#a rare present tense from me

[jaxon-exe]

I’ve seen that future…

If you had told Danny that joining the justice league would mean getting up at the ass crack of dawn to go to some stupid meeting, he never would have joined. Well that not fully true but he might have agreed to have a Zata tube installed in Amity. Even with how much he hates those things it still seems like a better idea now that he is flying through space trying to catch up with this stupid satellite. He was already late thanks to Skulker, which means he missed his perfectly times window to catch the watchtower in orbit so now he’s here playing catch up.

He didn’t even bother to slow down from his Mach 20 pace when he reached it. Just turned intangible and shot through the window into the meeting room. He was expecting to get scolded for being late. Or for his dramatic entrance but he was not expecting the other members to not notice him at all on account of them arguing.

Taking the golden opportunity to get out of a scolding, (he did not want to be the victim of another bat glare) he kept he’s mouth shut and floated down to Hal. Who seemed to be sulking off to the side of the fight. “Dude, what’s gonna on?”

“Batman,” the name was spat like a curse. “Had plans on how to take us all out.” Hal waved to the screen before him, inviting Danny to look.

“Really?” He floated to the screen, seeing files with each leaguer’s name. After a moment of hesitation, he clicked on his own.

“Yeah! Can you fucking believe this?” Hal growled out. “He planned on how to kill us all and is now acting like we’re the unreasonable ones.” Danny would normally be shaken by Hal’s anger. The guy so rarely got truly anger that it startled Danny every time. In that moment however he couldn’t bring his attention way from the screen. It was a decent plan. Risky, unlikely to work but decent. The fact Batman did this at all though. “You think you know a guy, right? Phantom?” Hal asked when he saw the ghost wasn’t responding to him.

Before he could continue his questioning Phantom shot off across the room. All leaguers that could keep up with the ghost speed braces from a fight when they saw him heading straight for Batman. They were anger with him yeah but they didn’t want him dead. They all knew Phantom was physically capable of doing that and had only seen him fly this fast in battle.

Their concern turned to confusion however when Danny stopped dead still just before the dark knight. Looking the man over before reaching to the side, Danny’s hand disappearing into a green vortex that appeared out of thin air. When he pulled back, a small metal box, no bigger than a watch box, laid in his hand as he presented it to Batman.

“This is a blood blossom.” The soft words cut through the tense silence. “It is one of, no it is the only thing that can kill me. For good.” Batman looked at the box, then at the boy. Determination sat on his brows despite the tired sadness that coloured his eyes. “If I…” His eyes broke away from the white lenses. “If I go bad. Please. I understand you don’t want to kill. So please, give this to someone who will kill me.”

No one moved for a moment as they processed the request. Emotions shifting wildly in them all. Superman’s landing on anger. “Why would you give him that?!” He stepped forward. “He already plans to kill us all why would you give him that?!”

“Because I’ve seen that future.” The conference was stated plainly. Melancholy waiting down on the boy as he turn to the others. “The realms are different than here.” His trembled. “Time works differently. You can walk into tomorrow and run into yesterday. Every possibly future exists within the realms.”

He scanned each heroes face as his voice harden. “I’ve seen what happens. I know what happens if I turn.” Danny took a deep breath as he met superman’s eyes. Gazing at him with eyes that saw more than what was in front of him. “I killed you first Clark.” It was stated as fact. Non of them could bring themselves to doubt him. “Then Diana. Then Hal. One by one each one of you were killed… by me.”

His breath came out frosted, his emotions making it hard to keep from freezing the watchtower as he turned back to Batman. “You survived the longest. Out of everyone here you got the closest to stopping me. In that reality however, you didn’t know about ghost. Didn’t know how to fight me.” He held out the box again. “Please, I can’t let that future happen.”

Everyone was stunned. Watching in silent shock as the horror of what Phantom said sunk in. Batman recovers quickest, slowly reaching out to grab that box which he now identified as being made of lead.

“Thank you Phantom.” There was more to those words than what it may appear. A silent reassess that the ghost picked up on.

[siriuslylantsov]

hellooo spencer likes his partner's lower back

goes a little lovesick everytime he sees your shirt ride up and expose your back and the curve of your hips YUPPPP

yeahhh he does (mdni, this got a little smutty i couldn't help myself)

he loves when you wear low rise jeans and tshirts that only just reach your waistband because everytime you raise your arms, that sliver of skin peeks out and he feels like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. a little rush that makes him wanna dig his fingers into your hips. he does, coming up behind you and reaching out, prompting you to jolt because he was on the other side of the room 5 seconds ago. 

he’ll often have a hand splayed over the small of your back, selfishly letting it drift lower than considered decent–but how can he help himself, that little dip is so enticing–he relishes in the way you lean into his touch. he very rarely indulges in pda in front of the team, incredibly wary of the potential teasing it could bring up. but that large hand, fixed to the dip of your back, has a constant grounding presence.

spencer reid is, by all means, a missionary man, he likes being able to look at you, meet your equally blissed out gaze, and you feel the same. but every once in a while, when you need the pressure, the feel of him pushing you into the mattress. you turn on your stomach wordlessly and he jumps at the opportunity, all too eagerly. his hands latch on in an instant, pulling you back to meet his thrusts. he traces his fingers from the nape of your neck all the way down to the base of your spine, in a light reverent caress that makes you shiver. a warm palm abruptly pushes you down, causing you to arch beautifully, presenting your lower back to him on a silver platter. a possessive trance passes over him, seeing you sprawled out like that makes him want to grab, to hold, to make something tangible of how he feels. he runs adoring hands over your sides before his thumbs dig into your flesh in a vice-like grip, it doesn't hurt, but you’re sure there’ll be little purple marks tomorrow. 

he notices them the next morning as he untangles himself from your body to stretch, carefully so he doesn't wake you. the light catches on your body when the covers peel off slightly. wide, guilty, eyes stare at the expanse of skin where your his shirt had ridden up through the night. faint red and violet splotches bloomed where his fingers had been. oh no. he slowly pulls you into his arms, back flush to his chest, where he presses an apologetic kiss to your shoulder.

“i'm sorry baby.”

“f’what?” you mumble, drenched in sleep as his voice rouses you.

he rubs a soft hand over your lower back in answer, kissing your shoulder again, he pouts. “you're all bruised up.”

“oh yeah?” you giggle, like you knew they were there even though you haven't seen them for yourself. 

“why didn't you tell me?” he whines, lips pressed to your neck where he had moved the guilt ridden kisses to. 

“i liked it,” you reassure, turning your head to see him. you kiss his nose, all scrunched up in annoyance with himself. “i’m pretty sure you do too.”

he notes your intentional change in tense but he doesn’t mention it, tucking himself back into the crook of your neck as you close your eyes again. his hand drifts down, you do too, his fingers circle around the marred skin. marred by him, it seems. deviously, that guilt fades into something. pride, egged on by you pushing back into his touch. 

he can't even bear to look between your bodies, the image of your lower back marked up by him causing something dark to pool in his belly. it causes something else to stir as well.

he’ll kiss it better later :)

[yuwuta]

CAN’T KEEP MY HANDS TO MYSELF (I MEAN I COULD, BUT WHY WOULD I WANT TO?) — JJK BOYS + TOO HOT

featuring. gojo, okkotsu, choso, itadori, fushiguro

content, warnings. playing too hot with the jjk boys—(too hot is a party game in which two people kiss while keeping their hands to themselves; the first person to touch their partner loses), making out, tongue sucking, uhhh slight predator/prey in yuuta’s oops, they’re a bunch of losers to be honest, there’s a word for the thing yuuji does but i don't know it lolol

word count. 1.6k

SATORU GOJO Satoru is prideful, but you also know that he is nothing if not handsy, borderline clingy on his worst days. The concept of personal space is foreign to him, he’s rarely not touching you when you’re in his proximity, and when you aren’t, he closes that gap—so you’re confident that he’ll lose this game. 

And he does. It takes ninety-two seconds for Satoru to put his hands on you; his palms cupping your cheeks, forcing your jaw open for him to lick at your tongue. You yelp in surprise, try to take in your victory, taunt that you’ve won, but Satoru’s playing an entirely different game now. “I know, I lost,” he pushes his thumbs at the corners of your mouth, parting your lips and staring at your open mouth. Briefly, his eyes flicker to yours, drinks in your pliant expression, the soft touch of your fingers around his wrists, the feel of your body sinking below him, and he smiles, “But I want something else right now. Indulge me?” 

You tap at his right wrist and he moves his thumbs away from your lips, stroking against the soft skin of your cheeks instead so you can speak, “You lost, you’re not supposed to make demands.” 

“Take pity on a rookie like me, won’t you?” Satoru hums, tilting his head to kiss your cheek, then closer, just below your bottom lip, “Please, sweets?” 

“Depends on what you want,” you pout, but your words are strained against Satoru’s kisses. He grins, guiding a thumb back to your lips, this time pressing past the barrier of your lips until they’re wrapped around his digit, smile turning cheshire when he feels you sucking, “I have a different game we can play instead.” 

YUUTA OKKOTSU “Ah, ah—” you pull away from Yuuta, much to his dismay, pulling the hem of your shirt from his grasp, “That counts as touching. You’re not supposed to touch, Yuuta.” 

He’s looking at you intensely, gaze bordering on predatory, slow blinking with blown-out pupils. He nods shallowly, moving his hand from where it was to your side, palm pressing into the couch next to your thigh; it lets him that much closer to you, the tip of his nose grazing yours, you can feel his laborious breaths tickle your lips. Yuuta tilts his head ever so slightly and pauses, blinks, waits—for you to make a sound, for you to tell him no again, for you to run. 

You don’t. He shifts his weight and positions his other hand to rest at your side, caging you between his arms, slotting you underneath his gaze. You curl underneath him, backing up until you’re pressed against the arm of the couch, until Yuuta’s crawled to slot his knee between your legs. You crane your neck away, but you’re still within his reach, and now you’ve presented the perfect canvas for him. He dips his head into your collarbone, leaves a deceptively soft kiss there before nosing up the expanse of your exposed skin and sinking his teeth into your neck. 

Yuuta feels you tense underneath him, body going rigid in a moment of surprise, and then slacking with an exhaled moan, like a bitten bunny. Reflexively, your hands find purchase in his hair, and Yuuta nips over the tender skin, and smiles, “Caught you.” 

CHOSO KAMO “You’re nervous,” you conclude, pulling away from the shallow kiss Choso gave you. 

Beside you, he’s flushed, a hand coming up to reach at the back of his neck as he replies, “I don’t know why,” he exhales, “It’s just... weird to not touch you. I have to think about not touching you, and that means I have to think, which tends to make me, you know... nervous.” 

You giggle, leaning in closer to him, careful not to touch; careful to keep your hips raised above his, even as you straddle him, keep your arms and hands at your sides even though the instinct is to wrap them around Choso’s neck. He doesn’t pull back, even though he should; you like that he doesn’t. “You don’t like to think about me?” 

“No—no! Not like that,” he’s too loud for the proximity, sighing in embarrassment shortly after; you’re too close, way too close, and he’s not supposed to touch, but he wants to—Choso doesn’t like this feeling of restraint, of constriction; it’s too close to when he had a hopeless crush on you, to when he was pining and praying you’d spare him the time of day. Isn’t the point of dating that he gets to have you? To touch you, to hold you—to not hold back? 

“Because I like to think about you,” you admit, leaning in even closer, pressing a kiss to the base of Choso’s neck—and he whines, “I think about you a lot, Choso.” 

The sound of his name from your lips is sweet torture, as is the way you trail your kisses up his neck, up his jaw, behind his ear. Choso’s certain he’s going to rip a hole in his jeans with how taut he’s pulling them between his fists. This isn’t fair—nothing about this is fair. “I don’t want to play anymore,” Choso whines, eyes screwing shut when you suck a hickey onto his collar.

“But we’ve only just started,” you giggle against his skin, “And nobody’s won yet.”

Choso bites his lips, his knuckles are sore, his resolve is weak, and you smell good, you feel good—and he can’t do this. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care; he didn’t make you yours to try and stay away from you. So, Choso gives in, unwinds his fists, places one hand on your waist, and the other against your back, pulling you flush against him, and burying his face in your neck. 

“There, I lose,” he grumbles, not caring for your laughter reverberating against his chest, “Now I can touch you as much as I want.” 

YUUJI ITADORI “Th—this isn’t fair,” you tremble, attempting to move away from his kisses, but you’re caged in between Yuuji and the wall. There’s nowhere for you to run, nothing for you to grab purchase onto but Yuuji—nothing to do but lose. 

“I didn’t hear any rules against this,” he feigns innocence, suckling at your skin, “Think it’s fair game.”

You close your eyes, trying to focus on something, anything else, but it’s hard when all you can see, all you can feel is Yuuji, Yuuji, Yuuji. Kissing up your neck, at your cheek, then your lips, and you find yourself sighing into his touch, balling your hands into fists to avoid the temptation of cupping his face. 

Yuuji moans when he feels your tongue against his, kisses you back fervently, swirling his tongue across yours and into the cavity of your mouth. He inhales all your breaths, makes it impossible for you to do anything but succumb to his kiss, to swallow his moans, to take everything he gives you. You didn’t expect Yuuji to have this much resolve—you’d anticipated a short, cute round of a silly party game, but you should have known better; Yuuji has never lost a challenge before, and you were naive, at best, to think otherwise.

Predictably, it’s you that lets go first, whining when Yuuji sucks on your tongue, hands trembling and reaching to hold him, to cling to him as some kind of recourse, unable to squirm or move anywhere else. That doesn’t stop him—Yuuji only sucks harder, only forces more moans out of you until you’re digging your nails into his shoulders and bending your knees, weak. 

Then he pulls back, leaving you breathless, tilting his head up to kiss your forehead and flashing you a grin that’s equal parts boyish and wicked with intent, “I win.” 

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO It’s the kind of thing he usually turns down; cliché, fruitless, and unnecessarily time-consuming; but it’s you, so he makes the exception. You’re too eager, positioning yourself to sit on your hands, your legs folded under your knees, peering up at him from where he’s sat slack against the couch, and he thinks you look awful cute on your knees for him.

“Okay, ready?” you smile, “Three, two—” but Megumi already knows his plan, already has his lips on yours before you can say “one,” drinking in your surprised yelp and greedily licking against your tongue when you part your lips to kiss him back. He turns his body towards you slightly, taking advantage of his height and position to bully you into chasing him upwards, to push his tongue into your mouth with ease. 

He indulges in the back and forth for a while, sighs into your kisses, groans when you nip at him. It’s when you pull away, that Megumi decides he’s played along long enough; when he can see your chest swell with heaving breaths, see your hands in your lap, neck craned and spit-slick lips that drive him to reach for you. He’s less than gentle, hands finding purchase on your hips, and forcefully pulling you into his lap, ignoring your yelping, choosing to turn them into moans when he sinks his teeth into your neck. Megumi licks, and bites, and bites, and bites, until he’s certain he’s left a mark, until he feels your hands tugging at his hair and giving him permission to splay his palms against your back and buck you forward.  

“I lose,” he hums, soothing over raw bitten skin with open-mouthed kisses, “So, how do you wanna punish me?”

[ybklix]

playing with his hair

giirrrl idk, a feral thought maybe; bf!felix x fem!reader w his long hair since i’m too lazy to make it a whole detail fic for now lol so, (i deadass tried to make it a drabble but it pass the 1k words😮‍💨)

genre - warnings: smut, fluff!! dry humping, handjob, grinding, unprotected piv, mention of cockwarming, idol bf felix btw

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is what i have to deal with everyday, actually, oopsies, he’s next to me rn! also writing in present it’s so new, I like to read it when yall write like that, but I’ll stick with past tense😁 edit: girl i had this in the drafts for days, but he was a little too happy in his recent promoting video, he’s sleeping outside, someone pick him up /jk srly pls

Felix likes to try new hairstyles ever since he let grow his hair, he feels very confident with it and likes the way you randomly stroke it every time you’re together.

Your idea of fun is one of those very rare free afternoons for him since he’s all the time busy at work; it’s when you’re just chilling together at your place because you feel too lazy to go out but very comfortable with each other’s company.

Your days are simple, and your hours with him are very limited but he always makes sure to enjoy being with him; so you try to do everything at once, watch a movie, talk, lay on his chest while he’s playing games on his cell phone… and suddenly, just playing around, with you sitting on his lap in front of him, giggling while playing with his hair.

“Fuck, your hair is so fried” you tease him with a smile, looking at your fingers entangling with his straight hair.

He pouts, “Stop, then don’t touch it…” he responds also joking, just watching you with heart and sparkling eyes.

Felix rests his hands on your tights and caresses them softly. You down your gaze to meet his, he’s suddenly looking at you so sweetly that makes your cheeks get a little warm.

“Can I play with it?” you asked joyfully.

“With what?”

“Your hair” you replied in an obvious tone, “I can do pigtails, braids, middle part, side part” you continue to say, laughing while playing with his hair.

Felix chuckles softly, completely in love, closing his eyes sometimes, then looking up at your arms.

“Wait here” you speak again, standing up from his lap and going to get a comb, hair ties, bobby pins and some random hair clips to take pictures of him just for fun.

“You can also do my make-up if you want” he comments, raising his thick voice so you can hear him.

You sit back down on his lap.

“Oh no, you wear makeup almost every day, let your face rest today” you answer, kissing him tenderly on the bridge of his nose, hiding a little bit the fact that you love seeing your boyfriend’s bare face, straight black eyelashes, big dark eyes, full lips, cheeks and nose with freckles all over.

You laugh at doing whatever you want with his hair, taking silly pictures every time you find him adorable, just giggling saying your favorite inside jokes, then ending with a bow on his hair.

“You can really use me, huh” Felix says, giving you a funny but adorable look with his eyes wide open.

Felix starts caressing your back, with more consistent and intense caresses and he suddenly realizes how you haven’t kissed each other on the lips the whole time, so he moves closer to you and you without hesitation receive his kiss, following a tender and slow rhythm at first, pressing your lips together in a delicate lip rubbing, but you’re a bit desperate when it comes to each other, so your boyfriend catches his breath between kisses and looks himself at the work of being more glued and pouncing on you, with his touches all over your body, from your thighs to your back, slipping his hands under your blouse to feel your bare skin.

Your make out starts to heat up precipitously that you can feel the growing erection in his shorts, so, with your hands wrapped around his neck, you begin to move over his cock, pressing it to your core and stimulating you both. At this point, your pussy is throbbing and you feel slightly heated. You’re always impressed by how incredibly fast you want and desire him. You both moan softly at the friction. As you pull apart you smile slightly mischievously at him and for some reason you start kissing his neck, which Felix loves so, causing him to give you a huge tender smile showing his teeth, clutching his grip on your hips tighter.

You pull away once more to meet the wide grin on his face, which gently turns into a slightly strained expression as you continue to move your body against his erection, Felix gasps, his lips forming a soft expression of satisfaction this time with his submissive facing enjoying the naughty act of crushing his cock with your center, with your clothes on.

“Fuck, baby, it feels so good” Felix sighs, biting his slightly swollen, full lips, lowering his gaze to your pussy being trapped in him, moving his erection back and forth, guiding your hips for better movement.

You smile satisfactorily at him in response, each time feeling the heat of your body and pussy brush against your panties, wetting them all over, just playing more with your arousal. You see him, he looks so fucking cute and yet so hot with the last few hairstyles you gave him, two little high ponytails with bows leaving the rest of his hair loose, he looked silly cute, but serious manly moans coming out of him contrasts somehow so perfectly.

Felix sighs again sonorously, his legs shaking a little, he doesn’t think he can take it long enough without cumming if you keep moving so dedicatedly on him so he speaks again:

“Mmm, c’mon baby, take off your clothes, or do you want me to take you to bed.”

A pleasant shock goes through your body as you hear him a little more needy, you’re not thinking straight and you don’t want to pull away from him so you just reply a simple, “It’s okay like this, Lix.”

With your heart beating fast you grab his shorts, indicating you want to pull them down, Felix helps you right away, releasing his pink, needy, throbbing cock, you look down at his member and then at the same time you join gazes, Felix looks at you so needy and innocent, his big eyes begging you to touch him, you can’t help but melt every time he does that and in a needy sigh, with your cheeks a little red, you stand up, embarrassed, pulling down your comfy cloth shorts along with your panties, climbing back onto his lap, catching your boyfriend licking his lips at the sight of your cute bare mons venus.

Felix smiles, so excited at the thought of feeling you on him again, now with the sensation of your warm wet center in him, he gets more excited at the thought that you were finally going to settle on him ready to fuck, however, you start pumping his entire erect length, making him gasp loudly as he throws his head back, marking his bulging Adam's apple in his throat. Felix returns to his posture, looking straight into you with desire, biting his lip as you with a smile, touch all over his cock, stroking his tip gently with your fingers, feeling his stiffness and the slight sticky precum sliding down your hand as you jerk him off.

You’re so wet, and Felix is getting over the edge, so you finally accommodate your body, squeezing your pussy tighter on his cock, grinding on it a little before you put his cock inside you, encouraging in him more arousal if that was possible, teasing him and you at the sensation of his dick rub between your labia, until you feel his throbbing member so foreplayed, and until you see your boyfriend’s sweet expression as he can’t resist anymore and, finally you insert his rigid manhood completely in you. The temperature of both your bodies rises, it feels so fucking good to be filled by him, every move you make comes out of pure bliss, panting, sliding on his cock in a rhythm that makes him shudder and moan; Felix feels every part of his body beat intensely, enjoying every thrust into him.

“Oh, fuck, l-ove, ke-keep going please, I’m gonna cum, fuuck” he whimpers, desperate in a high-pitched tone, closing his eyes.

Felix thinks about the idea of cumming all of him inside you, of filling you up, brings him to a better ecstasy and in a thick sigh of relief and satisfaction, he manages to cum, relaxing a bit all the tension built in his body, making his thighs restless in soft tingling and trembling. You rest your hands on his shoulders and hide your face on the side of his neck, moaning close to his ear and with your face brushing against his soft hair, gently overwhelming you with his sweet scent, you bite your lip at the sensation of his hot semen shooting inside you and you also sense you’re so close to your climax that, despite being slightly tired, you intensify and increase each movement, sliding a little more slippery as you are filled with his cum. You hug him without thinking, your walls squeeze his sensitive cock still stuck in your core, you’re climaxing so intensely that you open your mouth almost in an inaudible squeal, your vision blurs for a few seconds and you let yourself release completely onto your boyfriend.

You feel the joining of agitated chests and breaths, Felix hug you warmly wrapping your back, once again your body melts at the slightest touch of his, but you can’t help but feel him so close to you, acting tenderly. Felix doesn’t even have to say it, but you know he loves you, you feel it too, so you relax your body on top of him, stroke his hair and he gives you a soft kiss on your shoulder as he caresses your back and keeps you in such a vulnerable position with both sexes together, with you on top of him until you decide to move.

——————-

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @bubblebisk

[catchastarorten]

—A long day.

Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x wife!fem!reader

Summary: being a professor at the same university your husband taught at was exhausting at times, but at least he knew how to comfort you... that was until a student walked in to ask you a question about an assignment.

Content: fluff, you two are both professors in this au, kisses/neck kisses, making out, caresses, an unlucky student unfortunately walking in on the two of you, English isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word Count: ~ 1.4k

The classroom was quiet now, emptied of students and the hum of chatter that had filled it just hours ago. It had been a long day of lectures, discussions, and endless paperwork. The only sound was the scratch of your pen against a stack of papers that seemed never-ending.

Your head ached slightly from the day, eyes burning from reading through assignment after assignment. You were so caught up in your work that you didn’t notice when someone entered the room.

It was the warm pressure around your waist that made you still, your breath catching for just a second. The familiar scent of him—clean, crisp cologne with the faintest hint of coffee—settled around you, and before you could turn to look, his fingers gently traced along your hip, caressing you in slow, deliberate strokes.

You exhaled slowly after seeing him, running a tired hand down your face. “You scared me.”

Sang-woo hummed lowly, and you swore you saw a rare hint of amusement in his eyes. His hold on you tightened just slightly, his warm body hovering behind yours. “You were too focused. Didn’t even hear me walk in.”

You leaned back into him instinctively, his warmth comforting against the cool air of the empty classroom. “Mmm... maybe because I’m exhausted.”

“I figured,” he murmured, his voice smooth, soft. His hands slowly traced along your waist before settling against your hips again, grounding you. “Long day?”

You let out a small sigh, finally setting down your pen. “The longest. I swear, every student had a question after class today. And half of them didn’t even need to stay. They just wanted to chat.”

His lips curled into a small smile. “You’re too nice to them.”

“They’re still just kids,” you shrugged, though you couldn’t hide the tired smile that tugged at your lips. “Besides, if I don’t help them, who will?”

He sighed, and you felt him shift behind you, his hands moving up to your shoulders, kneading them gently.

“That’s exactly why you run yourself into the ground.” His thumbs pressed into a particularly sore spot, making you hum softly. “You need to take breaks.”

You reached up, covering one of his hands with yours. “I know.”

“You say that,” he started, fingers still working against your tense muscles. “But here you are, still at your desk after hours, barely aware of your surroundings.”

“I was grading,” you defended, though you knew it was a weak argument.

You turned to look up at Sang-woo fully—dark eyes watching you intently, a quiet concern hidden beneath the usual composed expression he wore so well.

“You look tired,” he said, softer this time.

You sighed. “I feel tired.”

He studied you for a moment before his hands shifted, one sliding up from your waist to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, warm and reassuring. He tilted his head just slightly, eyes flickering between yours before he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—just a soft press at first, barely there. “Then relax.”

You huffed a quiet laugh but said nothing, closing your eyes briefly as he stroked his thumbs along your skin. It was so easy to sink into him, to let go of the stress clinging to your bones when he touched you like this.

When you opened your eyes again, his gaze was softer than before, his face so close that his breath brushed against your lips.

The moment stretched, anticipation curling through you, before he kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, as if he had all the time in the world.

When he pulled back, he didn’t go far, his forehead brushing against yours. “Let’s go home,” he murmured, as if he was making a statement, not a question.

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

His lips barely curved. “I figured you’d say that.”

“Mm.” You smiled a little. “But maybe I can be convinced.”

Before you could find a reaction from his face, he kissed you again, deeper this time, more deliberate. His lips moved slowly against yours, unhurried yet insistent, as if savoring the taste of you.

Your fingers found the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric lightly as you kissed him back, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him.

When you shifted, pressing closer, his back met the board behind him with a quiet thud, a quiet muffled noise came from his lips. His hands wandered, sliding over your waist, your back, pulling you just a little closer as your mouths moved together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

The collar of his neatly buttoned shirt was slightly askew now, the usual composure he carried beginning to unravel in the way his breath grew heavier, in the way his hands roamed with a little less restraint.

When he finally broke away from your lips, his mouth found your jaw, then lower, pressing slow, deliberate kisses down your neck. His lips were warm, the press of them making your breath stutter as his fingers traced lazy patterns along your back.

Before you realized it, he was guiding you, his touch gentle but sure, until your back met the edge of your desk. He lifted you onto it effortlessly, stepping between your legs and barely breaking the kiss.

He wasn’t rushing—he never did. Instead, he took his time with each kiss, each touch. His fingers slid to your hips as he pulled you even closer, lips never leaving yours for too long.

You were wrapped up in him as you sat on the edge of your desk. His lips trailed away from yours again, tracing a path of featherlight kisses down your neck.

You exhaled, tilting your head slightly to give him more room, your fingers threading through his hair. His breath was warm against your skin, his hands steady as they held you close.

And then—

“U-Um—Professor?”

The voice cut through the room like a knife.

You and Sang-woo froze.

Your head turned toward the doorway, where a student stood wide-eyed, gripping a notebook tightly to their chest as if it was a shield.

The poor thing looked like they had just walked in on something they definitely should not have seen.

You reacted first, pulling back quickly and clearing your throat as heat rushed to your face, shifting off of the desk easily. Sang-woo straightened as well, adjusting his collar and stepping back just enough to create a more appropriate distance between you.

The student, clearly horrified, looked between the two of you as if trying to process exactly what they had interrupted. “I—um—I just had a question about the assignment, but I can—come back later!”

You waved a hand, trying to compose yourself despite the very obvious tension lingering in the air. “No... no, it’s fine! What’s your question?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sang-woo trying—and fumbling—to button up the collar of his shirt, running a hand over his slightly ruffled hair before slipping back into his usual composed demeanor.

The student hesitated, clearly dying to flee but also too dedicated to their grades to abandon the reason they had come in. “...It’s about the essay. The word count requirement—uh—do quotes count toward it?”

You cleared your throat again, pushing some loose hair behind your ear in an attempt to gather yourself. “Yes, they do, but try not to rely too heavily on them. Your analysis should still be the main focus.”

The student nodded quickly, still looking like they were processing the absolute disaster they had just walked into. “R-Right! Got it! Thank you, Professor! I’ll just—um—I’ll go now!”

And before you could say anything else, they spun on their heels and bolted out of the room.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, you turned to see your husband failing to hide a smile.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why didn’t we lock the door?”

Sang-woo let out a quiet exhale, stepping closer again. “A lesson learned.” He leaned in, pressing one last kiss—soft and lingering—against your forehead before murmuring, “I'm assuming we could go home now.”

With your heart still racing and your face still warm, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah… yeah, okay. I’m done for the day.”

Hopefully that student still shows up tomorrow for your class?

[heliosunny]

do you think you could add blade to your lucky egg list of characters you plan on writing for?

He's my very first 5-star character so he MUST be on the list.

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Blade x Reader

The first moment you saw him, he emerged from the cracked egg like a specter from a forgotten legend. His dark hair spilled over his shoulders, crimson eyes catching the dim light like embers in the abyss. He said nothing at first, just stared at you, as if measuring your worth.

You swallowed. "...How did a person come out of an egg? No—scratch that, how did you come out of an egg?"

He didn't answer. His gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he turned away, uninterested.

"At least tell me your name..."

"Blade."

From then on, he remained eerily silent, always watching, studying you in ways that made the hair on the back of your neck rise. He didn't sleep the first few nights, at least, not peacefully. The moment he shut his eyes, his breath would grow ragged, his body tense. When night fell, nightmares clawed at him relentlessly.

One night, you caught him gripping his own wrist so tightly it might bruise.

"Blade." You hesitated before reaching out. "Do you want me to—"

Without thinking, you took his hand. His fingers twitched, but he didn't pull away. After a moment, his grip tightened, as if grounding himself in your warmth. He never thanked you, never even acknowledged it the next morning, but the nightmares were a little quieter that night.

Another evening, you caught him staring blankly at the ceiling, exhaustion creeping into his sharp features. Wordlessly, you handed him a cup of warm milk.

He frowned at it. "...What is this?"

"Something to help you sleep. Just drink it."

He scoffed but took a cautious sip. The warmth spread through his fingers as he held the cup, his expression unreadable.

Over time, small gestures like these eased him, though he never admitted it outright. Some nights, he would let you sit beside him until he dozed off. Once or twice, you even woke up to find that, at some point during the night, he had shifted closer, seeking out your presence in his sleep.

But it wasn’t enough. You could tell the nightmares still haunted him. So you decided to seek out an expert in this field, someone who could truly help him.

When you told Blade, he barely reacted. "A waste of time."

"Just try it," you insisted. "It might help."

The expert used hypnosis, peeling back the layers of his trauma. Blade spoke little of what surfaced, but the session left him visibly disturbed. Later, the expert took you aside and explained what to do next.

"He trusts you more than he lets on" they said. "You need to be patient. Keep grounding him in the present. Make him feel that he belongs somewhere."

That night, Blade sat beside you, his usual cold demeanor slightly cracked. "What did they tell you?"

You hesitated before answering. "That you’re not beyond saving."

He scoffed, but for once, there was no bite to it. Just quiet resignation.

You met his gaze. "I want you to stay, Blade. Not just physically, but really stay."

His fingers twitched again, like that first night. But this time, when you reached out, he met you halfway.

Blade had always been silent, a looming shadow in your life since the day he hatched from the egg. At first, he simply observed, his piercing red eyes following your every move. He rarely spoke unless necessary, making it difficult to gauge what went on in his mind. But as the nights passed, the walls between you and him thinned.

One day, you decided to take him out, to a park, somewhere peaceful. It was just by chance that you ran into some old acquaintances. They greeted you with excitement, asking about your companion.

“Oh, this is Blade” you introduced casually, glancing at him to see his reaction. As expected, his expression remained neutral, but you could feel his presence sharpen as he analyzed the strangers.

One of the women in the group, perhaps trying to be friendly, chuckled. “Blade? That sounds so serious. What if we call you Bladie?”

The atmosphere shifted in an instant. Blade’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, the air felt unnervingly still. He said nothing, merely staring at her in a way that made her uneasy. You noticed the tension and quickly diffused it with a light laugh.

“I don’t think he likes that” you remarked. Then, playfully, you turned to Blade. “But if I called you that, would it be okay?”

Blade didn’t answer immediately. His gaze softened only slightly when looking at you. “...Do as you wish” he murmured, as if the answer was obvious.

Your friends found it amusing, teasing you lightly before parting ways. You glanced at Blade, whose expression remained unreadable, though you could sense the displeasure still lingering within him.

Later, financial reasons led you to enter a dungeon. Knowing its dangers, you told Blade to stay behind. At first, he obeyed, watching you leave without protest. But unbeknownst to you, he silently followed, keeping a close distance.

As you ventured deeper into the dungeon, Blade carefully observed your every movement. He studied how dungeons worked, how enemies moved, and how rewards were obtained. Then, at some point, he disappeared from your sight not because he was gone, but because he had started taking his own steps in this world.

Without your knowledge, Blade began sneaking out to complete dungeon tasks. He learned how to wield weapons with deadly efficiency, acquiring items to strengthen himself. It was a quiet preparation, one he never spoke of. If he was to stay by your side, he wouldn’t remain a mere observer. He would carve his own path, one that ensured he would never be powerless to protect you.

The night air was heavy with an eerie silence as Blade sat motionless by the window, eyes unfocused as he stared into the void beyond the glass. You sat beside him, watching the tension coil in his shoulders. He had been like this for a while—silent, withdrawn, but always alert, as if something unseen lurked at the edge of his vision.

"Blade?" you called softly.

He didn’t respond at first. The nightmares had worsened since he entered the dungeon. At first, you assumed he was just tired, but then you started waking up in the middle of the night to find him gripping his sword, breathing heavily as if he had just fought something unseen. His usual cold demeanor cracked in those moments, and you saw it, the weariness, the torment he never spoke of.

One night, as he shuddered awake, you reached out instinctively, taking his hand in yours. He tensed, but didn’t pull away.

"You're not alone, you can tell me if you want to.." you whispered.

He stared at you for a long time before his grip tightened, just slightly. But this wasn’t enough. He needed more than fleeting comfort, he needed a way to break free from whatever haunted him.

You knew what you had to do.

The plan was simple: form a temporary team, retrieve the artifact you heard could cure nightmares, and return safely. Blade, much to your surprise, had obeyed when you asked him to stay behind. But you should have known better. He was never one to sit idly by when it concerned you.

You noticed his presence before you saw him, an oppressive aura that made the weaker adventurers in your party uneasy. He emerged from the shadows, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with a quiet intensity.

"You followed me" you said, exasperated but not surprised.

"You shouldn't be here alone" he replied simply.

The others shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, and you sighed. There was no point in arguing. Blade wasn’t leaving.

As you delved deeper into the dungeon, he moved with effortless precision, cutting through enemies with an eerie calm. He had been watching, learning.

And so, you pressed forward, deeper into the dungeon. The artifact glowed faintly in your hands, its surface pulsing with an otherworldly light. The moment you secured it, a chilling realization hit you, Blade was missing.

"Where is he?" you demanded, scanning the dimly lit ruins of the dungeon. Your temporary teammates exchanged uneasy glances.

"He was right behind us a moment ago... but then he just—"

You didn't wait for them to finish. You bolted in the direction you'd last seen him, your heart hammering against your ribs. The dungeon’s air felt heavier, oppressive, as if reacting to Blade’s presence. Your gut twisted in unease.

You found him deeper inside, standing amidst the wreckage of slaughtered monsters. His sword dripped with dark ichor, but it wasn’t just the carnage that made your breath hitch, it was his expression. His red eyes were unfocused, lost in a storm of something dark, something terrifying.

“Blade” you called out softly, stepping closer. He didn’t react.

You inched forward, feeling the weight of his aura pressing down on you. The air itself trembled with the intensity of his presence. His grip on his sword tightened, his body rigid like a coiled spring about to snap.

You knew you had only seconds before he lost himself completely.

With a swift motion, you reached into your pouch and pulled out the artifact. You pressed it against his chest.

A jolt of energy surged between you two. Blade’s body stiffened as his eyes widened in shock. Then, as if the weight of a thousand battles suddenly collapsed onto him, he staggered, his breathing ragged. His knees gave out, and you barely caught him in time before he crumpled to the ground.

Your teammate rushed in, helping you lift his unconscious form. “Damn, he’s heavy..” they muttered, shifting Blade’s weight onto their shoulder. “We need to get out of here before more monsters show up.”

You nodded, but your gaze remained on his face, peaceful for the first time in what felt like ages.

You had stayed by his side, tending to him as he slept. The nightmares that once wracked his body seemed to have subsided, and when he finally opened his eyes, they were no longer clouded with torment.

He didn’t say a word, but the moment you moved to leave his bedside, a firm grip caught your wrist. You looked down at him, surprised.

“…Don’t go” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion.

You exhaled softly, sitting back down. He still wouldn’t release your wrist, his hold lingering, not painful, but firm. As the days passed, you noticed subtle changes in him. He didn’t speak much, but his actions spoke louder than words.

He followed you everywhere, lingering close like a silent shadow. If you reached for something, he’d hand it to you before you could. If someone dared to get too close, his crimson gaze alone was enough to make them back off. If you so much as sighed, he would silently set down a cup of warm tea in front of you.

It was almost… endearing. Like a loyal puppy, albeit one with the capacity to cut down anything that dared threaten you.

One evening, as you adjusted your blanket, you felt a weight settle at the edge of your bed. Turning, you found Blade sitting there, eyes downcast.

“You stayed” he finally said.

You smiled faintly. “Of course, I did.”

A pause. Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it

“…Thank you.”

And though he still rarely spoke, his actions never stopped saying everything he couldn’t.

After escaping the dungeon and successfully ridding Blade of his nightmares, you decided it was time to unwind. It had been far too long since you let yourself relax, and after everything Blade had been through, he could use a break too.

You led him to a nearby game center, the neon lights reflecting off his sharp features. His cold, intimidating aura made a few children scurry away, but Blade remained unfazed. Despite his eerie presence, he had an uncanny talent for the games. One by one, he dominated each machine—precision in shooting games and an almost unnatural skill in racing games.

You watched in both amusement and mild disbelief as he racked up a ridiculous number of coins. When it came time to exchange them for prizes, you settled on something you thought would be fitting- an oversized teddy bear.

“For what purpose?” Blade asked, eyeing the stuffed creature as you handed it to him.

“So you have something to hug while you sleep” you replied with a teasing smile. “Since you don’t exactly seem like the type to buy one yourself.”

He stared at the bear, silent. His fingers flexed slightly against the plush fabric before he turned his crimson gaze toward you. “…Tch.” He looked away, but didn’t let go of the bear.

That night, you expected things to return to normal, maybe even have a peaceful sleep without worry. But as you lay in bed, something felt off.

You shifted slightly, only to realize Blade had positioned himself closer than usual. His breathing was steady, but his grip on the teddy bear was loose, his arm, however, rested just inches from yours.

Even as he slept, his presence loomed over you, quiet but inescapable. The way his fingers twitched, as if reaching out. The way his body angled ever so slightly toward yours.

He wasn’t just seeking comfort. He was claiming proximity.

And the moment you so much as moved away, his eyes snapped open, not with drowsiness, but with awareness. His gaze locked onto you, sharp yet unreadable.

“…Go to sleep” he murmured, voice low.

You hesitated, but eventually settled back down. His eyes remained on you for a moment longer before closing again.

You had given him a teddy bear to hold. But in truth, the only thing he wanted to keep close, was you.

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - XIX ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily. — genre: yandere, dark!au. — warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy. — word count: 3,364. — tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23. — the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 19

"This is madness, Alexander, and you know it!" Cassander exclaimed, his voice thick with indignation as his eyes flashed with barely contained anger. He fixed his gaze directly on the King, his rigid posture conveying both courage and a dangerous streak of recklessness. In the tent, lit by the flickering flames of the lamps, shadows danced across the fabric walls, reflecting the rising tension.

Alexander looked up from where he sat, his imposing posture, even in repose, exuding authority. His eyes narrowed like blades, and a dangerous expression shaped his face. When he spoke, his voice was low, but filled with a restrained fury that rumbled like muffled thunder.

"Do you disapprove of me, Cassander?"

The silence that followed was deafening. The generals gathered in the tent exchanged uneasy glances, aware that the situation was about to escalate into something irreversible. The air seemed heavier, and the crackling of torches became the only sound that dared to break the tense moment.

Everyone was still much more wary of Alexander after the incident with Cleitus, and for a moment it seemed that Antipater's son remembered that.

Cassander swallowed, instinctively taking a step back. His confidence wavered for an instant, and he seemed suddenly aware of the fatal mistake he had made in confronting Alexander in this manner. The color drained from his face, but his eyes, though hesitant now, still held a hint of defiance.

How stupid.

Before the atmosphere could explode into chaos, a tall, composed figure stepped forward. Hephaestion, the only one capable of calming Alexander’s nerves, intervened with deliberate calm, his voice cutting through the stifling air like a much-needed breeze.

"Alexander," Hephaestion began, his voice firm but tinged with caution. He shot a warning look at Cassander, who returned it with a mixture of anger and humiliation. "What I believe Cassander means," he continued, choosing each word carefully, "is that this decision... Is unwise. Attacking Babylon in this manner, without adequate preparation, could result in catastrophe."

Alexander turned to him, his eyes still shining with fierce determination. The king took a deep breath, as if absorbing Hephaestion's words, but there was no sign of hesitation in his posture. He stood, his imposing figure now completely dominating the space.

"I will not abandon my wife," He declared, his voice brimming with passion and authority. "Our queen is in danger, and every second we wait is an affront to my honor and my love for her. I will not wait another second."

Alexander's words echoed through the tent like an absolute decree. The silence that followed was heavier than ever as those present absorbed the king’s unwavering determination. Hephaestion, though worried, said nothing more, only nodded, knowing that when Alexander made up his mind, there was no force in the world that could change his mind.

Ptolemy, who had remained silent until then, stepped forward, his thoughtful features carefully hiding any trace of doubt. His voice, hesitant but controlled, cut through the tension that still hung in the tent like a suffocating fog.

"All right," He said finally, after a moment of consideration. His hand slid to the central table, touching the maps spread out with an almost reverent caution. The parchments were covered in markings, tracing borders, routes, and fortresses. He studied them briefly before looking up to meet Alexander's fervent gaze.

"Where do we begin?"

Ptolemy's calm tone contrasted with the simmering fury still emanating from the king, but there was a pragmatic acceptance in it that seemed to bring a slight sense of focus to the room. The surrounding generals relaxed slightly, realizing that at least one of them was willing to follow the course Alexander had decided, even if it defied prudence.

Alexander leaned slightly across the table, his fingers pointing to a route plotted along the Euphrates River. His determination was palpable.

"We begin here," Alexander said, his voice firm. "We will march swiftly down the valley, using surprise and speed as our greatest weapons. Babylon will not be expecting a direct attack — and that is why we will win."

Ptolemy nodded slowly, but his expression still held a shadow of doubt. He knew that defying Alexander would be futile, but he also knew that the success of this endeavor would depend on more than bravery and speed.

"Then we need adequate supplies and logistics," Ptolemy stated cautiously. "If we are to move quickly, we will need experienced scouts and a plan to keep the troops supplied. We cannot afford to fail due to lack of resources."

Hephaestion, who was still nearby, crossed his arms and looked at Alexander, as if waiting for the king’s response to Ptolemy's sensible suggestion.

Alexander straightened, his expression unchanging, but there was a flicker of respect in his eyes. He knew he needed men like Ptolemy and Hephaestion at his side, those who could temper his impetuosity with practical wisdom.

"Then see to it that you arrange it, Ptolemy and Hephaestion," Alexander ordered, his voice still thick with authority. "Make the necessary preparations. But know this: we will not hesitate. I want the troops ready to march at dawn."

Ptolemy nodded again, this time with more conviction, and began studying the maps with renewed attention, along with Hephaestion. The room was filled with a mix of movement and tension as each of the generals took their turn in preparing for the campaign.

May the gods be on their side.

Dawn was slowly creeping in, bringing with it an uneasy silence that seemed to extend throughout the royal tent. Alexander sat in a chair near the table, a glass of wine in his hands, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the flickering candlelight. The dark liquid swayed in his cup as he swirled it absently, lost in thought. Anxiety weighed on his chest like a suit of armor he could not remove, preventing him from giving in to sleep.

The solitude of the moment was interrupted only by the occasional crackle of the flames and the soft sound of footsteps in the distance. He knew he should rest, prepare for the imminent march, but his mind would not give him a break. His wife’s face haunted his thoughts, and every second that passed without action felt like a personal defeat.

It was then that the uneasy tranquility was broken. One of the guards at the entrance to the tent appeared, bowing slightly in a gesture of respect before speaking.

"My lord, there is someone who wishes to speak with you." The guard announced, his voice low but firm.

Alexander frowned, irritated by the interruption, but his curiosity was piqued when the visitor's name was revealed.

"Aslan?" He repeated, his voice thick with suspicion. He leaned back in his chair for a brief moment, considering his options, before waving his hand, indicating that the man could enter.

Aslan was an enigmatic figure, and Alexander did not trust him for a moment. There was something about his presence — perhaps the furtive glances, the measured tone of his voice, or the way he always seemed to know more than he should — that made him deeply uncomfortable. There were many rumors surrounding Aslan, and Alexander was not naïve enough to ignore them.

But despite his reservations, Alexander could not deny that Aslan had been valuable. It was he who had brought him the crucial information about his wife's whereabouts, knowledge that none of the king's other allies had been able to uncover. For this, Alexander was somewhat grateful, though that gratitude was tempered by constant vigilance.

Aslan entered the tent with deliberate steps, a hint of a smile on his lips. He bowed slightly, but his posture remained casual, almost insolent.

"Your Majesty," Aslan began, his voice silky but heavy with a subtext that Alexander had yet to decipher.

Alexander raised his cup, eyeing the man like a predator studying its prey.

"I hope you have something important to say, Aslan," Alexander replied, his voice cold and clipped. "I am not known for tolerating pointless interruptions."

Aslan laughed softly, tilting his head as if recognizing the danger in the king's every word.

"Certainly, my King. I would never dare waste your time," He said, taking a step forward and lowering his voice.

Aslan smiled broadly, his teeth gleaming in the flickering candlelight. His posture was impeccable, almost theatrical, as if every movement had been rehearsed for maximum impact. Alexander watched him closely, unease building within him. There was something about Aslan that made him shiver — perhaps it was the intense gaze, or the air of someone who always knew more than he should.

The visitor tilted his head slightly to the side, keeping his eyes fixed on Alexander, like a predator assessing its prey. The silence that followed seemed endless, until Aslan finally spoke, his voice soft but heavy with a weight that pierced the air.

"Your queen is with child."

Those words struck Alexander like a thunderbolt. He did not react immediately, but his hand, which was holding the cup, gripped the object so tightly that it seemed about to break.

Aslan continued, as if savoring every second of the tension his words provoked.

"My sources tell me that she is being well looked after in Babylon," He added, his voice taking on an almost condescending tone. "But as you well know, she is surrounded by enemies. Anyone who wishes to weaken you will spare no effort to use this situation against you." Aslan paused dramatically, his eyes shining with something Alexander could not identify. "I thought you should know."

Alexander stood still for a moment, trying to process the maelstrom of emotions churning inside him. Anger, worry, joy, and protective fury all fought for space in his heart. His wife, his Queen, pregnant, carrying his heir, amid mortal enemies. The mere thought of something happening to her — or the child —was enough to make his blood boil.

"Are you sure about this?" Alexander asked finally, his voice low but filled with an intensity that made even Aslan feel uncomfortable for a brief moment.

"Absolutely." Aslan replied without hesitation, his tone far too confident for Alexander's liking.

The king placed the cup on the table with a controlled movement, but the tension in his body was evident. He took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and Aslan, his eyes fixed like blades.

"If your information is wrong, Aslan, you will answer for it personally." Alexander declared, each word laden with menace.

Aslan did not flinch. Instead, he held Alexander's gaze with an enigmatic smile, as if he were aware of something no one else was.

"I trust my sources, Your Majesty," He said calmly. "But what you do with that information... That's up to you."

Alexander took a deep breath, trying to control the storm raging inside him. The fate of his wife — and now his heir — was at stake. There was no room for error or hesitation.

"Leave." Alexander ordered, his voice icy, though he felt a whirlwind of emotions inside.

Aslan inclined his head in an almost courteous gesture before turning and disappearing through the tent entrance, leaving Alexander alone with the news that changed everything. The king stood still, the candles flickering around him as his thoughts raced.

Alexander felt the weight of Aslan’s words settle over him like a storm about to break. His wife, his queen, pregnant. The concept swirled through his mind, carrying with it a torrent of emotions he rarely experienced so intensely. He looked down at his hands and realized they were shaking. This was not something that usually happened — he, the invincible conqueror, was now shaken by news that should have been a cause for joy.

Happiness. Pride. Fear. Anger. All of these emotions fought for space in his heart at once.

Finally, he would have an heir. A son. A child to whom he could pass on not only his empire, but also his lessons, his vision, and, in some way, his immortality. Alexander felt a pang of pride at the thought. An heir who would carry on his blood and his name, someone who would carry on the legacy he had spent his life building.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine the child. A son or daughter with (Y/N)'s eyes and her kindness. He imagined teaching the child to ride, to fight, to rule with wisdom and strength. His heart warmed at the thought of this life he could shape and love.

And perhaps, finally, his mother, Olympia, would be silent. He thought wryly of all the letters she had sent him, pressuring him relentlessly to produce an heir. "The empire needs continuity," she always said. As if that were the only reason for him to have a child. Now, he would have the heir she so desperately demanded – but he did not do it for her, or for the empire. He did it because it was with (Y/N), because...

Alexander took a deep breath, trying to order his thoughts that were racing against each other. He loved (Y/N). It was a truth he had never said out loud, perhaps not even to himself. But now, she was far from him. Far from his protection. Surrounded by enemies who could use her and the child she bore as weapons against him.

Fear gripped his heart, quickly turning into cold, dangerous fury. He was Alexander, undefeated in battle, and he would never allow anything to happen to the woman he loved or the child she carried.

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with such force that it nearly fell over. His breathing was heavy, and his fists clenched at his sides. Babylon, the place where (Y/N) was, became, in that moment, more than a military objective or a strategic dispute. It was the place where everything he valued was, everything that truly mattered.

By dawn, Alexander was already shouting orders and preparing to go and get his wife and child. Whatever the cost.

The days in Babylon were heavier than usual. The heat felt suffocating, but that wasn't what was tightening your chest as you stared out your bedroom window. Your hands gripped the balcony tightly, your fingers almost digging into the cold stone. Your eyes were fixed on the horizon, but your mind was elsewhere, struggling to process the news that had arrived earlier.

Alexander was coming.

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard those words, but the initial joy soon gave way to a mix of conflicting emotions: hope, worry, and a touch of despair. He was coming to rescue you, you had no doubt about that, but what did that mean for Babylon? For the city that was now seething with panic and preparation? For its people?

You definitely didn’t want to see an entire city massacred and the survivors sold into slavery.

Darius had received the news only a few hours ago, and since then, the tranquility of the city had been replaced by noisy chaos. Soldiers were rushing about, carrying weapons, building barricades, and reinforcing the walls. The raised voices of commanders echoed through the streets, mingling with the sound of hammers and shouts. Supplies were being piled up, and civilians were being forced to work to prepare the city for a siege that everyone knew was inevitable.

The satrap of Babylon, Mazeus, tried to bring some sense to the discussion, arguing that surrender was the only sensible option. He mentioned how Bactria, by capitulating without resistance, had avoided the terrible fate that awaited the stubborn. But Darius, influenced by Bessus — that arrogant fool — rejected the suggestion with disdain.

"Fools," You muttered to yourself, gripping your hands tighter on the balcony. Your eyes closed for a moment, the weight of everything that was to come bearing down on you. "They are all fools."

You knew what Alexander was capable of. He was not just a conqueror; he was an unstoppable force. If Darius and his followers insisted on fighting, Babylon would be razed, its inhabitants slaughtered. Blood would run in the streets, and the walls they now reinforced would be useless against Alexander's military genius.

There was a small hope that if they surrendered, the city might be spared. But you also knew that your presence here complicated everything. Your kidnapping was both a symbol of resistance and a personal insult to Alexander. Even if the leaders of Babylon surrendered, Alexander would show no mercy to those who defied him by taking you from his arms.

You took a deep breath, trying to control the storm of emotions inside you. You felt trapped, powerless, a pawn in a game of power far greater than you. And yet, there was something comforting in the idea that Alexander was coming. He would take on everyone, tear down walls and armies if necessary. Because he was coming for you.

You hadn't quite come to a conclusion about how you felt about him yet, but you knew that you cared in some way. He was your husband, even if forced, and he was the father of your babies. A part of you cared enough.

"Hello."

You whirled around at the sound of Aslan's voice, your heart leaping into your throat with shock. He was there, standing casually near the door, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His posture was relaxed, and his lips curved in a smile that never seemed to reach his eyes. It had been days since you had seen him, and you had been relieved by his absence. But now, he was back. Only the gods knew where he had come from.

"A kiss for your thoughts, my dear?" Aslan asked, his voice calm and tinged with amusement.

You crossed your arms instinctively, trying not to show the discomfort you always felt in his presence.

Aslan tilted his head slightly, his smile widening as his eyes fell on your noticeably rounded belly. His gaze was so intense that you almost cringed.

"You’re getting more beautiful every day, (Y/N)," He commented, his voice low and honeyed, as he leaned casually against the nearby wall and crossed his arms. "Pregnancy suits you well."

You felt your throat go dry. There was something about the way he was looking at you — or maybe the babies you were carrying —that made every instinct in you scream in alarm. Trying to maintain your composure, you straightened your posture and met his gaze with as much steadiness as you could muster.

"Aslan," You finally replied, your voice sharp. "What do you want?"

His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes sparkled even brighter, as if he’d been waiting for this very question.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," He said, his tone so innocent it was hard to believe. He tilted his head again, his eyes boring into you in a way that seemed to read every thought that passed through your mind. "And, of course, to make sure our future little prince and princess are well taken care of."

You didn't want to know how he knew you were expecting twins or why he assumed it was a girl and a boy. You wanted to ask but knew you would be met with no answer, just rambling.

"I’m fine," You replied dryly, your voice firmer than you expected. "And so are the babies. You don’t have to worry."

Aslan laughed softly, the sound echoing around the room disconcertingly.

"Oh, but I do, my dear," He said, pushing off the wall and taking a step toward you. "You carry something very valuable, something that could change the course of many things."

Your body tensed, and you took a half-step back, holding your head high. "What do you mean by that?"

Aslan stopped, as if realizing he’d reached his limit. He raised his hands in a theatrical gesture of surrender.

"Nothing much, just the musings of a man who likes to watch the game board," He replied with an enigmatic smile. "But for now, I just wanted to say how good it is to see you, and how... Radiant you look."

Aslan glanced at you as he turned his back to leave, but he didn't bother to move.

"Do you want to leave?" His words were calm, but loaded with something you couldn’t identify.

"I... What?" You began, trying to process what he had just said.

Aslan raised his hand, a mysterious smile playing on his lips as if anticipating your confusion. "I mean, my dear," he continued, his voice as soft as a serpent whispering in your ear, "back to your time, to the twenty-first century."

— lady l: I know it took a while to come out but as you know I was sick and busy with personal things, then I got better and got the flu 🤡 but I hope this chapter was worth the wait! I personally really liked how it turned out and forgive me if there are any mistakes.

See you guys soon! ❤️

[whorelaud]

fwb!rafe practically pleading to fuck you; even if it means doing it in the middle of the library warnings very suggestive

Rafe’s eyes fixed on you within the flutter of his eyelashes, gaze burning through your flesh. The boy’s face buried in his arms that were plopped on the table, invading your space as his elbow slightly brushed your forearm. The gesture was subtle, barely even there, yet, it didn’t fail to knock a breathless sigh out of your chest, instantly growing flustered to the closure of his touch. 

Knowing Rafe, this was quite rare, besides the sleepless nights you spent together, the boy offered little to no comfort, protecting the line you both chose not to cross when this whole ‘sleeping together’ thing started. It began with tutoring lessons that ended with passionate makeout sessions, eventually developing into something more, with your clothes tossed on the floor while he fucked you senseless into your bed, until you no longer could coherent words out. 

However, that instantly oscillated, with your heart skipping a beat everytime he offered to stay, justifying his words with a ‘I’m too tired to leave,’ leading to you both cuddled up on your bed, forgetting that this was nothing more than a fling, a college hookup that you’ll grow to regret. That wasn’t the only thing, though, he started having lunch with you, waiting for you lectures to finish, choosing to spend his precious time rotting in your dorm room instead of going out to parties. 

And that, it really stirred up your emotions, creating all sorts of confusing feelings for you. Therefore, it was no surprise that you felt nervous under his gaze, as he admired you with every ounce of endearment, while he waited for you to finish the presentation you were working on. 

“You’re so pretty,” Rafe suddenly blurted out, causing you to come to a halt, all while processing what he said, afraid you heard him wrong. 

“What?” You shot back through a breath, anxiously batting your eyelashes at him. Rafe stifled out a laugh, amused by how flustered you grew due to his words.

“I said,” he started, gaze trailing down to your hand, as his fingers toyed with the rings hugging your digits. “You’re pretty.”

“Shut up.” You grumbled, avoiding his gaze, and focusing your attention on the laptop in front of you, now long forgotten on the table. 

“You know,” he adjusted his position, face now nere inches away from yours. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, lips slightly hovering just beneath it, the fraction breaking goosebumps throughout your body. “Was’ so focused on fuckin’ you,” he whispered, “n’ making you feel good,” he then paused, his breath fanning over the sliver of your skin. “That I never realized how beautiful you are.” 

You tensed under his touch, almost yelping when his lips ghosted over your ear, placing a chaste kiss to it. You glimpsed in his direction, blinking far too many times for your liking. Rafe’s lips tugged into a sly smirk, satisfied by the reaction he got out of you. 

“What are you doing?” You muttered under your breath, stepping back to catch your breath, merely for Rafe to follow in your lead, invading your personal space, once again. “We’re in the library, idiot.” 

“What, I’m jus’ appreciating your beauty, baby.” He darted his tongue out to wet his lips, sneaking an arm around your waist, the gesture barely visible to the little people surrounding you. “Am I not allowed to do that now?”

“By telling me that you barely acknowledge me when you fuck me?” You boldy shot back, feeling pride bubble through your chest when Rafe rolled his eyes, entertained by your teasing. “What am I supposed to say to that?” 

“Well,” he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, placing an open-mouthed kiss to your lips. “You’re supposed to be polite,” and another peck, “and say thank you.” 

“Not here,” you warned, suppressing the smile forming on your lips. 

‘I’ll be quick,” he hushed out, hand landing around the plump of your thigh, before he squeezed the flesh, trailing his fingers just beneath the hem of your skirt. Your eyes shifted down to his hand, swallowing around your dry throat, tempted by his risky offer. “C’mon, sweetheart, let me make you feel good.” 

His calloused fingers came to a halt around your inner thigh, digits tracing over your clothed cunt, causing in inaudible gasp to bubble out of your throat. You ceased the distance around his arm, forcing the latter into a fit of proximity, wanting nothing but to take you right then and there. 

“Fuck, you’re a mess; so wet for me, n’ I haven’t even done anythin’.” He whispered, smothering a moan out of you. “Wanna press you to the wall, n’ fuck you right then n’ there.” 

That sent you spiraling, as you jolted from your seat, leading Rafe within a close distance separating you, the boy instantly connecting your lips with his as soon as you approached a somewhat narrowed corner, one blocking the stifling moans he fucked out of you.

That alone was enough to make you realize that you liked him, more than yesterday, and less than tomorrow. 

[loredrinker]

Seeing Solas Through the Eyes of Cole

Currently working on a project, trying to paint a picture of Solas through the dialogue said about and to him in both games - the good and the bad. I love analyzing dialogue, so this has been a fun project, even if a bit daunting at times. The last few days I've been focusing on Cole’s lines specifically, and it’s interesting to see how much sympathy and emotional depth we get through Cole.  

When we view Solas through the lens of spirits - beings of emotion - it's understandable why many players find Solas sympathetic. Cole especially is a powerful lens for this because of the nature of this character, he doesn’t recall facts - he feels what others feel. 

Cole's dialogue after All New, Faded for Her, paints, I think, the most vivid emotional picture of Solas.  

Cole: Bright and brilliant, he wanders the ways, walking unwaking, searching for wisdom...   Solas: I do not need you to do that, Cole.   Cole: Your friend wanted you to be happy, even though she knew you wouldn't be.   Solas: (Sighs.) Could you... if you would remember her, could you do it as I would?   Cole: He comes to me as though the Fade were just another wooded path to walk without a care in search of wisdom. We share the ancient mysteries, the feelings lost, forgotten dreams, unseen for ages, now beheld in wonder. In his own way, he knew wisdom, as no man or spirit had before.   Solas: Thank you. 

As a man now and as time has gone by, Solas’ memories have become clouded by shame and regret. He can’t trust himself to remember his friend as it deserves to be remembered - without distortion. 

So he turns to Cole, a being closer to that spiritual purity, and asks him to remember his friend as he would have. 

But I love what happens instead. 

Cole responds by sharing how the spirit remembers Solas. This is rare - a spirit’s insight on how they view Solas - a memory of him, untainted by the self-loathing Solas carries. Cole knows what Solas needs even if Solas doesn’t and I believe Cole knows that part of Solas’ hurt is that he’s grieving not just his friend, but the man/spirit he was.   

“In his own way, he knew wisdom, as no man or spirit had before.”  

This was likely a spirit who had known Solas throughout his entire existence - as both spirit and man. The way it describes him is in the present tense: “He comes to me...” tells me that Solas, even as a man, continued to visit this spirit in the Fade. So the spirit sees him not as something entirely changed. Solas may have taken a different form, but his nature - curious, seeking, attuned to the Fade - remains the same.

We don't know for sure, but this spirit likely witnessed his transformation from spirit to man, his part in the destruction of the Titans, his rebellion against the Evanuris, the death of Mythal, and the long path that led to the events of Inquisition. I wonder, how many times did he turn to this spirit when he’d lost his clarity, seeking the wisdom he once embodied? Would things have gone differently if this spirit was still alive in the events leading to, and of Veilguard? Outside of Mythal, it may be the only being we meet in the games who has seen the entirety of Solas.

This spirit understood that Solas was wounded. Of course it did - it was a spirit of Wisdom. And when we consider its final words to Solas alongside Cole’s later dialogue, we gain deeper insight into the pain he carries.

“I’m happy. I’m me again. You helped me. Now you must endure”. 

Solas helped it return to it's purpose before it passed, and in return, it asks him to do the same: to endure. Not just physically, but spiritually - to live without losing himself and hold on to who he truly is beneath all the darkness and regret. 

I think part of the pain Cole feels in Solas stems from Solas losing himself. The theme of longing to be seen runs throughout Inquisition and Veilguard - in the Memories of a Duet Codex, in Solas telling the Inquisitor, “Few in this world can see me…,” and in his confession to a hurt Inquisitor, “You saw more than most.” He even states it outright: “I was Solas first.” And Solas is being buried beneath centuries of war, shame, grief, and every name hurled at him as an insult and in hatred.

To me, this dialogue offers a rare window into who Solas is beneath the darkness, strangled by years of violence and making choices against his nature. His capacity for love, his longing for connection - it isn’t a lie. It’s the part of him that can endure, despite everything. If the atonement ending is chosen, we see the full expression of that endurance.

To feel compassion for someone isn’t to excuse their actions - but there is power in understanding the emotional root of those actions. And if we choose to see Solas through Cole’s eyes (and through the eyes of the Spirit of Wisdom) – well, maybe we’ll find that he’s not that kind of wolf.  

*Note - there are theories that this dialogue is referring to Mythal, not the Spirit of Wisdom. Regardless of what you believe, this dialogue still paints the same picture of Solas. If it is Mythal, it's even more interesting as despite all their shared pain and hurt of each other, she still wants him to find happiness.

[missaengg]

Massaging Lord Sukuna

Day 23 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation hosted by @xxsycamore found here Featuring: Jujutsu Kaisen | Sukuna x f!reader Tags: mdni, smut, massage, hand job, Lord Sukuna, servant reader, Sukuna is massive Prompts: Massages | “That's it, you're doing such a good job.” ao3 link here.

“Enter.”

The deep, foreboding voice commands you through the sliding doors. You enter, hastening to your Lord’s feet and falling to the ground in a deep bow.

“You called for me, my Lord?”

“Uraume tells me you’re well-versed in the art of massage.” “Y–yes, my Lord.” 

You keep your eyes trained on the polished wooden floor. You’ve heard the stories whispered among the other servants, how Lord Sukuna can change his mood on a whim, how if you happen to be present when his mood shifts… You shiver. You’ve seen the empty beds of those who entered his chambers and never returned.

“Stand before me.”

You scramble to your feet keeping your head bowed. You don’t dare look him in the eyes.

“Look at me.”

Trembling, you raise your chin, tentatively gazing into his cold, demon eyes. They appraise you slowly, taking his time to drag over every inch of your tiny form. You hold your breath, terrified of making the wrong move and catching his ire. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he looks away, releasing you from his hold.

“Do not disappoint me, wench.”

You inaudibly release the tense breath you’re holding in your lungs. “Yes, my Lord.”

Lord Sukuna disrobes, casually slipping the luxurious silk material fluidly off his shoulders and discarding it carelessly to the side. You gasp and avert your eyes quickly, a blush blooming on your cheeks at your Lord’s unabashed naked form. It’s your first time seeing a man – if Lord Sukuna can be considered a man – bare, and you’re surprised by how much you relish it, at the rush of heat overwhelming you. While it’s no secret Lord Sukuna has an informidable build, seeing him disrobed… you can’t help, but admire just how chiseled he is, how clearly each contour of his body is outlined under his flesh.

“Where…” You clear your throat, reaching for the massage oil. “Where would you like for me to focus, my Lord?”

“My shoulders and my back. Do not skimp on the pressure.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

You get to work briskly, slathering a generous amount of oil on your hands, rubbing them together to warm up the oil so your hands aren’t too cold. You don’t know if he’ll mind, but you prefer not to find out at the cost of your life.

Desperately attempting to quell your shaking, you place your hands on his shoulders, feeling his taut muscles ripple under your palms. You can tell that he’s tight, and you knead along the fibers, pressing as hard as you can with your thumbs. You run your thumb along a particularly dense knot, and Lord Sukuna grunts. Lightening your touch, you wonder if perhaps you’ve pressed too hard, and you wait with bated breath, waiting to see if he’ll turn on you in rage.

“Harder, brat. Do not make me say it again.”

You bite your lip to keep from squeaking in fear. “Y–yes, my Lord.”

You dig your thumb in the knot again, harder this time, rocking it back and forth to loosen what you can. Lord Sukuna grumbles in displeasure, your thumb too weak against the thick fibers of his dense muscle. Coating your elbow in oil, you press your bony joint into the stubborn point. You relax when Lord Sukuna sighs, now using your forearm and elbow to soothe the strain in his back.

“Uraume was right. You are satisfactory.”

A rare utterance of praise.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

The tense clench of your body begins to subside as you focus on the task at hand, finding a rhythm to the way your arms slide along his broad torso. You frown when your thumbs travel down towards his waist. His lower back is an impenetrable column, even tighter than the knots in his shoulders. Re-coating your hands with more oil, you rake your knuckles against the firm ropes of muscle, following the path to his glutes. 

You almost topple over once you realize where your hands are placed.

“F–forgive me, my Lord. I did not mean to touch you indecently.”

Lord Sukuna simply chuckles. “You wish to seduce your Lord?”

“No, my Lord!” You throw yourself into a deep bow even though you know Lord Sukuna can’t see you. “For–forgive me, my Lord!”

Lord Sukuna sighs. “You may continue.”

Shaking, you place your palms back down on his glutes, but the heels of your palms are too feeble against his powerful muscle. You wince. You have no choice, you’ll have to use your knees. Hiking the hem of your yukata up to your hips, you coat your knees in massage oil.

“Please excuse me, my Lord.”

“Hm?” Lord Sukuna’s bored hum hangs in the stifling tension, but he doesn’t move, uninterested in your next move.

You carefully climb on top of your Lord, your knees moving in opposing circles on his cheeks, leaning with your hands on his shoulder blades. You’re practically laying on top of him attacking both his glutes and his upper back simultaneously, painfully aware of your close proximity. You can feel his body heat radiating off of him in heavy crashing waves. For such a cold, imposing demon Lord, his body heat is impossibly, scorchingly hot, and you’re burning in its presence.

Lord Sukuna tenses, and you freeze. Are you not using enough strength? Remembering his earlier threat, you prepare to sink more of your meager weight into his flesh when he suddenly rises, and you tumble unceremoniously off his back to the hard floor below. 

Your breath catches in your throat, fear dancing in your now teary eyes. Is this where your life will end?

Lord Sukuna simply flips over in one swift movement, his back now on his futon. You catch a glimpse of his impressive twitching cock, and you almost choke at the sheer, monstrous size of his appendage. It’s standing at attention, fully engorged, a bead of something glistening on his tip. It’s your first time seeing a cock in real life, but they can’t possibly be this big… Can they?

“I’ve changed my mind…”

You forcefully tear your wide eyes away from his lap.

“I want you to work on my front.”

You’re still too dazed to fully comprehend Lord Sukuna’s request or wonder why he suddenly changed his mind when you’ve hardly worked on his back, which is still a mess of crunchy, tangled fibers. All you can do is stutter, “Yes, my Lord,” before moving to kneel by his head.

You jump when Lord Sukuna grabs you by the wrist, snapping you out of your dazed trance.

“By my side.”

You blink. You don’t understand why he wants to keep you by his side to massage his chest. The best placement for the neck and chest is with his head cradled between your knees, but you comply. You aren’t reckless enough to argue with him. What Lord Sukuna wants, Lord Sukuna gets.

“Yes, my Lord.”

You kneel by his chest. Despite the awkward angle, you do your best to knead his pecs. 

“Lower.”

You move your hands down until they’re directly cupping his chest.

“Lower.”

Abs aren’t quite an area that’s normally massaged, but you accede. While humans don’t generally prefer having their stomachs pressed, perhaps demons are different in that regard.

“Lower.”

This time you pause. Lower would mean… you blush furiously at what his command is implying.

“My Lord?”

“You heard me, brat. Lower.”

You hesitantly slide your hands lower following the trail of hair leading down to his… your blush deepens. There’s only one thing in that region that’ll require a massage, and it’s currently twitching quite violently in your view.

“Do I need to spell out what I want?”

The irritation threading through his words is clear. 

“N–no, my Lord.”

You know what he’s asking you to do. Taking in a deep breath, you grasp his thick shaft, your tiny hand barely able to close around its full girth. It’s throbbing, the protruding veins pulsing in a steady yet demanding rhythmic beat. You exhale. The feeling of a man’s dick is foreign to you, and you’ve heard other ladies giggling over their midnight trysts with the other men, but this is your first time even holding one in your palm, much less one this massive. 

Struggling to remember what exactly was shared in the cover of night, you timidly move your oil-slicken hand up and down his shaft. Are you supposed to squeeze? How fast are you supposed to go? Do you include the tip?

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears prickling your eyelids. You so desperately want to please your Lord, but you have no idea what you’re doing, and you’re too scared to ask. Too scared of the consequences that may follow.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Hm. Interesting.”

Lord Sukuna is staring at you, contemplating something in his head. There’s a look in his eyes you can’t quite read. You don’t know whether you should be struck with fear or something else entirely or a combination of both. Your hand stills. The moment is tense with unspoken words.

“Apply more pressure and increase your pace gradually.”

Relief floods your anxious, fearful heart. For whatever reason, he is being patient with you, and you’re grateful for his mercy. You strengthen your grip around him, and pump, twirling around his shaft to cover every exposed inch.

“That's it, you're doing such a good job,” Lord Sukuna purrs, his eyes still trained on you, still gleaming with the something you can’t identify.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“Do not forget to include the head of my cock.”

Your hand aches. After the strenuous exertion of massaging Lord Sukuna’s dense body and the width of his member, your fingers are cramping, at their limit, but you refuse to give in to the strain. Lord Sukuna has spared you several times already, and you’re determined to keep him pleased.

Lord Sukuna growls quietly under his breath, and you take a peek, taken aback at the rosy flush that has appeared on his cheeks and at the way his eyes are rolling under his eyelids and his mouth hangs open. His breaths are rapidly shallow.

He’s enjoying this.

Emboldened by your Lord’s response, you pump furiously. This time remembering to include the bulbous head. Your hand glides easily, the massage oil acting as a slick lubricant allowing you to increase your pace smoothly.

Your aim is to please your Lord, but you feel unsettled by the way your thighs are rubbing together, the way his growl has awoken a fluttering in your belly, the way you ache and throb between your legs.

Sukuna’s growls grow louder, interspersed with guttural grunts, all laced with a feral edge. Every so often his hips jerk against your fist until his cock pulls taut, and with a fearsome groan he erupts, shooting wave after wave of his white cum, his explosion so powerful and copious, his cum is spilling over your fist and spurting onto your clothes.

The ladies spoke of what happens when a man is pleasured, but this… This is something else entirely. Lord Sukuna’s release is a relentless torrent of white far beyond anything you’d previously heard. 

Lord Sukuna finally stills, his breathing labored. Despite spilling an impressive amount, his cock is still undeniably firm. He cracks his eyes open, and he languidly smirks, taking in the way you’re practically bathed in his cum.

“You have pleased me, little one.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” You bow, ignoring just how drenched you are from his release. “If you are satisfied, I shall take my leave.”

You’re so shaken from how much pleasure you also felt from pleasing your Lord, you forget you must first be dismissed before leaving his presence.

Lord Sukuna narrows his eyes, and he grabs you by the arm, pulling you closer towards him. “I’m not done with you, brat,” he hisses.

You flinch, recognizing your impudence. “I’m sorry, my Lord,” you whisper, flushing from how close his face is to yours.

Lord Sukuna trails his finger down your cheek, a wicked grin gracing his lips. You look into his eyes, finally understanding the gleam you couldn’t identify earlier.

Ravenous hunger.

He brings his lips so close to your ear, they brush your helix causing you to shiver, and says…

“I won’t be done with you until morning.”

[bookwormjust]

Protective shadows (Established relationship, Azriel's mate, Cassian teasing as usual, Azriel not in the mood)

The sun hung low over the sprawling courtyards of the House of Wind, casting long, golden rays across the stone floors. The Inner Circle had gathered for a relaxed afternoon, a rare reprieve from the pressures of their roles and responsibilities. You sat beside Azriel on one of the plush outdoor sofas, enjoying the warm breeze that carried the scent of blooming flowers from the nearby gardens.

Azriel’s shadows, ever-present and watchful, danced lazily around him, the dark tendrils swirling softly like smoke caught in a gentle breeze. One shadow, in particular, was coiled around your wrist like a bracelet—warm and familiar, its touch a constant, comforting reminder of his presence. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, moving in sync with the rhythm of your heartbeat.

Cassian, always one to notice the little details, caught sight of the shadow and grinned, leaning back in his chair with a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know, Az, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your shadows so attached to anyone before. Are you sure you’re not overdoing it a little?” he joked, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I mean, they’re practically glued to her.”

Azriel’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced at Cassian. There was a flicker of something sharp in his gaze, a protective edge that made his shadows stir restlessly around him. He kept his hand resting on your knee, his thumb brushing slow, calming circles into your skin, but his posture tensed, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

“They do as they please,” Azriel said, his voice low and steady, but there was an unmistakable warning in his tone. His shadows, sensing his unease, tightened ever so slightly around your wrist, as if reaffirming their presence, their silent vow to protect.

Cassian chuckled, clearly oblivious to the shift in Azriel’s mood. “Oh, come on, Az. It’s just a shadow. It’s not like anyone’s going to steal her away from you,” he teased, the grin on his face broadening. “Besides, it’s not like she’s in danger here.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, a flicker of anger sparking in their depths. The shadows around him grew denser, swirling with a sudden intensity that made the air feel heavier. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet level. “They’re not just shadows, Cassian,” he said, each word edged with a quiet menace. “They’re a part of me, and they know exactly where they belong.”

Cassian’s smile faltered, the lightness of his teasing dimming as he realized Azriel was not in the mood for jokes. He raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, though the gleam in his eyes showed he was not entirely cowed. “Alright, alright. No need to get your feathers ruffled, Shadowsinger,” Cassian said, though his tone was more subdued now. “I’m just messing with you.”

But Azriel’s gaze remained hard, his grip on your knee tightening slightly. “She is my mate,” he said, the words resonating with a possessive finality. “My shadows protect what’s mine, and I won’t apologize for that.”

The declaration hung in the air, charged with the weight of his emotions. Azriel’s shadows pulsed in time with his heartbeat, the tendril around your wrist tightening slightly before relaxing, as if echoing his protectiveness. You could feel the intensity of his feelings through your bond—the fierce need to keep you safe, to ensure that nothing and no one could ever harm you.

You reached up, placing a gentle hand on Azriel’s arm, grounding him with your touch. “I like having them close,” you said softly, offering him a reassuring smile. “They make me feel safe.”

Azriel’s gaze softened as he looked at you, the tension in his posture easing just a fraction. His thumb resumed its soothing motion on your knee, and his shadows seemed to calm, their movements becoming more languid and relaxed. He turned his attention back to Cassian, his expression still guarded but the anger fading from his eyes.

Cassian met Azriel’s gaze, his own expression more serious now. “I get it,” he said quietly, a hint of understanding in his tone. “I just didn’t realize it meant that much to you.”

“It does,” Azriel replied, his voice steady, though the underlying edge of protectiveness remained. “She’s everything to me.”

Cassian nodded, his teasing demeanor replaced by a rare look of respect. “Well, then,” he said, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. “I’m glad she has you—and your shadows—looking out for her.”

Azriel inclined his head, accepting the peace offering with a slight nod. He turned his attention back to you, his expression softening further as he caught your eye. The shadow around your wrist gave a gentle squeeze, like a silent promise, before settling back into its usual, comforting rhythm.

You leaned into Azriel, resting your head against his shoulder as his arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer. His wings shifted slightly, brushing against your back in a gesture that felt both protective and intimate. The bond between you thrummed with warmth, a steady reassurance that no matter what, Azriel would always be there, his shadows ever-watchful, ever-loyal.

Cassian might have teased, but you knew the truth: Azriel’s shadows were more than just wisps of darkness—they were extensions of his love, his devotion, and his unyielding promise to keep you safe. And in that moment, wrapped in his embrace with the steady presence of his shadows around you, you knew you were exactly where you belonged.

[brights-place]

[TWST] Azul Ashengrotto X Reader

Warnings: Azul Ashengrotto, Fluff

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO AZUL!! I LOVE THIS OCTO FELLA ALOT! though it took me awhile to think of what to write

Summary: To just sum it up quickly because sadly this is short as I am sadly tired asf "You're Inlove" "I think you're delusional" "AND we think you're in denial come on Azul~! You think shrimpys a cutie" "Hush"

The sound of clattering was heard as you were hurriedly holding a metal tray in your hands. A wrapped present beside the plate of food and newspaper, as your shoes clicked against the floor heading down the hallways of Octanivelle. Your hands tightened around the Tray glancing over your shoulder to see Jade grinning from down the hallway giving a slight wave with Floyd randomly appearing behind Jade with a glint in his eyes. You were called over to Octavinelle by Floyd well more like dragged when Azul told Jade and Floyd the day before that he would of enjoyed being greeted with breakfast in bed with the daily newspaper so here you were standing in front of Azul is dorm door with a tray in your hand with the present you got him. Entering upon the room you couldn't help but awkwardly giggle at Azul sleeping tiredly on his bed. Placing the tray near Azul is bedside table your hand reached out to touch Azul is shoulder shaking hm your voice hushed "Azul... Azul wake up" silence only came from Azul as you slowly started to poke Azul is cheek giggling quietly when seeing him twitch in bed. Azuls light greyish wavy hair was a mess cheek pressed against the plush pillow as you couldn't help but notice how soft and relaxed his face was compared to the one he'd usually have on a false facade of a con man with a smile that told people to run. For a moment you were stuck staring at his sleeping face before your face turned bright holding your head in your hands at how attractive Azul looked even if he was asleep and how unfair it was. Such a vulnerable moment to see Azul was a rare sight a moment that you couldn't help but smile at once more before relaxing and softly looking back at his sleeping figure before going over to poke Azul awake. A laugh came from you when seeing the male sit up tiredly waving your hand away from poking his face "Floyd cease to poke me awake I wake up at this time anyways as the newspaper is always here-" Silence filled the room Azul face to face with you and your e/c eyes that were glinting wit mischief causing Azul to flinch a blush coating on his cheeks "[MC?!]" "Azul! Happy birthday" You cheered taking out a small party horn placed on your lips that you blew into that lightly hit Azul is cheek the mer not entertained and still tired. "[MC] Good morning to you too- Eh wait why are you in my room?" you couldn't help but shrug "Floyd and Jade" Azul couldn't help but sigh rubbing his temples "and I just woke up how lovely" Azul muttered voice filled with distain as you placed a trey on Azul is lap the male smiling softly thanking you as he noticed the Newspaper and the small gift on the tray. Azul sighed as he read his Newspaper glancing at you as you were laying beside him rambling to him about having to deal with Grim and the idiotic things happening. Even as a few minutes passed of reading Azul fixed his glasses "Hm the newspaper always come on time" "Most likely Jade he reminded me to give it to you" "Of course he would" he muttered as he paused glancing at the purple coloured box that was wrapped with a white ribbon that raised up to him causing Azul to raise a brow "A gift for me...?" "Well duh its your birthday is it not?" "Indeed it is but you perhaps wouldn't be using this for favors later on if so there would be some consequences" A tense atmosphere soon came from you while you spoke "Well okay..? anyways here's your gift... Happy birthday Azul enjoy it" Azul couldn't help but have his entire attention focus onto you eyes widening at how you smiled the way your face lit up at him, your features that you claimed as flaws made him want to compliment your beauty so the moment your hands touched his for a bit longer faster placing the gift he shakily thanked you as you smiled towards him.

Azul felt the bed shift as you got off smiling at him "Like I said happy birthday and enjoy your gift" "Going back so early?" "Grim is gonna bite me if I don't come back. See you in class?" Azul nodded his head "See you in class" He watched your figure leave his room door opened slight as a small huff came from Azul focused onto the wrapped gift in his hand his fingers wrapped around the box touching the edges while smiling softly undoing the ribbon to see a golden bracelet that glinted as its design littered with small doodles of waves and small charms one of the charms being an octopus. His hands wrapped around the bracelet with delicacy before leaving his bed to get ready after washing his face he couldn't help but let out a small noise coming from the door a familiar one at that coming from a childhood friend of his. “What do you want Jade?” Azul grumbled fixing the bracelet that wrapped around his wrist “Your in love” he mocked. The shock of his words hit Azul like a lightning strike his face slightly flushing in different shades “I think you’re being delusional.” he scoffed, “AND we think you're in denial come on Azul~! You think shrimpys a cutie” Floyd added peeping into Azul is bedroom Right over Jade, Azul huffed “HUSH!” Azul clicked his tongue as he fiddled with his pajamas. Azul’s eyes bored into the vanity in front of him hands reaching to cup his own face to make sure his makeup was perfect eyes glancing towards a polaroid of you two together. With you grinning stupidly at the Camera one arm over Azul is shoulder posing after beanfest. Even though the monster team which Azul was on win you were smiling posing with him in the polaroid. He couldn’t help but freeze when hearing a snort coming from Jade; Azul snapped his head towards the doorway at the two clicking his tongue “Even if I did. It wouldn’t work out either way… {MC} is a human a MAGICLESS Human at that, I’m a Mer, a Octopous Mer at that… it would never work out... We come from different worlds literally” Azul grumbled fixing his robe tying the knot as Jade gave a sly smile towards the male "They put a smile on your face that isn't the depressive one you wear to con someone ehe...” Azul scoffed looking away trying to hide how his lips twitched up at the thought of you. The tweels started giggling to each other when noticing how Azul was smiling to himself hiding it behind his hand with the bracelet you had gifted him shined as it was wrapped around his wrist. The poor octo mer couldn’t get the thought of you out of his mind and he couldn’t WAIT to be around you again sooner rather then later even if it was just for a moment something that would make his birthday better.

[aventurineswife]

YOU NEED REQS??? I HAVE REQS

model aventurine X designer reader and like aventurine is basically reader’s muse and she legit starts to fall for him

A Beautiful Wager

Summary: As a celebrated designer, your work thrives on inspiration from the extraordinary, and Aventurine—model, IPC executive, and a walking enigma—proves to be the perfect muse. Beneath his charm and confident smirk lies a man of contradictions, and as your creative collaboration deepens, so does your bond. When the walls Aventurine hides behind begin to crack, you find yourself gambling on something more valuable than art: his heart.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn Romance, Designer x Model Dynamics, Mutual Pining, Flirty Banter, Emotional Vulnerability.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma, Emotional manipulation, Themes of self-doubt and trust issues, Subtle exploration of power dynamics.

The golden glow of Penacony’s fading sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of your studio, painting the room with a surreal warmth. Rolls of luxurious fabric spilled across the tables, and half-finished designs cluttered the walls, each sketch a testament to your restless creativity. At the center of it all stood him—Aventurine.

He leaned casually against the fitting stand, his long overcoat draped over one shoulder, golden jewelry catching the light. His eyes sparkled with a mischief that seemed to challenge the very laws of fate. “So,” he purred, voice smooth and tinged with amusement, “am I the perfect muse, or is my reputation doing all the work?”

You laughed, though his question wasn’t entirely untrue. Aventurine had become both a fascination and an enigma for you. As a designer, you sought inspiration in the rare and extraordinary, and he was all of that—and more. His flamboyant charm, the intricate details of his appearance, even the way he adjusted his glasses with a knowing smirk—it all captivated you.

“I wouldn’t call you perfect,” you teased, stepping closer with a measuring tape. “But you’re close enough.”

Aventurine grinned, tilting his head to let the light catch the peacock feather earring that dangled from his ear. “Close enough? My, my, darling, that stings. I’ll have you know, the IPC considers me the definition of perfection.”

“Perfection isn’t always inspiring,” you replied, your voice laced with a quiet sincerity that caught him off guard. “Flaws, contradictions—those are what make people fascinating. Like you.”

For a brief moment, Aventurine’s mask slipped. His ever-present smile softened, and something unspoken flickered in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual devil-may-care bravado. “I’m flattered. Truly. Tell me, do I inspire chaos or brilliance?”

“Both,” you admitted, stepping back to admire your work. You’d chosen a deep emerald-green fabric for his ensemble, tailored to emphasize his sleek frame and finished with intricate golden embroidery that echoed the roulette wheel motif he favored. As you adjusted the final piece, your fingers brushed against his wrist.

It was subtle, but you felt him tense under your touch.

“Do you always gamble this much on your work?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Only when the stakes are high,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

“And what’s at stake here?” Aventurine leaned in slightly, the playful edge in his tone giving way to something deeper.

You hesitated, caught off guard by the intensity of his question. His eyes searched yours, no longer masked by his usual flamboyance. For the first time, you glimpsed the man behind the facade—the vulnerability, the pain, the weight of secrets he carried.

“You...” you said softly.

The word hung between you, delicate yet unyielding. Aventurine’s expression shifted, the cracks in his armor widening as he considered your answer. He could dismiss it, turn it into another joke, another game—but he didn’t.

Instead, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in a gesture that felt both tentative and deliberate. “Careful, darling,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with warning. “You might win more than you bargained for.”

You smiled, refusing to let him retreat behind his walls. “Good. I don’t design for safe bets.”

Aventurine chuckled, the sound soft and genuine, and for the first time, his smile felt real. “Well then,” he said, his voice a mix of challenge and admiration, “let’s see if you can outplay me.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the two of you stood there, a designer and their muse caught in a moment that felt like the beginning of something neither of you could fully understand—yet neither of you could walk away from.

[someonegoood]

SUTURES & SCARS part 3 ✫ jeon jungkook

CONTAINS: medical!au, surgeon!jungkook x surgeon!reader, slow burn, teasing, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, fighting turned bonding, past and present love, fluff & angst :)

NOTE: thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoy it!! this work is not revised, and english is not my first language. part 4 (final part) will be up tomorrowwww

my main masterlist! ❀ comment to be on the taglist!

taglist 🩺 @senaqsstuff @jjkluver7 @lovingkoalaface @khadeeeeej @pipipipiiiii @jungkooksmytype @jkxlvrr @whoa-jo @anemonatae @iviamagatitos @nerdycheol @thelilbutifulthings @banana-creampie @beomluvrr @user-190811 @mar-lo-pap @jiminismine4ever @boringmichelle @marilo11 @jenniebyrubies @kooeuphoria @rayyrayy10 @moonchild1 @littlestarstinyseven <3

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4.

It was the end of the third-year couples exam, the one that everyone talked about—vascular surgery. The one where everyone was supposed to show their mettle, to prove they could handle high-stress, high-risk situations.

You and Jungkook were paired up for the couples exam. The two of you had barely spoken a word for the last hour in the last study session, both heads buried in textbooks, eyes darting between notes and the clock ticking down. The stress in the room was palpable. Jungkook’s brows were furrowed in concentration, his jaw clenched tight with the pressure of what was to come.

In the middle of the tension, Coco and Aerum rushed over to you, each holding a small snack wrapped in cute packaging. Coco, grinning, handed you a bag of pastries with a little note scribbled on it: "You’ve got this! Just don’t forget to eat! -Coco & Aerum"

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you looked at the note, the warmth of their support momentarily breaking through the stress. But then your gaze shifted to Jungkook, who was now leaning back in his chair, eyes half-lidded and a pale flush on his face. You could see it: he was about to pass out from the sheer exhaustion.

Without thinking, you tore open the bag and grabbed one of the pastries, offering it to him.

“You should eat,” you said, holding it out to him with a quiet insistence. He glanced at the snack, shaking his head slightly, his voice hoarse from the long hours of studying.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t need it.”

You raised an eyebrow, not buying his tired excuse. “Jungkook, you’re literally about to fall asleep right here. Just take it.”

For a moment, he stared at the snack as if debating whether or not to refuse again. But then, after a brief pause, he sighed and took it from your hand, his fingers brushing yours in the process.

“Fine, but only because you’re making me,” he said quietly, his lips quirking slightly into a reluctant smile.

Twenty minutes later, the room was tense as everyone worked in their exams, the ticking of the clock a constant reminder of the pressure mounting around them. The procedure had been complicated from the start, but neither of them had expected things to go this wrong.

When Jungkook’s hand shook slightly as he reached for the vessel clamp, you noticed immediately. It was a small thing, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to someone who had worked with him as much as you had, it was everything.

His usual steady precision faltered, and before anyone could stop it, the clamp slipped, and the vessel ruptured. Blood started to pool in the sterile field.

Jungkook froze. His eyes widened, and for a split second, you saw something raw and vulnerable in him that he rarely allowed anyone to witness. He wasn’t the composed, confident Jungkook anymore—he was a medical student caught in a moment of doubt.

The tension in the room thickened, but you didn’t hesitate. You knew the procedure like the back of your hand. Without missing a beat, you stepped forward, your voice sharp but steady.

“Jungkook, re-align the clamp, now,” you commanded, your words cutting through the rising panic.

His gaze flicked to yours, confusion and frustration battling in his eyes, but he didn’t question you. He nodded, and together, you worked seamlessly—your hands guiding his as you quickly corrected the mistake.

As you worked side by side, you could feel the heat radiating from his hands—his large, veiny hands—steady but warm against yours as you guided him through each movement. Each move felt purposeful, as though you were both determined to finish the task without acknowledging the weight of the moment.

You’d never seen him so... human. It wasn’t the competition, the rivalry that defined him anymore—it was just two med students, unsure, learning together, trying to survive the chaos of it all.

Today, the surgery had gone smoothly, the procedure flawless as you worked together with the rest of the team. It was a high-profile case—another patient from the Yim family, one of the wealthiest and most influential in the city.

Their name was well known, their connections spanning across industries, their wealth visible in every aspect of their lives. The pressure had been immense, every detail scrutinized, every move under the watchful eyes of those who demanded perfection.

You could feel the weight of their family's expectations, knowing how much was riding on the success of the surgery—not just for the patient, but for the family's reputation. But despite the external pressure, the team had worked seamlessly.

Jungkook had been in his element, focused and precise, his confidence in the operating room contagious. You and the team moved like a well-oiled machine, each step measured and careful, as if nothing could possibly go wrong.

As the last stitch was placed and the patient was stabilized, a sense of relief washed over you. It wasn’t the surgery that would be remembered, however—it was the fallout that was yet to come. The Yim family wasn’t known for their subtlety, and they didn’t tolerate even the smallest imperfection.

The complication came after the surgery, when the patient—Yim's younger daughter—began showing signs of unexpected internal bleeding. Despite the procedure having gone well, her condition quickly deteriorated post-op.

There was an undetected issue with one of the blood vessels that had been repaired during the surgery. It wasn’t a fault of anyone's technique, but a rare complication that sometimes arises, even in the most routine cases.

You and the team had been monitoring her closely, and as the hours passed, the bleeding decreased. You tried to manage it as best as you could, ordering additional imaging and coordinating with the anesthesia team.

The moment you stepped into the sterile hallway, the atmosphere shifted. The tension was palpable, the air thick with their demands.

Yim Seojin's voice was laced with anger as he looked you up and down, his gaze unforgiving. "How could this happen?" His words hit you like a slap, sharp and cutting. "We trusted you. This should have been routine."

You stood your ground, doing your best to remain composed despite the weight of his accusation pressing down on you. But the Yim family wasn’t used to things going wrong. They were used to getting what they wanted, when they wanted it.

Before you could respond, the mother of the family, a poised but intimidating woman, stepped forward. Her expression was cold, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed you. “This is unacceptable,” she said, her voice unwavering.

“I will not stand for such a failure. My girl's life is at stake, and you—" she paused, her gaze flicking to Seojin for a moment before landing back on you, "—you were supposed to ensure everything went perfectly.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Mrs. Yim, I understand your frustration, but the surgery went as planned. The complications arose post-operation—"

Her hand shot out, cutting you off. “I don’t want excuses. You’re a doctor, aren’t you? You’re supposed to make sure everything goes smoothly. If you can’t do that, we’ll find someone who can."

The bite of her words stung, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “We did everything by the book. I’ll continue to monitor the patient closely. There’s no need to—"

"That’s not good enough," Mrs. Yim snapped, her face turning red with barely contained rage. “I will personally make sure this gets reported to the medical board. You’ll regret this, I promise you."

Seojin stepped in then, his voice dripping with disdain. “Maybe next time you’ll take our family more seriously. The Yim name carries weight. Remember that."

You tried to ignore the rising anxiety in your chest, the pressure mounting under their relentless scrutiny. One of the family members, a cousin, suddenly grabbed your arm, pulling you toward him in an aggressive manner. The unexpected force made you stumble, and you collided with a tray of medical equipment. The crash echoed down the hallway, a painful reminder of just how quickly everything had unraveled.

You opened your mouth to speak again, but before you could, Jungkook was there. His strong arms were around you, pulling you upright with practiced ease. The sight of him, his eyes wide with concern, brought a fleeting sense of comfort in the chaos.

"That’s enough," Jungkook's voice was low, almost a growl, as he locked eyes with Yim Seojin. He had seen you struggle before, but this was different. This was a side of Jungkook that few people saw—a man who wasn’t afraid to stand up for the people he cared about.

“You don’t get to speak to her like that. She did her job, and she did it well. If there’s anyone you should be blaming, it’s your patient’s condition, not her.”

Mrs. Yim’s eyes flashed with anger, but before she could retort, Jungkook stepped even closer, his body rigid with tension. "You’ll take this matter up with the medical board if you must," he said, his voice firm, “but I’ll personally make sure they know how hard she’s worked, how much she’s given to her patients. This ends now.”

The air in the hallway was thick with tension, neither side willing to back down. Mrs. Yim took a step back, her lips tight with fury, but she said nothing more. Seojin exchanged a sharp look with his mother, but after a moment of silence, they turned and walked away, their steps echoing as they left you and Jungkook alone.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The weight of the conversation, the pressure from the family, the lingering unease—it all started to settle in your chest.

Jungkook turned to you, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure if you were. His presence, the way he had stepped in without a second thought, brought an unexpected warmth to your chest.

“I’m fine,” you said, but the words didn’t feel like they were entirely true. The pain in your side was distant now, overshadowed by the intensity of the moment.

Jungkook’s hand brushed against your arm lightly, a small gesture that seemed to carry more weight than anything that had been said by the Yim family. There was a moment of silence between you, the tension of the encounter still lingering, but it was different now.

His gaze lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. You held his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. Something had changed between you, something that neither of you could ignore any longer.

"HE DID WHAT?!" Coco nearly choked on her drink, eyes wide with disbelief as she gaped at you across the table.

Aerum wasn’t any better, her chopsticks frozen mid-air, mouth slightly open. “Wait, wait, wait. Back up. Jungkook grabbed you? As in, full-on hero-mode, ‘I’ll save you’ kind of thing?”

You sighed, stirring the remnants of your food with your spoon. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, really?” Coco leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Because from what you just told us, it sure sounds like he was two seconds away from throwing punches for you.”

Aerum finally put her chopsticks down, tilting her head. “And the eye contact? The moment where you both just... froze?”

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Why did I even tell you two?”

“Because we’re your best friends and you love us,” Coco grinned, nudging your shoulder. “Now, be honest. How long did you stare at each other? Five seconds? Ten?”

You rolled your eyes, but the memory flashed through your mind too vividly—the way Jungkook’s fingers had tightened on your arm just a little before letting go, the way his eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, had softened for just a moment. How, despite everything, your heart had betrayed you with the way it raced in your chest.

“…It doesn’t matter.”

Aerum and Coco exchanged a knowing look before turning back to you, smug smiles firmly in place.

"Anyway, he stepped away after one second," you muttered, waving a dismissive hand.

Aerum grinned. “Girl... we have a duty as your best friends to analyze every second of that moment and determine just how down bad Jungkook actually is.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I regret everything.”

A few weeks later, your mother’s usual concerned tone drifted through the speakerphone while you stood at the stove, stirring the pot of ramen for Coco and Aerum.

“You work too much,” she sighed. “You barely have time to eat, let alone meet someone. So, I arranged a date for you.”

You frowned, glancing over at Coco, who was already eavesdropping with wide eyes. “Mom, I really don’t—”

“He’s a doctor too! You’ll have lots in common.”

Aerum gasped dramatically from the couch, mouthing Who is it?

You shook your head, ignoring her, turning down the heat on the stove. “Mom, I don’t have time for—”

“It’s already set. Friday night. 8 p.m. Wear something nice.”

Your grip on the spoon tightened. “Mom—”

The line went dead.

Coco clapped her hands together. “A blind date? Oh, this is good.”

Aerum smirked. “Do you think he’s hot?”

You groaned, ladling the ramen into bowls. “I think I need new friends.”

And that was how you found yourself walking into one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, dreading whatever awkward small talk awaited you. The low hum of conversation, the clinking of fine china, the scent of seared steak and aged wine—it all should have been inviting, but instead, it felt suffocating.

You weren’t in the mood for mindless small talk, for fake smiles and forced laughter. But what choice did you have? Your mother had been relentless. “Just one date,” she had pleaded. “If you hate him, I’ll never ask again.”

And that was how you found yourself standing in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, bracing for the inevitable awkwardness.

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for this.

Sitting at the table near the window, scrolling through his phone with an air of disinterest, was Jeon Jungkook.

Your stomach plummeted.

He looked up at the exact moment you froze, his dark eyes locking onto yours. His brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face before settling into something much more familiar—exasperation.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, setting his phone down with an irritated sigh. You blinked, still trying to process the cruel joke the universe had just played on you.

Jungkook. Your rival. Your constant headache. Your blind date.

Dragging a hand down your face, you groaned, stepping forward and dropping into the seat across from him. “Trust me, if I had known, I wouldn’t have come.”

Jungkook scoffed, leaning back against his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest. “Guess that makes two of us.”

The silence between you stretched, thick with disbelief.

All around you, the restaurant carried on—soft jazz played in the background, couples whispered over candlelit tables, waiters glided through the space with practiced ease. But at your table, the tension was suffocating.

Finally, you exhaled sharply, waving over the waiter. “Might as well eat since we’re here.”

Jungkook’s lips pressed into a firm line before he gave a short nod. “Fine. But don’t think for a second that this means I enjoy your company.”

The first fifteen minutes were exactly what you expected—snarky remarks, pointed glares, and a barely veiled irritation woven into every exchange.

“I can’t believe this,” you muttered, swirling your wine glass as you stared at him.

Jungkook, who had been cutting into his steak with practiced ease, didn’t even look up. “That makes two of us.”

“Of all the doctors in this city, why did it have to be you?”

“Fate, obviously.” He smirked, finally meeting your gaze. “Or maybe your mom just has impeccable taste.”

You rolled your eyes, stabbing your fork into a roasted potato with a little more force than necessary. But somewhere between the appetizers and the main course, something shifted.

Maybe it was the food, or maybe the absurdity of it all, but the conversation stopped feeling like a battlefield and started flowing with an ease you hadn’t expected.

Jungkook swirled his wine, watching you over the rim of his glass. “So, what did your mom tell you about this mystery man she set you up with?”

You sighed, setting your fork down. “That he was some perfect, respectable doctor who ‘would understand my crazy work schedule.’”

Jungkook let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. What a glowing review of me.”

You arched a brow. “And what about you? What did your family say?”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “That you were nice and ‘just my type.’”

Your fork paused midair. “You’re lying.”

His smirk widened. “You’ll never know.”

By the time dessert arrived, the tension between you had softened. There were still moments of bickering, but the sharp edges had dulled, replaced by something almost… playful. Jungkook watched you as you stole a spoonful of his tiramisu, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. “You’re insufferable.”

You chewed thoughtfully. “And yet, you let me do it.”

His jaw flexed, but instead of snapping back, he simply shook his head with a low chuckle. Maybe it was the wine, or the surreal nature of the night, but for the first time in years, sitting across from Jungkook didn’t feel like a battle.

For a fleeting moment, it almost felt easy.

Almost.

Later that night, as you stepped into your apartment, the scent perfume lingered in the air—a reminder that Coco and Aerum had been there earlier, but now, the place was empty. They had gone out for the night, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sighed, kicking off your shoes and tossing your bag onto the couch. The weight of the evening still clung to you—the surprise, the tension, the unexpected ease of conversation. It was Jungkook. Of all people, it had to be him.

With a deep breath, you pulled out your phone and pressed call.

Your mother answered almost immediately, her voice bright with satisfaction. “I know you’re going to thank me for the date. He’s the son of my cousin’s best friend, such a respectable young man—”

You cut her off before she could start gushing. “Mom, do you remember Jeon Jungkook?”

A pause. “…Of course, I remember Jeon Jungkook.”

“Well,” you exhaled, rubbing your temple, “he was my date.”

Silence.

Then, your mother practically screeched, “THE Jeon Jungkook? The doctor? From med school?!”

You winced, pulling the phone away from your ear. “Yes, that Jeon Jungkook.”

A gasp. Then, “Oh my god.” You could already hear the wheels turning in her head, the excitement creeping into her tone.

“Mom, no.”

“Oh, yes. This is fate! I knew you two had something—”

You groaned, flopping onto the couch. “Mom, please, don’t start.”

“I won’t,” she promised. Then, after a beat— “So? Did you two get along?”

You stared at the ceiling, thinking about the way his eyes had softened by the end of the night, the way his smirk had been more amused than arrogant, the way your usual bickering had felt lighter.

“…It wasn’t the worst night of my life,” you admitted.

Your mother gasped. “You liked it!”

The hospital halls bustled with their usual energy—footsteps echoing against the linoleum floors, the distant murmur of conversations blending with the beeping of monitors. You moved through it all on autopilot, clipboard in hand, your white coat slipping slightly off your shoulder as you made your rounds.

But no matter how much you tried to focus, your mind kept drifting.

To him.

To the way Jungkook had leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his dark eyes watching you with something that felt different from the usual rivalry.

To the smirk that had curled at his lips when he teased you, but without the usual bite behind it.

To the way the candlelight had flickered against his skin, making the whole night feel too intimate, too much like something you weren’t supposed to want.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. Focus.

"You're daydreaming."

The voice cut through your thoughts, sharp and knowing.

You blinked, snapping back to reality, only to find Ryuk Jinho standing in front of you, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his expression.

"I—what?" You gripped the clipboard a little too tightly.

Jinho smirked, tilting his head. "You never space out. Should I be concerned?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get a word out, he took a step closer, lowering his voice.

"Or should Jeon Jungkook be concerned?"

Your breath caught. The clipboard nearly slipped from your grasp, but you tightened your fingers around it at the last second. "What?"

He chuckled, clearly reveling in your reaction. "You’ve been out of it all morning. And considering the fact that Jungkook looked about ready to murder someone when I saw him earlier, I’d say something happened."

You scoffed, forcing yourself to roll your shoulders back, to push away the ridiculous warmth creeping up your neck. "Nothing happened."

Jinho hummed, unconvinced. "Right. So, you didn’t go on a blind date with him last night?"

Your shoulders tensed. "How do you know that?"

He grinned, his eyes glinting. "Hospital gossip spreads fast."

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. "It wasn’t even a real date. It was a setup by my mom, and neither of us knew."

Jinho nodded slowly, as if considering your words. Then, with a sly smile, he asked, "So why are you thinking about it so much?"

You parted your lips to answer, to deflect, to say anything.

But nothing came out. And that was the problem.

Before you could come up with a response, a familiar voice chimed in from behind.

"Wait, what? You went on a blind date with Jungkook?"

You turned just in time to see Seo Hana standing near the water dispenser, bottle in hand, her eyes wide with intrigue. The sound of water filling her bottle echoed in the background, but her attention was fully on you now.

Jinho smirked, clearly enjoying the way you were being cornered. "Yep. And now she's daydreaming about it at work."

"I'm not daydreaming," you huffed, crossing your arms, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

Hana gasped, stepping closer, her water bottle now completely forgotten. "Oh my God, what happened? Was it awkward? Did you guys fight the whole time?"

You let out a groan, pressing your fingers to your temples. "It was fine. We argued a little, but then we actually… talked."

Jinho raised a brow. "Talked? As in, civil conversation? With Jungkook?"

Hana let out a dramatic gasp. "Did hell freeze over?"

You shot them both a glare. "Very funny."

But Hana wasn’t letting this go. She leaned in, a knowing smile creeping onto her face. "Okay, but real talk—did you like it?"

You opened your mouth, ready to deny it. Ready to laugh it off. Ready to say of course not. But instead, you hesitated. And that hesitation said everything.

Jinho and Hana exchanged looks before gasping in unison.

"You did!"

"Oh my God, you're so done for," Hana teased, grinning.

Jinho smirked, crossing his arms. "I’ll start planning the wedding."

You groaned, throwing your head back. "I hate both of you."

But even as you said it, your mind betrayed you once again—flashing back to the way Jungkook had looked at you last night. How, for once, it hadn’t been sharp or guarded.

For once, it had just been him.

previous / next

[kvroomi]

a tempest of silk and steel

pairing: regency era lord!gojo x regency era lady!reader

summary: a quiet escape from the state ball leads you to a lake in the late of the night... that, and a love confession to and from lord gojo who you thought you hated.

word count: 3.2k

themes/warnings: i fear this might be super inaccurate PLS BE NICE TO ME, it gets better the more you read i promise!! miscommunication ig, gojo is lowk ooc but that’s just how i like him, argument fic, YEARNINGGG FOR DAAAYYYYSSSS

a/n: back from the dead with a short, little vignette-kinda thing!!!!! been obsessed with period dramas as of recently if you couldn’t tell, whoops! whether or not i continue and add onto this with a prologue or expand with a series, i do not know... only time will tell :-^)

You were afraid. The night lay stretched across the sky like droplets of milk flicked into coffee. The constellations scattered in profusion—their pale light casting a spectral glow upon the world. The lake before her was a great, glistening mirror, fractured only by the occasional ripple of wind-kissed water. It distorted the moon’s reflection until it seemed to wane and wax in the space of a breath. Mist curled at the shore in languid tendrils, weaving itself between the reeds like some ancient specter roused from slumber. The air was thick with petrichor and the damp sweetness of moss, while the hush of the earth was broken only by the faint nocturnal chorus of unseen creatures.

You stood poised at the water’s edge, the hem of your frail, pink gown brushing against dew-jeweled grass. Your arms were still, wrapped in a semblance of warmth against the night’s gentle chill. It was a rare kind of solitude you had sought; it was the kind that did not ask anything of you, that did not demand wit or charm or endurance. Here, you were not a woman of consequence nor a subject of scrutiny. Here, you simply were.

But solitude—it seemed—was a fickle thing.

The weight of the evening was still pressing against your bones. From the crowded ballroom, the wretched dance partners, the empty pleasantries, it had all left you drained. You remained restless in a way you could not name, so you had escaped. Looking for comfort in the cool embrace of night—far from the expectant gazes and cloying perfume of society—you watched the water’s edge in silence.

You had also, not anticipated company.

“You flee,” came Lord Gojo Satoru’s voice, rich with the ever-present lilt of amusement. “How very predictable.”

You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling sharply. Even just his voice alone was enough to cause pulses of frustration through your insides. “Must you persist in haunting me?”

“Haunting?” He let out a low chuckle, feeling humoured.

“Hardly. I should think it a kindness, seeking out a lady left unchaperoned in the dead of night.”

You turned to face him at last, lifting a single brow in questioning. A part of you held back from spitting in his face out of pure mockery. “Ah yes, a paragon of gallantry—no doubt.”

“Lady, unmoored from the gilded entrapments of polite society and seeking solace beneath the stars. Tell me, should I be concerned?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your gown. The fabric tense beneath your fingers. The palms of your hands sweat, forcing you to release your fists almost as quickly as they formed. Satoru watches as your hands lay flat and he takes notice of the way you do not grant him the satisfaction of looking at him. “Should I be surprised that even in the vastness of this night, your ego demands to be acknowledged?”

He breathes a sharp breath out through his nose in place of a laugh. “You wound me… Though you’ve yet to send me away.”

The wind stirred, carrying with it the faintest trace of cedar: his scent. It was a smell you had unwillingly come to associate with his presence. With the glint of mischief in strikingly blue eyes across a room, it had become nearly impossible for the scent to not haunt you in places you dared not to acknowledge.

You turned your gaze to the water, willing yourself unaffected. “The night is too lovely for quarrels.”

“A rare concession.” He moved to stand beside you, not close enough to touch, but close enough that you could feel him there; he remained a quiet, steady weight upon the periphery of your senses. For a moment he did not speak, and neither did you. They stood as silent witnesses to the world’s majesty, the lake before them reflecting the heavens in a trembling imitation.

Moonlight cut silver along the sharp lines of his face, softened only by the unruly lightness of his hair and the faint glint of playfulness present in his blue eyes. He looked infuriatingly at ease, his expression poised between amusement and something more tender and unreadable.

Satoru looked closer, his gaze flickering over your face, searching. For what specifically, he was entirely unsure. “You are troubled.”

You couldn’t help but scoff whilst turning your attention to him. “How astute.”

There’s a beat of silence. It stretches, and now from the awkwardness, you feel obligated to continue.

“I am exhausted, if that is what you mean.”

“So you choose to stand here, rather than resting in the comfort of your home?”

You hesitated. The wind stirred once more, ruffling the loose tendrils of hair at your temples. You listen as they whisper to you. You knows it’s just the sound of the strands brushing up against your ears, but you let yourself believe that they’re telling you to leave before he speaks and irritates you further.

“Y/N,” His voice was softer now, the teasing edge gone.

It was not the first time he had spoken your name, but never like this. Never with such deliberate tenderness as though the syllables themselves had been carved from something sacred.

Something within you wavered. You clenched your hands tighter. “Do not presume familiarity where none is welcome.”

Damn him. Damn his insufferable arrogance, his incisive eyes, the way he seemed to peel back the layers of your defiance with nothing but certainty.

Damn. Him.

You swallowed, the weight of the evening settling heavier in your chest. Before you know it, your mouth is speaking again. “Does it not tire you?” You begins. “All of it: the posturing, the empty words, the endless waltz of expectation.”

Satoru is silent.

“I have danced with men who could not tell me the colour of my gown. I have danced with men who do not see me beyond my dowry. I have danced with men who only see me for the connections I might offer.” Your voice was measured but there was a tightness to it, a carefully restrained rage. “And I am expected to be grateful, to smile, and to accept that I am fortunate.”

You did not know why you were saying this. Why you were offering such a truth to him of all people. You tell yourself it was the lateness of the hour combined with the odd stillness of the world around them… that and you know it was because he was the only one who had ever seen you as something more than what society dictated you to be—even if it had always been at the cost of it being in opposition.

His eyebrows furrow, a movement that’s slow and measured. “You think I do not understand?”

You let out a quiet laugh, obviously devoid of any humour. “Oh forgive me, of course.” You plead forgiveness but your face shows no remorse. “Lord Gojo: the golden heir, the ever-charming darling of every drawing room from here to London—how very arduous your existence must be.”

He smiled but there was no real mirth in it. “For all my so-called charm, there is not a single person in that ballroom who looks at me and sees me.”

You stilled.

He was watching you with even more intent now, the mask of arrogance momentarily set aside.

“It is all a game,” he whispers, frustrations bubbling. “A well-rehearsed performance with rules written long before either of us had a say in them. I play my part well—perhaps too well. But tell me, Lady… Do you know how it feels to be entirely surrounded and yet completely alone?”

Your breath caught.

Because you did.

You looked at him then, truly looked at him, and saw not the insufferable Lord Gojo you had spent years sparring with, but something raw and weary. The realisation unsettled you.

“You asked me why I fled,” your fingers move to clasp together. “It is because I am tired of pretending.”

A silence stretched between them, fragile as gossamer.

“I love you.”

The words fell from his lips like something inevitable—like something that had always existed—waiting to be spoken.

Your breath wavered.

Satoru let out a small, almost incredulous laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “God help me, I do. It is a wretched thing—this affliction. I have fought it, resented it, cursed it. But it remains. It will always remain.”

You could not move.

“You are insufferable,” his teeth grit though the words fall from his lips in a tone that is almost fond. “You needle at every flaw I possess, you contradict me at every turn, and still—” His voice cracks and wavers at the edges. “And still, I find myself seeking you out. I’m drawn to you in every room, waiting and waiting for the next battle—the next exchange—because it is the only time I feel.”

You swallowed, your throat tight.

He sighs, gaze lifting to the stars and voice gentler now, stripped of all pretense. “It is a futile thing to resist gravity, especially when it comes in the form of you—you who pulls me inescapably toward you again and again, until I no longer remember what it is to exist without this terrible ache of wanting you. Tell me I am a fool. Tell me you feel nothing of what I do and I will never speak of this again.”

You parted your lips, the words poised on your tongue.

You could not say them.

Because you did feel it. You felt it in the way he had unsettled your very existence without ever asking permission.

The lake shivered. The night sighed. And you had no clever words left to give.

“I—” The word stumbled, unweaving before you could even grasp it. You let out a shaky sigh, your heels simultaneously twisting into the dirt of the ground as if they could anchor you to the earth. “I do not understand this. I do not understand you.”

You ought to have walked away. Any sensible woman would have. You could end it. You could laugh, dismiss him, turn on her feet and walk away. It would be easier—safer.

But you had never been a coward.

“I despised you.” Your voice was stabbing and helpless. “I spent years convincing myself of it. Every time you needled me, every time you smirked as though the very act of irritating me was your life’s great pleasure, every time you met my wit with your own and refused to yield, I told myself I hated you.” You spoke unforgivingly, careless of the significance your words harboured. “I repeated it so often and so fervently that I began to believe it.”

“Do you know what it is to loathe someone?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper, hands fisted at your sides. “To meet them blow for blow, only to realise—” you let out a disbelieving laugh, but it was hollow and fragile. “Only to realise that your hatred is not hatred at all, but something else entirely?”

Satoru let out a slow and measured sound. “Yes, yes I do—”

“No,” you cut in, shaking your head to ridicule him—because that was all you had ever known. “No, you do not understand. You have never been burdened with the expectation of being agreeable, furthermore, of being pleasing. I am not like them. I do not simper, I do not shrink myself to be more tolerable, I do not pretend. And so I have spent my life being told I am too much. Too sharp, too proud, too unwilling to bend.” Your scorn collapsed for just a second—had he blinked he would’ve missed the way you caught your bottom lip between your teeth in resentment. “But you—”

You spluttered.

Satoru did not dare move or speak.

Your gaze was lowered, whether out of shame, or because you were overwhelmed—the man would never know. “You have never once asked me to be anything but this.”

The atmosphere between them was as taut as a wire.

You should have stopped there.

But you didn’t.

“I have spent every waking hour of my life trying to best you, only to realise that I feel most myself when I am standing toe to toe with you. I wait for your inevitable remark, your infuriating laughter, the way you glance at me when you think I do not see you in every room and in every crowd.” If the words weren’t escaping you earlier, they were now, timeless lifetimes of self-restraint splintering into tiny fragments all at once.

“You have made a sport of provoking me and I am the fool for thinking I could remain untouched by it. Do you have any notion of what it is like to know someone so thoroughly that they begin to live beneath your very skin? To feel their presence even when they are not there? To hear their voice before they speak? I have spent so long fighting you that I never stopped to think what might happen if I ever put down my sword.” There is a faint tremor in the air that escapes your lungs. “And now I find that I cannot.”

The air is dense, everything you had just uncloaked floats in the infinity between you.

Satoru drew a slow, unsteady breath at the same moment you swallowed, your throat tight. “I do not know when it began.” Voice quieter now, your words are now delicate and unstable. “I think it was always there, waiting. Maybe it crept in unnoticed, until one day I woke up and knew that it was only you—you—who could only unnerve me entirely.”

When the confession hits Satoru’s ears, he lets out a breath that's half a gasp and half a sigh, as though the divulgence was too much.

You were unraveling piece by piece, and there was nothing you or he, could do to stop it.

You could feel your frustration rapidly bleeding into desperation. “You infuriate me. You challenge me at every turn and you see me too well and I hate you for it.” Your voice broke on the last word, voice pitching higher than intended, accompanied by something hot prickling at the edges of your vision. “I hate you for it.”

Satoru was utterly still, his gaze locked on yours as if you were the only thing that existed in the world. Your throat continued to constrict, the truth burning its way out of you.

“But let the heavens judge me,” you sigh out breathlessly, your hands quivering at your sides, “I think if you asked, I would let you ruin me.”

Knowing Satoru is messy and complicated. He doesn't know how to be loved, or that it’s okay to need someone and not fear it. The irony is, you're still learning the same thing about yourself--and more than anything, that's okay.

The words hung between them, a confession made raw and desperate.

His entire body tensed, as if every ounce of restraint in him had just been stretched to its limit. So when he reached for you, it was not gently, it was not carefully. He reached for you like a drowning man breaking the surface of the ocean. His hands came to cradle your face as though you might disappear if he loosened his grip. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and his voice was hoarse, cracked with something broken.

Lifting your chin, you muttered, “you are a fool.”

All he could do was let out a laugh. It was laced with relief, though not quite devoid of weariness yet. “So I have been told.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as if steadying yourself for the fall you could no longer prevent.

“I—“ you forced yourself to continue, though your pulse thundered in your ears. Every word felt heavy on your tongue. Every breath pushed against your limbs. “I cannot seem to imagine a world in which you do not exist at all.”

His breath hitched. He felt the way he struggled to keep his composure, and how impossible it was to hold onto some semblance of the world he had known before this. Your words--your unadulterated sheer vulnerability--unraveled him in a way he hadn't anticipated. It was a bridge built on a foundation of things he had never thought to admit, and now he stood at the edge of it, terrified to cross but terrified not to. He hadn’t realized how desperate he was for this acknowledgment of the unspoken things that had festered beneath the surface. Satoru swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Y/N.”

Your name in his mouth was something reverent, something aching. You could see it: the war behind his eyes, the unspoken question, the hope. Your eyes fluttered shut.

“Do not look at me like that,” you spoke in a hush, unable to bear it.

Maybe it was the way he saw you, as if every guarded corner of your heart was naked and vulnerable before him. And for better or for worse, maybe it was also the terrifying feeling that he knew it all and had always known.

Satoru’s lips quirked, the ghost of a smile. “Like what?”

“Like I am the answer to a question you have spent your life asking.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

“And if you are?”

The words shattered something inside you. Years of fortification shattered within an instant. His eyes did not waver. His eyes did not grant you mercy. You did not seek it.

You kept your eyes closed for the briefest moment, before opening them again—before meeting his gaze with everything you had never allowed yourself to say.

With a sudden breath, Satoru seemed to collapse inward; the sound was emptying and painful.

His voice was low, his usual air of insufferable ease nowhere to be found. Gone was the smirk always half formed at the corner of his mouth--the insufferable ease and the practiced detachment of a man who had never once betrayed his own heart... until now, at least. “I have spent years watching you move through this world, unwilling to let anyone shape you into something smaller than you are. I have fought you at every turn not because I sought to tame you, but because I could not resist the pull of standing in your fire. I have been a damned fool, yes, but not so much a fool as to mistake what this has been all along.”

The war between them had never been one of hatred, but rather one of yearning. The words he spoke struck like flint against steel. It ignited every carefully buried ember you had spent years learning to refute. To resist was to deceive yourself, and to yield was to unravel entirely—you knew your choice.

“You are right,” he mused. “This was never hatred.” It’s three things all at once: a pause, a breath, and a fraction of hesitation. “I think I loved you even when I did not know how to name it.”

His hand lifted before hesitating at your cheek as though uncertain he had the right.

You did not stop him.

And when his fingers finally met your skin—timid and careful—you found that you were not afraid at all.

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

ALL LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE IMMENSELY APPRECIATED <3

[thesvnandthemooon]

Hi can I be secret anon...🩰 Been on wp👀 but how do you think Natasha would handle the post-partum of r. The aftermath of pregnancy, being mentally unstable, insecurities which is actually already present during the pregnancy itself but much worse this time. The times where r just cannot handle Niko's blue phase.

warning: this discusses body image issues, (postpartum) insecurities, weight gain, mental health

ohh another wattpad reader 👀 welcome!

best believe natasha would be the most supportive girlfriend (at least once she was committed lol), but especially during those postpartum trenches.

→ switched up the way i do these things a little because i think it might make it easier for me; i wasn’t happy with the previous style and this one is more similar to how i usually write. i also decided to switch to using present tense for these, as i do with my ‘normal’ fics

˙⋆ body issues ˙⋆

insecurities are hitting you hard. pregnancy changes the human body in so many ways, but the physical proof is the most tangible one. natasha catches you in front of the mirror more than once, poking your softened stomach and staring at stretch marks and looser skin. she knows the look in your eyes too well by now — that look of silent frustration, of disappointment, of unspoken unhappiness.

you aren’t used to this. it took you a while to get used to your growing baby bump, and now that it’s gone, you’re forced to get used to another change. she watches you try on a pair of jeans that used to fit you perfectly before the pregnancy. but now, you barely manage to get them halfway up your thighs.

“babe?”, natasha mumbles. you bite your lip, then peel off your jeans and throw them aside. “love.”

“what?”

“come here.”

you shake your head. you’ve been shying away from her touch for a while now. even during your pregnancy, it rarely was like this. but when insecurities flare up and combine with baby blues and exhaustion, the result can be overwhelming.

natasha, for once, has been forced to take life serious. no stupid jokes, no half-assed attempts at doing something. she needs to do this parenthood-thing right — and she wants to do it all right. every aspect. including taking care of her baby’s mom.

she walks up to you, slowly. you wrap your arms around your upper body. she wraps hers around you as well, shielding you from your own judgement. her lips press against your cheek, your neck, making their way down your body.

it’s been a while since you slept with each other, too, but that’s not what she’s trying to make up for. she just misses touching you, in any way she can get.

“i know it’s hard”, she starts, gently covering your stomach with her hands. you make an uncomfortable noise and almost push her away. “nuh-uh. wait.”

“nat, i don’t-“

“but i do.”

you look at her in the mirror. she raises her eyebrows, hands pointedly rubbing your stomach.

“you carried my son in there for nine months”, she says. “your body gave me niko. there’s nothing more beautiful.”

you swallow, giving her a defiant stare. natasha swiftly spins you around and starts caressing you all over, palms running over your sides and arms and thighs. her lips follow. no stretch mark is left out.

afterwards, she spends half an hour picking out an outfit with you that fits and makes you feel good. natasha’s an absolute expert in that field, obviously. she knows exactly what looks amazing on you (everything, in her eyes), and you leave your bedroom feeling at least a little better.

˙⋆ too tired to function ˙⋆

everyone knows that having a kid basically means not sleeping enough for the upcoming next years, but you didn’t think it’d be that hard.

you have a newborn who wakes up three times every night. you have to breastfeed. you’re exhausted from everything changing within a matter of days. plus, you have classes. you don’t want to drop out, so all you can do is take a few weeks off (the recommended 6-8 weeks) and then hope you’ll survive this lack of sleep.

you don’t know how you make it through this period, honestly, but natasha definitely does more than enough to help you. she creates a night schedule. she wakes up early to carry niko around campus, just so you can sleep in. but somehow, it still doesn’t help. you still pass out randomly during lunch, while watching tv (not like you have much time for that), during car rides. she starts skipping practice so she can take care of the baby while you nap, and even gets benched for a while.

still. doesn’t. help. even when nat’s the one doing the nighttime feedings, his crying still wakes you up. you’re walking around like a zombie. you barely have the energy or time to do anything for yourself. natasha starts doing it for you — like your skincare, which you neglect for a good week. she appears in the bedroom one evening, while you’re nursing, and sits down next to you with a bunch of products and a little bowl of water.

cue her washing your face. putting serum on your skin. applying chapstick. dabbing her fingers in moisturizer and patting it into your cheeks. you aren’t less tired by the time she’s done, but at least you feel less miserable.

at nights, you look exhausted even getting up to get niko from his crib. once nat clocks that, she starts doing it all for you. getting up, bringing niko over, unlatching your nursing bra and positioning the baby. it becomes a routine, and you don’t even have to open your eyes.

baby fusses. nat’s up. something tiny is latched onto your chest. she burps him, too, and only then goes back to sleep.

˙⋆ baby blues ˙⋆

postpartum hormones are a bitch, and you find out about that as well.

tears, constantly. over the most random things — niko outgrowing his first onesie, a cup of tea you forgot on the counter, some ad with a baby in it. the waterworks are constant, just as bad as during the height of your pregnancy mood swings, and natasha’s panicking. a joke that’d usually make you laugh ends up making the tears worse.

she tries her best, though. she lets you cry on her chest for hours if you need it, she still tries to find the right kind of humor that’ll make things better, she listens to whatever you have to say.

feeling too much isn’t the only issue, though. sometimes, you also feel too little. you feel empty, drained, unfit to be a mom and handle all of this.

it makes you feel guilty. you’ve got everything you could want, after all, so why are you this ungrateful? why do you not feel happy?

you’re scared of telling nat, but when you do, you suddenly feel better. she listens without judgement, she holds you, she shuts up for once. no stupid jokes, no humor used to cheer you up. she encourages you to eat, and sleep, and go on walks with her.

she knows what makes you happy, too. not much helps with baby blues, but there are a couple things that coax a smile out of you anyway. even if it’s just your favorite snack or a new necklace — it makes those few weeks easier for you.

˙⋆ the reality of parenthood ˙⋆

stitches? natasha gets a cooling pad and painkillers.

sore boobs? warm baths and gentle massages (she’s lying if she says she’s not profiting from those as well).

cramps? tea and heating pads.

you’re basically royalty. you did not only get the campus’s biggest fuckboy to commit, but she’s also worshipping the ground you walk on.

sex is definitely not in the cards for a while. your stitches need to heal, and so does the rest of you. the first time you try, you start crying. not because you don’t want to — it’s been two months, and you need her like a drug at this point —, but because everything is still fragile. the insecurities are still hitting hard and you’re simply overwhelmed.

natasha doesn’t question it. she kisses you, rolls off and holds you close all night.

intimacy in general takes a back seat. everything you talk about is baby-related. everything you do is baby-related. maybe you’ll talk about classes, or aching breasts, but that’s about it.

natasha’s solution? date nights. nothing too big or exhausting, just sweet and romantic enough to remind you that you aren’t only parents, but partners as well. she makes sure niko is fed and asleep by the time you’re done freshening up, then you order takeout and cuddle up on the couch. bonus points for clay face masks, candles, roses and a bottle of sparkling apple juice (because alcohol is still a no, obviously).

then, there’s the overstimulation. being stuck in your apartment almost constantly, with a crying little infant and a messy living room, always something to do — it becomes too much. you snap sometimes, and when you do, natasha quietly gets niko and leaves the apartment. she knows the telltale signs already, and whenever she notices you rubbing your temples or exhaling in that one specific way, she quietly leaves so you can breathe.

once you start going to classes again, different things make you struggle. breastfeeding in public makes you nervous, so natasha sits in front of you and acts like a human shield. she meets you every hour and a half, so you’re not as uncomfortable, until you’re so used to it that you don’t give a fuck anymore and whip out in a lecture hall full of 200 students.

˙⋆ the little things ˙⋆

buys you things that she knows will make you smile. flowers, decaf iced lattes, magazines, new blouses (with buttons for easier access).

keeps your hoodies in the dryer for a few extra minutes so they’ll be warm and nice.

sticky notes and risky snaps. romantic one liners and full on nudes. might seem unnecessary, but it makes you feel normal, and that’s good.

carries you around. from the bed to the couch, then later back to bed. too tired to shower? no problem, she’s got you. she’s helping you undress and washes your hair.

kisses your stretch marks because she means it. you get flustered — she doesn’t care. she’s kissing every last one until you feel good.

always checking in on you. asking if you’re okay, if you want to go for a walk. texts wanda or daisy so they can babysit while you can have some alone time together.