and dries his hair. He also starts to pat himself dry as you approach him wearily, "I don't bite, lovie." He laughs.

You roll your eyes, still believing him. However, the moment you're close enough to him he's wrapping the towel around your ass and pulling you into him. 

You make a small shriek as you hit his, still extremely wet, chest and his lips attach themselves to your neck as he nips at your skin. You squirm and when he looks up, an adorably stupid look on his face makes your heart leap, "I lied." He points out with another pout. 

You frown, "You're an absolute idiot."

"Probably." He admits and then, with no warning, picks you up and throws you over his shoulder. 

You hit his back, "James Potter, put me down now or I swear I’ll bloody murder you, you wanker." You cry as he turns around and you just know he's already making his way towards the lake. You kick your legs and flail your arms in protest but feel his cold, damp, hands tighten around your waist. 

"Careful, mate." Remus tries to warn him but James doesn't listen. He's already almost waist deep in the water and he lets you fall into his arms. You clutch onto his neck and squirm.

"No." You hiss and stare into his eyes. 

Again, James isn't the best at knowing when to stop. 

"Sorry, love" He whispers and proceeds to throw you a few feet away from him. Your head hits the water and instantly, the temperature shocks you as your ears start to ring from the impact. You let yourself stay underwater, a little surprised by the depth, and collect yourself. You realize James doesn't know you're a good swimmer, all he knows is he just launched his poor, unwilling girlfriend into freezing water. 

So, you stay under as long as you possibly can. Just to scare him a little.

Barely a few seconds pass by before strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you to the surface, "Y/n!" You hear James's voice as the water drains from your ears, "Are you okay?" 

You splash him, your hand hitting his cheek playfully, "I hate you." You say with a small smile. 

James's face relaxes, “You fucking scared me." He admits, half-scolding, half-relieved, and holds you close. 

You laugh and stand up in the water, "It's not that deep, idiot." You scrunch your nose when he uses both of his hands to move strands of hair from your face as he peppers kisses all over your cheeks. 

"Merlin, don't do that ever again, Y/n." He whispers. 

"Maybe don't throw me into the water when I asked you not to." You retort and push your hair back. 

James looks a little guilty, "Yeah, sorry." 

He leans in to kiss you but you turn his head around, "No." You say and James frowns. 

"No?"

"No." You fight a smile.

"Okay." James says, confused, and dunks under the water. He comes back up and pushes his hair away from his forehead.

"See, it's not that hard." You tease him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He nuzzles his cheek into the crook of your neck,

"That's a completely different situation, love." He tries to reason but you shake your head.

"Consent is consent." You inform and James pouts like a child.

"Now you're making me sound like a dick." He whispers, embarrassed, "You don't actually think I'm bad with consent, do you, Y/n?" He sounds genuinely concerned.

"You're not a dick, Jamie." You laugh, "You are a little bad with the concept of the word no, though."

"Hey! Not when it really matters!" He defends, carefully wrapping your legs around his waist. He starts to roam around the water like it's just the two of you, alone in your little bubble.

You nod, "Of course, but it does matter all the time."

James tilts his head, "Yeah, you're right, I'm sorry, honey.” He kisses behind your ear, "How can I make it up to you?" You giggle and lean in to kiss his lips, which he accepts graciously.

"You know what you can do?" You ask in a whisper into his ear, "You can take me upstairs and I'll let you — " You make sure the rest can't be heard by your friends.

James's eyes sparkle excitedly, but then he pauses and his eyebrows furrow as he thinks, "And you consent, yeah?" You grin, endeared, "Just say no and I'll listen, baby." 

"Good boy. You learn fast."

James groans and kisses you again, "Call me a good boy again, please." He mutters as his lips trail down your neck.

You laugh. He wraps his arms around your waist and you hold onto him, "Behave, Potter."

"Tease." He says and suddenly drops you into the water. You emerge and splash him, your smile hurting your cheeks.

"Perv." You retort and James raises his brow. He grins and throws you over his shoulder again. This time, you don't protest and just wave as you walk by your friends.

"Do we even want to know why you're leaving?" Remus shouts, shaking his wet hair from next to Sirius.

"They're going to have sex, Moony. Keep up." The latter rolls his eyes.

"Gross." Lily scrunches her nose. Your friends turn their heads when they hear your amused squeal and see James dig his fingers into your side, making you laugh, as you pick up your belongings. You hit him with your towel but hold his hand anyway.

"Sometimes, I do hate how cute they are." Peter mutters to himself.

"Aww, I can give you a kiss if you want, Wormtail." Sirius jokes which earns him a splash from Remus and an eye roll from Lily. 

"Bugger off." Peter looks horrified. 

"Pucker up." Sirius cries and lunges at Peter in the water, only to be pulled away by Remus and you can hear their laughter even from far away.

You look at James. James, your lovely, sometimes stupid, boyfriend and his messy dark curls. He's all you had ever asked for, and all you could ever want. 

"I love you." You say, adoringly.

James turns his head, an obnoxiously proud look on his face, "I love you more, my love. More than you can ever imagine." He pulls you into him, his hand leaving yours to wrap around your shoulder as he reaches for your opposite hand.

You hand it to him and grin when he squeezes it. You feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

[seospicybin]

INEXPERIENCED.

Han x reader. (s)

Synopsis: One of your subordinates wasn’t performing the way you would have liked, you invited him for a drink in the hopes of encouraging him only to discover that he's inexperienced in other things too. (7,5k words)

Author's note: Let me know if you want a second part. Oh, and happy birthday, Hannie! ♡

"Goddammit!"

The chief's voice is sharp and loud like a crack of thunder but instead of lightning, it comes with a stack of papers hurling toward you.

Fortunately, it's breezing past the side of your head as it scatters in the air and the papers float before they make a quiet landing on the floor.

"Have you been teaching those under your wing right?" The chief yells again, this time personally aimed it toward you with his nostrils flared and his neck gets all red whether from the anger or his collar is too tight, or both.

"Don't make light of our work here!"

It's always safe to apologize first and explain later, it's even better if there are no explanations at all and admit right away that it's your fault.

"We're very sorry, sir!" You sincerely say while keeping your head down, you secretly glance to the side to check on someone and he does the same thing too.

"I'll take responsibility for this," you openly accept the blame as a good senior would do.

"Enough with your apologies!" The chief lowers his voice as he rubs on his wrist and you guess he got hurt from hurling the papers at you with all of his strength.

"Just go back to your work and do it right!" The chief yells once more as he hides the pain around his wrist.

You nod and put on a courteous smile, "Please, excuse us," you say.

You quickly make your way out of his office along with your junior co-worker and none of you say anything until you both turn into the hallway that leads you back to your office.

The person next to you, Han, stops walking and turns to face you, he's looking down at his feet when he apologizes, "I'm sorry. It was my mistake but I dragged you into this."

With a job comes a responsibility and when you get tasked to take him under your wing, you are fully aware that he's your responsibility and his mistake will be your mistake too. Since he's new, it's understandable that he stumbled on things but the problem is he's done it a couple of times already in the last five months he's been working here.

However, you remember you were once in his position and you've experienced how stressful it can be when everyone is pressing you from all sides, you don't want that for him so you try to be a compassionate senior for him.

You gently place your hand on his shoulder and smile at him, "The most important thing is you acknowledge your mistake and apologize. Now, we can just laugh it off," you tell him.

Han lifts his head, showing how sorry he is with his eyebrow downturn and wistful eyes, "We can't just laugh it off," he meekly says.

You put your hand on the small of his back and whisk him away to continue walking down the hallway, "Let's just laugh it off and have a few drinks tonight," you console him.

"Maybe just one drink," he says, feeling concerned with what you mean by a few drinks.

"Let's drink until morning!" You jokingly say, linking your arm with his.

"We can't drink until morning," Han meekly says as you keep dragging him along with you.

"Oh, come on!" You gently slap him on the chest and get surprised by the firm muscles he has under his crisp white shirt, "It's my treat."

-

What's a high-paying job when he earns more stress than money?

Han should consider himself lucky that he has you as a senior. Not only that you're nice, you are so kind and patient with him, you teach him everything he needs to know about his job and the company. You always try to cheer him up when he gets chewed off by the chief. You're not only making this job bearable to him, you make it possible for him to enjoy his work with you around.

"Oh, no!" You gasp as you see the sign taped on the front door of the bar.

"Our sanctuary!" You cry with your lips pursed and your shoulders sagged.

Closed for renovation, it says on it.

It's such a shame that the bar that you both regularly visit is closed on days like this when he needs to drink his sorrow away and just decompress.

"Shall we go somewhere else?" He suggests while scratching the back of his head, raking his brain for any bar he knows in this area.

Your face brightens as the light bulb in your head dings with an idea, "How about we drink at my place?"

"Huh?" His eyes burrowed in slight shock and confusion.

"Come on! It's just around the corner," you don't wait for his answer, you link your arm around him and whisk him away with you.

Turns out, you're not lying about your place is just around the corner. You live in a small house with a miniature garden in the back and everywhere he looks, there's a potted plant sitting in the corner of the room.

It creates such a contrast to the hustling and bustling of the city and the stressful environment at work, it offers a pleasant atmosphere that instantly puts him at ease.

Keeping the window open, the wind chime sings a tune every time a gust of wind brushes in between, sending them clinking against each other.

"How do you manage to take care of all of these plants?" He asks in wonder, foolishly touching the tiny thorns on one of your succulents.

"It's easy," you answer from the kitchen, "You just need to water them."

Han saunters into the kitchen, ready to offer his help as you stand on your tiptoe to get glasses from the top cabinet. He notices the big jar of dark brown liquid with something floating on the surface.

"What is that?"

"That's what we'll be drinking tonight," you answer with a smile.

Being the gentleman he is, he carries the big jar of mysterious drink to the living room, carefully puts it down on the table, and then sits on the floor, looking at it with curious eyes.

"It's cherry brandy," you inform.

"You made it yourself?" He wildly guesses.

"I am," you answer with a proud smile, opening the jar with all of your strength.

As soon as the lid cracks open, Han is already intoxicated by the sweet, alcohol-tinted aroma that is wafting around the room. He watches as you dip the ladle and meticulously pour it into the glass. He knows now that the things bobbing on the surface are the cherries.

"But how?" He asks in wonder as he observes the drink in his hand.

"It's just cherries, sugar, and vodka, put them in the jar, shake them, put them in the dark for weeks, and voila!" You easily share the recipe and the comprehensive steps for making it.

"No, I mean, how do you have time to do all these?" He asks, utterly befuddled.

Work is draining enough to him that he has no energy left to do other things than rest, and when he gets time, he uses it on something as frivolous as playing video games. That explains why he can't relate to your way of life because how?

You look at him and snort as if his question is inane and the answer is obvious. You get up from the floor as you say, "I'm going to get the cheese."

"Please don't tell me you also made the cheese yourself," he jokingly asks because he already has so much respect for you.

This cherry brandy is dangerous. The cherries mask the taste of the alcohol and all Han can taste is the sweet and tangy flavor of the cherries, but he's aware that he's getting lightheaded with every sip of it. The worst part is he can't stop drinking it.

You're using his drunk state as a chance to tease him and he starts grouching, slurring his words doing it.

"What I'm saying is you always change the topic to me apologizing," he whines with his lips forming a cute pout.

"I'm not," you deny, taking a piece of cheese in between sips.

"I know I am incompetent," he grumbles then hisses at the alcohol burning down his throat.

"I beg to differ. I don't think you're incompetent."

"What then? Incapable? Pathetic? Useless?"

"I think you're just... inexperienced and that's okay," you pause to pick a handful of cherries from the jar with the ladle, "I know that you're sorry and you'll keep trying to be better. I have faith in you, Han."

Han didn't know that he needed to hear that until now. Suddenly, the tightness in his chest loosens, and he feels liberated. He can finally breathe and enjoy his drink with ease.

"Let's impress the chief with our next presentation, okay?" You softly smile at him, raising your glass to invite him for a toast.

Returning the spirit, Han smiles and raises his glass, clinking it with yours as he promises himself to prove that you're not wasting your faith in him.

"Damn! This cherry brandy is so good," he praises with his nose scrunched reacting to the aftertaste.

"Can you do this?" You pop a cherry into your mouth while holding the stem between your thumb and index finger.

"Do what?"

You put the stem into your mouth next and begin moving your mouth, almost like chewing it. After a while, you stick your tongue out, revealing the stem is knotted now. It's impressive, yes, but his eyes are focusing on your lips and how they're glistening wet, probably tastes as sweet as a cherry too.

"That's kind of uh..." he's not sure if what he's about to say is appropriate so he decides not to finish his sentence, "Wow!"

"They say that if you can do this that means you're a good kisser," you remark as you fish out more cherries out of the jar with the ladle.

He hesitates but considering that he's not in a workplace and the alcohol dulls his brain, it can no longer tell what's appropriate or not anymore.

"Are you?"

"Mmh?" You hum in question with a cherry tug between your teeth.

"Are you a good kisser?" He daringly asks.

You bite through the cherry and he can the juice flooding your mouth, you're chewing it as you're looking at him, making him wait for your answer in anticipation.

Then you lean forward on the table, you prop a hand under your chin and slightly tilt your head to the side, "Want to try?"

The way you both execute it is like two teenagers doing seven minutes in heaven. You're both sitting facing each other on the floor with your legs folded under you and awkwardly looking at each other.

All of a sudden, you lean in close until both of your faces are merely inches away from each other. Your lips slowly curl into a smile as you stare into his warm brown eyes.

"You have beautiful eyes."

He can't only handle that much and smiles at your compliment, "Thank you."

"But I need you to close them for now."

"Okay," he obeys your order and closes his eyes.

A minute later, Han just realized what he'd done to himself. With his eyes closed, he can't see what you're doing and he can only wait in anticipation with his heart pitter-patter in his chest.

"Where should I start, mmh?"

He hears you mutter and he knows that it's a rhetorical question, you don't need an answer, you do that just to build his anticipation.

In the next moment, Han feels your breath fanning over his ear, sending goose bumps down his neck, then softly, you press a kiss to his left temple.

“Hmm... where to now?” The words are spoken softly against his skin, each one a caress.

He knows it's yet another rhetorical question but it's enough to send his heart rattling like someone sets firecrackers in his chest.

The tip of your nose grazes his skin as you move lower and you surprise him with a kiss on his cheek, making him close his eyes tightly as impatient sears through him.

As if you hear his thoughts, you land the next kiss on the corner of his mouth, so close yet not exactly where he wants your lips to be.

Then you rest your hand on his jaw, holding him in place as you press an innocent peck on his lips. A tingling sensation bounces around in his chest and a second after you pull away only to sink your lips on his again.

This time, you take the lead, you're showing him how it's done, drawing the kisses out. When your tongue slips between his lips, he goes stock-still. He can't comprehend that your tongue is in his mouth, hot and wet, swirling around his tongue.

This is it. This is kissing and kissing is this good. Oh, man, no one tells him that it's this good!

When you break the kiss, he almost lets out a whimper of complaint from the sudden loss of contact.

"What do you think?" You ask, biting your lower lip but he notices a grin peeking around the edges of your mouth.

"The best kiss I've ever had," he honestly admits.

You let out a soft laugh, "We're not at work. You don't have to suck me up," you say, not entirely buying his words.

"B-but I'm not lying," he assures you with his eyebrows downturn and his dark eyes looking at you.

You take your glass of cherry brandy and have a small sip, "Well, if the only other person you've ever kissed is your mum, then I'll take you on that," you jokingly say.

Something catches in his throat and it's the truth. Han doesn't plan on telling anyone about it or ever for that matter but he deems you're trustworthy enough to keep this secret for him.

"I'm a virgin," he meekly confesses.

The handle of the ladle slips off your fingers and it clatters to the bottom of the jar, "Pardon?"

"I have never had sex with anyone," the hesitation makes his voice quiver at the end of his sentence.

You bring your glass close to your mouth but not drink it, "When I said you're inexperienced, I didn't think that it included the dating area."

Now it feels like he's just told you his defect and his nerves are being replaced by a wave of regret. His eyes wander off, his voice turns small.

"Was that a turn-off?"

You take a cherry from your drink and shove it into your mouth, as you chew on it a sly smirk rises on your face. You lick your lips and then lean forward, "If I say that I'll pop your cherry..."

Your hand reaches for his face and the pressure of your fingertips on his chin makes him face you again, leading him to believe you want eye contact.

"What would you do?"

-

The tension is climbing fast when you both enter your bedroom, he can't even see his surroundings as both of your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss and you lead him in one direction, the bed.

The moment you have him lying on the bed and you pin him under, his skin gets hot and sensitive, his pulse drumming with eagerness. His cock digs in his slacks, reminding him that it's real and it's not some fantasies he's making up in his head. He is sure he's been turned on before but he can't remember when, even if he did, he's sure it wasn't this much.

From there, it's raining kisses on his lips, and in between the aching presses of your lips, your tongue caresses him, making his skin tingle. When he tries to capture your tongue to take into himself, you evade him. You tease him more by brushing at his lips and dip your tongue inside for a mere second, then quickly withdraw, making him almost groan in frustration.

Okay, he gets it, you're a good kisser so stop playing, he complains in his head.

The way you smile against his lips only means that you know what you're doing and enjoying it. Impulsively, Han decides to seal your mouth with his and touches your tongue with his, an explosion of taste in his mouth, sweet, tangy, tart, so. fucking. addictive.

As he's drunk in your kisses, you run your hand down his body and eventually discover his member poking through the front of his slacks.

"Wow!" You lowly gasp yet continue rubbing his clothed bulge, "You're already this hard?"

Since it's his first time, he doesn't know how to properly react or respond, but he's familiar with this feeling tugging inside him, insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he meekly apologizes.

You gently cup his jaw and stare into his dark, round eyes, "What to be sorry for?"

To assure him, you place a long, lingering kiss on his lips and then sit straddling him on the bed. You untuck the hem of your blouse out of your skirt and bring your fingers to the top button.

"My junior pops a boner on me..." you maintain eye contact with him as you continue undoing all the buttons on your blouse, "Then I can't just look and do nothing."

It's a mystery how he doesn't get blind from seeing your bare upper half body but he knows his eyes are almost out of their sockets the second you take your blouse off, revealing your soft mounds hanging beautifully on your chest.

You're already gorgeous with your clothes on but like this, it's too much for him. He swallows hard as you glide your hand down your sternum and he sees how your fingers lightly graze your nipple as you cup the underside.

You take both of his hands and put them on your breasts, then, you let them go just to see what he's going to do with them.

Nothing. He does nothing but look at his hands holding your breasts and you almost grin at how he looks at them with eyes filled with childlike wonder.

You tilt your head to the side, "So what do you think?"

"They're so soft," he innocently answers.

You hold his hands and move them together, fondling your breasts together with him, you gesture his thumb to play with your hardening bud. Soon, he's doing it himself, kneading on your breasts and once in a while, rubbing his fingers over your nipples.

After a while of letting him touch them, you deem he's ready for more, "Want to kiss them?"

His eyes glance up from your chest to your eyes and then stifle a nod. You scoot a little to the back as he rises from the bed, and this new position brings his mouth close to your breasts.

Sensing his hesitation, you say, "Go ahead. Put your mouth on them."

As he stares at them in silence, Han swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing inside his throat before softly landing his small, pouty lips on the valley of your breasts, a long peck that leaves a searing feeling on your skin and then buries his head in between.

A ragged breath escaped your mouth as you encircled your arms around him, drawing him closer. You tangle your hand in his hair, dark, loose curls, caught between your fingers.

Seconds stretched into minutes and Han hasn't done anything but rests one side of his head on your sternum.

"You're not falling asleep, are you?" You jokingly ask.

"No," his voice is small and low, almost like a whisper.

You reckon he needs some pointers on ways to play with them, you glide your hand to the back of his head and tilt his head slightly upward, just enough to make him look at you.

"How about we put them in your mouth?" You ask with your hand softly scratching the tendrils of hair on the nape of his neck.

You lead him by placing your hand on his jaw and with your thumb, you trace his lower lip, then slowly, you part his mouth open with it. You let him do the rest and he catches up fast, he opens his mouth a little wider and takes your ample flesh, then closes his mouth around it.

Han is following his instincts, he tightens his grip around you and pulls you closer so he can feast on you. He has your breasts in his face, his mouth, rolling on his tongue. He can play with them all day.

As you gaze down at your chest, you see his lips wrapped around your nipple and his hand kneading on the other, both stimulations sending you twist and arch your back, your ass making friction on his crotch.

"You like them, huh?"

Without detaching his mouth from your nipple, he answers, "I like this."

He moves his mouth to the other nipple and sucks on it, "and this."

It's such an erotic sight that you feel a tingle down there. You bring your hands to the side of your breasts and push them to the middle so he can suck them all at once.

Han doesn't need more pointers, he knows what he wants and going for it. More importantly, he knows this is no fantasy playing in his head. This moment, you, and his undeniable attraction to you are all real.

He's slowly yet surely claiming your body in any way he can, he drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth, kissing you like it's his lifeline and he's hanging on a thin thread.

A murmuring sound hums in your throat as you kiss him back while your hands go down his back, taking the tail of his shirt out of his slacks. You draw your hands back to the front, unbuttoning his shirt and your patience wears thin as you get to the last one, you end up ripping it open.

A sigh escapes your mouth as you place your hand on his bare chest, but it's the swell of his chest muscles that distracts you from your exploration. You never touch hard rounded flesh like this before and his skin is searing hot under your fingertips. Gosh! You want to touch him all over.

As you sink your mouth into his again, you run your greedy hands over his arms, his chest, and his abs. You also admire his exceptional shoulders-to-waist ratio.

On the other hand, Han isn't prepared when you stroke over the fly of his pants, a jolt of pleasure coursed through him and his cock twitches in excitement, and a hoarse groan falls out of his mouth. His mind goes haywire as you unbutton and unzip his slacks, then you withdraw the hard length of his cock. He's almost losing it when your eyes go dark with so much want.

"Oh, so hot," you breathlessly gasp as you wrap your fingers around his swelling member, "mmh... so hard for me."

It's obvious that you have the experience, you seem to know where to touch, what would please him the most, the rhythm he prefers, and know when to pick up the pumping of your hand around his length.

"Am I doing good?" You casually ask, acting like you don't see the effect of your stimulations on him.

"Good," his voice is trembling with so much intensity.

As much as he likes it, he doesn't want to risk coming all over your palm, he wants to explore more of you and more ways to do that to you.

"Want... to... touch you," That's all he can mutter after forcing his brain to form a coherent sentence.

"Want to touch me?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"There," he lowly whispers that he doubts you can hear it.

You give him a haste kiss before answering his request by sitting on your knees, you swiftly undo the hook fastening at the side of your skirt and then ease the zipper over the sweet curve of your hip. Instead of sitting back down, you get off his lap and slowly lay yourself down on the bed. You raise your hips to lower the skirt down and then out of your legs.

"Now, come here," You're patting the space next to you.

It puts him in a trance seeing you lying naked on the bed with only your white underwear on, the fabric is so flimsy it leaves nothing to the imagination.

After a struggling minute, his brain finally manages to process your command, he lays next to you. You waste no time but gently hold his chin, then bring his head close for a kiss.

Maybe it's because you're too good at this that makes Han feels he needs to rise to the level. He does more than a kiss, he licks, he nibbles at your lips, and his tongue daringly invades your mouth to get as much of that sweet taste of you.

A hand finds him and you're taking it with you, placing it on you, guiding him to where you like to be touched. Your neck, across your chest, the underside of your breasts, around the navel and you keep leading him south, not stopping until his hand meets your clothed sex.

"It's wet," he blurts out as he feels the dampness of your underwear against his palm.

"It's even wetter underneath," you mutter against his lips.

Curiosity gets the best of him, he checks right away to see if what you said is true. He slips his hand under the fabric and immediately gets the answer. You're drenched and it gets all over his fingers the more he touches you.

"Oh, my God..." you arch your back against his hand, offering more of you to touch.

He feels encouraged to please you more, he pulls your underwear to the side and slips one finger into you. Low murmurs tumble from your lips and it tells him that this is what you want. He works a second finger in, and the stretching sensation has your head falling back and your heels dug into the bed.

"Curl them," you instruct as you push into penetration.

Han doesn't obey your words right away, he allows his fingers to ease in and out, feeling you out and catching you off guard, he curls his fingers inside you, startling a breathless gasp from you.

With your eyes closed, you lick your lips and then ask, “Are you sure it's your first time?"

His insecurity kicks in again as you show sheer doubt in your question, “What do you mean by that?”

You open your eyes and slyly smile at him, “It means so far you’re very good at it.”

The moment he hears that his insecurity turns into confidence. He applies slow, measured movements and does what he thinks would please you, using your lewd noises as the guide. The motions seem to calm you even as they put you on edge.

Your hand hikes its way up to his arm then nestles in his tousled hair, "My, my! You really are a capable boy when you try," you praise with dazed eyes and a sly grin.

This should offend him but it does nothing but stroke his ego in the best way. Other than that, he just wants to please you more and more even though he has no idea how. The better question is: what to do next?

"Do you mind taking my underwear off for me?"

He doesn't answer but hurriedly gets himself to do it, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear, then slowly, pulling it down your legs. The scrape of his nails on your skin sends a shudder down your spine.

"There you go!" You delightfully exclaim once the underwear is off of you.

You get comfortable on the bed, propping an elbow on the mattress as you lie slightly to the side, "Now, take your clothes off."

He's just realized now that his shirt is still loosely draped around his shoulders and his slacks are bunched around his thighs with his hard-on hanging out of his boxer.

With naughty eyes, you watch as he removes the pieces of clothing until there's none left but miles of miles of honey skin. You run one hand down your front then part your legs open, you don't seem to be embarrassed touching yourself in front of him and he finds that very sexy.

Little does he know, what you're about to do next is far sexier.

You put your hands on the back of your knees and then slowly, you pull them apart, exposing your glistening wet core to him.

Han admits that he hasn't seen enough to know but he's sure he's looking at one of the prettiest pussy he's ever seen, glistening wet, pulsating with so much desire, and so damn inviting. Looking at it makes him swallow air, hard.

He wants to play it cool but he fails at it, he wants you so much, he becomes this one big ache of wanting.

As he's about to lower himself on you, you block him from coming closer with your hand on his chest, "Oh, we almost forgot the condom."

You twist your body to the side, hand reaching for the handle of your bedside drawer and pull it open. To cut time, he grabs it for you from a box full of condoms inside the drawer.

"Want me to put it on?" You offer.

"Yes," he shortly answers, not caring if he sounds so eager.

You tear through the foil wrapper and take out the rubber, you give his length a gentle stroke before rolling the rubber down, then you pinch the end to make room for his completion.

You lay back on the bed, head resting on the pillow and a smile lingering on your face, showing him that you're comfortable enough to continue.

"You know what to do next," you say as you rub your hand up and down his forearm.

As he hesitates, you wrap your hand around his cock and rub it between your folds, milking more essence to prepare you for penetration. You're getting impatient for him but you let him decide when to enter you.

After a while, Han finally aligns his cock to your entrance, and with a shallow breath, he pushes just enough until his tip disappeared inside you.

Oh, the face he makes as he enters you, it's priceless.

"I can take a little more," you assure him with fingers lightly scraping the skin of his arms.

"I just—" he bites back a groan and tugs his lower lips between his teeth, "Give me a moment. This is my first time."

As you lay underneath and hear that, you find him hot and cute at the same time, butterflies explode in your stomach and fly around in amok.

"Kiss me," you sweetly ask, bringing his head close with your hand holding his chin.

Han fulfills your wish, lowering his mouth on you again as you wrap your arms around him. As he calms down from the rising tension, you bring your hands down to his hips and nudge him to push more into you.

"Oh..." his groan is hoarse and raw, spilling into your open mouth.

"I want all of you inside me," you whine against his lips.

Conveniently, what you want aligns with what he wants, he pushes the rest of his length inside you until he's fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls.

A shaky breath escapes his mouth and he buries his head in your neck, you can hear every shudder of his breath, getting heavier with each passing second.

The two of you savor the moment—not speaking, not moving, not doing anything, just being with someone. The room is so quiet you hear the cars driving by outside and the occasional sounds of the wind-chime from the living room.

With a passionate kiss on your lips, he begins moving, he withdraws then thrusts, and the pace turns quick all of a sudden. You understand that this is his first time but he can't fully enjoy it when he's going at a light speed in a second.

"Hey, slow down," You calmly say with a soft peck on his lips and jaw, "don't rush."

He abruptly stops moving for a second and lets out a low sigh, "Sorry, I can't help myself."

Why he has to be this cute in a heating moment like this? You can't help but smile and peck his small lips again. You keep your hand on his neck, feeling the blood rushing in his veins.

"This is our first time," you say, "I want it to be special."

"Okay," he says with repeated nods.

Our first time. That sounds like you're hinting that this will be the first of many. Han feels a flutter all over his body hearing that.

Our first time, he replays it in the back of his head for his own amusement.

Keeping your words in mind, he continues where he left off, thrusting into you again at a moderate speed until he finds his pace. You give him the closeness he seeks by spreading your legs wider and wrapping them around his dainty waist.

In between kisses and moans, you tenderly gaze into his eyes and ask, "So, how do I feel?"

He forces his brain to try and compute words, "You feel hot... slippery and tight."

He pauses to clear his throat and adds, "You feel so good."

"I know," You softly smile and land a peck on his lips, "You feel so good inside me too."

Gosh! If he knew that sex felt this good, he would have done it sooner. He believes that it's all because of you. There's no guarantee that it would feel this good with someone else.

The way you keep clenching tighter around him means that he's doing well but on the other hand, it brings him closer to the edge. How long does sex usually last? He doesn't know but it seems like he can't hold himself back anymore.

"I'm sorry but I think I'm about to come," he says through his gritted teeth.

You hastily kiss his lips, "do you want to cum, mmh?"

Now that you asked him, he doesn't feel good about saying yes because you seem like you still want to continue. He changes his mind, convincing himself he can hold back a little longer.

"No, I can't— I shouldn't," he mutters while shaking his head.

"You hold back so much despite it being your first time," you say with a sly smile.

You put your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, and swiftly, you roll him to the side, forcing him to lay back on the bed while you get on top of him.

"Alright then..." you sigh as you run both hands down his chest, "Try not to come as hard as you can."

Han should've taken your warning seriously. He gaps so loudly as you start rolling your hips against him, back and forth, then in circular motions, painstakingly slow. He's hopelessly grasping at the last shred of sanity left in him.

It's impossible to hold back anymore when you're fucking him good and he's watching you enjoying it with your breasts bouncing along to the slightest of movement, your nails clawing at his chest and the sexiest part of all is that blissful smile plastered on your face.

For a timeless moment, Han hovers on the brink, breathless, until the orgasm crashes over him and he grips at your thighs as you drive into him relentlessly. He hasn't finished with his orgasm yet he can feel your muscles fluttering around him and clamping him down.

With a hoarse groan, you surge into him one last time and come around him, then slowly, you lower your shaking body to the bed.

Without thinking, Han holds you close like you are his. He puts his arms around you and you burrow your head into the crook of his neck as you hold him back.

"Congratulations!" You whisper.

"Mmh?" He asks with dazed eyes.

"Your cherry has been popped!"

-

Han jolts awake the next morning, he's seeing you sleeping next to him, in your room and the sun is shining so brightly outside. The first thought that comes to his mind is he's late for work and panicked.

He rises from the bed and gasps, "Oh, God! Did I oversleep?!"

You put your hand on his chest and pull him to lay back on the bed, "It's Saturday," you sleepily croak.

"Oh? Right..." His panic turns into embarrassment and he blames his body clock for that.

You scoot close to his side and put your arm across his chest, fingertips lightly trailing his collarbone. It feels nice, and snug. Why would he try to leave this heavenly feeling of lazing on the bed with you?

But he's aware that he should also consider that you might want your personal space back and he doesn't want to overstay his visit.

"I uhm... I probably should go," he says yet not moving an inch.

He hears you draw a breath then drop your hand to cup his jaw, "Okay."

Again, Han remains still on the bed, lying so close next to you and in your warm embrace. You suddenly lift your head and roll to the side, overlapping his body with yours.

"Before you leave, want to shower with me first?"

This is unexpected but he's not complaining at all. He reminds himself to keep calm and try to come up with a playful response.

"So we can have sex again?"

You crack a laugh at that and rest your chin on his chest, you gently tap his cheek with your index finger, "Now that you're no longer a virgin, you think you're so hot, huh?"

It hasn't completely sunk into him that he had sex for the first time last night and the reminder makes his heart flutter.

He keeps his cool and nonchalantly shrugs, "Just a little."

-

As much as he tries his best to resist it, Han keeps following you with his eyes.

Yes, he's aware of how creepy it is and he wants to act normal, it makes it obvious that he feels something toward you.

Or rather, why are you able to act normal about this?

He admits that he likes that part about you, you are aware that this is a workplace and there shouldn't be personal business involved within.

However, Han can't help but wonder if he's the only one still thinking about that night.

Now that he thinks about it, you and him never really agreed on what to call this relationship, is it just casual or do you want to take it further, and is not talking about it an adult thing to do?

"Ugh, I don't know," he doesn't mean to let it out loud but thankfully, no one is there to hear it.

His eyes hovering over you again, he slightly swivels his office chair to the side and watches you checking files from one of your juniors. He finds it attractive that you have a crease between your eyebrows whenever you're focused on something and the way you flip the page then hold it between your fingers, oh, it does something to him.

"It looks good," you say as you put the files back, "You can proceed with this one."

Your junior takes the file back from you and holds it in front of her as she asks, "Will you come to our company dinner tomorrow night?"

You don't even consider it but answer right away, "Yes, sure, I'll be there."

Your junior responds with a warm smile, "That's great!"

After your junior leaves, you collect some files from your desk, get up, and bring them with you as you make your way toward his desk.

He doesn't know why but he shoots up from his chair as if he gets caught doing something. You stop by his desk and you have no idea how thankful he is, imagine if you walked past his desk, he would be so fucking embarrassed.

"Han, these are the documents for the next meeting," you say, showing him the files you're holding, "Can you organize them for me?"

"Absolutely!" He answers without a beat.

He thinks you have nothing else to do for him but you linger by his side and then slowly lean into his side while keeping the files open, covering half of your faces.

"Isn't the day after tomorrow is your birthday?" You ask.

His breath hitches either from the proximity or the fact that you know about this birthday, "Yes. How do you know?"

"Oh, well..." You slightly shrug instead of telling him the answer.

Taking him by surprise, you lean in closer and then place a soft kiss on his cheek. His breath catches in his throat and he feels a hiccup coming. He looks around to see if anyone saw that but the official remains lively as usual.

"What's that for?" He manages to ask while holding his cheek as if he is trying to hide the mark even though there is nothing but the searing feeling it leaves on his skin.

"An early birthday present," you simply answer with a smile then walk back to your desk.

Han used to dread company dinner because it requires him to drink and he's bad at drinking.

The first round is at a barbecue place, the drinking is moderate, and he can slow down the drinking by shoving food in between.

On the second round, they're going for a karaoke bar and that's when it gets tricky, someone will somehow notice if he hasn't drunk enough and force him to get on their level. If only they had any ideas that he'd be likely blacked out from drinking as much as them.

By the time the second round ends, Han finds himself stumbling on his way out of the karaoke bar. He's not drunk but he knows he's one drink away from it. Someone grabs his arm and without looking, he knows that it's you. No one likes to link their arms with him, except you.

"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" You keep your voice low to not let anyone else hear it.

"Yes," he answers without thinking and frankly, you can take him anywhere you want.

"Round three! Let's go!" The team manager shouts, half slurring his words and leading everyone to go.

"But–but how about...?" He stutters, pointing at their co-workers walking away and he's afraid that the two of you might get in trouble for ditching everyone else.

"Don't worry about it," you assure him, walking to the other way of where everyone else is going and at the end of the street, you hail a taxi.

It's obvious that he doesn't know where you're taking him until you tell the taxi driver to pull over and he steps out of the taxi, finding himself at the front of a hotel.

He follows you as you walk across the lobby, coming toward the reception to check in for a stay. The process only takes a few minutes and you get handed a keycard.

He can simply ask you why you're taking him here but it would be so naive of him, right? The most important thing is he likes where this is going.

Arrive at your floor, you lead the way to the room and even though he's still feeling a little lightheaded, his eyes can't seem to look away from watching your back figure as you walk in front of him with your hips swaying side to side and that pencil you always wear to work does nothing but accentuate the shape of your—

"I'm sorry, Han," you suddenly apologize as you walk up to a door and he guesses it must be the room you're assigned to.

"Yes?" He asks, confounded.

Instead of getting into the room first, you turn around on your feet and stand with your back facing the door while holding the keycard in your hands.

"You see I don't really know what you'd like for your birthday so..." your voice turns lower the more you speak but it's the soft gaze and the way you're looking at him through your lashes that suddenly makes it hard to breathe.

"I was thinking we could go shopping together but I can't help myself."

There's no physical contact whatsoever but he gets hot all over, he licks his lips as his eyes flick to your lips that tempted him to kiss.

"I've been thinking about being alone with you and all the things we could do together."

He is right to not ask the question but God, he likes the answer to it.

"So... will this do?" You ask, your eyes filled with wild, naughty glints.

Instead of answering, he takes the keycard from your hand and puts it close to the scanner on the handle of the door, it automatically clicks open.

Now, you know the answer. He couldn't ask for a better birthday present than what's going to happen in this hotel room.

-

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[muniimyg]

what happens if I ask for more bbydaddy jk? 🍼🍪

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jk (3) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*

series m.list // taglist request closed

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

//

one thing that you've always liked about jungkook is that he never got in your way.

from the beginning, he has always been supportive and more than willing to compromise (aka accept the short end of the stick) if it was about your happiness. besides, he has always offered and insisted... and it's not a selfish thing to want more for yourself, right? so, you can't help but take it. you're grateful and beyond relieved that the father of your child is such a loving man. you know it. you believe it.

so, it baffles you he finally does it.

jungkook stands in your way.

"hey! what are you—w-what? jungkook, get up."

but it's too late. jungkook falls to his knees, keeping his chin up. he looks at you, glossy-eyed and utterly heartbroken. he has a bouquet of flowers in one hand while the other is placed on top of his heart.

"i'll be miserable if you do this to me."

"but this isn't about you—"

"make it about me."

a moment passes and his pleading eyes speak beyond his four words. you see it. you see how weak he is and how much of his heart he's laying out for you.

jungkook then takes the silence as a sign to continue his confession. "i'm begging you to fucking choose me right now. please, ___. you can be mad at me forever but d-don't—"

"okay, okay," you yield, bending down and cupping his face with your hands. jungkook can smell the perfume on your wrist and remember how you always wore it on date nights.

he sighs heavily, holding back his tears.

"jungkook, i'm not mad at you. what are you talking about?"

truth be told... he doesn't know either.

all he knows is that he isn't ready for this. he can't live with himself knowing that you chose someone else (you haven't and you didn't). it's a fear that plagues jungkook's mind, body, and soul. it's what drives him crazy and what keeps him sane.

he needs to get you back.

"what's going on, honey? talk to me.." you insist, moving your hands to his hair. you push the strands that cover his eyes away and smile at him gently. "come on, jungkook. it's just me."

"i love you," he says ever so sincerely. "i can't... i d-don't think i'm ready for this."

"for what?"

shrugging, he pushes the flowers in between you two. "you want flowers? you want to go on dates? you want to be loved right? god, ___... i can do it. you know i can—"

"jungkook, i know you can—"

"i can be here seven days a week. i can be more than zion's dad. i love it—i love him, really! but i also love his mom and i'm so fucking tired of acting like the past 8 months of our separation is working for me... because it's not. i miss you all the time and i h-hate... i hate that you're trying to move on."

your eyes widen and your heart breaks.

he's right.

the past 8 months have been such a difficult adjustment. you wish you had more time to confide in him, but you don't. life doesn't stop and it's so draining to wait for people to catch up to you.

"i hate this too," you admit. "a-and if you think i'm trying to move on... you're stupid."

he pouts. "if you're not trying to move on, then why are you going on this date? with nam joon at that... seriously? he's the most boring person in your firm."

you laugh.

"my colleagues said they would stop pushing us to be together if i went out on one date with him. do you know how much time they take away from my cases? all they do is gossip about him and i. you know i hate that—"

jungkook glares at you. "then just tell them we're back together."

"you want me to lie?"

"be honest with me," jungkook tugs you close. "one of us is a liar and it's not me."

you gulp.

"it's not that easy—"

"what do you want, honey?" he asks you. his gaze drops to your lips and then back to your eyes. "i can give it to you."

"jungkook..."

he tightens his lips and places his hand on the back of your neck. gently, he inches you closer to him.

"fuck it. to hell with what you want.”

then, he crashes his lips onto yours.

he kisses you like he's missed you his entire life. he places his hands on your waist as you two make your way inside your apartment. he shuts the door with the back of his foot and guides you to the bedroom you both once shared.

there, he sets you on the bed and begins to undress you. he kisses your waist, easing your mind, and earns pretty moans from you. it boosts his ego. it makes his dick so fucking hard.

god, you fuck him up so bad so fast.

once you’re naked, he takes a second to look at you. he deeply inhales and throws his head back. when he looks at you, you roll your eyes and he winces at you.

“my woman is so beautiful. you are so fucking divine, honey. i’m—goddamn. i’m so favoured.”

you stick your tongue out and toss a pillow at him. he dodges it and laughs.

as you relax, he then begins to strip. you watch, hungrily and more than ready for what's to come next. once he's bare, he towers over you. just as he kisses you and slides his fingers between your wet folds, your phone starts to buzz.

you and jungkook turn your attention to the corner of your nightstand. he groans in annoyance as the buzzing continues. reaching over, he checks the notification.

[5:57pm] 7 missed calls: atty. kim nam joon [now] incoming call: atty. kim nam joon

jungkook hisses.

then, he turns to you and smirks. cheekily, he says; "your vibrator still broken? we can use this instead."

[fvsm4x]

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 - 𝟓

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ex! gojo s. x fem. reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

𝐜𝐰. angst / happy ending for reader but not gojo / wc. 4.1k / last chapter / kinda rushed

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

But it wouldn‘t hurt to give him a second chance, right.?

But as much as you wanted to believe that a second chance could heal the wounds between you, doubt gnawed at the edges of your resolve. The pain he had caused was not something easily forgotten, and the memories of the betrayal still stung like fresh wounds. You had to consider what giving him another chance would mean—not just for your relationship with him, but for your own self-worth, your own sense of dignity.

"Gojo," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside, "you say you want another chance, but can you honestly tell me why? Is it because you've realized what you lost, or because you're afraid of being alone now that she's gone?"

His eyes widened, as if the question had struck a chord deep within him. He struggled to find the right words, his expression a mix of desperation and confusion. "I... I just know that I don't want to lose you. I made a mistake, I see that now. I was stupid, selfish, but I swear, I’ve changed."

"You’ve changed?" you echoed, the skepticism clear in your tone. "How can I trust that? Last time, you promised me the world, only to break me apart when it suited you. How do I know this time won’t be the same?"

Gojo remained silent for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his desire to make things right and the reality of the pain he had caused.

"I don’t know how to prove it to you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to try. I want to be the person you deserve, the one who won’t hurt you again."

You let out a soft sigh, the tension in your chest making it hard to breathe. His sincerity tugged at your heart, but the scars he had left made it difficult to simply accept his words at face value. You had to think about what was best for you, not just what he wanted.

"Gojo," you said slowly, choosing your words carefully, "I need to understand something. What would be different this time? How do you expect me to believe that you're not just saying these things because you're hurt and vulnerable right now? That you won't just fall back into old habits the moment things get tough?"

He looked down, his hands trembling slightly as they gripped yours tighter. "I’ve learned from my mistakes," he said, his voice laced with determination. "I know I hurt you, and I regret it more than anything. I took you for granted, and I was wrong. I can’t take back what I did, but I want to show you that I can be better—that I can love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The sincerity in his voice was almost enough to break down your defenses. Almost. But the reality of the situation loomed large in your mind. You had been here before, heard these promises before, only to be left shattered in the end.

"Do you really understand what you're asking of me?" you asked, your voice soft but firm. "You're asking me to put my heart on the line again, to risk everything for the chance that you might actually change this time. But what if you don't? What if I let you back in, only to find myself back in this same place a few months from now?"

Gojo's expression faltered, the weight of your words sinking in. He knew you were right—he was asking for a lot, maybe too much. But still, he refused to give up.

"I can't promise that everything will be perfect," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "But I can promise that I’ll fight for us, that I won’t make the same mistakes again. I’ll prove to you that I’m serious this time. Just... please, give me a chance to show you."

Your heart ached at the sight of him, so vulnerable and desperate for your forgiveness. You wanted to believe him, to believe that he could change, that he could become the man you needed him to be. But the fear of getting hurt again was a powerful force, one that you couldn't simply ignore.

"I don't know if I can do this, Gojo," you said, your voice trembling with the weight of the decision before you. "I don't know if I can put myself through this again, not after everything that's happened."

He looked at you with a mix of hope and despair, as if he knew he was teetering on the edge of losing you forever. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Just one more chance. Let me show you that I can be better."

You closed your eyes, the tears finally spilling over as the emotions you had been holding back crashed over you like a tidal wave. The love you had for him was still there, buried beneath the pain and betrayal, but it was overshadowed by the fear of being hurt again.

Finally, you opened your eyes and met his gaze, your heart heavy with the weight of your decision. "Gojo, I need time," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just jump back into this like nothing happened. I need time to think, to figure out what's best for me."

His face fell, but he nodded, understanding that this was as much as you could give him right now. "I’ll wait," he said, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "I’ll wait as long as it takes."

With that, you slowly pulled your hand away from his, the warmth of his touch lingering even as you stepped back. The distance between you felt like a chasm, one that might never be bridged again. But for now, it was what you needed—to find your own path, to heal in your own time.

As you turned to walk away, leaving him kneeling there in the cold, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice. The future was uncertain, the path ahead filled with doubts and unanswered questions. But one thing was clear: you had to choose yourself this time, even if it meant walking away from the man you once loved.

As you walked away, the echoes of your footsteps reverberating through the quiet night, the weight of your decision settled heavily on your shoulders. Each step felt like an eternity, as if the very air around you was thick with the tension of what had just transpired. The distance between you and Gojo grew, but the connection, the history, and the unresolved emotions hung in the air, clinging to you like a shadow.

You couldn’t help but replay his words over and over in your mind. The desperation in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes—were they enough? Could a person truly change, or was it just wishful thinking? The memories of your time together flooded your mind, both the good and the bad, each moment tinged with the bittersweetness of what once was and what might never be again.

But as you walked further, a different voice began to whisper in the back of your mind, a voice that questioned your own choices, your own feelings. You had been hurt, yes, but was there a part of you that still longed for the love you once shared? Was there still a flicker of hope that things could be different this time, that the man you had loved was still in there, waiting to be rediscovered?

You stopped walking, standing there in the dim light of the streetlamp, your breath visible in the cold night air. The silence was deafening, your thoughts swirling like a storm inside your head. You had asked for time, but the truth was, you didn’t know how much time you would need. The wound was still fresh, the trust still shattered, and yet, beneath all that pain, there was a part of you that wanted to believe in second chances.

What if you were being too harsh? What if, in pushing him away, you were closing the door on something that could be beautiful again? The questions gnawed at you, each one more persistent than the last. Could you really walk away from him, from everything you had built together, without giving him the chance to prove himself? Was it fair to judge him solely on his past mistakes, without considering the possibility that he had learned from them?

As you stood there, lost in thought, the memories of the love you once shared began to resurface. The way he used to look at you, the way his laughter would fill the room, the warmth of his embrace on a cold night—it all felt so distant now, yet so painfully close. You remembered the moments of joy, the times when it felt like nothing in the world could come between you. Those memories were precious, and they weren’t so easily erased by the pain he had caused.

But then, there were the darker memories, the ones that cut deep into your soul. The lies, the betrayal, the feeling of being second best—those wounds were still raw, still bleeding, and the thought of reopening them was terrifying. You had worked so hard to rebuild yourself, to find strength in your own company, to remember who you were without him. Letting him back in meant risking all of that, risking everything you had fought so hard to regain.

A small voice inside you, however, urged you to reconsider. People could change, couldn’t they? Life wasn’t black and white, and relationships were messy, complicated. What if Gojo truly had realized the error of his ways? What if he was genuinely remorseful, ready to make amends and to be the partner you needed him to be?

You shook your head, trying to clear the confusion. You had to be sure, had to know that whatever decision you made, it was the right one for you. Turning around, you saw Gojo still kneeling where you had left him, his form barely visible in the distance. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t given up, even though you had walked away.

Was it really fair to expect him to change? Could you risk your heart again on the mere possibility that things might be different this time?

The truth was, you weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet, and maybe not ever. The wounds were still too fresh, the scars too deep. Giving him another chance felt like inviting more pain into your life, a pain you weren’t sure you could endure again.

You took a deep breath and forced your feet to move, each step taking you further away from the man you once loved. The night was silent, the only sound was the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes as you walked down the empty street. The distance between you and Gojo grew, but so did the clarity in your mind. You deserved more than empty promises and second chances. You deserved someone who wouldn’t make you question your worth, someone who wouldn’t break your heart over and over again.

.

Gojo remained on his knees long after you had walked away, the chill of the night air seeping into his bones. He stared at the spot where you had stood just moments ago, as if by sheer force of will he could bring you back. But the empty space before him was a harsh reminder that you were gone, that he had lost you once again.

A dull ache settled in his chest, spreading through his entire body as he tried to process what had just happened. He had begged, pleaded, laid his heart bare before you, and yet it hadn’t been enough. You had looked at him with such pain in your eyes, a pain he knew he had caused, and that knowledge cut deeper than any rejection.

He slowly rose to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him as he tried to regain his composure. The night felt colder now, the darkness more oppressive as he realized how truly alone he was. He had gambled everything on the hope that you might still care, that you might still see the man he was trying to become, but the truth was undeniable—you were done with him. And maybe you were right to be.

As he started walking, his mind replayed every word you had said, every look you had given him. Your voice, so full of hurt and doubt, echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the mistakes he had made. He had taken you for granted, convinced himself that you would always be there, waiting for him to get his act together. But now, standing in the aftermath of his own selfishness, he realized just how badly he had miscalculated.

Gojo’s footsteps were heavy as he walked back to his own place, the streets eerily quiet. For the first time, he felt the full weight of his actions, the depth of the hurt he had caused not only to you but to himself. He had ruined something beautiful, something that might never be repaired, and the regret was almost too much to bear.

He reached his apartment and fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking slightly as he unlocked the door. The silence inside was deafening, the emptiness of the space mirroring the emptiness he felt within. He collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in his hands as the reality of the situation washed over him.

He had wanted so desperately to make things right, to prove to you that he had changed, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Change wasn’t just about saying the right words or making promises—it was about action, about becoming a better person, and that was something he hadn’t truly grasped until now. He had hurt you, deeply, and no amount of pleading could erase that.

The truth settled heavily on his shoulders: he had lost you, maybe for good this time. And the worst part was, he had no one to blame but himself. He had played with your heart, made you question your worth, and now he was paying the price. The realization that he might never have another chance with you, that you might move on and find someone who would treat you the way you deserved, was almost too painful to bear.

But as he sat there in the darkness, Gojo knew that this was his moment of reckoning. He could no longer hide from the consequences of his actions. If he truly wanted to change, it had to start now—with or without you. He had to learn to be a better person, not just for you, but for himself. And if that meant letting you go, if that meant accepting that you might never forgive him, then so be it.

.

Weeks had passed since that night, but for Gojo, it felt like a lifetime. The days blurred together, a monotonous cycle of work, training, and sleepless nights. He threw himself into his duties, trying to drown out the memories of you, but nothing seemed to work. Every quiet moment was filled with thoughts of you—your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes had softened when you looked at him, before everything had fallen apart.

He hadn’t tried to contact you since that night. He knew better than to push, to force himself back into your life when you had made it clear that you needed space. Instead, he focused on himself, trying to understand where he had gone wrong, trying to become the man he had promised he would be. But no matter how much he tried to move forward, the emptiness where you used to be haunted him.

One chilly afternoon, Gojo found himself wandering aimlessly through the city streets, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he watched the world go by. It was one of those rare days when he had no obligations, no missions or responsibilities to distract him from his thoughts. The city was bustling with life, people rushing past him with purpose, but he felt disconnected from it all, as if he were watching from a distance.

As he walked, he turned a corner and stopped in his tracks. There you were, just a few steps ahead, standing at the entrance of a cozy little café. For a moment, his heart leapt at the sight of you, his mind racing with the possibility of speaking to you, of seeing how you were doing after all this time. But before he could take a step, he noticed that you weren’t alone.

Standing beside you was a man—tall, with dark hair and a warm smile that reached his eyes. He was holding your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles as you both laughed at something he had said. The sound of your laughter, so light and carefree, pierced through Gojo’s chest like a dagger. It was the same laugh he had fallen in love with, the one he had thought he might never hear again.

Gojo’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the two of you. There was an ease between you and the man, a comfort that spoke of familiarity, of something more than just a passing connection. The man leaned in closer, and you responded with a soft smile, one that Gojo knew all too well. It was the kind of smile that came from genuine happiness, from feeling safe and cherished.

He felt his heart constrict, a mix of emotions swirling inside him—regret, jealousy, sadness. But most of all, there was a deep, aching sense of loss. He had known this day might come, that you would eventually move on and find someone who could give you the love and security you deserved. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things, and the reality of it hit him harder than he had expected.

Gojo stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He knew he should leave, walk away before you noticed him, but something kept him there, some part of him that needed to see this, to accept that you were no longer his.

As you and the man turned to enter the café, Gojo’s eyes met yours for the briefest of moments. Time seemed to freeze as recognition flickered in your gaze. There was a flash of surprise, quickly followed by something else—something softer, perhaps understanding or even sympathy. But you didn’t stop, didn’t call out to him. You simply gave him a small, polite nod before turning away,

As the door of the café closed behind you, Gojo hesitated for a moment, debating whether to follow you inside. He knew he should just walk away, let you enjoy your time with the man who clearly made you happy. But something stronger than reason pushed him forward. The unresolved tension between you gnawed at him, a silent torment that demanded closure.

With a deep breath, Gojo pushed open the door to the café, the small bell above it chiming softly as he stepped inside. The warm scent of coffee and baked goods filled the air, and the soft hum of conversation surrounded him. He quickly scanned the room, spotting you at a table near the window, the man still by your side.

You noticed him immediately, your eyes widening slightly in surprise as he approached. The man beside you looked up, clearly sensing the change in your demeanor, but remained silent, his expression polite but questioning.

Gojo stopped a few feet from your table, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. He felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the significance of what he was about to say looming large in his mind.

"Can we talk for a minute?" he asked, his voice low and tentative, trying not to intrude too much on your moment with the other man.

You hesitated, glancing at the man beside you. He gave you a small, understanding nod, standing up to give you space. "I'll be right over there," he said softly, before stepping away to another part of the café.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned your attention back to Gojo, your expression guarded but not unkind. "Gojo, what do you want?" you asked quietly, your tone not accusatory but rather cautious, as if you were bracing yourself for whatever he might say.

He took a deep breath, struggling to meet your eyes. "I just... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything. For the way I treated you, for the way I made you feel. I know I can’t undo the past, but I need you to know that I regret it all, deeply."

You looked at him, your expression softening slightly at his words, but there was still a distance in your gaze, a wall that hadn’t been there before. "Gojo," you began, your voice gentle but firm, "I appreciate you saying that. I really do. But what’s done is done. We can’t go back and change what happened. We both know that."

He nodded, swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat. "I know," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I just… I wish things could have been different. That I could’ve been better for you."

A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Maybe in another life," you said softly, your words like a bittersweet melody that hung in the air between you. "Maybe in another life, we were meant to be. But in this one…"

You trailed off, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The unspoken truth between you was palpable—no matter how much either of you wished it could be different, the damage had been done. The love you once shared was irreparably broken, and no amount of apologies could fix it.

Gojo felt a sharp pain in his chest, the finality of your words cutting through him like a blade. He had known, deep down, that this was how it would end, but hearing it from you made it all the more real.

"I understand," he murmured, his voice barely audible as he looked down at the floor. "I just… I hope you find the happiness you deserve."

You reached out then, gently touching his arm, the gesture both comforting and heartbreaking. "I hope you do too, Gojo," you whispered, your voice filled with a kind of tenderness that he hadn’t heard from you in a long time. "Take care of yourself."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and acceptance. He knew this was goodbye—not just for now, but for the life you might have had together. It was the kind of parting that left an indelible mark on his soul, a reminder of what could have been.

With a heavy heart, Gojo nodded, turning to leave the café. As he walked away, he didn’t look back, knowing that doing so would only make it harder to let go. The door closed behind him, the cool air outside hitting him like a wake-up call. He stood there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, trying to process the finality of what had just happened.

Inside, you watched him leave, your heart heavy but resolute. There was a part of you that would always care for Gojo, that would always wonder what might have been. But you knew, deep down, that you had made the right choice. Sometimes, love wasn’t enough to bridge the gap that had grown between two people. Sometimes, the kindest thing you could do was let go.

As you turned back to your table, the man who had been with you returned, concern etched on his face. He didn’t ask what had happened—he didn’t need to. He simply took your hand in his, offering silent support as you both sat down together.

Gojo walked down the street, the sun beginning to set, casting long shadows on the pavement. The ache in his chest was still there, but so was a strange sense of peace. You had found your path, and now, he had to find his own. And maybe, just maybe, in another life, things would have been different. But in this one, it was time to move on.

End

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

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THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STICKING WITH THIS STORY\(^ヮ^)/ new gojo series soon<33

[niningtori]

mastermind | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: you should be used to your relationships failing by now, but after finding out your boyfriend, yeonjun, cheated on you, you're devastated yet again. and beomgyu, your best friend, is there to pick up the pieces, just like always. but isn't it a little odd that things just never seem to work out?

genre: romance, angst, smut (MDNI), yandere

warnings: YANDERE!GYU, manipulation, gaslighting, SMUT (MDNI!) creampie, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, degradation, if i missed anything pls lmk!

word count: 5.1k

notes: ... hi. i'm reposting this with major edits but i hope you all still like it!

｡o.ﾟ｡*･♡♡･*｡ﾟo｡ ｡o.ﾟ｡*･♡♡･*｡ﾟo｡

do you love your boyfriend? of course. do you trust him? of course. so are you surprised to see a photo of him very clearly making out with another woman? well, of course.

your friends, your family, and even passersby would simply tell you you shouldn’t be, though. yeonjun used to be very well known for his sexual escapades, so when you announced he was your boyfriend, nobody was particularly happy for you. especially not your best friend in the whole world, beomgyu. 

“he’s just gonna hurt you, just like the last one!” 

you remember flinching at this. you remember how hurt and indignant you felt at the time. you also remember the silent treatment you gave him, and the cold war that began shortly thereafter. he apologized afterwards, of course, but you had asked him what was so bad about you that he couldn’t just believe that yeonjun had changed for you. he was silent at this, which only made you even angrier. it was all pointless in the end, you suppose.

as you sit on beomgyu’s couch, your phone rings again. you have a special ringtone for yeonjun, so you don’t even bother to check the caller id before you silence it. he’s been calling you incessantly since you texted him that you saw the picture and were done with him. your face is downcast and if you weren't so consumed by your sadness, you'd notice the faint look of delight in beomgyu’s eyes. 

“i think you should just block him,” he says as nonchalantly as he can muster. maybe in another state of mind, you'd register the satisfaction in his tone, but right now? all you can sense is his urgency, which can easily be explained away by selfless and sincere concern. just how he likes it.

“you’re right,” you sigh. “i guess i just don’t understand. things were going so well, and then he goes and does this to me. i don’t know what i did wrong,” you say while burying your face in your hands. he almost can’t control the way his lips want to curl up at this, but he’s become nothing if not a master of containing his true emotions. he’s kept them from your prying eyes for years, after all.

“aww, baby. it’s not you, it’s him. he’s just not the right guy for you,” he coos, but for some reason, you can’t help but be annoyed at his kindness. 

“i know you want to say i told you so, so say it,” you snap, pulling your face from your hands and scowling at him.

“i don’t want —” 

“if you wanted me to learn my lesson, i’ve learned it, alright? i don't need to be taught again,” you say with a huff. you know you’re being unreasonable. you know you’re being a bitch, but you just can’t help it. who told beomgyu to be right about your potential partners all the damn time? fuck his crazy-accurate intuition.

he looks genuinely hurt by your harsh words, though, so you can’t help but feel a wave of regret wash over you. you’re drowning in it, even, as you watch his puppy eyes gloss over.

“beomie, baby, i’m so sorry,” you say, gently grabbing his face with one hand and pushing his long hair behind his ear with the other. “i know i’m being awful to you when you’re just trying to help.”

“it’s okay,” he says solemnly, looking like a kicked puppy. “as long as you’re sorry.” somehow, his easy acceptance of your apology makes you feel even worse. you pull him in for a hug and he buries his face in your neck to a) soak up your scent and b) hide his growing smirk. but you’re too caught up in your feelings to notice.

“it’s really okay,” he assures once you part.

“no, it isn’t. i’m being a shitty friend. how about you stay over tonight? we can watch a movie and i’ll order something for us to eat,” you suggest. he graciously accepts your peace offering and the night is spent with giggles and an overt amount of cuddling.

as you’re drifting off to sleep, you feel beomgyu plant a kiss on your forehead. to anyone else, this might come across as oddly intimate, but you know better. people have said that you two would make a good couple, but you two do nothing but laugh it off every time. they just don’t understand your dynamic. he’s a man like any other, you guess, but seeing him as anything other than a friend is simply laughable. you know he feels the same exact way about you, too, which is why you are unfazed by his next words. 

“i love you. it’s just — i just love you so much, you know?” he whispers.

“aww, beomie. you know i love you, too. you’re my best friend in the whole world,” you murmur as sleep finally overcomes you.

if the lights were on, you’d see how his face falls and contorts into something like a grimace.

-

yeonjun has been spamming you like crazy, so you listen to beomgyu and block his number as well as his social media accounts. you think this whole chapter of your life is over, but, as always, you are wrong.

a week or so after your messy breakup, a sudden knock at your door pulls your attention away from mindless scrolling on your phone. you don't think much of it — it’s probably just beomgyu with some takeout, or something. however, when you look through the peephole, you realize that yeonjun is not finished bothering you just yet. 

“baby, please. i know you’re there. please, just open up. i’ll explain everything!” he pleads. you’re not particularly known for your callousness of heart, so it doesn’t take much more begging for you to feel guilty and let him in. you open your door with a sigh. 

“thank you!” yeonjun says with a look of pure relief as he hurriedly enters your apartment. he takes a seat on your couch (unprompted, you might add) and takes a shaky breath. you cautiously seat yourself on the other end of the couch and prepare to listen to whatever bullshit he has conjured up for your viewing pleasure before you decide that it’s best just to cut to the chase. ripping the band-aid off, and all that.

“look, i don’t care that you’re sorry. there’s nothing you can say to make me change my —” 

“it was beomgyu!” he exclaims before you can get another word out.

“... what?” you ask confusedly. where the hell is he going with this?

“the girl, the picture, fucking everything was all his fucking fault. he did it,” he rants. oh. he must think you’re fucking stupid.

“yeonjun, please don’t waste my time,” you sigh. “i think you should leave,” you add, getting up from your seat.

“wait!” he pleads, reaching for your hand and gently pulling you back down. “remember how i always told you that i had a weird feeling about him? like how something always felt… off?” oh well. if he wants to continue putting on a show, then so be it. besides, it’ll be a funny story to tell beomgyu later on.

you nod.

“well, he always looked at me weirdly. like, whenever i’d walk into the room, there was always this… this tension and i never knew why, but i understood it as soon as we made things official. it’s because he likes you.” you’re silent for a moment and yeonjun actually thinks he’s getting through to you before you burst into near-maniacal laughter. his face falls.

“beomgyu? beomgyu likes me?” you say between giggles. beomgyu loves you like a sister. no way in hell does he harbor a shred of romantic love for you. 

“you’re not listening,” he grunts, slightly tugging at his own hair in frustration. “he’s always been weird, and the other night at the bar, he introduced me to that girl you saw me ‘kissing’. they kept giving me drinks until i could barely fucking see straight. then she kept coming onto me, but i said no. i finally told her to kick rocks, but the next thing i knew was that she was kissing me. i know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me.” you want to dismiss everything he’s saying, but his utter sincerity seems to strike a chord within you. you can’t say you believe him, but he continues before you can properly digest his words.

“think about it. why the hell would i cheat in such a public place where all of our friends hang out? don't you think i would be smarter than that? and even if i wasn't, you know me. you know i would never cheat on you.” he seems desperate now, but it’s still hard to believe that beomgyu orchestrated this entire thing instead of the very real possibility that yeonjun just got drunk and acted recklessly.

“alright, this isn’t funny anymore. you need to stop,” you warn, not liking how much he’s making sense.

“think,” he repeats with conviction.

so you do. you think back to all of the tumultuous relationships you’ve had until now. they've all ended in different ways, yes, but they all had one common denominator: beomgyu. oh, beomgyu saw your boyfriend getting cozy with his ex. you’re having an argument with your boyfriend? beomgyu thinks he’s a piece of shit because of how he treats you, you obviously deserve better! wait, your boyfriend keeps taking too long to text you back? he’s just losing interest! it’s clearly better to break it off now rather than getting too invested when you’re inevitably going to break up, anyway. and all the other greatest hits. your face twists from focused to horrified as the realization sinks into your bones. it's beomgyu. it’s always been beomgyu. 

you look to yeonjun with pure shock in your eyes and he meets your gaze with a look of sympathy. you finally get it. 

“junie, i’m so sorry,” you say, tears springing into your eyes. “i’m so sorry i doubted you.” 

“it’s okay,” he replies with a melancholy smile. “he manipulated you.” 

“does… does that mean we’re back together now?” you ask, voice tinged with hope. his smile falters at your question, and you feel a sense of dread.

“i need some time,” he says after a pause, dropping his hand from yours. “you really hurt me. i understand that beomgyu manipulated you, but it really hurts that you didn't trust me, you know?” 

“i understand,” you quietly reply. you’d be hurt if the tables were turned — it’s only natural. you just hope to god above that you haven’t let beomgyu ruin another good thing for you.

-

beomgyu is confused as to why you’ve been ignoring him for the better part of a week. you don’t respond when he texts or calls, and his intuition is telling him that it has something to do with yeonjun. maybe you’re just shutting down because of the breakup? it was particularly brutal this time around, after all. he’s lucky that yeonjun has such a lascivious sexual history, or else you might not have bought his little charade, even with the proof presented directly in front of you. that’s how much you love(d) yeonjun. the thought causes jealousy to rear its ugly head in his stomach, but whatever. there’s no way you’re going back to him after the way the scandal has made its way through your social life. even if you do want to get back together with him, there's no way your pride will let you. your pride has been a particularly nasty sort of obstacle in beomgyu’s pursuit of you, but it’s absolutely delicious to be able to use it against you like this. serves you fucking right.

still, it’s his job as your dutiful best friend to cheer you up. with this in mind, he picks up your favorite takeout and heads to your place. he smiles when he imagines the way you’ll gratefully embrace him once you realize that he’s here for you. maybe this time you’ll understand that he’s always been the one who’s there for you when someone hurts you. maybe this time will be his big break, finally freeing him from the purgatory he has been in for god knows how long.

he knocks on your door with a hopeful smile on his face. surprisingly, you’re swinging the door open mere seconds later with your eyes similarly lit up with hope.

“yeon— oh. it’s you,” you say, deflating immediately. there’s a certain sense of resentment in your tone that he catches onto, but he chalks it up to disappointment. his face falls. goddamn it. damn it all to hell.

“i brought you some food to cheer you up,” he says while shaking the plastic takeout bag, completely ignoring the slip of another man’s name. 

he invites himself in, slipping off his shoes and sitting down on the couch as he usually does. 

he waits for you to join him, but when he looks up at you, all he sees is you staring at him, arms crossed and face contorted in anger. surely you can’t be that upset that he’s not yeonjun, right? now that he thinks about it, why would you be expecting yeonjun, anyway? hadn’t you effectively cut him off? did you talk to him and take him back after all that (you think) he’s done? that can’t be right. unless… unless you actually let him talk to you. oh god, please tell him that’s not what happened.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, face devoid of anything deeper than curiosity and worry. 

you’re silent for a moment before you carefully choose your next words.

“i talked to yeonjun,” you reply, and his heart sinks to his stomach. “he told me some… interesting things.”

beomgyu hopes you don’t notice how hard he gulps. you do not.

“what did he say?” he asks, face tense but still showing no clear signs of guilt. 

“he told me what happened that night. he told me how you got him drunk and basically forced that girl onto him. he also said that you’re the reason none of my relationships work out,” you declare, opting to stop beating around the bush and just get some answers. you study his face for a crack of some sort, but there is none.

“and what do you think?” he asks quietly.

“i think… i think he might be telling the truth,” is what you say, but you’re sounding increasingly unsure with every word because beomgyu looks more hurt than you’ve ever seen him.

“you believe him over me?” he asks, voice cracking and lips trembling with his brown eyes glossed over in what you can only describe as devastation. god, either beomgyu’s a really good actor, yeonjun’s a really good actor, or you’re just fucking stupid.

“i… i don’t know what to think, beomgyu,” you whisper after a pause. all he does is nod before his next words pierce your heart.

“is that why you’ve been ignoring me?”

jesus christ. you were so sure that yeonjun was telling the truth when he told you about beomgyu, so ignoring him only seemed natural under the circumstances, but he looks every bit like the victim in light of your accusations. his trembling lips and wounded gaze make you want to strangle yourself for ever doubting him. as you feel yourself being consumed with remorse, though, you remember the sincerity and desperation in yeonjun’s words. maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding? maybe they’re both convinced that they’re right? 

“y-yes. i’m sorry. i was just confused. maybe he just misunderstood?” you babble. he likes your hesitancy, but it’s still wearing on his patience. as much as he wants to say he can’t believe that you’d question him because of some guy you dated, he can believe it when it comes to you. you always, always, always hurt him like this, and he’s had just about enough.

“and what if it’s true?” he asks, pathetic facade wiped clean off of his face while something more somber replaces it entirely. your eyes lock with his and you’re stunned silly. 

“what?” is all you can manage to reply with. 

“what if i pushed that girl onto yeonjun? what if i ruined all of your relationships? what would you do?” 

“so it’s true?!” is all you can say, guilt flaring into sheer rage and hurt. 

“so what if it is?” he asks, as if he doesn’t comprehend how twisted this is.

“so… so how could you do that to me?!” 

“i was only doing what’s best for you,” he impatiently replies. “they were only gonna hurt you, can’t you see that? even before i did anything, there were still all those men who cheated on you, lied to you, used you. what’s wrong with wanting to protect you from people like them? i just couldn’t stand to see you living like that!” he argues, clearly believing he’s completely justified in all of this.

sure, you’ve been hurt before even without his intervention, but that doesn’t mean he can just play puppeteer in your love life to “protect” you from anything similar happening ever again. you trusted him and he manipulated you. he acted like a knight in shining armor this entire time while knowingly sabotaging any potentially good thing that could come your way. and he did it all because he wants to protect you? bullshit. 

“you know, i thought that even if everyone other man in the world could hurt me, you never would,” you say shakily, either from sadness or anger. maybe both. “i guess i was wrong.”

“hurt you?! hurt is watching the person you love fuck other people over and over and over again! hurt is watching you laugh me off and never even fucking considering me as an option, goddamn it!” he yells while slamming his hand on your coffee table. 

“so your solution was to fuck up every relationship i have just to have me to yourself?! do you not realize how fucked up that is?!” you yell back, trying to appear unfazed by his increasingly enraged behavior. he seems to falter at this, genuinely at a loss for words at your unforgiving pinpointing of his erratic actions. the desperate, eager-to-please beomgyu you know all too well is finally back and you feel your confidence surge because of it.

“i only did that because —”

“why? because you love me? or think you do?” you mock with a hollow laugh. “you don’t purposely ruin the life of someone you love.” he looks genuinely wounded by your words. 

“but i —”

“i don’t care. get out,” you say mercilessly. you’re absolutely through with listening to his fucked up ideations about love and what his twisted moral compass deems as justified because of it. you’re so preoccupied with preaching on your soapbox, you don’t even realize his attitude has once again shifted from the compliant beomgyu to the one you don’t recognize at all. 

“... no,” he says flatly. 

“did you not fucking hear me? i said get out,” you repeat through clenched teeth. normally, your raised hackles would be enough to scare him off, so you figure he’ll tuck his tail and leave right about now. oh, how wrong you are.

“are you deaf?” he asks with a sneer. “i said no.”

“what do you mean, no?” you ask. somewhere in the depths of your mind, alarm bells begin ringing, but it’s far too late to heed them. plus, you’re still under the impression that he’ll bend to your will. 

“oh, so you’re not deaf. just stupid,” he snorts. your jaw is agape at his audacity. beomgyu has caught an attitude and gotten fresh with you before, sure, but nothing like this. to say you’re dumbstruck would be to put things in the mildest of terms. you can barely get out your next sentence.

“w-what do you mean?” 

“i’m not leaving this apartment,” he says firmly, and before you can even ask him to explain, he’s dragging you away with a painful grip.

“ow! beomgyu, you’re hurting m—” 

“shut up. i told you what real hurt is, but you're not fucking listening. i don't want to hear another word come out of your mouth,” he says in a monotone voice. if the alarm bells were ringing in the depths of your mind before, they’re absolutely blaring at the forefront of your brain right now. 

“what are y-you —”

“i thought i told you to shut up,” he snaps before roughly grabbing your face and planting his lips on yours. the kiss is crude. it’s absolutely vulgar with the way it’s all tongue and teeth and saliva, but after a few seconds of uncertainty, you find yourself melting into it. this is wrong. you two are the best of friends, almost like brother and sister. and more than that, you love yeonjun, right? you’re supposed to be working on getting back together with him, aren’t you? but your reason starts to be sucked away as you feel his hands caress your body, leaving nothing but fire in their wake.

you don’t know how you got here, almost completely naked as you lay on your back while beomgyu continues attacking your lips. it’s blazing hot and you can’t help but feel your underwear becoming wet with every moan that escapes his mouth and consequently reverberates onto your tongue. as if he already knows the intricacies of your internal battle, one of his hands finds its way to your now soaking wet pussy and he uses his index and middle fingers to spread the slickness around. he swirls his fingers around your hole and just barely pushes one of them into the entrance. you gasp at the shallow intrusion and you can feel his notorious shit-eating grin pressed across your lips as he feels how tight you are. you’re ridiculously turned on and he knows it. he pauses his actions only to unzip his pants and yank them down to his knees. your eyes widen at what you can only describe as his huge appendage, all reddened and already leaking. you feel your cunt throbbing with even more need at the sight, but your last shred of reason still makes you hesitate.

“beomgyu, we can't… we're friends, and yeonjun is —”

“can’t you just let me make you feel good? god, you’re making this so difficult, but what the fuck else is new,” he growls. 

he's right. you are making things difficult. there's no way of salvaging your friendship after this, so what's the point in holding back now? you realize that while he may be absolutely unhinged, his feelings for you are real. do you reciprocate them? you don’t know yet, but the thought of him doting on another person the same way he dotes on you makes you feel uneasy. as for yeonjun? well, he deserves better than the cesspool of turbulent emotions that you currently find yourself in. 

“you still sure you don’t want me?” he asks cockily. you, with all of your pride, can only muster up a feeble shake of your head. he knew the answer before you gave it to him, but his condescending gaze shows you that your words have scratched a certain itch of his.

he rubs his hardened length against your folds and it’s all you can do to resist locking your ankles around his waist and pulling him into you, but something stops you. protection. you don’t even have to say it, because he knows you too well for your own good.

“let me fuck you raw,” he says breathily, just barely poking his length into your tight hole. “i know you need it, baby. just let me take care of you.” you’re silent for a moment before pinching out your next words.

“p-pull out?” he won’t because he knows you’ll be begging him for his cum when he’s done with you, and you already know he won’t, even when he nods and promises he will. you don't know why you even asked. 

the ache you feel to have him buried inside you is quickly replaced by the ache you feel once he begins to stretch you out. it’s a stinging, burning sort of pain, but that’s nothing in comparison to the pure pleasure you feel as his flared tip drags along your walls. he begins with thrusting shallowly, fucking you open like you’re a virgin, and you’re so tight while he’s so big, you might as well be. 

painfully slowly, he pushes each and every inch of himself into your gummy hole. he reaches places you didn’t even know existed and stretches you open so good all you have the brainpower to call the sensation is fullness. overwhelming fullness. when he finally sheathes himself in you completely, a strangled cry leaves both of your throats as you feel him throbbing inside of you and he, in turn, feels you pulsating around him. 

after you adjust, you expect him to start drilling into you with reckless abandon, but he does nothing of the sort. just watches you with a strange look on his face. 

“b-beomie? what are you doing?” you ask pathetically, head raising up from its place on the pillows to meet his wanton gaze.

“beg me for it.”

“beg for w—” your question is interrupted by a sharp smack on your sensitive pussy. 

“beg me for it. beg me to fuck you like a whore. i won’t tell you again,” he says menacingly. your bleary eyes are so confused, so stupid, and so, so cute, but he’s determined to use the last of his self-control to get you to feel even a fraction of the desperation he’s felt for years. well, even if you don’t, he’ll spend the whole night fucking you dumb until you do. but you’re so hungry for his dick, you don’t even realize that he’s bluffing.

finally, you understand what he’s asking of you, and you waste no time to comply. 

“n-need your cock, beomie. need you to make me f-feel good,” you say, trying to retain even a semblance of your dignity. this brings a mean smirk to his face, but he’s not done with you, yet.

“surely you can do better than that?” he taunts, rocking his hips ever so slightly so you can feel every inch of his length and girth teasingly hitting your cervix, but providing no relief. fuck your dignity. you need him.

“please! please, i need you! need your cock to fill me up!” you whine.

“mhmm, and?”

“need you to fuck me! need you to fill me up with your cum!” well, there goes your resolve to have him pull out. this seems to satisfy his sadistic desires.

“oh, my love. all you had to do was ask,” he says with a grin. and that’s when he starts. 

his hips meet yours in the most punishing way, and that’s what this is: a punishment for the way you’ve treated him all these years. you can feel it in the way that his fingernails dig into your skin and in the way that he mercilessly presses down on your tummy until all you can feel is pressure building up to something unknown.

“who else can fuck you like this? who else can split you open like this?” he asks as lewd squelches reverberate throughout the room. 

“n-nobody! only you, beomie!” you cry.

“that’s my good girl, such a good girl. baby just needs me to use her like a fucktoy, right?” and all you can do is whine and clench in carnal need as the poor springs of your bed squeak with every unforgiving thrust.

“oh, you like that, don’t you?” he snickers. “you like being my little whore. you’re just a toy for me, alright? free to use whenever i feel like it.” you nod in agreement and he lets out a chuckle as he pounds into you at an unimaginable speed, balls slapping your ass with every fiery thrust. each time he pumps into you, your pussy’s clamping down on him and sucking him in like that’s where he’s meant to be. and maybe it is. 

“god, i’m close,” he groans after pumping into you for what feels like hours, and you whimper like a bitch in heat. “honey, don’t worry,” he tuts. “i’ll fuck you every day, i’ll fill you with my cum so you can’t leave. not that you’ll want to after this. you’re made for me, made to be my cumdump whenever i want.” 

“y-yes!” you shriek, somehow liking the idea of being full of his cum forever and ever. 

“that’s my girl. baby just wants me to fuck her good. that’s all you needed, right? that’s why you’ve been such a brat. you just needed me to show you what it’s like to be fucked right,” he says, rolling your clit for good measure, which is enough to make you reach your high as it comes crashing down around you. beomgyu wasn’t lying when he said he was close, so when he feels you clenching around his big cock as if you’re milking him for all that he’s worth, you feel it twitching before hot bursts of cum paint your inner walls until you’re leaking white and seeing stars. he continues with slow, lazy pumps until he softens. you stay like that for an indeterminable amount of time, breathing raggedly while your bodies are overcome with thrums of delight. 

when he finally pulls out and lays down beside you, bodies slick with sheens of sweat, he pushes your hair back behind your ear and plants a kiss on your temple. shakily, he takes his hand and rubs it along your distended tummy, full of his cum. he lovingly strokes it with an awed smile on his face.

“such a good girl for me,” he repeats. “i can’t wait until you’re pregnant. you’ll have as many babies as i can give you, right?” and all you can do is nod deliriously. he smiles in satisfaction as you eagerly agree to his every nasty, perverted thought. “god, i love you so much. and you love me too, right? say it. say you love me.”

“i love you.” and you realize that you do.  this man is deranged, but he’s yours, and for better or for worse, you're his. especially now that you might very well be carrying his children. and even if you aren’t, you know he’ll make good on his promises to keep fucking you until you are. should you be glad that he effectively ruined every potential relationship for you? you were unsure before, but you realize that nobody has or ever will love you as much as he does, even if he has a demented way of showing it. well, it is what it is. there’s no way out after this.

notes pt. 2: i hope this goes over better after the editing!

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[000-pawz]

press play! (bnd) ˚ · .

bnd as male leads , ot6 , fluff , slight angst , movie/film tropes, loosely (!!!) inspired by random movies/dramas/books i've seen and read (with song recs <3)

more under the cut!

a/n: me pretending that all of these are real dramas so i can escape into my silly little fantasy land >___^ <3 also thank you so much for 400+ followers!!! i know i haven't been as active lately, but seeing the sweet messages in my inbox and your genuine reblogs keeps me going for sure. i don't deserve all of this love and support, and yet, i've managed to find my place here. thank you guys!!! my little strawberries ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆<333

sungho ˚ ⋆｡˚ - the "i have no idea why i like you, but i do" lead

university, streetlights, jackets, sunsets, fond eye rolls, sharing books, lunch dates, faint smiles, polar opposites, long calls, gardens, bouquets, lattes, butterflies

to put it simply, you are somehow everything sungho tries his best to avoid in life. disorganization, clumsiness, carelessness, and above all, making a fool of himself; four things you seem to have perfected. you always show up to lectures 30 minutes late, panting heavily as you clutch your backpack to your chest. your professor and everyone else in your course is used to your tardiness by now, so no one bats an eye—but when the only available seat left is next to sungho himself, he starts to mind. first, you ask him for a pencil, and then, you ask him what’s going on, and then you ask him how his handwriting is so neat. sungho responds to you in curt words, never sparing a glance your way as he tries his best to keep his focus on the lecture. but you keep. asking. him. questions.

he knows that you aren’t dumb. you somehow managed to get accepted into this school under a rigorous major, and you haven’t dropped out so far, so there’s no way you don’t know how to keep up. in a way, he sees you as a little yapping chihuahua who laughs way too loudly, and he sighs everytime you wave brightly to him across campus, cupping your hands around your mouth to tell him to wait up so you guys can walk to class together. it seems as if you’ve already claimed yourself to be his friend after your limited, brief interactions. great.

somehow you always manage to find him when he's studying at a cafe, pulling out the chair in front of him to plop down and pester him about what he's up to (and you always manage to convince him to buy you coffee just so you can leave sooner). you purposefully take the spot next to him everytime you show up to class, nudging hi sfoot under the table so you can pull a funny face at him or sneak him a lollipop under the table.

sungho likes to believe that he’s indifferent to you. you’re just another obstacle he has to navigate through in order to finish his day. but he realizes you may have struck a little deeper into his heart than he originally thought when he notices you sitting solemnly on a bench on his walk back to his apartment. you’re dressed up in a nice outfit and he can tell you’ve put in a lot of effort to your appearance, but under the glow of the streetlights, he notices your smeared mascara and wet cheeks, your purse clutched tightly between your fingers. you’re mumbling to yourself as you fiercely wipe at your face with the back of your hand, something about “that asshole” and how you’re “so dumb”. sungho doesn’t know what comes over him as he hears those words, but he finds himself stopping directly in front of you, watching as you slowly tilt your head up to meet his eyes. 

“you’re not dumb,” he says, staring down at you with such sincerity. you sniffle a bit, tilting your head at his figure in a confused manner.

“sungho? what are you doing here?” you ask quietly, your voice shaky as you try to stop your tears.

“you aren’t dumb,” he repeats again. “it’s late. you shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

you don’t respond other than blinking owlishly at him. in this moment, he realizes how beautiful your eyes are, glimmering despite the tears pooling at your waterline. a cord in him strikes; he doesn’t like seeing you without a smile on your face.

sungho shrugs off his jacket before leaning down to drape it over your shoulders, giving you a soft smile before offering his hand out to you. “may i walk you home?”

and from that day on, sungho seems to have opened up his heart to you. he asks if you want to visit a cafe after class, helps you catch up in schoolwork, his eyes lingering on your bright smile—and each minute he spends with you, he falls for you more and more. he’s not sure how you feel about him; he can’t read you quite yet, and he’s not quite sure why he likes you so much, but he thinks it’ll be worth the wait, as long as he gets to be by your side.

˚ ⋆｡˚ riwoo - the "i'll look after you, no matter what" lead

bustling city, dinner dates, gentle hands, puppies, headlights, midnight talks, watching the stars, wishes upon dandelions, breakfast in bed

it’s riwoo’s second year working at this company—and subsequently, his second year dealing with his inconsiderate seniors and selfish boss. so when you, the new, sparkly-eyed intern, are assigned two giant stacks of paperwork to go through on your first day, riwoo immediately empathizes with you. when it starts to grow dark and most of your coworkers begin clocking out, you find yourself trapped at your tiny desk with at least 3 more hours worth of work to do. 

you’re basically falling asleep, your eyelids slipping shut every few seconds before you finally doze off. riwoo watches you from across the office and some part of him feels guilty at the thought of leaving you all alone here. so instead, he makes you a cup of coffee and brings you a snack, placing it quietly at your desk. he even leaves a few sugar packets next to the mug because he’s unsure of how sweet you like your drink.

and then he waits. he exhaustedly types away at his keyboard, his knee bouncing under his desk to keep himself awake. you finally wake up an hour later with a tiny yawn, stretching in your chair before sleepily blinking at the scene in front of you. he watches as your eyes widen at the coffee and snack before looking around the office, locking eyes with him above his computer screen. he gives you a small smile and wave, to which you return, mouthing out a ‘thank you’. if you’re going to be working overtime, he’ll be there with you.

and it becomes a thing. riwoo makes sure you eat as you work through the mistreatment from your boss, comforting you when you stress cry in the breakroom, taking you out for dinner when you clock out and making sure you get home safe with a small reminder to get some sleep. you find yourself falling his selflessness. he works through those sleepless nights with you, cheering you on with shy smiles and quiet encouragement. before you know it, riwoo becomes your rock.

as you wait for the bus to head home, riwoo jogs up to you, his chest rising and falling quickly as he attempts to catch his breath.

“riwoo, hi,” you greet with a small, tired smile. riwoo’s cheeks are flushed red, his hands tucked deep into his pockets as he returns your smile with a weak one. 

“hey, y/n. i just, um… i wanted to ask you something before you leave…” he starts, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. your bus is nearing your stop in the distance, so you stand, adjusting the bag on your shoulder.

“yeah, what’s up?” you ask, meeting riwoo’s eyes. they’re big and round, glossy as the headlights of passing cars speed by. your heart flutters in your chest at just the sight of him.

“i was wondering if i could take you out? on a date, i mean,” he stumbles out, pressing his lips into a thin line once the words escape.

“like a date date?” you clarify. you guys hang out all the time and you have to admit that you’ve started to want more. riwoo is the sweetest, most giving person you’ve ever met and you think you’re already in too deep.

“yeah. a date date.” at his words, your entire face lights up, quickly nodding your head as you answer. 

“i would love to.” right then, your bus pulls up to a stop, so you give him a tiny smile, motioning toward the doors. “ i’ll call you when i get home, okay?”

“okay. yeah,” he breathes out with the brightest smile on his lips. “get home safely.”

“i will!” you wave enthusiastically through the doors before they close behind you and riwoo watches you through the windows with a small smile until your bus disappears down the road, his heart light in his chest.

from there, one date turns into two. and then two into three. and then suddenly, you’re at his apartment playing with his puppies while he cooks you guys breakfast, the sunlight beaming through his sheer curtains. even if the weight of the world is falling on your shoulders, you deem it impossible to feel down around your ray of sunshine.

riwoo always waits with you for your bus, letting you rant to him about your day, or things you're interest in, or to just tease him about how he dropped a stack of papers that day. and you never forget to text him when you get home, going to sleep with a smile on your face as you reread the long paragraph he sends to you about how proud he is of you and how he can't wait to see you tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. in this big city full of hustle, bustle and noise, he is your solace.

jaehyun ˚ ⋆｡˚ - the "everyone wants me, but i want you" lead

road trips, rooftop hangouts with friends, bright smiles, street vendors, shared hoodies, soccer games, skateboards, sparklers, bonfires, sunny days

ever since you moved onto campus for university, you’ve had a crush on myung jaehyun. from his silly smiles, to his friendly nature, to his cute nose and cheeks. you like everything about him. the only problem is that everyone loves myung jaehyun—in fact, you can’t name a single person that doesn’t know and love him. so you’ve managed to keep your feelings to yourself for the longest.

you were in the same friend group from the very start, with your roommate dating his roommate, the intermingling of your circles was bound to happen. and in all honesty, you couldn’t wish for a better group of people to be around. you guys always go on road trips together, visiting different cities and towns to sightsee and explore. you attend jaehyun’s soccer games with your friends, cheering him on from the sidelines only to celebrate with drinks in someone’s dorm room after another win. the proximity is inevitable, and the first two years of college pass by before you can even blink. by the end of your second year, you and jaehyun became closer than you would’ve ever thought. but it always remained at that. close friends.

it’s the night of your friend group’s annual bonfire—something you’ve been looking forward to all year. you’ve been worrying about your future: what would happen when you graduate college, whether you would move away or not, would jaehyun ever like you back. but mid-summer is your favorite, especially when the tide is low, everyone has sparklers and drinks, and the night air is light and fun. your bathing suit clings to your skin after your friends had splashed sea water on your earlier, but you don’t mind it. it’s a break from your own thoughts.

you notice jaehyun sitting in the sand near the bonfire, shivering a bit, so you grab an abandoned blanket from someone else’s chair and skip over to him. when you drape it over his shoulders from behind, he looks up at you, his eyes scrunching up with the smile that overtakes his face at the sight of you. 

“hey,” he speaks, looking you up and down. you feel your body heat up under your skin, returning the smile with a small one of your own before taking a seat next to him.

“hey. you okay?” you ask, your eyes searching his face. usually, jaehyun is at the center of all the action, but tonight, he seems quieter than usual. the bonfire is warm on your skin, illuminating the sand in front of you.

“yeah, i’m okay. just thinking,” he says weakly, flashing you a tiny smile before looking back at the fire.

“about what?” you pry, bumping him with your shoulder. he looks especially good tonight, with his wet hair and soaked t-shirt, his tanned skin washed in a hue from the fire. you’re snapped out of your gazing when he speaks, though.

“you,” he says bluntly. he doesn’t look at you, but you’re staring holes into the side of head. 

“what about me?” you nearly whisper, your voice almost drowned out by the loud laughter of your friends at the shore. jaehyun watches the fire for a bit before he turns to look at you again, his eyes glimmering with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“how pretty you look. how pretty you always look,” he says. you scoff at his words, bumping his shoulder again.

“stop playing around, jaehyun. i almost thought you were being serious,” you nervously laugh, looking down at the sand.

“but i am,” he replies quickly. “i am being serious. you’re beautiful.”

when you meet his eyes again, they’re boring into yours with an intensity you’ve never felt before. something so foreign and yet familiar at the same time. you can’t do anything but whisper a thank you before your friends are rushing over to drag you guys back to the water. some part of you is unsure of whether that was just another passing comment made by jaehyun. he jokingly flirts with his friends all the time. what difference would it be when it’s towards you? 

but when jaehyun texts you the next morning to meet him on the beach, and you see an entire picnic set up with flowers on the sand, you realize that maybe he wasn’t joking. he’s standing there with his arms awkwardly spread out in a ‘ta-da’ manner, a shy smile on his lips as you near him. the sun isn’t fully risen yet, so the sky is still slightly orange near the horizon. he looks softer like this, with his puffy morning cheek and his messy hair.

he confesses that your friends gave him the extra push to confess and helped him set everything up for you. over chocolate covered strawberries and french toast, he finally confesses that he’s had a crush on you this entire time and almost went crazy from keeping it a secret. the morning started with shy gazes, soft touches, and laced fingers as the ocean waves lulled you. with your head rested on his shoulder, you finally feel content. maybe the future won’t be so bad.

˚ ⋆｡˚ taesan - the "everything sucks, except you" lead

big school, skipping stones, handwritten notes, late-night bus rides, comfortable silence, dirty shoes, convenience stores, headphones, lingering gazes

han taesan always tries to stay out of the spotlight. he keeps his head down, his hood up, and his headphones on—in a way, he feels like if he can disappear from other people’s lives, it wouldn’t be so hard to disappear from himself either. he doesn’t have any friends, and if anything, people seem to act like he doesn’t exist at all. he’s okay with that. it’s comfortable. that is, until you come along. 

he’s not sure how he’s never noticed you at first. maybe it’s because you’re just like him; you stay out of the way, you don’t speak to anyone, and you’re simply going through the motions. he’s not even sure if you go to the same school. he first sees you on a late bus ride home, near the back. your head is leaning on the window, your face blank and solemn, with one earbud in your ear as you watch the passing city through a blur. taesan doesn’t know what it is about you that intrigues him. let it be the way your sweater is a few sizes too big, or the melancholic look in your eyes, or the way those same eyes meet him from across the bus, piercing and inquisitive.

he sees you again at the convenience store a week later, pushing around noodles in a cup with your cheek in your palm, staring down at your food with no intentions of taking a bite. even in the harsh lighting of the store, your face stops him in his tracks. your eyes follow him as he pretends to not notice your stare, his heart pounding in his ears with every movement. and when he makes it up to the counter to pay, you’re gone, as if you were never there in the first place.

he doesn’t see you again for a while; not until he runs into you on his walk home, sitting on a swing at a vacant park. your shoelaces are untied, and you’re watching the way they flow in the wind. your unreadable gaze intrigues him in ways he’s never felt before. he’s always told himself to not get involved, to not get attached, and to not get in the way. but his feet seem to have a mind of their own as they drag themselves towards you. the sound of his shoes against concrete catches your attention, and he watches with shallow breaths as you lift your head to face him.

“your… your shoes are… um, untied,” he stutters out, moving his headphones to rest around his neck before pointing at your laces. you don’t say anything, but you do follow his gaze down to your shoes, cocking your head.

“can you tie them for me?”

the request is odd, especially for the first words he ever hears you speak, but he finds himself unable to decline. he kneels down by your shoes before taking a quick glance up at your face, his palms growing sweaty with the way you watch him. with shaky fingers, he helps you tie your shoes before he stands back up, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“you, um… i see you around a lot. what’s your name?” he doesn’t know why he asks, but some part of him is overwhelmed by curiosity. he knows why he is the way he is, but with you… you’re an anomaly that eats at his mind. he wants to know you. 

“y/n,” you say quietly, looking up at him from your position on the swing. taesan nods with pursed lips, averting his gaze for a second.

“i’m taesan.” when he speaks, the corners of your lips perk up ever so slightly, nodding softly in acknowledgement. something about your faint smile makes his stomach churn and his head spin. he decides then and there that he would like to see you more often; and subsequently, your smile too.

“nice to meet you, taesan.”

“nice to meet you, too. y/n.”

from there, you guys meet every now and then. taesan likes to place his headphones over your ears to show you new songs, and you like to share earbuds on the bus ride home together. he slips little notes about his day in your pocket before you get off with a little p.s. to meet him at the park before sunset. you pick clovers and tie them together to make bracelets, sitting on the swings as you bounce conversation back and forth. 

there’s no judgment from the outside world in the little bubble that you’ve created with him. and if he starts falling for you with every curious gaze and passing smile, he barely notices the shift. with you , existing becomes natural. there’s no guilt, or shame, or need to hide from yourself. it’s you both against the world.

leehan ˚ ⋆｡˚ - the "i wouldn't mind living with you" lead

new to town, seashell necklaces, oceanviews, birds in trees, sunrises, midday strolls, the youngests in the neighborhood, cooking together, white t-shirts + flannels

it’s not easy living in a new town, far away from the city that you grew up in, but you can’t bring yourself to regret anything. you wake up the the sound of beach waves and boats docking, the grandmas of the neighborhood leave fresh food on your doorstep, and you get to gawk at the beautiful man that always seems to be at the shore collecting seashells. he’s the only person near your age in the entire town, but for some reason, you haven’t spoken to him yet. maybe it’s because of the way that he’s always alone at the shore, or running around the town helping everyone he can. 

leehan, they call him. a few of the grandmas have encouraged you to talk to him, saying that it’d do him well to have a friend his age. yet, something about him is unapproachable—let it be because of his long wavy hair or those flannels he wears way too often. you can’t place your finger on it. so you stick to admiring his bright smile from afar, taking in the way he speaks with fishermen as if he grew up in the water himself, or the way he assists the grandmas in caring their groceries home. he’s entrancing, moving with swiftness and speaking with intention. an aura of confidence follows him around like a glowing shadow. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a small, small crush on him by now.

you sit at the beach with your knees pulled up to your chest, the soft breeze kissing your cheeks as you gaze out at the water, the sun sparkling against its gentle waves. moments like these remind you why you moved here. your escape. although, you’re too wrapped up in soaking up the atmosphere to notice the figure moving to sit beside you, and the clinking of seashells is what pulls you out of your trance. you jump a bit at the sun block of sunshine, shielding your eyes to look up at the culprit. 

the handsome, handsome culprit who’s currently holding something out towards you with a small smile on his lips, the wind blowing his long hair into his face. in the midst of your shock, you manage to drag your eyes down to his hand—it’s a handmade necklace, made of white string and polished shells from the shore. the shells are an assortment of light blues, whites, and pinks, perfectly complimenting each other, replicating where the setting sun meets the sea. it’s gorgeous.

“made something for you,” he starts, his smile lopsided and charming. his head is cocked in a playful way, his eyes slightly squinted from the bright sun. he’s even more gorgeous up close. “y/n, right?”

“uh, yeah,” you stutter out, too distracted by the way the sun hits his face so perfectly.

“i realized i haven’t given you a proper welcome yet,” leehan speaks as he hands you the necklace, his voice deep and gentle. your eyes flickered back up to his sparkling ones, quickly shaking your head in dismissal.

“oh! no, it’s okay. i’ve seen you around enough times,” you laugh as you avoid his eyes again, running your fingers over the shells. leehan hums in response, his eyes watching your fingers. alone like this, up close, his atmosphere is affable and soft—nothing like the unapproachable man you’ve seen from afar. 

“so, are you liking it here? i heard you moved from the city.”

“i do like it here, actually. i couldn’t ask for more,” you speak, finding his eyes again. leehan’s are curious, sincere, and inviting in all the ways that makes you want to keep speaking. so you do. you tell him about why you came here, how you’re starting a-new and leehan, with a wide smile, offers to be your personal guide around town. 

you end up meeting up every morning for a walk by the beach, watching the sunrise as you exchange stories about anything and everything. leehan teaches you how he makes necklaces from seashells, his favorite recipes to cook, and where to find the quietest spots in town when you just need a break from it all. you’re falling for him—with his chivalrous, kind-hearted nature and warm smile—but you don’t mind it at all. you really do like it here; especially if he’ll be around too.

˚ ⋆｡˚ woonhak - the "i'm secretly in love with my best friend" lead

small town, childhood best friends, neighbors, growing up together, coming of age, grassy fields, tiny markets, bicycles, fireflies, shorts + graphic tees

woonhak's big smile has been a constant in your life for as long as you can remember. some of your earliest members are of making mudpies and catching fireflies in jars together, playing tag in the long grassy fields that border your town. you guys are partners in crime, drawing silly pictures in chalk outside of your neighbor’s houses or riding your bikes down to the store to buy all of the mango popsicles in stock with your pocket money. 

in your eyes, woonhak is just… woonhak. he is familiar. existing with woonhak was as easy as breathing to you. you remember teasing him when you lost your first tooth before him because it proved that you were going to be more mature than him, or when you took your training wheels off first.

your parents are best friends, and it also helps that he lives directly next to you. you guys have sleepovers all the time, using flashlights under the blankets as you pull funny faces at each other, sharing stories about past crushes or what show you’re currently watching. woonhak knows everything about you and you know everything about him.

your favorite spot to meet up is the flower field behind your house. the grass is so tall, it reaches up to woonhak’s chest, the flowers spotting the green with blooms of yellows, pinks, and purples. it’s quiet there, and you guys are free to discuss whatever and whoever. that’s where you are when you’re watching the stars one night with woonhak by your side, his arms tucked behind his head. you mirror him as you talk about something woonhak did earlier that week.

“you’re so cute, hakkie. still the same after all these years,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand so your voice doesn’t echo too loud. at your words, woonhak sighs, a big one that catches your attention. “huh? what’s wrong?”

woonhak shakes his head, looking straight up at the sky. “i just… sometimes you say things and it reminds me that you still see me as a kid.”

you turn your head toward him at that in confusion. “what are you talking about?”

“y/n, what am i to you? honestly.” his words come out so quick, you don’t have time to linger on the sharpness in his voice. 

“you’re… you’re my best friend, woonhak,” and you’re telling the truth. the answer is simple. woonhak is your best friend.

woonhak is silent for a bit, the crickets and frogs in the distance filling in the lack of noise. his gaze is far off as he stares up at the night sky, his body framed by grass and flowers. for the first time in your life, you can’t read his mind and it terrifies you.

“we are best friends, right?” when he remains silent and your heart drops a bit. “woonhak?”

suddenly then, he turns his head towards you, the side of his face illuminated by the glow of moonlight. his eyebrows are slightly furrowed, his cheeks flushed red from the humidity of summer nights.

“what if i wanted to be more than that?” he whispers, his gaze locked intensely on yours. you feel your heart stop in your chest, your palms growing sweaty from more than just the heat.

“more… more than best friends…?” you repeat dumbly. it’s as if you’re short-circuiting, all of the words that were once on your tongue dying off one by one.

“i…” woonhak sighs dejectedly, turning back up to face the sky. “i like you. i like like you. a lot.”

at the words, something in you clicks. something about the way your eyes always linger on his bright smile when he shows up on your doorsteps at the crack of dawn. something about the way your stomach churned when that girl from fourth period asked woonhak out last year. something about the way he links your pinkies together when you walk side by side, and the way he cups your face when you cry to him, and the way he holds you with so much security and love.

your lips move faster than your mind, sitting up quickly to look down at him with a wide grin. “i like you too. i like like you, woonhak. a lot. too.”

you aren’t sure what any of this means for your relationship, or for your future—but as woonhak laces your fingers together to press a small kiss to the back of your hand, any worry or doubt dissolves with the wind. you’re here now with him and for you, that could be more than enough. more than you’ve ever dreamed of.

reblogs are greatly appreciated! thank u...<3

masterlist

[fioiswriting]

The lust we share

Summary : When your husband takes you to Harrenhal, you meet his lover. And things don't turn out the way you thought they would.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x reader, Alys Rivers x Reader, Aemond x Reader x Alys

TW : pwp, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, light angst, threesome, unprotected sex, breeding kink (implied), praising kink, loss of virginity,  not proofread.

Words count : 3652

AN : hi everyone!! How are you doing ? SO I know. I know I should be working on all my other works in progress BUT I had this idea and…Well. I had to write this. Who else is excited to see Alys??? Btw I’ve finished my exams and my internship, so I should have more time to write <3

Sorry, it’s filthy. As always. 

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 

Enjoy 🖤

From the moment you see her, you're mesmerised by her striking beauty, which makes her mysterious and dangerous. There's something intriguing about her gaze, as if she's reading through you, and it sends shivers down your spine every time. She seems to pierce your soul, deciphering your deepest secrets, leaving you both entranced and unsettled. She moves with a graceful confidence, her long black curls bouncing behind her. You don't know where to look. She's mesmerising. Your gaze is relentlessly drawn back to her.  She has curves where you don't.  A confidence you don't have.

You can only see in her what you lack in yourself, and in a way, you understand Aemond.

But Alys is surprisingly gentle with you. Her eyes show a kind of pity. You were nervous, frightened, and the edges of your thumbs can testify to that.  After all, Alys is the other woman. Or maybe it's you, the other woman. Alys was there before you, after all. And she exudes a confidence, a poise, a maturity that you'll never be able to match, as if she were able to bend anyone or anything to her will. You can see why they say she's a witch. 

With you it's different. Alys is patient. You just don't like the pitying tone she uses when she talks to you, as if you were a frail little thing to be pitied, as if she's afraid to break you – but you're no doll. You're not made of glass. You don't need pity. She knows you had no choice. You were forced to follow your husband to Harrenhal.  Maybe that’s why she pities you.

She wonders how you manage to stay by his side, when you know the horrors he's committed, and it's something you wonder too. Every step he takes is made of ashes and blood, and you know the cries still haunt the walls of Harrenhal.  The blood is probably still fresh, soaking the cobblestones.

She's made a habit of brushing your hair, stroking your long curls, cradling you and talking to you, and there's something comforting about the way she mothers you. You seek solace in her arms, when your husband is distant. At least you are not alone.

Your marriage to Aemond is recent. She listens as you confide in her and caresses your head. You are young and frightened, and you know the King needed an alliance to continue the war - your father had military and financial support to offer him.  Marrying into the Targaryen family is a privilege no one can refuse. And especially not when your husband is the Prince Regent.

"Does he treat you well?" Your gaze meets hers in the mirror, but you are quick to look away. There's something too sincere in looking into her eyes. You feel as if she can see into your soul, read the truth, reveal your secrets, and that makes you uncomfortable. 

" He's cold. Distant," you reply. Because it's true, Aemond is caught up in the gears of war, and he doesn't have much time for you, but you accept the place he's given you.  He has a need to control, you've noticed. He controls and owns and dictates the rules of the game. Maybe it's comforting, for him, maybe it's his way of coping.  He never shows vulnerability, at least not to you. 

"Does he satisfy you?" Your face immediately turns red. You don't know how to tell her that you haven't consummated the marriage yet. You got married in a hurry. You didn't have time for -

At least he insisted you accompany him to Harrenhal. He didn't want you waiting for him in the Red Keep, he wanted you close to him. Because you are his wife, he said. 

"We... We didn't..." You babble. You search for your words. And then you see her smirk, a subtle hint of a smile, almost imperceptibly curling the corners of her lips. You hardly know her, it's strange to discuss such intimate matters with your husband's lover. She knows him better than you do. Perhaps he showed her vulnerability, perhaps she knows what scars his soul. You wonder what she's thinking. She's indecipherable. Alys is a mystery. She exudes a special aura.

" What a pity," is all Alys answers. She has finished combing your hair. She takes the strands that have fallen across your chest and pulls them back behind your back, admiring her work. You hardly recognise yourself. You look bold. Almost confident. Your cleavage is accentuated. You look pretty.

You let her fingers brush over your bare shoulders, the touch light and pleasant. She places the finishing touch around your neck; a sapphire necklace. 

"Now you look like a future queen," she whispers, her lips painted red in the hollow of your ear, and you shiver. With desire or surprise, you don't really know. There's a kind of certainty in her voice that intrigues you. You're not quite sure what that is. For a brief moment, you have the feeling that you detect some truth in her words, and you say nothing. Her eyes are shining. 

Perhaps there's a part of unspoken desire there that you keep hidden beneath your innocent appearance.

You feel your husband's burning gaze on you all evening. You are alone at dinner. The two of you. The servants have brought the dishes and left immediately. He's at the other end of the table, his head held high, separated from you by steaming plates that make your mouth water. He has barely spoken, but you know that Aemond is a man of few words. He's all about quality.

"You look beautiful."

You politely accept the compliment. You like to feel that he fancies you. But then again, who doesn't like compliments? You cut your meat, your movements precise and delicate, like the lady you've been taught to become all your life. You play your role to perfection, it's a form of comfort, at least.

"I'm pleased that you find me to your liking, husband."

He looks satisfied. A silence falls over you. You are still hesitant in his company. You still have to adjust to him. You need to know how far you can go. What are your possibilities and your limits.

" She's intriguing, your Alys. "Your voice doesn't sound quite the way you would like it to, and you blame yourself. It gives the impression that you're reproaching him. That's not what you want. He stares at you with his one good eye, unreadable. 

"My Alys," he muses. "She is, indeed." He lets a doubt linger, and you regret having brought up the subject of Alys. "She sees much and more. She saw a future for me." He pauses. You raise your eyes to him, puzzled. "For us."  You and him, he means. And for a split second, you wonder if this has anything to do with what she told you.  A future queen. She said you looked like a future queen.

Your pulse quickens. The idea seems dizzying.  But there are certain desires that should remain buried, you know it. You don't want to appear power-hungry, even if your core is burning at the thought of having the whole Kingdom at your feet. 

Perhaps your husband can see it in your eyes.

Aemond wears the Conqueror's Crown on his head like the Prince Regent that he is, and you can't help but think that it suits him so well. It's what he is made for. He looks like a statue carved in marble, ethereal and suspended in time, the embodiment of Targaryen beauty and grace.

How can such an angelic face hide such a cruel man?

"But don't be jealous, wife." He continues in the face of your silence. His voice is cold. It cuts through the air like a sharp knife. "For it is you I have chosen to marry, and I intend to be a dutiful husband."

You feel your cheeks flush. He's watching you so intently. His good eye shines even brighter than the sapphire you know hides under his eye patch. You feel as if he's undressing you with his gaze. 

"I want you, tonight."

The statement sends a wave of heat between your thighs. You know what he means. You want it too. But to hear him express his desire so clearly, as if leaving no room for discussion, awakens a familiar sensation in your core. Aemond wants to take what he wants, what is rightfully his, and you may be sick in your head because the idea excites you as much as it frightens you. He's dangerous.  You know what he's done. And yet. And yet, you can't help but want him. 

By the time the meal is over, he's already standing in front of you. Tall. He towers over you, and as he leans towards you, forcing your chin up with the tip of his forefinger, he whispers, "You wouldn't deny your husband, would you?"

Gods, you can feel your arousal forming between your thighs, spreading across the fabric of your underwear. He's looking at you, his purple eye burning with desire. Between his legs, a visible bulge is already stretching the linen fabric. You notice it easily; it reflects the hunger you can read in his eyes.

"I wouldn't. Not when you are already so desperate."

To back up your words, your eyes drop to his crotch. He clenches his jaw and remains silent for a moment. You wonder what he's thinking, what thoughts are racing through his brain right now. He looks at you with a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as if studying an unknown specimen. Maybe you've been too bold.  Maybe he likes it. 

"I bet you are already wet."

A shiver runs down your spine. He doesn't look away, not for a moment, and your eyes are relentlessly drawn to his, as if hypnotised. 

" Check. "

He doesn't waste any time. His fingers run down your body, slipping under the thick layers of your dress - you're wearing green to please him, but it's not the colour of your house. They work their way up your leg, up the inside of your thigh, raising goosebumps on your skin in a long shiver of pleasure. You feel him brush against your folds; a touch so light it's like a ghost. But isn't that his purpose, to haunt you in the depths of your soul? When he ventures between your warm folds, your teeth bite your lower lip to prevent the slightest sound from escaping your lips. You don't want to give him that privilege. You don't want to show him that you need him.

"Indeed, you are."

He captures your innermost essence with the tip of his finger and immediately withdraws his hand. His forefinger touches his thumb, and he inspects the transparent thread that stretches between his fingers. You look away. Your cheeks are flushed. You're burning with embarrassment at your body's betrayal.  He wipes his fingers and straightens up as if nothing had happened.

"Be there when I call for you."

And with that, he leaves the room. You're left alone, staring at the flame dancing in the middle of a candle. Between your thighs, your centre throbs.  Your husband is a mystery.

You are lying on the bed. Panting, you are drowning in a combination of feverish pleasure and anticipation of what is to come. Alys plants kisses on the back of your neck, spicy and intoxicating like the finest Dornish wine. Her fingers brush over your nipples, and with a deft movement, she rolls them between her forefinger and thumb, pinching them gently.  She is behind you. You lie with your back against her full breasts, her legs on either side of your body. Her long black hair tickles your collarbones as she leans towards you, and an herbal scent wafts through the air; a mixture of sage and lavender.

Her lips were between your thighs a moment ago. With devotion, the tip of her tongue explored your still untouched womanhood, collecting the fruits of your desire, her fingers drawing circles against your entrance. She's experienced. She knows what she's doing. You've never felt anything like this before. And when your thighs have closed around her face, one of your hands buried in her thick mass of black hair, she welcomed your climax into her mouth. Her half-closed eyes looked up at you from under her long lashes, an enigmatic smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She seemed proud of herself, and of her work.  You're sure she can still taste you on her lips.

When she had finished, she remained between your legs for a moment, tracing little circles on your lower stomach, her lips still glistening with your essence and her own saliva. Your chest rose and fell quickly.  Red with embarrassment, you didn't dare meet her eyes and see the blatant traces of your shared sin still staining the lower part of her face. She let you catch your breath. Regain your senses. Come down from that little cloud you're still on.

It's Aemond who moves first. He stands and joins Alys, wiping what's left of your desire on her lips with his thumb. He looks satisfied. You wonder if he liked what he saw, if he liked seeing his wife tremble under the caresses of another.  He pushes his thumb between Alys's lips, forcing her to taste you once more, and she sucks his finger with infinite compliance. You can see in their eyes that they know each other intimately, that he has already tasted her body. You can see it in their eyes, in the glances they exchange.  You wonder if there has been more than carnal pleasure. You think there is. He kisses her chastely on the lips.

Aemond looks in your direction. He burns with desire, excitement and anticipation. You are about to become his and he can't hold back any longer. He needs to possess you. 

"She did well," Alys murmurs, amused. "Give her a moment."

But he doesn't want to wait, he wants his wife. He undresses, and that's when Alys comes up behind you. She strokes your hair and whispers a series of praises into the hollow of your ear. You're cottony between her fingers, but your core is throbbing again at the thought of feeling your husband inside you.

"Open your legs," Aemond commands. And Alys gently spreads your thighs so that you reveal yourself to your husband.

Aemond details your body. Every part, from your lips to your breasts, from the valley between your breasts to your navel, and then the curve that leads to your centre. Alys follows the path of his gaze - her fingers on your nipples, and then her fingers running along your abdomen to your folds, caressing them gently.  Her index and middle fingers slide between your flesh.

"Look how ready she is for you," Alys whispers to Aemond. You’re wet. His eyes are locked on you, right where you want him most. His member is hard, slightly curved against his belly, its angry red tip already leaking white beads.

And you are ready. You're just waiting for it. Desperately. The orgasm Alys gave you with her tongue has awakened a new, hungry desire in you.  You stifle a moan that Alys encourages you to express with her lips along your throat. 

Aemond leans over you, capturing your lips with his own. He nibbles at your lower lip. You feel his dominance, his need to own you. He's rough with his kiss, as if he's waited too long. Maybe he has.

You moan. Where Alys' body is soft and full of curves, Aemond's is angular and made of muscle. 

"I want you," he whispers again against your lips. His fingers slide down your body, lingering on your breasts as he caresses your already erect nipples. Then he moves them between your thighs. He's meticulous with his movements. Precise. He traces your slit, spreads your folds to tease your little bud. You stifle another moan.

"And I can tell you want me too."

His fingers are against your entrance, which clenches around nothing as you feel him draw circles without ever entering you. It's frustrating. Slowly, he inserts a finger. You move your hips, desperate for more contact, desperate to welcome him deeper into you.

"Stay still," Aemond whispers, pressing down on your lower body. Behind you, Alys runs her hand through your curls. She strokes your long hair and when you move, she shushes you.

"You'll take what I give you," he adds, his lips against your jaw, his fingers inside you. "But if you are patient, you will be rewarded. I always reward good girls." You feel a slight stretch as a second finger enters you, and the sensation is delicious. Delicious, but not enough. Even when he starts to move his fingers back and forth - they are subtly crooked inside you, even when he traces the curve of your breast with his mouth, catching your nipple between his lips. 

"You're doing well," Alys breathes, praising you. There's her body behind you, and Aemond's lips on your breasts, his fingers buried inside you, deep, and your body is on fire. But it's not enough.

"I'm ready," you moan. "Please."

Behind you, Alys chuckles softly, her chest rising and falling as she senses your desperation, senses your desperate need for more. The impatience of the youth, she thinks - for Aemond is like that, too. Impatient. Impulsive. She had to teach him as well. As Aemond withdraws his fingers and positions himself between your legs, you feel Alys hold your thighs apart. Her fingers are hot against your skin, but there's something soothing about having her against you, around you. Her presence calms the too-rapid beating of your heart - an inevitable form of apprehension at the thought of what is about to happen.

There's something strange about the idea of sharing such an intimate moment with your husband and his lover. It's not what you imagined, and yet you love the feeling of having them both against you. You're safe. You feel safe. The war can't reach you when you're between their bodies - it's a silly thought.

And then, his round tip rubs between your folds, testing your entrance. The contact is hot. When he finally enters you, the stretch catches you off guard, your fingers close in the sheets, then around Alys' arm.

"Fuck. You're tight." Aemond grunts.

The sensation is new and incredible - the slight pain you felt at first quickly dissipates, replaced by pleasure. 

Soon you feel nothing else. Alys' hands leave your legs and move up your body. One hand on your breast, the other at the top of your folds, where she draws slow circles around your pearl.  She knows what she's doing. She knows what she's doing, and so does Aemond. And there they are, both slaves to your own pleasure.

He sets his pace. She sets hers. You know you won't last long; your walls are already beginning to tighten around his member. You feel him so deep inside you, and there's this one spot, this one precise spot that he hits at a steady pace that makes you feel like you're seeing stars.

Soon your husband's movements become sloppy, messy. 

"Fill your wife, Aemond." Alys whispers in a commanding tone, and there's something about hearing her give orders to your husband that sends a wave of warmth through your lower belly. She reaches out her hand, strokes his hair, his cheek. "You need an heir, don't you? So, spill your seed, I know you can." She addresses Aemond, but her honeyed voice echoes in your ears. You shiver, once more. The thought. The thought is -

You feel your release sweep through your body like a wave washing over you. You throw your head back against Alys, who is already kissing you.  Her fingers leave your folds. Aemond brings them to his mouth - he cleans every trace of you that still stains her skin with a hm. It's filthy. It's indecent. But you're too far gone to think about that now. 

All you can think of is Aemond's arms around your waist as he pulls you up so you're sitting on top of him, facing him, his forehead against yours, as he spills his seed deep inside you, white ropes painting your wombs. He holds you against him, his hands on your waist, the grip mean and possessive. You put your arms around his neck, your breasts pressed against his chest. And he holds you like that, against him, when his member stops throbbing between your inner walls, when he feels his member softening inside you. When you come to your senses, still high from your second release of the evening.

"Now you truly belong to me," he whispers against your lips, and all you can answer is "Yes, I do".

As you lie back, you can still feel the sticky combination of your two fluids dripping between your thighs. But your eyelids are already heavy - your lovemaking has exhausted you. Alys strokes your hair, under Aemond's watchful eye. He's still hesitant, despite what's happened between you - but it's hard for him to be vulnerable.

"You did well," she mutters, but she doesn't know if you can hear her or if you're already asleep. Aemond finally reaches out to caress your face with a gentleness you don't recognise; his thumb against your cheek. He's soft. You look so peaceful, asleep between them.

You are not sure what tomorrow will bring. You are not sure what the future holds. But when you close your eyes, your dreams are made of crowns and sapphires.

Ashes and flames too - but you'd rather forget that. Outside, the war still rages.