#and for that I need to draw. and not weep every time I think about it

[tojisun]

Okay, now I need something about bf!logan and his girl making a porno (bonus points if wade finds out after the show they put on for him and that man is willing to RISK IT ALL to see that sex tape😩🤣)

cw: porn link; f!reader; smut; consensual filming during sex; slight sexting at the end // divider by @/plutism!

this is definitely the porno they were making <3

logan has you on your knees, your ass dimpling with every one of his greedy caresses, his heavy hand kneading your flesh. you’re whining to be creampied—to be bred—and logan indulges you with a quiet chuckle because you’re so adorable like this, all needy and demanding, babbling nothing but nonsense because he’s fucked you to the point of incoherence.

you jut out your chin at his croon. he tells you to do it yourself if you really want his cum; says that you’ve got to show him how much you need it.

“an’ here i thought i was bein’ a gentleman,” logan says, sighing in that what-can-you-do? tone like he hadn’t been fucking you so hard, you were sure that the condom was on the brink of ripping.

you grumble, rolling your eyes even mid-tears, before reaching back to where he’s got his cock rutting along the cleft of your ass. you give it a stroke, giggling breathily to yourself at its sheer girth and weight, before sliding your hand down to the pinched tip and tugging.

logan moans, and it rumbles deep, sending tingles to rise from the tips of your toes to the base of your neck. he sounds just a little too excited, and you wonder how you must look as you reach for the rubber, tugging it off the expanse of his cock. do you look desperate, the camera capturing the way you’re shivering like you’re on cum-withdrawals? or do you look like the brat that you are, whining how sex is not enough until logan’s pumping you full of his sperm?

god, the thought that this moment is being immortalized makes you clench at nothing, your hole puckering as it waits to be filled.

the condom comes off with a pop, the rubber snapping off and into itself. it sounds so lewd and dirty, like the two of you are really starring in a corny porno, and it fills your cheeks with warmth as your need wanes in the face of your shyness.

you fling the condom to the side, before burrowing your face on the pillows, as though that alone can hide the palpable hunger rippling from you. logan laughs at your reaction like he’s not softly humping his cock between your thighs, rutting it along the wet mess he’s made out of your cunt.

“y’ready, bub?” logan asks, still giddy with his laugh. you grumble a reply, before jutting your head in a stilted nod.

he taps his weeping cock along your folds, testing, and you shuffle in your impatience. you feel the itch exploding, the need to be stuffed bloating, but logan continues to tease and god, pleasepleaseplease—

“i’ve got you, darl,” he grunts, then he’s pushing in, steady and filling, and, and—

the moan that’s ripped from your throat sounds foreign, like you’re a damn wounded animal. you don’t even get to adjust to his width—pussy lips going taut at his thickness—before logan’s drawing his cock out until all that’s left is the head. there’s a bated breath that you two share, leaving you suspended in anticipation, then he’s bullying it back in.

you flop on the bed, all useless now like you’ve got your strings cut loose. logan doesn’t seem to mind, not with the consistent ringing slaps of his pelvis meeting your ass echoing in your quaint room. god, your brain’s being scrambled right now, you’re sure, because you can’t even think of anything but logan—

loganloganlogan.

you’re already cross-eyed by the time he sprays his first load inside you.

.

wade gets a five second clip from logan’s number. the thumbnail is just a blur of colours and wade’s interest is piqued because logan rarely reaches out to him—a video is just unthinkable.

he was expecting many things—that the video is the one of deadpool being broadcasted on national television with the words “hero or criminal?” after he’s accidentally set the robber’s van on fire, or that the video is an accidental recording of logan’s butt because that wolverine suit was tight and wade can’t even think where logan must keep his phone with him.

but this—

wade wasn’t expecting this.

it was a video of you—wade’s not even embarrassed to admit that he’s memorized the way you look from all angles; what? one doesn’t get a show of wolverine fucking his girl without gaining a new hyperfixation—reaching for logan’s monster cock. wade breathes in sharply as he watches you reach for the condom before tugging it off with a filthy, filthy pop. the video cuts into a next scene of logan relentlessly fucking you hard; the audio is a mess of squeaks and slaps, but also the wet squelches of logan’s cock fucking in-and-out of your gaping cunt.

two things:

1. that’s fucking hot.

2. that video has clearly been tampered with; it was edited to show the barest of the highlights.

this was a conscious decision, with deliberate efforts. this was personal.

an invitation.

wade rubs one… okay, fine.

wade rubs three out before he’s running back to that apartment he’s daydreamed about. mid-parkour, another notifcation comes in. wade falls, because of course he does, but while he waits for his ankle to mend itself back into its socket, his eyes devour the new message.

> darl wants to know if you’re in.

wade sends a dick pic as a reply.

wade busting a fat nut behind tim hortons because he’s patriotic like that

(ext)

[gam3r-girli3]

18+ content ahead, mdni! | part two

Something something the boys are out one night and Soap confesses to Price over a few beers that his last girlfriend broke up with him because she claimed he didn't know how to eat her out properly.

It's forgotten about the next day, just a bit of locker room chat between men over a some drinks in their local pub, until Soap is called into Price's office one day to find you - his Captain's pretty wife - laid out on the desk, looking like a damn feast.

Price is kneeled down in front of you between your splayed legs, lapping hungrily at your cunt, and if your echoing mewls and cries are anything to go by, you seem to be enjoying it immensely.

Soap backs up, hand reaches behind him for the door as he stutters over apologies, unable to tear his eyes away from the erotic scene in front of him. He feels his cock stirring in his trousers despite the wrongness of it, the intrusion on a private moment between a husband and wife.

It's been so long since he last got laid, even longer since he got to taste a nice pussy. He can tell just by looking at yours that you've got a nice tasting one, the kind that lingers on his tongue days after, makes him ache and wake up hard just dreaming about it.

Price's head turns, but he doesn't look angry, far from it. His eyes glitter with amusement, mustache looking damp and chin shining with slick arousal from your weeping cunt.

Instead of ordering him to get out, the Captain invites him to come closer.

Hesitantly, still in a state of disbelief but far too turned on to leave, the Sergeant edges closer, swallowing thickly.

"Go on, lad. Give 'er a taste."

It's wrong, so wrong. Depraved. But he is depraved and he's so unbelievably horny.

Soap takes Price's place on the floor, knees leaning on the hard surface as his face gets up close to your pussy.

His eyes dart up to your face, as if checking to see your reaction, but you just smile coyly and give a short nod of reassurance. It's all he needs before he's diving in, suckling harshly on your puffy clit.

He hears you cry out, loud, feels your fingers fist in his hair - but you don't seem to be trying to hold him there, you're tugging. He raises his head, a struggle, looking to see what's wrong.

Behind him, observing, Price clicks his tongue in disappointment. "You're going too fast. You need to slow down. Savour it. Take your time."

Soap feels a flush of embarrassment.

Keeping his Captain's words in mind, he goes in again - but this time, he doesn't slurp, he laps. He slowly and painstakingly devours you, from your clit down to your soaked entrance. He savours the flavour, hums as your arousal dances on his tongue. Thinks back to his earlier thoughts and decides he was right; you do have a nice tasting pussy and he'll be getting off to this for weeks to come, chubbing up at just the mere mention of your name.

He can distantly hear you whimpering and sobbing over the thunderous drumming of his own heart, can feel you squirming, thighs clamping around his head every so often. Doesn't need to look to know the desk is fucking soaked, any paperwork under you destroyed with your juices (not that he's allowed much to escape, the greedy bastard that he is).

"There ya go, lad. She's almost there. A little more."

Price's encouragement only serves to make him work even slower, drawing out your impending orgasm deliciously. When you finally reach your peak, your back arches clean off the desk, legs twitching and quivering, your voice a beautiful high-pitched crescendo full of pleasure and relief that echoes in Soap's skull like a symphony.

Only once he's finished catching every drop of your release that escaped your cunt does he come up for air, licking his lips and tasting your arousal that's coating his mouth, chin, dribbling down his neck.

Soap turns his head to look back over his shoulder.

Price nods, a hint of pride in his voice as he says, "Well done. Next time I'll teach you how to make her squirt."

i don't know what this is and don't ask me how it came into my head

[ pics in collage do not belong to me - all were found on pinterest ]

[ddejavvu]

mei! I have an request that has been rotting my brain for WEEKS. Now. I haven't seen you write for Bucky before, so I don't know if you will, but I'm taking a risk asking bc I have been SALIVATING.

It's so simple. Literally just Bucky eating the reader out, and he hikes her up on his shoulders, with her legs wrapped around his head and she's leaned up against the wall. I hope I'm drawing this correctly, but it has been ALL I have been thinking about. if you don't do bucky, that's okay but if you do PLEASEE.

on my old account that i never write on anymore i used to be the bucky queen. every time someone asks me if i'd ever write for bucky i take psychic damage (through no fault of yours). my bucky masterlist was pages long and sometimes i really do miss my metal armed fucktoy

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Cool metal digs into the fleshy globe of your ass, trailing up your back and surely leaving ridged indents in your skin that will itch later when he's let you down. Your back aches, your neck aches, and no amount of squirming against the wall will stop that, but the ecstasy between your thighs makes up for it and more. Bucky's slight scruff burns against your thighs as his mouth sucks tight against your hole, tongue dipping inside and adding to the slick mess that's already been produced there.

There's wetness escaping the seal of his lips, staining both his chin and your thighs alike, probably dripping down to the floor by now, streaming like saliva from the jowls of a feral beast. He's got you pinned to the wall behind you, your knees hiked over his shoulders to stabilize you while his super-powered muscles do the rest of the work. He doesn't seem to need to compensate much, but he does brace his arms beneath your ass for somewhere to put them. Regardless of his arms- he's pinned your cunt to the wall like he's making out with it.

He's eating it, really eating it like he's dipping his tongue into your mouth. His head bobs back and forth, his tongue pushing relentlessly into your pussy and licking it for all its worth. He gladly pushes his own spit into the mess of your slick, sucking and gulping the mixture down like water to a parched man. He's groaning, breathing heavily through his teeth ravenously when he's forced to come up for air. He dives back in to suck at your clit, latching on ferociously and straining the sensitive nub that's already aflame with stimulation. You gasp, thighs nearly falling off of his shoulders, but his strong arms hold you tight in place. Bucky's tightly sealed mouth over your clit sucks hard enough for it to hurt, like he's trying to swallow it and he's willing to smother himself between your legs to do it.

Your clit burns and you yank at his hair when you've had all you can handle, enduring five seconds more of it because you can't seem to tug tight enough on his locks to make him remember there's a world outside of the wet, warm space between your thighs.

He dips back into the slick cavity of your cunt to give your clit a break, but the point of his nose still scrapes unforgivingly against its stinging surface. The clit stimulation alone is nearly enough to throw you over the edge, but you wrestle the urge back to prolong the time in which Bucky licks the slick out of your weeping sex.

There's nothing to be said, no 'Bucky', no 'More, please!', no 'I need you', nothing you could have possibly strung together in your garbled haze of a brain. All you can do is make noises, animalistic and greedy, breathy gasps and dirty moans.

That's what sex with Bucky is- hungry, feral, rabid. It's sweat that his tongue sponges off of your neck, it's bite marks left on his well-built muscles, it's the burning raw skin of your thighs left behind by his barely-there beard. It's raw sex, nothing held back, nothing orchestrated, only urges. Bucky's tongue brings you back to reality, to the ache in your back as it dips down nearly to your ass, and you rake in a trembling breath as your thighs begin to shake.

You don't need to speak to let him know he's about to unravel you, he can feel it through the tremble in your core, by the wild clenching of your hole around his tongue, by the tightening of your fist in his hair. You shamelessly ride his face through your orgasm, bucking wildly against his mouth nearly hard enough to dislodge yourself from his shoulders. But it doesn't matter, he's got you pinned, your hips immovable from against his mouth.

He drags out your orgasm for as long as he can, licking and sucking and even biting wherever he feels he won't hurt you beyond repair. You're sure there's going to be a bruise against the flesh of your inner leg tomorrow, but you would have cut it off to keep riding Bucky's face for ten seconds longer.

Bliss turns to agony as Bucky doesn't relent, his mouth still working against your cunt like a kiss. You have to risk falling to get him off, pushing urgently against his head, hard enough to pry his hot, sucking mouth off of your pussy.

He's breathing just as heavily as you are when he breaks away, the lower half of his face coated in the mixture of your slick and his spit. It feels like it's dripping out of you, too, and you marvel at how his tongue was able to stretch your cunt out like a dick.

He nudges your thighs gently off of his shoulders, but you barely fall an inch before he catches you, lowering you to the ground on shaky legs. He doesn't bother letting you hold up your own weight, providing the strength of his own chest for you to slump against. He guides you to your bed, ignoring the way your spent cunt leaks over the sheets.

He must be able to read your worry about the mess, because he grunts, "I'll clean it up later. We can wash the sheets."

You grip weakly at his hand, mustering all of your energy to squeeze it tighter, "Can you- can we sleep?"

"You can sleep," He chuckles, brushing a hand over your forehead and pushing your head back down to the pillow, "I'm not tired."

You know that. You know he's barely ever tired, even after three rounds of nothing but giving you the pounding of your lifetime. So you watch him crack his neck, chest still heaving as he drags in oxygen, "I'm gonna go for a run. Call me when you're ready for more."

[delicious-in-imagines]

Nsfw headcannons for Laios, Mithrun and Kabru??? 👀👀

I love them very much 😁 (I'm soooo normal for them, so so so normal)

*rubs my grubby lil hands together* :)))

NSFW below the cut, as per usual! Spoilers for Mithrun!

Requests are still OPEN!

Laios Touden

You have the full authority to bully this man - I promise you that he enjoys it. He wants to be so good for you, sitting on his legs as he looks up at you, awaiting each and every instruction. For him, it's all about fulfilling your desires and wishes, anything you ask of him, you don't need to repeat yourself.

Grope and grasp at his body, that little bit of extra padding that he has, and feel free to add some stinging remarks to the fondling. His chest is especially sensitive, Laios letting out the cutest little gasps as you take a handful each and squeeze. That adorable blush of his will paint across his skin and up his neck, even to the tips of his ears as you coo and sneer at him in equal measure.

He loves to have you on top of him, riding him into the earth as he holds at your waist like a lifeline. He'll babble out whatever he's thinking, usually interrupting himself while he's gasping about how beautiful/handsome you are on top of him, how thankful he is to have you in his life.

We all saw the way he ties ropes, but this man is no rigger - he's a bunny through and through. He'll teach you each and every knot that he knows, showing where to place them on his body while he can barely contain his excitement as each line grows taut. Eventually, he's wrapped up for you like a pretty little package, blushing and already fixing to burst at the seams.

He's usually starving after sex, so grabbing a bite is definitely part of his aftercare. He'll offer you up some food as well, lingering by your side and enjoying the warmth of your bodies, and the feeling of your fingers carding through his hair. He's always got this dopey smile on his face after the deed, something that lingers even while he conks out afterwards.

Kabru of Utaya

Kabru is a 'try anything once' sort of guy, so if you come up to him asking to try something new in the bedroom, he's not going to shoot you down. There are some things that he might need some coaxing on, especially if it involves inflicting pain on you - though he is conscious of the fact that he won't know his limits until he pushes against them, at least a little.

He loves to have his hands bound under him, the slight burn in his shoulders and the grating from trying to 'struggle' his way out of his bindings. It leaves him at your mercy, looking up at you with those bright blue eyes as you take your fill of him, knowing that he's 'powerless' to stop your roaming hands and teasing mouth.

The trust between you is a turn on to him all on its own. Knowing that at any given point, he could say the word and you would stop without any hesitation is part of the thrill. It's the safety within those walls that gives you both the freedom to explore your desires - and knowing you're enjoying yourself is intoxicating in its own right.

When he's alone, or sometimes if you're interested, he'll engage in orgasm denial, squeezing the base of his length, or using a snug ring to stop his pleasure in its tracks. You can keep this up until he's weeping from both his eyes and his arousal, paired with the previously mentioned bindings, he'll be begging for release which only you can provide - if you're feeling merciful.

A bath after your activities is a must, not only to wipe away any sweat and fluids, but also to just enjoy some casual nudity and each other's presence. He'll pay extra attention to any marks that he's made, rubbing gently against them while you talk about what went well, things to try next time, etc., ...

Mithrun of the House of Kerensil

The easiest way to work Mithrun up intentionally is to clamber into his lap, draping your arms around his neck and drawing him close. After a display like that, you're not getting away from him. If you try to pull away he'll settle his hands on your hips and grip you closer. It's only after some heated frottage or Mithrun sparing a moment to teleport whatever offending articles of clothing away to get to both your arousals that he'll finally let you go.

Any undue attention towards you from anyone is another quick way to get him riled up. He'll grab your wrist to tug you away, sometimes sending the offender outside of the walls, before pinning you to a nearby wall with barely any semblance of privacy to have his wicked way with you. He'll press teeth and open-mouthed kisses to the length of your neck, his actions speaking where his lips would not.

An easy way to turn the tables on him is to speak so sweetly to him, calling him handsome, cooing at him and complimenting him. It knocks him off balance, and it's the perfect chance to get him on bottom. Lavishing his body in reverent touches and kisses, he turns into a mess, and will often bring a hand up to try and hide his face.

The two of you have a fair collection of toys - though usually it's to use on him. Part of his newfound desires is the exploration and deepening of those, and the more that you can potentially overwhelm him during those intimate moments, the better. Little enchanted trinkets that with a tiny bit of mana can vibrate, or some select pieces that Fleki or Lycion suggested to the pair of you embarrassingly enough, the potential is endless.

All of the aftercare will fall to you. Making sure that he eats something light and rehydrates, knowing that you'll both probably need to rest pretty soon after. On some rare occasions though, he'll still your hand and check you over, rubbing and pressing kisses to some of the harsh marks that he's left behind - his favorite reminders that you choose to stay with him, that he's your first pick, even if you could have anyone else.

[storkmuffin]

Korean Catholicism and Yunho

Random disjointed tidbits for your reading pleasure.

Marian Worship

Korean Catholics are very pro Marian cult. God the Father being vengeful, violently unreasonable, and demanding huge scary sacrifices of the Son who weeps and cries and finally, in the end, dies in despair is very familiar. (We also had a king who straight up tortured his son to death in full view of the crown princess and the grandchildren so like I say VERY FAMILIAR). As a consequence the variety of Catholicism I was raised with gave me the sense that there isn't much point talking to God, and you feel mostly pity for Christ, so the one you talk to and pray to and seek solace from is the Virgin Mary.

In case you need it, the statuary right above Yunho's head is the ethnicized portrait of the Virgin and Child. I think where he is might be one of two locations - either the courtyard of his parish church with an outdoor shrine to the virgin OR a graveyard or ossuary where the remains of family members are, and this is the outdoor shrine there for the Catholic mourners.

Miracles of the Catholic Church

It pains me to admit this, but arrogance is kind of the main trait of Korean Catholicism. Why? Because the existence of Korean Catholics is a Catholic miracle. I'm not exaggerating. This is the story Korean Catholics are taught about ourselves. And it's not unjustified. We were not converted by a persuasive visiting Jesuit. No. In the 1770s a study group of Korean aristocratic scholars (privileged nerds, hello, ancestors) decided to read Catholic texts translated into Chinese (which they could all read, because Chinese letters were the lingua franca of the aristocracy across N.E. Asia) because they wanted to know else was going on in the world, and decided they really liked this Catholicism thing, and just began practicing the religion on their own. They later realized through further reading that this is not actually proper, and then imported priests who had been sent to China by the Vatican. The urge to know everything through to the end and by reading and not being particularly interesting in talking to anyone else about it until you absolutely have to are trait that I have even now. And we OWN this religion, Catholicism, because we are descendants of a self-taught, self-awakened set of Catholics.

Catholicism is also much more egalitarian, and less misogynist (yeah for real!) to me than the clenched-up and radicalized version of Confucianism that was the one that we remember with short historic memories. This is yet another thing a Japanese invasion fucked up by the way - the OG Confucianism that lasted for most of the 500 years of Joseon wasn't actually as terrible and inequal as what came after the trauma of 임진왜란 but if you care about this you can learn about the problems having a violent barbarian neighbor on your own time.

Sacrilege

I find these distinctions tricky so I wanted to make note of them: heresy vs sacrilege vs blasphemy vs apostasy. Heresy is a teaching that contradicts the orthodox beliefs of a school of thought. Sacrilege is disrespect for something sacred. Blasphemy is basically spoken sacrilege - blame god for evil is sacrilege, or denying god credit is also sacrilege. Apostasy is when you reject an entire philosophy.

Use of religious iconography is neither religious nor sacrilegious, according to some, and others interpret such actions as appropriation of religious symbols for personal gain or to attract attention, which either is sacrilegious or at minimum, distasteful.

The lines that Yunho draws in his performances waver and wobble, because he does a duck and slide away from confrontation at every single opportunity.

For example he will take this pose for this photograph in a shirt that has this collar, and this fan took it exactly as intended: Instead of '아멘' (A-men) she wrote 호 (for Yunho)멘 (and apparently isn't very aware that Ho-Men might be an entirely appropriate but unintended pun in vernacular english. So HE may not have committed appropriation or sacrilege but he definitely got one girl to do it for him, and in praise of his beauty, which - double the sin.

Well if she can do that, I can do this. LOOK. (Also this is Passover week and this Friday is Good Friday and this Sunday is Easter and .... ) (Whatever. I'll just go to the Catholic part of hell. It's fine).

Why did I need to make the above? Well because Yunho does this shit. That he does. Did. Will do. During Halazia on stage. And is willing to demonstrate back stage. This Catholic gesture that caught my eye and made him suddenly much more interesting to me and I have ended up all the way here.

gifs by user nunutiny

The thing is, when he's asked in a jokey joke way, during the course of a Yunho Pop, to make the sign of the cross because the girls want to see it for their ... purposes, he does the thing that Yunho does when he is definitely not going to give you what you want.

At the start of this clip, he talks about going to a very big cathedral in Oakland. He also attended mass at this Cathedral. Ha Ha Ha "You want to see me make the Sign of the Cross? Why? I didn't expect that Our Atiny would so like my making the sign of the cross. Our Atiny - I didn't know Our Atiny would like my making the sign of the cross this much. Oh, you like it?" He's actually really offended, which is why the mirthless laughter, the asking the why, the saying he didn't know they'd like it this much (telling a blatant lie.) He heard the screaming that happens when he does this in concert. The Atiny that made this edit ends it where she ends it, so I actually ended up looking up the Live in order to check if he actually made the sign of the cross on demand during mass phone sex, oops sorry, Yunho Pop, and I was going to go after him like the Inquisition, but actually he doesn't. He stared down the camera for a very long silence before moving on to the next topic.

I heard an attorney once say that there's a hugely disproportionate number of attorneys and legal scholars who are Catholic.

Korean Catholics Feel Ownership Of the West

Yunho goes to a mass or a cathedral in every city he stopped in, on the European tour in 2025. Or at least, he said so, and he buys rosaries all the time. I also do this. I think most Korean Catholics, even the cafeteria catholics who don't go every Sunday to mass or do confession every week like you're supposed to. There's such a traumatizing history of mass executions (103 Korean martyrs were canonized at the same time in the 1980s) in Korean Catholicism, and I feel a weird ownership of all the Cathedrals in the world. I'm allowed to go there, I'm supposed to go there. My forebears bought entry to all the Cathedrals in all the world through their deaths. I think a lot of Korean Catholics of various levels of commitment feel this way. And absolutely all of us have a Rosary fetish.

Father Ateez WTF WTF

Did you know the CEO of Ateez is also a Catholic? I suspected that he must be, since a rosary bracelet is not a normal gift that agnostics or atheists give people.

The fact that this man has his charges call him FATHER is even more weird to me than ever. Korean Catholics do not call our priests "Father.'" We the Laity address God as Father, but we do not at all ever not a single time address any priest as "Father." We call priests literally, Sir Priest (Shinbu-nim 신부님), bishops Sir Bishop (주교님) etc. We don't call them Father. So this Catholic man has his mostly irreligious business charges call him FATHER which ... I really find this more disturbing than I did when I first heard it now that I learned from Yunho that his boss is Catholic.

The religiosity of the lyrics in the songs (and the set up of the lore being about otherwordly saviors, self sacrifice, going into battle even though you know you are outmatched) makes a lot of sense though, if the CEO is this openly religious.

St. Stefano

Korean Catholics have a concept of a Baptismal name. You 'take on' the name of a Catholic Saint in addition to your given Korean name when you are baptized in to the church. We call this 세례명. In most other countries, I think the baby just get baptized with the name they're going to use - or maybe as a middle name or whatever. But see, Korean Catholics are very aware that we are working with an imported religion whose roots lie elsewhere. So you have an identity as a Korean (Yunho Jeong) and you get an identity as a Catholic (Stefano).

In the official roster of Saints to serve as Baptismal Saints - that is, someone who can serve as your role model and mentor in the church, there are three separate Stephanos. 1) St Stephen (Festival day 12.26) the very first martyr of the Church. 2) St Stephen (Festival Day 2.8), founder of the Abbey of Grandmont. 3) King St. Stephen (Festival day 8.16) of Hungary. Why we call all of them Stephano in the Korean Church, I do not know. I also don't know which one is the right one for Yunho. If he was baptized as a baby, it is possible that they chose the saint closest to his birthday (which would be the founder of Grandmont since his birthday is in March). If he was baptized into the church later than that, and got to choose his own baptismal name, it's anyone's guess.

[muzzlemouths]

what remains after ruination - part 2

— read part 1 here

It starts with a promise.

Actually, it starts with two. One for each pinky.

The first is straightforward: you’re halfway out of the pizzaplex exits when a tug at your shoulder reels you back, and you realize they’ve stopped just short of the door, an uneasy tremble taking up the space between their limbs. You can sympathize with that fear. To them, this place isn’t the prison you saw it to be, it’s just home. The only place they’ve ever known. Leaving is scary, but staying is scarier. Worse by tenfold. All they need is a little push or, in this case, a pull. That’s exactly what you do.

“Hey, look at me,” your palm warms their own, hand over hand. “You don’t need to think about it. You can close your eyes if that’s easier. Let me be your guide, I’ll walk you out of here blind if that’s what it takes.”

Your words resonate with them if only by tell of clawed fingers gently squeezing back, and you want to smile, to encourage them with nothing but hope in your eyes, but your voice already quivers. Not out of fear, but anger. A boiling contempt for the place that only ever did them wrong.

“Look at me,” you repeat, waiting this time until their hollowed sockets clink towards you. “I am getting you out of here, okay? Once you step through this door, that’ll be the end of it. You never have to come back. It will be scary, and it will be troublesome, but you won’t be alone anymore. Not ever again.” Despite it all, you manage that smile. If it’s all you can muster you want to at least give them that. “I promise.”

There isn’t heads nor tails of your smile being returned and it guts you beyond anything that can be said. Someone so beloved, who retraced your spirit with a grin, smirk or snicker at every turn, now standing between the doorway with an expression like the fire ruined more than their body. Like their mind blinks static, battery fluid creeping beneath the eyes. They are haunted by the remnants of a company which failed them long before now.

Even still, out from held hands draws a pinky, hesitant yet extended toward you in expectation, their eyes never leaving yours; of course, how could you hope to keep a promise without shaking on it?

They cross the threshold the moment your pinkies collide.

You keep their gaze while leaving the dreaded place behind, never once allowing them to look over their shoulder. It’s all over with, you determine. There’s no reason to watch what’s left behind. All the pain, the isolation, the waiting. It ended here.

The second promise isn’t far behind. It happens once you’re already home and, disastrously, from the very second you release their hand.

“I’m going to find some new clothes,” you tell them, careful to tiptoe around the implications of their condition — the stench of burnt fabric and loss of limb. “I think I have some old clothes that should fit. Just hold tight, okay? I’ll only be a minute.”

It takes longer than a minute. Maybe two, maybe three, but you leave them behind for no more than that before a terrible crash echoes from your bathroom. The culprit? An oblong mirror overseeing your sink, now only a collection of shattered glass resting on bathroom tile.

Inside the tub is where you find them. Head in hands, knees to chest, and an awful wail shredding their voice box. Terrible shards of bad scary broken reflect back on them, their truths sharp as any blade, certainties they’d rather deny even at the expense of their own sanity.

“Don’t look,” they cry, face hidden behind mangled digits.

You’ve never been one to listen. A rulebreaker at heart. You take their hands into your own for the third time that night and mind the fragments of jagged silver that trickle away, silent as each comes to rest in their lap.

“I want to look,” comes your reply, only a whisper. “I want to see you. I don’t care what that looks like, so long as it’s you. I will never look away.”

Robots do not weep. They lack the tears to cry and the heart to hurt, yet, undoubtedly, what rips through their voice box is nothing short of a sob. Their body jerks forward and cranes at the neck, instinctively dropping their face into your chest as each howl brings new waves of motion that rock their shoulders up-down, up-down, up-down.

The second promise isn’t said aloud. It’s mouthed under your breath, a silent vow as you hold them close. A promise to rebuild. You would not rest until their smile returned.

This night signals many changes, anything to help bring them some peace, starting with the mirrors. Every reflective surface is either taken down or covered with sheets. The clothes come second. You help them from the bathtub and hand over a folded pile of hand-me-downs, turning to offer them some privacy only to feel a hand grab for the back of your shirt, an unspoken invitation to stay. You do, not having the heart to refuse.

The process is difficult. They strain to remove what remains of their clothes, outfits reduced to singed fabric, the sound of it being forcibly ripped away meets your back and it’s all you can do not to wince. There’s nothing left to salvage. In a horrible twist of irony, the absence of their bells rings loudest.

It isn’t until they’re fully dressed again that you remember the wires, messy and shorting all over the place. Thoughts of a fire breaking out with them as the source make you dizzy enough to find the wall for support. You want nothing more than to sit them in front of a charging port and let them rest, but this isn’t something you can easily ignore.

Now knowing better than to leave them behind, you instead guide them into your bedroom and spend a minute digging through four separate drawers, the endeavor seemingly fruitless until you come back with a half-empty roll of electrical tape from the last time you tried (and failed) to repair your laptop based on nothing but a youtube tutorial and hope.

Turning around, it’s here where you finally take in the full display of them in your clothes. The pants ride up to just below the knee, and the shirt – though fitting in every other way – sits just above their waistline. It would be a sight worthy of laughter were either of you in the mood.

Even from here you can see the fabric bulging outward to split-end wires. It’s a dangerous combo, one that would surely kill you both if it isn’t taken care of tonight, late as it already is.

Now the trouble came with figuring out how best to word it.

“I’m sorry to ask,” you begin, sheepishly casting your gaze aside, “but I need you to lift your shirt. Can you do that for me?”

You busy yourself with unwrapping the roll if only for an excuse to avoid their eyes for a minute longer. For all intents and purposes you’ve seen them shirtless more often than not. Even so, this felt like an enormous invasion of privacy. A request that is too much, too soon, even if it arrived with a purpose.

Maybe it’s the guilt. That, because you never could get yourself to say three simple words, you’d maybe never get to say them at all. Not without working back up to it, at least. Maybe it’s the shame in hiding behind friendship bracelets when all you wanted to do was pour your heart out until nothing remained between you but the truth.

Now isn’t the time. Maybe it would never be time. Maybe that moment had passed, already, and you would just have to accept that this was the new normal. That you would never have that chance again.

It doesn’t actually matter, because they don’t give you the time to even try. Already having disrobed, their index finger taps gently against your nose to bring you back to the present.

You do your best not to stare at the damage to their waist as you patch it up. A haphazard and amateurish job if you’ve ever seen one, but it’ll do.

“Are you tired?” The words arrive with little warning and, truthfully, you don’t even need an answer. You can see it in their slumped posture, the heavy creak with which they move as the shirt falls back into place. And why shouldn’t they be exhausted? Truth be told, it’s a miracle they made it out in…mostly one piece. Tired is an understatement. You aren’t sure how they’re still standing.

They confirm your suspicions with a nod and a mumble, nothing more.

“Got peanut butter in your throat?” You ask.

And there it is; their smile. Small, a little funny without the teeth, but there all the same.

You remember that talk like it was yesterday. The daycare had closed not five minutes before, which meant you were running around like a busy bee to take care of cleanup. Sun had thrown his voice across the room to ask if you knew where the disinfectant had run off to.

“Mhm,” you had answered, hardly a mutter.

“Got peanut butter in your throat?”

It had startled you back into focus. You turned over your shoulder to find him there, hands on his hips, that silly grin stretching his cheeks.

“Sometimes the kids bring PB&J sandwiches to the daycare,” Sun explains, “and the peanut butter, well, it gets all sticky in their throat, and they have so many thoughts going through their little heads that they don’t stop to use their voices, they just mumble.” He laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and his smile is contagious, blooming like, well, like sunlight on your skin. It sticks with you like peanut butter sticks to one’s throat.

“Friend?”

The new voice, scratchy like an old record, brings you back to the present. Their smile is gone now, replaced with a worrisome frown. You convince yourself to stop dwelling on the past for the time being. No good will come of it when tomorrow itself still isn’t certain.

“Just got distracted,” you tell them, forcing a smile of your own. “Let’s get you to an outlet, yeah? I’m sure you’re more exhausted than you’re letting on.”

Their hand curls more surely around yours this time as you guide them the remaining distance to your bed. Sure, having them sleep here will make your sheets smell of burnt debris, but you aren’t about to banish them to the couch. Not after the night – no, the months they’ve had festering in that abandoned hole of a pizzaplex.

You do your best to ignore the feeling of eyes on your back as you cross the room from there. Very few things were brought back from the daycare, most of it being the far and few between children’s drawings that somehow avoided becoming ash in the inferno, but alongside them you were sure to grab their charging cord. It’s thick like an extension, and looked like it would fit just fine in a normal outlet, but you couldn’t say for sure how well your house’s electric system would handle the kind of output necessary to charge an entire robot.

“I’m not even sure this is going to work,” you tell them, waving the cord around for emphasis. “So just, uh, cross your fingers Su–” the name makes it halfway out of your mouth before your teeth clamp down. You try again, no more confident than before. “Er…Moon?”

“Eclipse,” they answer, smile returning with ease. So, too, do they show their hand; fingers crossed.

“Right,” you nod. What was it you said about their smile being contagious? “Eclipse. I like that – even if it’ll take some getting used to.”

Their cord is plugged into the wall without a hitch. You climb into bed after them, feeling nothing if not a little flustered about it all, and carefully draw the shirt’s collar away from the back of their neck.

“Alright, so far so good, now we just need to get this thing hooked up to you and we’re home free.”

“And if not?” They ask, looking over their shoulder with the wettest eyes a robot has to offer.

“Then we’ll figure it out from there,” you declare. “Now hold still, I’ve never done this before.”

It should be easy as plugging in anything else, right? Just angle the connector, slide it into place, and—

Darkness swallows your house whole.

They hadn’t held the charge for even a second – sitting bolt upright, then sagging again as the power source left their body quick as it came. Shit.

“Well, I guess that answers my question about how much output my house can handle,” you sigh. “Let me go flip the panel outside so it restarts, then maybe I can head to the store and get a decent generator, and from there I can—”

Their hand finds yours before you’ve even fully retreated from the bed, catching you like a lifesaver, and you remember abruptly that they are still lost at sea.

“Don’t go,” they plead, whispering still. Confliction must be written all over your face, for they continue without your answer. “Stay. We will last until morning.”

You aren’t convinced. There it is, again. The guilt. If they don’t last until morning, if their charge runs out while you sleep, selfishly resting as their very life drains away, it will be the second time you’ve abandoned them.

But if you leave them now, when they are at their lowest, will it not be an even worse fate? Should you not be here, at the very least, if and when their battery bleeds its last?

You nod decisively, steeling yourself for whatever happens, and offer them your pinky. “Do you promise?”

Their smile reappears, wider than ever, as though they are eager to return the favor. “I promise,” they nod. “We promise.”

You shake on it.

The darkness doesn’t bother you. In fact, as you climb into bed again and fit yourself beside them, knowing that nothing in the morning is certain except that you will have to reset your clocks, you find that nothing in the world could bother you more than being without them.

Eclipse helps you gather the blankets up to your chests, and you face each other just like that, giggling like kids in a pillow fort, and things don’t feel so bleak anymore.

Your life is changing, and it will be scary, and it will be troublesome, but you won’t go into it alone.

After all, you have a promise to keep.

[steviewashere]

I need to see Steve Harrington be a father. Need it. Need it so bad. Walk with me here.

He holds his newborn child. His arms are flexing really hard because he's both holding on tight, but also so fucking scared. One of his hands coming up to gently trace the soft jaw of his baby, brushing the pad of his thumb over one of the bulbous, flushed cheeks. Eyes half-open as he stares down at this baby, just an instantaneous love outpouring through him; he's teary and trying so hard not to cry because he wants to see his baby, wants to commit every last detail to memory, wants to just stay in this forever—even when the baby squirms and cries and screams, he just wants to remember the sounds, the expressions, wants to remember what it felt like to hand off the baby for feeding time, wants to remember the weight in his arms—such a different weight to all the death he's held in them, replaced now by brand new life that he nurtured with all his efforts; no matter how afraid he was of becoming a parent like his own.

The learning stages? Oh, give me a fucking break! He's sitting on the floor of his living room, criss-cross, bouncing his kiddo on his knee. He's singing some little song that doesn't have lyrics, doesn't even exist, but it's just theirs. Smiling all proud at the fact that his baby is babbling now. And then his kid says 'da-da' and he's just...melted. He wants to screech so bad, but doesn't want his kid to be scared. His hands tense lightly, squeezing, but he's just so careful about it. Giddy and smiley and near crying again. Showing off the new word to anybody in his vicinity, the number one cheerleader from the get-go. Baby starts walking and he makes sure that it happens as much as possible, guiding and holding the baby's hands and walking alongside his baby no matter how slow he has to go—he's already thinking about all the walks they're going to take, down to the lake to feed the ducks, to the park to play, trick-or-treating...

And he's so attentive. So, so attentive. Drops everything he's doing whenever his kid needs him. Wants him, too. Will read bedtime stories until they both end up passed out in the nursery's rocking chair, in the toddler bed, in the twin bed. He lets his kid draw on him. Hangs up all the artwork on the fridge, rearranging them so they all fit. He's cutting up the food so that it's something his kid will eat—dinosaur sandwiches? sure, why not! Doesn't make his kid try something they don't like, something his parents never did for him. Listens to music he doesn't particularly enjoy, but his kid enjoys. Fully involved playtime; Steve turns into a jungle gym, he's doing all the sounds for the trucks/cars, lightsaber fights, improvised story when it comes to playing with figurines.

Opens up the middle of his bed for his kid when they have nightmares. Soothing them anyway he can. Scalp massages, fully tactile hugs, just holding them in his arms, anything he can possibly do. If they catch each other in the middle of the night, Steve's offering a cookie or some sort of hot drink or a full on grilled cheese sandwich.

High school? Steve is weeping. But he's still as attentive. Listens to every single problem his kid has. Gives advice where it's needed. They gossip, of course they fucking do. He pulls his kid out of school every once in a while just to hang out, give them a mental break. They argue from time to time, but he can recognize when he needs to apologize and does. Doesn't like to hold things above his kid's head—like his parents did. Doesn't remind them of things they did wrong. Doesn't call his kid names. He's always present when he needs to be. Is consistently proud of his kid, even when they completely fuck something up.

Anyway. Just Steve being a dad!!! I love Dad Steve Harrington! Give that man a baby, god damnit!!!!!

[sxcret-garden]

ღ NCT Dream Jaemin x gn!reader ღ words: ~800 ღ genre: smut (sub!Jaemin, edging, some body worship, nipple play, praise, marking, handjob, oral (all idol receiving)) ღ reader: no description of reader’s anatomy, no pronouns used to refer to reader ღ warnings: none ღ prompt: “You look so good beneath me.”

Author’s note: I’ve actually never thought of him taking on a submissive role, but now I don’t think I’ll be able to stop thinking about it anytime soon…

You can’t take your eyes off of him. The way he’s throwing his head back, lips parted to make way for the sweetest moans that escape him with every single one of your touches. His hands grappling the sheets, because you didn’t give him permission to touch you and he desperately needs something to hold onto. The muscles dancing under his skin with every time he squirms underneath you or shifts his position - to meet your touch when he needs more, or to try to escape it when it’s getting too much.

“You’re so pretty…” you coo over your boyfriend, and the desperate look in his eyes as he meets your gaze makes you gasp. You’re straddling him, one hand stroking his length at an unhurried pace, while the other finds its way up to his chest. Jaemin lets out a pained groan as he throws his head back into the pillow, and you send him a fond smile. “Not yet, baby,” you whisper, and the broken sound coming out of his mouth when you take your hand away from where he needs it the most only makes you want to torture him some more. You’ve been edging him for a while - it’s evident in the way he’s panting, hair sticking to his forehead, and he’s watching you with tired eyes. And yet he doesn’t disobey, he hasn’t tried even once to flip your positions around, taking what he wants. Instead he’s taking what you want, remaining patient.

“Such a good boy,” you praise, and he furrows his eyebrows at your words before you lean in to place a kiss to his sternum. Working your way up as you scatter little nips and kisses all over his skin, you add, “You look so good beneath me.” Jaemin moans in response, letting you do to him whatever you want. You reach his face eventually, and the fucked out expression he’s wearing has heat rushing through your veins. “Fuck, you’re so perfect…” you breathe, and then you lean in to capture his quivering lips in a deep kiss. He lets you lead, and as you move your lips against his, you reach for his hands, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing them up so you could pin him against the bed. You break the kiss, gently, and in the way he follows you as you move away you can tell he wants more. However, you shake your head ever so slightly, and then you let your lips wander from the corner of his mouth to his throat. He leans his head back to make space for you, and as a reward you linger, sucking a mark into the skin at the side of his neck.

“Y/N…” he mewls your name, and when you roll your hips against his once, he lets out yet another desperate sound. He sucks in a shaky breath, but he doesn’t say anything. You know he’s at his limit, and still a part of you wants to drag this out even longer. Still, you continue to make your way south, mapping out every inch of his body with your mouth, just like you have done so many times before. His painfully hard cock rubbing against your stomach as you lean in to wrap your lips around his nipple finally draws a quiet “please” from him. As much as you love how obedient he can get, sometimes you just want to hear him beg, and so you continue. Your tongue drawing circles around the sensitive bud, alternating with sucking gently on it to be sure to drive him absolutely mad, you grind your hips against his thigh, causing your stomach to move against the tip of his weeping cock, and the friction has him shuddering underneath you.

“Shit…” A curse escapes him, his eyes are squeezed tightly shut.

“You’re gonna cum just like that?” you ask him, your tone somewhat mocking, and as you glance up at his face you can see him blush. “I know something better…” Jaemin is clenching his teeth now, you can tell he was about to fall apart when you sit up to move further down, and the pathetic whine he lets out makes you smirk. Wrapping your hand around his length, you mutter, “Cum in my mouth, pretty boy.” And as you take him in, he bucks his hips, fists tearing at the bedsheets, and he moans when his tip hits the back of your mouth. You swallow around him, your free hand holding his hips in place, and it takes but a few times of you bobbing your head up and down until he comes undone underneath you. A delicious moan slipping past his lips accompanies him releasing in your mouth, and you swallow every last drop of his cum before you sit up, now drawing soothing circles onto his thigh.

“You did well, baby,” you mutter, scattering soft kisses up his abdomen, while he’s still catching his breath. “So, so well.”

[wwillywonka]

spock crying in the the motion picture novelization

as i was watching star trek the motion picture today, i found myself wondering how closely it and the book align only to find that the essential scene, the thesis statement of the tmp story, where spock draws a direct parallel between v'ger and himself while crying is simply... not in the book. i know the version that's more widely available now is the director's cut and that said scene wasn't even in the original theatrical release, but the movie is simply incomplete without it. so! i decided to write out the scene as if it were in the book! please enjoy my take on a prose version of spock's beautiful speech

“Spock?” Then, when his Science Officer did not answer, “Mr. Spock.”

Kirk rose from the captain’s chair and made for the console where Spock sat, facing away from him towards the screen that displayed Vejur’s activity.

“I think -" Kirk began.

Then, Spock turned towards him in his chair, hand releasing from its resting place against the thin line of his mouth. He was — crying. A single, shimmering tear was streaking down his left cheek. His eyes, usually so dark and, since his return from Vulcan, so indecipherable, now shone brightly under the dim, warm light of the bridge. His eyebrows crinkled inwards, not in contemplative thought but, and Kirk would have never guessed, worry. It seemed that open, unashamed emotion left over from Spock’s mind meld with the intruder had not yet dissipated, though Kirk was unsure if Spock’s tears were more Vejur’s than his own.

Spock nodded his head, lifting it a little towards his captain, slightly accusatorily. There was no attempt to hide, no apologetic aversion of gaze. It seemed as if he were telling Jim, “Yes, believe what you are seeing, Captain.

“I have returned.”

Kirk felt McCoy step into place at his side, the doctor’s eyes settling on the now multiple tears pooling down Spock’s face. The captain shared a look with McCoy, acknowledging their mutual concern and astonishment towards their friend.

“Not for us,” Kirk finally stated.

“No, Captain. Not for us.” Spock’s voice, if perhaps a little softer than usual, was confident, steady, calm. Certain. “For Vejur.”

Spock raised his hands, intertwining the fingers in a familiar, thoughtful gesture, but kept them suspended in the air, fidgeting.

Commander Decker approached, too, eyebrows furrowing as he took in the image before him. Kirk showed no sign of acknowledging his presence, the captain’s attention entirely focused on his friend.

“I weep for Vejur as I would for a brother," Spock continued. "As I was when I came aboard, so is Vejur now. Empty, incomplete, and searching. Logic and knowledge are not enough.”

Kirk thought back to every argument, every insistent remark Spock made during their initial five-year mission about his lack of emotion, about his fundamental inability to consider anything else but logic and careful reasoning. Were these out of desperation, a need for the humans of the old Enterprise crew to accept his words as fact so that he, too, could cement their validity? Maybe in Spock’s mind, the more times he declared it, the closer it would be to coming true.

“Spock,” McCoy cut in, colliding reality with Kirk’s thoughts and Spock’s poetic words. “Are you saying that you’ve found what you needed, but Vejur hasn’t?” Decker spoke first. “What would Vejur need to fulfill itself?” Spock moved his gaze towards the main screen, just past Kirk’s head in his line of sight. “Each of us, at some time in our lives, turns towards someone: a father, a brother, a god… and asks, ‘Why am I here? What was I meant to be?’” He took in a sharp breath. “Vejur hopes to touch its creator-“ And now, he lifted his gaze, meeting Kirk’s eyes. “To find its answers.”

“‘Is this all that I am?’” said the captain, quoting Spock’s words from their conversation in sickbay. “‘Is there nothing more?’”

[redsrooftopprincess]

Assassin

Raphael x Fem Reader

No warnings, just pain

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

...

He's always had a sixth sense about his children. Perhaps it is part of his mutation, perhaps it is fatherly instincts, but when his more emotional son went missing late into the wedding reception, he went looking.

He finds Raphael sitting on a secluded bench by the house, sheltered from the moonlight by branches overhead. When he approaches, his second son looks up at him with tear filled eyes. He places a soft paw against his cheek.

"Will you tell me what is troubling you?" He asks, knowing that pushing will get him nowhere. His son looks up at him with a lost expression, before shame and anguish turn his features.

"I can't..." He says, looking away.

Splinter frowns, now more concerned. This must be serious. "Take your time..." He reassures, as he sits beside him, placing a paw on Raphael's shoulder. The internal conflict is clear on his face, and he can't meet his father's gaze for several long moments.

"I love her, Dad... I love her so damn much..." he finally responds, breath hitching at the confession, needing a moment before he can continue. "And... every time I think I got a handle on it she goes out with some jerk... or she does something really sweet... or she just... looks at me. And I'm right back where I started."

He grips the bench hard, wood cracking under strong tridactyl hands, "God, I haven't hated it this much since I was a kid," he laughs humorlessly. It took him so long to find peace with himself. With all the things he could never have.

"I was good, you know? For *so long* I was good... Then she turns up and suddenly I..." He shakes his head. You'd come into his world and he'd started *wanting* things again. Impossible things.

He'd walked down the aisle with you as Best Man and Maid of Honor, and the whole time his friends were getting married, he was looking at you. And when the bride was being kissed and you turned to smile at him from the other side of the archway...

"What I'd give for a chance, you know? Just a shot. Just to see if we *might* work..." His voice cracks as if, if he were insistent enough, the Gods would let him have this one thing, "because I think we would. I think we..." His voice choking off into a sob as Splinter pulls him down into a hug.

Tomorrow, his gratitude for you will return. He really does love you, and wouldn't trade what he already has with you for anything. But tonight, as the party winds down across the lawn, Raphael weeps into his father's shoulder, mourning the love he can never give you.

...

Less a lover, more a fighter

But I'm tired of fighting to hold on

Got too many scars to hide them

So it's easier being on my own

But you

Shoot first, draw blood, before I know

Yeah you

One shot, one touch, and I let go

How did this happen?

My walls were up and

You moved without a sound

Never imagined, like an assassin

One look took me down...

Assassin, Sultan + Shepherd

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch

(let me know if you want in on the tag list ♥️)

[tinymehilainen]

Feel, feel, feel

notes: under the cut because it's long for a tumblr post. first fic experiment in this style and format.

Cyprus. The last day.

The last sunrise feels like a sunset, and Bojan doesn't want to see it. He doesn't, even though every sunrise during their week together has been a moment of beautiful clarity in love, finally waking up next to the man he wants by his side for the rest of his life. He knows he is missing something beautiful, but he doesn't want to see the sun climbing up, reminding him that eventually, it'll come back down too. If Bojan just keeps his eyes closed and his body pressed against the love of his life, as close as possible, maybe time can't get him.

Jere notices. Of course Jere notices.

"Bojan? Are you crying?"

"... No"

"Then why my tits get wet?"

The absurdity of the man next to him makes Bojan feel lighter, time less of a threat.

"I don't know, maybe your tits just do that."

He feels rather than hears Jere chuckle.

"See I think I'm in bed, Bojan face is on my chest and my tiddies getting wet, so I count one plus one and I think Bojan is crying on my tiddies."

Bojan can't help but smile against Jere's skin.

"Stop saying tiddies, I'm sad and you're making me laugh."

"You want be sad?" Jere sounds confused.

"A little bit, maybe. Can you pet my back?" Bojan whispers quietly.

Jere's hand instantly finds its way to Bojan's back and starts stroking his skin gently. Bojan feels himself relaxing, time slowing down.

"Why you want be sad?" Jere asks softly.

Bojan takes a deep breath and wills himself to be calm. He doesn't want to drag Jere down with him, but he desperately needs to hear it'll be okay. That they will be okay.

"It's our last day. I think it's right to be a little bit sad."

Jere's hand strokes his cheek softly, making Bojan wrap his arms around Jere's body even tighter.

"What about we enjoy last day?"

The hand finds its way to Bojan's hair.

"We can do that after I'm done being sad," Bojan mumbles, cheek still pressed against Jere's chest.

He doesn't want to move.

"So you are crying," Jere says in a softly amused voice Bojan knows is reserved only for him.

"... Yes."

"You want talk?" Jere pets his cheek again, as if to wake Bojan up from his gloom.

His voice is so soft and gentle it makes Bojan want to weep.

"I really don't know," Bojan whispers.

The hand is now drawing little hearts on his back.

"You want try? Tell me why you sad," Jere encourages.

Another deep breath, and Bojan makes himself speak the words that have been echoing in his mind all morning.

"Because our time here together is ending and we have to go back to being apart."

If his voice cracks, Jere doesn't mention it. But another hand joins the first one, just holding Bojan against the grounding body that feels like home.

"But you coming to Finland for a little bit. We still together for some days."

There's a whisper of desperation in Jere's voice, and suddenly Bojan realizes he's not the only one who has to deal with separation - only perhaps Jere had banked on being able to avoid dealing with for a few more days.

But once he has started, Bojan can't stop.

"But not like this. It's back to reality. No more just you and me, without work, without worries, just us."

Jere soldiers on.

"Maybe reality is good thing too. Every time we go back to reality after dream holiday together, we are stronger," he says, determined.

"Maybe..." Bojan manages to whisper.

"But.. maybe Bojan don't want to hear why reality is good right now."

Jere can always tell.

"Yeah... maybe not," Bojan chokes out.

Bojan feels like he could crumble into dust, right here, from the sheer force of the emotions his heart is trying to manage. The love he feels for the man holding him close, the aching caused by the loss looming ahead, the fear of the moment of separation.

"Jerč?"

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me all the things you're going to miss? About this? About me?"

This time his voice definitely cracks, and the hands and the strong arms hold him just a little bit tighter.

"Okei. Can I put hand here?"

A hand sneaks down Bojan's back, under the waistband of his boxers and rests gently on his buttock.

"Yeah, please. Feels nice," Bojan breathes and feels grounding skin against his own on almost every inch of his body.

"I'm going to miss being close, like this. I can touch you, hold you very close. I see you, and hear you, and feel you and smell you all the time," Jere says, speaking softly but confidently, no doubt or question in his mind about what they are to each other here, in their own room, their own little world.

Bojan squeezes his eyes shut tight but he doesn't cry anymore. He focuses every cell and every nerve, to feel, to hear, to smell, to absorb the reality of Jere into his existence.

Bojan doesn't know what he's looking for, but he is sure he'll know it when he hears it.

"Yeah, being like this..." Bojan agrees. "Feeling your body so.. solid, next to mine. Not just having the memory of your body, but actually having you here.. I'm going to miss that too. Anything else?"

"Talking and not talking, anytime. When we feel like talking, we talk. When we want be quiet, we are quiet. But even when we are quiet, it's not.. It's not-" Jere falls silent looking for the right words.

Bojan already knows.

"Yes that's it.

"It's not quiet because we don't have anything to talk about. It's quiet because we don't have to talk to feel connected," he says.

A beat of silence to confirm it's still there.

"... More?" Bojan whispers.

"I'm going to miss how you make me feel safe. Like.. nothing in real world can get me. I'm in foreign country but I feel like home because you are here. I know after this week I have so much work, so much stress, but I feel like you can make bad things go away. You always make me feel like that, Bojan. Since Eurovision I feel like you can make bad things go away." This time it is Jere's voice that cracks.

Bojan's heart either skips a beat or thumps an extra one, he can't tell which.

"Yeah?"

"Is like you can read my mind sometimes. You always know what I need.. When I need you distract me, when I need you take me some place where we have peace and quiet, when I need you... you save me. From everything. I don't know what I do without you, Bojan," Jere whispers into Bojan's hair before sealing the confession with a kiss.

"Oh..."

This. This is what he was looking for.

"Bojan, you squeeze my arm maybe too tight a little bit."

"Sorry.."

He wills his fingers to relax.

"That's better. I am going to miss how I can relax, when you are here, because I know you are right here and I know you take care of me. And so I try take care of you," Jere says, his fingers digging into Bojan's skin everywhere they touch him.

"And you do," Bojan breathes.

"And that doesn't stop when we are not here, together, anymore.. But it feel stronger like this," he says quietly.

He hopes Jere can feel just how much he means it, through sheer power of will and touch, because out loud he can only whisper.

Jere's voice is barely above whisper too.

Bojan has to show him. Has to let him know, let him feel.

And he has to get closer, closer still. Coexist, merge, become... Feel, feel, feel for himself

Finally, he looks up.

"Can I kiss you, Jerč?"

Jere's face lights up and Bojan doesn't care that he missed the sunrise.

"Yes, please."

Kissing Jere makes breathing easier. Bojan feels like every point of contact between them charges him with life.

Hands, legs, thighs, stomachs, lips, noses... And he feels, feels, feels.

And he wants more.

"Can we... keep going?"

A spark.

"You want..?"

He wants everything, so much that it hurts.

"Yeah.. but can we go slow?"

Can we exist as one for as long as possible?

"We still have whole day."

[joleenjackalope]

So I have some Lenore thoughts, I like the idea of her a lot. But I don't think she's worth her price. So here are just some of my thoughts, as well as my doodling out some of those thoughts. I don't think she necessarily needs all these things, it's more that I let my internal rants about how she could be better guide me out of my art block these past couple days.

Part of why people pay more for collector dolls is because they have some type of attachment to them. Either being a Monster High character they already love, from an IP they love, or even the Off White had some brand recognition. (just not from me) And I felt like Lenore COULD have been the lady in white/weeping woman ghost story that just about every town has.

That being said- What is with the glitter tears?? If she had a unique sculpt that actually had a downturn on the brows and a sad face, and actually LOOKED like a weeping garden ghost, that alone would have made her more appealing!

Then why unpainted accessories? Why one big unpainted accessory her main focus? I like the vines (I didn't go very detailed here) but either paint them or make them smaller. (What I did) But if you want me to believe that the doll is WORTH $75 then you need to show that some actual care and effort went into her manufacturing and paint her damn accessories.

I just wanted an excuse to draw the spider. I don't like the human face but I only like a few of any of the MH pets anyway. so...

Put her damn hair up. Just like with the accessories, show me she is WORTH her price.

All of the above combined, the collector dolls stray further away from the High school aspect of MH and although Victorian/period fashion isn't necessarily my thing, I know a ton of collectors would have loved her looking like a ghost who's been haunting for a long time. And since she's not a character that's being portrayed in the high school - a collector doll would have been great! There's lots of adult/non-student characters.

Mini notes- I didn't draw patterns for her clothing, but the pattern on her dress as is would have still looked lovely on a bigger, fancier gown. I didn't do full body and I have no notes on shoes. They're not my specialty. And I would have appreciated her not having a full white sclera.

Also, line art for this piece is available here, tag me if you color it! I'd love to see. ♥♥♥

[zorosdimples]

THESE LITTLE DEATHS OF MINE ꒰ okkotsu yuuta x reader ꒱

minors do not interact—i will block you. cw: angst. reader’s stream-of-consciousness and emotions regarding yuuta’s line of work. ambiguous ending (hope is alive). brief sexual descriptions. reader is gn and implied to be shorter than yuuta. wc: 1031. notes: fingers crossed that this makes sense :’-) it’s a little all over the place.

A piece of you dies each time he recklessly throws himself in harm’s way.

Caring for others to the detriment of his own wellbeing is as natural to Yuuta as breathing. He won’t ever admit it (not in words, at least) but you know his heart better than your own. You have held it bloody and beating in your clammy palms, felt the muscle contract and expand, contract and expand; you have seen the truth buried within its chambers, vessels, and valves.

Yuuta believes his suffering is deserved—a cyclical debt he must repay for unwittingly chaining his childhood love to this realm.

Each little death is painful. Gasps of air clatter in your throat, unable to reach your screaming lungs. Violence rends your spirit and severs your very being, its splintered fragments crumbling to dust. You’re a vessel of who you once were, your boyfriend’s life your only concern, his medical updates the gospel.

It’s a basic trick of the mind—a twisted form of self-preservation—convincing yourself that your own injuries aren’t serious. Tattered nerves and a frayed psyche simply need stitching; what is ripped can always be mended.

Though every time you think you’ve grown accustomed to seeing him bear another senseless scar, you’re proven wrong.

═════════════════

Two hands can’t count all the conversations you’ve had like this, his body rigid and prone, your tears threatening to carve crimson rivulets down his wan face. There’s a cruel voice that whispers in your ear: from a distance, he looks like a corpse. A new wound weeps profusely on his abdomen, a weary smile tugging at his split lips. 

“I’m going to be okay,” he soothes before you can say anything.

It’s unconvincing. Maybe it would be easier to trust him if you hadn’t been in this exact position over a dozen times before. Yuuta soaks up your expression, honing in on the furrow between your brows. If he had a little more strength, he’d smooth over the wrinkle with his thumb—there, all better.

“I’ll be good as new in a couple days.” He tries to keep his tone breezy, but you hear a coarse rattle when he exhales. “Then we can laugh about this, yeah?”

Sniffling, you rub your puffy eyes with the heel of your palm. Your mouth curves into a pout, your lips the delicate petals of a flower curling shut. “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep.”

“I could never break a promise to you.”

You find the pulse point on Yuuta’s wrist, taking comfort in the dull lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. 

═════════════════

He decides to tell you now.

You’re crammed together in the shower, wet skin slipping and sliding, soap suds swirling across the tile and down the drain. The water is hot, steam fogging up the vanity mirror. (You both like to write your initials in the condensation, drawing a heart around them like lovesick teens—a silly way to reclaim some of your lost youth.) Yuuta diligently washes your body, nimble digits working at the knots in your shoulders before lathering your back. 

“Tomorrow morning, I have to leave for an assignment. I’ll be gone before you get up for work.” His voice is muted—a ghost of whisper—and you suck in a breath. His touch trails down your spine, lingering over each vertebra before he reaches your hips and grips the fat, thumbs stroking your softness. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone…”

It takes you a few beats to process the news; you release the breath you’ve been holding. You squeeze your eyes shut, tracing over the crack in your words before you speak. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I have to, my love.”

“I know you do.”

Deafening silence stretches between you like a void, filling the distance between your bodies.

“Say something,” Yuuta entreats.

He bows his head to smear a kiss against the nape of your neck. While the water is scalding, his lips are cold, and you tremble. Crystalline droplets blur your vision as you turn to your boyfriend, seeking solace in his embrace. A lithe arm wraps around your waist while the other cradles your head. 

“You don’t get to leave my side at all tonight. Not once,” you mumble into his chest. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I can’t risk disappointing you, can I?”

His irises are too deep, too blue—mournful as the twilight sky.

═════════════════

It always plays out the same, the evening before he leaves. You’ve made a ritual of it, a sacred, holy rite. There’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you that this could be it—which is why you must devour each other wholly. 

Loving and being loved by Yuuta is usually honey-slow and tender. But when everything is at stake, you can’t get enough of one another. It’s reminiscent of your first time together: sloppy kisses that wet your chin, blooming marks that litter your bodies, stuttered confessions in the rare moment that you part for air. You finish around his fingers and tongue until you’re dizzy and pliant. And by the time he enters you, a flame engulfs his movements, everything brutal and incandescent with passion. It’s his declaration of love. Of possession. Of yearning. 

“Don’t leave me,” you cry, clawing at his shoulders—your lifeline.

“I’ll be back,” he promises. “I’ll come back to you. Always.”

Eventually, you collapse in a heap of damp sheets and sticky flesh, your limbs inextricably tangled, your lover still buried inside you. Moonbeams slip through the edges of your curtains while you drift off as one.

═════════════════

The trill of the alarm startles you awake. The room is empty—save for your lone figure, nude and sore. You roll to Yuuta’s side of the bed and nestle beneath the covers; the herbal scent of shampoo clings to his pillow. If you close your eyes, you can pretend he’s beside you, gazing at your profile with disarming adoration. 

I’ll be back. 

You revisit that moment, play it frame-by-frame, memorize his insistent stare and the decisive set of his jaw. A stray tear pearls at the outer corner of your eye and rolls down your temple, wetting his pillowcase. 

I’ll be back. 

Hopelessly, you wish that Yuuta didn’t have a habit of making promises he can’t keep.

═════════════════

[tinydefector]

Hello Tiny, I hope you are doing fine and well. I wanted to thank you for all your writing, it is so engaging to read.

I don't have any request, but I do have a scenario regarding Tarn and his human parenting moments.

The twins are trying to say their first words, one of them babbling "Da... Da". Both parents looking with adoration, and finaly listen "Damush".

Tarn is perplexed, his human is just about to explain they tell the twins little stories using his previous names, until the other sparkling speaks out loud "Gluiitch!".

Tarn is petrified, his partner doesn't need to see beyond his mask to notice Tarns jaw drop expression.

Minutes later both sparklings look at their human parent, speaking out "Par-Par". Both parents responsing with "Awwwww".

Thank you again for your incredible writing and drawings. If you got the time to read this, I just wanted to tell you, you are an extrordinary and talented person.

Omg Aurox, that sounds. God damn cute. But like can you imagine the panic. But also when you think about how cybertronians hand their own dialects and sparklings also are rather well versed in the 'chitter' talk which works off cybertronian fields outside of their races different languages.

I can see Tarn being rather used to them using the chitter glyphs for him which don't really shock him but the moment your potential baby that is being raised an essentially a bilingual family calls you by your name in Cybertronian or much less a human language out loud it has a rather big shock value to it. But even more so if he hasn't told them those names and his lover hasn't but they have access to parts of his memory's from data transfers from when they were still being carried by their 'carrier'.

The true horror when Tarn realises 'frag my Sparklings can access key memories from my past!'

And then, on the other hand, his human lover just thinks its their babies trying to learn words and mix cybertronian up with their own language. But the first time they get called Par-Par makes them nearly weep in delight. They are just blissfully unaware of the fact their bitlets have eventually become part of Tarns worst nightmare, and his only hope is as they grow older, the memory access fades as they begin filing and saving their own.

(Loge the idea of Tarn peaceful living his life where no one remembers or knows his past, then his kids give him the big innocent eyes of. 'I know your secrets'

________

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[pennyellee]

CHAPTER II - sponsalia

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of God, mention of drugs, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of death, overwhelming, violence, sexual tension

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 6,7K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER III

sponsalia (n.) engagement

The heavy rain casts a hazy veil over the world around her and the sound of them reminds her of the storm that rages within. The last memory is coming through the light once she opens her eyes and sees, now, familiar surroundings. Lost and trapped. She wishes this to be only a mere nightmare she will wake up from. Her voice sore and barely audible, she whispers into the quiet room illuminated by the fire from the fireplace, “Why did you let this happen, my lord?” Knowing deep down that her question will remain unanswered, she longs for just one response—

“A twist of fate, perhaps, my little dove.”

She does not dare to turn herself to the voice, never before feeling such overwhelming fear. Her heart aches with sadness and is reigned by fear and perhaps a tinge of disappointment at her inability to escape and flee the spars of this world.

“No courage now? You displayed enough when you injured one of my men,” he chuckles with a sly grin, thoroughly intrigued by the woman lying in his bed.

“Is he alright?” She rises from the bed, unaware that every word she utters draws him even deeper.

“Are you concerned for his well-being or worried that this sin will lead you to hell?” He arches an eyebrow, curiously expecting her answer.

Lowering her gaze to her trembling hands, she stammers, “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just needed to get away.”

‘A pure soul,’ he contemplates silently. This very woman might just be his endgame. He is determined but wishes to interrogate more. Seizing the opportunity when her guard momentarily falters, he taunts.

“Get away from me? Or was there something else, darling?” He knows he knows it all and a lot more, yet he is so intrigued to hear it from her.

“Can I leave?”

“No, —” he said quickly “—I asked you a question.”

“Why can’t I leave?” Y/N asked again, more determined to get a real answer once she started to feel an epiphany about her situation.

“Why would you want to leave?” he counters.

And for once, she started to think strongly about what awaits her once she leaves. Apart from her oppressive home, where punishment or death looms, she has nowhere else to go. Y/N failed to get away.

“Are you from the Yakuza?” she mutters, finally realising he never disclosed his identity.

“Min Yoongi,” he simply uttered his name, knowing it will answer her question. Her pupils are dilated, and her breathing gets shallow.

“Will you answer my question…. Y/N?”

Her heart races, desperately trying to regain control of her breath, but her mind remains scattered. Min. His name echoes in her mind. He stands before her, the man her father would never make peace with. It always comes down to two choices — either they strike a deal or engage in a bloody war, murdering each other’s men. Here he is, right in front of her. She has fallen into the arms of the enemy. Not only will her father punish her for running away, but now she also faces another punishment for being caught by an enemy.

“It seems there is a lot on your mind now, darling. Let me alleviate some of your burdens,” he says standing up from the low armchair by the fireplace, walking towards the bed. Her instincts urge her to retreat, her eyes welling up with tears of sorrow and fear.

“Don’t be afraid of me. If you play your cards right and obey, I promise nothing will happen to you, my love,” he murmurs, using a term of endearment that catches her attention.

“That’s it, baby. Breathe and calm down,” he whispers soothingly.

She locks eyes with him, drawn into their depths, a place where few dare to venture. Nobody dares to look directly into the leader’s eyes. She, even in this state, does so.

“Your father can’t punish you no more. You can find the freedom you seek by my side,” he says, his gaze fixed on her, memorizing every detail.

“What do you mean?” She asks with a newfound venom in her voice.

“You think I would allow your old man to marry you off to Yamamoto’s retarded excuse of a son and assure Tokyo’s alliance with Hong Kong?” He laughs.

“Heaven sent you to me, my love.” he continues, a sickly chuckle escaping his lips.

“And if you’re wondering how it benefits me to have you here, darling, I believe you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

She realises that if she refuses to marry the yakuza boy, the alliance will crumble, and her father will lose leverage against Seoul and the Mins who reign here. Y/N didn’t plan to marry a Yakuza man nonetheless, but she for sure never planned to stay in the middle of the chess board.

“I must admit, I found it admirable that you’ve managed to run away from China, through Luen’s north side, to our territory in the south, very brave,” he points out, acknowledging her efforts. “—and get to Jeju, right to Chan-yeol—” he says.

“You made it so easy for me. Thank you for that.” There is a hint of pleasure in his voice when he continues to speak.

“I bet your Sire didn’t expect that at all,” he grins. “You have a fire in you, my dear, —” he focuses back on her, “—and I cannot wait to tame you,” his voice shifting from casual to intimidating.

“You will make a fine wife,” Yoongi states.

“I’ll be no one’s wife. You must think me a fool if you believe I’ll marry you or anyone else from your circus,” she spits out defiantly. He stares at her silently.

“Careful,” he finally warns, surprising her with his calm demeanour. To get or inherit the position of leader, one must possess the patience of steel and a wise, calculating mind. All this and more, is embodied in the young leader, Min.

“I have my ways to persuade you that I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. You’ll realise that along the way,” he says, seemingly playing with her mind. ’Lord, please, you must have mistaken me for someone else,’ she silently prays.

“Care to elaborate?” she dares to ask.

“Your little cousin and her husband, and their little adorable son —” he trails off.

“You wouldn’t,” she quickly interrupts him.

“Oh, I would, darling. And even more. What about your sister, hmm? Isn’t she turning eighteen soon? My right-hand man is ready to take a wife...” he taunts.

“You cannot play with lives! Not with mine or others —” she snaps.

“Yes, I can, my little butterfly—” he says, gripping her chin forcefully and bringing her closer to his face, locking eyes with her.

“People follow me and worship me as if I were a god. My wife won’t be excluded. Or do you wish for bloodshed and potential homicide?” he mocks.

“Be grateful I saved you from that imbecile you were supposed to marry,” he adds, releasing her chin as she immediately rubs the numb spot with teary eyes.

“After all, you’ve just become a peace offering, my dear. God has a plan, and we shall obey the lord,” he asserts. She raises her eyes back to him, the tension between them palpable, amplified by the continuing rain outside, playing its role in the orchestra of her sorrow.

“You don’t have a choice, darling,” he declares, his words stinging her soul as they hang in the air.

“Either you stay under my protection, be a good girl, marry me, and obey, or I’ll deal with your clan brutally,” he states, rising from the bed and walking toward the door.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to negotiate the terms with your old man.”

“Get more rest.” He looked at her for the last time and closed the door behind him. A click of the lock follows. Only now, she allowed herself to cry out loud.

’You said that if I’ll help myself, lord will help me too.’ She cried, desperately. Run away from the oppressed life of a future mafia wife, just to get even closer to marriage and marital duties, autonomy out of reach.

The overwhelming sense of loneliness and fear of an uncertain future weighs heavily on her. Would it be easier to go back home, and get beaten up and punished? Or would it be easier to stay and accept she will never get away from this life?

There is something she sees in his eyes, but she cannot figure out what it is. She’s exhausted from the run, from all the thinking and future battles she will have to participate in. Her eyes are slowly closing, and her consciousness is failing her again.

“Good morning, Buin,” a voice called out, causing her to squint her eyes from the sudden stream of light entering the room. Grumbling, she pulled the blanket up higher to shield herself.

“Doctor Kim will pay you a visit today, Buin.” the voice continued, and her eyes snapped open. Reality set in, and she realized this wasn’t just a bad dream — she wasn’t home.

“A doctor?” She said, successfully ignoring how she called her the lady of the house.

“Sajangnim requested that we draw you a bath so you can relax and clean yourself,” the little lady replied with a big smile, clearly infatuated with her “Sajangnim”. Rolling her eyes at the maid’s innocence, she welcomed the suggestion of a bath. This westernised hanok must have a bathing room hidden somewhere in its wooden maze. Accepting the white hanfu offered to her, she eagerly anticipated the chance to have her long hair washed. It had become a tangled mess after days of neglect. Maybe she would finally be able to wear her hair down, something she had never been allowed to do before. Her scalp was always sore from the numerous hairpins and clips used to hold her hair in the complicated styles she despised. And perhaps, she could even cut her hair.

“We’re here, Buin,” the maid interrupted her thoughts, leading her to a wooden door that swung open. The sight of a bathroom in a house, a luxury reserved for urban dwellers, reflected the wealth of the syndicate.

She entered the room, and the maid closed the door from inside. The water was already in the large wooden bathtub, steaming hot, beckoning her to submerge herself. It was spacious enough for her to float on the surface if she wanted to. The maid prepared her soaps and other hygiene products. She will clean herself as she graciously declined her help.

“Sajangnim said that if you were to resist his hospitality and commands he gave us, he shall come and help you himself.” The girl said with no emotion in her voice. She memorised it by heart.

“You can tell Sajangnim to stay put,” she muttered in response.

“Buin—” the girl attempted again but Y/N waved her off. She didn’t want to treat the poor girl in this mean manner, but she desired an alone time.

“Please…just wait outside.” Y/N pleaded. Reluctantly, the girl obliged, but she was certain she would report back to her master in a heartbeat. Besides, Y/N had nowhere to escape within the confines of this room.

She shed the lightweight hanfu and slowly lowered herself into the steaming water, feeling her muscles gradually relax. At least for a moment, her mind started to ease the running thoughts, calming the storm down.

Until she heard his voice. Her body immediately tensed up. She strained to listen to the conversation — or rather, the series of commands directed at the poor gal.

“Doctor Kim has arrived, make sure she is ready in the master bedroom in fifteen minutes. Tell the staff to prepare lunch for us in the garden after.” His voice was gone after this, and a soft knock followed. 

“Buin—” the maid’s voice called softly, and by that time, Y/N was already hurriedly putting the hanfu back on.

“I’m coming,” she sighed.

She stopped the servant girl once she wanted to put her hair up in a bun. Now back in the room, sitting in a closet the devil managed to obtain for her as if he knew she will come. It was full of beautiful qipao’s but also some Korean hanboks and even some traditional Chinese beizis if she wanted to get more comfortable presumably. Among them, she noticed some lingerie, which internally made her nauseous with anxiety. Her hair was longer than she remembered, as she rarely wore it down.

“I suggest you keep the hanfu while Doctor Kim is here and then we shall clothe you in a dress.” To say she was scared and nervous about what this Doctor Kim will want to see or do was understandable.

“Here she is!” A loud and cheery voice echoed in the bedroom. “You caused quite a commotion, sweetie. I’m thrilled to finally meet you,” said the handsome man who entered the room with a leather suitcase and white coat.

“Doctor Kim, I presume,” She assumed. He was undeniably attractive, much like his Kkangpae. But she wouldn’t admit that for some time.

“For you, sweetie, it’s Seokjin. We’re going to be family, after all,” he smiled, attempting to put her at ease. He couldn’t help but notice her guarded demeanour. She scoffed at his proclamation, as expected.

“So,” he clapped his hands together, “let’s talk about you and your health, darling,” he said while searching for an empty file with her name.

“I want you to know that I won’t tell him a damn thing unless it’s necessary, you can trust me,” he stated.

“Except whether or not I’m a virgin, right?” she retorted in a cocky voice, mocking the messed-up mafia system.

“If you want to start with that, you can lie down, and I’ll check,” he sassed back with a smirk. Something told her they would only be friends for a very brief moment as long as she remained in this place.

“So, are you?” he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“What if I’m not?” she tilted her head to the side. He chuckled.

“I see your point, but that wouldn’t free you from the engagement. He would simply have the man who touched you slaughtered to show his power,” he explained. She straightened herself, taking a deep breath.

“And even though I have to check anyway, it’s not just about your chastity,” he said. She did know, but that didn’t mean she would be comfortable spreading her legs for a stranger.

“Let’s leave that until the very end, shall we?” he smiled at her.

“Have you consumed any contaminated water while you were on the run?” he surprised her with the question.

“No, I don’t think so...” she stammered.

“Besides hurting Hoseok-ssi, did you fight with anyone else and get injured?” So that was the man’s name.

“Is he okay?” she asked, deflecting his question.

“He’s fine, but you should apologise once you meet him. He meant no harm,” he replied. Well, she hadn’t meant any harm either; she just wanted to escape the scene quickly. She nodded in agreement.

“When was the last time you were sick, honey.”

“Sometime last year.” He hummed in response.

“Do you have a family history of any medical conditions or diseases?” he continued with the examination.

“None that I’m aware of,” she shrugged.

“Any reproductive problems in your family?” he asked more seriously.

And here it comes—reducing her to merely a vessel, even before marriage. Just in time, the devil appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets. “Not on my side,” he interjected.

She didn’t want to give him a glance, but her body failed her. His black hair was tucked behind his ears, a scar shining in its glory on his face. He smiled. And for a moment, she got lost in his eyes again. He’s having an impact on her, and he knows.

“Y/N?” Seokjin called her name to get her attention back to him.

“No, not in my lineage,” her gaze fell again as she listened to what he was asking her.

“Do you smoke?” He asked with curiosity in his voice.

“Uhm, no.” She answered honestly. Y/N had been around cigarettes a lot, but she had never smoked one herself.

“Very good, do not start. It’s not worth it,” he gave his younger brother from another mother a side-eye, and the younger one just rolled his eyes in response. It made her chuckle a little, hoping they wouldn’t hear it. He did but didn’t say a word. Yoongi wanted her to be comfortable around him.

“Alcohol?” he asked while jotting down her previous answers.

“Occasionally?” she questioned herself, as she couldn’t remember the last time, she had a drink.

“Hmm,” he hummed again and wrote it down.

“Do you have any problems with your monthly bleeding?” Seokjin looked into her eyes and glanced at his brother.

“No…” she said awkwardly, gulping down.

“When was the last time you ate?” He looked into her eyes, and she realised she couldn’t recall, nor did she feel hungry until now. Was it the adrenaline?

“I think it was the morning I left Shenyang, five days ago,” she replied.

“You went from Shenyang to Incheon in 5 days?!” He raised his voice which caused him a mean look from his leader.

“How are you not exhausted to death?!” He continued.

“I had some intense drugged sleep. Thank you for your concern, though,” she answered honestly.

“She needs to eat, but she has to do so carefully to avoid upsetting her stomach. Don’t let her overstuff herself,” he instructed his companion. She was starting to feel ravenous; she hadn’t eavesdropped on their conversation, but rather, she was lost in her thoughts, preparing for what would come next.

“Beautiful, I need you to lie down for Seokjin now,” he snapped her out of it.

“What?” with him inside the room?

“It’s not necessary. I can tell him what he needs to know without that,” she protested.

“It’s a rule we follow, dove. We don’t want you to—” she cut him off.

“You just want to know if someone have fucked me before or not. Otherwise, you wouldn’t care,” she spat out. He seemed taken aback by her sudden change of attitude. This is the fire he wanted to desperately extinguish, at least towards him. Jin looked very much shocked but also amused when he glanced at his friend that was startled by this petite Chinese woman.

“I need to check for other reasons as well,” Seokjin said, clasping his hands together.

“Why can’t you just retrieve my medical file?”

“You have a medical file?” He asked, surprised. It was very rare for someone to have a medical file, especially at times after the war, apart from when a young one went to study. An entrance examination was always needed.

“Yes. Send a letter to my college.” She said, not realising she slipped a piece of valuable information out.

“College?” Yoongi asked, clearly shocked. Seokjin wasn’t looking much less surprised than him. She gave them questioning looks, knowing full well why they were so astonished.

“W-What did u study?” Jin stammered the question out. She wasn’t meant to inherit her father’s empire, but she was destined for an arranged marriage to another powerful family. Higher education wasn’t supposed to be part of her life. However, this would explain why she hadn’t been married off at eighteen. They had sent her away to study.

“Nursing.” She shrugged as if her words carried no weight.

“My, my,” said Jin, stroking his chin.

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. As of now, a big no,” she looked at her abductor, confused.

“As of now is good with me!” he clapped his hands together.

“Now, please leave, brother. I don’t think she’ll ever comply if you’re here. I’ll bring her to the garden afterwards,” Yoongi wanted to object, but when he saw the pleading distress in her eyes, he nodded and left his bedroom.

The young leader was proud that she hadn’t tried to run away or throw a tantrum yet. He didn’t want to resort to violence or coercion.

Stone pathways meandered through the garden, inviting one to explore its every corner. She was absorbing her surroundings with a teacup in her small hands. The air was fragrant with the scent of autumn. The wind was a bit chilling as the end of October was nearing. Snow will fall soon. A small pavilion she found herself sitting in beside a koi fishpond that sparkled in the sunlight, felt too peaceful.

“You look absolutely stunning,” said he, his gaze fixed upon her petite figure draped in a flowery pink qipao, her hair elegantly tucked behind her ears. She radiated a natural beauty, untouched by face powders or lipsticks. He loved this vision, an embodiment of purity and innocence. Little did he know, beneath her facade of grace, lay a sharp tongue that defied even the will of God.

She sipped her tea; Y/N ate a little bit of rice and seaweed soup to drive off her hunger. As she admired the garden’s serenity, she found herself drawn not only to its peacefulness but also to the possibility of escape it presented. Perhaps she could run back to Incheon and board a ship that would carry her far away from this place.

“You should know that ‘pretty’ is just a word, and your compliments and pet names won’t win me over. Use my name,” she scoffed, challenging his attempts to woo her.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll stop,” he was determined to break through her defences.

Y/N shot him a piercing stare, a skill she had acquired swiftly. She pondered the enigma of the man before her, wondering how in God’s name she could resist his charm.

“I appreciate that you haven’t attempted to escape yet,” he murmured, sipping his tea. Y/N was no fool; she knew that throwing a fit every second she was held captive would only lead to further confinement. For now, she decided to falsely embrace the last moments of autumn in this beautiful garden, she already scanned in her mind.

“I won’t be very keen on you if you’ll try to,” he warned, his tone shifting unexpectedly. Did he seek to intimidate her, or was he afraid she would succeed in slipping away?

“You seem eager to ask me questions,” said she with cockiness in her voice. Acting tough would make it harder for him to break her will. Not like she counted on a prolonged stay.

“I do,” he hummed in agreement. “But are you willing to answer them, my sweet?” Her eyes rolled at the nickname, accompanied by a scoff. He sighed.

“I’ll answer anything you want, and you’ll answer mine. Deal?” he proposed, a smile playing on his lips.

“That’s quite the cliché, you know,” she declared, placing her cup down just as he eagerly reached to refill it.

“But if it gets you to talk to me, darling, I’ll graciously accept the cliché,” he replied smoothly.

“I know what you want to ask,” she interjected. He was curious about how she managed to study for years without being married off.

“My aunt was very dear to my father. She persuaded him,” she confessed, her words carrying a burden that still weighed on her mind.

“Naturally, my father had intended to marry me off instead of allowing me to pursue my studies. It was still on the table. However, the last war, as you surely recall, brought forth injured, disabled, and dead.”

“I had just turned eighteen. So, my aunt negotiated that I would study nursing in Shenyang instead and be useful to the clan this way. My father saw the merit in her argument and delayed my marriage to whatever his name is—” She explained, her nonchalant tone contrasting with the mention of the man she was meant to marry and the affection she held for her late aunt.

“But my aunt passed away recently and there was no reason for my father to let me stay in Shenyang after I ended my studies. I became more useful to him if I married that boy, as your clan sent a warning. He needed the allyship.” She sighed.

“So I ran the moment we buried my aunt and I was sent back to Shenyang to get my diploma and return.” He listened attentively, aware that her trust was not easily won, and that loyalty would be crucial in their future together. She was still cautious around him, and he wanted her to open up to him even more. It would be a lot easier for her to trust him. But he knew better than that. Trust is earned, and it goes both ways.

“You never met him?” he inquired, referring to her failed engagement.

“No. I don’t think I even remember his name. Father always called him Yamamoto, never by his first name,” she replied. He knew his name well, having encountered him during negotiations for a deal in the past. Officially, Korea remained under Japanese rule, but within the underworld, clans were locked in fierce conflict. Yoongi, longing for peace, knew that Wang’s treaty pact with the Yamamoto clan was a significant obstacle. However, with Y/N’s presence here, the plans could be easily altered. According to the plan.

The cold young leader is not only aiming for her father’s empire and making peace for his clan, he longed for a woman like her. It was about time the leader of the clan took a wife to secure the lineage. Although there was a male heir in her family, who could potentially pose an obstacle, he was still too young to step into the role. Y/N, as the eldest heir, a female, would become an integral part of Yoongi’s plans to secure the future of their clans.

“You crave the throne, don’t you?” she asked, cocking her head and chin defiantly, her narrowed eyes fixed on him.

“I want you too.” She chuckled at his response.

“I’m merely a convenient excuse, am I not?” Y/N smiled too sweetly.

“You’ll kill m—” he rose from his chair, not even letting her finish. Grabbing her by her shoulders in a steel grip with a penetrating gaze.

The fragile cup slipped from her trembling hands and shattered on the floor. A nearby maid prepared to clean up the shattered shards. “Leave us!” he barked at the startled girl; his voice filled with anger. Y/N’s eyes widened. He was even more aggressive and intimidating than before.

“I could—” his voice seething with fury, “— I could gather man and slaughter your entire clan, keeping you as a trophy, a symbol of my power.” The threat hung in the air, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Fear was coursing through her, yet she resisted letting it control her.

“Matter of fact—” he continued, his grip tightening on her shoulders, eliciting a whimper of pain from her, “—you will be a symbol of the magnitude my power has, no matter if your father and family remain alive. So, it’s on you. The fate of your kin rests in your hands. Their survival hinges on your decisions and how well you’ll cooperate.” He tightened his grip again, eliciting another whimper of pain from her.

“But I will never dispose of you,” he growled through gritted teeth, his tone a mixture of possessiveness and frustration. Gathering her courage, she managed to speak again, her voice trembling but filled with resolve.

“You cannot manipulate me like this. Do you think I’ll fall for this fucked up scheme? I have spent my entire life under the orders of others, forbidden from making choices for myself! And you have the audacity to use my innocence thinking I will willingly crawl into your bed and love you like a devoted lover.” Venom in her voice and the desperate tone made him fall for her even more.

“I’ve only recently met you, so spare me your attempts to deceive me that you’re being my saviour.” Y/N has enough fire to still conquer and fight him back. “I refuse to be a passive participant in this game.” She shall not take it lying down.

“I’m giving you a choice—” he asserted, his voice laced with a dangerous undertone “—either you’ll walk down the aisle to me or there will be bloodshed. I won’t send you back to your father nor will I relinquish you easily.” His eyes locked onto hers, and she could see the darkness consuming his pupils when anger consumed him.

“Call it love, obsession, or whatever you please, but no matter what imbecile attempts you make to fight or flee, we will inevitably end up together nonetheless,” he declared with conviction. Was this the fate God had laid out for her? Her faith wavered, and if he didn’t assist soon, she shall forbid him altogether.

“You just want to fuck m—” he cut her off abruptly, his voice low and seductive.

“I can either fuck you hard or I can make love to you,” said he, whilst setting her left arm free and sliding his to her thigh, caressing it sweetly.

Breathing started to become harder for Y/N. Unfamiliar sensations welled up in her lower belly whilst his touch was sending shivers through her body. Was this attraction? Excitement? Mother told her this is how love is supposed to feel. Butterflies in her stomach. But she certainly wasn’t in love with her captor.

He sensed her confusion and distress, leaving her to fall back to the chair. Finally letting her breathe freely. Yoongi sat back in his chair, collecting himself and the three-piece suit he wears today.

“Loss of words, innit?” He chuckled.

He was filled with pride, an overwhelming sense of it, knowing the impact he had on her. She dusted her thighs and straightened her dress.

“Remember, it’s your call. Either you’ll go willingly or with coercion,” her gaze piercing through him for change.

“I’m still waiting to hear back from your father, but before we proceed, I need to go over some rules I expect you to follow before and after we’re wed,” he said, picking up his cup of tea again.

“I know the rules. Just because I went to study doesn’t mean I wasn’t prepared to be the wife of any higher-profile mafia member,” she replied, and he chuckled.

“What’s so funny, care to share?” She asked her sass back.

“Not those kinds of rules. I know you’re prepared for that. But entertain me, baby. What do you think I’ll ask of you?” he said, grinning mischievously, his chin resting between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’ll hand me the household finances after, not like I already agreed, I see no ring yet —”

“—not interfere in business affairs, maintain a low profile to avoid unnecessary attention, and be nothing more than a pretty face, spread your legs and pop out heirs.” He listened to her, amused. She is vaccinated with these dynamics as her mother underwent the same and taught her to do so. However, to Yoongi’s unluckiness, she inherited her whim and flame too.

“You don’t need to manage the household; we have people for that. But if you wish to change anything in the budget, you of course can, sweetling,” he responded, surprising her with his contradictory words.

“I don’t want you to be just a pretty face because you have to. Your fire will be beneficial for me once in a while. If I ever tell you to sit still and look pretty, it would be a matter of life and death, a means to protect you, —”

“—See? I can be very good.” He said, sipping his cold tea, leaving it in his mouth to warm a little while he is thinking. He found great joy in evoking emotions from her.

“You can involve yourself in the business as much as you desire, but I doubt you’ll want to engage in those activities. For your safety, I would sleep better if you were always by my side once we’re engaged and married shortly after.” He stressed out the last word.

“Once we’ll be engaged and wed, your loyalty to your father will transfer to me, and me only” he emphasised his voice firm.

“I won’t force you to be intimate with me after the wedding night, although I’m sure you’ll come to desire it,” he said with a sickly grin, causing her stomach to churn. She needed a moment to process everything he told her by far.

“I saw how you reacted to me earlier. You will enjoy our time in the bedroom, surely.” He spoke as if it wasn’t taboo.

“I-” she stammered and hesitated. He stunned her. Broke down to her core, and he wanted to dig even further.

“I’m aware.” He replied to her unspoken utterance.

She leaned into her chair further, feeling so small suddenly, so inexperienced. Y/N remembers a boy with black hair and green eyes who she had a crush on. He kissed her one night under a cherry blossom tree in their garden. Her father got to know, and she never saw him since.

“All of this comes with one rule: obedience. You will obey as a good girl, and everyone will be happy,” he declared firmly.

“But disobedience won’t be tolerated,” he added, his tone unwavering.

“I want our marriage to be right, as it should be. I won’t force you to be intimate with me. I mean it,” he tried to assure her.

“—Apart from the wedding night, which speaking of, I still didn’t say, ’Yes, I will’.” He laughed and got up from his chair. Her choices and chances were limited. Even if she would manage to escape, he would go on a killing spree till he would get her back. Min Yoongi was very much interested and devoted to marrying this young female.

He knelt on one knee in front of her. A scenery one could perceive as a loving couple is ready to pursue a life journey together. She hadn’t expected him to propose before her father’s agreement, let alone in such a proper manner. Y/N knew better, she just wanted to tease him back.

This wasn’t how mafia members typically behaved, especially the Kkangpae, who never bowed or knelt to anyone. A sign of respect and reverence. Is she to be fooled again? Was he trying to earn her trust with this pretentious act or is he truly showing her respect? Countless questions stormed her mind, causing her inner turmoil. A thunder and lightning bolt within.

He pulled out a velvet little box from his inside pocket and slowly opened it before her shocked figure. The ring glistened in the light. She hates to admit it, but it was marvellous. The delicate band, crafted from shimmering gold, was embellished with intricate filigree that snaked its way around the band in a dance of beauty. Sapphire, shining atop the band surrounded by smaller diamonds, a starry night sky, each one a glimmering testament to the masterful skill of the jeweller. The ring must be older than she or him.

“Miss Wang—” said he, staring into her soul and making her look away from the ring. “—You would honour me if you shall decide to spend, thou life by my side. I promise to protect you and respect you if you have me.”

Confusion would be the correct term, as just moments ago, he held her in a punishing grip, issuing threats. She mustered the courage to ask him once more. “Why?”

He smiled at her so widely. This smile was different. “Please don’t give me any sweet bullshit or I swear—” he interrupted her.

“All you think is my reason — is my reason. I’m not going to lie to you. Just know…this is God’s will, and God presented you to me as a life companion. You can put your fear aside and stand up to me. You’re a challenge I’m determined to embrace, and God knows I’ll do my best to make you mine,” he explained, his tone serious and earnest.

Would God allow him to do anything to conquer her and this world? His words resonated deep within her soul, stirring something within her. Will Father punish her once he will arrive here if he is even coming here? He has to. She knows. If she will get engaged, he will have to come and give him his blessing.

Mother. She wanted to desperately hide in her mother’s arms. Is she ready to confine herself to someone else than her mother, sister, or aunt? Her poor aunt must be restless in her grave. She wanted only the best for her. A different life than the one of someone’s wife; at least that’s what she believed.

“So, what will it be? Shall I send my man to gear up or—” She didn’t let him finish. Y/N didn’t want anyone else to die or get hurt because she wanted her freedom so selfishly. She questioned her faith and wondered if this was truly the path that had been laid out for her.

Is this her path?

“I will.”

It must be.

He smiled brightly. He is one step closer to orchestrating in her heart. It’s her verdict whether it will be an easier or difficult and rocky path. He took the ring out of its box, reaching for her left hand. Sliding the ring on her finger.

Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips, gently placing a kiss on her skin. He didn’t break eye contact the whole time, which made her uneasy. Y/N didn’t expect the leader to close the distance between them and lean to her, still holding her hand. Her breath picked its pace, and her lips parted a little; she gasped when he was getting too close. Y/N felt so stiff and frozen. Almost brushing his lips with hers—

“Sajangnim—?” A voice echoed. Unwillingly and frustrated, he turned his head to the staff member of the household. Y/N turned her head in the opposite direction, her chest heaving rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath.

“What?!” he barked; his anger evident.

“Mr Wang is on the telephone.”

I N T E R L O G U E

“How long will she be out?” Asked the leader, pacing front and back in his office. It had only been a few minutes since the son of his late father’s captain of the front force had brought her back to their territory. She appeared serene as he carried her into his room and gently laid her on the bed. Although he had a maid ready to change her clothes, he couldn’t resist the urge to do it himself.

“Hopefully she’ll sleep most of the evening and night,” Chan-yeol replied.

“I see,” answered the leader, trying to mask his concern. He realised how much he yearned for her presence.

“Everything will work out right, Kkangpae?” Chan-yeol asked, seeking reassurance.

“Of course. How is your wife, Chan-yeol?” Yoongi replied confidently. He vividly recalls her disparagement of this plan, as if her opinion mattered to him. She had shown a protective instinct towards her, much like her mother had. It stirred conflicting emotions within him.

“She won’t be a problem, I promise.” His voice was laced with a hint of fear. It was only natural to be afraid of someone like Yoongi.

The plan was for her to reach Jeju Island, and stumbling upon the warehouse was a mere coincidence—a twist of fate that strengthened Yoongi’s belief in their union. The way she looked into his eyes made him breathless.

His heart burned for her even more than ever before.

to be continued

author’s note: yall I have to say I didn't expect that much of love for my baby. Thank you all beautiful creatures! Feels very surreal. Thank you for all the love, reblogs and comments. I love you, I see you. I hope you enjoyed the first and second chapter and will look forward to the next one ♥ Stay tuned for the preview of chapter III soonish ♥

Also I tried to add everyone who asked to the tag list, and if you want to be in too or you ain't tagged properly, comment or dm ♥

Shout out to Bex the queen @chaoticpuff17 for beta reading this chapter and shout out to all her bombastically good fics!! ♥ ily♥

Love you!!!!

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love,

𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

taglist: @chaoticpuff17 @honsoolgloss @jingerbreadoutofstock @moocow778 @janura26 @dinosolecito @yoongislatinagff @xyahrinx @ruhmoojeonjunkook-blog @hi12345567 @nochue @deltamoon666 @bbkissme99 @darkuni63 @nansasa @sazsazsaz @missmin @strxwbloody @royallyjjk @jaiuneamesolitaiire @shadowyjellyfishfest

©pennyellee. please do not repost

[crimsonred-hi]

Everything, Everywhere

Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne x Reader

Warnings:

Summary: his lover is laying there, laying under 6 feet under the grass. Gone to the world. The love of his life: gone. Yet, he stills comes every week, to smile at her, and tell her that one day he’ll join her, but he promised her to live to the fullest… so he will.

He sits there, in front of the stone. It’s a pretty stone, with flowers painted on it, because his mother tried to make the stone pretty by painting on it.

He smiles at her, cutting the ends off the flowers he bought for her, making sure to cut them at a 45 degree angle so they last longer. It’s a bouquet of spring flowers, because the season is changing and he is going to the U.S. for a couple months, he wants the flowers to look right of the time.

He places the flowers out, making them look nice. He’s always known that the fact he never got over her was considered weird, but how could he: she was perfect and now she’s gone.

“How are ya doing, love?… I hope your well, I’m well. My life is going well… it’s weird, not having you around to fight of the groupies.”

He laughs warmly, smiling with that twinkle in his eyes, taking a memory of her arguing with a groupie because the girl was getting too close to him.

___

“Honey, why were you being like that?”

His lover grumbles from the side of him as they walk home form the pub, her arms crossed and his jacket over her shoulders.

“She was too fuckin close! She was too close. I didn’t like it.”

He sighs, moving closer, arm draped over her shoulders, pressing his lips too her forehead.

“Y/n, I’m not going to leave ya for some lass in the pub…”

She grumbles again, but she becomes a little less tense with his words.

___

“You were a funny gal… you really made me happy…”

The light in his eyes is lots at the need to use past tense when talking about her… she’s gone.

He can’t admit it, he doesn’t want to: why would he want to. He loves her, he can’t stop his love for her, but she’s not coming back. SHE IS NOT COMING BACK. He can’t say it out loud…

“I’m going on tour soon, I’m going to (your home city)… I’m gonna see your parents, celebrate your birthday with them… I’m so thankful that they let you stay in Ireland with me… I’m so thankful…”

He smiles back at the stone, her name cared into it with a curvy font. ‘Loving Daughter, Sister, Friend and Wife’. They weren’t even married, they never got the chance to get married, but her parents surprised him by putting wife on it: he cried when he read it. He wept and wept.

He still weeps.

He fiddles with the flower on her grave, trying to distract himself from the pain.

“Ermmm… I’ve got another album coming out… and I read that book you got me for my birthday, why didn’t you tell me you annotated it? I cried when I read your handwritten…”

He laughs warmly, running his hand through his hair.

“Your handwriting is so messy… and what possessed you to write in that awful purple pen?”

___

“Christ! Why are ya writin’ like that?”

She giggles, poking the pen into his arm, drawing on his arm and hurting him at the same time.

“Oi, I like this pen, it’s a nice colour.”

“It’s also blinding.”

He grumbles standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, kissing the back of her head and nuzzling into her hair.

“Come on, ya couldn’t have just written in black or blue?”

That sets her off, now she’s talking his ear off about how much she hates blue pen, his heart just melts as she talks with her hands.

___

He laughs that full belly laugh, the laugh that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and makes his smile wide, gorgeous.

“God! You were so fuckin funny! Good God… you were extraordinary…”

His thoughts break through, usually he would think about his own music when he was at her grave, Work Song is a constant in his mind… but he did that song with Noah Kahan recently, all he can think about is Everything, Everywhere… the title alone makes his breath shoulder, she was everything, she is everywhere.

“We cried, ‘oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh’

Everything, everywhere

I wanna love you ‘till we’re food for the worms to eat

‘Till our fingers decompose

Keep my hand in yours…”

The lyrics are soft on his lips.

He’s sang to her before, dead or alive. He felt like she was listening, he knew she wasn’t. He never believed in ghosts or the afterlife, it’s a warming concept, but is it true? He doubts it is. But he finds warmth in knowing that the plot next to his lover is bought and waiting for him.

It’s sad… he bought it the same day he bought hers.

He knows he’s still young, he knows he could find another, he could find many more… but the sheer idea of having another woman the way he had her makes him sick. It feels like cheating.

“Ya know, I made a song…. I make loads of songs, you know that… I made one about us… well, I’m telling the people it’s about characters in Dante’s Inferno…… it’s about how I would do it again… I would love you again even with the knowledge of what’s to come…”

“It’s a nice thought… well not nice, but ya know what I mean… I love the idea of meeting you again… even if it’s in hell.”

He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Christ… what I would do to have you here or be there with you?”

He sighs, looking at the time on his phone… he’s gotta go. He doesn’t want too.

“I’m sorry, honey… I’ve gotta go… I’m sorry… I’ll visit when I can… I’ll be back I promise.”

His words are too soothe a nonexistent being, the being is gone, yet he still acts like he’s talking to his living lover.

He blows her a kiss, and leaving her grave behind. His heartbreaking yet again at having to leave. Wishing he could lie in the ground with her forever…

Im sorry. Im so, so sorry.