#a misstep of fate

[sam-rothstein]

lol

[sunlessea]

FINALLY. AT LONG LAST. GODS TAG DROP. FREE ME.

[silvergarnet12]

What if you could find the Divine Beasts in the Depths?

You’re in this dark, alien environment, strange noises echoing around you, the inescapable anxiety your only companion. Squinting in the distance, you see a frighteningly familiar shade of blue flicker, faint in the distance.

Cautiously moving forward, you begin to realise the blue belongs to something much, much larger than a possible guardian. Eventually, an ancient behemoth looms overhead, still, silent, and empty, both at rest and unnervingly calm. A strange, restless melancholy replaces the sense of creeping dread, no less uneasy than before.

Entering the resting stone, in the corner of your eyes, you see movement flicker. At first you think a spirit, perhaps the Champions still linger… but deep down you know they’ve passed on… right?

Echoing footsteps fill the silence as you press on, avoiding gloom where there had once been malice, a desecration of a sacred resting place. You see the flicker again, turn on your foot and see for a split second, a beloved friend, an uneasy rival, a stalwart protector, a steadfast leader, an ally, a painful reminder of your worst failure. Even now, years later, it stings.

You try to get their attention, but there is no response. Instead, you watch. And realise. And mourn again. There are no spirits here. Not in the vast, decaying depths, not in the final resting places of a final hope.

These are echoes of the ones you knew. You can see them in the corner of your eyes sometimes, going about preparations for that ill-fated battle. It’s eerie, made no better by the Grand Poes gently swaying, their locations random but making uncomfortable sense.

Sometimes, on unlucky days, it is not preparations that these echoes go through. Pain torn screams faintly heard as their final moments are played out, a play on an eerie stage.

Vah Medoh groans in the dark, as the image of her pilot slams limply on her back, wing torn, and struggles to get up, defiance in his glare even now.

Vah Ruta cries a warning, as her pilot slumps over the controls, never seeing her killer, her last thought to warn the others.

Vah Rudania braces herself, as the echo of her pilot does the same, but the shield shatters, a flash of phantom heat coating the area, followed by darkness.

Vah Nabooris strides steady, until her pilot, fatigued from a relentless assualt, makes one fatal misstep in her final dance, lightning crackling in the air.

The stone beasts are restless, aware of the new threat, and unable to let go of the last pilots they’ll ever have, desperately trying to fight once more. But instead, they lay still, silent, a monument to their pilots lost to time.

What if you could find the Divine Beasts in the Depths?

[elysiaheaven]

𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠- 𝐃𝐫 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 𝐱 𝐅.𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (Smut)

Words:6000

Genre: Smut

Summary: You decided to help him create a alabaster sculpture, after he broke it. He invites you to a bath, Only to fucking read a damned book

CW: Mentions of Hickey, Marking, Degradation, Overstimulation, Bondage kink, Dom Ratio, Bottom y/n, Dirty talks, Fingering, Rough sex,

You stand in Dr. Ratio’s dimly lit workplace, the faint scent of drying plaster and damp stone lingering in the air. Sunlight filters through tall windows, casting long shadows across the half-finished sculptures and scattered tools. A broken alabaster headpiece sits on a table nearby, the remnants of his last attempt—one that shattered due to his frustration.

He’s leaning over a block of clay now, his wavy violet hair obscuring the sharp focus in his eyes as he meticulously carves details into the surface. You try to suppress a smile, but you can’t help it. Despite his irritable and sarcastic nature, you adore him.

“Focus,” Ratio’s voice slices through your thoughts. He glances at your work with a smirk that borders on condescension. “If you’re going to waste my time, at least try to do it properly.”

You huff, rolling your eyes at his sharp tongue, though deep down, you find comfort in the familiar banter. After all, this wasn’t about proving yourself to him. It was about being close to him—no matter how cruel he sometimes tried to be. He enjoyed teasing you, and you let him because, well… you loved him.

Your hands move over the clay in front of you, smoothing out the rough edges as you try to mirror his techniques. Every movement is deliberate, as if he’s watching your every misstep.

It hadn’t always been this way.

There was a time you were with Aventurine, a bond you once thought would last. The two of you shared long nights under the stars, discussing investments and strategies in a way only the IPC’s brightest could. But things changed after a specific incident—a time where you felt doubt creep into your relationship, where you felt unsure of what you wanted. Topaz offered you a new position, a way out of the pressure you had put on yourself with Aventurine. And you took it.

He made you forget it

You and Ratio met not long after that. You worked together, your skills and ambitions clashing but complementing one another in unexpected ways. It wasn’t until one fateful night in Penacony, that he confessed.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Ratio had said, his usual confidence flickering for the briefest moment. “You and Aventurine… you were something. I don’t want to be the rebound—don't want to be the second choice. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel something for you. So, there. I’ve said it. Do with that what you will.”

Your heart had pounded in your chest, unsure of how to respond. You nodded, too overwhelmed with emotions to find the words. That had been the turning point. Now, you stood by his side, his lover, his student, and more.

“You’re messing up the contours again,” he snaps, pulling you back to the present. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Maybe if you weren’t so mean about it, I’d do better,” you mutter under your breath, not entirely joking. His eyes narrow slightly, but the corner of his lips twitch upward, betraying a smirk.

"Maybe," he replies, setting his tools down and crossing his arms. "But then where’s the fun in that?"

You give him a playful glare and return to your work, but his presence beside you is comforting. He walks over, looming behind you. His muscular build casts a shadow over your small sculpture, and without warning, his hands cover yours. He guides you in carving smoother lines, his touch both firm and surprisingly gentle.

“You’re making it too complicated,” he murmurs in your ear, his voice low but full of that familiar arrogance. “Simplicity is key. Don’t overthink it.”

The sensation of his breath on your neck sends shivers down your spine. He’s close, too close for you to focus on the task. But you pretend, anyway.

“Is this better?” you ask, turning your head slightly to meet his reddish-pink eyes. They flicker with something unspoken, but he nods after a moment, letting go of your hands.

“Passable,” he says, moving away, but you catch the faintest trace of a smile.

The hours pass in a comfortable silence, the two of you working on the new alabaster headpiece for him. His sharp criticisms gradually soften into suggestions, and eventually, you create something he approves of—a new sculpture, perfect for him to wear.

You take a step back, admiring the finished product with pride.

He picks it up, turning it over in his hands before placing it on his head, the alabaster gleaming in the light. He looks at you, his usual smugness replaced with a rare moment of sincerity. “Not bad,” he says.

It’s as close to a compliment as you’re going to get, but it’s enough.

Ratio steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’ve done well,” he murmurs, voice lowering as he reaches out to gently tilt your chin up. “And… I’m glad you stayed, despite everything.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world feels still, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. He leans in slowly, his lips brushing yours in a soft, almost hesitant kiss. It’s brief, but the warmth lingers as he pulls back, eyes searching yours.

“And don’t think for a second that means I’ll be easier on you,”

You roll your eyes..

You stand back to admire your work, you don’t realize your hands are still caked in clay until you try to brush a stray hair out of your face. The smudge leaves a streak across your cheek, and when you look down, your clothes are covered in it too. You groan softly, trying to wipe it off, but it only smears further.

“You’re a mess,” Dr. Ratio’s voice comes from behind you, rich with amusement.

Before you can respond, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him. His muscular frame is warm against your back, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he holds you close. He leans his chin lightly on your shoulder, his violet hair brushing your skin as his reddish-pink eyes lock onto yours in the reflection of a nearby glass pane. There’s a playfulness in his gaze, but also something deeper, something that makes your heart race.

"You’re dirty right now,” he murmurs, his voice carrying that usual commanding tone, though softer than usual.

You twist in his arms, a teasing grin forming on your lips. “Or maybe you’re just too clean,” you whisper before leaning up to kiss him lightly, just brushing the surface of his lips.

Ratio’s eyes darken as he narrows his gaze at you. The air between you crackles with tension, and for a moment, he just stares at you, unblinking. “I’m the one who kissed you, right?” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

You barely have time to react before he cups the back of your neck and crashes his lips onto yours, kissing you with a fierce intensity that sends a wave of heat rushing through your body. His grip tightens slightly, pulling you even closer, and you melt into him, losing yourself in the moment.

His lips move against yours with practiced precision, but there’s an underlying hunger, a need that he’s finally letting surface. He tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss, and you can feel him smile against your lips when you gasp softly. There’s something both possessive and tender in the way he holds you—like he’s teaching you how to give in completely.

After a moment, Ratio pulls back just enough to speak, his voice huskier than before. “You need to stop teasing if you want to learn,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

You feel his lips brush yours again, slower this time, more deliberate. His hands guide your face as he kisses you deeper, teaching you the rhythm he wants. His tongue traces your lower lip, coaxing a response from you as his kiss grows more insistent, almost like he’s showing you every secret behind his confident, often cold demeanor.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you lean into him, completely lost in his touch. The clay on your hands leaves marks on his skin and clothes, but neither of you care. The world fades around you as Ratio pours all his frustration, passion, and unspoken feelings into the kiss, guiding you with every motion, every shift of his lips against yours.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing heavily, the air between you charged. His eyes search yours, and the usual smugness in his expression is softened by something more vulnerable, more real.

“I hope you’re paying attention,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your cheek lightly. “Because I’m not going to repeat that lesson.”

You cross your arms and give Ratio a teasing grin, knowing exactly how to push his buttons. "I didn’t get it," you say, feigning innocence, "Maybe I need a few more lessons." You bat your eyes playfully, knowing full well what you’re doing.

Ratio sighs, his lips twitching in that familiar mix of amusement and frustration. "You’re impossible, you know that?" His eyes narrow, though there’s a glint in them that says he’s not entirely annoyed. He looks down at both of you, noticing the clay smeared across your clothes, his shirt, and even your hair. "Look at us, we’re both a mess." He runs a hand through his wavy violet hair, now streaked with bits of clay. "I’m going to take a bath."

He turns to walk away, his tone casual as if what he’s about to say next is no big deal. "You should join me."

You hesitate, unsure if he’s serious. "It’s okay, I’ll—"

Ratio turns his head slightly, raising an eyebrow as if challenging you. "I don’t believe you," he says, his voice low and smooth, leaving no room for argument. His eyes flicker with something unreadable. "You’ll join me."

You swallow, your heart racing as you nod, not entirely sure what’s pulling you into this but unable to say no.

You don’t know how it happened, but here you are—submerged in fragrant, warm water, the scent of rose petals filling the air as they float lazily on the surface. The steam curls up around the edges of the large marble tub, wrapping around you like a blanket. You’re sitting across from Ratio, both of you completely naked, the water lapping softly against your skin.

Ratio, in typical fashion, looks completely unbothered. He’s reclining back, his eyes skimming over the pages of a book he must’ve grabbed on the way in. His muscles are relaxed, his toned form half-submerged in the water, and yet there’s something almost regal about the way he sits—completely in control, even in this intimate setting.

Meanwhile, you’re blushing furiously, trying to keep your eyes from wandering. The bubbles and rose petals do a decent job of covering the most vulnerable parts of your body, but it doesn’t stop the heat rising in your cheeks. You bite your lip, the silence between you heavy, but neither of you speaks. The only sound is the gentle sloshing of water and the occasional soft rustle as Ratio turns the page of his book.

A small yellow rubber duck bobs between you two, bumping against your knee. You can’t help but huff in annoyance. Here you are, completely flustered, and Ratio is sitting there, reading—acting as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

"Seriously?" you mutter under your breath, half-joking but half-frustrated. "You’re just going to ignore me and read your book? Insensitive much?"

Ratio doesn’t even look up from his book, though you can see the slight curve of a smirk on his lips. "You’re the one who said you didn’t get it," he says, his tone maddeningly calm. "Maybe if you paid more attention, I wouldn’t have to keep teaching you."

Your eyes narrow, but before you can retort, his gaze finally flicks up to meet yours. His reddish-pink eyes, framed by the soft curls of violet hair, pierce through you, making your breath catch. There’s something dark and amused in his expression, as if he’s enjoying every bit of your frustration.

"Do you want my attention, or are you just trying to be difficult?" His voice is smooth, but there’s a challenge hidden underneath it, one that makes your heart pound even faster.

You huff, crossing your arms as you stare at him, the frustration building. “You’re so unromantic,” you complain, your voice edging into a whine. “We’re in a bath together, surrounded by rose petals, and you’re just… reading?”

Ratio doesn’t even flinch, casually turning another page in his book. “The rose petals,” he says, his tone as indifferent as ever, “are for the scent. Nothing more.”

You blink at him, completely thrown off. “For the scent? You’re kidding, right?” Your eyes narrow, and you give him a look that clearly says you’re unimpressed. “Who puts rose petals in a bath just for the scent? That’s such a ridiculous excuse.”

Finally, he lowers his book slightly, glancing at you with a cold, unreadable expression. “It’s not an excuse. It’s practical.” His voice carries that usual sharpness, cutting through the thick steam around you. “Do you want the truth, or do you prefer fantasies?”

Your frustration boils over, and you push yourself up from the bath, the water cascading down your skin as you start to stand. “Unbelievable!” you mutter under your breath. “I don’t need lessons on scents from someone who doesn’t understand basic romance.”

But before you can fully rise, Ratio’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with surprising speed. In one swift motion, he pulls you back down into the water, his strength undeniable as you fall against his chest. The splash sends water spilling over the sides of the tub, and the air between you crackles with tension.

“Sit,” he commands, his voice low and firm, not giving you a chance to argue.

You glare at him, but your body goes still as you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer. His skin is warm against yours, and his touch sends a shiver down your spine, despite your irritation. He leans forward, his breath hot against your ear as he speaks, his tone slower now, more deliberate.

“You want romance?” His voice is barely a whisper, yet it sends a jolt through you. “Let me teach you something about scent.”

His hand trails up your arm, pausing to brush away a strand of wet hair from your face. “Scent is powerful,” he murmurs, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “It’s not just for decoration, it’s a signal. A memory. The roses… you’re not paying attention to what they’re really doing.”

You shiver, his words sinking in as he continues. “Roses have always been a symbol of passion, of longing. Their scent is designed to linger, to invade your senses.” His hands move up to cup your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “When you think of this moment, the scent of these petals will remind you of it—whether you like it or not.”

Your heart races, your breath coming in shallow as Ratio’s eyes hold yours, his intensity making it impossible to look away. His voice drops even lower, a subtle challenge laced within. “So, tell me again, is this unromantic? Or are you simply unaware of what’s really happening around you?”

You’re speechless, caught between the frustration you felt moments ago and the way his words now swirl in your mind. Before you can gather a response, Ratio smirks faintly, brushing his thumb against your lips.

“Next time, think before you act. You’ll find there’s more to everything than what you see on the surface.” He leans in, his lips hovering close to yours but not quite touching. “Now… do you still need another lesson, or have you learned enough?”

His words hang in the air, and you realize you’re clinging to him, your frustration long forgotten. The rose petals drift around you, their scent now intoxicating as you sit there, your body pressed against his. You bite your lip, but the heat in your cheeks is impossible to hide.

“Maybe…” you whisper, eyes half-lidded as you lean into him, “I need just one more lesson.”

As the kiss deepens, Ratio’s hands move with deliberate precision, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. He releases you from his embrace, his fingers trailing lightly down your arms, leaving a trail of tingling warmth.

“Let’s add a little more… complexity to your lesson,” Ratio murmurs, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. He reaches over to a nearby cabinet and retrieves a soft, silk blindfold. The fabric glides between his fingers as he holds it up, inspecting it with a contemplative look.

You blink, your heart pounding as he brings the blindfold closer. “What are you—”

Before you can finish, Ratio gently but firmly places the blindfold over your eyes, tying it securely behind your head. The darkness is immediate and complete, enveloping you in a world of black.

You shift uncomfortably, trying to adjust to the sudden loss of sight. The warmth of the bath and Ratio’s presence are the only things grounding you now. “Ratio… what’s this about?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, you hear him move around, the soft rustle of his clothing and the gentle splash of water filling your senses. “Studies show that when you can’t see what’s happening,” he starts, his voice a smooth, calming presence in the darkness, “your brain becomes more attuned to other senses. Touch, sound, scent—they all become heightened. It’s a fascinating phenomenon.”

You shiver, your skin tingling with anticipation and curiosity. “And what does that mean for me?”

“It means,” he says, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper, “that you’re going to experience everything in a new way.” His fingers brush lightly against your arm, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “You’ll have to rely on your other senses to understand what’s happening.”

His touch is feather-light, making you shiver as he explores your skin with a practiced, teasing touch. His fingertips graze your shoulders, your neck, and the small of your back, each touch sending waves of sensation through you. The silk blindfold leaves you feeling both vulnerable and exhilarated, heightening every whisper of his touch, every movement.

Ratio’s voice becomes a soft murmur, though it’s clear he’s enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “When the brain can’t see, it often fills in gaps with what it already knows or anticipates,” he explains. “It’s a way of adapting, of creating a picture from incomplete information. Right now, you’re creating an experience based on the limited input you’re receiving.”

You feel his breath against your ear, and his voice lowers even more, almost a purr. “The question is, how much of this can you interpret? How much will you understand without seeing it?”

His hands move to your waist, guiding you gently but firmly. His touch is both confident and tender, each caress and stroke meticulously designed to draw out your reactions. You can’t help but respond, your body leaning into his touch, the warmth and closeness of him filling your senses.

A soft, playful chuckle escapes him. “You’re reacting quite beautifully. It’s interesting how the brain can be so focused on sensation when it’s deprived of sight.” He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he continues, his voice a low, intimate whisper. “Every touch, every sound, every breath I take is magnified for you. Your mind is building an image of me, of what I’m doing, based on what you feel.”

His hands wander gently over your body, teasingly exploring every inch of your skin, making you squirm and gasp with each new sensation. The anticipation and the unknown heighten every touch, every whisper, making your pulse race.

Ratio’s fingers trail up to your neck, his touch light yet purposeful. “Tell me,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “what do you think I’m doing now? Can you imagine it? Can you sense the intention behind each touch?”

You breathe heavily, trying to focus on the sensations he’s providing, each one building a complex picture in your mind. “I… I think you’re—”

He cuts you off with another teasing touch, his fingertips tracing slow, deliberate patterns on your skin. “Think harder,” he encourages, his voice laced with amusement. “The more you pay attention, the clearer the picture becomes.”

Ratio’s lips brush lightly against your ear, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. His kisses are soft, teasing, a gentle press of warmth that contrasts with the cool air around you. The blindfold makes everything feel more intense, each touch and kiss magnified in the darkness.

You gasp softly as his lips move along the sensitive skin of your ear, trailing slow, deliberate kisses. His breath is warm and teasing against your skin, and each soft touch makes you more aware of how sensitive you are to his every move.

His hands, still resting on your waist, move upward with a tender, almost reverent touch. He explores the contours of your shoulders and neck, his fingers brushing lightly over the sensitive skin there. Each touch feels like it’s designed to provoke a response, making you squirm and lean into him more.

Ratio’s lips continue their path along your ear, his kisses growing more insistent, more lingering. He traces the outer edge of your ear with his lips, planting soft kisses along the delicate folds. The contrast between the soft, teasing kisses and the firm grip of his hands makes every sensation feel more intense, more immediate.

“You’re very responsive,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “It’s fascinating how much the brain can focus on when it’s deprived of sight. You’re feeling everything more acutely.”

His fingers trace slow, deliberate circles on your neck, drawing patterns that make you shiver with anticipation. The warmth of his touch contrasts with the cool air around you, creating a heightened sense of awareness. Each kiss, each caress, seems to build a growing tension, an almost unbearable anticipation of what’s coming next.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to whisper in your ear, his voice soft and intimate. “Do you feel how much more vivid everything is? How each touch is amplified because you can’t see it?”

Before you can answer, Ratio’s lips find their way back to your ear, his kisses becoming more fervent. His tongue occasionally flicks out to trace the delicate skin, each movement precise and deliberate. You feel his hands gently slide from your neck to the sides of your torso, his touch both gentle and commanding.

His kisses become more exploratory, his lips moving to the sensitive spots just behind your ear. The sensation is almost overwhelming, making your breathing come in short, erratic bursts. He continues to tease you with soft, lingering kisses, his touch expertly calibrated to make you shiver and gasp.

“I want you to understand,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive whisper, “how every sensation is magnified when you can’t see. It’s a lesson in perception and anticipation.” He leans in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear in a way that makes your pulse quicken. “Each touch, each kiss, is meant to make you feel more intensely. I want you to remember this feeling.”

Then! Life was tooo good! He told you a business and you were ready to suck it off!

You immediately got down to business.

You did everything as carefully as possible and delayed the process in order to tease Veritas and see how he would react. He was reacting, even if he barely showed it. His breathing was labored, but he was still looking at you with the same arrogance.

You continue your meticulous work, you're keenly aware of every reaction from Ratio. His breaths grow heavier, his arrogant gaze softening just a fraction. But still, he maintains that cool demeanor, watching you intently as you go about your task.

With each teasing delay, each flick of your tongue, you sense his control slipping. Yet, he holds onto his composure, refusing to show you any satisfaction until you've earned it.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of torturous pleasure, you taste the first signs of his release. His cock twitches in your hand, pulsing as thick spurts of cum coat your tongue. You try to pull away, wanting to avoid the mess, but his grip tightens in your hair, yanking you back down.

"No, keep going," he commands, his voice strained but still commanding. "Take it all."

His command sends another wave of arousal through your body, and despite yourself, you comply. You continue to suck and lick, taking in every last drop of his cum while he watches, his eyes burning with a mix of satisfaction and possession.

When he finally pulls free, you gasp for air, your mouth slick with his seed. But before you can wipe your lips clean, he binds your wrists behind your back, then grabs a length of rope and begins tying a blindfold around your eyes.

"Let's see how well you do without being able to watch me," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "And remember, every point you earn gets you closer to freedom."

Without warning, he plunges a digit inside you, feeling your walls clench around him instinctively. Hmm, looks like you're already quite ready for my cock, he muses, adding another finger to stretch you wider.

Ratio continues to explore your depths with his fingers, his movements deliberate and calculated. "As you can feel, your inner muscles are already contracting around me," he explains, his voice a low purr against your ear. "This is a natural response to stimulation, a sign of your body's readiness for penetration."

His fingers curl inward, rubbing against that sensitive spot deep within you. "The G-spot, as it's commonly known, is actually an area of concentrated nerve endings," he continues, his words a sensual counterpoint to the sensations he's evoking. "Stimulation here can lead to intense pleasure and even orgasm."

He adds a third finger, stretching you further as he applies gentle pressure to your clit. "Your body's reactions are telling me that you're highly responsive to these types of touches," he notes, his tone clinical yet infused with dark desire.

Ratio's fingers delve deeper, you can't help but cry out, your moans echoing in the room. "It's too much," you whimper, but the truth is far different. Your body craves more, hungers for the fullness only his cock can provide.

"You study so much," you breathe out between gasps, "but don't forget to enjoy the results." Even as you speak, your hips buck against his hand, seeking friction where you need it most.

His kiss is a claiming, his tongue dominating yours in a dance as old as time. It's a stark contrast to the scientific observations he's been making moments ago, but it fits perfectly with the primal urge coursing through your veins.

He breaks the kiss, his fingers stop their relentless assault, leaving you hanging on the edge of bliss. "Remember, this is just the warm-up,"

Ratio pauses his ministrations, letting you bask in the waves of pleasure that ripple through your body. He gives you a moment to catch your breath, his fingers trailing tantalizing patterns across your heated flesh.

"How do you feel?" he queries, his voice laced with a hint of concern. "Are you enjoying this? Or do you wish I'd hurry things along?" Despite his seemingly detached inquiry, his touch betrays his own growing excitement.

Before you can answer, he abruptly withdraws his fingers, leaving you empty and craving. "No," he says firmly, catching your hands in his and pinning them above your head. "I want to see how you handle the absence of sensation. How does that make you feel?"

Your mind reels from the sudden loss of stimulation, your body screaming for more even as you struggle to form coherent thoughts. "N-nothing," you stammer, your voice shaking. "It feels like nothing at all."

Ratio hums thoughtfully, his fingers trailing down your side to rest on your hip. "Interesting," he muses. "Your brain is processing the lack of sensation, interpreting it as a void rather than actual pain or discomfort. This suggests a high level of sexual tolerance and adaptability."

He leans in close, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers, "I think we can push you even further. Let's see how you react when I deny you both touch and sight." With that, he reaches for the blindfold, preparing to cover your eyes once more.

...................!!!!!!!! "It's..time to go on."

With a swift movement, Ratio removes the blindfold, revealing the world once more to your desperate eyes. But instead of touching you himself, he simply places his hand near your throbbing center, his fingers hovering just above your most sensitive spot.

"Cum for me," he commands, his voice firm and commanding. "Show me what I've done to you." His hand remains still, not providing the direct stimulation you crave, forcing you to rely on your own efforts to achieve release.

The tension coils tighter within you, your body begging for relief. But without his guidance, you're left to navigate the storm of emotions and sensations on your own.

With a sharp cry, you finally surrender to the mounting pleasure, your body convulsing as waves of climax crash over you. Your juices gush forth, soaking Ratio's hand and dripping onto the bed beneath you.

But the reprieve is fleeting. Before you can even catch your breath, he pushes you back onto the mattress, holding you down firmly. "That was just a preview," he declares, his voice a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. "Now, let's continue our little experiment."

He leans over you, his gaze locked onto yours as he teases open your folds with his fingers. Each slow, deliberate thrust sends another shockwave of pleasure through your system, reigniting the flames of desire that had barely begun to cool.

"Study and lesson," he reminds you, his tone dripping with carnal intent. "And remember, I'm in control."

Ratio's fingers continue their torturous dance, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure from your quivering body. But then, without warning, he replaces his fingers with the thick, rigid length of his cock. The sudden intrusion makes you gasp, your body stretching to accommodate his size.

He takes his time, savoring each inch as he slides deeper inside you. The stretch and burn are exquisite, pushing you to new heights of arousal. "Feel that?" he growls, pausing to give you a moment to adjust. "That's power. That's control."

With a steady pace, he begins to move, setting a rhythm designed to drive you mad with lust

Moans spill from your lips, raw and primal, as Ratio drives into you relentlessly. Each thrust sends a fresh wave of ecstasy crashing through your body, threatening to sweep you away in its intensity.

"Louder," he demands, his voice strained with effort. "Let me hear how much you love this." He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you.

Your cries echo off the walls, mingling with the obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh. The pleasure builds higher and higher, coiling tighter within you until you feel ready to burst.

The rubber duck he always keeps innocently floats past, and you had half a mind to reach out and turn its gaze away from the 'scene'.

"Focus on the sensation," Ratio instructs, his voice a husky whisper in your ear. "Notice every detail - the heat, the friction, the way my cock stretches you open."

As he speaks, he adjusts his angle, hitting a sweet spot deep within you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. "This is crucial data," he continues, his thrusts becoming more erratic as his own pleasure mounts. "Understanding the nuances of pleasure will help me craft the perfect experience for you."

His words are a distant hum, lost in the sea of sensation that engulfs you. All you can do is cling to him, arching your back to meet his increasingly brutal thrusts.

Cries of pleasure and frustration tear from your throat as Ratio's relentless pounding drives you closer and closer to the edge. Each word he utters only serves to fan the flames of your desire.

"That's it," he praises, his grip on your hips tightening. "Endure it like a good little bitch you are." His words are a crude insult, but they only add to the eroticism of the situation.

The coil inside you snaps, releasing a torrent of orgasmic bliss that washes over you in powerful waves. Your inner walls clench around Ratio's cock, milking him for all he's worth.

The final tremors of your shared climax fade away, Ratio collapses onto you, his weight pressing you into the tub. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly.

"I want to feel you come undone one more time," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with satisfaction. Slowly, almost gently, he begins to move inside you once more, coaxing your oversensitive body towards yet another peak.

With a final, powerful surge, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsating as he spills his hot seed into your waiting womb. The sensation triggers another orgasm, your body trembling and convulsing around him as you milk him dry.

Your moans mingle with his grunts of exertion, creating a symphony of passion that fills the room. Together, you climb the slopes of ecstasy, racing towards the pinnacle of pleasure. And as you crest the final hill, tumbling into oblivion together, you know that this is only the beginning of your journey into the depths of depravity.

The aftermath of your intense and passionate encounter leaves you feeling both exhilarated and drained. You’re trying to shake off the lingering sensations and focus on the task at hand: cooking. Your legs still tremble slightly as you attempt to prepare a meal, the aftermath of Ratio’s teasing and touch making it difficult to concentrate.

Ratio stays close by, his presence a constant reminder of the events that just unfolded. He watches you with an amused smirk, his gaze flickering between you and the cooking. “You’re not doing it quite right,” he says, his voice carrying that familiar mix of criticism and amusement. “The way you’re handling the ingredients is all wrong.”

You huff, your frustration bubbling up. “Oh, really? Maybe if you hadn’t spent so much time teasing me, I wouldn’t be such a mess right now.”

Ratio raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a more intense expression of amusement. “Is that so? It’s not my fault if you’re unable to focus. Perhaps you need more practice.”

You shoot him a glare, but before you can say anything else, Ratio steps closer. His movements are quick and decisive, and before you fully realize what’s happening, he gently but firmly pushes you onto the table. The action catches you off guard, and you find yourself splayed out on the surface, the cool touch of the table against your skin contrasting with the warmth of the kitchen.

Ratio stands over you, his eyes glinting with a mix of dominance and satisfaction. “I think you need a different kind of lesson,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “One that doesn’t involve cooking.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you struggle to regain your composure. “Ratio, what are you—”

He silences you with a finger on your lips, his touch light but authoritative. “Shh. Cooking can wait. Right now, you’re going to learn something more practical.”

His hands move with a deliberate calmness, as though he’s in complete control of the situation. He leans over you, his proximity making it hard to think clearly. His gaze is intense, his presence overwhelming.

“You were so eager to challenge me earlier,” he murmurs, his voice a deep, seductive whisper. “Now, let’s see if you can handle a different kind of lesson.”

His hands roam lightly over your body, his touch both firm and gentle. The contrast between the cool surface of the table and his warm, teasing touch creates a heightened sense of awareness, making every movement more intense.

“Tell me,” he says, his lips brushing against your ear, “how do you feel now? Do you understand the difference between the lessons I’ve given you and the ones you’re trying to master?”

You try to respond, but your voice comes out as a shaky whisper. “I… I get it. I’m sorry for complaining. I just—”

Ratio interrupts you with a soft, teasing kiss along your neck, his touch sending shivers through you. “You’re not just apologizing for the cooking, are you?” he asks, his tone playful yet commanding. “You’re acknowledging that there’s more to learn, more to experience.”

His hands continue their exploration, his touch both tender and possessive. You find yourself unable to resist the sensations he’s creating, the way his presence and touch make everything else fade into the background.

“Cooking will come later,” Ratio says, his voice a seductive whisper as he leans in even closer. “Right now, focus on what’s happening here, on what you’re feeling.”

[wntrswolf]

an arsonist's lullaby

✧ pair: benjicot "davos" blackwood (fancast) x freader!targaryen

✧ theme/warning(s): dark, heavy angst turned fluff — tw: mentions of hallucinations, anxiety / progressive panic attack(s). + all characters are of age! (18+) | contains hotd spoilers!

✧ word count: 2.7k

✧ a/n: this one-shot is a gift for @ithilwen-blackwood! firstly, thank you for tagging me on your request! it sparked a drive in me that i thought had left years ago, i had a great pleasure writing this one. secondly, given the prompt, i hope you, and the other pretty readers, enjoy reading my version. c: thank you!!!

✧ summary: to dream is to escape, granting a momentary nirvana as one falls into the refuge of imagination. yet, for the princess, a night in the supposedly cursed fortress of the riverlands, dreams became not mere fantasies but glimpses of destiny that would seal unwritten fate.

Daemon’s voice roars in the vastness of the dining hall. “We shall make camp before night falls. Come the morrow’s light, we resume our travels. See to it you are rested, we have yet a journey ahead of us.” Your father meets your gaze and nods solemnly, signalling his dismissal. You return the gesture with a faint smile, acknowledging his silent command to depart.

The murmurs of the troop swelled, each hastening to claim their place within the grim walls of Harrenhal. You remained steadfast, observing the weariness that were etched on the faces of the scrambling men around you. Gradually, the ache in your body began to throb, a reminder that the arduous journey had also taken its toll on your body. Despite the envy others held with their perceptions, it was not an easy task being a dragon rider—for an adult dragon, it was a feat far from simple.

Celestrya, much like her namesake, is a magnificent dragon. Her iridescent scales of aquamarine and amethyst create a mesmerising display of colours as she glides through the heavens. Yet, behind the deceptive beauty of your winged serpent lies a stubborn and formidable nature. Beneath her elegant appearance lies a fierce determination and commanding presence that demands respect from all who crossed her path. 

Your gaze swept the hall a final time, assuring all was in order before you sought your own repose. However, capturing your attention was the distorted shadow that stood by the hearth. The wavering figure you always came to see ensnared you yet again with its haunting presence, engulfing you in its deafening whispers. As was your custom, you sought to evade the encroaching darkness, only to collide with another in your haste escape. Unaware you had been holding your breath, you gasped heavily, abruptly jolting back to reality.

“Princess,” the young man spoke, “my apologies.” The firm grasp on your arms steadied you, preventing any falter, while your palms pressed against his chest. Slightly breathless, your eyes scanned for the shadow that had mysteriously disappeared.

“Princess?”

You hummed in response, your voice barely above a whisper, “Oh, my apologies.” You steadied your breathing, glancing up at the young man to realise the close proximity between you. In a moment of fluster, you withdrew from his grasp. 

“No,” he says as he scratched behind his head, “the fault lies with me. I failed to watch my path.” his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. As you regain your composure, you recognise the young man before you as belonging to House Blackwood, evident from his attire and the sigil pin securing his burgundy-black cape.

“Should my father and I be concerned, then?” you quipped with a nervous chuckle escaping your throat, eager to lighten the mood of the exchange and conceal your own tension. Playing with the thread on your dress—a familiar nervous tic—you continued, "I mean, a lapse in attention seems trivial, but in these times of impending war, every misstep carries weight.” a subtle smile gracing your lips. 

He responds with a nervous chuckle, striving to maintain his composure. "Forgive me, my lady, but I assure you, House Blackwood stands ready for whatever battles may come—and I have seen to it myself.” He spoke his words earnestly, eyes reassuring you that he indeed spoke truth—a revelation of his confidence in both his army and himself.

You chuckle.

“It was but a jest,” you offered him a warm smile, "Nonetheless, I am heartened to hear of your preparations. I believe our houses make a strong alliance, Sir…” 

“Benjicot Blackwood, my lady.” 

“Ah, the Lord of Raventree.” you acknowledged respectfully. “I extend my deepest sympathies, and I thank you for standing as a stalwart ally in our cause. It means much to us.”

“Thank you, my lady. If anything, it is an honor.” 

“Daenyra,” you replied softly, setting aside formalities in the presence of the young Lord.

What had prompted this departure from convention? You did not know. Could it be that despite his fierce demeanour, you saw a glimpse of vulnerability? his vulnerability. Perhaps you saw in him a fledgling lord who had witnessed the brutal toll of conflict—on his kin, his men, and even those he had been compelled to confront in his duties. A fledgling thrusted into authority unexpectedly—an experience you both share.

“It has been a long day,” you continued with a chuckle, “I believe I have had my fill of the formalities for now," feeling your nerves starting to settle.

“Of course, my la–” he began, but stopped short under your playful glare, “Ahem, Daenyra… Daenyra.” His voice softened, the repetition of your name becoming more natural on his tongue. The young man had uttered your name many a time, yet with your insistence that he address you by your name, simply your name, made him feel acknowledged.

You both chuckled. 

“Although, pardon the intrusion, I hope it does not mean to offend,” he continued cautiously, “but were you alright? When I bumped into you, you—” 

He had.

He had noticed. 

“Princess Daenyra,” a slender, raven-haired woman called out, interrupting your exchange with the Blackwood Lord. You thanked her mentally; wondering if it was deliberate or mere happenstance, but chose not to dwell on it. Turning towards the woman who commanded your attention, you were immediately captivated by her mystical aura and hauntingly beautiful features. “The camp is set. We shall have you escorted to your quarters.” she announced, her sharp blue eyes locking intensely with yours, leaving an impression that lingered in your mind. 

“Yes, of course,” you breathed, turning to the young Lord, prepared to bid him goodnight. “I apologise, Lord Benjicot–”

“Benji,” he corrected in haste. You were slightly taken aback, finding the informality endearing—as it reflected your own.

“I apologise, Benji. It has indeed been quite a journey, and we are weary and in need of rest,” you replied, your nervous tic making a subtle appearance again. Glancing around, you realise that it was just you, Benji, and a few other swordsmen left in the dining hall. With a slight huff, you added, “I shall see you in the morn, then?”

“Y-yes… my lady– D-Daenyra…” he stuttered, inwardly chagrined at his stumble. Despite his embarrassment, you bestowed one last smile and nod before pivoting on your heel, the echoes of your departing footsteps fading gradually into the distance.

In your absence, he chastised himself that his worry might have gotten the best of him; it was ridiculous, really.

After all, you were a Targaryen Princess, the sole daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, with the pure blood of the dragon coursing your veins. You inherited the ruthless and intense nature of your father, feared in combat where no man ever survived your blade. Needless to mention of the adult dragon under your command, the beast could devour him and his entire retinue, and would still be insatiable.

But amid the thoughts, he saw something in you that he could not quite describe—perhaps the sight of your gentle hands fidgeting, a stark contrast to the image of a warrior who must have slain a thousand men by now, he reckoned.

Reflecting on the moment of your collision, he realised that you, too, were simply a young woman—a lady of his own age—navigating a world fraught with responsibilities imposed by the realm. And now, on the march, leading an army of men to fight against the usurpers, and reclaim the justice that your mother, the Queen, had lost.

A familiar whistle—a melody only his dear aunt used—pierced through his thoughts, instantly capturing his attention, “Let us retire for the night, yea?” Her thumb gesture over her shoulder as she looked at him expectantly. 

"Yeah... yeah," the young man nodded, shaking his head to clear his thoughts as weariness settled in.

Perhaps he was simply tired, allowing himself to dwell on thoughts that were not his to ponder. The princess was more than capable of defending herself, even from a lord she had met that night.

And still, he did. 

It was still the dead of night, you surmised. The clamouring assembly that would rouse you from slumber had yet to commence, awaiting for the break of morn. Pain gnawed through every fibres of your being; the harsh, cold surroundings of Harrenhal offered no respite from your discomfort. Your gaze fixed on the patterns of the canopy you lie beneath, the soft patter of rain acting as your lullaby. You closed your eyes as you sought after slumber once more.

Without success, you shifted uncomfortably in the makeshift mattress, propping yourself up on the firm pillows that offered little comfort. 

You sigh.

To your confusion, a sudden breeze rustled the entrance flaps of your tent, the fabric dancing along the gentle gusts. Goosebumps prickled your skin as you hear the familiar whispering—voices that haunted you time and time again; yet, it would be the first time you heard it spoke your name, 

“Daenyra…” 

You sucked in a breath, the thump in your chest increasing its tempo. The phantom’s whispers are heard beyond the refuge of your tent. Your palm dampens with cold sweat, as terror etched itself onto your features. 

Despite the urge of pursuit, fear had kept you in its confines, afraid of probing what had lurked in the darkness—in fear that the spectre that observed you would swallow you with its frightening taunts.

Or could it be an ambush? A ploy orchestrated by the Greens. A sorceress used to alter the perceptions of the formidable princess of the realm—a plausible explanation, is it not?

The vendetta within your family: Retaliation.

An eye for an eye.

A son for a son.

They would just simply have to seize the moment, right when you are in your defenceless trance.

‘Ambush the Blacks, slay the princess and prince consort while abed, and we make the Blackwoods bend the knee to the rightful heir,' you reckon they thought.

An absurd, petty measure, but an irrefutable one closer to a checkmate. 

Nevertheless, a ruse as such would never come to pass—existing only in the realm of imagination.

You were torn between fears: a haunting apparition or mortal hands that could lead to your demise.

Your conscience came to a ground that despite the fear residing in your bones, an audacious drive took over you to follow the bewitching voice. 

The ominous sight of the empty hall sent a chill in your spine, dim candles and occasional flashes of lightning provided sparse light amid the storm. You held the lantern, a guiding luminance, close to your body to warding off the encroaching darkness and hoped that the flame would not cease; and your other hand grips tightly by the hilt, wielding your sword.

Guided by the mystic call once more, you prudently tread your way within the ruin.

“Daenyra…” The voice growing clearer and louder with each step.

“Daenyra…” Again. 

“Daenyra…” Your breath grew ragged and shallow. Panic gripping your chest like a vise, squeezing air out of your lungs. 

It was not until you reached the grand iron doors that you realised where it led you—the dining hall. Thrusting open the heavy door, it creaked loudly. Once again, you were confronted with the shadow by the fire—the sight intensifying your fear, quickening your heart. 

“Daenyra…” The once-unrecognisable voice now rang clear, luring you towards the flame.

You approached the hearth cautiously, a sense of foreboding thickening the air as the shadow dissipated. The crackling of the fire seemed to roar in your ears, the blaze casting its orange hue upon you and its warmth seeping into your body. Entranced, your brow furrowed as you stared into the flickering flames. 

The voice spoke yet again, shifting to that of your weeping mother, calling out your name.

Your body tensed, skin tingling as if touched by flames.

"Mother?" you breathed out.

Suddenly, within the flames you hear wails of anguish as a hand emerges from the flames. With a sense of charmed urgency, you cried out and reached for the hand, the flare enveloping yours with a searing kiss.

Agh!

Recoiling, overwhelmed by the blinding flash of pain, you collapsed to your knees. Your sword dropping with a clatter as the haunting echoes of voices reverberated louder than ever in your mind:

That of the cries of babes, blood-curdling screams, galloping horses, agonising shouts of a thousand men, clashes of metal, thunderous roars of dragons and fire, and in the haze, unintelligible murmurings. 

“No… no… no,” you whispered, each heartbeat echoing like thunder in your ears,

THUMP

THUMP

THUMP

The dining hall began to close in around you, the heat becoming overbearing.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trembling hands covering your ears in a desperate attempt to silence the chaos consuming you.

“Daenyra…” It cried.

“Make it stop…” you pleaded, rocking back and forth. The sword lay forgotten on the stone floor, and the lantern burnt out, its presence unnoticed in the turmoil. 

“Daenyra…” It cried out again.

“Please…” 

“Daenyra?” A male voice softly whispered to you, gently shaking you from repose. “Dae–”

You woke with a sharp breath, a sob escaping your throat.

The dark figure hovering over you prompted a renewed wave of anxiety as you sat up abruptly, causing the figure to topple back. Your eyes darted around in fear, spotting a dagger that sits on the foot of the mattress, you still as dread overcame your body—unable to muster a shout or a scream.

It was not until the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the dishevelled form of the Blackwood male that you realised you had emerged from sleep. You watch the young man in confusion as he had been hovering over you while you were abed, his blade just within reach. 

“B-Benji?” you croaked out as your chest heaved with staggered breaths. Your hair stuck to your tear-stained face, glistening beads of sweat lining your neck and chest. Trembling hands grasped onto his arm. 

“Princess,” his velvet voice replied gently, “Forgive me, my tent neighbours yours,” his eyes locked onto yours, “I could not find rest. I-I remained awake, but I heard sobs and…” 

You release a breath of relief that had been caught in anxiety.

“T-Thank you,” you uttered, meeting his gaze gratefully. For a moment, the tension in the air begins to ease. “For waking me up.” you added with a slight nod, your breath steadying in his reassuring presence.

Benji's expression softened, his gaze tender and unwavering as he, hesitant at first, gently wiped a stray tear from your cheek. "'Tis nothing," he murmured softly.

You offered him a faint smile, your hands working to compose yourself from your unsettled state.

Just a night’s terror.

Sighing softly, you wiped your palms over your face, hoping to dispel the lingering fatigue that still weighed upon your body.

At that moment, Benjicot hesitated, unsure whether to depart now that you had acknowledged his role in rousing you from the terror. Despite this, he remained seated with you in the hushed confines of your tent. His concern, which had grown since your exchange late last night and continued into the early hours of the dark morn, stirred his curiosity about your well-being before your unexpected encounter.

The fragility in your voice shattered the pregnant silence, “I…” you chuckled softly, airily. “I– I don’t know what I saw,” you admitted softly, voice slightly trembling.

“All I know is that it felt… real." you said pensively, unconsciously playing with a loose thread on the quilt that covered you. "It sounded so real.” your voice barely above a whisper.

Noting your nervous tic, “Dreams can be cruel,” Benji spoke. You watch as his hands gently took hold of yours, his thumb brushing soothingly over the backs of your hands—the gesture fluttering your heart. “But they are also just dreams, m’ lady.” he reassured with a smile.

He continued ever so delicately, "I too face the same darkness. You are not alone.” he whispered, his eyes locked with yours.

His words enveloped you in comfort, as did his mere presence—offering solace with each reassuring word and gentle touch.

You found yourself instinctively seeking if he would become a comforting constant in your moment of vulnerability. You long for his warmth, a feeling you had already sensed from the young man, since the previous night's encounter. 

“Stay… will you?” you whispered, your hands nestled in his, a self-conscious gaze falling to your lap.

He tightened his grip slightly, offering you a comforting squeeze. "As my princess commands," he replied softly, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

a/n: soooo how was it? i feel like i rambled a bit too much in my writing. my brain went haywire since i wanted to add everything i thought of (ideas were popping up left n right up n down) but i added what i could: character cameos, witch's hallucination vs dragon dream??? hihihihi anyways! do not hesitate to comment ur thoughts, i appreciate reading them! ♡

[my-religion-greek-myth]

Freedom far away

It's been burning my brain ever since the finale of Agatha All Along.

This blog isn't for the writing purpose but I'm bending my own rule in the name of Agatha XD. I might upload one more if I can organise my imagination on these two

Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio

You were the firstborn of an esteemed aristocratic house, a position that brought both privilege and a constant, heavy gaze upon you. Eyes followed every room you entered and every event you attended. Though the title of heir would never be yours solely because you were a lady, it never seemed to matter to those around you. They treated you as if the future of the house rested upon your shoulders. The elders murmured of marriage alliances with royalty or influential families, whispering that your union could change the fate of your house. Other noble families saw you as a formidable rival, watching closely, ever-ready to seize on the slightest misstep, to turn it into fodder for gossip and criticism.

But you despised the role thrust upon you. While others revered the traditions, the traditional rules and propriety that dictated your every action, you only saw them as chains, binding you to a life scripted long before you were born. You longed to live on your terms, laugh freely, speak without calculation, and defy the mould others sought to press you into. You knew well that the path to freedom would not be simple—but that only made the dream burn brighter.

Besides, you possessed a power that would bring fear and scorn if anyone found out. In a world so bound by tradition and superstition, it was a power that might get you branded as a freak or, worse, stoned to death. You knew the origin of this ability, even if the elders dared not mention it. One of your ancestors had been a shaman, a fact buried under layers of silence and shame. Shamans were both revered and despised—consulted in times of desperation, yet viewed with suspicion and disdain due to their mysterious power.

Only your parents and siblings knew of your gift; not even the current lord of the household, your grandfather, had any inkling. You could command animals, bending them to your will. It had always been that way. At first, it simply seemed that animals were drawn to you. Birds would land beside you without fear, perching on your shoulder or finger. Dogs and cats would flock around you whenever you went outside, rolling onto their backs, begging for your touch. When an agitated horse reared at the central market, a single whisper from you could calm it. It was a charming quirk to everyone else—a testament to your vibrant, gentle nature. But you knew better. This wasn’t mere kindness; it was a hidden power that connected you to the earth's creatures in a way no one else could understand.

But then, it did not matter.

You sighed deeply, resting your chin on your hand. If anyone from the household saw you like this, they would scold you, demanding you act like a noble lady and not lounge on the ground like some street thug in your fine dress. The thought made you scoff.

Earlier, you had overheard a conversation between your grandfather and parents about a potential marriage proposal, and as soon as the word "marriage" came up, you’d bolted from the house. You ignored the calls of your servants and dashed out, uncaring of the stares you attracted along the way.

You kept running, heading toward the edge of the city to the well at the foot of the mountain, next to an ancient willow tree. It was a public place but one where you felt most free. Hardly anyone came here, as it was too remote, and many were scared in case of tigers coming down from the mountain. There was another well closer to the city centre where people preferred gathering and drinking water. Besides, this well was near a shaman’s house, marked by the colourful ribbons tied to the trees nearby—a symbol of ritual and mysticism that kept most people away.

You savoured the solitude of this place, where you could escape the eyes and expectations of others, if only for a moment. Then, you saw them; a couple approaching the well where you sat. The man was wearing a garment in a shade between blue and green, a black fan flicking in his right hand as he spoke. The woman beside him was clad in a dignified violet and purple dress, her posture commanding, though her face was drawn into a faint scowl. They seemed to be in a heated exchange—not quite arguing, but the woman was rolling her eyes while the man chuckled, clearly amused by whatever they were discussing.

As they came closer, a realisation struck you. The man's voice… it was softer, lighter than you had expected, almost too gentle to belong to an adult man. In fact, there was something subtly feminine about him, something that made you look again. He moved with an effortless grace, and though his features held a certain softness.

You couldn’t help but feel a spark of curiosity. Strangers rarely ventured to this remote spot—especially not ones with the dignified grace this pair exuded. As they noticed you, the man gave a slight nod, acknowledging your presence, while the woman raised a single eyebrow, appraising you with an air of amusement. Despite your longing for freedom, the ingrained teachings of etiquette tugged at you, urging you to be polite. You rose to your feet as gracefully as you could manage, offering them a courteous greeting. The man’s dark brown eyes were warm, but behind their softness, you saw a glint of sharp intelligence and a touch of mischief, as though he saw through everything around him. Then, your gaze fell upon the woman. Her eyes—a striking shade of blue—were unlike any you had seen before, deep and captivating, like the ocean’s endless expanse. You found yourself unable to look away, entranced by their beauty. Noticing your gaze, she offered you a small, knowing smile, soft yet tinged with a subtle seductiveness that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Why would a noble lady be here without anyone to protect you?" the man asked, his gaze drifting over the surrounding deep mountains looming over them.

Hearing his voice so clearly, you began to suspect the man was, in fact, a woman. Her voice was captivating, with a rich, melodic quality, yet there was a subtle softness in her frame—a faint curve at her chest that might go unnoticed by most.

"I always come here," you touched your wrist. "Whenever I feel the need of an escape." You leaned back against the well, feeling the cool stone pressing into your back, grounding you.

The woman exchanged a look with her companion before shifting closer and leaning against the well wall beside you. She gave you a mischievous smile. "Wanna talk about it, doll?"

"I don't even know you," you replied cautiously, sizing them up.

Both exuded a quiet authority, an unmistakable presence. It was obvious they were not ordinary travellers—they bore the poise and refinement of nobility. But were they friends or potential adversaries?

The woman in men’s clothing smiled, her eyes briefly darkening as a cloud cast a fleeting shadow over the sun.

“I’m Rio,” she said, her voice lilting like a soft melody as if each syllable held a secret. Her gaze slid toward the woman standing beside you.

“I’m Agatha,” came the whispered reply, the words warm and close, her fingers grazing yours, sending a shiver of electricity down your spine.

"Rio, Agatha," you murmured, savouring the unfamiliar rhythm of their names as they lingered on your tongue.

This was how you met them, how they welcomed you into their embrace. And it was at this moment that your status as a noble began to crumble, all in the name of seeking freedom. To be with them.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hi, can I ask something with Logan where the reader is upset with themselves because everything they do or say, even in good fate, turns out wrong or the situation gets worse. Logan knows that they meant well so he tries his best to comfort them.

I hope I've made myself clear, English is not my first language.

Feel free to ignore this ask if you don't like this idea, but thank you if you write it💕

The day had gone from bad to worse. It seemed like every time you tried to help, things just spiraled further out of control. It started with the morning’s training session, where you’d suggested a different approach to help one of the newer students with their powers. You meant well, but the suggestion backfired, and the student’s confidence took a hit instead of improving.

Then, during lunch, you offered to help Jean in the kitchen, thinking it would lighten her load. But somehow, your attempt to help ended with the oven catching fire—something you didn’t even know was possible with an oven that barely required turning on. By the time you’d managed to get everything under control, Jean had reassured you that it was fine, but you still felt awful.

As the day wore on, your missteps piled up. A few misspoken words caused tension between two friends, a forgotten task led to a delay in the day’s lesson plan, and by the time evening rolled around, you were feeling utterly defeated.

You tried to retreat to your room, hoping to avoid any further disasters, but it seemed like fate wasn’t quite done with you yet. You nearly collided with Logan in the hallway, the last person you wanted to see when you were feeling this low.

“Whoa, easy there,” Logan said, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder. He took one look at your face and frowned. “You alright?”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. The day’s events played over and over in your mind, each one a reminder of how badly you’d messed up. You couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and they spilled over before you could stop them.

“I just… I keep messing everything up,” you managed to say, your voice thick with frustration and self-reproach. “All I wanted to do was help, but I keep making things worse. It’s like everything I touch turns to disaster.”

Logan’s frown deepened, but there was no anger or disappointment in his eyes—only concern. “Come on,” he said gently, guiding you toward the nearby lounge. “Let’s sit down for a minute.”

You let him lead you to the worn leather couch, sinking into the cushions with a heavy sigh. Logan took a seat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“Start from the beginning,” he said, his tone calm and steady. “What happened?”

You recounted the events of the day, each mistake feeling like a fresh wound as you spoke. Logan listened quietly, his expression unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to keep you from breaking down completely.

When you finished, you wiped at your eyes, feeling drained and embarrassed. “See? I just make everything worse. Maybe I should stop trying so hard…”

Logan was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor as if deep in thought. Then, he turned to look at you, his expression softening in a way that was rare for him.

“Listen,” he began, his voice gruff but laced with a kind of rough warmth. “You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. You were just tryin’ to help, right?”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep from crying again. “But I still messed everything up.”

“Yeah, well, stuff happens. Even when you’re doin’ your best. But that doesn’t mean you’re a screw-up.” Logan leaned back, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Hell, I’ve messed up plenty of times myself. Done things that went sideways even when I thought I was doin’ the right thing. But that doesn’t make you a bad person. It just means you’re human.”

“But everyone else…” you started to say, but Logan cut you off with a wave of his hand.

“Everyone else knows you meant well. You think Jean’s mad about the oven? She knows you were just tryin’ to help. And the student you were helpin’? They’ll bounce back. You’ll get another shot to help ‘em out.”

You sniffled, trying to process his words. “But what if I keep messing up?”

Logan let out a low chuckle, surprising you. “Then you keep trying. You learn from it and try again. No one here expects you to be perfect—not even me.”

The sincerity in his voice touched you in a way you hadn’t expected. Logan wasn’t the type to offer comforting words easily, but when he did, they hit home.

“You got a good heart, and that counts for somethin’,” Logan continued, his gaze locking onto yours. “You care about people, and you wanna do right by them. That’s more important than getting everything perfect. So stop beatin’ yourself up over this.”

You managed a small smile, feeling the weight on your chest lighten just a bit. “Thanks, Logan. I needed to hear that.”

He nodded, as if it was no big deal. But the way he was looking at you, with that rare mix of understanding and reassurance, told you that he meant every word.

“Now, how about we get outta here for a bit? You’ve had a rough day. Maybe we can go for a walk, clear your head.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the idea of getting some fresh air—and spending a bit more time with Logan—was too appealing to pass up. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you stood up, Logan placed a hand on your shoulder again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doin’ fine, you know that? Don’t let one bad day make you think otherwise.”

With Logan by your side, you felt a newfound sense of determination. Maybe you wouldn’t get everything right all the time, but that didn’t mean you weren’t making a difference. And as long as you had people like Logan around to remind you of that, you knew you’d be okay.

[lilisettean]

Ice Wine | Zayne/Reader

About: A slight misstep and slip of hand when playfully shoving Zayne caused you to fall onto his lap, with you straddling him.

Pairing: Zayne/Reader

Notes: A partial rewrite and continuation of Zayne: Drunken Intimacy. I liked the memoria event from this card but when compared to Xavier and Rafayel's... Yeah...

AO3: Read here!

Warnings: Dubious consent (reader is drunk), light bondage, hints of dominant Zayne, hints of brat/brat taming. Age 18+ please! Enjoy :)

“I… Whatever. I’m going to sleep.”

You mumbled, pointedly ignoring the warmth lingering on your cheek. At this point, you don’t know whether you were flushed because of the alcohol in your system, or because of the position you were in.

While inspecting Zayne’s chin for bruises, a slip of your feet made you tumble forward, causing you to straddle him while you looked at him for possible injuries due to your headbutt earlier. 

The suggestive position you were in hadn’t registered until he kissed you, his face mere inches away from yours afterwards. It didn’t help when you tugged at his loose tie again to tease him, only to be met by his hands gripping at your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Unlike most of the time when his skin was cold, almost icy, to the touch, you could feel heat radiating off him, warming you even further. 

“I thought you had good reflexes.” He remarked, his eyes not once leaving your face. You met his gaze head on, determined not to shrink away from his intense focus on you. “For a hunter to be caught so easily… It seems you’ve gotten careless, no?”

“...Do I need to be alert when with you?”

He froze at your reply, his grip on your waist loosened momentarily before tightening again. “How sly.” He smiled as he leaned into you, closing the gap that was present. “One would think you are tempting fate.”

“Yes, how sly.” You mumbled, unperturbed by the sudden closeness. “You haven’t drank a single drop of wine, and yet you act as if you are drunk. You’re not making any sense here.”

“With you in front of me like this… How am I supposed to make sense of anything?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, a question ready on your tongue but then something within you clicked, a sudden realization shocked you out of your drunken stupor. 

The heat. 

Zayne never was warm to the touch, unless he was sick. But he was neither that nor a drinker, so that left only one possible explanation.

You quickly glanced down, and you were appalled to find the neckline of your dress was pulled down further and the strap of your dress falling to the side, giving Zayne an eyeful of your cleavage. It didn’t help that because of the dress, you opted to use pasties instead, leaving your breasts barely covered. 

Combined with you straddling his lap, and your face flushed from the alcohol, the sight made it seem as though you two were–

No longer hiding his true intentions, Zayne slid one of his hands down your hip and under your dress, caressing your thigh. “Am I still not making any sense to you?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Seeing you shiver at his touch yet not pulling away from him, he continued. “You wouldn’t object if I kept you close, would you?”

Instead of replying however, you hooked a finger onto his loose tie, and–

“Mmph–”

It was as though a switch had been flipped the moment his lips met yours. Gone were those gentle touches and careful caresses of your skin, his need to be with you– be in you– consuming every single rational thought he had. 

While you had the element of surprise, shocking him when you sealed his lips with yours, he quickly wrestled back control, taking the lead of the kiss by tilting his head slightly for better access and pushing his tongue against yours. The roughness of him pulling your hips closer to him, to have you straddle his crotch and feel his clothed cock nudging against your inner thigh, made it seem like he was as drunk as you were, having lost control of his tightly held restraint. 

No, he was as drunk as you were. But instead of being drunk on those fruit wines you brought home, he was intoxicated by something– someone– else.

You.

“Zayne–” You gasped between kisses, your face no longer flushed due to the alcohol, but because of the intensity of his kisses, not giving you much respite between them. It didn’t help that his hands were roaming all over you, the warmth from his touch seeping into you, banishing all hints of drowsiness away.

You fumbled with his tie and cursed at the many buttons his shirt had while he tugged down the straps of your dress, peeling away the annoying pasties that were in the way and cupped your breast, thumbing over your pert nipple.

“A lot of people asked about you tonight.” Zayne remarked as he kissed your neck, his breath tickling your skin. “They asked if you were single.”

“What did you tell them?” You asked moments later, too distracted by the hand that was under your dress. He had dipped his fingertips under the waistband of your panties, toying with it and teasing you for what’s to come.

“No.” His denial, while quiet, was firm, commanding almost. “You are not. In fact–”

Zayne adjusted the position you were in, keeping you close and– oh. 

“You are taken.” He stated, emphasized by the bulge pressed against your clothed heat. You could feel the outline of his cock next to you, its hardness causing warmth to pool within you. Against better judgment, in which you should undress him and yourself before attempting anything, lest you ruin the outfits, you wiggled your hips and responded in kind.

And before you could react, he slid a hand under your hips and lifted you up, and pinned you down to the sofa, forcing you into the same position as earlier when you had tugged on his tie.

Unlike earlier when you were in control and him pulling away at the end however, he was hovering above you, one of his hands right beside your head while the other was still on your hips, his body right between your thighs.

Your heat clenched in anticipation, waiting for him to pull you closer and onto his clothed cock. But instead of that he paused to look at you, his half lidded eyes roaming all over your form.

You took the chance to take a good look at him as well, to see if he was just as affected by this non alcohol induced heat. His tie was long gone and his shirt was half buttoned, revealing his broad chest. While his pants remained the same, you could see the outline of his cock straining against the front of his pants, making you wonder how it would feel against, and inside you.

Zayne felt his cock throb at the sight, and he couldn’t help but bunch your dress up further to your abdomen, exposing more of you to him.

“The dress…” You mentioned, suddenly made aware of it. He had paid for both of your outfits before you could’ve and you’d hate to ruin his gift. But he silenced you by lowering himself down to your lips and sealed it with his, distracting you.

You were so caught up in him that you barely noticed him pressing closer to you, his hand that was on your hip no longer there. It was only when you heard the unbuckling of his belt and the telltale unzipping that you remember about the dress.

“The dress will be ruined if I don’t take it off.” You breathed out after you broke away from the kiss, your eyes darting down to where his cock would be. And sure enough, it was right on top of your heat, its tip glistening with precome. Zayne tilted your chin upward before you could stare at it further however, forcing you to meet his heated gaze head on.

“Don’t worry about it. I want it on you.”

“Have you been imagining fucking me while in this dress, Zayne?” You teased, and when he responded with a small smile only, you laughed. “Who knew ‘Zayne the Terrifying’ had such dirty thoughts?”

“I may be a terrifying man, but I am still a man in the end.” He replied as he pushed your panties to the side, and dragged a finger up against your entrance. “Especially when it comes to you.”

With that, he captured your lips once more, slotting himself between your slick folds, and thrusted slowly against you. His hands were on your hips, sliding your wet heat up and down the side of his stiff cock as he fucked your folds.

It was difficult to concentrate, every single coherent thought disappearing like mist with every thrust against you. You had half a mind to unbutton his shirt further, to slip your hands under them and drive him mad with want like he did to you, but that required focus, which you had none of. Especially when his cock grazed over your clit, forcing whatever drive you had out of you.

The ache to have something, anything, within you grew every time his tip caught onto your entrance. You waited  with bated breath for the inevitable push of his hardened cock into your waiting heat, only to have him thrust upward again, leaving you wanting.

You reached down to take matters into your own hands. But before you could do so, Zayne caught your wrist and pinned both of your hands above your head.

“Zayne–” You whined in protest when he reluctantly pulled away from you. But instead of teasing you as expected, his attention was elsewhere, his free hand grasping onto something on the side while he kept you pinned down with one hand.

You tried to see what he was looking for, but couldn’t as his attention returned to you once more, his half lidded gaze freezing you in place. He merely smiled at your confusion, and you were about to question him when you felt it.

He was binding your wrists with something… soft. Was that silk– oh. 

His tie.

Zayne leaned down to nip your earlobe, the corners of his lips twitching upward when you wriggled against your restraint. “Behave and let me.” He whispered, his soft demand contrasting your whimpers. “Impatience will get you nowhere.”

“And if I don’t?”

“In that case…” He trailed off, pulling away from you and sat up. His cock was no longer between your folds, and was instead replaced by his finger, prodding and teasing your heat. He traced the edges of your entrance, coating his finger with slick, before pushing it in. 

Before you could question him on how this was going to force you to behave, he curled his finger and prodded at your soft spot, touching it every time he pumped his finger in and out of your heat. 

Just when you were accustomed to his touch, he pulled his finger out of you entirely. A thin strand of slick connected your heat and his finger, snapping when he brought it up to his lips, staring directly into you whilst he licked his finger clean.

“Now…” Zayne said, positioning himself between your thighs once more. He had wanted to please you and push you towards that high you wanted at least once before burying his fingers, then his stiff cock, inside you, but your impatience– and his as well if he were to be honest– forced his hand. “Will you behave and let me prepare you?” 

“Or do you want me to make you beg?”

[hustlerose]

as i slowly exit my "bethesda's writing and design are literally satan" era, i find myself less angry about their many missteps, and more melancholy about what might have been. fallout 3's pre-broken-steel ending, for example

everyone makes fun of that one moment. your super mutant buddy you just met tells you "we all have our own destinies, and yours culminates here. i would not rob you of that." like sorry player 1, you have to die here for no good reason because it's dramatically satisfying

i submit this ending pissed people off not because it's bad, but because it's the wrong ending for fallout 3. fallout 1 and 2 had endings and they felt just fine, but fallout 3 is not a narrative-driven game like those ones. it's a big fun sandbox that you play in to your heart's content. a bittersweet ending with hints of destiny is unwelcome here. even ending the game at the climax is a mistake. the only sensible ending to a bethesda game is "play til you stop having fun." so they did that ending instead, as dlc

what pisses ME off about the ending is that it's so inspiring. i can't help but wish i'd played the game that matched that ending. imagine a version of fallout 3 where all the characters talked like that. imagine the chosen one narrative was dialed up to 11, where every moment of narrative was suffused with tragedy and inevitability. imagine if more characters talked metatextually, musing on your role as player and protagonist. think about all the cool foreshadowing that could have been done to set up a tragic ending where you make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. you could wring so much moral complexity out of this moment, as it could force you to reflect on your charcter's choices. you are the most important character in this world. fate bends around your story. what if the other characters could tell, and had opinions on that fact?

i want to read that story god dammit! sometimes i think it's up to me. maybe i have to rip that great ending right out of fallout 3 and stitch up a whole new story around it. one that actually supports fawkes' dialog as its central theme

[dark-and-kawaii]

༺ 𝐿𝑜���𝓈 𝒪𝒻 𝒜𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝒾𝓇 ༻

Raphael

Summary: Raphael returns to his boudoir only to discover that you’ve lost his child, and it wasn’t from natural causes. His rage spirals when he finds it was due to a fellow follower of his…

Notes: I suck at summaries But I loved how this turned out so I hope you do as well!!!

Pairings: Raphael × f!Tav/Reader

• Hurt I Angst I Miscarriage | Ascended Raphael | Raphael Gets His Revenge

Ao3

As Raphael returned to his domain, an unsettling sight awaited him in the heart of his boudoir. There, amidst the opulence, was Haarlep, his personal incubus, cradling you in their arms within the large bath. Raphael's eyes scanned the water, a macabre blend of red and clear, tainted by the presence of blood. His gaze then shifted to his beloved little mouse, your hair clinging to your face, your skin glistening with sweat, and your breath laborious as your eyes remained closed.

But it was the sight of the tiny wrapped figure beside you on the bath’s edge, drenched in blood, that sent Raphael's rage spiraling to new heights. He didn't need to uncover it; he knew within his very core that his heir, his precious child, had been stolen away. With such a great loss, for the first time in centuries, his heart felt heavy.

"What happened?!" Raphael's voice seethed with malice, his clenched fist emphasizing his anger. Haarlep, usually insolent but now treading carefully, moved away from you and gently positioned you against the steps of the bath, ensuring some comfort. Approaching Raphael, Haarlep’s concealed their voice in a whisper so that you couldn’t hear, "It would seem that your dear tav has gone and lost your little pup-," Haarlep began, only to be interrupted by a warning glare from Raphael, “The lady of the house has miscarried," The incubus finally confessed.

Raphael's rage intensified, his words laced with venom, "I see that, you insolent creature! How did this come to pass?!" Aware of the consequences should they misstep, Haarlep treaded carefully, knowing their fate might just mirror Hope's in the basement.

In a snap, Haarlep summoned a cup, presenting it to Raphael. "Korilla brought this to my attention. A glass of deceit, a venom ever so sweet. It's tainted with juniper." Seizing the cup, Raphael brought it to his nose, confirming the presence of the insidious poison. It dawned on him that an intruder had violated his sanctuary, contaminating his precious little mouse, with this abhorrent act. Even as a devil, he recoiled at the thought of snuffing out the life within a mother's womb. This transgressor would pay a heavy price, both their soul and flesh, as Raphael vowed to exact a merciless retribution upon them.

It only took a couple of hours, but Raphael manages to track down the culprit, Korilla, once a cherished follower, always by his side. Yet, for reasons unknown, she had chosen to betray him in the most vile of ways… As Korilla returned to his domain, Raphael awaited her, leaning casually against a pillar, his arms crossed in a display of controlled dominance. His face, seemingly normal, concealed the depths of his wrath. When she finally approached, he began to circle her like a predator sizing up its prey, his gaze never wavering.

“Tell me, dear Korilla, how was your day?”

Her voice was filled with falsehoods, twisting a tale to make it seem as if though she were gathering clients for him.

"Ah, ah," Raphael interjected, his tone laced with a sadistic delight. "The truth is far greater than that feeble lie of yours." His features twisted with a mix of disgust and fury, his nose scrunching in disdain. And in a snap of his fingers, the very cup from which you had sipped appeared before them.

"Justify this to me! Why I stumbled upon what is undeniably my possession, nestled within the grasp of Haarlep, grieving for the loss of my own flesh and blood? The stillbirth, wrapped in a cloth stained with the taint of blood!” He condemned her for the atrocious deed, declaring, "You invaded my sanctuary, forcefully snatching away my child from the very womb that belongs to me!”

Korilla stood her ground, her calm demeanor unwavering. "I did this for your own sake," she asserted. "That mortal was tainting your path to becoming the next ruler of the Nine Hells. I'm sorry, but it needed to be done."

“You thought you were acting in my best interest, did you?" Raphael's scowl shifts to a smile, "Your feeble attempt to protect me has only sealed your fate."

Korilla trembled, her once defiant spirit now reduced to a mere flicker of fear. She had underestimated the power and ferocity of Raphael's love for you, and now she would pay the price for her treachery. But even in the face of imminent punishment, a spark of hope ignited within her, "Raphael, you cannot blame me for this," Korilla pleaded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. "I did what I believed was necessary to protect you, to protect House Hope.

Flames consumed him, "Your time has come to an end, Korilla,” Raphael growled, his voice resonating with a deep, otherworldly tone. "But fear not, for your sister shall keep you company as I flay you and adorn my abode with your entrails.”

As his true form emerged. He transformed into a monstrous fiend with wings unfurling from his back, a tail lashing behind him, and a wild mane of fire cascading around his head. His once simple horns morphed into a complex crown of infernal bone, framing his snouted face. Two additional faces erupted from his cheekbones, giving him a total of four menacing, orange eyes. His entire being radiated with the glow of infernal flame, and fearsome tusks jutted forth from each of his mouths.

Raphael approached, his towering figure casting a haunting shadow over Korilla. His claws extended, glinting ominously in the flickering light. He reached out, his talons grazing her trembling skin, causing her to shudder in fear and anticipation. With each touch, a searing pain coursed through her body, a mere taste of the agony that awaited her.

[rafeskai]

Starstruck | Drew Starkey

Mini Series - Coming Soon

Summary: In the bustling crowd of a premiere event for Outer Banks, you find yourself caught up in a chaotic moment, lost in the sea of fans. Desperate for a way out, you stumble into an alley where fate leads you to an unexpected—and painful—encounter with Drew Starkey. What starts as a simple misstep soon spirals into something far more complicated, and your life takes an unexpected turn.

Pairings: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: New mini series incoming!

[jiminrings]

yoongi’s lullaby

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 13k

glimpse: there’s two things you can conclude from yoongi’s shapeshifting service: a) it’s great for his wallet, and b) it’s crushing for your heart.

alternatively, yoongi’s your best friend and soulmate, and you have to watch him fall in love over and over again.

[ 40% angst, soulmate au, yoongi is a capitalist (he shapeshifts and goes on fake dates then gets a load of money), fluff + wholesomeness, unrequited love (at first), f2l, self-deprecation, jealousy, YEARNING!!!, Redemption Arc I Promise ]

notes: this is part of the hlwwf universe :) and just like its predecessor, it’s also based on a song!! i haven’t felt this excited to write a fic in a while so i hope u love it as much as i do <3

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Yoongi must be the universe’s reward to you for every good deed you’ve ever done.

When Yoongi lets himself to be roped into joining in your newest fixation, it must be your good karma because you sat front-row for each one of your younger siblings’ school events.

When he reminds you to drink your water and not skip your meals, even going so far as to deliver both to you as often as he could, it must be the universe’s payment to you for watering plants and going on that one (1) mandatory tree planting activity.

When he gives you all the credentials to log into his premium streaming platforms even without you asking, it must be fate’s way of thanking you for not making a fuss whenever a barista messes up your order or when a stranger cuts in line.

Yoongi is the good in your life and he has been ever since you were teens, reminding you of what you’ve worked hard for in life because when he wasn’t so busy going through the same hardships you did, he would be at the sidelines waiting for you to finish.

Or he could be someplace else without even sending a lousy text regarding his wellbeing nor his notice that he can’t be at your awarding ceremony tonight because he’s busy doing his job, serving as a reminder that Yoongi must also be the universe’s punishment to you for your missteps and lapses.

When he comes and goes into your apartment freely as treats himself to your newly-bought groceries, it must be retribution because you lost your temper on your college roommate once for eating the leftovers you’ve been craving since the night before.

When he salvages all the spare batteries you have lying around to power up his huge clock back at his apartment, therefore leaving you to eventually spend a rainy night without flashlights because of a power outage, it must be payback for lowering the temperature in your breakroom even with the sign that specifically tells you not to.

Whenever Yoongi mentions his shapeshifting “career” (he argues that it is) to you, a gift he had been born with and one he really maximizes to the fullest potential and profit, you’re reminded how much of it is a curse to you.

Yoongi must be the universe’s greatest reward and punishment for you at the same time because while he’s your soulmate and you spend almost every day with him — you have to see him fall in love with everyone else but you, over and over again.

“You should be splitting rent with me at this point. You’re always here,” you groan as soon as you spot him on your couch, barely escaping the grogginess you’re still in from having a long night. 

His presence isn’t surprising anymore given the time you’ve been with him and how this exact situation has already played out tons of times before (him breaking into your place because he doesn’t want to be alone, you blissfully clueless until you hear raccoon-like searching in your kitchen) — it’s more irking than it is surprising, especially when you wake up at the wrong side of the bed.

“Do you not want me around?” Yoongi laughs heartily, unwilling to wipe his grin off when you don’t react. “That’s what I thought.”

He’s already beaten you to the TV and while he hasn’t had breakfast yet because he thought that the least he could do is wait for you to wake up so you could make it and the two of you can eat together, he’s getting there anyway.

“What type of horrible soulmate kicks out their other half that hasn’t had breakfast yet at 8 in the morning?” he hums, a faux pout on his face that rubs you the wrong way. You’re still pissed at him for not showing up at your awarding ceremony last night for being the top developer in your tech company, his lengthy apologetic text before you went to sleep still not doing its full effects.

“You don’t wanna tread there,” you huff, crossing your arms. “I have a lot on my chest, Yoongi. A lot of hateful, vile, factual comebacks.”

“Exactly!” he exclaims, the smile on his face telling you that he’s taking this lightly; way more lightly than you’d like him to. “We’ve had this conversation a million times before, baby. Sometimes, people just aren’t meant to be,” Yoongi shrugs, his words embedded in you now from repetition alone. “Some soulmates are only platonic.”

“That’s what you want because you’re non-committal,” you hiss, the incoming headache you have for having this conversation too early in the morning making you sit yourself on the couch. Yoongi grins because he knows you won’t kick him out at this point, slinging an arm across your shoulders while you’re still glaring at him. “Your hustle or whatever you call it is falling in love with everyone but me.”

“Uhm, correction — it’s a career,” he tuts. “I have a gift, Y/N. What, I can shapeshift into other people and I’m not supposed to capitalize off of that?”

He had only started offering his services a little more than a year ago, a byproduct of his boredom and his producing internship at the music label falling through. It just came to him in a fever dream and a drunken suggestion from you, and one website domain purchase and a socialite with a lot of connections for a first client later, Yoongi quickly made bank.

SeeAndSaw’s a trial dating service led by Yoongi, one that would answer clients’ curiosities to whether or not they were compatible with a person, and that’s where his shapeshifting came in handy. His services continue to be used for a multitude of reasons, the most common one being to see if the client would match with their soulmates (or just a random person, he’s not particular like that) ahead of their meeting. He’s also become a handy instrument here and there, breaking up with people in his clients’ behalf because they were too guilty to do so, to becoming a stand-in for clients that needed to present someone to their families for occasions.

Yoongi acts far too casual to you and not only is its time’s fault, it’s also yours for keeping him around in any way you can have him, even if it’s just as a friend. 

“I keep professing my love for you every two weeks and I’m doing it now while you’re eating my leftovers. People would kill just to have a soulmate as dedicated as me,” you frown, slowly softening the more that you’re rendered awake. Yoongi’s right, you did have this conversation a million times before and it’s the realization of it all that perhaps, at rare times, makes it hurt less.

“We’ve had this talk before,” he sing-songs, digging into the carbonara you took home that he retrieved not even one minute later since you joined him on the couch.

“For someone who makes bank fake dating people, you sure do leech off of me a lot,” you grumble, effectively quietened when he shoves a forkful of pasta into your mouth.

“That reminds me,” Yoongi grins, building up to a dramatic gasp. “I love-…” 

He trails and trails and if only you didn’t know any better, you would know that Yoongi wouldn’t profess his love for you in your living room while you were still in your pajamas eating cold carbonara. Much less, Yoongi wouldn’t tell you at all that he loves you.

“I love doing that,” he agrees, disappointed for a second when you didn’t even react to him doing a cliffhanger about what or who he loves. “My treat for you this week is to get you a new mattress. You’ll be less grumpy in the mornings.”

“The mattress can stay for a little longer. Can you just get me a new alarm system please?” you say without missing a beat, having already thought long and hard about what make-up gift you wanted him to give you from missing out on your awarding ceremony. 

“Why? Are you okay? Did anybody attempt to break in?” Yoongi asks concerned, brows knotted in worry. He grunts under his breath, shaking his head. “I already told you to move into my apartment complex so many times. It’s much safer there.”

That’s also a conversation you’ve had a million times before, all circling back to your attachment to the first place that you bought with your own money. It’s not bad per se, it just looks like it when you show it side-by-side with Yoongi’s place.

“Oh. They already broke in,” you narrow your eyes, oblivious to the panic brewing in Yoongi.

“What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me?! Are you-…” he rants, stopping himself when he sees the irony. “Okay, I get it. You’re not funny.”

You and Yoongi eat cold carbonara in total silence, save for his grumbles of how you should never joke about your safety and yours for how he should start chipping in for your bills if he’s gonna keep showing up like this.

Yoongi swears he doesn’t find you funny. He swears it on his life when a few days later, a guy is sent to your house to update your security system. There’s a couple hundred packages of additional manual locks, along with Yoongi’s letter of how he still doesn’t find you funny, amongst other things.

Please guard your home. Don’t let anybody else in except me.

- Yoongi

( ♡ )

Yoongi despises change.

He’s with the elderly when it comes to online menus in an actual, physical restaurant, annoyed by them to the point that sometimes he just walks out. He can’t help it that he wants a nice, slightly greasy, and good menu because it just goes to show how great the food would be. 

He hates whoever invented and continues to advertise white cooking equipment that’s beyond impractical, knowing to himself that he would disown any friends or family he’ll catch using them. You spent a good two seconds more looking at a white ceramic pot that one time when you were online shopping, and Yoongi’s never been more determined to hurl your phone to the floor.

Yoongi also hates overly-modified cars and overly-decorated phone cases, because as much as it isn’t his business, he firmly believes that sometimes there are things meant to be left alone.

His voicemail is still the same one he had back in college and his standard ringtone for everyone remains untouched — everyone but you.

Yoongi knows that he’s in charge of his time given his very successful career and he worked around his whole schedule just to grant himself the luxury of sleeping in today. He wants to have himself buried in his cold sheets for longer but it’s your call that overrides his phone on Do Not Disturb, shaking him awake quicker.

“Yoongi?” you ask, too wrapped up in your internal to-do list to notice that he answered at the second ring. “Help me please.”

“Spider family in your cupboards again?” he yawns, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. God, he hopes it’s not that again. He isn’t the biggest fan of spiders either but at your insistence (and threatening last time that you’ll ignore him for a week), he forced himself to swallow down the unease.

“No, I woke up late,” you hum, once again oblivious that you’re intruding on Yoongi’s plans. He doesn’t mind though; not at all. “I just got a text about my package and I accidentally used your address again. The front desk received it.” 

Yoongi’s address has already become your secondary one at this point, from food deliveries from staying over to parcels you made him receive because you wouldn’t be home at the time. You’ve gotten used to utilizing his address, his home, so much that you forget which is which sometimes.

“Can you sign off on it as me?”

You know potential and convenience when you have it within reach, and the both of you know that your best friend slash soulmate gets a sense of pride whenever you need to utilize his shapeshifting abilities.

“Okay fine. I’ll even talk you up as a future tenant here because you’re taking my advice and moving to my building, right?” he caves in even if it took nothing for you to convince him, putting on a shirt before finding his slippers.

“What, what? Yoongi, oh! You’re breaking up,” you make a half-assed attempt in avoiding the offer once again. You could afford it with the salary you have now but aside your attachment to the place you have now, being closer to Yoongi in this context would precisely be the demise of you. “Thanks, Yoongs. Bring the package with you when you come over.”

Yoongi’s filial when it comes to you, that much you’ve noticed. He may not be in love with you but his loyalty to you is as clear as day, much of a soulmate’s but not exactly a lover’s.

It’s supposed to be like clockwork when he picks up his parcels (yours in this case) from the front desk but there’s just something he belatedly realizes now, his mouth in a grimace when he has to pry off your package from the receptionist who was unabashedly asking where you were.

He didn’t know that every time this would happen, or in any case wherein you came by yourself to his apartment and therefore passing by the front desk, the sleaze would flirt with you.

“Joohyuk from the front desk always comes off strong, huh?” Yoongi snickers the moment he enters your place, handing you your stuff instead of tossing it like he usually would.

“Tell me about it. He doesn’t give me a break,” you snort, unfazed that he doesn’t greet you with a hi anymore because your current visiting set-up has been executed many times.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to do with the unhinged anger in his brain that unfolds because from your response alone, you’re used to it. You’re used to feeling uneasy and he hadn’t caught on earlier than he should’ve, the guilt weighing down on his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, his tone leaving you no room for objections. “I’ll receive your packages from now on.”

( ♡ )

You don’t know how you keep holding onto Yoongi despite him grasping you from afar.

It’s a melancholy enough as it is to swallow at the end of the day that Yoongi’s yours but not in the way you want him to be, along with the great possibility that it would always be that way. You don’t heed the reminder when you’re with him and that’s almost everyday of your life, the ache that you’re the only one pining after him remaining as a dull thrum. 

He seeks you in seasons but you look for him in all weathers, the great search of when you’d finally amount more to him still coming up unanswered.

You can handle seeing Yoongi often with the cue that you’re only friends despite the initials on both your ring fingers saying otherwise. You can manage with introducing him only as your close friend to colleagues and acquaintances because you don’t want to end up with a long-winded explanation how he wants you but really doesn’t.

Yoongi can deal with your moony stares at him every once in a while and your professions of love, whether sober or drunken. On the same vein, you can deal with the rejection he serves you every single time.

The both of you are adults who can handle each other, one more high-strung than the other, and it’s only in moments like these that you reach your limit. You’re awfully too aware of how easy it is for Yoongi to work, to be in love with people he only knows vaguely.

“I don’t like to see you when you’re at work.”

You’re momentarily caught with panic when you see a stranger in your living room, only being caught up to date when he’s sprawled across your couch in the same way that Yoongi does, the very same shit-eating grin he has on for giving you a fright.

You don’t know the guy at all and you don’t plan to. You try your best to separate yourself from Yoongi’s shapeshifting business, most especially his clients and the extensions of them that he has to portray. You don’t even want to hear the stories behind his appointments even if he begs for you to hear him out because he just wants someone to talk to. 

The moment you fully accept that Yoongi would belong to everyone but you is the day that you rue him.

And in a longingly heartbreaking fashion, you don’t hate Yoongi — yet.

He momentarily changes back to himself, sneaking a look at his watch to see how many minutes he has more of annoying you before going on a date just two blocks away from your place.

“Why?” he whines, and in retaliation, changes back to the stranger. “I’m Hong Dusik. I’m from the countryside, moved back to the city to do stocks, and my dimples are literally embedded in there. I’m my client’s soulmate and it’s their first date next week but she’s shy and she’s nervous, so she’s having a dry-run with me first.”

Tuning Yoongi out has become a skill you continue to hone and while it isn’t foolproof just yet, it’s helped tremendously when you want nothing more than to kick him (or any form he takes) out.

“Nice.”

“You’re icing me out, sweetie?” his voice lulls, the sweetness behind it cloying until you remember that you don’t know the guy it belongs to.

“My god, your dimples are deep,” you murmur, clutching your bag to your chest. “Switch back, Yoongi.”

“Why? Dusik’s a nice guy.”

You kiss your teeth with the annoyance of a hundred days built up, gritting out your answer that makes him falter momentarily. “I’ve heard already, but I don’t plan seeing Dusik or any other stranger in my home.”

“Aw, you’re so loyal to your soulmate, whoever he may be,” he coughs, shifting back to himself. At any other day, Yoongi’s playful nature would be met with one of your sarcastic remarks but he doesn’t get any this time, the ghost of a frown accompanying his lips.

He’s admittedly nervous when you don’t play along with him, but his urge to sneak one last word in overtakes his trepidation.

“My advice to get over me? Bone it out. Get it out of your system. Soon enough, my initials would fade.”

Come to think of it, Yoongi’s advice isn’t all that bad.

“If Dusik and his girl don’t work out, just send him to me,” you nod, retreating to your room.

“Good! I’ll-…” he grins, satisfied with ticking you off until your words sink into him, the double-take that he makes giving him an ache on his neck. “What?” Yoongi murmurs, “I didn’t mean it that seriously.”

( ♡ )

In a parallel universe or in a different life, Yoongi actually lives with you. In that reality, you’re still soulmates and the difference is that he loves you back. He doesn’t have the ability to shapeshift and you don’t have to profess your love repeatedly either.

In a parallel universe or a different life, Yoongi’s cooking you dinner. Dinner would be just takeout from a drive-thru that he transfers to plates because the two of you barely ate the bourgeoisie food at your awarding ceremony. You’re still the top developer in your tech company, but the difference is that he’s there and you get to introduce him as your soulmate and not just a friend who coincidentally bears the same initials on your finger.

In a parallel universe or a different life, Yoongi is your soulmate before he is your friend. He doesn’t condense your love for him as a mere obligation. He doesn’t bat an eye at your confessions because in that reality, he’s the one who loves you more than you love him.

You don’t have that life though — what you have at the moment is Yoongi, your soulmate, not being able to see what was wrong signing you up for a dating app. You wouldn’t have known if not for the couple hundred notifications you receive in your personal phone that you left at home.

You wouldn’t be this angry if Yoongi could just accept that he went out of line.

“How many times do I have to say it over and over again?” you yell, hands flailing around helplessly. The smug look on Yoongi’s face remains, strengthened only by his stubbornness. “I love you and it’s just always been you!”

This is not the life you pictured with your soulmate. In your head, you don’t even see a particular space the two of you would live in. The home you see in your dreams is ever-changing, the layout of it never staying the same. The only thing that stays in the life you picture is Yoongi. Your Yoongi.

“Why can’t you put me in your choices atleast? We’re soulmates and you’ve been my only choice but I’m– fuck!” you exclaim, sucking in a sharp breath when you feel a momentary stab at your chest. “You don’t even consider me to be a potential girlfriend even if my initials are on your finger!”

In another world, Yoongi doesn’t look at you with a clenched jaw when you speak your mind. The two of you have grown sick at this conversation but the difference in your world now is that you’re beyond angry at him, the frustration unmistakeable when you look at him.

“Why can’t it be me, Yoongi?” you seethe, fists clenched tightly that your knuckles turn white. “For fuck’s sake, when can it be me? When can it be my turn? When do you pick me?”

Yoongi didn’t mean for you to be heated with him. It was a practical joke, only following through with the half-hearted advice he gave you when he showed up at your apartment as Dusik. 

He just wanted to prove a point that you don’t want to give up on him as much as he doesn’t want you to stop trying for him. It’s selfish, he’s selfish. And if only Yoongi could focus on how conceited he is rather than the anguish he feels about you being angry and upset at him, he would wipe off the arrogance from his face.

“I hate your job so, so fucking much. It looks pathetic to me even if I know you must enjoy it a lot,” you burst, saying your truth that you’ve tried to minimize in order to make way for his self-esteem. “Your business is to be these random people’s dream guy but you’re mine. You’re my dreamboat, my ideal guy, my person! I’m your soulmate but I feel like shit. Just utter, hopeless shit that you visit almost everyday because you don’t want to be alone!”

He can’t put it into words but in the simplest way he could put it, being alone feels like a punishment more than it is a solace. Yoongi lives alone and he can handle it, but him tolerating it doesn’t mean that he loves it. 

It’s always been you and him, one way or another. In the trench of your love, waiting for Yoongi to come around is worth it. In the shore of your doubts however, the novelty of having Yoongi is starting to wear off.

You make up your mind then and there, the ascent from your trench to your shore increasingly coming fast by the day.

“Leave. You’re not staying the night here.”

Yoongi breaks by then, a dry sob leaving his throat while he tries to plead with the resoluteness in your tone.

“What kind of-“

“What kind of soulmate throws out their other half in the middle of the night?” you interrupt, knowing that Yoongi only mentions your status when he’s desperate. “The kind that doesn’t want to be soulmates anymore.”

You sound the most casual you’ve ever been and Yoongi’s annoyed at you for it, his eyes narrowed into slits. He’ll oblige for the night, on his way to the door when he looks at you.

“With all due respect, Y/N, screw you. You don’t mean that,” he mutters, chest heaving up and down. He’s convincing you as much as he’s convincing himself. “You’re just angry, you’re sad, and you don’t mean that.”

Your back’s turned to him when he leaves, or atleast attempts to do so because he doesn’t want to make his exit when you refuse to even look at him.

“I mean it right now, let’s focus on that,” you chuckle, already turning off the lights in the apartment without sparing a single glance at him. “Go away, Yoongi.”

( ♡ )

Unsurprisingly, you find Yoongi at your house the next day when you come home from work.

He probably has your key fob microchipped on him nowadays, your huge fight from last night not being enough to deter him from coming over. He’s a stubborn and mostly annoying stain you have in your life at the exact second, the two of you unwilling to apologize to each other.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you mutter, rolling your eyes when you set your bag down on the counter. You’re on a time crunch, the window you have of preparing yourself to look divine already closing down steadily.

“The fuck are you doing home?” Yoongi retorts just for the sake of it and simply because he wants to keep the conversation (if it was even called that) going, trying to ignore the fact that he totally bombed his comeback and makes up for it by staring at your leftover dumplings on his plate.

You’re busy fending for yourself, your eyes too preoccupied in rolling to the back of your head that you fail to notice Yoongi’s puffy with all the crying he did last night. You ignore him and go straight to your bedroom, not having enough time to multitask showering and fighting with him.

You’ve already went through your entire routine and dressed yourself up, the frustration in you only skyrocketing up when Yoongi’s still there in your kitchen.

“Either get out or move out of my way,” you say as you retrieve yourself a snack from your cupboards to munch on while you multitask, intentionally bumping your shoulder with him in the process. “I’m going out on a date.”

Yoongi heavily sighs, his fork clattering on the plate loudly. He tries to keep his emotions at bay because this is all his fault, the fight in his body tensing his shoulders.

“You’re lashing out.”

“I’m not lashing out,” you argue, looking at the clock to see if you could still fit in fighting with Yoongi between spraying your perfume and meeting your date by the front door. “Lashing out would be me bringing my date home and fucking him loudly in my room.”

He stabs the dumplings a little too harshly and a little too unnecessarily, fitting two in his mouth while clenching his fists because he knows a nasty remark is just bubbling to be said.

Yoongi’s being childish and your patience has already run thin to deal with him especially when you’re mad, the huff that leaves you sounding extremely personal.

“What are you even doing here? Go back to your house.”

“My appointment’s just at the next block. Your place is closer.”

“You could’ve just driven there directly instead of camping out here.”

Yoongi sarcastically smiles, his eyes in crescents as he makes a show of tilting his head. “Can I notspend time anymore with my best friend? My soulmate, even?”

“Stop saying the s-word,” you grit. “Don’t say that when I bring Jimin home.”

The resounding tension that envelopes the two of you finally snaps, manifesting into a scoff from Yoongi so offended and loud that it resonated in your apartment like a clap of thunder. 

“Jimin from high school? You’re exes for a reason, remember?” he exclaims, eyes blinking in disbelief because he figures he must’ve heard you wrong. “He broke up with you when he went abroad for college because he can’t do long-distance. What makes you think he’ll give you the time of day this time?”

None of his words register in your head, blissfully letting them fly over. Jimin only invited you to catch up and you obliged; it’s not like you didn’t have years of love amongst yourselves to shroud yourself in anonymisity. Plus, it’s not like he asked you to try again with him — it’s dinner. Just dinner.

“He’s already outside. Also, it’s clearly a short distance this time.”

“Don’t be smart with me,” Yoongi scoffs, standing up abruptly with his arms across his chest. “I’m gonna barricade the door if you come home with him.”

“Good. I can come home with him to his place.”

“I’ll barricade his door,” he retorts without even thinking, his brows knotted in exasperation.

“Go fuck yourself,” you narrow your eyes at him, letting your glare at him linger until you get to the front door. “While I fuck Jimin.”

“You’re so-“

Yoongi points an accusing finger at you, unable to finish his sentence now that you’ve left. You’re stubborn.

If he’s being honest, the thought of you merely giving Jimin the time of day makes him uneasy. It puts a void on his stomach and an even larger cavity in his chest.

And if Yoongi’s being more honest, he doesn’t even have an appointment nearby. He just wanted to be with you whichever way he can.

( ♡ )

Yoongi used to hate crossfit.

He hated even the concept of it because the trainers for it at the gym have a superiority complex when talking about it as if it was revolutionary; as if launching yourself a feet into the air while doing push-ups from point to point was groundbreaking.

Even his friend, Jungkook, knowsjust how much he hates it. He didn’t particularly have a preference when it comes to working out, but Yoongi’s random and unprovoked hate for random things is starting to rub off on him. They both hate crossfit… right?

Jungkook doesn’t know how to react when he sees Yoongi doing pull-ups with one hand diagonally while a kettlebell’s on the other. He doesn’t know what to feel seeing him agitatedly do push-ups while wearing a weighted vest and with his feet up on a medicine ball. 

Jungkook, for a fact, does not know what his cue should be when he sees Yoongi running 24kph on a treadmill with his eyes fixated on the phone in his hand, although he’s about 99% sure that this is not exactly crossfit.

He’s known him for years now and there’s barely anything between them that they don’t know about each other. Jungkook, however, doesn’t know the threshold of Yoongi’s emotional constipation, slightly concerned when he sees his friend’s mind drift elsewhere.

“Yoongi, are we okay there buddy?”

“Huh?” he squints, looking up from his dessert which he’s just been staring at the past two minutes.

Jungkook clears his throat, vaguely mentioning to the poor utensil in his hand. “You’re bending the fork.”

“It was already bent when you handed it to me,” he weakly counters, setting the metal down without much concern.

“I uhm, I really don’t think so.”

Yoongi only supplies with him a scowl and normally, being the filial and nosey friend that he is, it was cue for him to inquire what was going on. Jungkook likes including himself and it’s one of the numerous things he has in common with Yoongi, but it was clear as day just how differently it manifests for each of them.

Yoongi’s only been staring at the mocha crepe cake because he knows he would be incessantly interrupted by Jungkook once he started eating it, but come to to think of it, the younger hasn’t asked him even once.

He narrows his eyes at him, crossing his arms with a sly look to his face.

“What are you waiting for? I know you’re dying to ask me.”

Jungkook scoffs, rolling his eyes so passionately that Yoongi saw you in him for a second. “No, you’re dying to be asked. It’s always like this! You want to get something out of your chest but you always need me to ask first and then you pretend like you don’t like it.”

His face is far too straight and he got to the point really quickly with his delivery, his posture standing straight at the unimpressed look Yoongi gives him.

“Sorry. Your emotional constipation’s rubbing off of on me,” he hums sickeningly, batting his eyes. “Yes, Yoongi? What seems to be on your mind?”

Not even a second goes by before Yoongi breaks, his shoulders falling in recollection. “It’s Y/N. You already know my deal with her.”

“Of course I do. Aren’t we basically the same?” Jungkook tilts his head in thought. “Longtime best friends with our soulmates but the only difference is that the two of you knew at the beginning?” he continues, mixing his drink with his straw just to cushion the impending blow this conversation might inflict on him. “And uhm, that you spend every waking moment refusing her but magically, your friendship isn’t ruined over it?”

“You go on and on like an audiobook.”

He’s not the least bit offended because he does have the voice for it, but it wasn’t so audiobook-ish of him when his hands flail and his voice pitches in remembrance. “Oh also, you’re a shapeshifter! Poor Y/N has to watch you date all these people except her.”

“Which side are you on?” Yoongi looks down on his feet, the sigh that leaves him slowly weighing as much as the conflict in his mind. “There’s one more difference, by the way. I think she’s making me jealous.”

Now, Jungkook doesn’t flatter Yoongi all too much because his ego outnumbers his and that’s coming from him! But this is the one time that Jungkook has to hand it to him, his friend’s delivery and impeccable timing giving him the best chuckle he’s had this week.

“She’s intentionally making you jealous? God, Yoongi. Are we skimming over the fact that maybe she’s just grown sick of you?”

“You don’t get it!” he whines. “She’s entertaining her ex from high school. This stupidly blonde, stupidly genius, stupidly always available guy named Jimin! What a stupid name too. Seriously, he’s so-…”

The café’s well-lit and the acoustics are good too but there’s just this one cloud that forms above Jungkook when Yoongi mentions Jimin’s name, his brows suddenly furrowing in annoyance.

“Jimin?” he clarifies. “Jimin who?”

“This isn’t a knock-knock joke.”

The urge to smack Yoongi would always be larger than Jungkook’s intent to be the bigger person, his curiosity bursting at the seams. “What’s his family name, you idiot?”

“Why does it matter? You don’t know him anyway. It’s Park Jimin,” Yoongi rolls his eyes as he soothes the side of his head, equally as annoyed now. 

The gasp coming from Jungkook alone shushes the entire café, his eyes as expressive as ever and his voice even louder, forcing Yoongi to sink further to his seat until the onlookers take their eyes away from the table.

“You’re joking me!” he booms, running his hands though his hair in a frenzy. “Guy from Busan, stayed until high school, then went to Harvard for college?”

“How do you know him?” Yoongi questions but at this point the how doesn’t matter as much as the why, his friend’s expression enough to keep him at the edge of his seat.

“Because he tried poaching my soulmate too!” Jungkook exclaims, pausing between words because he’s still speechless. “It’s this long story. We’re distant family friends, then I almost lost my bond, then-…”

Yoongi shushes him, putting up a hand for the both of them to stay on track. “Can we get back to me? Can we put a pause on the Jungkook and soulmate show?”

They’re a duo of insufferable people, one more self-absorbed and insufferable than the other. Jungkook sees much of his past self in Yoongi despite the latter being older, the irony of the situation rendering him breathless.

“What do I do about Jimin? Surely, he has a soulmate and it’s definitely not my Y/N,” Yoongi desperately asks for advice even if he thinks it’s beneath him, rubbing his face with his hands.

Jungkook thanks the universe and his soulmate for shaping him to be a better person because he could now hear what he used to sound like back then and by god was he emotionally constipated.

“My Y/N?” he mimics. “Let’s get you back to bed, uncle.”

He makes the internal reminder to get Yoongi away from crossfit because the punch that lands on his thigh is definitely powerful, making him wince loudly that once agains puts the both of them at the center of attention.

“Ow! What?! You can’t just refuse to be a thing with Y/N but then gatekeep her the moment she entertains another guy. That’s not how it works, believe me! I’ve literally been there before.”

Yoongi can hear Jungkook, but he doesn’t exactly understand.

He’s not oblivious to continue refusing the parallels between him and Jungkook but surely, the way it worked out for his friend means that it would for him too, right? 

He’s in denial but he’s not there at the stage yet where he actually acknowledges that he is, stuck in the realm of hope that you’re not sick of him yet.

“Okay what if– what if we try to find out who this Jimin’s soulmate is? Look for them, pluck just one strand of hair, and I shapeshift into them? Then I’ll tell him to back off from other people and only focus on his soulmate!”

Jungkook winces, scratching his head. “That’s wrong. And unethical. You have so many things to unpack, Yoongi.”

“It’s not my fault I can shapeshift!” he exasperatedly sighs, briefly mirroring Jungkook by shifting to him just to prove a point.

“It’s your fault that you’re this constipated to be willing to go to great lengths just to steer Y/N away from Jimin!”

“What do I do then?” Yoongi groans, plunking his head onto the table. He doesn’t even have to raise his head for Jungkook to know that he’s nearing a dead end, his hope about to run out sooner or later. “What did you do?”

“I woke up. Figured I was too self-absorbed back then to realize that it’s always been her for me.”

Jungkook shakes his friend, prompting him to start eating the crepe cake he treated him to but refuse to eat because he’s still wallowing in worry over where he stands with you.

“Wake up, Yoongi,” he sighs, looking down on the markings on his own ring finger that he thanks the heavens for every single day. “The universe works in mysterious ways.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi prides himself for having 20/20 vision.

He’s always boasted about his vision not deceiving him even once, the constant praise whenever he gets his yearly check-ups fully seeping into his head.

He’s neither suffering from a hangover nor vertigo. Yoongi’s mind is in a sound and safe place which is why he doesn’t get how it could be playing jokes on him now, the most crucial of times he’s been going through with you.

Your soulmate mark has completely disappeared.

It simply cannot be true to how his initials disappeared overnight and you just woke up one day to see that they’re gone. Yoongi’s hand is gripping yours tightly as if you’d suddenly disappear too, the glare he has at your ring finger vacant and unnerving at the same time.

“It’s blank. Oh my god, it’s completely blank,” your eyes can’t seem to believe it too, a silent gasp leaving you in shock.

You’ve already said your piece but it’s not what Yoongi’s looking for. You’re not as distraught nor panicked as he is and he knows right there that you’re only fucking with him, making him sigh in exhaustion.

“It’s obvious why you didn’t study liberal arts,” he mutters, rubbing your finger furiously. It makes absolutely no sense when not a single hint of his initials peek through, the worry over his lack of a mark on you growing by the second.

“Huh?” Yoongi says under his breath, his pursuit of trying to get your stint to budge leading him closer to you to the point that your foreheads almost bump when he looks to you. “Okay, what’s the secret? You used pot concealer instead of liquid? You color-corrected? Tons of setting spray?” he tries, licking his lips that turned dry in exasperation. He’s running out of ways you could’ve executed this, mind turning up empty. “You uh, you got it tattooed over with your exact shade match?”

The dread that fills Yoongi is liquid hurt. It builds up from droplets and takes form wherever it flows, turning murky in contained and neglected spaces. He can’t move on from the hurt that’s in his chest when he glances at your empty ring finger and then to his that still has yours; that still links you to him, yet unreciprocated.

“Why is it not budging?” 

“You’re rubbing all the way to my bone,” you chuckle, unable to read the anxiousness behind his tone. He looks disturbed even, lips parted with no explanation coming to mind.

“You’ve got me, Y/N,” he painfully chuckles, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. He bites too hard that he draws blood, eyes flickering ever so often. “Where did you hide the cameras this time?”

“Yoongi, I’m telling you! It’s really blank!” you chuckle but not as easily as the last time, sensing the atmosphere in the room that only favored you but not him. “Quick, walk into the wall. Let’s see if I feel it!”

He doesn’t know how you still have it in you to joke. He doesn’t know how you’re not panicking and as much as he’s figured that this is only one of the rare times where the universe favors you, he didn’t know it would result to this.

“First, I’m not walking into a wall. Second, you stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying! I’m really serious!” your hands raise in defense, taking a step away from him. The starting notes of your laugh start to build but it never comes out fully because Yoongi interrupts you with a bitter laugh, throwing his head back in frustration.

You’re laughing. You’re unfazed and you’re laughing at Yoongi being at the end of his rope, his worry over losing his soulmate turning unrequited.

“Well then congrats on not having me as a soulmate anymore. I’m so happy for you!”

“What’s with the attitude?” you raise an eyebrow at him, scoffing in retaliation. It had only been lighthearted (for you, atleast) awhile ago and perhaps, maybe even humorous. You didn’t expect that he would receive the news like this at all. “No, congratulations to you, Yoongi, because you’ve been whining for years how you don’t want me and now you finally got it!”

The truth you say has been Yoongi’s for the longest time and the old him would’ve been thrilled because you finally got it. You finally got where he’s coming from and he didn’t need to deal with you pining after him but now that the realization comes here, one that you say to his face — it doesn’t feel good at all.

“Yeah, and I know and regret that now because I didn’t actually think the universe would listen!” his voice raises, pointing at his chest. “Fuck me for not thinking that the universe would stop to listen to my half-hearted wishes, am I right?”

“You’re right. Fuck you, actually!” you agree in spite, practically spitting your next words. “You’re so conceited. Why are you turning on me the moment you get what you thought you wanted?”

Yoongi doesn’t get it too.

He doesn’t get how he lets the flaw of his own insistence slip through his fingers so carelessly. He doesn’t even know what he wanted in the first place and it terrorizes him to know that he might just never know why, the answer for it only seen as a distant memory of you.

He doesn’t get how long he’s retained his insistence of preserving his safety zone by trying to deter you from loving him, when in reality, you’re the epitome of security itself. He didn’t think it through at all.

Yoongi didn’t think when he spent the past few years of his life rejecting your confessions and proposals in every opportunity that he could. Didn’t even leave you hanging from a thread of hope at all that he’d like you back; just a clean, straight refusal.

He didn’t stop to consider that the universe works in mysterious ways, because if he did earlier, he would’ve prayed to make you stay despite not being the type to get on his knees at all.

“Because I didn’t actually think we would stop being soulmates! I didn’t think that there’d be a reality where we aren’t together!” his voice cracks, his hands trembling at his sides. “It’s always been us, Y/N. I’ll always want you around.”

“Do you just want me around or do you want me?” you ask, the silence that follows after it being an accumulation of the ones you’ve had to spent alone when he rejected you. “I can’t be the background noise in your life, Yoongi. Not anymore. Y-yes, I know there are soulmates that are meant to be platonic but I don’t want that,” you stress, the tears springing to your eyes. “I can’t have that.”

It’s an ultimatum you didn’t know you would ever make at all.

“It’s either you have me as your soulmate or you don’t have me at all,” you say in strength, your thumb hovering about the ghost of his initials on your finger. “I can’t stand being your friend anymore.”

“You’d throw that away?” Yoongi croaks, taken aback. “You’d throw that– us away after all this time?”

“I would.”

“Your initials are still on my finger,” he reminds, sniffling as he pushes his hair back. This can’t be. You seriously can’t be posing this ultimatum to him, one that would determine both his present and future.

“Yours aren’t on mine,” you shot back. The lump on your throat is far too large to even swallow, each breath you take making it harder for you. “For the love of god, Yoongi, can you not deflect?” 

Yoongi’s the most panicked that he’s ever been in his life and in your surprising and rarely selfish nature, you don’t even pause.

“This is a big decision, Y/N! Can’t you please just give me some time to think?”

“No. You’ve had enough time to think when you’ve been stringing me around for years.”

The hurt that bubbles up in Yoongi comes like a riptide, unsuspecting yet just as devastating. There’s no pause between his words, much too smooth and articulate for someone who’s as panicked as he is now. They’ve stayed at the tip of his tongue before and lingered in the back of his mind even longer.

“I can’t think because I’m not sure about you, Y/N! I’m not sure if I’ve always kept you around because I want us to be more like soulmates than we are as friends,” he sobs. “I don’t know if I can love you how you love me.”

The liquid hurt in Yoongi’s bones solidifies but yours evaporates. It should hurt for you — you know that it should pain you the most now. You wait and you wait for the hiss before the sting but it doesn’t come. 

The weight lifts off from you instantly and you don’t even know why or how it happens. Whatever it was though, you let it carry your burdens for you. You only painfully nod, leaving Yoongi in your own house.

Yoongi can’t love you the way you love him — it’s the answer you’re looking for now, and it’s the same answer you swallowed down when you first professed your love for him years ago. 

.

.

.

Jimin didn’t expect you to report back to him this quickly and this late at night to say the very least, his sleepiness being pushed back when you stand at his door.

You slur the words but you’re not even drunk with alcohol. You’ve walked the long way to Jimin in order to take off your mind from your fight with Yoongi but there was just something n your system, one that made you even forget who you were fleeing.

There’s no Yoongi that comes into your mind during your walk, in fact, you were starting to think that the name didn’t even make sense to you because you couldn’t put a face to it. All you knew was where you’re going and who you were going to — only Jimin.

The more you walked and the more you came closer to Jimin, it was only him that filled your mind. In fact, you didn’t even know where you came from at this point, the details a blur in your head except for Jimin who’s standing in front of you.

“It worked. He bought it.”

It’s the last words that Jimin heard from you before you quite literally froze up, eyes closing solemnly despite standing upright until you open them again, the glaze behind it shining brighter the more you looked at him.

“Jimin, my love,” you drawl, squealing in delight as you launch yourself to him in a hug. “What a handsome soulmate I have.”

Jimin flushes at the realization, frozen in his position as he only puts his hand at the small of your back, patting you in comfort.

He needs some pen and paper, his notes, and the brainpower to calculate his next decision.

( ♡ )

Yoongi makes no move to drive himself home.

He doesn’t even have the willpower to leave from where you left him, his knees giving in to situate himself on the couch where he could sink further in his self-loathing. He has half the mind to recognize that you need the space, especially tonight, even if it means leaving the comfort of your own home because he (your demise) was there.

He doesn’t know anything, other than the fact that he’s repulsive and he wants nothing more than to go seek you but he doesn’t know where he should start; if you would even want to see him in the event that he finds you.

He considers calling your phone and at this point, he’d be contented even with the line ringing or you declining. Yoongi stays rooted in your house as a placeholder that he doesn’t even know you would be acclimated to having, stuck in the very space with no purpose at all.

He’s waiting for either you or a miracle and both revolve around him being able to see you for just one more time, then another, then again and again after so. He’s waiting for you and only you, and he didn’t even think you would come through the door in first place — much more with someone else.

The door beeps open and Yoongi launches himself from where he sat, his stance protective the moment his eyes land on you and Jimin.

The guy is just as shocked to see Yoongi of all people, lips parted open in surprise. Jimin’s just about to ask Yoongi what the hell he’s doing here in the first place but he’s cut off when you grumble against his neck, forgetting momentarily that you were clinging to him by the hip the whole time.

“What are you doing with Y/N?” Yoongi questions, taking large steps towards the both of you. There’s practically smoke coming off from the top of his head, his fists clenched at his sides,

“Taking her to her room, obviously,” Jimin scoffs, attempting to dodge past Yoongi with you in tow but to no avail, the latter’s arm outstretched.

“She’s drunk.”

“She’s not,” Jimin insists, punctuating his desperation.

He moves past Yoongi this time but he doesn’t get far at all, his arm being wrung tightly. His hand awaits on your back out of instinct, the whiplash putting the both of them on edge.

“Hey, buddy, Y/N’s drunk.”

Jimin groans, prying Yoongi’s hand off him just as easily as he clamped it. “She’s not drunk! Not in that way, atleast,” he mutters, putting you closer to his chest that sets off Yoongi further. “Just back off.”

“What do you mean not in that way?” Yoongi bursts, his vision darkening. He sets out a hand once again to get you away from Jimin, his hold on you much gentler. “Asshole. I said don’t-…”

“She’s drunk, but not actually drunk!” Jimin caves, pinching his nosebridge but not before swatting away Yoongi’s hand. The latter belatedly realizes that Jimin’s not even holding onto you to keep you steady, it was purely you clinging to him. Jimin can’t put it into proper, technical terms because he’s always known that Yoongi isn’t his equal ever since high school, dumbing it down the best as he could that it physically makes him shudder.

“She’s drunk… in love.”

“What?” Yoongi squints, his face contorted into confusion and disbelief at the same time. “Are you high?”

“I’m not high. I mean it!” he groans, throwing his head back. He looks at you while you slip in and out of consciousness, his thumb underneath your chin to get you to look up. “Y/N’s literally drunk in love.”

You being attached to Jimin doesn’t make sense. What Jimin’s saying now isn’t making sense. You immediately coming to your ex, Jimin, after your fight with him doesn’t make any sense. None of everything that’s happening is making sense and Yoongi’s head is bound to erupt any time, the migraine forming in his temples giving Jimin a smaller window to explain.

“My friends and I made this drug for our company’s upcoming breakthrough and Y/N volunteered to try it out.”

“You drugged her?!” Yoongi yells, eyes wide and furious.

“I think you have selective hearing,” Jimin grits, offended at the insinuation. “It’s this drug that’s supposed to temporarily desensitize you to your soulmate, okay? It worked because clearly your initials are gone from her.”

None of them should be making sense but it does. It scares Yoongi that this whole thing could be condensed down to an explanation because it only makes it much more real; much more vulnerable.

“So I’m still her soulmate?” he asks with a lump on his throat, his rage simmering down back into sadness.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Jimin snorts, running a hand through his hair. “It’d last for a week but we have yet to know all of the possible side effects,” he kisses his teeth, going through his internal checklist. “So far, we found out that although it desensitizes a person towards their soulmate,” he trails, perhaps a little bit amused if he was saying the truth. “They cling to the first person they see.”

How awful, Yoongi thinks.

“Y/N’s drunk in me,” Jimin announces with a grin. “She thinks I’m her soulmate.”

You’re waking up little by little and Jimin figures that your unconsciousness is only temporary and a one-time thing, considering that you’re back to trying to entangle all of your limbs with him in an eager embrace.

“Snap out of it, Y/N,” Yoongi says outloud to you, completely disregarding that Jimin’s still in the room.

He even makes a move to try and pull you away from him but to no avail, his interruption only making you raise an eyebrow at him. You look at Yoongi from afar despite being near and it’s haunting, the tilt in your head giving your sentiments away.

“Who are you?” you question genuinely, brows furrowed slightly. You turn back to the person you know most in this room at the moment, who’s none other than Jimin. “Who’s he, Jimin?”

“You don’t know this guy?” he questions, his mind computing rapidly.

“Not at all,” you confirm, not sparing a single glance back at Yoongi.

There’s a tense silence because all that Yoongi could hear now is the fuzz in his brain and the pulsing of his heart, his chest deflating in anguish.

“You promise me? You don’t know this guy at all?” Jimin confirms to you once more, assessing you deeply.

“I promise. I’d never lie to you,” you say with a frown, both of the guys knowing that from your tone alone, all you’re saying is the truth.

Jimin takes it down quickly, his tone more somber and less hostile than before.

“That’s another side effect then. Not only can it desensitize, but it also makes you forget about your soulmate completely.”

The two of them are talking as if you’re not in the room with them but it doesn’t make a difference otherwise because you’re only focused on Jimin, your eyes all endeared just by the silhouette of him alone.

Yoongi can’t will his mind to focus on just one thing, his frustration coming off as a strangled yelp.

“You’re shitting me! Make an antidote or something!”

“We still have to wait out the whole week.”

“It’s like you’re just asking me to slap you!” he grits, hand outstretched already yet retreating when Jimin mocks him in return, pointing at you whose head is turned from Yoongi. Of course, you think Yoongi’s your soulmate — of course you’d shower him with affection.

“Can you guys be any louder? I wanna sleep. Please take me to bed,” your attention’s only turned to Jimin, the guy nodding earnestly.

He’s about to coax you into your room when a voice cuts into the air, an eager tap being placed on your shoulder.

“I’m Yoongi.”

You look back at the guy who introduced himself, a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes but looks like he’s just begging to be given a sliver of attention.

You don’t mind him though.

“Hi, Yoongi,” you curtly respond, turning your back on him. “Take me to bed, Jimin.”

( ♡ )

Your vocabulary’s not affected by Jimin’s experiment at all, except for the fact that the word you utter most is his name and barely Yoongi’s.

He neither came home nor went to sleep, his mind not being granted even a single second of rest because all he can think about how this is only a mere, flawed glimpse of what you would be like if he wasn’t your soulmate anymore and it’s terrifying. It puts goosebumps onto his skin and instills the fear of fate on him, obvious by the way he’s only been functioning long enough for the past hours for the sake of reliving the same alternate reality again and again.

You come out of your room and there’s still that same dazed look on your face, eyes less crazed but more yearning. Yoongi awaits any reaction from you that would lead him to think everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours is only a figment of his imagination.

It’s early in the morning but the sorrow from the evening already hits you through a frown, your eyes darting everywhere.

“Where’s Jimin?” you ask, shaking your head. “Why am I still here?”

“You live here,” Yoongi answers, keeping his hands to himself. He begrudgingly makes the internal note to relay your momentary forgetting to Jimin later even if talking to him is the last thing he’ll ever want to do.

You gasp then, eagerly nodding your head because that one piece of information definitely traces back to you. “Oh, right,” you nod, your lip curling once again. “Why are you here?”

Yoongi’s not sure how he should answer that.

He’s unsure if he should answer that he’s here and stayed the night because he was worried sick about you after your fight, almost driven to passing out in overwhelm especially when Jimin brought you home.

He doesn’t know if he should say that in your home because it’s only rational since you’re soulmates, and that he dislikes being alone, and that being with you calms him down an infinite amount; if he could just skim over the fact that you barely have any recollection of him and will continue to do so for the next week.

Yoongi can’t determine to whether or not he should tell you that he wants to spend every second with you because should be the precursor for you to believe that you don’t want him anymore, he’s left with a memory of you, no matter how painful.

“Because I live here too,” he says a half-truth, trailing off in remembrance of you nagging him to go back to his house.

“We live together?” you question once again, your face contorted in confusion. “Why?”

You don’t even mean malice with it and Yoongi knows that exactly, the bit of realization even more painful because he knew that you would question him with snark and tears otherwise. In your foggy, Jimin-centric brain, it doesn’t make sense why you and Yoongi practically live together.

Because we’re soulmates, he wants to answer.

It’s the same question he asks himself because he doesn’t know how you let him either — when in reality, he already knows why and it’s because you love him. The even bigger question is if he was even deserving of you.

“Because we wanted to,” Yoongi leaves it at that, clearing his throat as he pushes a plate towards you that he put together on short notice. “Here’s breakfast. This is your favorite.”

You don’t even move to thank him curtly, head tilting in curiosity. You have all the questions yet he doesn’t know if he has all the answers, his heart hurting whichever way he addresses you.

“But why do we want to live with each other?” 

“Because we care for each other.” (Read: because we’re soulmates and because we’ve been friends and soulmates our whole lives and I don’t ever see us parting.)

You nod at Yoongi’s brief answer, stuck in staring off to space for a couple of seconds before you swallow down everything.

“Oh,” you hum somewhat satisfied. “You know where Jimin is?” you open a new line of questioning this time, tone picking up more. “Do we live with him or is it just the two of us?”

Jimin’s testing out his method of withdrawing himself this time, living out the remainder of the week by not making any contact with you and assigning Yoongi to report back to him. He’s not even meant to say everything to you in technical terms, knowing that he has to make up lies the whole week regarding Jimin’s whereabouts.

It’s only and should be a simple, trivial question regarding your living situation but Yoongi can’t help the hiccup that builds in his chest, heart heavy with nothing he can do about.

“Just the two of us,” Yoongi mutters, tracing your initials on his finger discreetly. It was one of the things you did when you felt like confessing to him silently, eyes not even meeting each other’s for you to tell him that you love him. He’s desperate to have you do it to him again — pathetically and helplessly pleading for you to come back to him again. “Always just the two of us.”

.

.

.

Yoongi finds it admirable that you grow warmer to him by the night, nevermind that you’re not doing it for familiarity but rather to get closer to Jimin through him.

Not once does he leave your side whenever you stroll back out to thr living room, plopping onto the couch to eat dinner made by him to which you aren’t weirded about. You no longer inquired him why he’s here, just accepting his presence because the back of your mind tells you that you’re used to him in the first place.

“I miss Jimin,” he hears you sigh for the umpteenth time, an automatic rigid smile painted on his face. He doesn’t want to hear about him at all actually, however he’d do anything just to get you to keep talking in the event that it’s the last he’ll hear from you.

“You don’t say,” he hums, tuning out his name as he tries to pretend that it’s his instead.

You can’t distinguish the far relaxed nature to Yoongi’s intonations because after all, you barely remember any of him and his quirks for you to compare his attitude to. For all you know, he’s just a calm and calculating person that you know in your life, one whose eyes just can’t stop straying to his hands.

Yoongi doesn’t want to feel like he’s mourning but the feeling in his chest is akin to it anyway, something resembling repentance rising out of it from nowhere when you let your curiosity get the best of you.

You’re unfathomably upset because Jimin’s nowhere to be found. One second you’re sighing and at the other you become molten aluminum at thrashing just to see him.

It’s painful to see you like this and he tries his best to gather you to his arms to calm you down, shushing you to the best of his abilities that annoy you even further.

“I don’t want you! I want Jimin!”

“I’m the only one you have,” he says just as urgently, releasing you from his hold but you melt to him anyway, in a fit of tears with your hands covering your face.

It hurts to see you yearn for another person who isn’t him (read: your soulmate) and it hurts more to even grasp that this could’ve been your vignette the whole time that he’s been working, perhaps even the whole time that you’ve been pining after him.

“But I don’t wanna have you,” you enunciate with a sob that wracks your body yet destroy Yoongi’s core, his intake of breath being shallower the more that you refuse him.

“Can you find him for me please? Did I do anything wrong? Maybe he’ll respond to your texts.”

“You’ve never done anything wrong,” he comes to his sense just to scold you, eyes narrowing of why you could’ve conjured up such a thing.

“But I must’ve done something,” you whine. “Jimin doesn’t love me.”

“It’s impossible not to love you,” Yoongi interjects faster than the impulsive thought had formed in your brain, his eyes stern and promising. “Your soulmate must be the luckiest bastard in the world.”

You hear him once again but you can’t understand him, the words meaning nothing to you because you aren’t even sure of the level of relation you had with him before your memory became hazy.

“But my soulmate doesn’t even love me back!” 

You have him there, ironic that you’re going through the same situation twice. You’ve went through it with Yoongi for years genuinely, while you’ve been going through it with Jimin for five days because of an experiment.

“He loves you,” he says it in confidence and assurance, his hands unknowingly making their way to grip your shoulders for you to look at him when he’s speaking the truth. “He’s a conceited asshole and he’s really flawed, but he’s trying his best to love you more than you deserve,” his voice cracks briefly, clearing his throat. “Must be hard to swallow down the fact that the universe is too generous to him because he has you for a soulmate. He must feel like he’s the scum of the earth because he has the greatest, most lovable person in the world loving him, and he used to take it for granted.”

It’s warm. Too warm, too personal, and too familiar — and in your head, Jimin is the only person in your head who fills all three boxes.

“Jimin feels like that?”

“Hmm,” Yoongi agrees, lying easily. “He also hopes that it’s not too late.”

In a moment’s notice, he furthers the distance between the two of you as if the oddly-spurred passionate conversation the two of you had never happened.

Your memory’s not acting up when you remember that you came out to join Yoongi to talk about Jimin, but now, you wouldn’t believe yourself that it’s actually the reason you came out.

This time it’s you who reaches out for Yoongi, clearing your throat.

“Who’s that?” you point to his ring finger, eyes peeking at the initials. It’s just like yours, the irony of it making you giggle. “That’s not me, isn’t it?” 

“And if it was?” Yoongi asks, eyes still gentle but his voice much too mellow to the point that you’d think he isn’t breathing.

“I wouldn’t believe you,” you answer, carelessly shrugging.

Yoongi purses his lips and he knows he should stop prodding now because the last time he did, it ended with him driving you right into Jimin’s arms to experiment him out of your life. He can’t hold his tongue now, even when he knows he’s bound to suffer from himself anyway.

“Why not?”

“Because if that’s me, then I should be in love with you right now and not Jimin,” you trail, your tone reeking obviousness. It’s clear enough for you, atleast, but Yoongi takes nothing but murkiness from it.

“Hmm,” he hums, pointing to your hand. “Why do you love Jimin if his initials aren’t on your finger then?”

“You got me there,” you snort, the words unwilling to roll off easily from your mouth. In fact, nothing forms in your mind anyway, just a mere vision that you can discern yet not verbalize. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I just love him.”

It’s a confession that sets you apart from the soulmate that Yoongi knows, all before you had been desperate enough to desensitize yourself to his very existence.

“You can’t explain love?” he asks gently, eyes lowering down in thought.

“Can anybody?” you counter resignedly, the concept of just settling for the fact that there’s things that are unexplainable being enough for you.

Yoongi feels the most alive that he’s felt since the past day, the smile on his face being so nostalgic and sentimental to you for some reason that it momentarily makes you dizzy.

“My soulmate can. She’d profess her love for me every chance she gets. Would do it in all the ways she could find.”

You can explain love. You’re talkative and you always have the right words to say. You have the stubbornness in you that when put to its fullest power, puts his ego to shame. You have the convincing power of a company in you, one that has nothing to its name and only its very being to prove with.

You can put love into words and it’s daunting how you can condense everything you’ve ever felt for Yoongi into the many confessions you give him. In your loud drunken spiels all the way to your silent telepathic stints — you’re the embodiment of love. You can explain love and it makes sense because you would know your own.

“She sounds like a handful,” you murmur, brows furrowed to how Yoongi describes someone who’s clearly not on the same wavelength as he is with lovesick dedication in his face.

“She’s my handful though.”

“Does she come by here often then?” your brows raise, your headache throbbing the more that Yoongi speaks to you.

“You already know her,” Yoongi smiles tightly, looking right through you. He looks at you like he’s a dog that looks for its owner, ready to be at your beck and call. “I just don’t know if you can’t recognize her.”

“Show me a picture! Maybe it’ll jog my memory,” you offer enthusiastically, already knowing that you’re missing bits here and there but maybe seeing Yoongi’s soulmate would push you to remember faster.

“Maybe another time.”

Yoongi’s turned solemn, breathing shallowly as if he doesn’t want you to have a clue that you’re even seeing him right now.

“It’s just a picture! You looked like you were gonna cry when you were talking about her,” you pout, giving in eventually. “Aw, come on! You’re not sharing her?” 

“No,” he answers almost immediately, masking his certainty with an uneasy chuckle. “I hope not.” 

( ♡ )

You feel fuzzy.

Fuzzy in the sense that you remember clearly the two days you’ve lived but operated with your mind from afar; every interaction and every word crystal clear.

Fuzzy in the sense that it’s overwhelming, the good kind this time, but still overwhelming to the point that you have to take a breather outside of your apartment that feels suffocating to be in.

You’re five days ahead of schedule, the effect of the pill that was supposed to desensitize you to Yoongi and have other as drastic side effects being cut early.

It’s only relief that fills you when you walk out and hear Yoongi’s light snores in your guest bedroom instead of the living room, alleviating your momentary guilt at leaving this time — but only to give yourself the space to think, of course.

It’s only solace that envelopes you when you screw your eyes shut and look to your ring finger while you hold your breath, the consolation of seeing Yoongi’s initials still on there satiating you.

You’re not in your room and not even in the apartment at all. You’re not at the hallway and not even anywhere in your entire apartment complex. You’re not at the convenience store nearby where you typically go on walks just to take your mind off things and buy yourself snacks. He’s already checked and checked — Yoongi can’t find you anywhere.

He fears the worst. The absolute, most heartbreaking worst. He can’t even fathom where he got the strength to dial your number on his phone because he thought he would be faced with nothing, the proof that you’ve cut all ties with him by disconnecting completely.

Yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him when you answer easily on the second ring, your voice lighthearted.

“You’re wrong,” you hum. “Your apartment’s easy to break into just like mine.”

“Where are you?” Yoongi asks first amongst the other hundred questions he’s been dying to do so, the relief that fills him unable to be topped. You’ve just said your location but he still asks, hesitant that this may just be some cruel joke.

You stay quiet at your side of the line, looking around his place with a fondness you can’t even begin to start tackling.

“I’m at home.”

There’s nothing that comes to your mind besides the fact that it actually looks like your home. It resembles your home when you only had a mattress on the floor and no bedframe when you moved in, when you started sticking up pictures with tape that you didn’t know would ruin the walls, and when you finally found your sense of the style and had the finances and time to do it — it resembles your home all at the same time.

There’s several pictures of you and Yoongi together that line up the walls and the shelves, notes written behind them in your handwriting that you didn’t think he would keep.

Your parcels that he received with your name on it are all gathered near the doorway, the flyers of your favorite restaurants hung up by the fridge. Yoongi’s house looks more like your home and it almost brings you to tears.

He never noticed it, in fact. Hasn’t noticed the way that his definition of his home has shifted to your taste and how his definition of love turned into you. It had been gradually building through the years that Yoongi hasn’t stopped to figure that your home has become his, all to the point that he’s been living in it the whole time.

“I’m waiting,” you mutter as soon as you open the door to Yoongi who had ran all the way here in a frenzy, chest heaving up and down. “I’m waiting for you to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do that and more,” Yoongi nods in earnest and immediately leaps in to kiss you, finally feeling that you’ve given him the opportunity to breathe. 

He kisses you so endearingly that you’re surprised you haven’t done it before with him because the way he does so feels like second nature. He breathes you in until he feels like he can exhale, catching his breath as he settles his head to the crook of your neck.

“I was waiting for that too,” you snort, speaking at the same time as him.

“What I said that night-…”

“I remember,” you interrupt. “You’re not the scum of the earth, Yoongi, and I’m not the greatest person in the world either.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” he rolls his eyes even if he knows a fool would see that you aren’t anything short of great. “I’m sorry for making you wait,” he apologizes, eyes flickering to yours. “But you don’t have to wait around for me anymore, okay?”

It’s a great mound of consolation that he’d be willing to trek over and over again if it means making up for everything he’s done.

“I can’t love you the way that you love me because nobody can compare to you,” he whispers, crossing his heart in promise. “But believe me, please, I’ll make up for all of the lost time and I’ll love you the best that I could.”

It’s a progress, a working one at that, wherein you’d meet Yoongi in the middle of.

“I can’t confess my love for you every two weeks-…”

“Oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, playfully attempting to break off his hug to which he doesn’t let you.

“Because that’s too spread out. I’ll do it everyday,” Yoongi finishes, the grin on his face pleasantly annoying.

“You’re the worst,” you weakly offer, letting yourself into the moment of vulnerability by abandoning your defenses.

“You’re sounding like me,” he laughs, pressing just one more kiss to your forehead.

You’re the universe’s reward to Yoongi for everything he’s ever done, the resounding desire in his whole being to just be the best he could ever be for you reverberating throughout his home and yours.

“You don’t have to ask me to love you anymore,” he says gently, eyes holding up the entirety of a truth he can’t deny. “I’d give you the sun even if you didn’t ask me to.”

[kokomyass]

(somewhat) perfect date

thinking about Neuvillette being a nervous cutie during a date ^.^

Neuvillette's heart raced as he prepared for his first date, nerves fluttering like butterflies in his stomach. Every detail was meticulously planned, from his attire to the choice of venue. Yet, fate had a different script in store.

As the evening unfolded, a series of mishaps unfurled like a comedy of errors. His carefully chosen restaurant was unexpectedly closed, forcing them to settle for a crowded café. Conversation stumbled awkwardly, and Neuvillette's attempts at humor fell flat.

That may be the first time he ever said a cuss word.

With each misstep, his confidence waned, and disappointment shadowed his once bright anticipation. But amidst the chaos, the reader offered a comforting presence, soothing his frazzled nerves with gentle words of encouragement.

In that moment of vulnerability, Neuvillette found solace in their understanding, realizing that perfection wasn't the essence of a memorable date. It was the shared moments, the laughter amidst mishaps, and the genuine connection that truly mattered. And as they walked under the moonlit sky, Neuvillette's heart felt lighter, grateful for the unexpected journey that led him to a deeper understanding of love and companionship.

credit to the artist !!

[kckt88]

You Really Got Me.

Summary:

After being dragged to a club by his brother, Aemond meets the girl of his dreams.

Warning(s): Alcohol, Flirting, Banter, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex M & F Recieving, Multiple Orgasms, P in V sex.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x Y.N

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 3384

A.N - Shout out to @zeciex for suggesting I write this!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

As the bass thumped through the club, Aemond Targaryen leaned back against the plush leather booth, a tumbler of amber liquid swirling in his hand. His older brother Aegon was at it again, prowling the dance floor in search of his next conquest, his laughter mingling with the music and the chatter of the crowd.

Aemond couldn't help but shake his head at Aegon's antics, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Some things never changed, no matter how old they got. But then, his attention was caught by a figure sitting at the bar.

She was captivating, with long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders and a leather jacket over her dress only adding an edge to her ensemble.

Her fingers tapped against her thigh in time with the beat, a subtle rhythm that drew Aemond's gaze like a moth to flame and he found himself unable to look away.

As the music pulsed around them, Aemond felt a surge of courage wash over him. With a glance towards his brother, who was still lost in his pursuit, he made his decision. Setting down his drink, he straightened his jacket and approached the bar, a newfound determination in his step.

It had been a good few months since he’d last took a woman to his bed and tonight, he would take a chance, and see where the night would lead.

With a steady resolve, Aemond made his way through the pulsating crowd towards the bar where the captivating woman sat. As he approached, he couldn't help but admire the graceful way she moved to the music, her presence commanding attention.

Just as he was about to speak, fate intervened in the form of a misstep.

The woman turned at the wrong moment, her sudden movement catching Aemond off guard. Before he could react, their paths collided, and the contents of her drink went tumbling through the air, splashing across the front of his shirt.

"Whoa, I'm so sorry!" Aemond exclaimed, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady her as they both stumbled back from the collision.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise, a look of mortification crossing her features as she took in the mess they had created. "Oh gods, I didn't see you there," she apologized, her voice tinged with embarrassment.

"It's alright, really," Aemond reassured her, offering a warm smile despite the dampness seeping through his shirt. "Accidents happen."

Together, they shared a rueful laugh, the tension of the moment dissipating into shared amusement.

As they both cleaned up the mess, the woman offered a sheepish smile. "I'm Y.N," she introduced herself, her voice soft but carrying a hint of warmth.

"Aemond," he replied, offering his hand with a gentle shake. "Nice to meet you, Y.N, despite the unconventional start."

Y.N's smile widened, a glint of amusement sparkling in her eyes. "Likewise, Aemond. And I must say, you handle unexpected collisions quite well."

Aemond chuckled, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks. "Years of practice," he quipped, enjoying the easy banter that flowed between them.

Feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between them, Aemond gestured towards the bar. "Can I make it up to you by buying you another drink?" he offered, hoping to extend their conversation beyond the initial mishap.

Y.N's lips curved into a playful grin. "I suppose that would be fair compensation," she teased, a sparkle of mischief dancing in her eyes.

With a shared laugh, they made their way to the bar, the music and chatter of the club fading into the background as they continued to get to know each other.

As they settled into a more intimate corner of the club, Aemond and Y.N continued their conversation, their laughter blending seamlessly with the music.

"So, what brought you here tonight?" Aemond asked, genuinely curious about the woman sitting across from him.

Y.N's expression softened, a hint of wistfulness crossing her features. "Honestly, I was just about to leave," she confessed, her voice tinged with a touch of disappointment. "My friends bailed on me, and I didn't really fancy staying here alone."

Aemond's brows furrowed sympathetically, but a playful twinkle lit up his eye. "Well, I suppose luck was on my side then," he remarked with a charming smile. "Because you're not alone anymore."

Y.N's lips curled into a smile, touched by his sincerity. "I suppose you're right," she conceded, a warmth blossoming in her chest at his words.

As the night wore on and their conversation deepened, Aemond and Y.N found themselves drawn to each other in ways they hadn't expected. With each shared laugh and exchanged glance, the spark of attraction between them ignited into a blazing flame.

Aemond leaned in closer, his voice low and husky as he teased Y.N with playful banter. "You know, I must say, you're quite the captivating presence," he remarked, a hint of admiration in his tone.

Y.N's cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and delight as she returned his gaze, her eyes sparkling with a newfound confidence. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she quipped, her smile playful yet inviting.

Their flirtatious exchange continued, a dance of words and glances that spoke volumes without the need for further explanation.

Aemond couldn't deny the magnetic pull he felt towards Y.N, her wit and charm captivating him in ways he hadn't anticipated. And as he watched her laugh and playfully toss her hair, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to explore where this newfound attraction would lead.

For Y.N, the feeling was mutual, her heart racing with excitement as she found herself falling deeper under Aemond's spell. In his presence, she felt alive in a way she hadn't in a long time, her every nerve tingling with anticipation.

As the night progressed and the chemistry between them intensified, Y.N found herself drawn to the subtle intricacies of Aemond's appearance. With a gentle touch, she reached out to tuck a stray strand of his long, silver hair behind his ear, her fingertips lingering against his skin.

"You know," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "You have to be one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat at her words, a rush of warmth flooding through him at the sincerity in her gaze. He met her eyes, his own blue orbs reflecting a depth of emotion that words could scarcely capture.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mixture of humility and gratitude. "That's-quite the compliment."

Y.N smiled, her gaze softening as she took in the sight of him. "I mean it," she insisted, her fingers trailing lightly along his jawline. "Your sharp features, the colour of your eye-it’s truly mesmerizing".

“-And the eyepatch and scar?” mused Aemond.

“Proves that you’re a survivor” replied Y.N smiling.

Y.N's gaze lingered on Aemond's profile, the soft glow of the club's lights casting gentle shadows across his features.

With a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, she couldn't help but voice her admiration.

"You know, Aemond, your side profile is absolutely incredible," she remarked, her voice hushed yet filled with genuine appreciation.

Aemond turned to face her, a faint blush tinting his cheeks at the unexpected compliment. "Really?" he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

Y.N nodded, her eyes tracing the elegant curve of his jawline and the noble slope of his nose. "Yes, really," she affirmed, her tone earnest. "There's something about the way the light catches your features-it's like you were sculpted by an artist."

Aemond's heart fluttered at her words, a warmth spreading through him at the sincerity in her gaze. In Y.N's eyes, he felt seen in a way that went beyond mere physical appearance, a recognition of the uniqueness that defined him.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with gratitude.

Aemond found himself unable to resist the magnetic pull drawing him closer to Y.N. With a silent exchange of longing glances, they closed the distance between them, their lips meeting in a fervent kiss that ignited a firestorm of passion between them.

In that moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of Y.N's lips against his own, soft yet electrifying. Aemond's heart thundered in his chest as he deepened the kiss, his hands instinctively finding their way to Y.N's waist, pulling her closer to him.

Y.N responded eagerly, her arms winding around Aemond's neck as she melted into his embrace.

As their kiss finally broke, leaving them both breathless and flushed with desire, Aemond gazed into Y.N's eyes, a question lingering unspoken between them.

"Y.N," he began, his voice husky with emotion, "Would you like to-go back to my flat?"

Y.N's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Yes," she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet longing that mirrored his own.

With a surge of elation coursing through him, Aemond took her hand in his, his fingers intertwining with hers as they made their way through the throng of people towards the exit.

As they reached the door, Aemond fumbled for his keys, his fingers trembling with anticipation. With a satisfying click, the door swung open, and they stumbled into the dimly lit interior, their bodies pressed together as their kisses grew deeper, more urgent.

“A-Are you sure?” asked Aemond.

“Yes, I’m sure-“ replied Y.N as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him for another kiss, the tongues gently caressing one another.

Aemond’s hands then slipped her leather jacket off her shoulders and draped it over the back of a chair before he took her face in his hands and ran his tongue over her lips, eliciting a low moan from Y.N.

His long fingers sliding up the back of her neck and into her hair, his forehead resting against hers.

“So beautiful” whispered Aemond.

“I-I want to see you” muttered Y.N softly.

Aemond hesitated, he never took his eyepatch off around anyone except his mother, brothers, and sister.

But there was something about Y.N that instantly made him feel comfortable, so with a deep breath Aemond slipped his fingers under the strap of his eyepatch and pulled it from his head.

Y.N stood silent she stared at the scar the bisected his cheek, extending through his eyebrow. The sapphire that he’d placed in the eye socket, glinted in the moonlight.

“You are-so-beautiful” whispered Y.N as she leaned forward and placed a number of kisses along his scarred cheek and over the sapphire.

Aemond closed his eye in delight at the tender gesture, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

“Hmmm” rasped Aemond as he ran his thumb over Y.N’s bottom lip, his eye going wide as she opened her mouth and nipped at his thumb before sucking it into her mouth.

Aemond could feel his eye roll into the back of head, fuck his cock was throbbing.

“Please-“ moaned Y.N

Aemond removed his thumb and quickly shed his jacket before throwing it on the sofa.

Wasting no time, he pulled Y.N to him, his lips once again claiming hers.

He put his arm around her waist and kissed her passionately, deepening the kiss as she moaned into his mouth. His tongue pushing against hers.

Y.N ran her fingers across his lithe body. His muscles rippled under her fingertips.

She unbuttoned the white shirt he wore, placing feathery kisses on his sparsely haired chest as the shirt was removed.

Her fingers toying with the silver cross chain he wore.

Groaning against her creamy smooth skin, he kissed her neck, sucking on the delicate flesh as she leaned into him, enjoying his every touch.

Her dress felt heavy on her. She wanted to be rid of it. She wanted to feel his skin on hers. She reluctantly broke free of his embrace and turned her back to him moving her hair out of the way.

His fingers trembled as he grasped the zip to her dress and pulled it down, the sound echoed through the quiet apartment, and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck.

Using his long fingers, he freed her from the confinements of her dress, and it fell to join his shirt on the floor.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, which excited him to no end.

Goosebumps appeared where his fingers moved over her. Cupping her ample breasts from behind, Aemond pulled Y.N against his chest. Burying himself in the crook of her neck, sucking on the skin whilst his fingers massaged the soft mounds and played with her hardened nipples.

Aemond turned her to face him. Kissing her again, he trailed kisses down her body and took a rosy nipple in his mouth. Sucking on the aroused bud, he bit down lightly, earning a low moan from deep within her.

He continued his actions on the other breast and kissed past her stomach until he knelt before her. Her fingers in his hair tightened as he ran the tips of his fingers from her stomach down to her core.

Slowly he hooked his thumbs on the sides of her knickers and pulled them down.

 Fuck she was dripping, and it was all for him. He could not wait to taste her. Somehow, he knew she would taste delicious.

Y.N delicately stepped out of the lacy material, and Aemond's long fingers grasped her buttocks. His fingers dug into her delicate flesh.

He felt her lean in eagerly. Gently he swiped his tongue across her hairless pussy, instant gratification as her fingers tightened their hold on his head, and a low moan left her lips.

Aemond smirked. Using his tongue, he gained access to her wet, pink folds. She tasted fucking amazing. Aemond enthusiastically ran his tongue along her slit, flicking his tongue over her swollen clit.

Y.N effortlessly placed a leg on his shoulder, spreading her thighs for better access. Oh, how he welcomed it.

Her clit was a swollen mass of pleasure waiting to explode. He pressed his tongue hard on it and sucked on her pulsating womanhood. Again and again, he felt her squirm. He felt her heat, she was so close.

Y.N felt the flow of heat accumulate behind her navel as she hovered on the cusp of orgasm. She let out a loud moan as she intricately spun a bundle of nerves that exploded within her.

"Fuck!" Y.N cried and buckled under the weight of her release.

Wave upon wave of unbridled passion unleashed within her as an earth-shattering orgasm tore throughout her body. Her slick juices dripped down his lips and chin. He didn't stop until she was utterly spent.

Pushing his tongue further in, he fucked her with his tongue till her orgasm ceased.

"Aemond," whimpered Y.N as she began to wobble.

Smirking, Aemond rose to his feet and kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

Y.N regained her composure and keenly clung to him, returning his kisses while undoing the button of his trousers.

Not skipping a single step as she directed him backwards towards the sofa.

Kissing him full on the mouth, her fingers stroked his body, not missing an inch of flesh.

She marvelled at the feel of his body. It was so lithe and fit. Trailing kisses past his stomach, she came face to face with his sizeable bulge.

Biting down on her lip, kneeling between his legs she pulled his trousers and boxers down his shapely legs and threw them next to her.

Even in the dim light, Aemond could see she was impressed. His rock-hard shaft stood up, eagerly awaiting its reward.

Y.N bent her head and licked a line from his balls to his pulsating head.

Aemond groaned aloud as she clasped her fingers around his girth and moved her hand up and down the hard shaft. Y.N enjoyed his slow torture. She smirked and licked the underside of his cock.

"Y.N-" whimpered Aemond.

His eye closed, and he felt her tongue at his head, licking the pre-cum that oozed out.

Without warning, she took him in whole, deep-throating his length. Aemond knew he would not last, he could not hold back any longer, but gods he did not want her to stop.

She was sucking on him, her lips tightening around his cock as she built a beautiful pace.

"NO!" groaned Aemond and Y.N withdrew.

She barely had time to react. Before he grabbed her around the waist and moved her on top.

“I-have condoms-somewhere” mumbled Aemond.

“I’m on the pill and clean-“ exclaimed Y.N her eyes going wide as Aemond lined up his cock with her entrance and sheathed himself inside her with one hard thrust.

Y.N moaned as Aemond withdrew and entered into her repeatedly.

Faster and faster. Harder and deeper, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

"Please don't stop," cried out Y.N

"I have no intention of stopping" growled Aemond, his feet planted firmly on the floor to allow him to increase the intensity of his thrusts.

A satisfied smile spread across his face as he quickened and angled his movements, so his cock rubbed on that special place inside her.

Aemond was mesmerized by the sight of Y.N’s breasts bouncing in front of him and unbale to resist any longer he surged forward, his mouth wrapping around one rosy bud.

His teeth and tongue teasing the stiffened peak.

“Gods-yes Aemond” shrieked Y.N as she bounced on his cock, her hands coiled in is long silver hair.

“That’s it baby-take it-take all of me” growled Aemond leaning back as he moved Y.N’s hips in time with his thrusts.

“Oh gods-” wailed Y.N.

“That’s it-FUCK Y.N” groaned Aemond as he took hold of her and quickly manoeuvred her onto her back, his cock never leaving the warm wetness of her as he began to pound into her, the sounds of skin slapping on skin echoing around his apartment.

“P-Please Aemond. Don’t stop. Don’t stop-“ whimpered Y.N.

“Come for me baby-come for me” growled Aemond as he felt her clenching around him.

“AEMOND” screamed Y.N as she exploded, her nails digging into his back.

Aemond held back for as long as he could, but his release was upon him.

Surrounded by her wetness, he closed his eye.

With a final hard thrust, he spilled rope after rope of his seed.

He muffled his groans into her mouth as she hung onto him, kissing him fervently.

Only once she milked him dry did he collapse on top of her. She held him close to her body, whispering words of comfort and satisfaction while running her fingers down his back.

The sweat on his back stung against the scraps her nails made.

As they lay entwined on the sofa, their bodies bare and glistening with the remnants of their shared passion, Aemond and Y.N savoured the quiet intimacy of the moment. The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle halo around their entangled forms.

Aemond's fingers traced lazy patterns across Y.N's skin, his touch tender and reverent as he explored the contours of her body.

With a contented sigh, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his heart overflowing with gratitude for the unexpected twist of fate that had brought them together.

In the stillness of the night, a silent thanks drifted through Aemond's mind, directed towards Aegon, who had unwittingly led him to the club where he had found Y.N.

Aemond couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't want this to be just another fleeting encounter. With Y.N nestled against him, her warmth radiating against his skin, he felt a longing stir within him—a desire to see her again, to explore the depths of their connection beyond the confines of this single night.

Gathering his courage, Aemond brushed a stray lock of hair from Y.N's face, his voice soft yet resolute. "Y.N," he began, his heart pounding in his chest, "I don't want this to end here. Would you-would you like to go on a date with me?"

Y.N's eyes lit up with delight, a soft giggle escaping her lips as she looked up at him with a sparkle of excitement. "Yes," she replied, her voice brimming with warmth and affection. "I would love to."

[cryptidghostgirl]

Ritornello (Alastor x Cursed!Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: I don't think there are any but please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 3,565

Previous Part: Rhapsody

Next Part: Rapture

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N Okay I know that canonically Charlie is like 200 but we're gonna make her 25.

After everything with Alastor, Y/n tried to continued their life as it had been before he'd stepped into. It was challenging, they faltered and misstepped. They had been good at being on their own once but now that they had a taste of the alternative, it was difficult to fall back into their old ways. Eventually, they managed to fall into a new pattern of being.

They were a bit more careful now, they didn't dash out unannounced from behind corners or secret hiding places. Seeing Alastor was the last thing they wanted to do. Now, they had someone to avoid.

For seventeen years, they continued on like this. They struggled through their battles on their own, against the overlords and against their own personal situation. They searched high and low for a cure but the only things they ever seemed able to come up with were false promises and temporary fixes. Every day, the curse the overlords had placed on them to limit their powers was growing stronger. Every time they used their magic, played their music, it became more and more corrupted and so, they learned to fight with their hands. This was until they got the call from Lucifer, of course.

The pair were old friends of a sort. Y/n had met him by chance within their first few days in Hell when he'd pulled them out of a tight spot. They didn't spend time together ever or really see one another at all but, Y/n had a vague sort of trust for the man, a strong sense of a debt needing to be repaid. Y/n didn't like owing people things, not even back when they were alive. They didn't like depending on people in that way. When he asked them if they could keep an eye on his daughter, they couldn't refuse.

Charlie was a lot. At twelve years old, she was bright and over the top and constantly bursting out into song. At first, Y/n had been rather uncertain about the whole arrangement, even when she'd gone through her emo phase at fifteen.

Y/n tried to steer clear of them for the most part. Picking her up from school, dropping her off. Babysitting when her parents needed a night to themselves, the normal stuff. When the issues started between Lilith and Lucifer, Charlie was suddenly thrust into Y/n's life a lot more. She had no idea the real reason, both her parents wanting to keep the trouble from her due to their own care and protective natures, and Y/n tried their best to keep it that way. It didn't help that by sixteen, Charlie had practically moved in with the demon but they managed.

Charlie had always pushed for a connection, something more than Y/n making her dinner and getting her where she needed to go. Y/n resisted at all costs. They'd been hurt before by trust, by care. The idea of going through it all again was terrifying. That all changed the day Charlie found out about the curse.

Y/n hadn't meant for her to find out. One of their situation's many many downsides was that while the curse ate away at their magic, it also ate away at their physical form. If they weren't careful, if they didn't temper their emotions and make sure they were eating enough raw meat, the beast would take over.

The beast was a horrific thing in their eyes, blood hungry and devastating. It was sub-human, sub-demon even, writhing and scornful. A mass of twisting shells of prey, a mass of claws and sharp teeth.

Of course, Y/n couldn't keep it from Charlie forever and on one fateful evening, Y/n had transformed. They'd been overworked, stressed about the fact that the Vees were gaining more territory and power, that soon they would be practically untouchable. They had forgotten to take care of themselves in the rush of it all, prioritizing Charlie and their plans.

When they had come back to their senses, come back to themself, it had been to the sight of Charlie. With a damp rag held to their forehead by the demoness and a whole lot of bones from victims of their situation on the floor around them, they had opened their eyes. Y/n had expected Charlie to flinch, to run in fear, to tell Lucifer who knew nothing about the curse. Instead, she had smiled brightly and told Y/n she was glad they were okay. From that day forward, they were absolutely inseparable, completely attached at the hip.

With Charlie's help and cheerful influence, Y/n was beginning to learn how to exist. They loved the girl like she was their own and Charlie knew if she ever had an issue of any sort, she could go to Y/n about it. Even when Y/n had relayed the story of how they'd been cursed and why, there had been no issues, no qualms, nothing. Charlie promised her watcher that she would help them break the curse, no matter what it took.

It was watching Charlie come into herself as a young adult, watching her meet and fall in love with Vaggie that made the real difference. The princess of Hell was unapologetically herself and Vaggie took everything she had to offer with open arms. Slowly but surely, the search for a cure took a back seat as did Y/n's goal of taking down the overlords of Hell. Their life was different, but they were happy. They found themself wishing for the past, the one they had shared with Alastor, less and less, channeling their energy into the world around them. They didn't even notice when the reports started to come in that the Radio Demon of the overlords had seemingly vanished.

Things hadn't been without their challenges. Charlie's relationship with her dad was strained to say the least and when her mom had disappeared? She'd been absolutely inconsolable but with one another's help, they figured things out, made it through.

When Charlie pitched the idea of the Happy Hotel, Y/n had been doubtful. They knew a lot about Hell, the way it functioned, the way the demons within were. It came from decades running around back streets and surviving in the underworld of the underworld. It was Charlie's hope that did it, her earnest gaze. Y/n had caved and after months of hard work, the Hotel had finally opened.

Things were going well, too well even. Then there had been the interview with Katie Killjoy, the other shoe dropping. Y/n had watched it from the sidelines with Vaggie. As soon as Charlie had come down off the set, they had enveloped her in their arms and held them close. With Vaggie's help, they managed to get Charlie back to the hotel.

Once she had calmed down a little bit, Charlie stood from where she had been seated in the sitting room beside Y/n, Vaggie, and the hotel's one resident: Angel Dust. She mentioned something about calling her mom before disappearing into the lobby.

Y/n and Vaggie exchanged a look. They both knew the situation Charlie was in with regards to her mother and how she tended to get after one of her failed attempts to contact the woman. Neither thought this was the time or the place to step in however, and remained seated, chatting idly with Angel as they waited for Charlie's return.

When she finally did, it was with a nervous attitude and a strained expression.

"Hey Vaggie?"

"What?" Vaggie asked as she and Y/n twisted to look at Charlie who stood in the door way behind the couch.

"Can you come help me please?"

Vaggie got to her feet and exited the sitting room with her girlfriend. Y/n turned to Angel to continue their conversation but had barley gotten a word to the spider demon out when Vaggie stepped back in the room.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?" Y/n replied calmly.

"Charlie actually needs our help with this one, I think."

"Alright then." Y/n got to their feet, shooting a glance back at Angel, "A true hotelier's work is never done." they lightly joked and Angel rolled his eyes.

"What's this about?" Y/n asked Vaggie as they followed her down the hall towards the hotel's main entrance.

"Just..." Vaggie sighed, "you'll see."

Noting the girl's odd behavior and stressed demeanor, Y/n steeled themselves. Not much put Vaggie on edge. She was strong, toughened, as far as Y/n knew, by a brutal upbringing in the streets of Hell. While each use of their powers made the curse grow stronger, they would not hesitate to protect Charlie or her dreams should the need arise. Besides, they'd become quite good at other means of self preservation over the years.

As they rounded the corner into the lobby space, Y/n was greeted by a flash of red as someone pushed past Charlie into the space from the street and a familiar voice.

"Excuse my sudden visit, but I saw your fiasco on the picture show and I just couldn't resist. What a performance! Why I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929. So many orphans."

Y/n let out a low growl, summoning their lute into their hands and Vaggie pointed her spear at the Radio Demon. It was pure instinct. If they knew anyone, they knew Alastor and redemption was not the Radio Demon's cup of tea. As Charlie shut the door, he turned to face them. Y/n walked a few steps forward, planting their feet a little ways away from Alastor and poising their fingers to play.

"Get out of here." They said through gritted teeth.

Alastor's eyes widened with recognition for the smallest moment. As quick as he had lost it, he regained his composure.

"My what a protective force this Hazbin Hotel has." Alastor mused.

"It's called the Happy Hotel actually?" Charlie hesitantly corrected and he laughed.

"Not anymore its not. I did you the favor of fixing your sign."

A little threat couldn't hurt, a little reminder of who he was dealing with. Alastor had no idea Y/n was any less capable than when he'd first met them. One little note couldn't hurt, wouldn't show any of the damage done. Y/n plucked a single string on their instrument and the room around them began to glow. Everyone's hair lifted around their faces, the loose edges of their clothes beginning to flutter.

"Get out of here now. I wont ask you again."

"Now, is that anyway to treat an old friend?" Alastor replied, smirking.

Everything suddenly clicked into place. There was something different about him. Y/n couldn't put their finger on exactly what it was, but they could tell he hadn't been lying. He'd been at the Hotel for at least five minutes by now, maybe more with all Charlie and Vaggie's running back and forth since his arrival. If he had had any truly negative intentions, they would have revealed themselves, especially to Y/n. Alastor was a good liar, but no one was that good, good enough to trick someone who had watched them become the person they are.

"Old friend?" Vaggie repeated, turning to Y/n in confusion.

Their grimace faltered, before falling completely. They released their instrument, letting it hang loosely in their hand by their side.

"Alastor! You're embarrassing me in front of my kid."

"Your kid?" Alastor asked after a moment.

This time the shocked expression that crept its way onto his face stayed there.

"You know him?" Charlie asked at the same moment as Alastor spoke.

Y/n let their instrument dissolve into the air and gestured to Charlie.

"My kid. And yes, Charlie. I know Alastor."

Alastor turned, looking Charlie up and down.

"You got with Lucifer?" Alastor asked in confusion as he looked back at Y/n.

They laughed lightly at the notion, unable to stop themselves. They shook their head.

"No. Oh my gosh, I would never. Seriously just... great guy and all but no thank you. I just take care of his kid for him. Well, used to. We sorta got attached."

Charlie walked up to Y/n as they spoke, pulling them into a side hug.

"Y/n practically raised me. They were kinda the only one who was always there for me."

Y/n looked down at Charlie with a fond smile. They ruffled her hair and Charlie quickly batted their hand away.

It was clear to Alastor that Y/n had changed. They were no longer the trouble making demon he had known, that he had loved. Still, there was that same spark in their eyes, that fervent desire, that want. From just the small interaction playing out before him, he could tell that Y/n had learned how to trust and protect rather than just fight. They had learned to live hand in hand with that creeping need woven so tightly around their bones, rather than despite it.

It made him happy to see, it made him happy for her. At the same time, it caused his heart to ache terribly. They had finally been able to let someone in, and it hadn't been him.

In the years since their separation, Alastor had never stopped thinking about Y/n. Their memory was tender to the touch, shot sparks of joy or anguish down him depending on the day. It was like an old wound that had never quite healed right. Seeing them now was unexpected. The wound reopened. He sheltered himself.

Y/n saw the way Vaggie still had her spear pointed at Alastor, aimed straight at his neck. Gently, they placed a hand on it, pushing it down. Vaggie looked at them, her eyebrows raised.

"If he wanted to hurt anyone here, he would have done so already."

Vaggie stared at Y/n for a moment. Seeing how serious the demon that had become a mentor to her was in this moment, she lowered her blade. Y/n's hand fell back to their side.

"Now," Y/n turned to look at Alastor once again, "why are you here?"

----

It was late. Vaggie had told Y/n that Charlie wanted to speak to them about something in their office and so, Y/n found themselves outside the familiar door. They knocked once on the dark red wood.

"Yeah?"

They opened the door and Charlie smiled.

"What'd you wanna talk to me about, Sunshine?" Y/n asked as they entered the room, taking a seat in the chair across the desk from their young charge.

"Just about Alastor."

They should have known. Not only was the hotel at a potential risk thanks to the decision to allow him to work with them but Charlie had always had a sharp sense of curiosity. Y/n sighed.

"Fire away, kiddo."

"Well, how do you two know one another? Can we trust him? Do you think he means what he says he does? I thought you hated overlords? I.. I..."

Y/n smiled softly, the change in their face easing Charlie's nervous temper.

"We will handle these one at a time, no prying. Deal?"

"Y/n, you realize how suspicious that makes you sound, right?"

"Fine. A little prying. Deal?"

"Deal."

Y/n leaned back in their chair, letting out a sigh of nostalgia. Their hands rested on their stomach as they kicked their feet up onto Charlie's desk.

"I... I met Alastor practically right after he arrived. We both thought the overlord system was dumb and so, we decided to team up."

There was a moment of silence, broken by Charlie. The young demoness had always loved Y/n's stories, begged to hear them. They had never once heard this one before.

"Is that all?"

Y/n shook their head.

"We dated."

"You dated!" Charlie exclaimed in shock, nearly jumping out of her seat, "You dated the Radio Demon. Were you in love?"

Of course she'd go on and ask that next. Not 'how'd that happen?' not 'when was this?' No, Charlie had to go for the hardest question first, like she always did.

"Yes." Y/n hesitantly replied, "I did."

"I... oh my god. This is actually crazy. You dated? You actually dated. Like for real, in love, dated."

"Alright." Y/n clapped their hands, taking their feet off the desk and righting themselves in their chair, "Next question."

"Bu-"

"I said some prying."

"Fine." Charlie sighed, crossing her arms, "But I am gonna get that story out of you eventually."

"I'm sure you will, sunshine." Y/n chuckled lightly, "Now. Can we trust him? I... I'm not sure."

All the excitement vanished from Charlie as she looked seriously over at Y/n.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Because, he's up to something but not with us. Or, if it is with us, it's not to hurt us. I... something happened to him, something is different. I am not sure what I just... he's not here to hurt us... I think..."

"You think?" Charlie repeated indignantly, "Can you be a little more sure of that maybe? Why only think?"

"It's been a long time since I've seen him, Charls. Maybe being an overlord is what changed him. I have no way of knowing but my gut tells me he's okay, at least for now."

"You knew him before he became an overlord?"

"You really think I would team up with one of those bitches? Come on. You know I hate them."

"I-"

"Next question." Y/n quickly interrupted, not wanting to think on the past anymore than was necessary, "I think he does mean what he says, as was implied in whether or not I trusted him but the same caveats that applied there apply here too. And I do hate overlords, I just..."

"You just love him." Charlie teased.

Y/n's cheeks grew hot. They looked away.

"I do not. I loved him. There is a difference."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Why did you guys break up?"

Y/n turned back to Charlie. They couldn't say no to those eyes.

"Well, he became an overlord. Also I maybe... never told him. About the curse. He could tell something was up and..." Y/n took a breath, "couldn't take it after a while I guess."

"So you guys still loved each other when you broke up."

"What are you scheming over there."

"Nothing! Nothing!" Charlie quickly replied as she not so discreetly scribbled something on a piece of paper, "How long were you together?"

Y/n placed their hands on the arms of the chair, pulling themselves to their feet.

"Alright, trouble maker, I think thats enough lore outta me tonight."

"But Y/n!"

"I'm gonna go to bed. Vaggie already headed upstairs for the night I think. Sweet dreams, princess."

"Good night Y/n." Charlie dejectedly replied as she realized she really wasn't going to be getting anything else out of her mentor that night.

"Good night."

Y/n was about half way through the Hotel back to their room when they felt a hand on their shoulder. Reacting purely out of instinct, they ducked out from under the person's grip, spinning around with their fists raised. Alastor smiled down at Y/n and they sighed.

"What is it?" they asked, straightening up.

He had expected Y/n to be angry, to have that familiar sharp edge behind their voice. Instead, they looked up at him. As if everything was normal, as if it hadn't been thirty years since they'd last seen one another, as if they had just been together yesterday, their eyes met his.

"I... it's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too." they replied after a moment's thought, "What are you doing up this late?"

"You know me, sleep is not my preferred way to pass time."

"I meant what are you doing in the hall, but sure. Yeah, I know you."

"That darling Charlie asked to see me."

Y/n scoffed, shaking their head with a tired smile.

"Of course she'd... yeah."

They stood in the hall facing one another. Just a few feet apart. The silence was thick.

"You seem happy."

"I am." Y/n nodded, "Charlie is a great kid. I was pissed when Lucifer first asked me to look after her, I'll admit it but, she has grown on me."

"I didn't know you were acquainted with the big man. I thought you despised all authority figures."

Y/n looked critically at Alastor, over his whole being. He felt they were looking into his very soul, the heart of all his intentions and desires. He felt absolutely naked in the worst way under their gaze.

"No, just overlords. Especially ones who make deals for the souls of others. It's a stupid and outdated system. Even the best of them like Rosie abuse their power to get what they want."

It was a well sharpened arrow, the remark. Perfectly aimed. Alastor had, after all, introduced the small group inhabiting the hotel to Husk and Nifty just that afternoon. Y/n turned their back to Alastor.

"She has big dreams and the passion to see them through. I believe in her. Don't... don't fuck this up for her, Alastor."

----

Next Part -> Rapture

@moonmark98 @luzzbuzz @snowlotr @randomuser-89 @fakeguysarehot @xdolls-crownx

[koiiiji]

hiii! i really love your windbreaker scenarios😭❤️ can i request a hyuk kwon scenarios with friends to lovers trope, if you don't mind? thank you so much!!!

AHHH U READING MY THOUGHTS! i had it in my drafts, but already posted!! so here like a short scenario in same timeline, just take it as what happened in gaps here

author note ; seminar week in uni hits hard, but random tequila shots with flatmates in the middle of the week hits harder.... but don't worry i played through and won this fking hangover and dropping this post now😌🫦

warnings ; fluff, cute hyeok, not proofed

(bro is the type of guy who will show off a trick on his bike he hasn't trained enough yet and end up falling)

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friday evening started out great - all the lectures were over, the weather was beautiful outside, the sun had not yet disappeared behind the horizon and was giving the city its last rays. this week you didn’t miss a single lecture, and in general today you were quite active in class, you also agreed with your classmates to meet next week to complete a group project, so your socially active duty for today has been completed and you can calmly relax on weekend.

entering cozy apartment, you set down your bag and kicked off shoes, ready to delve into usual routine of household chores. you took a slow shower, completed all the steps in the skin care routine and now you wanted to start that series that you had been putting off for a long time when you heard a soft knock sounded at the door, interrupting your thoughts. curious, you opened the door to find Kwon standing there, with his usual calm and relaxed face. his presence caught you off guard a little, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. "hey..." he began, his voice a gentle murmur. "i was wondering if you'd like to go to that shop near our building with me. i wanted that banana drink you recommend me recently... and i thought you spent whole day in uni, so we could take a little walk together... you know to catch some fresh air and stuff..." your initial surprise quickly gave way to excitement, as your lips curling into a grin. despite his usual reserved demeanor, Kwon's offer filled you with pleasant a sense of warmth, joy and anticipation. "sure, i’d love to," you replied, grabbing a jacket and slipping on her shoes.

together, you ventured out into the cool evening air of Seoul, the streets alive with the hustle and bustle of city life. As you walked side by side, you couldn't help but steal glances at Hyeok, marveling at the way his stoic facade softened in the glow of the streetlights. small conversation about everything flowed effortlessly as you made your way to the shop, sharing stories and laughter along the way. but little did you know that Kwon had something else up his sleeve, a secret he was eager to reveal. of course you notice bike he took with him, but you genuinely thought he was so obsessed with these races and bicycles that he just wouldn't get off his bike.

upon reaching an empty playground nestled within a quiet corner of the neighborhood, Kwon's eyes twinkled with mischief as he hopped on his bicycle, a gleam of excitement dancing in his gaze. "watch this," he murmured, his voice tinged with excitement as he prepared to demonstrate a new trick he had been practicing. however, fate had other plans in store, and as he attempted to execute the trick, a misstep caused him to lose his balance, sending him tumbling to the ground with a muffled thud. your heart felt like it skipped a beat as you rushed to his side, concern etched across your features. ignoring the pain coursing through his knee, Hyeok tried to brush off the accident with some kind of incomprehensible emotion. but you saw through his facade, your heart aching at the sight of him in distress. without a moment's hesitation, you took charge, guiding him to a nearby bench and inspecting his injury with gentle hands. rummaging through your bag, you retrieved a pack of cute adhesive bandages adorned with playful images of bananas, a small smile tugging at your lips. with utmost care, you cleaned his wound and carefully applied the bandages, your touch felt so tender that Hyeok could feel goosebumps down his spine.

in that vulnerable moment, when he saw you on your knees before him as you tended to his injury with unwavering kindness, Kwon felt a surge of emotions wash over him, his heart swelling with a newfound warmth. as he looked into your eyes, he realized with startling clarity that what he felt for you already went beyond mere friendship.

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