#and as always thank you for reading and being here!!!

[lovscb97]

bang chan recs (18+)

key: !!! = personal favourite, s = smut, f = fluff, a = angst

add. notes: hai :3 i know i said i would make a skz recs list but the minute i scrolled thru my likes n started saving from chan onwards, i realised i had Too many recommended fics for him (this list is like 40 fics/drabbles long....) so i decided to just make member separate posts instead!!! i tried not to have repeats of authors to give u guys a broader scope to choose from n also sorry in advance that i yapped so much abt them it's just like . these r my all time fav authors so it's expected. anyways i hope u guys love these works as much as i do bcs they r from some of my absolute fav creators n plz give them lots of love n always make sure to appreciate these ppl <3

. . .

hopelessly devoted to you — @changbunnies (!!!, s, a?)

this was literally a 11/10 fic like i am not even joking rn. i luv greaser chan n even tho he messed up, the way he makes it up to mc is so so soooo sweet. the fact that he's so gone n pussydrunk while eating her out, the sweetness in how he holds her n fucks her is all too mindnumbing n i hope u continue writing bcs u r amazing at it!! i will always come back 2 this when i need a pick me up fr

2. bad idea — @hyunsvngs (!!!, s)

JUNOOOOO my lovely baby.... i adore u n all ur work always but this fic. This Fic. it changed the trajectory of my life. like not even kidding but i was a different person when i started reading this n when i finished it i was Changed. life is worth living now, the grass is greener n the birds always sing 2 me which i firmly believe is bcs of u n this beautiful yummy fic. i fucking LOVE stepdad chan sm like there's smth so gross n nasty abt fucking ur mom's bf n even tho mc is a menace, i still loved it. never stop doing what u do!!!

3. 1095 days — @luvyeni (s)

EX INMATE CHAN RAHHHHH!! i have akshewally been following ur work for so long n i LOVE!! the way u write :3 thank u for always churning out ur work so fast n being so good at what u do. im obv a sucker for daddy kink considering i eat it up every time n it's so fucking good i love how chan cares for mc n the way he gives it to her once he's back. mark my words i will EAT this man up n this fic whenever i stumble across it

4. milk and honey — @straykeedz (s, f, a?)

user straykeedz u have to stop... ur work too addicting n perfect.. ur depiction of chan too real n crazy (/pos)... they're gonna get u... but seriously i love bffs2lovers so bad n the way u always characterise chan n make him call mc so many cute pet names melts my heart :( i've also been following U for a long time n even tho everything u write is so so soooo good, this has to be one of my faves alongside ur inexperienced chan fic. i hope u don't pressure urself too much to update n jus do what u have to do :D

5. my wife — @chrizzztopherbang (s, f)

ngl i Think this is my first fic from u cus i followed u bcs of it n that's a given honestly cus newly turned husband chan?? eating his wife out metres away from his friends n family on the other side of the door n fucking her within an inch of her life right after they're pronounced husband n wife?? i love it i loved their bickering over who's a pervert n i just love the idea of mc finally calling the love of her life hers forever. i hope they r always happy alongside u

6. sweet nothing — @frenchkisstheabyss (!!!, s, f, a)

this fic actually changed me as a person too not even kidding. i EAT UP exes to lovers n the portrayal of it was so good here bcs there's so much unspoken tension between the two n then chan begging mc to not leave again n her promising she won't bcs all she wants to do is be his at last?? AWOOGAAAAA i need him so bad it's jinja michin (i am so cringe sorry..) ANYWAYS!! i hope u know tattoo artist + ex bangchan is a crazy combo n that the makeup sex was HOT HOT HOT!!! plz keep writing i adore u <3

7. pick you up — @moonchild9350 (!!!, s)

see idk if this is tmi but sex where ure being picked up n fucked is downright nasty in the best possible way n i fear i need to get railed like that by chan so u writing abt is literally u making my fantasies come true. this fic was a delicious mix of cute w chan telling mc he only works out so he can pick her up (based off of his bbl texts obv) n hot w him Actually fucking her within an inch of her life. i love all ur work tee bee eich so keep doing what ur doing!!!

8. spring has sprung — @cbini (!!!, f, s)

miss ems where do i even begin with u.. (u probably Do Not Know me but i know u smirk emoji. soz that was weird erm but ya i am the binnie anon who said u deserve changbin LOLZ) this fic was the perfect mix of cuteness w raw passionate fucking i love the idea of chan getting hard bcs ur dressed so preciously in a pretty dress i think it's rooted somewhere in his slight corruption kink which comes out def when u r all dolled up for him. anyways u never miss n i hope u know that <3

9. walking in on rooomate!chan / pt. 2 — @kacciidubs (!!!, s, f)

going 2 be very honest here i do not even remember what happened in part 1 bcs part 2 of this roommate chan fic actually blew my mind away like Seriously user kacciidubs u r insane!!! all ur work never misses n i am always so eager whenever u post bcs i've been following u n loving everything u put out for so long. ofc ur chan work is my favourite as u can tell but this fic... this fic was crazy the switch between daddy n sir oh my god what if i cream my pants rn. plz never stop writing <3

10. last nerve / pt. 2 — @cb97percent (!!!, s)

user cb97percent let me just preface this by saying whatever u write is INSANE. like i already knew u were a great writer but this fic? changed me as a person not even joking rn. the way mc n chan banter n how chan's an asshole who is pissed off how he can't get it up anymore unless he fucks mc is so funny n how the raw passion between them results in the best sex Ever. n ofc the ending w minho took me out n Yea i just . i have no words plz never stop writing to u as well

11. hush — @petrichor-han (s)

sucker for exhibitionism n sucker for chan so what better way to comemorate this occasion than by reading abt it? this entire scenario was so hot like honestly i can totally imagine chan's bitchass doing this bcs he's so cheeky in nature he would lose himself from the thrill of almost getting caught. u r amazing as always thank u for churning out so much content for kinktober may god or whoever u believe in bless u with eternal inspiration

12. daddy!chan helping you shave — @hyunjins-orange-slice-too (!!!, s, f)

i sent u an ask already talking abt how much i love u n everything u write but THIS. this made me weak in the knees bcs i have imagined this very scenario so many times if im being brutally honest. there's smth so sweet n domestic abt the act of helping ur partner shave n with daddy chan in the mix? kill me now plz. the way he asks if he can play w mc once he's done n how he sternly instructs her to be safe like omgkjdfjhjdfgjhhjg need him in ways that give the pits of hell a run for its money w how hot n nasty im abt to be fr

13. one last time — @baby-yongbok (!!!, s, a?)

like i said, i am a sucker for the exes to lovers pipeline alongside husband chan so while this isn't Either of those things entirely it still scratches the itch in my brain very very well. the way mc n chan exchange snarky remarks n how chan only says he's satisfied once they're done fucking OHHHH MYYYYY GODDDD... need this man carnally like i would dump him just so he can fuck me the way he fucked mc in this fr (that is a lie we r locked in 4 life). u r brilliant as always i always look forward to ur work so next time u r questioning if this is worth it just know lovscb97 on tumblr has ur back fr

14. chan ask drabble #1 — @skzms (s)

maymay.. my eternal luvr... the genius behind smrsmf minsung... ofc u were bound to eat this up n end up on this list. idgaf if it's just an ask answer or drabble bcs the way u write is so . so Elegant. i love how u always use ur words to describe the emotion lingering between ppl in love n the way u do it here w chan n mc, the way he reassures her afterwards n how he promises her he'll give her everything later while fucking his fingers into her ohhhh mannnn.. i can just imagine him in his suit thank u for bringing the vision to life fr

15. you're right, baby — @chlorinecake (s, f)

soft dom chan who is ur fiancé fucking u n claiming u bcs he's a lil pouty that u forgot ur ring?? n then going so far to say he'll cum in u to make sure everyone knows who u belong to?? RAHHHHHH HE NEEDS ME!!! this was written so deliciously i loved the way mc n chan cared for each other n also the ending was so cute LOLZ hope they r happy in every universe n that their wedding goes great fr u r an awesome writer user chlorinecake

16. silence — @valkyriexo (s, a)

make up sex make up sex make up sex!!! i love it so good even tho it hurts so bad when mc realises chan forgot to show up :( but the fact that he makes it up to her by begging her to not leave him n making her cum as many times on his tongue as possible for her to forgive him?? INSANITY!! the longing in their eyes n words n actions from how much they've missed e/o when he finally touches mc n oh man.. u ate this up

17. corruption — @goquokka00 (s)

STEPBRO CHAN RAHHHHH i am a sucker for him (in more ways than one iygwim eheheh.. soz) i loved the sinister blackmail u added into the story n how he fucked mc bcs of her bad grades by making up some shit excuse abt learning how to please someone like y/n u can't be this dense girl!!! (i'd do it too if he asked me #Tbh) ANYWAYS. idk how this didn't have more notes bcs it was hot asfk i hope u keep writing more stuff to come :3

18. chef's kiss — @hyuniepies (s, f)

the tenderness of mc n chan's love mixed w the nasty dirty talk ohhhh hyuniepies u r a GENIUS!! this is exactly how i imagine domestic life w chan would be like; him coming back home to u cooking a dinner n then fucking u absolutely silly on the countertop bcs he just can't wait after getting a look at ur figure n bcs he's missed u so much. i too would be obsessed w bangchan if (read: when) he becomes my husband teehee

19. chan ask drabble #2 — @miupow (!!!, s)

USER MIUPOW UR FUCKING BRAIN!! HOW DO U CARRY SUCH A HUGE BRAIN IN UR HEAD!!! DOES UR BACK NOT HURT FROM HOLDING UP THE DELICIOUS IDEAS OF BCHAN SIZE KINK!!! like i told u yst i love ur writing n i love U so bad. u always eat w every request or idea u come up with n i absolutely adore that for u i hope u truly never stop writing bcs u have a serious gift n i hope ppl keep telling u that constantly bcs i sure as hell will <3

20. pretty mouth of yours — @jeongin-lvr (s, f)

need to give chan head like . Yesterday. but OHHHH MEINNNN GOTTTT fiancé channie w mc sucking him off so pretty u know exactly what im a sucker for u dont u user jeongin-lvr? ur writing is tooooooo good i swear i have read so much of ur work n granted this is one of my fave chan works from u icl i love the jeongin ones even more but i'll add those to my innie recs list later :3 ANYWAYS!! plz never stop writing u r awesomesauce (cringe.) n i love u hope u r having a great day today

21. daddy issues — @hwan-g (!!!, s, a)

HELLO THIS FUCKING FICCCCC... it is so good so delicious so fucking beautifully written that it brought tears to my eyes no joke. i still remember the first time i stumbled across it n like wow.. i think i dmed u on my side reading account too to express how much i liked it bcs i rly Did like it truly was a piece of art n sometimes i can't believe ppl like u just write stuff like this for free?? u should be getting paid good money bcs all ur work ALWAYS eats <3

22. closing the distance / pt. 2 — @thefantasyden (s, f)

ik long distance relationships r tough n it's awful when u can't spend time w each other physically or touch either but hear me out . it would Not suck w chan bcs he'd do everything for u the way he does everything for mc in this fic. from how he shows up n is too nervy to kiss her to them finally touching each other for the first time n then she moves back to him?? ohhhh man i love love n i love U for making this ur work always eats n trust that i'll always come back to this fic when i need to rmb how much i love chan

23. riding chan's thigh/knees — @faeryacha (!!!, s, f)

i love daddy chan so bad im sorry im not even gonna hide it anymore n i love the way he was written here too, from the way he asks if mc wants to play to the way he has her fuck herself on him to get herself off like i'm not even into little space like that but the minute he refers to himself as daddy n speaks to me all soft n protective im on my knees on the floor ready to suck him off like my life depends on it. u ate so bad w this plz continue doing more amazing work in the future!!!

24. steamy desires — @notsoangels (s)

shower sex w chan mngnghfhghgh.. need him so bad id let him fuck me anywhere as he pleases but in the shower?? w the hot water cascading over us w just us in our little world like omgomgomg NEED. i love the simplicity in ur writing too n how it paints a picture in my mind bcs i can vividly imagine all of this happening like him making u squirt on his cock n then rinsing u off so u can spend time wrapped up with each other on the bed like plz. One chance plz.

25. the fuckboy next door — @seospicybin (!!!, s, a)

miss seospicybin.. how do u always do it? how do u always come out w the most mindbreaking jawdropping amazing insane array of fics without even breaking a sweat like hello? this series is so fucking good from the smut to the angst that hurts so good. i love the development of the plot n that chan tries So hard to be true to mc so he can be w her n the way she tells him to do it for himself like :( they deserve each other sm i am very much looking forward to part 4!!!

26. pussydrunk chan — @aeliuss (s, f)

mngngngngjghgh i love pussydrunk chan so bad n i love the idea of him being so infatuated w mc that he just Had to drag her away n eat her out. i also love that he's there to support her in the end n how turned on he gets from her just being herself like that is a real man!!! n the way it's so reflective of how chan is irl too? i feel like this is how exactly how he'd behave— needy but so so soo in love with u too

27. kitty — @bandgie (!!!, s, f)

no joke this fic made my pussy throb. i need him 2 do this to him so bad bcs i need Him so bad. the way u wrote the subspace drop n how immersed mc was in her role n the way chan guides her thru everything n then the aftermath of it like hngnngnfgddjghjgh... i always have loved ur writing but this particular piece rly got to me along w ur kinktober series i hope u continue to do writing bcs u seriously so so SO good at it fr!!

28. angel eyes — @temptaetions (!!!, s, a)

this fic. this fucking FIC. bro this is actual evidence of the fact that literary geniuses exist bcs the way u wrote so beautifully not just the actual smut but the whole storyline?? u r a godsend fr like u should be getting paid to put out work of this degree. not only r u a PHENOMENAL writer but i hope u never stop writing bcs this was actually so so lovely n amazing to read i wish i could revisit the first time i read this T_T

29. just (fucking) friends? — @snowyquokka (s)

HELLOOOO i love possessive fwb chan almost as much as i love ur writing!! the way he's so annoyed at how she said they're just friends so he takes out his anger on her but then at the same time asks her what her color is to make sure she's still okay WOWZAAAA.. need him Bad. n in the end when they both agree they don't wanna be just friends like chan.. i don't want 2 be just friends either.. come 2 me plz... anyways very yummy work fr

30. american whiskey — @straywrds (!!!, s, a)

this fic... how do i even begin w this fic... the way u write is actually so . so otherwordly yk? u rly pour all ur passion into ur writing n the way u describe everything like every emotion every detail every feeling it's so raw n real that it touches my heart. i can Feel what each of the characters go thru n the SMUT... the smut is so so delicious ofc. i've read ur other work n u r such a good writer plz keep going with what u do i will always support u fr

31. free use w/ soft dom chris — @hwanghyunjinenthusiast (s, f)

the dirty talk in this.. hngnngkgjjdgjjh. i need free use w daddy!chan just as bad as i need to reread this fic ten times until it's ingrained in my brain n any telepath w the ability to read minds out there is disgusted by how many times i think abt it (idk what this analogy was i am sorry). the way he eats mc out n the way he fucks her omgfkjdgjhjhgjh NEED HIM RAHHHHH u did so well w this

32. play tight / pt. 4  — @roseykat (s, a)

squirting w chan squirting w chan SQUIRTING!! W CHAN!!! the way he makes mc do it once n then immediately goes "yea i need to feel that on my dick" n fucks her within an inch of her life like ohmygodjkdjhsfghj i did eat up the angst too but the way u wrote them fuckinig was so nasty n delicious I ENJOYED IT SM!! this entire series is such a good read even tho it's not chan centered idk if there r more parts to it but if there r plz link me to them!!

33. dream you — @charmercharm3r (s, f)

ok i know we r discussing smut n all n trust that i will get to that but THIS!! this was so cute n precious ohemgee the way he loves mc n takes care of her n banters w her at the start so lovingly is so so precious to me i want him so bad :( the smut was also very delicious w chan switching to hard dom mode n making mc suck him off before ravishing her like oh my god PLZZZZ FUCK ME PLZPLZPLZ u did so well on this plz continue writing more for me at the least <3

34. brat-taming w/ chan — @blurboki (s)

this damn drabble was so.. hngngjfjghjhdgjh. i want 2 be a brat to chan so bad n act out just so he'll snap n put me into my place which is exactly what u wrote n i LOVED IT!!! it's so short n simple (not a bad thing at all btw) yet it's so powerful too? i love the characterisation of chan cus i firmly believe this is how he'd act in bed w a fussy bratty s/o like wow. Just wow. i love u and ur delicious mind i hope u r having a great day just for this :3

35. tell me all about it.. — @chnsbm (s, f)

hngnfjhdfsjghgjh the idea of chan making u forget all about ur stress n playing with u to help u sleep is so gfjfjjjffjhgjhjh HOT!!! the way he lovingly reassures mc like u don't need to worry abt it now just let me take care of u n how he's such a fuckin TEASE!! w the way he's touching her is so so hot u ate w this idea n i will forever die on the hill that this is really smth chan would do— tease u n make u talk while he's doing ungodly things to u just to see u stutter over ur words

36. be that guy — @daizymax (!!!, s, a)

i have said it once i have said it twice n i will say it one more time bcs i don't care how many times i need to reiterate it needs to be said: EXES TO LOVERS W CHAN IS TOP TIER!!! the smut in this was so delicious but the LONGING chan had for mc.. the way he felt the twinge in his chest for letting her go oh man.. i'd take him back if he so even looked at me but maybe im just crazy. BUT ANYWAYS!! this is possibly one of the hottest chan smuts there ever is so thank U for this delicious gift fr

37. more than just friends — @kwanisms (!!!, s, f)

werewolf chan my luvr... my big strong baby who will knock me up w his knot n fuck me until the sun rises RAHHHHHHHH!!! this was so so SOOOOO good n yummy like from the way he pinned mc to the wall to the way he ordered her around n how his self restraint snapped the moment she called him daddy like why's that so Me behaviour HELPPPP anyways user kwanisms u fucking ATE w this i hope ur pillow is cold every night u go to sleep <3

38. connected — @j-0ne25 (s, f, a)

let me just start this by saying I FUCKING LOVE U USER J-0NE25!!! ur interactive stories esp megaverse r so fucking good how r u so bigbrained my dumbass could never like actually JSDHJFJHGJH. anyways i rmb reading this very vividly n oh boy.. "baby patience, or do you need me to teach you a lesson?" Brother my panties r drenched n off dont even start w me rn. anyways this was so so delicious plz never stop writing i beg u

39. chan ask drabble #3 — @hyungszn (!!!, s, f)

saved the best for last but CLOVER.. (u dk me but i am ur biggest fan hai :3) "your mouth is saying no but your body is telling me a different story, mrs. bang." GRRRHJDJSDFJHKJSFKJSFKJGJ... I NEED HIM SOO FUCKING BAD!!! the way they banter even while having nasty sex n just love each other so bad n hello my breeding kink went feral w this. when mc asked him to not eat his cum out of her pussy n he was like "and why is that?" cus he wanted to hear her say it GRAHHHHH I WILL EAT HIM!!! on a side note, u r so so soooo amazing i have been reading ur work for so long i think since american pie n i can safely say u r one of the best skzblr writers i have ever seen along w so many other ppl like plz keep up the good work bcs i will ALWAYS support u for it !!!

. . .

add notes: thank u very much to all these amazing writers fr. if ur work wasn't featured here now do not fret!! i probably (most definitely knowing my dumbass) just missed it cus i didn't scroll Very far down in my likes (there's like 2k+....) so trust that u will most likely end up on the next recs list!! i love u all very much regardless if u r here or not n as always a very big thank u once more for all ur amazing hard work, u r all doing so well n i hope u guys know that <3

[leona-hawthorne]

congrats on 1k!! i’m so happy for you !! tbh i’ve read your stuff for awhile now but i’ve always been so scared to reblog etc 😭😭

and your 1k celebration is also so unique omg? 🙏🙏

But for the book browsing, i think smut with the quotes/prompts: “if you fuck me the way you fuck me up emotionally, i think you’d do a pretty damn good job at it.” and “i hate you.” “do you? because you definitely don’t hold someone’s hand while fucking if you hate them.”

with the enemies to lovers trope with Mattheo would be so cute 😭😭🙏

hi hi hi!!! thank you for being the first to request for this ml, i appreciate you 🤍 💌 and please don't be afraid to reblog!! i can promise you that its one of the things that make me the happiest 😚 hope you enjoy this, i tried so hard to keep it short but i just couldn't help myself and now its 1.8k sorry!!

1k celebration navigation

HANDS OFF… book browsing

18+ MATTHEO RIDDLE

The party pulsed around you, vibrant and loud, the air thick with laughter, the scent of smoke, and the sweet tang of alcohol. You leaned against the wall, drink in hand, observing the chaos unfolding before you. But none of it held your interest. Your gaze was drawn to Mattheo Riddle, who stood across the room, surrounded by a throng of admirers, his cocky grin flashing like a neon sign.

You hated him.

He caught your eye, his smirk deepening as he raised his cup in mock salute. Blood boiled under your skin, a mixture of frustration and something more primal that you refused to acknowledge. 

You hadn’t even wanted to come to this damn party, but somehow, like fate playing a sick joke, you’d found yourself here anyway. The loud music was almost as intoxicating as the firewhiskey in your hand and it was only when you turned to head for another drink that you nearly crashed right into him.

“Watch it,” he muttered, eyes already narrowing as he recognized you. His sneer was familiar, laced with that unmistakable disdain he seemed to reserve just for you.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re the one who walked into me, Riddle.”

“Maybe if you paid attention instead of sulking in corners, you’d know how to avoid bumping into people.”

You raised your eyebrows at his words as your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, a defiant spark in your eyes.

"Or maybe," you said, voice steady despite the heat rising within you, "if you weren't so busy preening like some fucking peacock, you'd have noticed me sooner."

The tension between you was palpable, a tangible thing that filled the space around you. It wasn't often that you allowed yourself to be this confrontational with him—after all, you knew better than most what kind of trouble that could lead to. But tonight, you didn't care.

"So, Riddle," you continued, leaning closer until your faces were mere inches apart, "why don't you just go back to your adoring fans? I'm sure they miss you."

Mattheo chuckled darkly, the sound low and dangerous as he leaned in closer to you. "Jealous?" he asked, his breath hot against your cheek.

"You wish," you scoffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his proximity. "I couldn't care less about your little fan club."

Mattheo's lips curved into a wicked smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Could've fooled me," he murmured, his fingers finding your arm and tracing a gentle line up it.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. 

"Get your hands off me, Riddle," you bit out, even as a shiver ran down your spine at his touch. The heat of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, sending sparks of electricity dancing along your skin.

But before you could pull away, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Off? Or would you rather I put them somewhere else?"

His words sent a jolt straight to your core, and you felt your knees weaken slightly. What the hell was wrong with you? This was Mattheo Riddle, the enemy, the arrogant prick who always managed to get under your skin. And yet...

"No," you breathed, even as your body betrayed you, pressing closer to his. "Just...back off."

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he studied your face. "So feisty tonight," he purred, running a finger along your jawline. "I like it."

His touch was electric, sending tingles racing down your spine. You tried to shake off the sensation, but it was no use. Underneath the layers of animosity and distrust, there was something else brewing—a simmering attraction that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

"We're drunk," you accused, trying to sound stern even as your body craved more of his touch. "And you’re high on your own ego. That's all this is."

Mattheo chuckled, the sound low and seductive. "Is that what you tell yourself?" He leaned in closer, his breath fanning over your lips. "Because I think we both know it's not true."

"Fuck you," you spat, even as your resolve crumbled under the weight of his presence. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

But then, without warning, you surged forward, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. It was angry and desperate, all teeth and tongue as you poured every ounce of pent-up frustration into the embrace.

Mattheo groaned in surprise before melting into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. The world fell away, leaving nothing but the two of you, lost in a haze of desire and hatred.

Breaking the kiss, he nipped at your lower lip before growling, "You want to play rough, huh? Fine by me."

His lips found yours again with a force that was strong enough to bruise. His hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing roughly as he deepened the kiss. He tasted like whiskey and sin, his tongue dueling with yours in a passionate dance that left you breathless.

In a swift move, he spun you around and pinned you against the wall, his body caging you in as he attacked your neck with kisses and bites.

"Strange how something so hateful could taste so sweet," he rasped, his fingers digging into your hips. "You're a fucking wildfire," he growled against your throat, his clothed hardness pressing insistently against your stomach. 

Despite the anger still simmering beneath the surface, you couldn't deny the thrill of being so completely consumed by him. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

When he finally broke away, you were both panting, chests heaving. "You know, if you can fuck me the way you fuck me up emotionally," he muttered, "I think you'd do a pretty damn good job at it."

With that, he grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the staircase leading up to the dormitories. You stumbled after him, barely registering the looks from the other students as you passed.

It wasn't long before you were basked in the privacy of his dorm, buried in his sheets with his cock lodged between your folds. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as you moved together in a frenzied rhythm. Mattheo's hands roamed your body, gripping your thighs, squeezing your tits, tangling in your hair.

"You're so tight," he grunted, thrusting deeper. "Fucking perfect."

You arched into him, meeting each stroke with a roll of your hips. The friction was intense, bordering on painful, but you reveled in the pleasure-pain mix. It was raw, primal, everything you'd ever wanted from him.

Suddenly you needed to touch him, to anchor yourself to something real amidst the storm of sensations. Your hand groped blindly until it found his, grasping it like a lifeline. Mattheo's fingers entwined with yours, giving a reassuring squeeze. He brought your joined hands above your head, pinning you even more firmly as he increased the tempo. 

"Fuck," you cried out, reveling in the feeling of utter control he had over you, even if for this one glorious night. Your nails dug into the backs of his palms as he met your passion with a fire and fury of his own, two volatile elements colliding in an inferno.

"Oh god, oh god, oh—!" you choked out, your voice cracking as the orgasm built inside you like a storm about to break.

Mattheo's grip on your hip tightened, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "Come on, baby, give it to me," he urged, his breath hot against your ear. "Scream my name."

The command shattered what remained of your control. With a ragged cry, you came undone, convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you. Mattheo followed soon after, his moans muffled by your shoulder as he spilled himself onto the skin of your stomach.

As the pleasure faded, Mattheo collapsed beside you, his chest heaving. For a moment, you simply lay there, staring at the ceiling as reality slowly seeped back in. What had you done?

Rolling onto his side, Mattheo propped himself up on one elbow, studying your face with an unreadable expression. "That was...something else," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You flinched at the gentle gesture, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Don't," you whispered, averting your gaze. "This doesn't change anything between us."

Mattheo sighed, dropping his hand. "No, I suppose it doesn't." He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

Despite the lingering tension, exhaustion eventually won out. Mattheo settled back against the pillows, closing his eyes as sleep claimed him. You watched him for a moment, noticing the way his lashes fanned out against his cheeks, the curve of his lips in repose.

Slowly, reluctantly, you turned onto your side facing away from him, drawing the covers up to your chin. You felt his arm slide around your waist, pulling you closer, but you resisted, maintaining a barrier of space between you.

As you drifted off, you knew this fragile truce wouldn't last. But for now, in the quiet darkness of his dormitory, you allowed yourself a brief respite from the war raging within you. Tomorrow, you would pick up the fight where you left off. Tonight, you just slept.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then memory came flooding back—the argument, the makeout, the sex.

Shit.

You slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb him. As you pulled up your panties, Mattheo began to stir. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"I have to go," you said quietly, keeping your back to him as you shimmied back into your dress. "Last night was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened."

There was a pause, then the rustle of sheets as Mattheo sat up. "A mistake? Is that really how you feel?"

You stood by the door, slipping on your shoes as you avoided looking directly at Mattheo. "Of course, it is," you replied flatly, your voice devoid of emotion. "I hate you, remember?"

With that, you grabbed your bag and made a hasty walk to the door, but just as you were about to twist the doorknob, he spoke, his voice low and smug.

"Do you? Because you definitely don't hold someone's hand while fucking if you hate them.”

Your heart pounded in your ears as you whipped around to glare at him, but you bit back the retort on your tongue. With a huff, you snatched open the door and stormed out into the hallway.

Once safely in the empty hallway, you leaned back against the wall, heart racing. A small, secret smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. Damn him.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I took Ragnar to work with me today because he is so depressed :(

Thank you all for the kind messages and support ❤❤ I will get back to everyone as soon as I get a little mentally better, but I have read everything and you guys keep me going

Thanks to people who supported me on Ko-Fi too, it helps a lot

Thank you all for always just being there for me to support me during hard times

And here is my favorite picture of Kai and me

I keep looking at it when I am down

Not a dream, advice and help needed

I am so tired of scammers in dog cancer supplement world

Our vet recommended us to use Yunnan baiyao supplements on top of chemo to give the best chance for our dog who has sarcoma to do well

Except, there is not a single place to buy it at in Croatia

Last month we had a situation with a site in Germany but ended up receiving the goods after a lot of back and forth and a lot of stress

Now my mom ordered from another site and they were supposed to send her 6x6 packages but only sent her one set of six

She contacted their customer service and they apologized for the mistake (that's over 300 euros worth of products not being sent + she paid around 100 euro customs for the products because of the overall price, but didn't receive the products she paid for) and promised to send the products on their dime, but now they have contacted her again claiming she received everything already, when that's not the case

The size and weight of the package prove that

Trustpilot had a good score for the store that just went down to 2.7 with two new reviews that only recently appeared

Does anyone have any idea what can we do? Who to report this to if they refuse to send products that we paid for, that we bought for our dying dog?

We're over 400 euros out (over 430 usd) for products we didn't receive

As a family that lives paycheck to paycheck and we scrambled to cover this (I worked overtime many days to help) this is such a significant amount of money to pay for something not received

And the fact they admitted their mistake and then went back on it really scares me that we're not going to receive neither the products nor the refund

Not to mention that the customs were calculated for the full price, not the price received

It is so predatory to prey on desperate owners of dying animals like this

And it is reall, unprofessional to act this way, too

The site is American, btw. so please Americans help with advice

I believe they are located in Texas

If they do not end up sending us anything, who can we report them to?

[seresinhangmanjake]

I love all your Feyd works! Thank you.

My request is regrding a sensitive topic. So if it makes you feel uncomfortable, please feel free not to write it.

Reader has arranged marriage with Feyd. After a few years they all discover (including her) that she has fertility issues and has trouble getting pregnant so the Baron wants them to divorce. Wife is becoming hopeless. But Feyd who’s utterly in love and devoted to his wife will not have it and pledges loyalty to her.

Worth To Him

Notes/Warnings: obviously this is about fertility problems. It is a sensitive topic. If this bothers you, please do not read. Mention of period sex.

Words: 1500

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Sobs wrack your body. One after another after another that keeps your breaths shallow and ragged. Tears coat your lashes, weighing them down. You gave up trying to see clearly through them an hour ago and let yourself get lost in the haze of blindness.

You can’t stop it. You haven’t been able to stop for days. You clutched your pillow like a lifeline, crying into the plush material in a way you haven’t since you were a child. You’ve really proven yourself useless now. You officially have nothing to offer this planet, and the Baron has made that well-known. But what else can you expect when you are incapable of doing the things that are expected of you? How can you expect not to lose the one thing you care about if you cannot give him what he needs?

“If you cannot provide him an heir, you are worth nothing” is what the Baron declared in front of all that exists of his court.

Nothing—the word bounced around the walls of your skull before it finally sank in. You’ve never been nothing until now. You’ve always held some sort of value in some manner or other, even if that manner is in being a political pawn. But no. Here, now, you’re nothing to these people.

At first, you pleaded with him, nearly fell to your hands and knees and told him you’d only been trying for a few months. A few months barely qualifies as adequate time. On your home planet, medical intervention is not discussed until the couple has gone a year with no success. But you’re not on your home planet; there is no medical intervention, and all the Baron said in response was: A few months is too long. You will divorce in a week's time.

Feyd doesn’t know. For the last five days, he’s been on Arrakis, and it was on the third day of his absence that you once again woke to stained sheets. He’ll be disappointed in you, just like the Baron, just like the people of Giedi Prime, just like your parents who agreed to marry you to Feyd for the sake of an alliance that will soon be broken. 

When he returns, they’ll tell him, and he’ll nod with acceptance because that is what he does under order, and you’ll be shipped off. You’ll never see him again. He’ll remarry. He’ll become a father to a child by a woman who is not you. He’ll raise what the people want. He’ll do them proud.

You wonder if he’ll miss you as you will miss him. Will he ever think of you and wish you were in her place? Will he look at the children she’s borne him and wonder what your children would have looked like had you the chance to have them? Will he see their hair and imagine your locks flowing down to their little shoulders? If he peers into their eyes, will he prefer them a shade to match yours instead of hers? You wonder if he’ll be filled with sorrow at what could have been. 

Selfish to think it. There’s no reason to assume he will not enjoy the pleasure his new wife will offer. Neither are you fair in hoping that when he’s inside of her, making the children the Baron demands, he will be thinking of you. 

You cry harder. Your pillow will take ages to dry. Perhaps you’ll move on to his. Soak in the scent of him before you’re ripped away from him and returned to what will be considered by many the end of your life. No other Lord, or future Lord, will take you, not after being owned by a Harkonnen—tainted meat, as they say. You’ll be a burden on your family, an embarrassment to your House’s people, a waste of valuable blood. 

—

Touch stirs you: a soft brush of fingertips over your tear-stained cheek, a thumb grazing over your parted mouth. 

Then a voice. “Wake up.” Your groan of resistance is cut short by a press of lips against yours. A quick peck and then another. “Wake up,” it says, and then one more kiss, much longer this time, that you return before bothering to open your eyes. Your arms wrap around a familiar neck. A tongue gently glides along yours. And then it’s gone. Stolen from you. You want it back. 

Your eyes snap open. At the sight of him sitting beside you, you gasp, quickly scrambling onto his lap. He holds you without question or word. He holds you close to him. You hold him like you never will again. 

Leaning into his body, you push him down onto the mattress and he lands on his back with a chuckle. Your legs straddle his hips, your weight resting comfortably on top of his, and with his hand in your hair, he pulls you back into a kiss. Gentle at first, a caress, then harder, needier, greedier. He could bruise you if he wanted, leave his mark, and you invite him to. Something to take back home with you—a bruising kiss. You hope it hurts. You hope you internally bleed and purple blooms around your mouth. You hope it never fades and you wear the reminder of him for the rest of your life.

His lips part. His tongue is back in your mouth, asking for yours. You savor the slick warmth, knowing you’ll never again be kissed like this. To be honest, you never thought you would be kissed like this at all. You didn’t know kisses like this existed. If someone had told you a year ago that this man would be kissing you this way, with a passion you wouldn’t have dreamed him capable of releasing, you’d have laughed them out of the room. 

He unlocks your mouths for a breath and gifts you a smile. Rare. Almost out of place on his face. The first one you received was five months into your marriage, and you’ve never gotten used to them. 

“I missed you,” he says, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. 

You want to tell him how you’ve missed him, how painful it’s been without him by your side, but you don’t know that you can speak the words, not without every emotion you’ve felt over the last few days bubbling to the surface and overpowering your joy at seeing him—the last time you’ll greet him upon his return before you’re gone. 

He frowns. “You didn’t miss me?” he asks, and since you can’t deny him a damn thing, you gather the will to say: “Of course I did,” but your throat catches midway through. You can’t look at him. He allows it for a few seconds, giving you a chance to meet his stare on your own, but when you don’t, his fingers on your chin turn your face back to his so you can no longer avoid the prying blue shade of his irises. 

“What is it?” he says.

“I know he told you.” There’s a brief pause before your husband hums in acknowledgment. Fingertips trace up and down your spine over the thin material of your nightgown. “The doctor was ordered to examine me after I bled. He’s not sure I’m able to give you a baby. And the Baron–”

“My uncle does not make my decisions for me,” he declares, and you’re so stunned by the defiance that it takes you a moment to collect yourself. 

“Feyd, do you not understand? I don’t know if I can do it,” you tell him. “My body is–”

“Perfect,” he interrupts. “You’re perfect, and you’re mine. You will never belong to another man, nor will I belong to another woman.” 

“Neither of us has a choice.”

“You believe so?”

Your brow pinches, mouth setting in a line. If he’s playing a game, you’re not enjoying it. “As if you aren’t aware of who has the power here.”

“I am aware,” he says. “But Rabban is dead. I’m all that’s left of our line. If he wants his heir, then I’m keeping my wife.”

He speaks with such certainty that the charge of excitement you get whenever you watch him take command of his armies seeps into you, giddily wiggling all of your little nerve endings. But the feeling fades as fast as it came. It changes nothing. Whether or not he defies his uncle does not alter your circumstances. 

You sigh. “But what of your heir?”

“We’ll keep trying,” he says. “You’re not going anywhere. I'm too attached. He doesn’t get to marry me to a woman like you and then take you away.”

“A woman like me, who might not be able to give you what you need,” you say. “Why aren’t you bothered?”

“Having my heir is not where your worth lies to me. If we cannot have a baby, we will take someone else's,” he tells you without snicker or grin. His fingers fist into the material of your nightgown. “Now take this off. I want my wife.”

“I am still bleeding.”

He scoffs. “When have I ever cared?”

[burrowdarling]

Rough Sex with Joe (18+)

Summary: Some headcanons about rough sex with Joe

Pairings: Joe Burrow x gf!reader

Warnings: oral (male and female receiving), praise, descriptions of sex, MDNI

Note: Hi! Here's some headcanons based on this anon request. If you're interested I can always incorporate this into an actual fic with some kind of plot. Otherwise, enjoy some smutty brain rot. Love you all!

Word Count: 730

Rough sex with Joe would include:

It could start in a few different ways, whether you pushed his buttons for too long or he’s frustrated and wants to relieve some stress

You’d be a willing candidate, either way, loving how Joe gets when he’s rough

This man would love to be in charge 

Joe would demand you strip for him, wanting to have you laid out ready for him

Joe would take his time, knowing you worked him up for this exact reason

He’d leave secret marks on your body that only he could see, like covering your breasts in hickies

Joe would tease you, taking his time to really wind you up before he’d let you have it

You would absolutely hate it in the moment, feeling impatient and desperate for release (but secretly you love it)

Joe would make sure you finish first, his goal is always to please you

Hit might be once, twice, three times, whatever he thinks you can handle in the moment

He loves it when you're vocal, even if he has to remind you all of the time how much he loves it when you don't hold anything back

It just boosts his already big ego of how good he is in bed, your labored breath and moans an indicator of his skill 

Your hands would be buried in his hair, seeking any time of grounding for the pleasure he’s giving you

The tugging on his hair only causing him to groan and egg him on more

Joe loves eating you out, he could be down there for so long you’d have to pull him back to reality

Joe would get himself even more worked up watching you cum over and over again, desperately needing his own relief

He’d want your mouth on his cock first before he takes you how he wants you

“Get on your knees for me, mouth open”

You’d take him as well as you could, fisting what you couldn’t fit in your mouth at the same rhythm and pace

He would be so vocal through it, not softening his moans at all and letting you hear him

He’d also be sure to give you praise telling you how good you feel

“Look how well you take me” or “god I love your pretty lips on my cock”

Your hair would be in a makeshift ponytail while he fucks your mouth, not being able to hold back anymore

One of his favorite views is you on your knees with his cock in your mouth, you letting him use you for his own pleasure

When it got down to it, he’d start with missionary so he could see your face and watch how good he’s making you feel

Full. Eye. Contact.

Even when you try to close your eyes from the pleasure, he’s pulling you back in

“Eyes on me sweetheart, want you to look at me when I make you cum”

If you were being especially bratty, he’d wrap his free hand around your throat to make sure you know who’s in charge 

Joe would love the feeling of your nails down his back as he fucks you hard, rocking stripes on and off the field

You’d be a mess underneath him between his words and his thrusts, slow but hard making sure you take him all

If he was feeling up to it, he’d flip you around to fuck you from behind

He’d have your hands behind your back while he fucked you, letting him have full control 

Joe would take his free hand down to your clit, making that knot snap and pleasure taking over

Joe would follow soon after, succumbing to the feeling of how you clench around him from your own release

By the end of it, he’d be so sweet with the aftercare, making sure he didn’t mark you up too much or hurt you in any way

Joe would clean you both up, being sure to dress you in some panties and one of his shirts before cuddling up

Definitely would have some random pillow talk before drifting off to sleep in his arms

Thank you so much for reading, please send in any requests or comments. I hope you enjoyed!

[willowsnook]

When Love is Left Unspoken

max verstappen x reader

she isn't you i'd be insane not to love you

request from @formulaal

Pt. 2 here

"Alright, one more question from the chat," you said into your mic, scanning for a good one. One caught your eye, and you began reading it aloud before realizing it would reveal something from your past. “Would you choose a guy over your best friend?”

Laughing humorlessly, you looked into the camera with a tight smile. “Anyone who’s been here for a while knows how relevant that question is to my life. But my answer hasn’t changed: if you’re choosing a romantic partner over your best friend, you can get fucked. Thanks for tuning in, everyone. See you around.”

Logging off, you grabbed your water bottle and headed to the kitchen to refill it. Checking your phone, you smiled at the stats from the stream—10k of your fans tuning in tonight was a big turnout. You’d gone viral on BookTok back in 2020, and now, your book podcast had a solid following. Normally, BookTok didn’t bring huge numbers, but thanks to your former best friend, your popularity had skyrocketed. As grateful as you were, his part in your success irritated you now.

Then a notification popped up on your screen, and you rolled your eyes.

MV: Nice stream.

You: Fuck off

MV: Glad I’m still living rent-free in your head.

You: Glad you got permission to text me.

You threw your phone down on the counter, boiling inside. Nobody got under your skin like he could, especially after 20 years of knowing exactly how to do it. Growing up, it hadn’t always been this way. At 10, you’d moved with your family to the Netherlands, right next door to the Verstappens. Max quickly became your best friend, your weekends spent watching him kart. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine things would end like this.

You met Kelly in 2018 at a race Max invited you to. Right away, you got weird vibes. She looked at Max like a toy she had to have. It was creepy, especially given the nine-year age gap. By 2019, they were dating, and she made it clear she didn’t like you, refusing to acknowledge your existence. That led to rocky times between you and Max; he always had excuses to avoid seeing you. When you were together, he seemed tense, as if being watched.

Everything fell apart in Australia 2021.

Flashback

Max invited you to the first race of the 2021 season, though you almost didn’t go. It felt obligatory, as if he invited you just because you’d never missed an opening race. You hadn’t seen him all winter, just exchanging quick holiday texts. Walking into the paddock, you felt a strange sense of finality, like this might be the last one.

Spotting Carmen outside Mercedes, you walked over and hugged her. As you stepped back, she looked worried.

“What’s up?”

She hesitated. “I thought you should know, Kelly’s been saying some nasty things about you around the paddock. No one believes her, but… I wanted you to know.”

“What is she saying?” you asked, heart sinking.

“She’s calling you pathetic, saying you’re still pining over your childhood crush and using Max to become an influencer,” she said softly, looking at you with sympathy.

“You’re joking,” you said, anger simmering. She shook her head.

“Can I be real with you?” She asked, and you nodded. “I love you and George loves you and honestly, everyone does. But I will accept not seeing you here anymore if you finally realize that Max is not being a good friend to you. And he hasn’t been for a long time.”

Eyes filling with tears, you let her words sink in. She was right, but admitting it was brutal. Maybe staying around him was just self-inflicted pain.

You found Max later, pulling him aside.

“I only have a few minutes, so make it quick,” he said, barely looking at you. Seeing him like this, you realized that the man in front of you wasn’t your best friend anymore.

“Your girlfriend’s telling people I’m a pathetic loser here to use you for fame,” you said, voice flat.

“I don’t believe that,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“Really?” you laughed bitterly. “You don’t believe that from your girlfriend—the one who’s disliked me since day one?”

“Seems like you have something to say, Y/N. Just say it,” he replied, finally looking at you.

“There was a time in my life where I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live without you. But now I’m living it. Have the past ten years been nothing to you? All it took was an older woman to bat her eyelashes at you and that was it?”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off.

“I’m not going to stand here and tell you that we had a good run and that I wish you the best. Fuck you. Fuck you for choosing her over me and fuck you for even letting it have to be a choice. I hate you.”

End of Flashback

That was the last time you had spoken to him. There were no texts or calls after that; his life just went on like normal while you felt like you were dying inside. You had thrown yourself into your work after that and now had over a million followers and subscribers to your podcast. You’d stayed friends with Carmen but hadn’t returned to a race since that day. You had tried to block the memory of that day from your mind, but when you were low, one thing always resurfaced in your mind. Kelly was right about you pining after your childhood crush. You had been in love with Max back then. How could you not be?

Then Carmen invited you to the Austin GP, and after much persuasion, you finally agreed. Thanks to your online following, you flew down with her, officially a Mercedes guest. Wearing Mercedes colors felt like poetic justice.

When you entered the paddock, a wave of nostalgia and sadness hit you. But it disappeared as you saw familiar faces you’d missed over the years.

"Y/N!" Alex called, arms open. Hugging him, you sighed, realizing how much you’d missed everyone. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” you admitted before greeting Lily, who gushed over your podcast and joked about being a guest. As you laughed with her, you noticed Alex subtly trying to block your view. Looking over, you saw Max walking by. He did a double take, but you turned back to Lily, ignoring his stare.

Later, as you waited for a coffee, you overheard Checo’s wife and Fernando’s girlfriend chatting.

“I heard Max and Kelly broke up,” Melissa said.

“Oh yeah, it’s been a few months,” Carola replied, shrugging. “Apparently, he was in love with someone else the whole time.”

You smirked. So Kelly finally experienced what it felt like to be second choice.

The race came and went, and you successfully avoided Max the entire weekend. You didn’t even think about the possibility of running into him when you accepted Carmen’s invitation to go out that night. George had actually wanted to go out, so you found yourself at a little country bar that night with what seemed to be the whole grid. You felt Max’s gaze the second you walked in, and you were doing a hell of a job ignoring him. Charles was trying to talk to him, looking confused between the two of you, but you didn’t care.

Ordering another gin and tonic you felt him come up next to you and you refused to look over.

“Put hers on mine,” Max said, handing over his card. You tried to leave, but he held out an arm to stop you.

“No ‘thank you’?” he teased, eyes intense.

You glared. “You can have it, then.”

“Stop being difficult,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You look good.”

“Can’t say the same about you,” you shot back, and his expression darkened.

He sighed. “Can we talk?”

“I said everything I needed to say three years ago. Have a good night.”

This time he let you go and you made your way back to Carmen who was looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You okay?” She asked, and you nodded.

A little while later, you were sitting at a table talking with Charles with Max hovering close by.

“Max, come sit down,” Charles slurred, and at this point, you were too tipsy to put up a fight about it. “Max is my best friend, ya know?”

“Ah yeah?” You asked head tilting. “Those words don’t mean much coming from him.”

Charles giggled, too drunk to understand what you meant and Max clenched his jaw looking at you.

“Insult me all you want schatje, as long as you’re talking to me I’ll take it,” he said and you didn’t say anything, just stared at him trying to figure out his angle.

“Is this the girl Kelly broke up with you over?” Charles asked and Max whipped his head towards him. “You always had a thing for her, so I told Alex that was my guess.”

Max’s face fell, and you froze. Shock turned into anger as you got up and stormed out. You felt Max following and soon he was in front of you, blocking your path.

“Come on,” he urged, leading you to a nearby park.

“Max, I don’t want to talk,” you said firmly, pulling away.

“I don’t care,” he replied, frustrated. “Tell me what I need to do to fix this.”

You laughed bitterly. “Crawling back because you got dumped? It’s too late.”

“It’s not like that.”

“You made your choice three years ago. Now live with it.”

“You want to know why we broke up?”

“I don’t really give a fuck,” you replied before turning to walk away.

“She isn’t you!” He yelled. Your legs stopped moving as your mind reeled.

Whirling on him you got into his face, “You don’t get to fucking say that to me. Not after all this time. Not after what you put me through. Not after you chose her over me. I was there the whole time Max. Me! I was there! It’s not my fault you didn’t realize that till I was gone.” 

“I realized it long before then,” he said softly, and you took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. Tears were starting to fall, and you looked everywhere but him. 

“Then why?” You whispered, voice cracking. 

“Because I wasn’t good enough for you,” he said laughing sadly to himself. “The pressure was starting to cave in back then and I didn’t want you to see that. I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You were my best friend Max,” you said exasperated. “I would have done anything for you.” 

“It’s easy to see that now,” he said. “But then you were so full of life and starting your little videos that I didn’t want to disappoint you. She understood what I was going through, but I never stopped loving you.” 

“Then why did you still push me away?” 

“I had to do that so that I could try and move on. She knew and she hated that there wasn’t anything she could do to change how I felt about you. I knew what she was saying about you in the paddock, and I knew why she was saying it.” 

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and it felt like heartbreak all over again. “You knew and you let it happen. You are the worst person I’ve ever known Max Verstappen.”

He was crying now too and the two of you stood staring at one another not saying anything. 

“I would be insane not to love you,” he said softly and it made you cry harder. “So I will do whatever it takes for however long to make up for what I did.” 

He let you go again and you left him there, crying silently as you walked back to the hotel. So many emotions going through your mind paired with confusing feelings. 

Happiness for your 15-year-old self that has wanted to hear those words for so long. 

Sadness for your 21-year-old self reliving those memories. 

And anger at your 24-year-old self for considering letting him make it up to you. 

[lumdays]

WAHAHAHHHHWHH ILYYYYY THAMK YOU SO MUCHHH🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 i wish i could interact more and stuff but iM AWKWARD IM SO SORRY AUEGEHGDHH anyways!!!!!mooties appreciation timeeee😽😽

@cheerleaderman since you tagged me first🫶🫶🫶 i really REALLY REALLY adore your art and your ocs and admire how quickly and constantly you manage to put it out, we haven’t talked a lot but you’re super nice and i wish we could interact more but hshhhhhshIM SHY WITH NO PEOPLE AROUND still i think ur super cool and it's always a joy to see you on my dash‼️

@amatsuchan-eiliniel I LOVE YOUR ART AND HOPPER AND YOU SOOO MUCH!!!! YOU'RE A WONDERFUL WONDERFUL PERSON AND I WISH YOU NOTHING BUT THE ABSOLUTE BEST!!!!! HOPPER IS SUCH A CUTIE I LOVE LOVE LOVE HIM 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

from here onwards i think i'm gonna forget a bunch of people but😞😞😞WE BALLLLLL

@boopshoops your art is so😋😋😋😋YYYYUUUMMMMYYYY youre suuuuperrrrr nice and all your projects are sososo cool and creative and fun!!! ALSO YOURE SO FUNNY HEHE🫶🫶 i love seeing your shitposts as much as literally any of your other posts!!! yuu shi's such a queen girlboss gorgeous beautiful lady i fall to my knees everytime i see her TRUST

@starry-night-rose HIHIHI I THINK UR ART IS SUPER CUTE AND YOUR OCS ARE SO MUCH FUN!!! i haven't read through all of them but i LOVE ellis!! (you AND the sona🫶🫶) you're so full of life and girlish whimsy and like pink aura and vibe, i love being around you!!! super happy to be your moot!

@galacticstationsblog GALLLL YOUR DESIGNS ARE SOOOOO FIREEE AND I LOVE YOUR IDEAS AND YUKI AND VIA AND HAHSHHSHHSHSH you're sooo sweet and i am ALWAYS blown away with how pretty your art is seriously it's🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥FIRE BANGER PEAK (i love ur cats too🫶🫶🫶TELL THEM I SAID HIIII)

@theleechyskrunkly BRO!!!!!! I Do Not See You On My Dash Often Enough. Come Back./LH ANYHOW i love aurinelle and yuiishi and your art and like, you as a whole(because you are me and i am you and im the best/j) YOURE SO FUNNY AND LIKE EVEN IF YOU DONT BELIEVE ME I THINK YOURE REALLY NICE AND FUN TO BE AROUND!!! THANK YOU FOR BEING ON THE SAME(similar?) FREAKUENCY AS MEEEE

@nemisisnemi HEYYY NEMIII I LOVE YOUR ART AND YOUR OCS!!!! THEYRE BANGERS🔥🔥🔥🔥 this might be awkward since we haven't interacted a lot but i think you're really really funny and cool!! (and your art is FIRE and like ABSOLUTELY majestic but i think i already said that hrhzhhshsh) I WISH I'D SEE YOU ON MY DASH MORE GHRHRHGRH

@thehollowwriter QUINNN!!!! thank you so much for being one of my very first twst moots and for being my friend despite my awkward ahh introduction😭😭😭😭 you're a really really talenter writer and i'm pretty sure i binge-read all of your works??!? THATS HOW GOOD YOUR WRITING IS LMAO i truly do adore finn and silas and timo and morrigan and your entire cast of ocs

@twistedwonderlandshenanigans V!!! waahhh i love your writing and your ideas and your thoughts and you, your brain is MASSIVE and your heart is too cause you're one of the bestest people i've ever met🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 thank you so much for being my friend, i kinda see you as an older sister figure lol? sorry if that's cringe or you're uncomfortable with the notion but i really admire you and i hope i get to stick by your side for a long while!!!

@distant-velleity KAIII your art is SCRUMPTIOUS your writing is WONDERFUL AND YOU'RE AN AMAZING AMAZING GUY (and the lore is always gut-wrenching but i think i'm starting to get used to it/aff) really you're so creative and skilled i feel like i'm in the presence of a person who was blessed by literally any and every god of art that has ever existed when you're around, you're so much fun to talk to and i am so happy to be your friend🫶🫶🫶don't ever stop being a little bit evil, i think it's like maybe one of the many many best things about you

@elenauaurs 😈😈😈naelenaaaaa YOU🫵ARE AWESOMEEEE🌟⭐️🌟✨️💫💫💫🌠🌠⭐️🌟🌠🌠💫💫💫🌠🌟🌟✨️🌟⭐️💫🌟✨️🌟✨️🌠🌠🌠✨️✨️⭐️✨️🌟⭐️⭐️💫⭐️⭐️🌠🌠⭐️⭐️⭐️ (STAR ATTACK RAAHHHH) ILYYY THANK YOU FOR PUTTING UP WITH ME AND BEING A SWEETHEART AND FOR BEING ALIVE AND FOR BEING WHO YOU ARE BECAUSE YOURE A WONDERFUL PERSON!!!! your art is sO SO SOSO BEAUTIFUL AND YOUR IDEAS AND OCS ARE ALWAYS SO CREATIVE AND CLEVER AND INTERESTING i love hearing your thoughts and just talking with you, thank you for being my friend stargirl🫶🫶

@oya-oya-okay I JUST REALISED WE'RE MOOTS AHHHH OK OK WAITT let me calm down first im calm im calm i think ur art is super super cute and i always thought that you were too!!! like you just seem like a super sweet person and i've always wanted to interact with u more🫶🫶 i really admire you and am a huge fan of your shuu and black butler x twst au!! i also followed your ridoazul art hshdhhdhzuvdhshhshsh your ideas are really funny and cute and your art is awesome!!!

@skriblee-ksk KRISSSS WAHAHHAHHA ok so your art is just so lovely and you ARE TOO!!!! like there's just a really sweet air to it/you that makes me smile each and every time NO FAIL. ALSO I LOVE KIYUU SO MUCH SHES THE SKRUNKLY THE CUTIE THE GIRL EVERRRR GRHHGRHHR (i wanna squeeze hug her SO bad) i love love love seeing your stuff on my dash i rub my hands together like a little gremlin and go smash my thumbs against the reblog and like buttons like i have personal vendettas against em🔥🔥🔥🔥 I WISH WE COULD TALK MORE BUT YOURE REALLY SWEET AND AN AMAZING MOOT ILYYYY

positivity train!

if you see this or are tagged in it, tag a couple of your favorite mutuals/blogs and let them know you appreciate seeing them on your dash!

@h0neysugarfree @blueberrylovv @bequiteanddriveeeeeee @cherri-bomb-bomb @eg0mechan1c @fatrexicisback

[snowlandrain]

OP x reader fluff (TFP)

Relationship: Platonic

Imagine Optimus Prime's face lightning up everytime he sees you coming to the base.

Imagine him immediately asking you how your day went and if you're feeling up to accompany him. He doesn't "needs" you necessarily, but he loves every time he spends with you.

Imagine being on his shoulder, walking around as he does stuff, like checking the monitors, reading a datapad, and so on.

And how he dreads when there's a mission! Poor guy just wants to return to you, you bring him calmness, your patience and understanding makes him feel at peace, as if he doesn't have to always be there for others, instead, you're there for him and you're all enjoying a peaceful and quiet moment, a moment where the pressure lifts from his shoulders a little bit. You're someone he can trust.

And when he gets hurt from a mission, your cute eyes widening with worry makes his spark ache and melt, on one side, he finds it adorable, on the other, he hates making you suffer when seeing him like this. You'll always be on his side when Ratchet checks on him, always caressing the surrounding of the wounded plating, whispering, telling him to be careful, almost at the brink of tears. He just smiles, tells you that he'll be alright, and would do anything to return to you. He'll be more careful next time, even bringing extra muscle when he feels he doesn't need it.

He doesn't tells you, but he loves having you in his servos. You look so delicate, so vulnerable, but so very well protected thanks to him. He loves the feeling of you.

The other bots notice, how he's always with you, and they are so confused, that's not a behavior they expected from their leader. He's so attached to you! But he seems happier to have someone to care for so personally.

And you, you love being with him, he became your safe space, someone who doesn't judge you and is always there when you need, someone with infinite patience that makes you tell yourself "I wanna be just like him".

So here you are, sitting on top of Optimus's chest, reading a book while he's resting his optics, both in peaceful quietness.

You love moments like this.

[zweigsangel]

ex fratboy! chris. smut-angst. 1.8k words.

it’s one of those late nights, and you’re standing there in the middle of a way-too-crowded, kinda messy party that, honestly, you only came to ‘cause your friends dragged you here. the air's thick with too many people, bad beer, and random songs blaring loud enough to drown out any thoughts you might’ve had. and that’s when you see him: chris. the ex you swore you were over. but like, really, are you?

it’s weird though, ‘cause he’s just chilling across the room, laughing too loud, his arm around some guy you don’t recognize, talking animatedly about god knows what. he’s got that same stupid, loose stance, shoulders relaxed, wearing that hoodie he always wore, the one you’d stolen a million times. you think— hope, he hasn’t noticed you, so you kinda try to blend in, sticking close to the wall, pretending to check your phone.

you weren’t always like this, all distant and tense. you’d meet up after his frat meetings, and he’d tell you all these wild stories about his brothers, like the time they tried building a slip n’ slide down the staircase and ended up getting written up by their advisor. you’d just sit there laughing so hard you’d cry, and he’d look at you like nothing in the world could ever compare. and for a while, it felt like he was it. but it ended, kinda messy, mostly because chris was…well, chris. he’d blow off plans, flirt with people at parties, and honestly, it just felt like he didn’t know what he wanted. or maybe he did, and it just wasn’t you. he’d show up late and drunk, ramble on about his deep thoughts on the universe, and then disappear for days, leaving you feeling like some kind of afterthought. eventually, you got tired of being the whenever person, so you cut it off. even if it hurt.

it’s been a few months now, and you’re doing your thing—focusing on classes, seeing friends, trying to move on.

but nah. of course he sees you.

“yo, wait up,” he calls, weaving his way through people, looking right at you. you try to act casual, like this isn’t a big deal, like you don’t feel your stomach flip. he stops in front of you, that grin still hanging on his face. “hey,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “long time no see, huh?”

“yeah, well, been busy,” you reply, shrugging. it sounds casual enough, but he’s still looking at you like he’s trying to read something on your face.

“you look good,” he says after a pause, and it’s so out of character for him to just say something like that, straight-up, that it throws you off for a second “uh...thanks?” you laugh, awkwardly. you know he’s probably just trying to be friendly, but you can’t help wondering if there’s more to it. “so...you still doing the same old chris thing?”

he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, looking away for a second. “i guess so,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. and then he kinda sighs, like he’s tired of the frat boy act, or maybe just tired of himself. “been, uh…been thinkin’ about you,” he admits, his voice low. “more than i probably should.”

you try to brush it off, folding your arms to keep your cool. “oh, yeah? that’s, uh, new.”

“i know, i know, i messed up,” he says, sighing. “just…never got you outta my head, y’know?” you can feel yourself softening despite everything. “yeah, well, maybe you should’ve tried harder.”

he looks at you, his eyes searching yours, and there’s this vulnerability there, like he’s finally ready to admit something he’s been holding back. “you think i didn’t? trust me, i tried. i just…i dunno. couldn’t do it.”

you don’t want to care, don’t want to feel that old pull, but it’s there, creeping up on you. he steps closer, barely an inch between you now, his gaze never leaving yours. “you want me to back off?” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the music. “just tell me, and i will.”

you could tell him to go. could shut this down, walk away, stay done with him. but instead, you shake your head, just a tiny movement, and he lets out a soft breath, like he’s been holding it in. before you can think, his hand’s on your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over your hip, pulling you closer.

the kiss starts slow, tentative, his lips brushing over yours like he’s testing if this is real. then his hand moves up, slipping around your back, and it’s like something inside you snaps. you grab the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he lets out a low sound, his grip on you tightening as he presses his body against yours, his mouth moving over yours with more intensity.

“missed you,” he whispers against your lips, his voice rough, desperate. you barely register the words, just feel the heat rising between you two, feel his hands sliding lower, pulling you against him, his fingers firm on your waist, his mouth moving along your jaw, down to your neck, sending shivers through you. you tug him toward the hallway, away from the crowded room, and he follows, his hand gripping yours, letting you lead him through the maze of people until you push open the bathroom door, dragging him inside.

the space is cramped and a little dingy, but you don’t care. the second the door clicks shut, his hands are on you, pushing you gently but firmly against the door. his mouth crashes into yours, hot and urgent, and your hands find their way under his hoodie, slipping over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. you tug the hoodie off him, and he lifts his arms to help you, tossing it aside without a second thought, his hands already back on you, roaming down your sides, exploring every inch.

he kisses you harder, more intense, his lips pressing down your neck, his hands slipping under your top, that quickly joins the hoodie on the floor.

“god, i’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl. “yeah? thought you forgot about me,” you tease, but there’s no real bite to your words. it’s playful, but you both know the truth behind it.

“never forgot. couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you,” he admits, his hands sliding up to your bra, deft fingers working to unclasp it. you feel a thrill of excitement mixed with nerves as it falls away, and his hands are on your bare skin, exploring, his touch igniting every nerve in your body.

“you’re, uh…sure about this?” he murmurs, his voice low, his hand coming up to rest on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. you don’t even hesitate. “yeah,” you whisper, barely able to keep your voice steady.

he lets out a soft, almost relieved sound, and his mouth finds yours again, hungrier this time, like he’s been holding back and can’t anymore. his hands slide down, finding the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down, his touch steady and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. you step out of it, your pulse racing as his hands explore you, pulling you closer, pressing you against him.

you tug at his belt, fingers fumbling, but he’s already helping, working the buckle loose, kicking off his jeans. he’s back against you in a second, his hands on your hips, his lips trailing down your collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth and shivers in their wake.

he lifts you, setting you on the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist. “you okay?” he asks, checking in, “yeah, jus’ do it,” you whisper, barely able to hold back the urge to pull him closer, “please.”

he’s kissing you again, his mouth moving against yours as you feel him press against you, hot and hard, and you let out a soft gasp. “need you,” he murmurs, almost pleading, and that raw honesty sends a thrill through you. you nod, breathless, and he positions himself, sliding inside you slowly, giving you a moment to adjust. it feels incredible, every inch of him fitting perfectly, like he was made for you.

“god, you’re so tight,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, and the sound of his voice makes you moan softly. as he starts moving, the rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, and you feel every thrust, every movement building inside you. he’s murmuring your name, breathless, and the heat between you is consuming. you wrap your legs tighter around him, pulling him in deeper, urging him to go faster.

“yeah? you like that?” he asks, his breath hot against your skin as he quickens the pace. it feels electric, every thrust sending shockwaves through you, and you nod, lost in the sensation.

“so good, chris,” you moan, the words tumbling out as you feel that familiar coil tightening deep inside you. he leans back, looking at you with those dark, intense eyes, and it drives you wild. “gonna make you feel good, okay?” he says, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes your heart race.

with each thrust, the world outside fades away. it’s just the two of you, the heat of the moment enveloping you, and you feel that sweet pressure building, your body responding to every touch, every whisper, until you’re trembling around him, ready to fall apart.

“come on, babe,” he encourages, his voice low and rough, and you can hear the strain in it as he moves faster, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “can’t hold on much longer,” you breathe, feeling that familiar rush as he hits just the right spot, sending you spiraling.

“let go for me,” he says, his voice thick with desire, and the way he looks at you, his eyes dark and hungry, pushes you over the edge. with a loud gasp, you’re coming undone, waves of pleasure crashing over you, and he follows right after, burying himself deep as he lets go. the sound of his voice, mixed with yours, fills the tiny bathroom, and in that moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in each other, together again in a way you thought you’d never be.

as you both come down from the high, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath. he doesn’t say anything, just lets the silence settle between you, a quiet, unspoken apology wrapped up in the way he looks at you, his eyes softer than you remember, like maybe he’s finally realized what he’s been missing all along.

and for now, it’s enough to let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Nine: Time Mends the Broken

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: 9.2k words later and here we are! That's almost as much as the other Ch. The Long Night. Finally, Jace and his sister talk about what's happened to them! I know some of y'all have been waiting for that. We really go deep into the reader and Aemond's dynamic in this one too. As always, thank you for your patience and happy reading! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

Chapter Warnings: ✨Targaryen queerness✨, melodramatic young adults, mentions of rape, Alicent being delulu, toxic relationships.

As your family arrived at the Red Keep, they quickly vanished, and your mother ordered your maids to repack your belongings. If you ever were, you were no longer welcomed in King’s Landing and planned to return to Dragonstone within the night. Part of you thought you would be relieved at the notion of ending your stay abruptly, seeing as you never wanted to return in the first place, yet you couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment in the pit of your stomach as you helped Edwina collect your belongings. 

The magnitude of the situation engulfed you, leaving you unable to carry on with your duties. While the other maids of the Keep merely cast fleeting glances in your direction, Edwina, your lady-in-waiting, observed your distress with sincere concern.

“Your Highness, are you feeling well?” Edwina asked as she finished folding a pearl and turquoise dress into your trunk.

As you nodded, you offered her a weak, forced smile, which resembled more of a grimace. Your eyes quickly darted towards your weathered, old wooden wardrobe. You couldn’t quite remember if it was positioned in the same spot as it had been six years ago.

“I am,” you sighed, walking to the balcony doors. These were not welded shut as you pressed the handle. “The day has been tiresome, and now we must depart after being here for a mere breath. I want to take a moment of solace.”

She gazed at you with a weary expression, her eyes filled with apprehension, as she observed you making your way to the overlook. As you breathed the fresh air, recollections of the last time you were on a balcony flashed before Edwina. Still, her anxiety gradually subsided as she noticed you choosing to sit on a stone bench rather than the railing.

The imposing walls of the Red Keep emanated a chilling aura that seemed to seep into your very marrow. The unknown secrets concealed within its ancient stones caused an involuntary shiver to run down your spine. You couldn’t help but wonder what tales they would tell if given the chance. 

Would they reveal the long-buried truths about your family’s past and confirm the whispers surrounding your lineage? Would they speak with a tender understanding as they recounted the night of your most profound sorrow? Or perhaps they would steadfastly guard their secrets, refusing to yield to any interrogation. 

It almost felt as if the walls were already whispering, hoarding their enigmatic knowledge until the distant future when they would finally crumble and release their concealed truths.

You longed for a glimpse into Aemond’s formative years and the events that molded him into the individual he is today, these red stone walls witnessed. Understanding the circumstances of his upbringing would clarify the questions that troubled your mind concerning the correspondence you penned. You held onto the hope that he read them, but uncertainty clouded your thoughts.

The heavy doors to the chambers of your childhood bedroom swung open with a resounding clang as the guard stationed outside announced the arrival of Queen Alicent. Your maids bowed as the formidable, angular figure of the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms entered the sanctity of your bedroom. You could not refuse her presence in this private space despite your reluctance.

“Your Majesty,” you greeted, rising from your seat. Refusing to give her any more pleasantries that would be customary, you observed the maids leave, Alicent’s round amber eyes focused on you.

“Won’t you come inside, princess? I wish to speak with you after all these years,” she humbly requested. 

You understood it was a command and acquiesced. A part of you wanted to be obstinate and force her to meet you in the cold late winter air, but the courtly manner instilled within you since birth prevailed as you gently shut the hickory-framed balcony doors. 

“Sit.” 

Alicent gracefully motioned towards the inviting, opulent settee in front of the crackling fire, asserting her ownership of the space with a subtle yet commanding gesture. Despite the prickling sensation of anxiety coursing through your skin, you obediently followed her lead, attempting to conceal your unease. With a deep, almost wistful sigh, she fixed her gaze upon you, exuding an affectionate warmth that reminded you of your mother, and tenderly placed her delicate palm on your hand. Struggling to suppress the instinct to pull away, you grappled with conflicting emotions.

The hush that filled the space between you stretched on, heavy and suffocating, yet the Queen remained oblivious to its weight. To her, your company was a balm after enduring years shrouded in darkness without her guiding radiance.

“I wanted to apologize for Aemond’s behavior this evening. ‘Twas unbecoming of him,” she began, a prominent frown on her plump lips. “These grievances from childhood have gone unjust for so long that his anger has consumed him.”

Nodding grimly, you focused on the hearth, the orange and blue flames dancing with the moaning drafts. “Indeed. Jace, Luke, and I were not always kind to him growing up, but we did not know any better. We followed Aegon around like newborn pups until...”

“I know, my light. Perhaps an apology could soothe Aemond’s wounds?” she comforted, smoothing the unruly strands of your updo. You apologized years ago for your part in his torment, but you didn’t believe your brothers would extend the courtesy, nor would you change Aemond’s blackened heart. “You’ve grown so much in years past. I mourn not being able to be there to guide you.”

You sat there, not saying a word, and responded with a noiseless, polite, yet uneasy smile. You carefully withdrew your hand from hers, and to mask the action, you casually scratched the back of your neck, noticing the sensation of the tiny strands of hair beneath your fingertips.

“My letters? Did you get them?” Alicent questioned, desperate to prolong any contact with you.

You were unsure how to answer, knowing it would be unwise to tell her outright that you did but didn’t answer out of malice. For six years, Queen Alicent was left to stew with her thoughts and illusions, and you worried that if you conflicted them, she would become as unstable as she did the night of Driftmark.

“I was worried what my mother would say should she discover them, so I never wrote.” You supposed telling her part of the truth wouldn’t be a lie. You were concerned about what your mother would do if she found out you wrote to Alicent, but you still had no desire to speak to her.

She looked at you with sympathy, coming to caress the plumpness of your face with her knuckle. It seemed as if she couldn’t become close enough to you. “I see. I’m sorry you must endure that, but you are here now. Together once more.” 

What could you say to her and still keep the pleasantries? After everything that happened, from Aegon to Driftmark, you no longer held Queen Alicent in the same regard. The conversation did not come easily, and you could tell she noticed. 

“Rhaenyra plans to return on the morrow once she sees your family home. I would like you to come with her. You’ve barely just arrived, and Helaena would enjoy more time with you. She and I would love for you to meet the twins,” she smiled, sounding so hopeful it caused a pit in your stomach. “You and Aemond were friends before he lost his eye. I understand he seems to have changed greatly since you last saw him, yet I feel that the goodness inside him will prevail over time,” the Queen retook your hand, disregarding your obvious discomfort, “with you by his side.” 

Stare growing wide, you turned to Alicent, feeling a panic beat inside your chest like the wings of a dragon. “What do you mean?” 

Was the Queen still so desperate to have you join her family? 

She gave you the briefest of smiles as she tilted her head, studying your countenance as if you were some holy text. You changed as much as Aemond in Alicent’s eyes, yet she knew you were still hers. No distance or time could break the cord that tethered her to you. You were back home where you belonged, and although she was happy to be united with Rhaenyra, she would not let her dream be taken from her once more.

“No person knows one’s child better than their mother. I saw how he looked at you, eye never trailing too far from yours, poised to protect your honor. I worried I would witness a fight between Aemond and Aegon when he took you to dance,” she confessed. Your breath quickened, and you felt relief knowing what you felt wasn’t inside your head. 

“You want me to return to King’s Landing so Aemond and I…” You couldn’t say it aloud; words stuck in your throat. 

“Yes,” Alicent grinned, showing perfectly white teeth as she brought you close. Instinctively, she pulled your head into the crook of her neck, smelling her distinctive scent as she rubbed circles across your back. It was still the same frankincense after all these years, and you felt the fond memories of time spent with Alicent come flooding back. 

The tea times filled with sweets, laughter, and smiles entered your mind until it was replaced with the sound of Aemond’s scream, blood dripping from your mother’s wrist. You could not bring yourself to part from the Queen out of fear of what she would do. Alicent seemed so happy, yet you could sense the undercurrent of instability should you suddenly reject her affections. There was no choice but for you to accept whatever she wanted if it meant that there would be no more animosity between your families.

“I will confer with the king before bed and inform your mother when you return. This is a joyous occasion for us, my light,” she said, pulling your body impossibly tighter as you felt your hidden face contort into a weary grimace. 

You loved Aemond after all these years, but you held an uncertainty about whether he would overcome his grudges for the good of your House, and that did not account for whether your mother would agree to the proposal. She refused for you to marry into the Greens before, and with you being her heir, she might use you as all people did to their daughters, though you hoped you would be allowed to have some choice. Even if this wasn’t one, you desired to wed Aemond, if not out of love, but to secure peace between the two warring factions and your mother’s inheritance. 

Suddenly, the shared door to your childhood chambers opened and unexpectedly revealed your twin. Jace stood there breathless, not expecting you to have a visitor as he observed you tucked within the Queen’s embrace. He noticed the uneasy expression on your visage, brown eyes flicking from you to her, unsure what to do. 

At the acknowledgment of Jace’s presence, Alicent released you without a word, smoothing her structured gown with an air of cold indifference that enveloped her as she stood. 

“Sleep well, Princess,” she dismissed with a gentle nod. The necklace of the Seven-Pointed Star resting on her chest glittered in the candlelight as she left, not sparing a glance at your brother.

You and Jace did not speak. He was too stunned to see you and Alicent in a shared embrace, especially after what happened in the dining hall. That person shaped Aemond into the man he is today, sculpting the fresh clay of his mind into despising his niece and nephews. 

“What did she want?” Jace finally decided to ask with a defensive stance on his thin body. 

Sighing, you held your temples in your palms, a dejected sensation coming over you like a shroud. What could you say to him? The truth, you supposed. You never lied to your twin, but this did not feel like something you could tell him, especially after what occurred tonight. He would be upset at the notion and run to tell your mother.

“She apologized for Aemond’s behavior at supper,” you answered with exhaustion, the day’s turmoil finally taking its toll. You faced the trauma of your past without preparation and watched a man’s head get sliced clean through. You deserved to take a moment’s rest. 

Jace’s dark brows furrowed, more questions than answers coming to mind as he approached your slouched form. Typically, you would lean into his presence like no others, seeking comfort only your blood could give. At this moment, it did not feel right to do so. The past, present, and future hung heavy on your soul.

“You were embracing her,” your twin stated, which seemed to disgust him. “Where do you think Aegon and Aemond learned their behaviors?” 

Standing with a groan of annoyance, you paced to your partially packed clothes trunk, attempting to find anything to distance yourself from Jace’s pointed interrogation. “Yes, brother. When one apologizes, they tend to form some connection to express their sincerity.”

Jace scoffed, his lean body swiftly following your steps. “Are you unwell? Since the hearing, you’ve been cold with me.” 

“And why do you suppose that is?” you spun with a bark, eyes wide with vexation. Jace said not a word, curling his lips to wet them in anxiety. You knew he knew the reason but couldn’t understand why your brother refused to act as if nothing changed. “The future we grew up believing together is now nothing but a childish fantasy. Do you not comprehend how that makes me feel? To live with one thing so constant in life only for it to be ripped away in mere moments?”

Silence decorated the room, leaving the only sound to be the crackling of the roaring fire and thumping of your broken heart. Tears burned your nose, flowing down your cheeks in a salty mixture of scorn and sadness. 

“I understand that you feel as upturned as I do, but you have someone to love and hold in your life. Something that can give you that certainty in your life only it can. I…” your voice broke, filled with emotions that threatened to drown you. “I now have to find that something—to navigate a world full of men who will lie, betray me, and think themselves worth more than they are so that they may reach ultimate power. I will become a prize to win rather than someone’s daughter, someone who lives and breathes and has desires of her own.”

Jace could see you spiraling, sinking into a pit of melancholy he feared you would not crawl out of. He realized he hadn’t stopped to think about what you could genuinely be feeling. It was given that you felt the same shock, rage, and disappointment he did, but beyond that, he hadn’t considered what this meant for your relationship or future. 

To have someone be your first in everything and grow up with the idea that they would also be your last stunted emotional and social growth with others. Jace was given the comfort of knowing who would be his new end, but you weren’t afforded the luxury. A selfish part of him hoped you would never find someone in this sense. You were his sister. He realized this was the ego of a self-centered man speaking, not the brother you cherished with your body and soul.

Not knowing how to improve this impossible situation, Jace brought you close, holding your sobbing form in his familiar arms. He felt your fingers clench his tunic as you attempted to ground yourself. Tears soon fell from his dark lashes and onto your crown. You looked at him with matching sorrow, instinctively stroking the soft bone of his cheek in the manner you knew simultaneously weakened and emboldened him. 

Sleep did not come easy to Aemond on this night despite the intense wine he drank at dinner to ease his soul. How could the Prince find sleep after what happened? After he was forced to sit and break bread with the people who altered his life forever? You were never his family, yet thoughts of your shared youth and camaraderie infected his mind like grayscale. It loomed over him like dark clouds beckoning a storm.

Alicent, his mother, whom he cherished dearly, cowered in her beliefs at the mere notion that her long-lost friend gave even the slightest acknowledgment. She impressed upon Aemond, and his siblings Rhaenyra’s flaws and the sins she called children were abominations unfit to inherit the Crown. Now, after merely six years, none of that seemed to matter. He felt angry—betrayed. Was this not what his mother wanted of him? For Aemond to stand behind Aegon’s claim and their family regardless of the web, Rhaenyra spun around her.

The sting of tears sprung in his violet eye, but Aemond quickly willed them to stop by replacing them with his fury. He was not weak. He held the family together, and you were not the family his mother claimed you to be. Had it not been for your kin’s unprecedented arrival, all would be as it should be. A father he longed for attention from but never got, on the Stranger’s door, his brother drowning himself in his cups instead of your presence, and you, far across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone, living a life you were undeserving of. Aemond did feel slightly vindicated when he saw your ghostly expression when Princess Rhaenys stated Jacaerys’s betrothal.

The Prince understood then that your life was capsizing, but at least you still had two plain, working eyes.

His ire was no longer contained, and his mind continued to reel, boiling over until he threw the bedsheets from his tense body and dawned a nightshirt. Aemond hated you. He loathed you and was not one to leave a conversation without the upper hand as he left his chambers, slinking into one of Maegor’s secret passages. 

It was involuntary how Jace’s body responded to yours, your touch so familiar it was impossible not to succumb to the sins of the past as your moist lips met. Heat ignited inside your loins as it did his, your hands winding themselves inside his choppy hair, barely taking a minute to breathe. You were unsure who was the first to disrobe the other, grabbing one another’s buckles and strings until there was nothing but air between your hot flesh.

“We shall say goodbyes to our previous beliefs tonight, Jace. I shall not be your whore and sister,” you declared against his cheek as you lowered him onto your childhood bed. “Nor shall you be mine. I respect your union far more than that.” 

“And I yours,” Jace quickly replied with a strained grunt, settling his cock between your wet folds as you rocked yourself to full arousal.

It would be difficult for both of you to navigate new bodies for the first time again, to find what made the other person curl their toes in abandon. For Jace, you knew how he loved the way it felt to be inside you to the fullest extent and saw how his older sister rode him to take her pleasure. For you, Jace knew that the little nub at the top of your silt was the epicenter for the majority of your pleasure, teasing the thing with his mouth, tongue, digits, and whatever else he could to see you so grateful for him.

You suddenly longed for your twin despite being in his presence, reminding yourself of your torturous time apart as you leaned forward, devouring his pouty lips and balancing yourself to become one. Your slick walls welcomed Jace inside like they were his home, feeling the head brush against the sensitive spot deep inside, the pair of you moaning into each other’s mouths as you began to move with gradual and firm movements of your hips. Each grind and lift of your body slowly bloomed ecstasy between your thighs, using your hands and core to savor yet heighten the experience to reach that inevitable peak. 

Aemond expected you to be alone, or at the very least, with a maid when he reached the destination Aegon had shown him. He did not ask how his brother knew of such things, though the answer was clear. Whatever semblance of a plan Aemond conjured on his march through the damp tunnels was abruptly extinguished once he heard your girlish cries—loathing to admit it aloud, the Prince’s ire softened at the noise. He grunted, poised to open the wall and have him be the reason you wailed, but he ceased his movements at the deep timbre that comforted your sorrows. 

It was Jace. The beloved brother you would willingly give up your life for, holding you within his arms as you sobbed. The sight flared his nostrils and sent a burning sensation to his stomach that he tried to ignore.

It was expected that your twin would be in your bed chambers. Aemond knew of the rumors surrounding your closer-than-normal sibling relationship. While it wasn’t seen as taboo in Targaryen customs, the common folk who practiced the Faith certainly would see it as a sin if they knew. 

The One-Eyed Prince stood silently in the dim recesses concealed behind the rough-hewn stone wall. His breath barely made a sound as he cautiously pried it open enough to glimpse the unfolding scene. A flicker of annoyance shot through him at the thought of Jace unexpectedly discovering his presence. He stifled the urge to groan, focusing instead on the poignant sobs that echoed through the air. 

Before him were the illegitimate children of his half-sister, caught in their web of delusions, seemingly convinced that they could escape the relentless strains of duty that had ensnared so many before them. Aemond watched with disdain and pity, realizing they were blissfully unaware of the sacrifices the world demanded of them in exchange for power and prestige. You and your brother sat huddled together, your voices trembling thick with emotion as you expressed the despair of being forced into marriages with people you barely knew, let alone desired.

Aemond’s gaze narrowed as he observed your youthful faces, illuminated by the waning light flickering with the candles. Your immaturity was evident. The rawness of your feelings revealed how little you understood the harsh realities of noble life. It was a bitter irony, this burden, the necessity of sacrificing personal happiness for strategic alliances. The weight of such obligations pressed heavily on your shoulders, a burden that felt especially crushing in your youthful naivety.

Embraces soon turned to caresses, which morphed into kisses as he observed Jace untie the laces of your crimson gown. Aemond felt his stomach lurch, the involuntary fear of the events being nonconsensual guiding his sudden urge to protect you. He halted his movements as he watched you disrobe your brother, blood draining from his heart and into his cock when he saw your naked form.

The womanly figure he saw within the courtyard was able to be admired. The slope of your elongated neck that still held your necklace led down to your two perfect mounds of flesh, rounded and shaped almost to the teardrops that sparkled on your skin—a soft place to rest your head in comfort. Curves and rolls decorated the rest of your body as he watched you move in time with Jace, bestowing upon Aemond the perfect view of your hips that were sturdy and plush, housing a womb to bear your future husband’s children.

Your body was a picture of the Maiden, Aemond mused, feeling his cheeks heat with growing desire. You were a depiction of a woman, so soft and plump, a perfect contrast that would fit with his muscular and sinewy body. The Prince could imagine your stomach stretched with a child and breasts full of milk as they leaked through pert nipples and onto his tongue.

The shame Aemond felt at thinking such things of his bastard niece warred in his mind, logic battling with lust as his breeches became too tight. He refused to succumb to his sinful desires and embraced the pain of his longing.

A flicker of callow hope lingered in the shadowy corners of Aemond’s mind as if clinging to the possibility that the gossip regarding you and your twin was nothing but a cruel fabrication. He wrestled with the notion of you as a sensual being, a struggle deepened by the haunting memories of Aegon’s transgressions against you. Like the common folk, he had unknowingly fallen prey to a comforting illusion—seeing you as a paragon of virtue, a righteous martyr navigating the treacherous waters of adolescence with grace and fortitude. 

To him, you were a pure maiden, your spirit untainted, who had bravely borne the trials and tribulations that beset young women, emerging with a noble resolve. The small childish part of Aemond wanted to believe you had sworn off the temptations that often ensnared others, choosing instead a path marked by selflessness and a profound commitment to righteousness. This image of you, painted in broad strokes of light and virtue, had unwillingly taken root in his mind, making the idea of you as anything other than an emblem of purity feel surreal and disconcerting.

The Prince noiselessly grunted in agony as his manhood painfully beat against the confines of his trousers, only for it to be swallowed by the soft sounds unique to only sex. He childishly hoped that he would be the man to break his imagined vow of chastity you took, but now he realized how much of a fantasy it was as he watched you take your twin’s cock between your glistening folds. 

Jace was the only thing that felt right to you today, like the embrace of a loved one you hadn’t seen in years. Your hip movements were practiced as they held the knowledge of what made your brother’s abdomen clench in ecstasy. You could feel your brother’s hands on you, so gentle, tender, and loving, having nothing of the malice your uncle carried today. 

Seeing Aemond now a man instead of the wide-eyed boy you knew stirred something within you that you had pushed aside earlier, igniting a fire you had never known existed in your soul. You imagined him here now and what it would be like to feel his manhood nestled so profoundly within you that there was no end. While you enjoyed the recognizable feeling of Jace and his delicateness, now that you had gotten a taste for the depravity of your uncle in his place, you found your movements daunting. Your knees began to ache, and your thighs started to burn, abruptly extinguishing the pleasure that was blossoming in your core.

This had never happened before, and you pushed yourself to continue, crashing that high that was always promised at the end. 

Praying that Jace did not notice, you leaned forward as you attempted to lose yourself in his kiss, stroking the sides of his visage. The more you moved, the more discouraged you became, resorting to seeking your pleasure with your own hands as you rubbed at your pearl, but nothing worked.

Frustration overshadowed any fulfillment. Your ministrations and Jace’s cock felt like an intrusion into your walls. Faking your release would not end this once-enjoyed act, and you steeled yourself to ensure this would be over soon. 

You felt terrible for Jace. You knew he would stop at his detriment to ensure you were well, but you refused to utter the reason behind why your body had become so ineffective. 

“You feel so good, brother. I need you to…” The dryness in your mouth halted your lies as you concealed it with a look of satisfaction. “I need you to finish. I’m so close.” Jace was none the wiser, too lost in pleasure as he profusely nodded.

It was painfully evident to anyone who glanced your way that you had lost interest in the moment. Your posture was rigid, and your eyes were clouded with discontent. Aemond couldn’t help but feel a troubling sense of satisfaction at that realization as if he had uncovered a hidden complexity in the situation. 

Your brother, Jace—the very same person you always believed understood you on a deeper plane—remained blissfully unaware of the turmoil swirling within you. His gaze lingered on your face, but it lacked the perceptiveness needed to grasp the subtle but clear signs of your unhappiness.

Aemond’s thoughts raced. If only he were in his nephew’s shoes, he would have sensed the disturbance immediately. Unlike Jace, who seemed consumed by his emotions, Aemond had a keen intuition that allowed him to read the room with sharp clarity. He would not have focused on the fleeting pleasure of the moment. Instead, he would have delved beneath your act, seeking to uncover the reasons behind your discontent. Aemond envisioned himself beneath you, looking up at your flushed body with the intent of understanding the causes of your spiral, eager to address your needs and reignite the spark of ecstasy that once illuminated your expression.

If only…

Though it was mere minutes, it felt like hours, and you squeezed and loosened yourself around your twin’s cock, milking him in a way that would cause him fulfillment. He tried to stop you, taking hold of your plump hips as you continued. 

“Stop, sister. You haven’t… fuck…” Moving his palms to your breasts, you took control, sweat running down your neck from exertion as Jace struggled to keep himself from releasing. 

He was helpless. Toes curling and stomach clenching as you quickly lifted yourself off, stroking his pink shaft in place of your womanhood. Spurts of his pearlescent seed left from his pink tip and onto his waist and your hand, biting his lower lip in an attempt to silence his grunts of satisfaction as you slowed your movements so as not to overwhelm him. Jace’s heart raced inside his chest like a horse’s hooves as he came down from his high, fidgeting his legs and bringing your body up to kiss him. You did not mean to torture him, but it was finally done, and that was a relief in itself as you laid down beside him, stroking his hot torso. 

“You did not peak,” Jace began with a pout, moving himself to settle his body between your legs. “Let me make up for it.”

Inhaling a deep breath, you shook your head, pulling him up to rest beside you again. “There’s no need, brother. Your pleasure is enough to satisfy me,” you lied, stroking the choppy strands of his short hair behind his ear. He stared at you skeptically as you felt disgusted with yourself at the smell of sex in your bed chambers, causing revulsion to churn in your stomach. “Edwina will be back soon, and while I trust her, we do not need to risk another tongue-lashing from Mother. You are to be married soon and must be in her good graces. Come. Let me clean you.”

Jace sighed, slumping over his drying seed as you poured your drinking water into a bowl and gathered a cloth to wipe his stomach. You engrossed yourself in the action as you were too ashamed to speak, though your brother couldn’t possibly hate you more than you already did. 

Without many words between you, you helped him dress, throwing over an appropriate dress slip, smiling, and bestowing him fleeting touches not to have him worry. It was evident that Jace understood something was wrong, but the consequences for you and him, a betrothed man discovered in a compromising position, far outweighed any concerns. 

“Mother wants us ready to depart back to Dragonstone within the hour. We mustn’t waste any more time,” you ordered Jace in the way only you could, as he nodded.

Before he closed the door to your adjoining childhood chambers, he gave you one last kiss, saying farewell to the childish dreams of a future together. 

“I love you,” he stated. You gave him a bittersweet smile in return.

“And I you, more than the Gods allow.” 

Shutting the door behind him, you locked it, countenance dropping from the neutral expression to one of despair, sobs breaking from between your lips as you balanced yourself against the warm hearth.

The world around you felt utterly ruthless and deeply unjust, a suffocating weight pressing down on your heart. You couldn’t shake the bitterness that churned within you, directed at the memories of your past with Jace. It was painful to reflect on the years you spent entranced by the fantasy of life together, imagining the vows you would exchange and the family you would build. The reality, however, was a far cry from those dreams, each illusion crumbling under the harsh light of truth. 

Your mother’s actions echoed in your mind like a haunting refrain. It felt like she had orchestrated this betrayal all along, waiting for the opportunity to use her children. She wielded Jace and Luke as pawns, manipulating emotions to untangle her political complications, leaving you feeling forgotten and unutilized. In her quest to alleviate her burdens, your mother dismantled the very dreams you held dear, leaving you adrift in a sea of disappointment, grappling with the profound loss of a future you thought was within your grasp.

Through the haze of tears clouding your vision, you caught a glimpse of the wall beside your wardrobe, protruding ever so slightly as if it were hiding a secret. The air hung heavy with tension, and a chill ran down your spine. Only one person could be moving through the shadows of the Red Keep at this hour. Panic gripped your heart, tumbling down to your bare feet and leaving you frozen, an unwilling statue in the dim light. 

As you willed your limbs to move, you shuffled awkwardly across the cold wooden floor, acutely aware that Aegon was most likely watching you. The door to your brother’s room and the hallway felt painstakingly far away. The only option left was the balcony, its railing looming like an unwelcoming edge over the moat of spikes encircling Maegor’s Holdfast. 

The thought of plunging into those treacherous spikes sent a shiver through you. For now, hiding seemed your best chance. If you could buy yourself time, you might gain enough distance from Aegon to run to the hall full of guards.

With a whisper of dread, you crawled beneath your bed, the coarse dust and sticky cobwebs clinging to your dress and skin like the entrapments of a forgotten cellar. The muffled thud of footsteps echoed from the far wall, sending shivers down your spine as you watched Aegon’s boot enter your chambers, its polished leather glinting ominously in the dim light. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, a frantic drum of terror, as he paused at the foot of your bed, the air thick with unspoken tension.

With a sinking feeling, you covered your eyes with trembling hands, desperately praying to the Seven for Edwina’s swift return, but your silent plea hung unanswered around you. You heard Aegon grunt softly, the sound unsettling as he shuffled closer, his heavy shoes brushing against the stone floor. Every nerve in your body was taut with fear as you felt his gaze sweep beneath the bed, searching for you in the shadows.

A firm hand clamped around your arm, jolting you with a scream that echoed in the stillness. As your eyes fluttered open, you were met not with Aegon’s familiar, cropped hair but with a cascade of silver locks flowing down a lithe figure. Aemond knelt before you, his intense gaze focused and calculating as he studied your trembling form. The tension in the air hung heavy around you, amplifying the fear pulsing through your veins. You felt the warmth of his grip as he observed you, the world around fading into a blur, leaving only the sharp clarity of his presence.

Aemond found it almost laughable that you thought cowering beneath the bed, like a frightened child, could shield you from the world outside. He noted how a part of your gown, delicate and flowing, peeked out. In comparison, some of him relished his power to instill fear in you. A more profound understanding stirred within him as he noted your quivering lips, brows arched in fright. It wasn’t merely his presence that had regressed you to this vulnerable state. The haunting memory echoed in your mind whenever you lay in the stillness of twilight.

He recalled, in vivid detail, the night Aegon had violated you—a night marred by betrayal and anguish. You had confided in him, recounting how his older brother lured you through the shadowy tunnels with sweet promises of a secret just for you. The realization struck Aemond like a dagger. Your reaction was rooted in that traumatic experience, a natural response to the horror you had endured. Yet, as those memories surfaced, they ignited a fierce anger within him that dulled his compassion and overshadowed his instinct to comfort.

“If you’re here to hurt me, know that my Lady will be here any moment,” you whispered, tears glistening on your cheeks. The Prince felt transported back in time, seeing your girlish face before him like it had not aged from when you crawled into his bed and shared your first kiss.

“I have no want for depravity,” Aemond announced, releasing your arm. He rose from his crouched position but did not leave your room. This reminded him of the night you came to sleep in his chambers for this very reason, and he felt his black heart lighten at the tremble of your frightened voice.

“Then why are you here?” You were so weak and pathetic, nothing like the strong dragon you had portrayed yourself to be hours prior. 

Aemond sighed through his nose, seemingly exhausted from the conversation, sitting on the mattress above you as it creaked. “I’ve come to finish our conversation from earlier,” he declared casually with the cross of his leg. “Won’t you spare me the dignity of discussing such matters face to face?”

“I am quite content down here,” you quipped with a sniffle, fear still controlling your actions. “Say your piece.”

You heard him chuckle from above, a smirk no doubt on his features. “My brother will not harm you. He’s off to the Silk Streets at this very moment, drowning himself in wine and women,” the Prince offered in consolation. He hoped to get you out from under the bed, but he did find the situation amusing. 

“I pity them. Do you blame me for being so cautious after what happened tonight?” You wanted to prolong this momentary peace even if it was surrounding the gossip of another. “How Aegon so shamelessly flouted about the room? You saw how he acted, Aemond.”

“You are not innocent in the matter either, niece,” Aemond hummed as you covered an offended scoff. “If I recall, your dear twin took his wife and flouted about the room with her.” 

Your fierce sense of injustice compelled you to wriggle out from beneath the bed, carefully brushing off the dust and specks of debris that had settled on your gown. It was a soft fabric that now seemed to bear the marks of your hiding place, but you paid it little mind. Aemond lounged atop your rumpled bed sheets, occupying your space with an air of casual superiority as if he belonged there. 

His loosely draped clothing accentuated his figure, and you found it challenging to divert your gaze from the exposed expanse of his collarbones. The pale sheen of his skin contrasted starkly with the messiness of the room, momentarily captivating you and stealing your breath away. The atmosphere thrummed with an unspoken tension, drawing note to the uncharted territory between you.

“He-he touched me as if he did not tear my womanhood and make me bleed!” you exclaimed, a fresh wave of tears collecting at your dark lashes. “And you were there, uncle. You watched it happen. Do you not recall your promise made on a night such as this? Would you protect me from him so long as I was by your side? I am here before you.”

Aemond’s face was impassive, a blank stone carved with only his features. “You couple with your brother, and yet you are the one to lecture me? You’re a whore.”

You knew it was only a matter of time before he spoke about what he saw in the shadows, but having it brought to light did not ease the knot of shame within your stomach. 

“Whatever insults you have conjured up, know that I’ve already thought of them myself,” you braced, attempting to build a wall around your heart. Despite the difference in position, Aemond sitting in what would be a submissive manner, you felt like the lesser one, embracing your torso in self-consolation.

The Prince remained unnervingly quiet, his expression a hardened mask of arrogance. Shadows danced across his chiseled features as the dim light caught the high curve of his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw. He tilted his head slightly, allowing his moonlit hair to fall just enough to enhance his regal demeanor. A deep, resonant hum emerged from his throat, filling the air with a somber melody that seemed to echo the weight of unspoken thoughts. His eyes, usually filled with a fierce brightness, now held an undercurrent of fear—a fear that crept in like a shadow. He was aware that if he broke this silence, his voice might waver, revealing the regret that festered within him. 

Aemond feared you would hear the tremor of the boy he once was, the dragonless child who had craved approval and affection and still felt the sting of past failures. The thought of you seeing him in such a vulnerable light sent a shiver of apprehension through him, driving him to maintain his proud appearance. 

“I have been told since birth that Jace was to be my husband, yet now the foundations of my life have been uprooted because of one man’s ambitions,” you argued, feeling your body flush with anger instead of this dreadful sadness. “I feel like a fool for doing such things. I understood it was wrong at the time, yet this part of me was so bent on taking back something stolen from me. To prove to myself that sex was not about pain and control but something to enjoy.”

“All people succumb to sins of the flesh,” Aemond replied. It was a bland reply that showed little sympathy for you, but you expected nothing less from him. You were grateful enough that he hadn’t closed the conversation off so that only his wrath spoke.

Inhaling a stuttered breath, you wiped away the water that soaked your skin, a futile attempt at returning your dignity. “Men can fuck as they please without the stigma that surrounds women. If they fault and dabble with the flesh, it’s considered nothing more than their culture. When I am queen-”

“Aegon took me to a brothel when I was three and ten,” Aemond interrupted your tirade, causing you to pause with dissatisfaction, coloring your features. “He said, ‘Time to get it wet.’ I didn’t want to, but he paid the brothel Madame good coin, and I was forced to endure to show my brother that I was a man like him.” The fire within you softened, the tense muscles of your body deflating in empathy at his confession. “You are not the only one subjected to hypocrisy. I was supposed to enjoy it like a man, but all I felt was disgust.”

Perhaps it was the rich, intoxicating wine that Aemond had been consuming, or maybe the insidious notion that he held a threat over your head compelled him to confide in you. His revelations were not born out of genuine concern for you but reflected your insignificance in his eyes. 

That was the reason, nothing more.

He did not regard your thoughts or feelings as worthy of consideration. After all, a Prince of his stature would not be so vulnerable as to divulge his most profound shame to his illegitimate niece, expecting that with her bleeding heart, she would offer him understanding or solace. 

Aemond carried the weight of the pig incident like a brand upon his soul, an indelible memory that refused to fade. The sting of Aegon’s words lingered in his mind, a fresh wound that festered even after losing his eye to Lucerys, a brutal reminder of his vulnerability. 

The image of Aegon loomed ominously in his memories, particularly the night in the brothel, where the air was thick with the stench of spilled wine and sweat. Aegon’s skin glistened with an unappealing stickiness, the remnants of revelry clinging to him as he towered over Aemond, his posture a hazy blend of mockery and drunken arrogance. Beneath the veil of alcohol swirling in his veins, Aegon’s cruel laughter cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving, each word a fresh dagger aimed directly at Aemond’s heart. The echoes of that taunting laughter haunted him, a bitter reminder of the pain inflicted by the very brother who should have stood by his side.

“Ensure that you stay perfectly still, brother. We don’t want you to miss it.”

You exhaled slowly, a deep sigh laced with a sense of melancholy as a rush of emotions threatened to spill over. The fresh start of tears hovered beneath the surface, their warmth urging to escape, but you clenched your jaw and willed them to remain hidden, trapped within your mouth. 

Aemond sat before you, his expression hardened and his stance resolute. He did not welcome sympathy or pity. Those sentiments would isolate him further, pushing him deeper into his turmoil. What Aemond truly needed—more than any platitude about family values—was someone who could listen and sense the heavy shadows lurking behind his guarded words. He craved understanding, a connection that transcended judgment, a safe space to unburden his heart without fear of condemnation or lectures. At that moment, all he needed was an empathetic ear, ready to hear him amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

“Aegon is vile. A part of me hoped he would spare you from his cruelty, though I should have known. His mind is twisted and barbarous and holds no honor. You know this as I do,” you preached. 

The longing to embrace Aemond was overwhelming, a fierce yearning that coiled tightly within you, causing your fingers to flex and relax in a restless rhythm. You understood the delicate nature of his emotions, aware that a sudden move could send him retreating into the impenetrable and cold fortress he had constructed around his heart. With that thought in mind, you opted for a tentative approach, positioning yourself at a respectful distance on the plush feather mattress, allowing the space between you to serve as a shield and a bridge in this intricate dance of intimacy and caution. The softness of the mattress cradled your form, yet your heart raced with the desire to close that distance, to reach out and let him know how deeply you cared.

“Your mother spoke with me tonight. She wants me to return tomorrow with my mother and finally propose an engagement to unite our House.” You steadied your breath as you felt Aemond’s piercing, violet eye on you, his face turning into a mask. You could see his mind reeling at your proximity and your following words, trying to decipher what would come next.

“I owe my life to you for what you did for me. You stopped Aegon from debasing me further and became my friend despite how poorly I treated you,” your voice cracked with conviction as you reflected on the regrets of your childhood. “Accept this betrothal, and we will live out those childhood times again. You’ll be my husband and I, your wife, taking to the skies together like I promised. We will rule the Seven Kingdoms, and you will be king. Aegon will no longer hurt us.” 

Your words were like honey in his ear, dripping from the comb full of its viscous sweetness and into his blood. The tension within your stomach began to morph into something different, something warm yet exhilarating, as you saw fierce emotion crack through the lines of his face.

Courage filled you, rattling your bones and lifting your muscles to cup the side of Aemond’s scarred cheek as you softly stroked the indented skin. 

The surge of boldness that once ignited within you flickered and vanished, leaving a feeling of vulnerability that wrapped around you like a heavy cloak. Memories of the heartbreaking tragedies that life had heaped upon both of you flooded back, causing you to instinctively pull away, uneasy with the weight of it all. Yet, before you could fully retreat, Aemond’s hand closed around your wrist, his grip steady and unyielding, anchoring you to that fragile moment. 

Your breaths hung suspended in the air as you found yourself lost in his gaze, two souls suspended in time, teetering on the brink of understanding. It felt as though you could plunge deep into the shadows of his thoughts, unraveling the secrets he kept buried within. The silence stretched around you, thick with unspoken words, and a part of you was terrified to break it, fearing that doing so might shatter the delicate tranquility that had settled between you.

Time ceased to exist. It was only you and your uncle, two souls that had once been connected and torn asunder by hate that erupted long before your conception. You felt the gravity of the situation pulling you towards Aemond, and he, you, no longer seeing the world around you. The candlelight shade danced across the aquiline sculpture of his visage, creating a haunting beauty compared to the soft, cherubic plumpness of your face, round with conviction and moist with tears.

The moment couldn’t last long enough as you felt your knee collide with Aemond’s, sending a jolt through your core that made your breath hitch. The hand on your uncle’s ridged thigh clenched, fingers digging into his muscle as you observed how the tendons rippled with the movement, sending a wave of heat to your skin. You were certain Aemond felt the same, too, with his cheeks and ears tinged pink, tongue poking out to briefly wet his lip as his violet eye flicked to your swiftly rising and falling breasts.

Without warning, the doors to your bed chambers opened with a clang, revealing the Lady Edwina you had prayed for earlier. You did not want to pull away from him but knew the consequences of being caught in an improper position with a man. Aemond gave you no choice, curling his lip in dissatisfaction as he tightened his grip on your arm, refusing to let you remove the warmth of your touch on his face. 

It had been an eternity since he had felt the soothing warmth of a feminine embrace, a gesture that had become increasingly rare from his mother as the years had passed and he had grown older. The absence of that nurturing touch left a hollow ache in his heart. He craved the security and intimacy that such an embrace offered, and when you tried to pull away, he instinctively tightened his hold.

Edwina gasped with a quick “My Prince” as Aemond begrudgingly loosened his grip.

“Edwina, thank you for returning,” you said, voice cordial and gaze misty, “though I wish you would announce yourself.”

She curtsied, her cheeks scarlet. “Apologies, Your Highness.” 

Sighing, you glanced at Aemond, who had a dark expression, half thinking he should order the maid away or have her quartered for insolence. Sensing his vexation, you stood, placing a hand on your uncle’s sturdy shoulder, and offered a weak grin.

“All is forgiven. My uncle and I just finished discussing, didn’t we?” Aemond grunted in response, following your movements and brushing off your kind gesture. “Sleep well tonight, Prince Aemond. Know that my thoughts are with you.” 

He remained silent, his mask of the ruthless Prince falling perfectly back into place as he strode out of the room, leaving behind an oppressive air and not even a hint of a farewell. You sighed exasperated, rolling your eyes at the heavy doors as they swung shut with a resounding thud. Glancing over at your Lady, you caught her gaze, which held a deep, understanding glance that spoke volumes without the need for words. She surveyed your attire keenly before returning to her task of meticulously packing your belongings, her movements graceful yet methodical.

“Shall we summon the other maids?” Edwina asked with an airy shift in her tone that she acquired when in a jesting mood. She finally knew the answer as to who you so ardently sent ravens to in the Keep.

You offered a subtle nod, your gaze drifting to the elegant pitchers that adorned the polished writing table, each glinting softly in the dim light. With a graceful motion, you poured the deep crimson wine into a delicate glass, the rich aroma rising to meet you as it filled the vessel. The thought of leaving this stuffy gathering behind ignited a thrilling hope within you, quickening your heartbeat at the anticipation of returning to Aemond. The idea of being reunited with him filled you with an intoxicating sense of longing and excitement, making your pulse race with the promise of what was to come.

A profound sense of satisfaction enveloped Aemond as he walked through the torch-lit halls of the Keep. The flickering flames cast a warm glow, illuminating the intricacies of the stone walls that had witnessed countless secrets and whispered promises. The air was thick with the scent of burning resin and age-old timber, enhancing the atmosphere of history surrounding him. 

As he stepped into his chambers, a serene calm washed over him, slowly releasing the tension from his muscles as if he were shedding a burdensome weight. A curious sensation flickered within his chest, akin to the rush of emotions he had felt when he first kissed you all those years ago—a moment forever etched in his memory. A grin stretched his thin lips, a blend of nostalgia and anticipation brightening his features.

He envisioned a future where you would stand proudly by his side as his wife, the thought filling him with warmth. The image of your hands intertwined and the promise of building a family together painted a vivid picture in his mind. In that profound moment, he realized that the sacred ties of marriage would firmly anchor your loyalties, binding your fates together in a covenant that would weather any storm, ensuring that your heart would forever belong to Aemond.

Princess Rhaenyra’s only daughter would be his. 

Aegon’s ascension to the Iron Throne was inevitable, and he understood that accepting such a fact would put your new marriage to the test. The Prince convinced himself that in the end, you would love him and stay by his side, and that was enough for him to forget the vexation at his mother’s schemes and agree to the proposal. Mors Martell and Queen Nymeria, at last. 

Though the war had not yet begun, Aemond felt a sense of victory swelling within him.

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The reader really couldn't catch a break in this chapter. It was literally one trauma after another. XD I've debated putting in some smut scenes with Jace and the reader in the previous chapters, but it never felt right. They've definitely done it quite a few times, tho. In my head, they've accidentally had a pregnancy scare like Rhaenyra did, and that was one of the turning points to separate them and send the reader to Dorne. Anyways, Aemond is at the beginning of his Prince Regent Era with his arrogance, but oh boy. The man won't know what hit him in the following chapters... (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n , @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna , @baybaybear1

[astraystayyh]

u either hate me or want me to go into cardiac arrest because HOW COULD I COPE WITH THIS FEEDBACK???? HOW 😭😭😭😭😭😭 i cant tell u how happy it makes me that you dont just read my fics but truly read them. you allow my characters to live in your heart and mind and that’s the biggest privilege for me. thank you thank YOU for making writing so enjoyable, reading ur feedback is easily top best thing about this entire process.

NOWWW to actually respond,, truthfully i tried to search for an equivalent for déchirure in english but tear imo doesn’t convey the feeling of being ripped to shreds, in french it feels more raw, even when u pronounce it this combo of letters have a sort of blunt force in them, like something being teared apart not by choice but by a sick twist of fate (like our mc and hyune) that’s why i picked it!!! :p thank you for asking 🥹

THANJ YOUUUU 😭😭😭😭😭 no this is my favorite compliment i try to put sm thought into the characters and for u to pick up on that!!! on the floor rn…. i originally intended for the mother to apologize but then i realized that someone like her would still think that they did nothing wrong. in her mind, she was a mourning mother trying to make her late daughter’s memory live through her new one. but it doesn’t work like that. it still hurts. maybe she apologized later on, maybe she didn’t. still i think it would be too late anyway. so that’s why i left it at that. (also the dad just faded. anger is hard to carry)

also u calling it movie… im going insane. if one of my fics ever get adapted into a movie ull be front row PROMISE.

the characterization of mc hurt me a lot 💔 i mean i tried to make her as realistic as ever and i think the anger being directed towards someone who isnt here anymore helped her cope :(

i get u for the slightly rushed part 😭😭 it’s partly because i wanted the “good” parts to be short because there was this sense of impending doom, in a way, haunting them. like they both believed this happiness will end sooner or later and it did pass by quickly on both of them. but also because i wanted to post the fic because it’s been so long and i dont think tumblr dot com loves fics that are longer than 20k 😭😭😭

also SO HAPPY U PICKED UP ON THE DETAILS 😭😭😭😭 i love a good full circle moment. and i thought ending it in a graveyard would be nice. mc lived a good life loved by hyunjin and she has someone waiting for the day they’d meet her again. this was her biggest fear– to never be loved, because she grew to believe she hasn’t deserving of it—but she was. so i thought :D that sounds good. death doesn’t have to be a horrible depressing thing in this fic anymore 😭 also yes the olympics were my inspo i actually got inspired by many things while writing this fic u can tell it consumed my mind KANSND

i love YOU thank you for reading and for being so attentive to every detail and for being here in my life. like genuinely i appreciate your presence and existence more than i can describe. i hope u are always happy and healthy!!! i love you, my favorite reader :p

La déchirure 

You exist to mourn, to ache for what was and all that will never be. Even if happiness brushed against your fingertips, dazzling and radiant, you would not recognize its face, you would distort its features into the terrible grief you’ve always known.

pairing: figure skater!hyunjin x ballerina!reader.

genre: angst. slowwww burn. heavy and recurrent grief. healing.

warnings: mc has a bad relationship with her parents. grief is a prominent theme here so please be aware. some allusions to sex but no smut. description of injuries.

word count: 21.8k

author’s note: heyyyy…. haven’t posted anything in 3 months i feel so shy AJNSJD i say this about every fic but this fic is truly my baby it took me so long to get it done and i poured my heart into it. so please if you enjoyed reading pls pls pls let me know. it means the world and more to me. happyyy reading!!! also thanks to @hyunverse for indulging all my brainrots about this fic i LOVE YOU

Your bare soles are bleeding across the graveyard. You don’t remember when your sandals slipped away from your feet, nor when your body decided to bring you here, heels scratched from the tiny rocks littering the ground.

But the pain doesn’t register in your brain, not yet. You’re only paying attention to the last name written on the tombstone— your last name, to be exact. 

Right now, more than ever, you wished your first name was engraved beside it too. 

You’ve memorized this graveyard like the back of your hand, know what sound the tree branches make during spring— gently swaying, like a melancholic flute, aching because flowers refuse to bloom upon them. And during winter too— even sadder, angrier, perhaps to mimic the sound of the souls left alone in the graves to fend off the cold.

Though you’ve never approached this tombstone before. You always remained a few feet back, each time your parents brought you to your late sister’s grave— every Sunday, for the past eighteen years of your existence, without fault. 

You don’t know the person they’re mourning.

You don’t know the person they wish to mold you after. 

Somehow, in a sick twist of fate, the course of your existence was set in stone before you could draw your first breath into this universe. 

She looks just like her sister, your mom whispered in awe, tears brimming in her waterline as she beheld you close to her bare chest. 

That is what your grandmother recalls about your birth, the rejoice of you being an exact copy of your sister’s features. There was nothing in her, in everyone’s memory about you. Everything orbited around your sister, the way the planets chase after the sun. You were, after all, born to replace the void she left behind. 

You sometimes wonder, is your physique the first setting stone of your pain? Had your hair been lighter, darker than hers, your lips smaller, plumper, would your parents be forced to look at you, behold you for who you are, learn to love you for who you would be? 

The question first popped into your brain at age five— maybe less intricate, a feeling that pressed against your ribcage: your parents don’t love you a lot, do they? You are now eighteen, the question has yet to desert you. 

You’ve always been aware of this reality— there are more pictures of your sister than of you in your house. Your parents always spoke of her, the perfect little girl, whisked away by a terrible sickness, at age seven. 

And she loved ballet. 

So, you had to love ballet too.

You weren’t given a choice, per se. At age four, you were thrust into a ballet class with little oblivious girls; just like you. Flushed cheeks and glossy eyes as you all tried to follow the teacher’s instruction. It wasn’t easy, it never got easier, year after year, only more challenging, only harder on your body.

Bigger bruises, sprained ankles from time to time, you’ve lost count of the injuries this art has inflicted upon your body. But thankfully, you ended up loving it too. You loved how graceful it made you feel, how the music seemed to whisk you away to an enchanting world, how the applause roared each time you came first in a competition, all eyes on you alone. 

Or so you hoped, you prayed. You wished to dance better, harder until all your parents could see was you. Not the daughter that came before you.

It was hard to admit at times, certainly something you never said out loud. But surely, yes, you were jealous of your deceased sister.

How could you not be when it seemed like you were competing with a ghost, someone whose absence weighed more than your presence?

Snippets of your life flash before your eyes as you stare at her grave. Pirouette, arabesque, plié, tendu— those are words engraved within your mind, ones you breathe in more than oxygen. You hear them in the voice of your ballet instructor, Jihyo. She’s a woman in her forties, though she looks older from the harsh lines framing her face. 

Her voice is high-pitched, her hair always tied back in a sleek bun you’re sure pains her brain, her words are harsh each time she corrects your posture.

And she’s the only person who believes in you.

She’s not nice, she has made you cry more times than you can count. So, you knew when she leveled her eyes to yours when you were nine, when she told you, “I see something magical in you”— that she was telling the truth. 

You wanted to prove her right, because for once, someone saw something in you, not in a ghost, not in ground-up bones.

In you.

You feel an uncontained anger swell within you, waves of relentless hurt swarming you as you fall to your knees.

You worked hard. You worked so hard. Between classes and ballet practice, the days strung you by like a puppet and sometimes you didn’t have enough time to breathe. 

Your entire life revolved around ballet. spin, point well, adjust your posture, you can’t stop now. Suddenly it’s two a.m. and you only get four hours of sleep before your classes begin. You didn’t have time to socialize with your peers, to have a crush on the sweet guy in your maths class, to giggle at an arcade with your friends. Soon after you were in your ballet class, even more spins, points, arabesque. 

But all of your exhaustion dissipated today. All of it seemed okay, for the first time in your existence, perhaps, the breath that escaped your chest wasn’t heavy. It was light, it was airy, it was one that yearned for the next, for the days that will follow, tinted with happiness, for once.

“I got into Julliard” 

That is what you told your parents an hour ago, voice brimming with uncontainable happiness, tears dripping down your eyes in an uncontrollable flow. 

Your mother’s eyes became teary in an instant. You thought the past was past you now. You’ll forgive eighteen years of coming second in your mother’s heart. Surely, she will only see you now.

But then her eyes set on the portrait of your sister on the wall, her tone desolate when she whispered—“she would have loved Julliard too.”

You don’t remember what happened after that. What curse escaped your mouth from the years of barely contained bitterness, when everything lashed out like venomous poison on your parents. 

You remember screaming, lots of it, something breaking too, you don’t recall if it is you who threw the vase or your father. The latter seemed more plausible— he was always bound to these sudden bouts of anger. Effects of grief, consequences of your sister’s absence. Her, yet again, poisoning your life. 

You remember feeling like a stranger in your home, a nobody, someone they’d kill in an instant to bring her back.

It was no longer a feeling, though. It was a fact. Your father cemented it loud and clear for you— “I wish she never died so you would’ve never been born.”

A pin-drop silence followed. Your father was always bound to bouts of anger, you knew that. He always regretted it afterward too, just like he felt in that instant, scrambling to apologize, to cup your cheek and say he didn’t mean it.

For how long has this thought festered in his brain, taken root in his veins, and flashed before his eyes each time he looked at you?

For how long did your parents wish you were dead instead? 

You don’t remember how you got to the graveyard. You don’t recall when it started pouring heavily on you. You only register the rain because the earth is wet as you clench it between your fists, as you punch the ground under which your sister is buried. 

You are crying, sobbing, a hysterical mess, you don’t know what you’re yelling, who you’re calling out for, what you’re trying to achieve by punching her grave. 

Unearthing her body and burying yours there instead, perhaps.

“What are you doing?” a stranger’s voice startles you, cutting through the fog in your mind like a thunderbolt. 

You don’t reply, simply turning around to look at the man standing a mere inches away from you.

“Do you know her or are you just desecrating her grave?” he asks calmly, as he brings a pink umbrella over your head. You realize that you’re drenched from head to toe, your feeble pajama does nothing to fight off the cold filtering between the fabric and your skin. 

You are freezing. You fear there is no place warm enough for your soul, not anymore.

“She’s my late sister,” you say, voice raw, scratched like a broken record. 

“She died young,” he says, looking at the dates engraved on the tombstone. 

You feel so horrible, for a millisecond. 

She was only seven. 

Her grave is too small compared to your body. 

But the anger quickly comes back to blind you. You invite it into your heart, push away the sadness and welcome the rage instead. It is the only thing comforting you in that instant.

“Did she do something to you?” he asks, his voice contrasting nicely against the heavy shatter of rain. It reminds you of the intro of your ballet music, soothing. 

“No,” you admit, a bit shamefully. But all sense of guilt dissipates at his next question— “then wouldn’t she be sad seeing you do this?” 

“What about MY sadness? MY anger?” you shout, lips trembling like the branches above your head. the storm picks up with your rising voice, the rain’s pitter-patter mimics the chaos inside your brain.

He remains silent and you can barely grasp the expression on his face, concealed by the umbrella’s shadows. You imagine that this conversation must have bored him, so you turn around yet again, your heart pounding angrily against your skin. 

But then, he kneels beside you, his umbrella completely discarded. You don’t dare to tilt your face towards him, so you simply stare ahead, your breath caught in your throat— what is he thinking of your most vulnerable state?

“I am rage,” he says, his voice permeating your being softly, the storm seems to calm down too to follow the ebb of his voice. “It means I am alive, or better, I am life, according to Armand, a modern art painter. You are alive today, and you get to be angry. That’s not something anyone here can enjoy,” he points out, taking a fleeting glance at the graves surrounding you. 

“You get to do something with that anger. But this, this won’t cure it.” 

He’s young, roughly your age it seems, but he speaks as if he beholds a wisdom beyond his years. You wonder what he went through to understand rage doesn’t fix anything. You wonder if he has ever been this angry, too. 

Did he move past it? Or did he drown the anger deep within the wells of his soul so he wouldn’t confront its ugly face? 

The question roams in your head as you watch him place a bouquet of red lilies atop the grave. You didn’t even notice the flowers at first, your view was too distorted by tears to grasp anything beautiful. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” the guy points out, smiling at you, or at least attempting to since the grin doesn’t reach his eyes. His words come out slower, as if weighed down by a sadness only he can feel. 

He is in a graveyard after all, the flowers were meant for someone else than you. 

“Wait here,” he says, quickly getting up and jogging out of the graveyard. 

What a silly request, you think, it’s not like you would dare move. Your feet are aching and you have nowhere else to go. 

He returns a few minutes later, a hoodie in his hands that he promptly pulls over your head. The warm fabric engulfs you in a cloud of roses and musk. “I tried to warm it up with the car’s heating,” he says sheepishly, and you blink slowly at his kindness, a pink tint blooming across your cheeks. 

“Thank you.” 

His eyes fleet to your bare, bleeding feet, and you fidget in place, trapped by a bout of embarrassment. 

“I have spare shoes in my car. Do you want me to drive you home?” His voice is gentle, as if speaking to a wounded animal, too bruised by the hands of humans. Tears spring to your eyes once more, you wish the earth could crack open and swallow you whole. 

“I don’t want to burden you.” 

“You won’t,” he says, and as if sensing your hesitation, he adds, “I promise. Leaving you here is what would burden me.”

You are very tired as he drives you to your place. You speak once when you ask him if he wasn’t there to visit someone, he says that it’s okay, he can come back tomorrow. 

You only dare look at him at the last red light before you arrive at your address. He’s beautiful, black strands sticking to his forehead, a tiny pout pulling his rosy lips forward. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, contrasting beautifully with the mole on his cheek. Then, by his jaw. Another at the beginning of his neck. You wonder if he has a map of ebony stars trailing down his chest.

You don’t know why this stranger instills such safety in you. Why would you rather stay in his car than set foot into your house once more. You dread what will await you behind those doors, you don’t think your heart could handle another tear at its tender flesh. 

You don’t think you could handle looking at your parents and only seeing strangers. 

But you know this safety has something to do with the way he placed the lilies atop the grave; as if it beheld someone dear to his heart and not a stranger. How he made sure you got home safely, how he didn’t seem to care that you dirtied his front seat and the carpet below your feet. 

He looks like a good person. 

You wish to tell your good news to a good person. 

“I got into Julliard,” you quickly let out as soon as he parks. You don’t allow yourself time to regret your confession. 

A breathtaking smile overtakes his face, the thunderstorm outside pales before the sun shining in his features. 

“Really?” he asks cheerfully, and you nod, a tiny smile painting across your lips. “Mm. Really.”

“That’s amazing!” his grin further widens, his eyes disappearing into two lovely moon crescents. “I know I’m just a stranger but, I'm proud of you,” his voice softens, “I mean it. I hope you’re proud of yourself too.” 

It takes you a few seconds to answer, you wish to bask further in the sound of his voice, to store his words into your memory, to revisit his kindness on nights that are too cold. 

This was all you’ve ever wanted to hear. 

“Thank you,” you smile softly. A moment of silence passes, you find yourself missing this stranger before you even leave his car. You wish to carry a piece of his memory within you, a souvenir of who he is— “I'm Yn, by the way.” 

“Yn,” he repeats, his voice tender. “Nice to meet you, Yn. I’m Hyunjin.” 

Four years later.

“You need to work on your landing more, but the rest is good.”

“Thanks, coach.” Hyunjin gives Jihyoun, his lifelong mentor, a thumbs-up as he loosens the laces of his ice skates. A dull ache is throbbing through his legs, like the faint buzz of bees circling roses. 

His body is weary, every muscle reminding him of the sheer effort he’s poured into perfecting his routine for the upcoming figure skating competition— the most important one of his life, by far.

“Are you leaving now?” Jihyoun’s voice pierces the delicate silence and Hyunjin nods, resting his head against the cold concrete wall. “Just gonna take a breather.”

“I’ll head out then,” Jihyoun says, patting his back gently, “make sure you get some rest.”

Hyunjin waits till his coach is far out the corridor to release a relieved breath. A familiar silence wraps around the ice rink like a comforting cloak, the stillness sits beside Hyunjin like an old friend. It is here, amid the soft hum of machines and the chill of the rink that Hyunjin feels most like himself. 

A few minutes trickle by, slow and silent. An uncomfortable feeling nudges at Hyunjin’s rib as he remains as still as a statue; he knows he’s on a losing bet to make time stretch forth, hoping that the sun outside will pause in its descent— a few more moments before the darkness completely sets in Seoul. Because the night will surely string along with it the next day, and the next day is one Hyunjin isn’t ready to face. 

When does he ever? 

But the sun always sets and rises once more, even if you dont wish for it to. 

With a sigh, Hyunjin grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He makes his way to the vending machine upstairs, in the dimly lit corner near the dance studio. He drops a few coins into the slot, punching the number for his usual drink. But it gets stuck—of course. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, pressing his forehead against the cold glass before frustratedly kicking the machine.

“I am rage,” a voice suddenly teases from behind.

Hyunjin is quick to distance himself from the machine, startled, and admittedly, very embarrassed. His shame morphs to surprise when he sees you standing there. 

Your lips curve into a gentle smile, and your eyes sparkle with quiet amusement— that light, however, dims slightly when he doesn’t immediately respond.

It takes all of Hyunjin’s will to act like he doesn’t recognize you.

“You get to do something with your anger, but this won’t cure it.” You quote, your voice softer now. “You know, you told me this, near the graveyard…” You point vaguely behind you, each word growing quieter as if you’re no longer sure if that scene was real or a figment of your imagination.

Hyunjin nods in recognition, and you relax, the tension lifting from your shoulders.

“Miss Julliard,” he murmurs, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. Your grin brightens at his words and Hyunjin notices faint smile lines tracing your lips and eyes. It seems as if you’ve laughed quite often for the past four years. The thought brings him a strange sense of comfort.

“What did the vending machine do to deserve this?” you ask, tilting your head with playful curiosity.

“Stole my money,” Hyunjin mutters.

“You’ve got to hit the side when that happens.” You show him, tapping the machine with an experienced hand. His drink clatters down, and he shoots you a thankful grin as he bends to retrieve it.

In those brief seconds, with his head bowed, Hyunjin begs his heart to slow its frantic beating. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask once he stands.

“I’m an ice skater,” he says, and your eyes widen with genuine surprise.

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“Yeah… I guess it is. Are you back from Julliard?” His voice is softer now, more tentative, reminiscent of the day you met. 

“For a little while. Just a few months. This studio—” you glance around, “—it’s where I used to train before I went away.”

“I see,” Hyunjin nods, “I train upstairs, in the ice rink. Because I’m an ice skater,” he repeats, before closing his eyes in embarrassment as your giggles spill forth. No shit Hyunjin.

“I’ll see you around then,” he quickly mutters, eager to end the conversation, before turning around and hurrying away. 

He’s almost by the stairs when your voice calls out his name, urgent, pressing.

“Hyunjin!”

His body freezes before his mind orders it to—he’s not the only one who remembers, then. 

“Did you eat dinner?” you shout, a little out of breath.

“No,” he admits.

“There’s a place nearby that makes the best kimchi stew. Want to go?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s my treat.” Your smile has slightly dimmed, and you’re unconsciously scratching the skin by your nails. Even from afar, Hyunjin can discern a shadow looming in your eyes, a plea unspoken. 

“Are you lonely?” Hyunjin’s question comes out before he can stop it, blunt and raw. He’s always been honest, maybe too honest for his own good. Time has taught him that every moment matters, that each second slips away faster than you expect, and that it’s better to speak the truth before it comes back to poison you. 

Your smile falters. “I just… don’t want to go home. not yet,” you confess quietly.

“So you’re using me?” he teases, leaning back against the wall with a smirk. You roll your eyes, muttering “Never mind” under your breath as you start to turn away.

“Fine,” he sighs, pushing off the wall. “But I’m craving sushi.”

…

Hyunjin’s eyes are more worn than the last time you’ve seen him. 

Four years ago, they were puffy, soft with exhaustion, their brown dulled like the last flower clinging to life as fall sets in. But now, the lights have gone out completely, like a bloom crushed underfoot, its color bleeding into the cracks of the pavement.

You steal glances at him between spoonfuls of kimchi jjigae (he silently followed you to your restaurant), watching for any sign of recognition. But he doesn’t seem to remember your name, nor the day at the graveyard as much as you do.

The thought strips you of embarrassment and clothes you in sadness instead.  

Hyunjin has written your name into his diary more times than he’d care to admit, even less so to you. 

He has always walked this earth alone, a stranger even to his own emotions, especially his grief— no one understood how his mother’s death consumed him whole.  

It is true that only one body was laid to the ground many years ago. But Hyunjin’s soul followed hers into the ground when he was just fourteen. 

His sadness made sense to his teachers, his classmates, and even the distant relatives who only came around occasionally. But no one grasped the depth of his anger—at the universe for taking his mother when he was still a child, at the illness that wore down her bones, at himself, mostly, for still breathing when she no longer could.

That rage had devoured him, tore through his flesh with its canine teeth. He only saw its reflection once—when he met you.

Hyunjin didn’t know who or what you were mourning that day at the graveyard. But he remembers your screams on his way to his mother’s grave, raw and stripped down to the marrow. It was as if he had stumbled upon his younger self, begging his mother to dig through the earth and hug his frail body once more, just once more. 

“How long have you been skating ?” you ask suddenly, your gaze flickering over his face. He blinks slowly, as if to bring his consciousness back to the present moment. 

“Since i was a kid, nearly two decades now,” he says. 

“Do you like it?” it is a harmless question, a natural succession of the one that came before it. But nothing was ever that simple with Hyunjin, because ice skating reminded him of his mother, and his mother was the wound that had yet to stop bleeding. 

“I do, I really do,” he speaks softly, a fragile smile curling his lips. He waits till you both finish the first bottle of soju to ask— how have you been? and it’s your turn to frown slightly. He notices the tightening of your fist around the spoon, the subtle tremor in your hand. You, too, carry an ever bleeding wound.

“I’m okay.”

The next question slips from him without thought, “are you still as angry?”

You remain silent for a few seconds, holding his gaze as the question settles between you. His cheeks flush, and he almost apologizes for his bluntness, but then you speak.

“Was I ever angry? I think I was just very sad.” 

Snippets of a younger Hyunjin flash through his mind. The numerous brawls he got in with his classmates, the way he pushed away anyone who tried to show him kindness— He was all thorns, keeping others from reaching the tender petals beneath.

Tears spring in his eyes, unbidden, and he bites his lower lip. He understands what you mean perfectly, you understand what he feels perfectly too. 

“I feel as if my heart is too tired now to bear such big anger,” you say with a smile. “Have you worn out yet? That’s what I’d like to ask.” 

“Aren’t you afraid of the answer?” he pauses, adding in a quiet whisper, “I am.” 

The chandelier above dances across his glossy eyes. You’ve never been optimistic—life hasn’t allowed you that luxury. But a small part of you wants to offer Hyunjin hope, to breathe life back into his weary heart, even though you no longer believe in hope yourself.

But no words of reassurance come. So instead, you offer something much simpler, much more realistic. “Let’s ask it another time, then,” you smile, pouring each other a new round of drinks. You quickly down three shots before laying your head on the table. 

“Are you sleeping?” Hyunjin asks with a quiet laugh, the sound light, like a melody played softly on piano keys.

“It’s fine,” you wave a hand in the air. “The owner knows me. He’ll wake me when it’s time to close.”

Both of you are running from home, or what’s left of it. Hyunjin watches you, your face softened by fleeting peace, so different from the grief he’s etched into his memories.

Far more beautiful, too.

“Then wake me up, too,” he sighs, resting his head beside yours.

His eyelids close instantly, lulled to a nice sleep by the buzz of the fridge and the soft hum of your breathing.

Many minutes pass by— quiet and uninterrupted. Hyunjin finds that the next day has come much slower in your company. 

…

The first time you saw Hyunjin figure skating, you were drawn like a moth to a flame to the music echoing from the ice rink.

You recognized the swelling violin of Can You Hear the Music, and paused by the entrance, torn between stepping in and turning back. What if it wasn’t Hyunjin? Worse, what if it was, and he didn’t wish to see you?

Still, your feet betrayed your hesitation, inching forward. You stood at the door, watching in quiet awe as Hyunjin leaped into the air, spinning with perfect grace. He landed effortlessly on one foot, the other extended behind him in a flawless arc.

The lights danced over his body, his flowing white blouse trailing his movements like a siren’s voice pulling in sailors. His black hair floated weightlessly with each spin, strands resting delicately against his forehead.

For the past four years, you had struggled to feel human. The world tasted bland, as if your heart had lost its ability to savor anything. You were afraid you’d lost the capacity to be amazed—by sunsets, by poignant art that once moved you to tears. So you chased after beauty, desperate for the feelings it could still stir in you, a fragile reminder of your humanity.

But watching Hyunjin skate— that gripped your heart more than anything else had in years.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” a voice startles you and you turn quickly, caught off guard by a man standing beside you, a bottle of water in hand and a kind smile on his face.

“Yes, he is,” you reply quietly.

“I’m Jihyoun, Hyunjin’s coach,” he introduced himself, extending a firm hand.

“Yn,” you hesitated, glancing at Hyunjin, who was still absorbed in his performance. “An acquaintance.”

Jihyoun nodded, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You followed suit, unable to tear your gaze away from Hyunjin as he spun, cradling his chest as if holding a memory close, his body lowering toward the ground in a quiet ache. It was a pain you knew all too well.

As the music softened, Hyunjin stilled, closing his eyes, taking a moment to catch his breath. You were about to slip away, retreating like a shadow escaping the light, but Jihyoun would have found you weird, perhaps he’d think you were a stalker. So, you remained there. 

“Hey, coach,” Hyunjin waved, skating toward you both. Anxiety flickered in your chest like a match that refused to light up—you regretted coming now. You had shared a meal just days ago, but Hyunjin hadn’t asked for your name, nor did he seem to remember it. Maybe you held onto his memory more warmly than he held onto yours.

“Miss Julliard,” Hyunjin greeted with a soft smile as his eyes landed on you, and just like that, your worries dissolved like sugar in hot tea.

“Julliard? That’s impressive,” Jihyoun whistled, but you shook your head. You often forgot how prestigious your school was—perhaps because no one ever celebrated your acceptance in it.

No one, except Hyunjin.

“Have you eaten?” Hyunjin asked, gliding to the edge of the rink, his blouse clinging to his sweat-soaked skin.

“No,” you shook your head. He nodded nonchalantly.

“I’m craving kimchi jiggae again,” he tipped his chin towards you, “we can go again, if you’d like.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” you grinned.

“Okay. Wait for me.”

… 

Hyunjin’s routine has always been quite simple. 

He’d work out in the morning, the rest of his day lost in practice, his nights reserved for painting or reading, sometimes pouring his thoughts onto paper. It was a life untouched by turbulence, a pattern he rarely swayed from— until you wove yourself into it.

For the past two weeks, you always came to see Hyunjin at the end of his practice. Some nights you’d go eat dinner at your usual spot; sometimes you’d simply buy a drink and find a quiet refuge on the rooftop, watching the city lights twinkle beneath the stars.

There was a strange sense of comfort, he had found, in two bruised souls sitting with one another— an unspoken understanding of what your tongues had often failed to express.

But you hadn’t come to see him in two days.

It’s past one a.m. when Hyunjin finally exits the practice building. He pauses outside, turning back to see that the lights are still on in the dance studio. 

He hopes it is you dancing there. 

With a faint sigh, he takes the stairs two at a time, not wanting to dwell on the fact that, for the very first time in a while, Hyunjin, the ever lonely man, is seeking someone else’s presence. 

When Hyunjin pushes open the studio door, he finds you sitting on the floor, knees tucked to your chest. Your tutu encircles you the way petals would hug a stem— layers of soft tulle in pale pink, contrasting delicately against your sheer tights and pointe shoes.

You appear just like the water lily he sketched only yesterday—soft pastels and an unmatched delicateness. His cheeks flush at the comparison, and, in a hurried attempt to leave, he fumbles, catching his shirt on the doorknob and bumping into the door. 

He’s frozen in place, wincing when you call out his name in surprise. Does he have to embarrass himself each time he’s around you? 

He turns slowly, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face. “Miss Julliard,” he waves, and you grin in return, your eyes warm, “What are you doing here?”

The words are lost on him as you run over to him, stopping mere inches away from his figure. His fingers twitch for his sketchbook, a sudden urge seizes him to draw you.

“You didn’t come by yesterday so I came to see you,” he explains, voice soft like a summer breeze. 

Your grin brightens like the sun. “Ah, did you miss me?” you tease, and he rolls his eyes playfully, walking past you to sit on the floor. 

Did he miss you? no he didn’t, but his heart did ache, just a little, at your absence.

“Why did you look so defeated sitting on the ground?” he asks instead of replying, leaning against the mirrored wall.

You sigh, taking your place across from him, “practicing this dance is so hard, I got sick of it.” 

He nods, understanding the frustration that stems from being a perfectionist, always chasing ideals in your work.

“You know what helps me? Performing to a song I love. Reminds me what I love about the sport.”

You hum, before a mischievous glint sparks in your eyes. “There is this one song.. From a barbie movie.”

He blinks in surprise, laughing as you dash for your phone.

“Barbie?”

“Yes! The 12 dancing princesses. My mom made me watch it to convince me to take up ballet.” 

“Is that so?” he grins, placing his chin atop his palm. 

“Yeah, she wanted me to follow my sister’s footsteps,” you say, and he thinks back to the small grave you were both kneeling next to. “I wonder if I wouldn’t have become a ballerina if I didn’t watch it,” you muse, before clearing your throat.

“Anyways,” you force a smile on your face, as a whimsical melody streams through the loud speakers. Your grin turns childlike as you stand onto pointe, your raised foot grazing the knee of your supporting leg. 

You glide across the floor as if you are floating, your tutu catching the soft glow of the studio light. Your leaps are as light as air, and you slide to Hyunjin grabbing his hand to pull him up, drawing him into your orbit. 

You laugh, spinning around him, your movements fluid and free, yet your arms frame your figure with a rehearsed prouesse. He can’t help but laugh with you, the warmth of your presence filling the room, the music wrapping around you both like a spell. 

You’re a blur of pink and light, you appear like an angel dancing to the tune of childhood memories.

As the song reaches its end, you twirl one last time before bowing gracefully. Hyunjin claps, the sound echoing in the quiet studio.

“I haven’t danced to that in years,” you say, catching your breath. “I probably looked ridiculous.”

He shakes his head, his voice steady and sincere. “I think ballet would’ve found you anyway. It’s like you were born for it.”

Hyunjin is used to the cold bite of the ice rink, that is where he feels most like himself. But he is somehow drawn to the warmth of this particular studio—no, not just the studio. It’s the warmth you bring, the way your smile lights up the space at his words, that makes him feel, for the first time in a long while, that he could have a friend. That he doesn’t need to walk down the path of life alone.

…

You’re lingering at the doorstep of your home, keys gripped like a lifeline in your trembling fingers. It always takes you three heartbeats to open the door—one to shut your eyes, two to fill your lungs with air, and three to prepare for the tidal wave of hurt waiting on the other side.

You push the door open and slip inside, peeling off your shoes like a shadow trying to leave no trace. With each step, the house pulls you in, a black hole swallowing the warmth that once flickered in your veins, devouring any trace of light.

Dinner with Hyunjin still burns faintly in your chest, like the lingering heat of a fireplace after the flames have died. He makes you laugh a lot, because he’s clumsy, and a peculiar fan of weird debates. You had just spent an hour discussing whether humans have two buttcheeks or simply one.

But you wither down inside this home, your joy punctured like a balloon drifting too close to the sun.

The walls have permeated your sadness, they echo the killing sentence your father cast into your heart four years ago, a wound that festers no matter how much time has passed.

Hyunjin asked you a few days ago why you were back to Seoul. You told him you were competing in the Seoul International Ballet Competition, and he said that he was preparing for the Olympics selection. He then laughed, saying how strange it was that after a month of seeing each other every day, it was only now that you’d shared this. 

You tried to laugh with him, but the sound felt like a stone sinking in your throat. Guilt gnawed at you, not because it was a lie, but because it wasn’t the whole truth. The ballet may have brought you back, but something else called you home. 

At times you wonder if you had made the right call by answering it.

“You’re home,” your mother’s voice cuts through the quiet as you enter the kitchen. You nod, humming absentmindedly. 

“I made pasta, it’s in the oven. And I bought that drink you like,” she says, but her words are too sweet, too forced—like the artificial flavor of apple in fizzy drinks. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, barely loud enough to carry the word across to her.

“I’ll grab it for you,” she says, moving toward the fridge. But when she opens it, her hands falter, hovering over empty shelves. “That’s strange… I could’ve sworn I put it here.” You grip the counter tighter as she flits from cabinet to cabinet, her search growing frantic. 

“It’s fine, I’m not thirsty,” you murmur, but she continues, finally pulling open the dishwasher.

“Ah, silly me,” she says softly, retrieving the can with trembling hands. You keep your eyes low, unwilling to meet hers. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice as fragile as a cracked vase, “I forget so much these days.” 

And just like that, she slips out of the kitchen, leaving behind a gaping hole in your chest that threatens to swallow you whole.  

You hate it when she forgets in front of you, because it shatters the illusion. You see her now, as something frail, crumbling under the weight of time. Her mind, like a worn-out book, is losing pages faster than you can salvage them.

And the cruelest part is that it forces you to forgive her—to hold her in the softness of your heart, knowing that one day she’ll forget who you are entirely.

But has she ever known who you were to begin with? Has she ever dared to ask? 

Has she ever cared to? 

… 

The first time Hyunjin spoke about his mother, you were both lying on the grass underneath a starry night.

You had been rambling about a specific bagel from New York that you missed, while he hummed absentmindedly, his thoughts entangled in memories like marionettes tugged by invisible strings from the past.

He hadn’t meant to ignore you; so when you turned to him, playful mischief dancing on your lips—“Are you listening to me?”—he could only offer a sheepish grin in response. 

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, and he bit his lip, worry knitting his brow. 

Hyunjin had never had anyone to speak to about his mother; her memory resided in the pages of his diary, the strokes of his paintings, the rhythm of his dances—never out loud, never to another soul.

But he suddenly felt an insatiable urge to speak of her; thorns pricking his throat, his skin growing feverish as he fought to form the words he longed to speak. 

“What’s wrong?” you pressed, your tone shifting to one of concern. He thought you wouldn’t mind if he shared her memory, but what he would even say? There was so much to talk about, so much he admired, so much he missed.

“My mom…” he started, his voice tentative. He had your full attention now, he could tell by the way you fully turned around to look at him. “She used to make the best kimchi stew,” he confessed, closing his eyes in slight embarrassment. Is this really what he decided to speak about? 

Still, he pushed through. “She made it for me whenever I was sick. I don’t attach it to bad memories because it was delicious, and I could feel that she made it out of love, out of concern.” He pauses, sucking in a deep breath. “I hadn’t eaten it at all since she passed away. I couldn’t bring myself to. Until you took me to that restaurant.”

His eyes glistened as they settled on you, “So thank you for taking me there. I think you would have liked her kimchi stew.”

Your eyes widened slightly, dewdrops brimming in your waterline before you smiled softly. “I’m sure I would’ve.” 

He cleared his throat, somehow emboldened by the tenderness of your gaze. He thought that her memory would be safe within the confines of your mind. He thought that he wouldn’t mind sharing her with you. “She was the best figure skater I’ve ever seen.”

“Was she? Is she the one who inspired you to become an ice skater?” you asked, curiosity lighting up your expression. He nodded eagerly. “Yes, she was graceful with her moves; it felt as if she floated atop the ice. The media dubbed her the best figure skater of her generation,” he spoke, pride swelling within him as he noticed the admiration in your expression.

“It was always just her and me, so I’d stay late into the night watching her practice. That was my favorite pastime. She’d always buy me the food I wanted afterward, as a thank you.”

“She sounds like a good mother,” you said, and your words morphed into fingers pressing on his tender bruises. 

“She was. She is.” 

“Tell me more,” you smiled, and so he talked, and talked and talked. He shared everything he could recall: their weekly picnics beneath cherry trees, birthday candles they’d blow out together, the medals she dedicated to him, and her silly jokes that had once filled their home with laughter. 

He spoke of her kindness, her joy that lingered even until her last breath, the love that she beheld for this life and her art, and him. He didn’t mention her illness; it was a mere passing moment, never defining her, never stripping her from the passion that bound her atoms together. 

When he finished, he found his cheeks damp with tears, but his heart felt lighter than it had in years. The air around you was sweeter, for once, it wasn’t fourteen-year-old Hyunjin weeping over the memory of his mother. The ache had softened.

His last words hung in the air, echoing softly in the stillness of the empty park. You didn’t speak; instead, you gently placed your palm atop his. 

It is his very soul that twitched at your touch. 

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, a foolish question, perhaps. 

Your reply was even more obvious, simpler.

“Comforting you.”

“I…” he hesitated, eyes darting furiously over your face, then your hand resting upon his, then your eyes once more, watching him patiently, leaving him the space to retract his hand or intertwine your fingers with his. 

“I’m scared,” he finally admitted, the shadows of his fears looming large. It terrified him even more to utter such words, yet he knew you wouldn’t use them against him; you understood what it felt like to be deprived of comfort— somehow that only saddened him even more.

“What if… What if I forget the coldness of her fingers wrapped around mine?” 

“Your mom loved you, Hyunjin. And someone who loves you would want your hand to feel warm.” 

Something shifted within his heart, atoms rearranging themselves to spell out a simple truth for Hyunjin— your mom would want you to be happy. 

He nodded, willing his fingers to slip in the empty spaces between your fingers. You squeezed his hand—once, twice, thrice—each pulse a silent invitation for your warmth to seep through his veins, to permeate his bones and sink into his heart. 

He could get used to this, he thought. He wants to get used to your warmth, he realizes.

What does that mean? 

…

Hyunjin has always known who he was, memorized to heart the architecture of his personality. 

He knew he loved art, that he found solace in learning about artists past who, like him, seemed to have sculpted their solitude into something lasting.

He knew he loved painting, he knew he hated egg plants, he knew he’d rather die than not achieve his mother’s dream, for him. 

But something within him was shifting—unraveling. 

His eyes are drawn to the entrance of the ice rink, like a compass needle to true north. His neck craned almost instinctively as the clock looms over 11 p.m.— the time you usually come by to the studio. 

“Don’t worry, she’ll drop by,” Jihyon’s voice cut through his trance. Hyunjin startled, his cheeks blooming with the soft pink of a rising dawn.

“What are you talking about?” he mumbled, but Jihyon only grinned knowingly. 

“Miss Julliard,” his coach teased. Was he that obvious? Did you notice it too? 

That nickname clung to you both since the first time he uttered it near the vending machine. You never corrected him, never offered your real name, and he never asked—though he knew it well. He had thought of you often over these past four years, wondered if you had been well, wondered if you had ever moved on or if you still carried the anger, the heartbreak as if it were your own spine.

He felt guilty that he had found comfort in your pain all these nights past. 

Did that make Hyunjin selfish? Or lonely? 

“Don’t stay up too late,” Jihyon said as he waved goodbye.

“Don’t worry about me.” 

Jihyon lingered by the door, as if wishing to say something else, but he simply sighed before leaving.

It feels odd now for Hyunjin to stand in the stillness of the ice rink, feeling like a hollow shell without you. The quiet is no longer familiar, nor comforting, not when he’s grown accustomed to your giggles spilling all over the place. 

What does it mean, he wondered, when the heart learns to beat to the rhythm of someone else’s presence? When the mind begins to archive every detail, every smile, everything that the other person has ever loved?

Like clockwork you jog into the studio, waving at Hyunjin from afar. He skates over to you, leaning against the railing as he smiles, it is natural for him to smile at you.

“How was practice?” you asked, and he shot you a thumbs-up, his fingers drumming against the railing.

“Isn’t your competition next week?” you ask and he nods, “Can I come watch then?” you say and his heart stutters at your request.

“You can, if you want to, if you don’t it’s okay too, you actually don’t have to,” he mumbles, his words rushing out, until you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him 

“I’ll be there, I have to make sure everyone cheers for you when you win,” you grin, self-assuredly, as if you have never doubted that he’ll qualify for the Olympics. 

His heart grows limp at your words, his limbs losing their strength as your finger lingers upon his lips. He gently grabs your hand, moving it away, goosebumps rippling across his skin at how soft your wrist feels.

This isn’t normal. 

“Should I bring pom poms? Actually, should I make them from scratch? What’s your favorite color?” 

“Will you actually come?” he whispers. Hyunjin has never had anyone cheering for him in his competitions, except for his coach, but he was obligated to do so, in a way. He doesn’t remember what it feels like to smile at someone in the stands anticipating your win. 

Somewhat, you sense the gravity of hyunjin’s question, the vulnerability it entails, one he doesn’t try to hide. He has never attempted to hide his emotions from you, now that he thinks about it.

“Of course I will,” your voice softens, your playfulness melting away. “I promise. I…” you point your pinky to him and he chuckles quietly, “I pinky promise.” 

You kiss your thumb pad and signal for him to do the same, he shakes his head before following your lead, pressing both your thumb pads together. 

“There, sealed forever.” 

You quiet down, before giggling for a reason that eludes you both. 

“Have you ever tried ice skating?” he suddenly asks and you nod, “I know how to skate, but not how to do all those fancy spins of yours.” 

“Do you want to try?” he smiles and you lighten up, “Actually? What if I fall?” 

“I’ll be there to catch you.”

A few moments later, you were both on the ice, Hyunjin spinning around you as you found your balance. “This feels so different from ballet,” you chuckle and he grins, “do you like it?”

“Yeah, i do.”

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching for your hand, and you don’t hesitate, your fingers intertwining with his as he leads you across the rink. 

Can you hear the music starts playing on the loud speakers and Hyunjin laughs, turning around to look at you.

“I’m scared,” you giggle happily and he shakes his head, “Let go of your fears and hold on to me.”

And then, without warning, he spins you, the motion sending your hair flying around you like wings unfurling in the wind. he’s spurred by the emotions this song alone can bestow on him. Can you hear the music?, it asks. Yes, he can, now more than ever, is his answer.

He wraps a secured arm around your waist, lifting you off the ground as he traces wide circles on the ice. Your laughter can be heard over the music, shouts of exhilaration ripping through you as you lift your leg to a ninety degree, as if doing ballet on ice. 

He twirls with you in his arms, as the music hits its crescendo, before finally putting you down, his arm still around you, your chests almost brushing against one another.

You’re so close, closer than you’ve ever been, Hyunjin can decipher the specks of light in your eyes, can hear the booming sound of your heartbeat in his chest. Your hand wraps around his bicep as you catch your breath, and Hyunjin is wrapped in a cocoon of your scent. 

He doesn’t wish to break free, he wants to remain in the chrysalis woven by the notes of your perfume. 

It’s a few hours later, Hyunjin laid on his bed, a pillow tightly pressed to his face. He wasn’t a stranger to late-night thoughts strung along by the twilight, but he had never thought before of this—of your lips, how soft they looked inches away from his, how it’d feel to press them on yours, to move slowly, tentatively, and then ravenously, hungrily, achingly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, further burying himself under his covers. Hyunjin wasn’t accustomed to these kinds of thoughts, he had never pursued someone, never had the time nor the energy to do so. Never had anyone grab his attention, in the first place.

Until you.

“Do I like her?” he murmurs to no one but himself, before shaking his head forcefully. “Go to sleep, Hyunjin,” he mutters, willing his eyes to shut closed, sewed so tightly together images of you cannot slip through his eyelids.

But to no avail.

He groans, kicking the covers off before heading to his desk. There, he opens his diary, grabbing a pen as if to write a new entry. But his fingers itch for the buried notebook from four years ago, the one he eyes from the corner of his eye.

He sighs softly before digging it out of its place, his fingers expertly going to his entry the night he came back from the graveyard. The night you met.

He remembers coming home slightly distraught after dropping you off, he had lingered by the door a bit, hearing echoing screams, a door being slammed, then an eerie silence once more.

Hyunjin had been too immersed in his pain to afford absorbing others’ sadness. A sponge that is too saturated, unable to welcome the woes of any other being.

But you had managed to crack through his defenses, frayed yourself a passage through the small gaps forgotten, shed sunlight on parts of himself he had thought were rotten, lost beyond salvation.

He felt an excruciating sadness for you, for your anger, for your sadness, for the way it consumed you whole, because he knew what would follow—when a body burns up, all that is left after is ashes, scattered everywhere, mingling with specks of dust, meaningless, a heart that serves no purpose anymore.

He never told you, he is unsure if he ever would, but it was the fourth anniversary of his mother’s death when he met you. He had planned to spend the night in a willowing state of sadness, an incapacitating one that didn’t allow for his limbs to move, similar to the first anniversary, then the second, then the third.

But he had spent the rest of it sketching your tearful eyes as you looked up at him, as you cowered away from his words, as you relaxed in his car.

That is the image he finds in his diary entry. But now that he thinks about it, he didn’t skillfully depict the moles scattered on your face, the crease near your eyes, or the way your hair reflects the sun’s light. He didn’t capture the arch of your eyebrow or the way beauty seems to reside in every nook and cranny of your face, seems to pour out of your pores like the sun brushing against a waterfall the way timid lovers do—magical, beautiful.

He sees you in a whole different light, now.

Hyunjin runs a tired hand through his hair, before grabbing his sketchbook. In the hours that ensued, in which he tried to do your beauty justice, erasing and retracing the shape of you time and time again, numerous questions ran through his mind, racing against time to find answers.

Does he like you? No, too simplistic of a question, too dim to encapsulate what knowing you feels like.

Is his soul drawn to yours?

Perhaps. Yes. Most definitely, his heart whispered.

Would he be a fool if he ever confessed it to you?

It is his mind that answered then. A bit forcefully, in fear, in warning: yes, a thousand times yes.

…

There are places in your parent’s house that you always stray from, the way oil stirs away from water. One, the vicinity of their bedroom, two, the living room— the ones in which you are most likely to stumble upon them. Three, the attic, in which you will most likely brush against ghosts from the past.

But somehow you found yourself exactly there, tonight. 

It's 10 p.m. The sun has long sunk below Seoul’s horizon, leaving behind a sky awash in an exquisitely deep blue, so inviting you almost wish to disappear into it. Today was your rest day, no dance studio, no late night escapades with Hyunjin.

You find yourself missing his giggles and how they would linger in your mind long after you part ways.

The attic is still, the floorboards creaking beneath the weight of your feet as you fumble for a light switch, your hand sweeping along the dusty wall. It flickers on, weak and golden, and you squint as the air, thick with age, coats your lungs. 

Old furniture crowds the room, remnants of a life you left behind four years ago. You’re surprised they kept your bed untouched in your room, one last string tying them to your memory.

Your eyes sweep over old paintings, broken suitcases, and wooden shelves, a hand mixer—useless now. And then, you see it, the reason you climbed here. 

Your mother had once mentioned a box, in passing, filled with things your sister wanted to leave for you. Your mother wasn’t pregnant with you at the time nor did she intend to, but she’d entertain the idea to make her favorite girl happy. 

You kneel and pull the box to your lap, the cardboard soft and weathered under your fingers.

“She was so kind,” your mother had said, too many glasses of wine in her system, her words loose and unguarded. “She gave up her favorite toys for you, before you were even born.” You never asked why they were never passed on, deep down you already knew the answer. She never deemed you worthy of having them. 

Inside, you find a small doll with golden hair and big glassy blue eyes, its pink dress dotted with strawberries, a swan hairpin missing some crystals, and tiny, delicate ballerina shoes, pale pink, unused, small—so small. 

And then, a note. 

Your heart stumbles, the bile rising fast to your throat as you grip the worn paper in your hands. 

Your sister had always been a myth, a memory passed down to you by your parents. An elusive figure you have only seen in photographs, until now. 

You’ve never had words that she addressed to you. 

The paper crinkles as you unfold it. You can somehow hear the rush of hot blood in your veins—uncomfortable, deafening. 

The words blur together as your eyes skim over the paper. You catch fragments— to my future sister—then something about how she wants to play with you, urging you to hurry, come quickly, before I break all my toys.

Your vision wavers, the small, careful handwriting barely legible through the haze. I left you my favorite doll and hairpin. So simple. So kind. I also left you my new ballet shoes. You don’t have to like ballet but if you do that would be awesome.

I would love to dance ballet with you.

The note crumples in your hand as your heart lurches, body jolted upright as if struck by lightning. You stumble out of the attic, discarding the box as the walls close in on you. They press, like the past, against your ribcage until you feel like you might suffocate.

You’ve carried resentment like a stone in your chest, a tide pulled by the moon, ever present, ever rising. You resented her because her memory haunted you, grew larger than life as you did. But she never asked for that. She was just a child, a seven-year-old who loved you before you even existed.

How horrible are you? 

Guilt is bitter on your tongue, sour as acid, and you swallow hard against it, tasting the metallic tang of regret. You don’t think as you barge into your parent’s room, blinded by feelings too entangled like vines to tell apart. 

“What’s wrong?” your mother asks, sitting in a bed too big for her alone. You throw the crumpled note at her. 

“Why did you never give me this?” you demand, and her eyes widen as she skims the lines, a sheen glazing her pupils. 

“I…” she stammers, and you laugh—a hollow, jagged sound—as your hands press against your forehead, fingers digging into the migraine feeding off your pain.

“You know I hated her, right? I– I hated a child, my sister because I never felt loved by you,” you choke, voice fracturing, “how– my god how pathetic is that?” 

“i’ve always loved you,” she says, voice tentative. but it is too meek of a reply, too hollow before the depths of your abandonment. 

“I’ve never, NEVER felt once loved by you! YOU made me feel as if I was competing with a ghost. She wasn’t here but she was everywhere and I was never enough to fill her shoes!” 

“I was a grieving mother!” she yells, standing up to face you, her face flushed and her hands trembling. “Do you know how terrible it feels to lower your child into the ground? Do you know how horrible I felt covering her grave when she was scared of the dark, when she hated the cold? She–” her voice cracks like fragile glass, unraveling as tears spill over her face, “She kept telling me that she didn’t want to leave us, that she didn’t want to die. How am I—“ She sobs, the sound raw, torn, “how am I supposed to forget my baby’s last breath? how am i supposed to be a perfect mother to you when I couldn’t protect her?” 

“i never wanted a perfect mother.” you murmur, eyes shutting tight, chest heaving with hiccuped breaths. “I never said you had to forget her. But I was right here. I was alive. I was breathing, hurting, waiting for you to see me, to love me.” Your voice breaks, you sound like your seven years old self and you hate that. “Did I mean so little to you?”

You smile sadly before her silence, your shoulders dropping low. You are too tired for an offense, too tired to tear down her defenses. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t always a good child. I’m sorry that sometimes I threw tantrums. I’m sorry for all the ways I failed you. I know I’m not perfect. I hurt, I stumble, I make mistakes. I am filled with resentment. I choke with it, and sometimes I hurt others too. But I try. I always try to make things right. And I apologize if I do.” 

Silence thickens between you both like browned sugar, though this moment is anything but sweet. You remain quiet, hoping for your salvation to come in the form of two words, two simple words— I’m sorry—that is all it would take to soothe your heart a little. 

You wait, and wait, and more seconds pass as the silence stretches longer and your mother refuses to meet your eyes. And slowly, slowly the hope withers within you. You know she isn’t apologizing tonight. Maybe not ever.

“Forget it.” you whisper as you leave the room and hurriedly walk out of the house. You need something strong, something to burn away the ache, something to scald the memory from your bones, to forget.

It’s nearly midnight when Hyunjin finally steps out of the training building. The air is crisp, cool against his flushed skin, but his relief is short-lived as his eyes land on Sohee, the owner of the kimchi jjigae place nearby, hovering by the entrance. 

Hyunjin’s frown deepens—something feels off. 

“Ah, hyunjin,” the fifty something quickly jogs up to him. “The security guard told me you still hadn’t left.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yn has been drinking for the past hours, she looks.. Sad. And I’m worried she can’t get home safely.” Sohee’s tone sets off the alarm in Hyunjin’s mind. 

His worry tightens into a knot in his chest as he steps into the narrow restaurant. His eyes immediately fall on you—your cheek pressed against the table, five empty soju bottles scattered around you

He crouches in front of you, his heart twisting as he takes in the dried streaks of tears on your cheeks. What happened?

“Hey,” he whispers gently, afraid to jolt you awake. You stir, blinking groggily, trying to piece together your surroundings.

“Hyunjin,” you breathe, barely a whisper, and his heart softens at the sound. He nods, offering you a small smile, though concern darkens his eyes. “What’s wrong, hm?”

His words unlock something deep inside you, and your face crumbles like a porcelain vase breaking apart. The tears come swiftly, welling in your eyes until they spill over, your lower lip trembling like fragile branches in a storm.

“I’m a—I’m a horrible person,” you choke out between sobs, your voice trembling as much as your body. Your eyes squeeze shut as your shoulders quake, and Hyunjin’s hands move instinctively, gently covering your tightly clenched fists.

“No, you’re not,” he murmurs, his voice soft and steady, as if trying to hold you together with his words alone.

But you shake your head fiercely, a sob tearing from your throat, raw and unrestrained. “I’m a horrible sister,” you manage to whisper, your words barely audible as you wipe at your eyes, only for the tears to fall faster, harder.

Hyunjin watches you break, his heart aching with every tear that slips down your face. He feels weird, feverish, as if your pain has somewhat transferred to his heart. He glances at Sohee, who quietly steps out of the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet, dim light.

With a soft sigh, Hyunjin gently cups your face in his hands, his palms warm against your tear-streaked cheeks. His thumbs trace slow, soothing circles across your skin.

“You didn’t even get to be a sister, how could you be a horrible one?” 

“I hated her for so long when all she wanted was to dance with me. I hated a child for so long, I’m a-a horrible person.” 

Hyunjin tentatively licks his lips, thoughts jumbled in his mind like wires. His heart is beating so fast as he wraps an arm around your back, bringing your face to the crook of his neck. You seem to melt in his embrace, tension loosening off of your back as he gently pats your spine. 

“I don’t think you hated your sister. You hated how your parents treated you. Those are two different things.”

Your tears are unceasing, trickling down his skin as you sob more and more. He doesn’t mind the dampening of his shirt, he would never mind a lot of things when it comes to you.

“Humans aren’t straightforward lines, we bend and twist and stray from our paths because our hearts are too frail and sometimes we carry emotions too heavy for us to bear. Sometimes we are pushed to feel certain things when we’ve never wanted to go through them.”

He never stops patting your back gently, his hand traveling from the top of your hair to the base of your spine. “A bad person does not worry about being a bad person. I’m sure your sister knows you love her. You have nothing to feel horrible about.”

Your tears are unyielding and Hyunjin feels as if it isn’t enough— to press your body to his hoping the rhythm of his heart would calm down yours, to think of words of his own doing to soothe your pain. He has not had to comfort anyone in so long, he doesn’t know how to stop your ache. He wishes he could soak your sorrow into his heart instead— he’s used to it, he can handle your pain and his, at once.

He’s racking his mind furiously for things to comfort you. In his memory he stumbles upon the poem of Mary Oliver that has held his hand in the dark.

“Would you like to hear my favorite poem?” he asks, in a whisper.

He feels you nodding against his chest, and he peels himself away from you, painfully, like removing a bandaid from a wound that has yet to scab.

Hyunjin’s eyes are wide and glossy as he peers into yours, as he looks beyond your irises and gazes at your soul, as he recites to you, with a steady voice like a current that doesn’t fall prey to the hazards of storms— “You do not have to be good.” He smiles softly. “You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.” The verb strikes you like a thunderbolt. “You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”

It passes him like a vision, a flash of white that blinds him, him holding your cheeks but without tears, him cupping your face, in the mornings and in the nights, because it is you his soft clueless flesh aches to love.

It’s gone as quick as it came, his words come out much slower, much more disoriented as he continues— “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.”

“I want to tell you,” you hiccup, your cheeks are all rosy, delicate red veins protruding the white of your eyes. Your lips are all swollen from how hard you bit them to muffle your sobs.

“I will listen,” he reassures. Hyunjin stays true to his words. He drives you to his place, there, atop his couch, lit by a flower shaped lamp casting warm shadows on you both; you felt safe, a vanilla tea in hand, to talk, to tell Hyunjin everything, how you felt and how lonely, excruciatingly lonely you have been for the past years.

And he listens, he listens well, nodding, holding your hand when it shakes, wiping your tears when they slip from your face.

You feel a sense of gratitude swell in your heart, as if a hundred tulips bloomed in your chest at once. You feel safe talking about your biggest fears to Hyunjin, handing him your heart on an open palm, bruised, bleeding. He would wrap it in a gauze for you, he would keep it safe till you can heal it once more.

You doze in and off sleep on the couch, you can feel Hyunjin placing a warm blanket atop you. You swear he sat by your side for a long while, his hand gently patting your hair and threading through your locks.

You resisted the urge to pull his hand, to beg him to climb near you on the couch and have him encapsulate you in his hold once more. It would be too much for him to bear. Too much of you to ask. Too hard for you to handle a no.

Because even in your drunken state, with a heart weighed down by alcohol and ten thousand stones of grief, when Hyunjin cupped your cheeks in his larger, warmer hands, when he peered into your soul with his brown glimmering eyes, when it looked as if he could mirror your pain, as if he could understand the guilt, as if he could hold your hand through the grief— for one second, for a fleeting instant, it was all forgotten. 

The grief became a simple myth in your mind, a distant memory, something you could brush away as a bad dream slipping away with the march of time; simply because he was there for you through it.

… 

Hyunjin is beautiful.

This isn’t new knowledge for you, per se. You've known it from the moment your eyes met his, through a veil of relentless rain and the sting of unshed tears. Even then, you recognized it—he was the most beautiful human you’d ever seen. 

But somehow, you’ve managed to tuck this knowledge away, placed it in a forgotten recess of your mind. You had found other things to like about Hyunjin, things that wouldn’t be weird for a friend to admire— and Hyunjin made that an easy feat for you. 

You enjoyed the poems, all the ones he’d recite to you from time to time. You loved watching people’s eyes turn to behold him, and him unaware of this magnetic aura coating his porcelain skin. You felt warm hearing his bright and unrestrained giggles, seeing traces of happiness carved into his eyes, watching his lips stretch into a wide grin that seemed to swallow the world whole. 

But there are moments when it’s harder to forget. Like now—when Hyunjin stands before you, slipping on the finishing touches of his performance outfit. His sky-blue top clings to his frame, bedazzled with pearls and diamonds that cascade like teardrops, swooping around his small waist and hugging his broad shoulders. The fabric melts into his black pants, carving his silhouette like a chiseled statue.

There are only ten minutes left before his turn on stage. Last night, over quiet spoonfuls of miso soup, Hyunjin told you to please stay backstage with him, his voice so soft it felt like a secret only meant for you. And how could you refuse? Hyunjin wanted you close—Hyunjin asked for you.

He is nervous, you can tell by the slight tremble of his hands as he struggles with his earring, the delicate hoop slipping from his grasp. It falls, and before you know it, you’ve stepped forward, picking it up, your fingers steady as you help him clasp it into place. 

His gaze is heavy on you, and your heart beats a little too fast. You avoid meeting his eyes—he’s too close, too vulnerable of a setting for you.

You finish, stepping back, but Hyunjin’s hand finds your wrist, gently tugging you close again. He doesn’t let go, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve. He bites his lip, lets go of the plush flesh before biting it once more, then he confesses. “i’m scared.” 

Your fingers find his wrist, settle above his wildly beating pulse, a small part of you selfishly wishes it is because of your proximity. Your thumb gently swipes across his soft skin as you say, “you’ll do amazing. I’m sure of it.”

He nods, though something flickers in his eyes, something unsaid that lingers between you. He swallows it down, offering you a small smile. “Thank you. I’ll see you after.”

“Okay,” you grin back, “I’ll see you with a gold medal.” 

You’ve seen this choreography countless times before, memorized every twist, every subtle motion of his body. But watching him perform, under the harsh, burning lights, is like witnessing something new. 

Hyunjin moves with a grace that defies reason, a dancer molded by the music, his body bending to its rhythm, his face crumbling as the music swells. 

Hyunjin glides around as if he is one with the ice, he glows, like the sun on stage, mesmerizing, dipping low with the music and soaring high with its rhythm. Your hand is on your chest as you watch him deliver the killing move, a deep dip, head thrown back, his body a perfect arch on his knees. 

He finishes, under the roaring applause of everyone around. You’re first to stand on your feet and the entire arena follows, giving Hyunjin the standing ovation he deserves, the only one of the night. He bows deeply, a hand on his heart as he soaks in the praise. 

You feel like throwing up as you anxiously await the results to show up on the screen. One minute of silence passes by, then, you see it. His name comes in first. 

Hyunjin won. Hyunjin qualified for the Olympics.

He’s already skating towards you, and you’re moving, rushing down to meet him. You wrap him in a tight hug, feeling his chest rise and fall with quick breaths.

“How was it?” he asks, laughter bubbling in his voice. You find it to be such a silly question. 

How could he be anything but extraordinary?

“You fucking did it, Hyunjin,” you say, the words leaving you in a rush. He tips his head back, laughing, his happiness so pure it aches. You reluctantly pull away from him as Jihyoun comes to congratulate him, pulling him too for a hug.

“Proud of you son,” he says and you can see Hyunjin’s eyes well up with tears. you wish you could kiss them away, the tears and the sadness, will it to desert his heart, kiss his smile and happiness, learn the taste of his joys and sorrows. 

Oh god. 

The thoughts submerge you like you’re doused in gasoline, and being near Hyunjin is the crickling match that will set you on fire.

“There’s an afterparty to celebrate the man of the hour,” Jihyoun grins, patting Hyunjin’s back in a fatherly manner. You can feel the pull of the crowd, people waiting to shower him with well-deserved praise, like waves gathering to meet the shore.

“Are you coming?” Hyunjin’s voice is soft as his gaze lingers on you. You hesitate, and he pouts, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “I want you to come, please.”

“Okay,” you smile, though your feet are already inching away. “But I left my phone at home. I’ll go get it and come back.” That is the truth, or maybe just a shadow of it.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Hyunjin, ever the considerate one. His kindness cuts deeper than he knows, a dull blade slicing against your fragile skin. You hate how you pull his thoughtfulness to somewhere tainted with shadows. You hate how your mind cannot accept that someone could care for you. What if he pities you, still? It asks. What if he only sees you as the selfish girl sobbing at her sister’s grave? 

How could someone like Hyunjin, radiant as the sun pay attention to a mere rock floating in space, aimless, too unimportant to even be given a name? 

“No, it’s a quick drive. Enjoy your moment.” You flash a smile, hoping it covers the tremor in your voice. You quickly slip away before Hyunjin can notice, your pace quickening as his brow furrows behind you.

You’ve never dared to truly like someone. The harsh truth is that people like you, who were born sipping grief in their mother’s womb, only end up accustomed to its metallic tang on their tongues.

You exist to mourn, to ache for what was and all that will never be. Even if happiness brushed against your fingertips, dazzling and radiant, you would not recognize its face, you would distort its features into the terrible grief you’ve always known. 

It’s been thirty minutes since you left and Hyunjin’s eyes keep drifting toward the door, pulled by some invisible force. Jihyoun is talking, excitedly introducing him to someone new, someone important from the sound of it. He hears snippets of the conversation— Switzerland, the best coaching center, a guaranteed win, but the words are distant, like murmurs underwater. 

His mind is a whirlwind of paranoid thoughts as Hyunjin redoes the calculations: it was supposed to be a fifteen minute errand, at most. Where are you?

His heart feels tethered to a storm as he steps out, muttering a feeble excuse to Jihyoun, feet moving before his brain catches up. The air feels heavy like trying to inhale metal, only to end up crushed from all sides.

He searches the parking lot, scanning the faces mingling there, but he finds no sign of you. His feet keep moving, driven by instinct, by a chilling feeling pulling at his heart, desperate to glimpse you.

Then he sees it—flashing lights up ahead. His world dims as he watches a man on the phone, gesturing frantically toward a car. A car that’s all too familiar. Yours, crumpled like a piece of paper, flipped on its side, crashed against a tree. 

A loud ringing floods his ears akin to the buzzing of a hundred angry bees, at once. His legs buckle, his hand slamming against a nearby car for balance, but it feels like the earth beneath him is giving way. His eyes squeeze shut, his back turning away from the wreck. Not again.

Please, not again.

His throat burns with bile, and it feels like nails are clawing at his chest, ripping his skin open and exposing his heart. It’s pounding wildly, erratically, like it’s trying to escape the cage of his ribs and splatter on his feet. 

He can’t turn around—he’s too afraid of what he’ll see. But he has to. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his vision spotted with white as he stumbles forward. He taps the man’s arm. He struggles to find his voice as if it were never his to begin within. “Did someone get out of the car?” he whispers, broken, pleading. The man shakes his head.

Hyunjin rushes to the window, desperate to find you, to see you breathing, but the glass is tinted, hiding whatever lies inside. Without thinking, he throws his fist against the window. Once. Twice. Again. And again. His skin splits, blood dripping down his knuckles, but he can’t stop. He pounds the glass until it shatters, only to find nothing within.

“Hyunjin?” A voice, so achingly familiar, cuts through the haze. He spins around, breathless, and there you are—limping, disheveled, but alive. You’re breathing.

In an instant, he’s in front of you, his eyes wide, frantic, searching yours as if they behold the answer to every fear, every prayer he has ever uttered. His hand trembles as it cups your cheek, thumb brushing your skin, needing to feel your warmth. His gaze flickers over your body, checking for any trace of life-threatening injury, his heart lodged in his throat.

“Are you okay?” His voice is raw, stripped bare.

“I am,” you reply, and your words are his salvation. A sigh shudders out of him, pulled from the deepest parts of his soul, as if he’s been drowning and you’ve finally pulled him to the surface.

He falls to his knees, palms pressing into the ground. Tears spill from his eyes, hot and heavy, streaking down his face like rain in a storm. You kneel beside him, and his arms instinctively wrap around you, pulling you close. 

His fingers weave through your hair, pressing you to him, needing to feel you, needing to know you’re real. His body trembles as he buries his face in your hair, his tears soaking through your shirt, inhaling your scent, grounding himself in you.

“Yn,” he breathes, your name the only thing that could express the magnitude of his relief. He holds you tighter, the words tumbling out like a prayer, “I thought I lost you. My god, I thought I lost you.”

It takes a while for you to process his words, to understand the scale of his fear at the thought of losing you. Those are foreign notions for you, a sight you never thought you’d grasp one day. A sight you never deemed yourself deserving of. 

“You’d care this much if I died?” Your voice is a whisper, small, uncertain.

Hyunjin’s bloodied hand smooths your hair, his eyes red, chest heaving. “Yn, I…” He squeezes his eyes shut, voice breaking. “Yn, please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry,” your lower lip quivers at the sight of his tears, somehow seeing him sob leads to your own unraveling, as if your emotions are tied by one red string. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to worry you,” you apologize, you the forgotten one, the ghost in your own home, apologizing because for once, your absence did hurt someone, because for once someone would miss you if you were ever gone.

Hours later, you’re in Hyunjin’s home, tucked into the safety of his bed. You’d refused to call your parents, not wanting them to know what had happened, how close their wish had become reality. 

The ambulance had taken you both to the hospital, where they patched Hyunjin’s wounds and checked you for a concussion. You repeated, over and over, like a broken record— “The brakes stopped working, and I jumped out of the car.” Hyunjin spoke for you when you grew tired.

“How are you feeling, Yn?” Hyunjin’s voice is soft, as he hovers over your figure. Your name sounds sweeter from his lips. It sounds as if it was always his to pronounce. 

“I’m okay. I’m sorry I ruined your night.” Your apology is quiet, but he shakes his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your eyes shut closed as his lips caress your skin, as if wanting to drown out all the other senses, useless, needing to focus solely on his touch. 

“If you’re okay, that’s all that matters to me.”

He goes to leave, but you catch his hand. You don’t overthink your next words, you think you’re long past that when it comes to him. “You called me by my name. I thought you didn’t remember it.”

“I never forgot,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ve known who you were since the moment I saw you. I… I thought about you a lot for the past four years, Yn. I think about you now too,” a pause, “for different reasons. Sweeter reasons.”

He remembered. He has come to know you and he still thinks of you.

“Me too,” you smile softly, “I think about you so much it feels as if you’re all I’ve ever known,” you confess breathlessly. Your eyes flicker to his lips, and his do the same.

Before you can think, you’re standing on your tiptoes, your lips resting on his, unmoving, driven by a desire so raw it blinded you.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You pull away, stumbling back.

But his hands find your waist, pulling you back. “Can I do that again, Yn?” His voice is soft, and you nod, dazed. How could you ever refuse him?

His mouth returns to yours, slow and deliberate, like a melody reuniting with its refrain. Sweetness spills from his lips onto yours, a blend of honey and wildflowers and something that is entirely his. His breath surrounds you, intoxicating, pulling you into a world where all you wish is to melt into him, to slip beneath his skin and flow through his veins. 

Fireworks bloom behind your eyelids, explosions of colors you’ve never seen before, as if the universe itself has unraveled in the space between you both. His hands cradle your face, thumbs tracing circles along your cheeks that send a thousand butterflies flapping their wings throughout your being. Your fingers weave into the silk of his hair, a breath of relief escaping you as you touch him the way you’ve longed for. 

You’re still kissing him and yet you already ache to do it again, again and again, till you forgive the world every cruelty it has inflicted into you, if it allows you to hold his warmth a little longer, to keep your sun cupped between your palms. 

“Is this what happiness feels like?” he murmurs against your lips, a smile threading between your breaths, your teeth grazing his in the closeness. You laugh softly, your foreheads touching softly, “I think it is. It tastes so sweet.”

“Mm, I think I need to taste it again, to make sure,” he teases, his lips finding yours once more, playful and hungry. Time loses its meaning, minutes slipping away like sand grains between your fingers. By the time you part, your heart has memorized the rhythm of his breath and the weight of his lips upon yours, as familiar now as your own pulse.

… 

“So, how do we do this?”

Your laughter echoes softly down the corridor. Hyunjin has you pinned against the wall near the skating rink, his right hand braced above your head, the other hovering over your waist—yet, it’s that mere sliver of air between his fingers and your skin that ignites a wildfire within you, burning bright with longing.

“Wouldn’t it be strange if we just walked in, holding hands? I mean, Jihyoun knows me, but…” Your voice drifts away like chimney smoke, dissolving into the background of Hyunjin’s thoughts. He’s no longer listening—he’s observing. Memorizing. His gaze skillfully captures every curve, every shadow of your face, as if this is the last dawn he’ll ever witness. As if, by morning, he’ll be blind, and this moment is his only chance to engrave you into his memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his voice soft, almost reverent. Your words falter, fading like the final notes of a song only he remembers. He leans in, his lips brushing your cheek with a tenderness that paints your skin crimson red. 

He smirks, satisfied by the effect—perhaps, he thinks, that is how the sun feels as it kisses the horizon goodnight, leaving the sky a blushing mess. 

“You were saying?” he teases, and you roll your eyes, pretending to be exasperated. “I was saying that it would be—“ But his lips find yours once more, plucking the words from your tongue like petals from a flower. 

In the dim glow of the corridor, the world around you fades to an afterthought. It feels as though you exist only for this, only for him— to kiss and to be kissed by Hyunjin.

“Finally!” Jihyoun’s voice shatters the moment, ringing out like a bell, pulling you both apart. “Thank you for kissing him, Yn. Now he’ll stop with the longing stares at the door.”

“What stares?” you laugh, the sound bubbling sweetly up your throat. Hyunjin scratches the nape of his neck, shrugging innocently when your eyes meet, as if he has no idea what Jihyoun is talking about (though he knows all too well).

Hyunjin catches his coach’s eye over your shoulder, a wide smile tugging at his lips. Jihyoun once told him that he seems to bloom around you, like a flower starved of sunlight, finally nourished. The thought warms him—knowing that the people closest to him feel your presence like a balm to his soul. His mother would have loved you too, he’s certain of it.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Hyunjin whispers later, as you’re leaving the practice building, his arm draped over your shoulder, yours wrapped around his waist. Natural. Familiar. Like two rivers flowing into one.

“I don’t have anything of mine there,” you pout, and Hyunjin stops, cupping your cheek, his nose grazing yours in a gesture so tender it makes your heart float within your ribcage. “That’s part of my secret plan—to get you in my clothes.”

“Oh, what a very secretive plan,” you giggle, stealing a quick kiss. “And what would we do tonight?” 

“Sleep together.” You raise an eyebrow, and he shakes his head, flushing crimson. “I mean—sleep, actual sleep, not that I wouldn’t want to make love to you,” Your laughter rings out, as his forehead finds its hiding place against your shoulder, embarrassed. “I just want to hold you close. That’s all.”

Your sweet Hyunjin.

“I want that too, Hyune.”

Hyunjin has never been much of a writer, his forté has always been to express himself with his body, spell out words out of the movement of his limbs. It is more evident as he opens the door to his apartment, with you trailing behind. As he looks at both your shoes sitting side by side near the entrance, your accessories resting next to his in the bathroom. 

He lacks the words to explain how right, how natural it feels for him to have you in his space, for you to fill it with the music of your voice and the fragrance of your perfume. As if it has always been his reality, to walk home with you, to watch you slip into his clothes, to brush his teeth next to you, to lay atop the bed with your warm eyes staring at him instead of a cold wall. 

“Do you believe in fate?” you suddenly ask, your thumb trailing alongside his neck, pausing right where his pulse beats. He has never been aware of the weight of life against his skin until he knew you. 

“I never did, I didn’t want to believe in something pre-written for me. Wouldn’t that confine who I am, who I could be?” he muses and you nod softly, inching closer to him. “But somewhat,” he trails off, lifting your hand to his mouth, peepering the sweetest kisses alongside your palm and wrist, like dewdrops caressing leaves. “I believe in it now, because of you.” 

“I think I was meant to find you that day in the graveyard. I think what I feel for you is too grand to be a pure coincidence,” he confesses. 

“And what do you feel for me?” you ask, your voice soft, curious. 

Hyunjin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gently twirls a strand of your hair away from your eyes, before tucking it behind the cuff of your ear. He presses his forehead to yours, like two pages of a book meeting one another, then he exhales slowly, like a man who has found peace after a lifetime of searching. 

And in a way, he has. He can stop looking frantically for something that would stitch his soul up, he has found you, now. 

“I used to resent hearing my own heartbeat. At times it felt like a punishment, because existing felt like a chore. I wanted the sound to quiet down, I didn’t want to hear anything, nor feel anything anymore.” 

“But now,” he pulls you closer, your legs intertwining with his, like roots seeking comfort in one another, “it’s reassuring to hear, because it means there is still life within me to love you in it.”

Love. The word has long felt like a thorn ingrained into your skin. You have always recoiled from it, less from repulse and more in fear— if the people who were put on this earth to love you, didn’t, then weren’t you meant to remain unloved for the rest of your life? 

But looking at Hyunjin now, at the way the word rests gently on his lips, rolls off his tongue with such ease, with such certainty, you don’t want to run.

You want to stay. 

It is when Hyunjin traces maps along your skin with his lips, as you drift down the constellations of moles on his chest, as you find yourself lost within everything that makes up his being— his scent, his sounds, the weight of him pressed against you— that you find your words to reply, to breathe your first I love you to him. 

And in that confession, another realization comes, though this one is bitter, sour, like a chilling premonition: if Hyunjin were ever to leave, what would be left of you after? 

…

Hyunjin has never been fond of the concept of time, minutes seemed to march differently when it came to him— seconds stretching out like thin threads, nights unraveling in restless turns, sleep plucked right off from his eyelids. 

But with you, time softened, as the hours spun forward, swift and gentle. Around you, Hyunjin no longer felt the weight of passing days on his heart. 

Hyunjin didn’t feel the two months of happiness you bestowed upon him slipping from his grasp. 

He was lost, adrift in the gentle tides of your being—swept by the melody of your laughter, cradled by the softness of your curves. He often wondered if he was deserving of this happiness, yet never lingered long enough to find an answer. He selfishly accepted the joy you gifted him, for once. 

Your belongings filled the empty nooks of his apartment gradually, corner by corner—your satin pajamas settling just above his plaid ones, your skincare nestled near his on the bathroom shelf, your favorite mug clinking against his in the dishwasher. 

In some way, it mirrored how you’d seeped into him, like sunlight breaking through the longest of nights— threads of the sun illuminating what was once lost to darkness. 

He’d steady your chin to help with your mascara, your doe eyes looking up into his. You’d brush his hair, pressing gentle kisses along his shoulder blades. He’d do your laundry. You’d make his coffee each morning. He’d brew your tea each night.

You didn’t have much time to talk during the day, both of you engrossed in the practice of your respective arts. Yet, the knowledge that you were just a floor above him, close if he ever wished to see you, was enough to soothe his heart.

It was at night that you bared yourselves to each other, in ways that went beyond the tender grip of his hands on your waist, or the slow trail of your fingers down the curve of his back.

In the hush of the twilight, you’d unfold softly, revealing the hidden layers within—you’d share your dreams and hopes, and the moments that shaped you, letting the fragments of your pasts settle in the safety between you both. 

“I think I know my purpose now,” you whispered one night, and he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “What is it?” 

“I think I kept ballet at a distance because loving it felt like surrendering to my parents’ dreams, like I’d be becoming what they always wanted me to be.” You paused, your voice a little softer, a little braver. “But I do love it, Hyunjin. I want to be the best at it. I want to honor my sister through it.” 

His gaze softened, as a tender smile blossomed in his lips. “You already do.”

Some nights were less sweet, tangled with heavy grief and unshed tears, yet it felt easier to walk through them if you were there holding his hand. 

“Would you go into her room with me?” he asked quietly one night, his gaze locked on his mother’s bedroom, its door sealed for a decade. He had never dared to enter it once more, afraid it would further cement the notion that she was gone.

That truth felt easier to confront with you near.

“Of course,” you replied softly. “Whatever you need.”

The room was just as he remembered, only stuffier with dust and heartache. Time hung in the air, dense and unmoving, clutching at her last moments alive, unwilling to let go. 

He looked to the bed, and he could almost see the shape of her there, frail and thin, her clothes too loose over a body worn out with sickness.

You held him close, steadying him as he took in each familiar corner: their photos framed with gold on the desk, her countless medals hung on the wall, her perfume and hairbrush untouched on the vanity, her rings resting in a small seashell container.

He walked slowly to the vanity, his fingers reaching for the ring he had loved most—a thin band of gold, crowned with a small emerald, dulled by time. Gently, he wiped away the dust with his shirt, before turning to you and slipping it onto your finger.

“Keep it,” he whispered. “It will live again through you.”

In the days that followed, you helped him breathe light and air into the room once more, sweeping dust from the framed certificates and photographs, polishing the medals until they shimmered as they once had. You washed the linens and her clothes, packing them carefully for a donation to cancer wards—something he never found the courage to do, until now.

Grief no longer felt like a knife lodged into his heart, its metal rusting with the passing of time. He saw its true face now—a soft ache, a quiet longing, a thicket of thorns that can only grow from the roots of love.

Your voice floated in his mind that night, echoing like the bells of a long standing cathedral. “your mom loved you, hyunjin. And someone who loves you would want your hands to be warm”— would want you to be happy.

Happiness swept into Hyunjin like an endless, gnawing hunger—an insatiable ache that demanded to be fed. He was ravenous for joy, longing to sink his teeth into it, dip his tongue into its sweetness and let it spill all over him. 

When an exoneree tastes freedom after decades of longing, it is the small breeze, the waves lapping hungrily at his bare feet that make his heart twitch. So it was with Hyunjin: the small joys swelled within his ribcage, vast and boundless. His heart strained against his chest, eager to burst free and feel it all. 

Somehow, Hyunjin’s biggest joy came from watching you dance— the principal dancer of your competition team. Whenever he had a break, he’d choose to slip away from the ice rink and climb the stairs at a hurried speed, slip into the dancing studio and sit in the corner. 

There, he’d watch you, leading the group of dancers you’ll perform with. You stood in the center, beckoning the attention of everyone around. Beautiful, so beautiful.

How foolish of him it was to try to deny it. How foolish of him to think that there was any outcome but to fall for you.

You always caught his eye across the mirror, your face breaking out in a wide grin, as you waved shyly at him, the strictness melting off your features and morphing into something warm. He felt special in a way, to be the sole recipient of such a breathtaking smile. He felt as if he could write hundreds of poems about that alone. 

That smile feels even more precious as you stand on stage at the Seoul International ballet competition, seconds before the light would turn on and you’d begin dancing. In the split second of darkness, it is him your eyes sought after in the crowd, it is him you wink at, before switching into your professional mode.

You aren’t as nervous as he expected you to be. Somehow your facade only slipped when five minutes before the stage you beckoned hyunjin in for a hug. “Do you need anything?” he asked as he kissed your temple softly, tightening his hold on you.

“I just need to hug you for a minute. It helps me calm down.” 

Hyunjin had always known you were a stellar ballerina. You were humble with your achievements, speaking of your art as if you don’t have years of practice to attest to your expertise, as if you hadn’t gotten acclaims nationally and internationally.

Still, seeing you on stage made a different pride bloom in his heart. You are the rightful star of the night, the swan of ballet as the media had dubbed you— delicate with your movements, spreading your arms like the unfurling of their feathers, spinning delicately into the air with a grace that made his breath catch in his throat. You were mesmerizing. 

You didn’t simply move, or dance, that would be too simplistic to encapsulate how you breathed life into this art. Into him. 

And it is hyunjin’s arms that you run into, scurrying down the stage steps, an overflowing bouquet in your right hand and a gleaming trophy held tightly in the other. 

“You won, my love,” he shouts, ecstatic as you throw your arms around his neck, as he cradles your waist, spinning you around like how he always orbits around you. 

He puts you down, leaning in to kiss you with no second thought, your eyes closed as you savor one another, as your lips move as if commanded by the stars, to part only to meet again, and again. Till your cheeks are both flushed and all he can taste is the strawberry in your lip tint. 

Your eyes lock on his, your pupils widening till they swallow your irises, mirroring your breathtaking grin. Hyunjin felt as if the sun had left the sky and lodged within his chest.

But what Hyunjin failed to understand is that, for souls like his, happiness is only a fleeting passenger. Even then, it isn’t meant to be swallowed whole; it is to be eaten bite by bite, back hunched, hidden from the harsh glare of the universe. Perhaps this is the price he pays for defying the sadness that shadows him—his own eager canines sinking into joy, ultimately tearing it apart.

…

“I think I’ll go to Switzerland.”

It takes a few seconds for Hyunjin’s words to settle into your mind, for the syllables to unfurl slowly, like a wave gathering its strength before inevitably crashing on the shore. 

Once, Hyunjin had spoken of a figure skating center in Switzerland, one that Jihyoun praised endlessly—the pinnacle for skaters reaching toward gold.

“Will you go?” you’d asked, and he’d only shrugged. “I’m thinking about it.” The conversation had dissolved then, lost in the press of his body against yours, in the paths his fingers traced down your stomach— dizzying enough to make you forget the sound of your own name.

But you should have known—some things cannot be buried beneath the covers. They always resurface, haunting, inevitable.

You draw in a deep breath, your gaze settling on your congratulatory bouquet. The flowers have started to wither now, despite the sugar cube Hyunjin dropped in the water. 

Were they a trigger for the slow withering of your relationship, too? Did the fall of that first petal set the course for your own undoing?

“Okay,” you nod, biting your lip anxiously. “When will you go?”

“In three days. Or else I’ll miss the deadline to join.”

Oh.

You remain silent, feeling as though barbed wire coils around your throat, each metal spike pressing deep into your flesh. He steps closer, his warm hands cradling your cheeks. It takes you a few seconds to meet his gaze.

You suddenly imagine a life untouched by him. The thought fills you with a horrible urge to weep.

“I know it’s sudden,” he murmurs, voice low, “I tried to delay it as long as I could, but Jihyoun kept insisting, saying it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I don’t want you to feel abandoned.” 

You shake your head, as if to push that thought away, as if the notion itself is meaningless.

“I’ve always known we wouldn’t stay in the same place forever. I have to go back to Juilliard soon, too. I just… never thought it would happen this fast.” You sigh softly, a tender smile slipping across your face as you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks. “But you’re meant for grand things, Hyunjin. If Switzerland is where you’ll find them, then I couldn’t be happier for you.”

“I love you,” he whispers, his nose brushing against yours, a gentle, aching gesture. “We’ll make it work, right?”

He searches your eyes, pleading, his brows drawn into a worried knot.

“Of course, we will.”

It is the first time you lie to Hyunjin. 

“I love you,” he repeats, gripping your waist and lifting you onto the counter.

“I’ve only known love thanks to you,” you murmur. That much is true.

Hyunjin kisses you with hunger, his hand tangled in your hair, his body moving with a fierce rhythm—passion and love dripping from each one of his touches, each one of his spilled i love you’s between broken whimpers and moans. 

He loves you tonight like he has something to prove. As if his fingertips must be etched upon your skin, as if his name should be the one carved deep within you, the one found if you were split open to your soul.

Lying against his bare chest, you feel his breath rise and fall beneath you, the tip of his fingers sketching aimlessly upon your skin. Yet, you sense as if there is already a rift between you both. As if the news of his living has seeped between your bodies— the distance has already laid its claim, separating you both.

… 

You’re back in New York, slipping into the rhythm of your classes like a puzzle piece wedged into place, not quite fitting, yet you force it to. You spend each waking moment practicing your final dance at Juilliard—The Sleeping Beauty—the ballet that will close this chapter of your life.

Your apartment has remained unchanged; the conversations with your classmates are as futile as ever. And your heart still pulses, aches for Seoul, for the warmth you found there, in Hyunjin.

Winter settles in, snow gathering in quiet drifts along the streets. Two languid months slip by, time dragging its feet, as if too wishing to remain right where you left Hyunjin. You lose yourself in the pursuit of a perfect performance. And yet, the praise of your professors and peers no longer fills you as it once did.

It all feels hollow, empty, when you can’t remember the last time you and Hyunjin spoke, actually spoke, the way you used to.

You’d already seen this scene unfold in your mind the day he broke the news—more vividly still as he walked away in the airport. You had known the first few days would be good—frequent calls and texts, sharing the smallest details of his new life and of your familiar one.

But then, the silence would settle in, as it has. Because you and Hyunjin are both perfectionists. Because without your art, both of you are left with nothing but shadows of yourselves— hollow shells calling out in agony to what truly pleases your souls. 

You’re afraid to say it out loud, but Hyunjin’s face is blurring in your memory, details softening as though sketched by an impressionist’s brush. All that remains clear are the shadows under his eyes on your last video call, dark circles carved deep into his soft skin, his exhaustion bleeding through the screen as he struggled to stay awake for you.

There is no one to blame, and somehow, that only hurts you even more. You could sacrifice your hours of practice, and so could he. But then the guilt would come, ravenous, gnawing at your soul. And guilt is a hungry being, soon enough it won’t be satiated by you. Soon enough it will turn to your love for Hyunjin. 

And you couldn’t afford that. 

You miss him most on days like this, when nothing seems right from the moment you open your eyes. The city’s chill feels sharper, as though mocking you, reminding you of the warmth you left behind.

The wind bites as you step into the night, wandering aimlessly, your feet carrying you to nowhere in particular. Tears hover at the edge of your lashes, but you refuse to let them fall.

There’s no grace in the way you don’t allow yourself to cry, no mercy in how you hold yourself together. You've always been a performer, haven’t you? Even your pain feels like a scene you must perfect. Is it tragic enough? Does it carve deep enough to justify being felt?

You bite your lip, numb fingers pulling out your phone. You type out Hyunjin’s contact— my love. Your last message to him was two days ago.

With a sigh, you press call. He answers on the final ring.

“Hi, my angel,” he says, a bit breathless. Probably mid-training.

You force a smile, hoping he won’t hear the tremble in your voice. “Hi, baby. Practicing?”

“Yeah.” He hums. “Are you outside?”

“Im going for a walk.” Your voice quiets as the lump in your throat tightens, a chain wrapping around your words, binding you.

“Are you okay, my love?” he asks gently, and you nod though he can’t see.

“I am,” you lie. “I just miss you.” The confession slips out before you can stop it, and the weight of it crushes you. You miss him so much it’s killing you.

“I miss you too,” he says softly. You feel like throwing up. You have to make it quick before your courage betrays you. 

“I think we should end things,” you say quickly, biting down so hard on your lip that blood beads up, sharp and metallic on your tongue— just like your words.

“What?” he whispers, and you hear his faint apologies, the rustle as he moves to someplace quieter, someplace where you can break his heart without an audience.

“Why do you want this? Don’t you love me anymore?” His voice is small, fragile, and you feel the tears welling in your eyelids, but not yet.

“You know there’s no one I love but you,” you say, drawing in a breath that doesn’t wish to be trapped by you. “But we’re both so busy it barely feels like we’re together anymore.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, I’ll try to text more, I promise. I’ll cut back on my training for you, I’ll—.”

“You know I’d never ask that of you.” You cut him off, smiling sadly and he falls quiet.

You see him then, in a haze of memory—Hyunjin’s head resting in your lap, your fingers lost in his hair. You hear his voice again, soft and raw, “My mom’s last wish for me was to win that gold medal. I’m terrified of letting her down. Just thinking about it—” He’d let out a humorless laugh. “She isn’t here, and yet I still feel this debt to her. Isn’t that strange?”

You know it well—the pain of failing those you love, even those who don’t love you back.

“Your mom wanted you to win that medal, didn’t she?” you say softly. “I would never come between you and that.” A pause. “But doesn’t it hurt more to wait for a message that never comes?”

“I…” he stammers, a sniffle slipping through the phone, and it nearly undoes you.

“Yn, I- you know that I love you.”

And in that instant, you know he understands. It’s because Hyunjin understands that you love him.

“I love you too, my Hyune.”

“Then don’t say this,” he chokes out, “say something cruel—something that’ll make it easier not to miss you so much when you’re gone.”

You can hear him crying, and the sound permanently breaks a rib within your heart. It sounds so raw, so painful that you wish to abandon everything and run to him. Had life not been this harsh to you, perhaps you would. Perhaps you’d have enough courage to believe that love can suffice for everything. 

“I came back to Seoul because my mother was sick. I thought…maybe it would bring us close again. But I think now that I came back just to meet you, Hyunjin.” His name falters, slipping from your lips in a stuttered breath.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice cracking, “thank you for making me happy.”

The call ends, and you fall to your knees in the snow, finally surrendering to the grief tearing through you. Sobs wrack your body, raw and relentless, so fierce it feels as if your heart might just stop, as if you’ve become nothing but an ache, a bruised, throbbing mass of memories, pulsing with each thought of him.

Is this enough for you? you want to scream at whatever cruel hand pulling the strings of your fate. Has my suffering finally paid the debt of my existence— for both me and him? 

… 

You’ve come to understand that the expanse of human emotions is boundless, as vast and unknowable as the space that holds the universe. And with each passing day, it feels as if another star dies within you, its light dimming slowly, far from rebirth.

You once thought your heart had grown accustomed to grief—your life spent in mourning: parents you wished you had, love you wished had dared, even just once, to find you.

But mourning the happiness Hyunjin brought is something else. It’s a different kind of ache, not like the eruption of a volcano that fades into a quiet resigning. This pain lingers, dull and relentless, day after day, a wound that refuses to close, a pulse that never stills.

It has been a month since your fateful call. Hyunjin first sent you a bouquet of white roses, with a note nestled within—To the one who made me find love again, I will love you until my last breath.

You didn’t reply, but Hyunjin kept sending bouquets, each one arriving with a message that tore at your heart a little more than the last. I am thinking about you often; please think of me, too. As if you could do anything but that. If I am to exist in only one place, let it be in your mind.

You’ve hung each note on the fridge, their words staring back at you every morning as you make your coffee, exactly the way Hyunjin likes it.

Sometimes, you’d let the water run, overflowing in the coffee maker as you read his words again and again. Then, you’d catch a glimpse of your own distorted reflection on the water’s surface, wondering what it would feel like to drown in the sea, to let the liquid fill your lungs and wash over you.

But you never let the thought linger too long, chasing it away with the hum of a song. You know it will only lead you somewhere scary.

After three, maybe four months, the bouquets eventually stopped arriving. Hyunjin had surely grown tired of your silence.

The heart is no rigid thing; it doesn’t stay frozen in one place. It stretches and contracts, bleeds, then patches itself together again. But you hadn’t done much to heal it—truthfully, you hadn’t believed you deserved to feel good once more.

Then month five came, and there was no time left to dwell on anything. A strange relief, you thought, for a mind like yours, that never quite stops turning, even in sleep. Graduation loomed on the horizon, and you were terrified of your efforts going to waste, of them somehow never being enough to set you apart.

But one night, your professor placed her hand on your shoulder, her gaze warm as it met yours. Suddenly, you felt seven years old again. “I think you could be this generation’s prima ballerina assoluta, she said—absolute first ballerina, the best of the best. 

“Really?” you whispered, hardly breathing, and she nodded. “Yes, if you keep going this way, you will be.”

You thought about calling Hyunjin to share the news, but quickly brushed the thought aside. Instead, you spent the night picturing his reaction. It was pathetic, maybe, but you liked to believe he would’ve said he was proud of you, called you angel, kissed the tip of your nose, his eyes crinkling into half-moons. You fell asleep with his words murmured on your lips, as if they’d been real.

Month six rolled in, then seven. You had been keeping tabs on Hyunjin’s name as the Olympics approached. There has been news of him wanting to attempt a quadruple axel spin— forty-four years after the triple one. An automatic win, some would say.

You knew that if anyone could do it would be hyunjin.

You wondered if he too read the articles released about your performances. Did he smile at them, his sweet dimple surging forth? Or did your name sting him, like droplets of acid falling into an open wound? 

Month eight arrived, genuine joy weaving into your life once more. You took your final bow on the polished stage of Juilliard, the roaring applause ringing in your ears for days to come. You had the highest performance score of the history of the institution. Your professor’s eyes then searched yours— “where do you see yourself now? where would you feel happiest?”

Hyunjin’s arms. You almost said. Barely holding yourself. 

“I don’t know. I think I’ll try at operas. I want to perform the white swan there.”

“Then go to opéra garnier in Paris. I have a friend there. Talk to him, feel it out.”

You had almost kissed her cheek right there and then. Not only because the Opéra Garnier had been your childhood dream but because now, Paris was where the Olympics would be held.

You now had an excuse to be there. 

You kept looking for Hyunjin in every monument you visited. In the hush of night by the Louvre, along the quiet flow of the Seine, in the gentle strokes of Monet’s paintings at Musée de l’Orangerie. What would you do if you met him on a random street in Paris?

Thankfully, or unfortunately, you still hadn’t decided, you never had to find out. You didn’t see him.

It is the men’s singles day at the figure skating Olympics, and somehow, you feel more nervous than in all your own performances combined. You’re seated close to the ice, close enough to feel the chill radiating from it, close enough to capture every detail of the performances.

Then Hyunjin steps onto the ice. If not for your seat, you might have collapsed, your knees a mass of useless ground bones. 

He’s dazzling—achingly, excruciatingly beautiful. His hair falls longer now, delicate strands brushing his forehead like a prince out of a fairytale. His outfit is pure white, adorned with emerald diamonds cascading like droplets of light. Instinctively, you reach for the emerald ring on your finger too. 

Your gaze follows him everywhere, drinking in the sight of him tipping his head back in laughter, his nose crinkling as he talks to Jihyoun, every stretch, every step, every quiet act of his being. 

He was still as lovely, still as beautiful as you have always known him. 

You wonder if he’s thinking of you, too, as his eyes flutter shut before his music begins. What image knits behind his eyelids in that instant?

It has always been his face for you. 

The air buzzes with anticipation, thick with belief and doubt alike as everyone knows what Hyunjin is attempting tonight. All eyes follow him as he skates, tracing wide circles across the ice, bending low to the ground, spinning in perfect arcs.

Then, he launches into the air.

The seconds seem to trickle by as slowly as blood droplets rushing to a dying heart. You see it— one spin, planets orbiting around the sun, aching to inch closer to the warmth. 

Two spins— seconds marching forward to catch up with the next ones in a ticking clock. 

Your breath freezes in your throat, your hands grip the chair so much your knuckles turn as white as the roses hyunjin sent you after you parted ways.

Three spins— fireflies dancing around the light, drawn to it like milky stars.

And then he does it.

His fourth and final spin— your heart orbiting around Hyunjin as he achieves his dream, as he breaks the world record he long yearned for.

You fall back in your seat, a rush of relief loosening the tension in your body as the crowd erupts into thunderous applause. Unbelievable is the word on everyone’s mouths. 

But not on yours.

Your Hyunjin did it, like you knew he would. 

Tears gather in your eyes as he stares at the scoreboard, his gaze fixed, waiting, breath held alongside every other skater. 

Hyunjin’s name comes first. 

He collapses to his knees, the weight of his victory pressing down his body, finally breaking him open. Jihyoun rushes over, cradling him, shaking him, laughing, “You did it, Hyunjin! You did it, son!” The tears won’t stop rushing down your face; they have a life of their own now.

You watch as Hyunjin circles the audience, waving at the crowd cheering his name. He drifts closer to your section, his eyes scanning the sea of faces until, finally, he finds yours. 

The world stills, you force the earth to stop spinning to have this one moment with Hyunjin. You lock onto his gaze, holding it, savoring the way his lips form your name.

Then, as if pulled by a force greater than either of you, he climbs over the stands, moving swiftly across the seats until he reaches you. In an instant, his arms are around you, his head buried in the crook of your neck. “Yn, I…” he chokes, and you nod, whispering, “I know. You did it, Hyunjin.”

“I did it, Yn,” he echoes, his voice trembling. He pulls back to look at you, his hands resting on your shoulders, both oblivious to the flash of cameras, the seas of people flocking around you. 

No one here could ever understand what this moment means to him. No one but him—and you.

As he takes his place on the podium, tears shimmer in Hyunjin’s eyes akin to the reflection of the sun across the sea. He bites his lip, struggling to hold it together as the bronze and silver medals are awarded. Then the official steps forward, gold medal in hand. Hyunjin extends his shaking hands, watching as the ribbon drapes over his head, at long last. 

Suddenly, the past eight months of heartache are justified. You would endure it all again, twice over, if it led to Hyunjin having this moment. 

“Miss Juilliard,” Hyunjin says softly as he meets you by the door. He had asked Jihyoun to tell you to wait for him. Jihyoun seemed happy to see you once more. 

Hyunjin is different now than he was twenty minutes ago, when he threw himself into your arms, overcome by emotions too vast to name. Now, he stands before you, more composed, more guarded, though his gaze remains tender. He’s never been able to hide his eyes from you.

“Congratulations on your win,” you say.

“Congratulations on your graduation.”

He knows.

In that moment, you see it all—the two paths unfurling before you. You could smile at him and he would smile back. Then you would part ways. And you would meet again, in a ceremony of some kind. And he would have grown only more beautiful, and the ache would have not softened. And his loving gaze would set on someone else but you.

Or, you could speak now.

“I made some tiramisu back at my Airbnb,” you say, your voice tentative. “Would you like some?”

Hyunjin’s shoulders stiffen, a debate flickering in his eyes. Then he exhales softly. “Of course.”

You sit side by side in the uber. His phone keeps lighting up with congratulatory messages until he switches it off.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling the need to break the silence. He tenses beside you.

“For what?”

“For stealing you away.”

His shoulders relax. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to come.”

The apartment you rented is small—studio-sized, really, but near Montmartre, where you’ve loved taking nightly walks by Sacré Coeur. Hyunjin slips off his shoes, placing them next to yours by the door.

For a moment, you both pause, staring at the sight of your shoes, side by side, once more.

He clears his throat as you gesture for him to make himself comfortable. He moves to the window, gazing at the city below, while you retrieve two plates, carefully setting a slice of tiramisu on each.

“Thank you,” he says softly when you hand him his plate. But neither of you takes a bite. It’s as if opening your mouth would lead to a torrent of words escaping, ones neither of you can contain. 

He yields first.

“You came,” he whispers, glancing over at you.

“I couldn’t miss seeing you win.”

“I missed you,” he says, biting his lip. Hyunjin has always been honest, especially when it comes to you. “It hurt a lot to miss you, Yn.”

“I’m here tonight.” 

Your words settle into the air as the hum of the world outside fades away. Hyunjin’s gaze, sharp and knowing, meets yours—those piercing eyes that have always stripped away your defenses, reading between the lines of your every unspoken thought.

He holds your gaze for a beat too long, and you fumble for your fork, needing something—anything—to diffuse the weight of what lingers in the silence between you.

Then, suddenly, his lips meet yours.

Kissing Hyunjin again feels like breathing in after being starved of air, like a cool breeze caressing your skin on a scorching day. A shiver spreads through you as he gently lowers you onto the couch, his body a pressing weight above you. Your hands find their way to his back, moving with the instinctive ease of muscle memory, while he kisses you with the fierce urgency of someone who’s finally tasted salvation. 

You wish to never part from him. You wish for your body to liquefy and morph into the hot rush of blood within his veins— anything so you wouldn’t have to part from him once more. You don’t think you can handle it. You don’t think you can lose Hyunjin again. You know you can’t.

When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed a soft pink, like fresh dahlias, his eyes glossy and filled with something unspeakable as they trace over your face. “Tell me, Yn,” he breathes, “do you still love me? I need to know, please. It’s been tearing me apart.”

“I love you,” you say, with every bit of honesty you can muster. “I loved you before I even knew what love is, and I will love you, Hyunjin. Whether you are near or not. I will always love you.”

A breathtaking smile unfolds across his face, warm enough to thaw every frozen corner of your heart, to make decades of loneliness melt away. You would endure it all again, face the heartbreak and the grief. Fall at your sister’s grave and repent once more. You’d do it all if it means your path will cross with Hyunjin.

“I was always ever yours to love.” 

Epilogue. 

Hyunjin has always felt as if he has lived many lifetimes at once. Like a serpent, shedding its skin, he had lost parts of his being in various places. Some he managed to retrieve, others not. He had a lot to learn, overwhelmed by certain things past. His thoughts weren’t always kind. His hands didn’t always sweep gently against his skin. 

But on days like those, you were there to love him. He had learned and unlearned many things with you. Hyunjin had found that love wasn’t a sharp emotion, it didn’t slice away at the heart, it didn’t puncture. There were no sharp edges when it came to you. Even if he lost you along the way, he would round up a corner and find you there. 

And he did. Hyunjin found you, even when you didn’t wish to be found. You scurried from place to place, set foot into Paris to Seoul, Alexandria and New York. The distance lessened then widened. But it never tore you apart once more. Your souls were satiated in a way. You could rest side by side now. 

And you did, as you settled in Seoul, decades down the road. Where both you and Hyunjin built a new training center. Figure skaters on the first floor, ballerinas on the second. The days passed by in happiness, laughter and giggles. There was no curse. No punishment. Not anymore. 

You are in a graveyard once more. You watch as Hyunjin sweeps the name atop the tombstone gently. Prima ballerina assoluta, he reads, the swan of my heart. His weathered hands shake as they clutch a bouquet of fresh red lilies, and your heart still aches at the sight. 

It is late at night at the graveyard, the branches are still humming to one another, like a melancholic flute. You understand now that they speak to the buried ones. “Not so long now,” they reassure, “your loved ones will follow.”

You believe them, and you will wait. For now, you’ll find solace in the red lilies sitting atop your grave. 

They are now meant for you, at long last. 

[ram-bles]

Headcanons with Daisuke and Shy Reader? Thanks if you do :)

daisuke x shy!reader headcanons

[ requests/inbox: open ]

oh boy changing the mood with this one

fluff, gender neutral reader

⚠️ dude/bro used but in a gender neutral way lol

Sorry this took so long! I had to rewrite more than half of this since I forgot to save as draft the last time 😭

🌺 The first you've seen him was while processing your papers for the internship. He was busy double checking his own papers on his way out so he didn't notice you. The first time he sees you, was during the Tulpar boarding.

🌺 To no surprise, he approaches and greets you first, rambling on about how totally excited he was to work with you and the whole crew. You shook his hand with an awkward smile as you exchanged introductions.

Once the captain had given you both an overview of what you guys might do while on board, he immediately turns to you, jutting his hand out for a handshake. "Heya! I'm Daisuke!" You swore you were blinded by how bright this man smiled at you. "Dude, I'm like so so glad you're here. Everyone else here besides Cap' seems so— yeesh. Gloomy." You realized you've almost left him hanging and you almost dropped your bag trying to shake his hand. He laughs and you felt your face warm up in embarrassment. He switches topic immediately. "What's your name? What uni you from? - oh! What college are you in?"

🌺 You wouldn't notice it until later on that you'd often trail behind Daisuke, especially when you don't know what you're doing or how to help (he doesn't know how as well but he pretends he does).

🌺 Assuming that the rooms are very limited and can house two members per room (bunk bed icon by Curly's quarters door), you two got paired up since Swansea didn't want to be in the same room as Daisuke did.

🌺 A coin had to be flipped for the top bunk since Daisuke kept on insisting that you take it but you were also insisting that he takes it.

🌺 Even before the crash, he's either on his gameboy, magazines, or his iconic pink dumbbells when you guys have the free time.

🌺 Once comfortable enough, you two were inseparable. Always together by the hip outside intern work. The top bunk was useless since you'd both end up chilling at the same place, either sprawled against each other or claiming territories at each end of the bed doing whatever hobbies you two were into.

"Bro, you're kicking my faaaace. I can't see what I'm reading." You whined and tried pushing his leg away since you were scanning through one of the magazines he brought and he gives you a mischievous stare. "Daisuke, no." "Daisuke, yes." He pauses his game and throws it to the side, yanking your leg as you squealed and flailed around. You lose. But you both end up laughing as he locked you to his side, giving you a noogie, not long until Swansea busts in to scold you two for being too rowdy.

[might make a one-shot of this if you guys are interested?]

🌺 Hey, even if you guys are that close already and you don't chat as much, he'll be the one doing it for the both of you. I don't make the rules.

🌺 If you have inquiries with the other members, he accompanies you and asks the questions for you.

🌺 Daisuke pretty much drags you with him for whatever shenanigans he's up to. Don't worry, he takes the blame if you guys get caught and makes sure they think you're uninvolved.

[cabinetofquriosities]

Love on the Brain

Agathario AU: Singer and Roadie

Warnings: Smut

Listen while reading!

Find the complete playlist here.

——————————————————————

Rio Vidal’s career had exploded in the past five years after working towards it her entire life. She was now in her mid thirties and riding the high of being an established phenomenon. She toured too much to hold a consistent relationship, but her tour crew became her people. One such person was a newer roadie named Agatha who had joined on the previous tour.

Rio had found herself noticing the woman more and more. She had something of a flair to her even when just in a band shirt and black jeans with her long hair messily tied up. Though she got along well enough with everyone, her brash attitude and humor caught some of them off guard. It only endeared Rio to her, making her snort-laugh whenever she said anything cutting. The two had become friendly, with the both of them still keeping a bit of distance from one another for reasons they couldn’t quite explain.

When the new tour began, Rio led by asking for Agatha back. Her manager, Jen, seemed surprised at the request.

“Agatha?!” Jen asked, “Like, Agatha, Agatha?”

“I don’t think we know any other Agathas.”

“Sorry, I just- I mean, she can be a little much sometimes. I don’t know if she fits with the rest of the crew…”

“I like her,” Rio said simply, “She’s funny.”

“She threatened to set me on fire with the pyrotechnics.”

“She didn’t go through with it, though.”

“That cannot be where the bar is,” Jen deadpanned.

“Please. I want her on tour with us,” Rio said, reaching over and taking her hand, “I will make sure she doesn’t set you on fire.”

Jen sighed, folding for her employer and close friend.

“Fine. But I’m not sleeping on the same bus as her.”

“Feel free to take the other bus and snuggle up with Alice in the bus’s private bedroom…” Rio said with a smirk.

“Huh… didn’t think about that solution.”

“See? Silver lining.”

The first day of the tour came and Rio treated everyone to a night out on the town to kick everything off. They ended up in a club where they took up a good part of the dance floor. Rio gravitated toward Agatha, the other woman with her hair down for once.

“Hey, what are you drinking?” Rio asked.

“Martini.”

“Dirty?”

“Always.”

“Let me get you another,” Rio said before giving the bartender the order along with a tequila shot for herself.

“Thanks,” Agatha said, taking her drink, “I appreciate you hiring me back. I know I didn’t exactly make the best impression with Jen.”

Rio smiled and made a little wave at the mention of her.

“Don’t worry about Jen. I love her, but she can be a little judgmental with new people.”

“Well, I’ll try to be a little…” Agatha cringed before saying, “Nicer.”

“No you won’t,” Rio said with a fond laugh.

“No, I won’t,” Agatha replied with a smile.

The two drank together for a while before Agatha took her hand, pulling her out to the dance floor as Suavemente played. Rio could barely think with the touch of Agatha’s hand in hers as she danced. She spun Rio and pulled her in, their bodies close. They moved together with Agatha leading. She was impressed at how good Agatha was, handling Rio in a way that left her breathless.

At one point, Agatha and Rio found their eyes locked on the other’s. Both seemed a little terrified at the intensity of the moment. In that instant, both seemed to be realizing the same thing. Rio froze while Agatha’s chest thudded with her heartbeat.

“I should get some sleep,” Agatha blurted out before turning around and abruptly leaving.

Rio almost called for her, almost followed her out, but was stopped when Jen and Alice interrupted.

“What the hell was that?” Jen asked, her head cocked.

“What was what? We were just dancing..”

“That wasn’t ’just’ anything,” Alice said with a smile.

“Don’t encourage this!” Jen said to Alice.

“There’s nothing to encourage!” Rio said with a groan.

“That look you both had says there is,” Alice said.

“Okay, okay, I’m going to bed,” Rio said with a sigh.

“Rio, you don’t have t-“ Jen said, regretting her harshness.

“I’m okay, Jen. I want to be rested for tomorrow. Big day and all that. Make sure everyone’s drinks are paid for and that everyone is on the bus by 2.”

“Alright. Rest up. Drink some water,” Jen said, hugging her.

Rio walked out before Alice said, “I think they’re cute.”

Jen rolled her eyes before pulling Alice to the dance floor.

Agatha had stripped out of her clothing and was left in her sweat shorts and tank top. She finished brushing her teeth when she heard the door close. She looked out and saw Rio come on. Rio took her hair down and walked past. She looked back at Agatha. Agatha tried to avoid her eye, giving Rio the message to leave her alone.

“See you tomorrow. Sleep tight,” she said.

“You too,” Agatha simply said.

Rio walked into her private room in the back and closed the door. Her mind swirled with everything she had been feeling. The look in Agatha’s eyes haunted her as she drifted off to sleep, drawing out emotions she thought she would never feel for someone.

She had never been good at relationships. She was always half in since she felt like she was performing with them the way she did for her fans. With Agatha, it felt different. Something inside of her relaxed when she was around. She groaned just before falling asleep when she realized it.

She was in love with Agatha Harkness.

Fuck.

She had not signed up for love.

Agatha was off the bus by the time Rio woke up. The two stole glances at each other throughout the day, one looking away when the other saw them.

“You didn’t seal the deal last night?” Alice asked Agatha as they carried a speaker to the edge of the stage.

“Seal the what now?” Agatha asked with an arched brow.

“With Rio. Don’t worry, I won’t tell. I mean, Jen and I got together on a tour a few years back. The road just makes people closer.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Agatha said, looking away.

“Okay, then. Don’t make her wait too long. Rio doesn’t show interest often.”

Agatha didn’t need reminders that Rio was notoriously single, never staying with a woman longer than a night. Agatha had also been fiercely independent, having been married years ago before it all fell apart after their fifth anniversary. No, Rio didn’t see her that way.

“What do you mean ‘nothing happened’?!” Jen asked loudly with an indignant tone.

“Keep your voice down- I thought you’d be relieved,” Rio said.

“I mean, yeah, but I’m more confused. Did she shoot you down?”

“No.. I didn’t really… I just went to bed. And told her to sleep tight,” she said, cringing at her own failure.

“Oh no,” Jen said, her eyes widening.

“What?”

“You’ve got it bad bad. She triggered a useless lesbian response.”

“Useless lesbian?”

“Gay panic. You couldn’t make a move because you like her too much. Shit, of course it would be her…” Jen sighed, “Sometimes I hate it when Alice is right.”

“I don’t… I didn’t… I mean… it would be wrong to pursue anything with her, right?”

“You’re worried about a power imbalance with Agatha Harkness? That woman doesn’t let anyone have the upper hand. She’ll be fine.”

“I thought you didn’t like her…”

“I don’t. She’s an asshole. But I also haven’t seen you like this since high school when you dated Carol. It’s been twenty years. If someone is finally making you feel this way again… well, I will unhappily support you.”

Rio laughed softly before saying, “While I appreciate that, I don’t think she wants anything to do with me. She won’t even look at me.”

“She won’t STOP looking at you. She just doesn’t when you aren’t. Just do yourself a favor and shoot your shot. Okay?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long. The tour doesn’t need this level of yearning,” Jen said before walking off.

The show that night went perfectly. The arena was packed and every number went according to plan. Rio soaked in the adrenaline. Performing was like a drug to her. It fueled her. Coming back after a few months felt like recharging her system.

She thanked the roaring audience wearing a bodysuit that was dripping with diamonds, her hair slicked back. She walked offstage, hugging and thanking her crew as she went to greet fans by the tour bus. After an hour of signing autographs and talking with overexcited teenage girls, she walked to her bus.

She walked to her room, closing the door behind her. She was still smiling, still feeling the high of the show running through her veins. A knock sounded at her door. She opened it up and found Agatha there.

“Hey,” Agatha said a bit awkwardly.

“Hi…” Rio said, “What’s up?”

“Jen told me you needed me?”

“Oh,” Rio said, reminding herself to thank Jen later, “Yeah. Uh, come in.”

Agatha stepped inside as Rio closed the door.

“The show was amazing,” Agatha said, a nervous smile showing, somehow making Rio love her even more in that moment.

“Thanks. You guys did great with all of the setups.”

“So.. what was it you needed to see me about?” Agatha asked, unable to stop her eyes from raking down the deep V cut of the bodysuit that plunged down Rio’s front.

“I.. just wanted to make sure you were alright… after last night. You seemed… like I made you uncomfortable.”

“No! No, you didn’t,” Agatha hastily answered, “I promise.”

“Okay, good,” Rio sighed with relief.

“Was… that all?”

“Well… could you actually help me with this?” She asked, pointing at the back of her suit.

Agatha’s face flushed before she said, “Sure, of course.”

It felt like a special type of torture as they stood before a full length mirror, Agatha’s fingers pulling down her zipper. Rio took a deep breath, her heart racing as the fabric loosened and fell apart. She was left in her underwear. Both women looked at each other through their reflection.

Rio suddenly turned, standing face to face with Agatha. Agatha reached out, cupping her face in her hands. Rio leaned into her touch, gazing into Agatha’s blue eyes. Her hand reached up and gripped her wrist as if using it to steady herself.

“Would it just be a night?” Agatha breathed.

Rio slowly shook her head, hoping it wouldn’t freak the other woman out.

“Good,” Agatha replied.

They closed the space between them, their lips colliding in a slow kiss. They took their time at first, refusing to come up for air while their tongues danced around one another. As the electricity grew between them, their movements became more frantic, more charged.

Rio pulled Agatha’s shirt up and off, finding nothing underneath. Agatha was already kicking her jeans off before she lost balance and fell back onto the bed. She was about to get back up when Rio was suddenly crawling over her like a panther.

Rio looked at her, her eyes moving down to her breasts. She dove down, wrapping her lips around her nipple, grinding her tongue against it. Agatha drew in a sharp gasp, her back arching off of the mattress. Rio moved to the other breast, her dark eyes locked onto her.

Agatha reached down and gripped Rio’s ass, digging her nails in. The other woman let out a feral moan that activated something in her. In one swift motion, Agatha rolled them over, topping Rio. Her long hair fell over her neck in a curtain as she looked down at her.

Rio was so used to people assuming she was a top that Agatha’s move completely took her by surprise. It stoked the fire in her chest, making her need this woman more than she thought was possible.

“Fuck me,” she whispered.

“Oh,” Agatha said, gripping her chin in her hand, “I intend to.”

Agatha reached down, rubbing Rio over the lace of her panties. Rio sucked in a sharp breath as her entire body came to attention for Agatha. The woman had complete control over her with just a little touch.

“Mm… you soaked through your panties…”

Agatha pulled her underwear down her waist and legs, moving down between her thighs. She kissed up her form and wrapped her arms around her thighs. She ran her tongue along her slit before finding her clit. Soft whimpers left Rio’s lips as Agatha toyed with her.

She slid her tongue inside of her, yanking her closer by her thighs. Rio’s hands clutched the sheets. She stared at her new favorite view of Agatha’s head between her legs. Agatha let go of one leg before using her free hand to tease her. She slid two fingers into Rio, causing her toes to curl.

“Fuck! Yes..” Rio gasped.

Agatha’s tongue circled and swiped over her clit. She sucked while thrusting into her, crooking them against the most sensitive spot of hers. It didn’t take long for Rio’s pleasure to build. She gasped and moaned as her cunt strangled Agatha’s hand. Agatha watched her as she stroked and licked her through her climax. Agatha had a wicked smile on her lips. She moved up her form, nipping and biting everywhere she could reach.

She moved to straddle her chest, moving up onto her knees. She looked down at Rio, saying, “Now, show me what a good girl you are.”

Agatha grabbed the headboard and lowered herself onto Rio’s face. Agatha’s dominance was intoxicating. Rio found herself wanting her approval along with her pleasure. She ran her hands up her thighs as her tongue explored her. Agatha let out a soft moan at the sensation.

Rio’s hands settled on her ass, gripping and slapping it as she wrapped her lips around her clit. Agatha’s moan tore from her mouth at the slap. Rio would have smiled to herself if her mouth wasn’t full. She slapped her a few more times, noticing how wet she became with each strike.

Agatha looked down at her as she rolled her hips. She reached down, running a hand through Rio’s hair. Her breathing quickened and her heart raced. Her moans rose in pitch until they stopped altogether. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as Rio drank her arousal. She caught her breath, looking down at her and saying, “Good girl.”

She moved off of her and laid beside her. Rio surged forwards and kissed Agatha, her lips covered in her. The two women pulled back to look at one another. Rio smiled softly and played with the ends of Agatha’s hair. Agatha gazed into her eyes until her own closed. She snuggled into Rio, the dominant woman suddenly cuddly in her sleep. Rio ran her fingers through her long hair until she drifted off with her.

[blood-smiles]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 ᡣ𐭩₊⋆

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 TW MDNI Fake religion . angel being creepy . profanity and small blurbs of NSFW . M!preg to some degree?

Eyes, many eyes, all watched you silently, feathers fell around you in a circle, the beautiful fluffy bird like wings curled around your form, a gorgeous man stood in front of you, eyes alike to those of a prism shining under sun, a kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off his beautiful hues and back into your own (e/c) irises.

He held you ever so gently, his fingers trembling as he softly caressed your face, his long ashen hair flowing down his back, alike to smooth silk.

He opened his mouth to speak but as soon as he was about to form a sentence your eyes snapped open.

ᝰ.ᐟ Your friend poked you with their finger, waking you up from your surreal dream and back into reality.

You were thinking about angels again, weren’t you?— They had been appearing in your dreams for the past few days, strangely they always centered around this man, a beautiful man.

After waking up you couldn’t remember anything else but his stunning crystalline eyes, those rainbow eyes were burned into the back of your head, you knew that he was beautiful, could it be your guardian angel visiting you?

ᝰ.ᐟ You had been assigned an essay on the topic of the heavenly protectors, your professor wanting to have a change of pace and focus on something more niche.

There were limited sources, so you had to dig deeper.

You had been looking at links as of late, locations that centered on religious themes and creatures.

ᝰ.ᐟ Lucky for you a new location appeared on your browser, what seemed to be a library that nuns and priests went to often, to study and solidify their fate.

ᝰ.ᐟ You walked into the library quietly, clutching your messenger bag close to your chest, your feet tapped against the pristine white flooring.

ᝰ.ᐟ This library was large, huge even. You had no idea how you never noticed it, the structure being a behemoth among other buildings.

The architecture of this place was simply breathtaking, your eyes drinking in every inch and centimeter of the temple, you knew you came to the right place when you noticed cherubs intricately carved into the white plaster above you.

ᝰ.ᐟ You were too much in awe to realize that you were about to crash into a person, instantly hitting their chest with your face and falling back onto the floor.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere!Angel let out a faint breath of air when he saw you, his heart beginning to beat rapidly, he had found you. He had finally found you!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel helped you up immediately, gently taking your divine hands in his own, holding them as if they were golden 3 carat chains.

“Oh my! Are you alright, dear?”

ᝰ.ᐟ You thanked Yandere! Angel, your jaw slightly ajar from the beauty of the man, Yandere!Angel laughed lightly, covering the lower half of his face with his hand bashfully.

“You can take a picture so it lasts longer, hm?”

ᝰ.ᐟ Your eyes drifted down to his neck, star shaped scars lining the circumference of his throat over his skin. How strange.

ᝰ.ᐟ You cleared your throat, deciding to ignore that comment all together, taking out your small note pad you read from the pages, asking Yandere!Angel if the library had any books on your selection.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel’s brows raised, he knew you were here for something.. But about his own kin? It seems that he was guided to you and you were to him, just like faith.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel took your hand and ushered you to follow him, a slight flush centering on his cheeks. the both of you ventured to the very back of the temple like library, the undercover angel pushed a book case with impressive strength to a side.

A cloud of dust came off the shelves, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth and nose from the puff of dust. 

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel beat you to it as he gently put his hands over your face, protecting you from inhaling grime particles, the unexpected and honestly intimate gesture making you gaze up at him quizzically.

“Wouldn’t want you getting sick, dearest.”

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere!Angel couldn’t believe he had just touched you, he had touched YOU. Ecstasy flooded into his system, the golden blood surging in his veins boiling.

His face twitched, eyes behind eyelids making small movements, a nervous smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he dusted your shoulders off.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel took out a few books, blowing the dust away with a flick of his hand, he grasped the human leather cover, staring at it for a moment before handing the heavy enciclopedia to you.

“This is the most in depth book we have here, it isn’t every day anyone asks for books such as these.”

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel watched as you opened the pages, tracing the book with your hands, he shuddered, would you touch him like that too?

He gently plucked a feather from the wings attached to his back, gently putting the soft feather in your hand, he opened his eyes for a split second.

Beautiful. Breath taking crystalline eyes, those eyes. You could recognize them anywhere! Those were the eyes from the man in your dream!

“This feather is from an angel, Seraph if you may. Treasure it, keep it with you at all times and it will keep you safe.”

ᝰ.ᐟ You stared at his eyes, it was like they were eating at you, just who was he? It would be silly to think he would appear in your dreams.. Wouldn’t it..?

“..Lucien.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Lucien, (Y/N).”

ᝰ.ᐟ How did he know your name? You never told him your name.. you gave him a funny look, you smiled awkwardly while turning on your heel to make a hasty departure.

You glanced back over your shoulder, a bad habit you had developed as a result of walking home alone during night time.

ᝰ.ᐟ Your breath caught in your throat, Lucien. That same strange librarian was no human anymore, he stood in front of a window, he lifted his hand slowly waving to you, a nice flush tinting his cheekbones.

Long white wings adorned his back, lush feathers falling onto the pristine floor of the temple. A golden halo behind his head, circulating and hovering in clock wise motions. Small wings that hid under his hair twitched and fluttered as they unfolded, looking unbearably soft and pretty.

“..What the fuck..?”

ᝰ.ᐟ You gasped to yourself as you stared at him, he smiled wider, you had noticed, he knew you had noticed! And you didn’t go crazy!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel was delighted to make the discovery that you weren’t driven to insanity while seeing his half form. most humans would have been having seizures on the floor right about now, but you just blinked a few times and turned back around, shoulders tense and rigid.

ᝰ.ᐟ He shivered in delight, humans were at times so adorable— Well more like you were the cutest little thing he has ever seen! 

ᝰ.ᐟ He just wanted to grab you and tuck your little self into his nest and have many many children! He hasn’t had his first batch of eggs yet.. he was going to be plump with eggs soon.

ᝰ.ᐟ the both of you were mates! Yes, yes there was no other explanation for these events, perhaps [ REDACTED ] had finally blessed him!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel ‘s face turned a deeper shade of red, he could swear there were little hearts coming out of him.

He held his face in his hands, his cheeks felt agonizingly hot, he put his hands to work, trying to bat his face a little to keep the blushing down.

ᝰ.ᐟ You were safe. You had taken his feather. Basically a natural tracking device, and soon he would work his way into your life little by little.. Guardian Angel or not he was going to take you as his.

“My wings..? You want to touch them? Well of course, darling! All of me is yours.”

(Touching an angels wings is an intimate act where mates solidify their mating bond. Discretion advised.)

[oldsoul007]

beautiful boy

nicholas chavez x reader

summary: your bf comes home from work and just wants to be with you

I was on the couch reading my book trying to contain my excitement for when nicholas came home.

Nicholas stumbled through the front door, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. He had been doing press jobs non-stop, flying from city to city, and the jet lag was hitting him hard. All he wanted now was to see y/n, to find some comfort in her presence.

He dropped his bags by the entrance and made his way into the living room, where he found me curled up on the couch with a book. I looked up as he entered, concern immediately crossing my face.

"Nicholas, you look exhausted," I said, setting the book aside and standing up to greet him.

He managed a tired smile, pulling me into a hug. "I am. It's been a crazy few days. I just wanted to come home and be with you."

Wrapping my arms around him in a gentle hug. Nicholas sighed, leaning into my embrace, feeling the weight of his journey melt away just a bit.

"Yeah, but I'm so jet-lagged," he murmured, his voice thick with fatigue. I pulled back slightly, looking up at him with concern.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," I said, taking his hand and leading him to the bathroom. I turned on the shower, adjusting the water to the perfect temperature. Nicholas watched me with grateful eyes, too tired to do much more than follow my lead.

I helped him out of his travel-worn clothes, my touch gentle and caring. I guided him into the shower, the warm water cascading over his tired body. I stepped in with him, my hands moving to wash away the stress and grime of his journey.

As we worked, Nicholas felt the tension in his muscles begin to ease. He closed his eyes, letting the soothing sensation of my touch and the warm water envelop him. "Thank you, y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

"Anything for you," I replied softly, my fingers threading through his hair as I washed it. The moment was sweet and intimate, a quiet connection that spoke volumes about our bond. In that small, steamy space, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of us, wrapped in a tender embrace.

I held him tightly, feeling the tension in his body. "I'm glad you're home. Come on, let's get you settled. You need to rest."

…

Nicholas nodded, grateful for my understanding. As we made our way to the bedroom, he felt a sense of relief wash over him. No matter how chaotic things got, being with y/n always made everything better.

Nicholas lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind too wired from the constant travel to fall asleep. Me nestled beside him, my head resting on his chest, our fingers intertwined.

"Can't sleep?" I asked softly, looking up at him.

"No, the jet lag is messing with me," he admitted, running his fingers through my hair. "But being here with you helps."

I smiled, me heart warming at his words. "Tell me about your trip. What was the most interesting part?"

Nicholas sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. "There was this one interview where they asked me the most random questions. It was kind of fun, actually. But honestly, all I could think about was getting back home to you."

I squeezed his hand. "I missed you too. It's been lonely without you here."

He kissed the top of my head. "I'm sorry I have to travel so much. I wish I could take you with me everywhere."

"One day," I whispered. "For now, let's just enjoy these moments together."

They continued talking late into the night, sharing stories and dreams, the comfort of each other's presence making the time pass easily. Eventually, the exhaustion took over, and Nicholas began to drift off, holding y/n close. As he fell asleep, he felt a sense of peace, knowing that no matter where he went, this was home.

[kryptznnn]

♛- Come back to bed

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➸ INTERESTS; -jjk! nanami kento x f!reader

➸ BACKGROUND; -not any plot truly, just straight smut, making love late at night MY FAV!! (im a whole virgin)

➸ WARNINGS; - wc.2.4k, kissing, teasing, riding, fingering, p in v, nipple play, sucking, whining, bla bla bla

➸a.i; - omg new oneshot!! i made a poll asking who i should write abt this morning and 100 votes came in for my sexy baby daddy so im here to feed u guys!! xoxo

.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖

You awoke in the middle of the night to your phone ringing softly, the vibrations from it on your nightstand making you get up. As you turned to grab your phone, the call ended, you only muttered to yourself as you were now sat up in your bed. You held your phone in your hand, realizing the call was from your close friend and checked the time.

1:13am, you read with a squint, still trying to adjust to the dimly lit screen this late at night.

There were only two reasons as to why she could call you this late. She was either having intrusive thoughts about breaking contact with her ex, or she was calling to tell you how drunk she was at her apartment, and she wants you to come and accompany her. You stood up, grabbing your soft silk robe from your closet door and stepped out of the room.

You made your way over to the kitchen, dialing her number back and waiting for her to answer. You grabbed a water bottle and opened it when she soon answered. Rambling on about how drunk she was and how much fun she was having, saying she didn't want you to miss out on it and for you to come over to her place, you only smiled and shook your head.

"It's past 1am, I was asleep when you called, you need to get some sleep too unless if you don't plan on clocking in later." You spoke, drinking from your bottle as you listened to her ramble, sadly it's as if she hadn't heard a single word you said.

She was always like this honestly; you couldn't blame her. Between the two of you someone had to be outgoing and crazy enough to do things like this. You could never be mad at her for it though, it was sweet honestly, even when she was intoxicated, she always had you in mind.

The conversation between the two of you soon wrapped up, as she assured you, she wasn't alone and was with her brother. She even facetimed you as proof and to which you spoke to her brother for a while. Thankfully he was a little more responsible than she was, assuring you that the night had ended, and the drinks were being put away so his sister could rest.

You only thanked him and wished him a goodnight, as he did in return to you and you said goodbye to your friend, waving as you heard the call click. You finished your water bottle and went to place the bottle in the shared recycle can you had in the kitchen before feeling two firm arms snake their way around your waist.

You only smiled, knowing exactly who it was as you were used to this multiple times before. You placed your hands over his arms and squeezed, earning a tired grunt from him as he bent down to kiss the top of your head.

"If you weren't my fiancé I would've screamed when you touched me y'know?" You joked, feeling him smile against the top of your head, he let go of your waist as you let go of his arms and he placed his hand in yours. He soon guided you out of the kitchen and back to the shared bedroom you two had, the dim lights from outside helping you to see his figure perfectly.

Your fiancé was a well-kept man, perfectly built as if sculpted by the gods. Honestly, even as a woman you were envious of his body, but when compared to others you were considered lucky, very lucky. So, you couldn't push it too much, because they were right, you were lucky.

"Come back to bed" Kento spoke, now entering your bedroom and sitting on your side of the bed where you were previously resting. You only smiled at him as you placed your phone back down on the nightstand, he never let go of your free hand, pulling you near him.

"You're such a flirt" you said to him, watching his every move. He only hummed in response and kissed your palm as you made your way on top of him, straddling him now. His other hand made its way to your lower back, now keeping you in place as his kisses traveled higher, from your palm to your arm and now your shoulder, not removing his eyes from yours.

You looked away nervously, feeling a familiar tingle in your lower belly, you knew exactly what he was doing. He soon placed his hand from your lower back onto the back of your neck, slowly bringing your head down to kiss him passionately. It felt nice, he felt nice, you couldn't complain, nor could you just turn or look away from him, you were captivated by him.

You were the first to pull away, your breathing heavy as you looked at him, he still kept his hand on the back of your head. He only pushed your head back for your lips to connect yet again, but not kissing the same as before. It was wet and sloppy, your tongues practically fighting-

no,

Dancing with one another, and it only made the weak feeling within your lower belly stronger as he moved his hands, now gripping both sides of your hips as he kissed you eagerly. You quickly pulled away, covering your mouth and wiping out of embarrassment as a small line of saliva dripped from it and down to your chin.

He only looked at you with a cheerful smile, loosening his grip on your hips and began to tug on your robe, wanting it to come off. In all seriousness, you weren't even properly dressed, without the robe you only had on a small black tank-top and red panties.

You let go of him for an instant, taking off your robe and tossing it, he smirked in approval. As you straddled him again you could feel him underneath you, the friction becoming unbearable as he continued to rub himself against one of your most vulnerable places. Well not him genuinely speaking, it was his co-

"Can I play with you baby? Just for a little while?" He asked, looking into your eyes and then your lips for an answer. You responded with a 'yes', soon after biting your bottom lip and watching his movements. Now seated in the middle of the bed you two shared he began to kiss your skin above your collarbone while you grinded on him, both of you partially clothed and breathing heavily.

He had gone to bed with nothing but his boxers on, but now he was threatening to take them off in one quick move, unable to bear the teasing anymore. His hands roamed your body, teasing your nipples through your top as you mewled softly, grabbing his wrist softly as you guided his hand lower to your now wet spot on your underwear.

Throughout the time of your twos dirty work not a word was spoken to one another, well, barely. You had known each other's bodies well enough and exactly what you craved, Kento knew this and quickly got to work, unbuttoning the one small button that was practically ready to burst out from his erection, letting it spring out free.

When you moved back a little to look at it, it looked like he was in pain. Like painfully hard, honestly this wasn't the first time, but it was sweet seeing how you had him this intense every time, he never seized to amaze you. He began to tug at your underwear, to which you got off the bed, standing up as he watched your every move.

You bent over, hooking your thumbs into the hems of your underwear where they sat nice and pretty on your hips, shimmying a little as you pulled them all the way down to your ankles and stepped out of them. You slowly made your way back onto the bed and on top of Nanami once again, who only looked at you in awe, and maybe hunger.

You only cupped your hands on both of his cheeks before kissing him again, this time he kept a hand on your hip as another one found its way to your core. He cupped it softly as you jolted slightly, feeling his middle finger brush against your clit. He smiled into the kiss, placing his thumb over your clit and rubbing it gently, feeling the vibrations of you grunting and moaning in his mouth.

You pulled away, keeping a hand over your mouth yet again and his own mouth as you felt him insert a finger inside you. Immediately pushing up into you as far as he could, watching as your shivered slightly, and removed your hand from his mouth, moaning into your hand. He soon removed his hand from your hip and grabbed your wrist, removing your hand from your mouth and kissed your palm yet again.

Within a short period of time, you felt an immense amount of pressure build up inside of you, making you immediately want to shut your legs. (Un)fortunately, your fiancé had already caught onto this, quick to hold one of your legs apart as he now quickened his pace, smirking at you.

He soon grabbed a hold on your tank-top after you promised to not close your legs, lifting and revealing your hardened nipples to him and the cold air of the room. He chuckled to himself slightly as he stuck his tongue out, teasing you and watching as your back arched before sucking on them and inserting another finger.

You quickly grabbed onto his shoulders, now riding his fingers as you were trying your best to reach your high and quickly, knowing he wouldn't let you cherish this bliss moment for long. He soon began to lick your upper torso, the sweat beads that rolled off your body were his to consume, as if your entire body was a drug he was high on.

It was as if you had jinxed it because just seconds before you were ready to cum, he quickly removed his fingers from within you, keeping his thumb on your clit and coming to a full stop in movement. Before you were even able to stop your moans and begin your whining and protests, he aligned his cock with your entrance.

Without warning or count he quickly thrusted himself inside, halting and burying himself within your chest as he moaned along with you, your nails now digging deeper into his shoulders. You had completely forgotten how vocal Kento was, damn near as vocal as you, and you loved every moment of it.

"No condom?" You gasped, now playing with his hair as he kept his head between year breasts, slowly moving inside you. He only shook his head slightly, bringing his head back up and looking you in the eyes and kissing you.

"You're to be my wife, no? Whatever my wife wants she gets." He only stated, now thrusting sloppily into you as you moaned. You attempted to bounce back on him while he thrusted into you, just for him to wrap both of his arms tightly around your bottom and thrust into you even harder.

Now repeating his earlier actions and sucking on your nipples, watching as you unraveled within his arms, only getting more turned on by the sight. His mouth now moved to your neck, giving you several hickeys and wet sloppy kisses.

As he quickened his pace you tapped his chest lightly, feeling the same blissful feeling as before coming back, your lower abdomen feeling as if it was floating while the rest of your body was hot and shaking. He only smiled, taking this as the most perfect time to tease you.

"M'gonna get you pregnant. It's what my wife wants, yeah? My baby is gonna grow right here..." He teased, placing his right hand on your belly and rubbing it as you mewled, nodding your head before you bent slightly, placing your head on his shoulder. Your high was approaching with great force and speed, barely able to contain it anymore.

"My beautiful girl is gonna be a mommy, are you excited baby? You excited that I get to fill you up?" He cooed, now rubbing your back with one hand and placing the other over your lower abdomen, pressing down slightly as your moans became louder. You hummed in response, nodding vigorously as your high had approached, exclaiming loudly, biting down on Kento's shoulder to control yourself as your body spasmed.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head for only a moment, soon after you came down, your breathing ragged. His thrusts had now slowed down, becoming sloppier than before as he began to breath heavier, his orgasm not far behind from yours.

As verbal as he was before he wasn't that way now, focused on reaching his orgasm as he screwed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths. As your head rested on his shoulder you too began to moan aloud and grunt softly, his thrusts overstimulating you as you had just come down from your orgasm.

You quickly began to clench around his cock, attempting to make him reach his high sooner, which worked. He buried his face alongside your side as he huffed, muttering a series of words, words of praise if you will, before completely reaching his orgasm. His last thrust sent shivers down your spine as he came inside of you, not leaving a single drop to waste, staying inside of you for a moment before pulling out and kissing your shoulder.

"Are you alright?" He asked, as you pulled away, looking at him and smiling, nodding to him as you brushed his hair away from his face, that had to stuck to his temple from his sweat. He smiled softly at you, seeing your tired expression and actions before fixing your side of the bed to sleep before joining you on his side.

You two exchanged little to barely any conversation between drifting off to sleep, his arms wrapped around you as you rested on his chest. You both had thought of the idea of cleaning up in the shower or changing into new clothes, but you were too exhausted to do so.

The last thing you can vividly remember before drifting off to sleep was how you were going to hide the love bites and hickeys he had given you before work the following morning. Scarves or giant sweaters weren't even in the question as it was the middle of the summer, and you sweat easily.

You'd find out when you got there.

✴🕷 please do not copy, plagiarize, edit, or translate any works submitted by me. all works are originated and all other pictures used within those works are online images. thank you!! @kryptznnn