#and how much of it he had that same second in command. how painful am i willing to make this betrayal

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied to me about his human job?

I (542 vampire) and my husband (260 vampire) have been together for a little over two centuries. There’s a saying in the vampiric community that it takes a century for a tryst to become an enduring partnership and another century to become soulmates. I thought that was true and that Matthew (using his real name because fuck you, Matthew) and I would be together forever…until this week.

First, let me explain a few things to the mortals here. I don’t mean that negatively – I came here specifically to get the opinion of those with a finite lifespan. However, I want to be fair to Matthew as much as possible and some of his decisions are very immortal-minded.

Both Matthew and I are vampires who have chosen to forsake some of our powers in exchange for the ability to daywalk. We made the transition together on our 100th anniversary almost 115 years ago. It wasn’t an easy transition for me. I was very dependent on human blood and I spent the first twenty years in almost constant sleep as my body adjusted to running off of less lunar magic and more solar magic.

It really felt like I was losing everything. My body got physically weaker and my powers began to disappear one by one. It felt like every time I woke, another part of me was missing. One day I could turn into a wolf, the next I could barely turn into a vapor. I could command a legion of undying servants, and then I could barely convince the mailman he didn’t see me levitate down from the second floor.

Matthew, however, took to daywalking like a werewolf to a sheep farm. He barely seemed to feel the pain of losing his power, maybe because he was so much younger than me. Whatever the case, he was out all the time once he stabilized. He would be gone for days sometimes and when he came back it was with fantastic stories about the humans’ new inventions or the new structures being built in whatever town we were in.

I’m not saying I regret transitioning. Just that Matthew and I had very different experiences. It felt like he barely changed at all while my entire being got rewritten. Being immortal makes you comfortable in your own skin. I never doubted myself or my power after I turned 100. But becoming a daywalker made me feel like I was being born as a human again. It was humiliating and vulnerable. I have to admit there were times I resented how easily Matthew did it. I blamed him for not supporting me like I thought he should. I would daydream about draining a human in front of him, showing him what I thought of his fascination with them. I had all sorts of vile and vengeful thoughts. I’m not proud of the person I was and now I’m grateful Matthew wasn’t there to see the lows I sunk to.

Despite all my awful thoughts, I didn’t quit. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. I stuck with it and, day by day, things got easier.

After 26 years I began to stabilize. The benefits of being a daywalker slowly blossomed before me.  Now I can say that I am completely happy with my daywalker status and all the changes it’s brought.

I am the most mentally stable I have been since my Turning in 1482. It’s like I’m awake. The fits of rage that used to consume me for months at a time have completely disappeared. I don’t experience the same level of obsession I used to which has freed up a lot of my time that I used to spend stalking my victims.

However, that drastic of a change would be challenging in any relationship. Matthew and I ended up together because of my obsessive nature. Our relationship became strained when that part of me went dormant. He expected me to follow his immersion into the human world just as I had followed him in his revenge quest against his Master. He expected me to support him wholeheartedly and with everything I was. He wanted sacrifices from me that I used to not even flinch at before making. But something was just…different. We wanted different things. I wanted different things.

Matthew was obsessed with being the perfect human. He craved full immersion. He still makes it a point to get a human job every twenty years or so. Me? I’m happy to live off our investments and some mild mind control while enjoying the art and theater community the humans have evolved.

It got bad. Some years, we spent like ghosts in our own house, drifting by each other without a glance. Other years, it was like we were spies behind enemy lines. He would do whatever he could to thwart me and I would go out of my way to ridicule him. Our vitriol poisoned the earth. Matthew didn’t speak to me for a full decade when that poison killed off an entire town.

About twenty years ago, it all came to a head. We had a serious sit-down talk about our relationship. It wasn’t easy. What they say about teaching an old dog new tricks is sometimes true. Matthew wanted me to be as involved with the humans as he was. He wanted me to care about them like he did. I wanted him to travel with me like we used to and not just hop from town to neighboring town (which he did to maintain a human identity with references so he could keep working). When it became clear that we were at an impasse, I brought up the idea of separation.

Separating in the vampiric world isn’t easy. There are a lot of alliances and blood oaths to be considered. Over the two centuries we spent together, we became known as a unit to a number of supernatural entities that we maintain an uneasy truce with. Separating would mean creating new oaths and alliances with the same individuals. And there was no guarantee that those individuals would make new pacts with both of you. A LOT of vampire couples end up in blood feuds while separating. Neither of us wanted that.

There was also, of course, the emotional side of things. While a lot of immortals tend to only feel muted emotions (especially vampires as old as me), Daywalking had made both of us more sensitive than we’d been before. We were both attached to the memories we shared and neither of us could imagine life without the other. After 200 years together, it felt like Matthew was my right arm, and I his. When I brought up separation, we both felt it like we were discussing an amputation.

After about a year of talking, we finally reached an agreement. We didn’t want to separate, and so we would compromise. I wouldn’t interfere with any of Matthew’s human jobs for the 15-17 years if he could hold them without arousing suspicion. In exchange, he would take a year off to go traveling with me before finding another town for us to live in. In between my trips, he would go to plays and galas with me to enjoy human artistry at least once a month.

Maybe our deal was in his favor. At the time, it felt practical and fair. A year of traveling wouldn’t undo Matthew’s string of connections. We would still see each other frequently by going on dates that I liked. Matthew would get to stay immersed in the human world at the level he wanted, and I could stay within my comfort zone.

Which brings me to my current problem.

We are currently at the start of one of Matthew’s work cycles. He’s been everything from a fireman to a politician to a subway worker to a barista. He craves knowledge and connection to a terrifying degree. If it weren’t for how we move every 20 years and he goes without protest, I’d call it obsession.

This cycle, Matthew told me he was going to be a teacher. I was hesitant. While the humans have become more tolerant and less violent over the years, that doesn’t mean they will tolerate us near their young. Enough humans know about vampires that staking in the modern era is a real possibility. Matthew could incite an angry mob against us or, heaven forbid, get a vampire hunter on our tail. I have yet to be shot, but I hear that they have silver bullets that hurt like Hell.

When I voiced my protests, Matthew reminded me about our agreement. He said that I wouldn’t interfere with his jobs and he’d go to all the plays I liked. He even pointed out that, as a teacher, he could get us into high school plays and expositions. I was uneasy, but agreements are penultimate to immortals. I silenced my objections and let him get a job as a science teacher at a local high school.

When Michael has had jobs in the past, I’ve never really paid attention. One time he was a state senator for ten years and I never even heard him speak. I didn’t consider it worth my time to hear whatever his facsimile of a human would say. Real humanity is in the art they create, not in the parody Michael enacts.

But this one…I couldn’t ignore this one. Maybe it was because I was still uneasy about his proximity to human young or maybe I could sense his lies even at the beginning. Whatever the case, I watched him.

The first thing I noticed was the hours. He would go to work early and would often come home when it was time for us to sleep. When I asked him about it, he said that he wasn’t used to grading and that he had underestimated what it took to put a good lesson plan together. I visited some online forums and that’s apparently reasonable for first year teachers.

He would also sometimes go in on the weekends. He missed one of our dates because there was a “grading emergency” that needed his immediate attention. Something about a student’s test getting lost and then found and he needed to input their grade before the deadline which was on Saturday. Humans like silly rules like that so I didn’t even look that one up. I just reminded him that he couldn’t miss our dates again or else he was breaking our deal. He apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again.

Then about three months into his new job, the phone calls started. We have a private room in our house for when we need to talk without any visitors overhearing. Michael moved all his school supplies in there, saying that he needed a silent space to concentrate on his grading. Whenever he got a call, he would never answer it in front of me. Instead, he’d say “Sorry, work” and just go into his office.

I also noticed that he didn’t dress very professionally. Human fashion changes quickly so it didn’t register at first. A sweatshirt here and there slipped past me, and also the Gucci slides. When he started wearing baggy jeans and jerseys to work, I noticed. I may not be up to date on all the newest fashions, but I do go to classy events. I know what a slob looks like and it didn’t sit right with me that he was wearing that to school. When I asked him about it, he always had an excuse. “This is what everyone wears” and “It’s a theme day” or, bafflingly, “It’s spirit week!”

I tried to leave it alone. The reason we have stayed together for so long is because of our agreement to not interfere in each other’s lives. But between his hours, the phone calls, and his appearance, something didn’t add up.

Then, last Thursday, he missed another one of our dates. We were supposed to go to the Nutcracker together. Even though I prefer matinees (when the cast is fresh), I agreed to get us tickets for the evening show so that he wouldn’t have to leave work early. When he wasn’t there at 7pm, I called him and he didn’t answer. Then, when I called him again, his phone was switched off.

I was furious. I spend nearly two decades in these tiny towns so he can live his human fantasy and he can’t even show up for one two hour show? It was the first time since becoming a daywalker that I felt that angry. I was scared about what I might do, so I made myself go home to wait for him.

Only, he never came home that night. At 3am, he sent me a text apologizing and promising to make up our date on Saturday. But the Nutcracker was only playing until Friday and that would be too little, too late. To be honest, it already was. I texted him that and he never responded.

He never ended up coming home last weekend. I texted and called him probably a dozen times and he never responded. I got angrier and angrier as the days dragged by. Did he think I was someone to be taken lightly? Did he not realize that the fragile agreement between us was all that was keeping us from separation?

Yesterday (Monday), I couldn’t take it anymore. If he wasn’t going to come home or respond to my messages, then I would go to him. If he was so obsessed with this new job that he would ignore me for it, then I knew exactly where to find him.

I arrived at his school at 10am. I researched enough to know how to go to the office and sign myself in. I asked the office assistant which room Mr. Duetto was in.

The lovely young woman looked confused. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give that information out to anyone but family,” she said.

“I am his only family,” I said.

She clicked a few more keys and looked more confused. “His paperwork only shows his mother, Delilah Duetto.”

That’s right. His mother. But I still didn’t understand then.

“That’s me,” I said.

“You are not the mother of 17-year-old.”

“I’m his wife,” I said.

She was upset by that. I won’t bore you with every detail, but I had to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call the police. I may not look like someone who has a teenager, but I also don’t look like a teenager. I ended up having to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call human CPS on an apparent adult swearing she was married to a minor.

I went home and broke into his office. There weren’t any lesson plans. There were no graded papers. There were syllabus from different classes, homework with his name on it, and a few polaroids taped to the bottom of his desk of him at a party with children.

Human children. I don’t honestly know which is worse.

(EDIT: I know the child part is the worst part. I misspoke because of my anger. It’s not the humans’ fault that my husband is a pervert.)

I broke into his laptop and used that to check his text messages. He’s been texting like a high schooler. He’s been to parties with them, listened to their problems and even fabricated a few of his own. He’s caught in some sort of weird love triangle where a freshman girl likes him but his “best friend” likes her. He has texted both of them about it, promising his “bro” that nothing is happening and then turning around and leading this girl-child on.

Some choice quotes: I should know better than to get close with you. You and I come from very different worlds

To which she replied, lol maybe we should let our worlds collide

!!!!

I find the entire situation disgusting. Matthew is several centuries older than them and he definitely knows better. He’s literally wearing the sheep’s fleece amongst the flock. He has no business forming relationships with human children and even less pretending to be one of them. He’s not a baby. He is over two centuries old!

What is he doing flirting with a child? It’s vile and disgusting and I was set to kill him for it.

I confronted him about it when he came home last night. I told him that he was sick and dangerous and if he loved humans then he needed to stop immediately. I told him we either left town today or I would make sure he never set foot back in that school in a way he really wouldn’t like.

 He threw a huge tantrum over my invading his privacy. He shouted at me that I had broken my promise to never interfere in his job. He called me controlling and crazy.

I told him he was the crazy one for chatting up a child. He told me he wasn’t, she was just his friend. I asked him to read their texts out loud if he was being so friendly. I also pointed out that there was no way a 260-year-old vampire is a child’s friend.

He told me I was a hypocrite because I basically cradle robbed him (we’re almost 300 years apart.) He said if anyone was disgusting, it was me for taking advantage of him.

I pointed out that he wasn’t a child, he was over 60 and had already been a vampire for four decades. He argued that that was basically being a child in vampire terms.

I was so angry at that point that the house was shaking. I told him if he felt that way, then we could get divorced right then and there. That that was what I wanted to do anyway because I couldn’t be married to a pedophile.

He asked me if I was seriously going to start a blood feud over him immersing himself in human society. I said no, I’m starting a blood feud because he’s become every predatory stereotype humans have of vampires.

He called me a hypocrite again and told me he was leaving. He said not to call him unless I was ready to apologize. I told him that the next time he sees me, he’d better run before I showed him the real difference between us. And it wasn’t just 300 years.

When I calmed down, doubt started creeping in. From an immortal perspective, what he’s doing isn’t really wrong. I hate to say it, but most immortals don’t view human lives as significant. I know a few vampires who would say that divorcing because he’s playing with his food is idiotic.

Plus, there’s the agreement to consider. During our fight, Matthew pointed out that being a student is a job to humans. So therefore I didn’t have the right to interfere. A big part of me thinks that’s bullshit, but a small part of me wonders if he’s maybe right about that?

I also have to ask myself why this even bothers me. I’m the one in the relationship that is aloof from humans. I’m the one that’s always saying we are from different worlds (Yeah, he stole that from me) and for good reason. 

But over the years, I’ve become fond of humans. No immortal makes art like them. I may not remember my time as a mortal, but there are works that give me a sense of nostalgia. Sometimes I think I can remember being a child myself, standing in a field like in Monet painting, staring at the wheatstacks and waiting for the miller to come. 

The thought of Matthew playing with them makes me sick. It’s like even after all the years of him living amongst them, he thinks of them as props in his twisted play. It’s even worse that he’s doing this to children. 

I can’t help but think something went really wrong with my husband when I wasn’t looking. At the very least, I’m planning on divorcing him. But would I be the asshole if I killed him too?

 Separating from him will be violent and messy. There will likely be human casualties. But I don’t see any other way. So, I ask.

AITA for divorcing my husband for lying to me about his human job?

----

Thanks for reading! I loved answering some of the responses I got when I first posted this over on my Patreon (X)!

These collaborative story telling pieces are the highlight of my week. Next week's story is about a witch who wants to know if she should attend her high school reunion even though she's responsible for stripping two former classmates of their magic...

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[tiredmamaissy]

Alpha Sung Jin-woo helping me through my heat? Yes, pretty please.

🔞mdni🔞

alpha!jinwoo x lycan!shadow reader

Warnings: smut, p in v, masturbation, dubcon, heat cycle, dom jin, virginity loss, profanity, disgusting filth, creampie, alternating female + male povs, i.e your pov vs jins

a/n: a fair warning I was ovulating while I wrote majority of this ok? So it’s just kinda filthy I apologize. I’ve been thinking about Jinwoo helping us through heat for quite a while and this was the only way my brain could conjure up a situation to make that possible lol I also alternate povs between yours and then jinwoos so we get an idea of what hes feeling too, so I’m so sorry if this is a tad weird 😂

w/c: 7k

your pov 

Aside from my notably pointed ears and canines, there isn’t much else that sets me aside from the humans. Yeah, my hair looks silver in some lighting but my body is pretty identical to that of a human. Well, for the most part. I do have…extra features. 

I thought that being a part of the master's army would change those things—you know, being dead and all. Yet, things are mostly the same aside from the overwhelming urge to serve Master Jinwoo in every way possible. He’s the better king, anyways. 

My father comes nowhere near him. He made me suffer most months, throwing me in the dungeon in the basement of the castle and letting the moon shove a double edged sword through my body as I cried out in agony. 

I thought that was all over. 

One would assume that existing in this…form would mean no pain and discomfort, or even emotions and needs. But I feel everything like I would back in the castle with my shitty excuse for a father. 

But I just…never expected this. 

Another wave ripples through me, tearing me from my thoughts and bringing me to my knees. The other shadows take notice in this little bubble that we float in until the king summons us. Some turn their heads to look at me, while others turn their heads to ignore me. I suppose we all still have most of our free will. 

I clench my thighs together and will the cramp to radiate down and out my extremities. I seal my lips tight but a little whimper still escapes them, and it shocks even me. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It’s only been a few hours and it’s only getting worse. Just like it used to. At this point, father would be locking the door and throwing away the key.

But I refuse to let this happen in front of the others. At least in my dungeon I had the privacy to suffer and squirm and squeal on my own. I keep my focus on my bruised knees and force the muscles in my thighs to relax. Maybe I can get my own bubble or something. 

I am the only girl here. 

“What’s wrong with her?” I hear a whisper behind me, and the sound of shuffling beside me.

“She kind of…smells.” Another voice fires the words like an arrow through me. 

Not fair. I can’t control that part of this. 

I peek up through my lashes and catch a glimpse of the blockhead called Iron dramatically pointing at me in dead silence. He looks as if he just discovered new land or something. I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind but an armored hand gives his wrist a satisfying smack. 

“That’s rude.”

It’s Igris, my favorite shadow in the army. Not that I really know the others anyways. He’s the quietest of the lot, and is seemingly master's second in command. I’m not exactly excited for him to see me like this, but there isn’t much I can do about it. I look away and curl into a ball to soothe the dull ache in my core. 

“What’s the matter?” Igris takes a knee beside me and looks me over. “Are you in pain?”

Gods, what do I even say? Nothing, that’s what. I give him a slight nod and bite my cheek to stifle the groan trying to escape from me too. 

“She smells good.” Iron speaks like a caveman, inching his way closer to Igris. Igris extends a hand behind him and halts Iron with a shove, forcing him to keep a distance from me. 

“Give her space.” Igris says sternly, a little louder than needed. I guess that message was for everyone. My cheeks heat up. Shit. I tuck my head down to hide my flushed face and that throb down there worsens. 

Igris tenses. I can sense it—he’s strung taut like a bow ready to snap. I can’t help but wonder if it’s me making him that way or if he’s just being his usual self. Regardless, I can’t bring myself to look back at him right now. Not when I’m making a little mess in my panties. No, that would be shameless. 

Igris clears his throat and his armour clanks as he lowers his face next to mine. “You are part Lycan, correct?” 

Igris speaks for only me to hear. It sounds as if there’s a hidden question disguised behind that one. Whatever it is, I don’t answer. He sighs slightly and allows the uncomfortable silence to pass between us. After what feels like an eternity, Igris pulls back and straightens his spine.

“I’ll inform the king.”

Suddenly we’re being sucked out of this bubble and my heated skin is on the cold tile. It feels like I’m sizzling against it’s surface, and the feeling is delectable. I wonder if my master will let me stay here for a while longer. Just until it’s all over. 

“Inform me of what?” Jin-woo stands before me, yet he’s looking at Igris beside him with his arms crossed over his chest. 

I feel like we’re in trouble or something, especially with him standing like that. It’s making me nervous but the sensation deep in me isn’t allowing the nerves to take over. I can’t get up even if I try. I tighten my grip around my knees and my fangs descend and throb in my mouth.

I hate this. 

“She’s…in pain.” Igris speaks with uncertainty in his voice, like if it were a question rather than a statement. Jinwoo shifts his focus on me, looking down at me with a cocked brow. I guess he’s never had issues with one of his shadows like this.

“Pain?” Jin-woo sounds almost intrigued. “What happened?”  

Igris doesn’t answer right away, he’s giving me a chance to speak for myself but I don’t take it. I’m feeling more embarrassed than anything right now. 

“I am unsure, master.” Igris finally says and I look up to meet the glowing eyes of my creator. 

Jinwoo is kneeling in front of me. The king himself, kneeling, before me. My face flames and my thighs rub against one another. I show my submission and look down, how dare I look into his eyes when he’s on his knees? 

“Speak.” Jinwoo commands me, and the instinct to obey rides me hard. I surprise myself when I glance over at Igris, and then back to my master. And just like that, Jinwoo waves Igris away and he fades into a black mist. 

“Forgive me, you’re my first female shadow. I know privacy is important.” My king speaks to me with his hand extended. He’s urging me to take it. Oh, gods. I obey and take it, and suddenly I’m being carried across the room and lowered onto what I can only assume is his bed. 

“Now, talk to me.” 

Now I have to say it. There’s no escaping it. He himself is demanding an answer, here and now. 

“Um…” I begin, breaking eye contact to look down at my feet. They feel heavier and I have way more color than usual. I almost look…alive. And with this annoying ache, I almost feel alive too. Jin-woo angles his head to catch my gaze and what feels like my heart bursts through my chest. 

“Just something…Lycan.” 

“Something…Lycan.” Jinwoo repeats slowly, nodding slightly as if he understands what I mean. “Right. So will it fix itself? I don’t know if the system has—”  

“Yes! Yes.” I answer him quickly, calming down when I realise that I’ve totally interrupted him. “It’ll go away in a couple days. I just need, uhm—” 

“You need…?” Jinwoo draws out the word as he waits patiently. 

“My own bubble.” I speak with feigned confidence. This is my chance and I’m determined not to let the other shadows see me like this.

“Your own…bubble?” 

Master seems confused. 

“Yes.” I say, and give my best smile. “Please.” 

His brows furrow. Master is definitely confused. 

“I need…privacy.” I use the word he did. 

“Ah.” Jinwoo nods, and looks at me with an unreadable expression. It’s that same expression someone makes when they're trying to solve one of those oddly shaped puzzles. “Okay. Understood.” 

Perfect. I’m getting my own bubble, and I don’t need to worry about anything else other than just getting through this shit show.

“But I can’t give you your own…bubble.” 

What? Didn’t he just say ‘okay’? That he understands? 

“Instead, you’ll stay here.” He motions to his room and for the first time I take it in. The grey paint on his walls. His wooden wardrobe. The flat screen t/v mounted to the wall. His bed that I’m sitting on. 

He wants me to stay here? 

“You said, what? A couple days? I have more than enough mana to keep you here.” Master speaks so casually about allowing me in his personal quarters. Unbothered, he stalks towards the door and reaches for the handle. He opens the door and lingers in the frame, back turned to me. “Take the bed. I’ll take the couch.” 

Absolutely not. 

“No! M-Master, you can’t. I will take the couch, o-or even the basement! I really don’t need much space. Even the floor is fine.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jin-woo casts me a glance over his shoulder. “I’ll be tending to a few matters and won’t be here most of the time, anyways.” He walks through the bedroom door, collected and composed. “Make yourself at home.” 

The door closes softly behind him and I’m left alone in a room that smells like him. Every part of this place smells like him. His sheets. His pillow. Even the curtains are stained with his musky scent. 

I feel like I’m floating, being led by my nose like a predator to prey. 

And when I come to, I’m curled up in a pile of his laundry in his bed, stripped buck naked. I don’t quite remember how I got in this position, but I’ve never felt more comfortable in a nest before. All my previous nests have been made of my old blankets, and whatever linen my father throws down in the basement.

This one is perfect. And it smells exactly how it should. I tug a fat pillow towards me and embrace it with all four limbs, inhaling deep and holding it. Heat bubbles in my tummy and I moan into the pillow’s cushioned surface. It muffles it just right. 

My toes curl and my thighs grip the pillow, shimmying it closer and closer to the place where it aches the most. The pressure is sublime. I shove my hand between me and the pillow and my fingers strum at my slippery clit. I bury my face into the pillow and my eyes burn when that hot sensation zings through me. 

“Ahh!”

sung jin-woo’s pov 

I never thought I’d have to deal with one of my shadows being in heat. I got the notification as soon as I summoned her and Igris. 

Notification: [Lycan Shadow] is in heat. Do you want to help her? ☐Yes ☐No

Of course I chose yes. What kind of master would I be if I didn’t help one of my loyal shadows? It’s my responsibility. Plus, she’s female. 

But that doesn’t change the fact that I had no idea what it really meant to pick yes. I’m not an idiot—I know what a heat is, especially for a Lycan. I thought giving her some privacy would be enough but now the system seems to be urging me to do a bit more than that. 

Notification: [Lycan shadow] will peak in her heat in 8hrs35mins12secs. There may be a penalty if the quest isn’t completed. 

Quest? Penalty? 

I shift to my side on the couch—I don’t remember it being this tough. The annoying screen follows me and I wave it away. I don’t have time for this. Just keeping her here in this condition is draining my mana quicker than I expected. 

But a penalty? For what? 

I’ve kept her here, let her in my room, in my bed. Isn’t that enough? What more does she need from me? 

Her scent alone was enough to make my head spin. If I didn’t get out of that room when I did I would have lost my shit. I can’t say for certain exactly what would have happened, but she smells like something I’ve never smelled before. She smells like a feeling. 

She smells ripe. 

Fuck, what am I thinking? Ripe? Like a fucking fruit? I toss over to my other side and smack the pillow a couple times. I need to buy a new couch. Imagine if I let her take this piece of plywood that I’m laying on? Or the floor in the basement? I don’t even have a basement. I live on the top floor of an apartment complex. It makes things easier for me when it comes to Kaisel.

Anyways—is that what her father did? Throw her in the basement when her heat came on? I should’ve made that fucker’s death a slow one. 

I huff a sigh and spring up into a sitting position. I eye the floor, maybe it is the better option. I bury my face into my hands. I have a couple commitments for the hunters association tomorrow but those will need to wait for now. I need to deal with her first…however that may be. 

I wonder if she’s okay right now. She didn’t look great at all. And her aura was very off. She felt weak to me, like she was injured and fragile, despite her being a shadow. It made my protective instincts go haywire for a moment. I know Igris felt it too. Couldn’t he have taken the weight of some of this for me? They both exist on the shadow plane that she likes calls a ‘bubble’. 

Cute. Very cute. 

I see what she meant by needing her privacy, though. With a scent like that I can’t trust my soldiers to keep to themselves. I know Igris wouldn’t allow any funny shit to go down but females like their privacy. Jin-ah made me realize that long ago. 

I know that checking on her now would be an invasion of that. So why do I want to? This badly, too? There’s something deep in me urging me to get up and make sure she’s alright. It’s not just my protective instinct. It’s something more. Something primal. 

And the idea unnerves me. 

I stand and begin pacing in my living room to cool off a bit. But my head won’t clear. My thoughts go from obligations I have to get done, to her. Everything about her. The pink on her cheeks that appeared once I started pouring mana into her summoning. The shine in her silver hair when the moonlight caught it just right. The way she squeezed her thighs together and that scent of hers grew even stronger. I bet that’s where it’s emitting from. 

Fucking hell. Get your shit together, man. 

Whatever she’s going through is affecting me too. That’s clear as day. And now I’m standing in front of her door. My door. Well, it’s her door for the next couple of days. Fuck. What’s wrong with me? This is creepy behaviour. I lean in, tilting my head to press the shell of my ear to its wooden exterior. 

Very creepy behaviour. 

So why can’t I stop? I strain to listen, and my hand rests on the door handle. What am I doing? I rip my hand away from the metal and clench my jaw. 

“Ahh!”

Shit. Go in there and check she’s safe.  

No. She’s fine. She’s safe. She’s in my room. I’m here, guarding her. I need to calm down and get myself together, this is ridiculous. She’s a shadow for Christ sake—

“Mmm~” 

Oh? What was that? 

“Ngh!” 

Yep. That was definitely a moan of some sort. I wonder if I’m actually immune to heart attacks, because it feels like I might be having one right now. Or maybe all the blood is just rushing to the wrong head.

“Mmph!”

Christ. Forgive me. 

I palm my crotch, I can’t help it. My hard on hurts. My boxers have no stretch to them. 

Her little sounds are picking up now. They’re muffled but these walls are thin. I want to know what she’s doing in there to be making those noises. 

I need to know. 

My hand goes for the door handle again but I reign it back in. I force myself to step away from the door all together. I’m not doing this. This is a line that I won’t cross with a shadow. I take a few more steps back, turn and head straight for my bed made of concrete. I slip under the blanket and rest my arm over my forehead. 

I force myself to close my eyes and concentrate on getting some sleep and ignoring those delicious sounds coming from my bedroom. Right, ignoring them. I opt to listen to the electricity from the fridge, the ceiling fan, the clock—anything. But nothing distracts me from those sweet, sweet noises she’s making.

Fuck.

I’m as hard as this couch. Rock solid. I haven’t been this hard since high school for fucksake. I try to ignore the branch in my pants and turn over to go to bed. But nothing’s working. 

My hand slides under the band of my boxers and I grab my cock with a vice-like grip. I want it to go down—go away. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to admit what I’m feeling. 

My shadow is making me unbelievably horny. 

Her sounds. Her scent. 

God, help me. 

My hand moves, up and down. It hurts, so I loosen my grip. I can’t stop my own movements. Just the thought of her in lying in my bed possibly doing things to herself to be making those noises is driving me over the fucking edge. I look over at the door, it’s still shut. 

Good. I can’t have her catching me. This is already crazy as it is. I feel like I’m sneaking around, like I did when I was younger. My hand moves faster. Shit, I’m gonna come already. I can hear her moans from here now, they’re getting even louder and longer. Whatever she’s doing in my room is about to come to a finale. 

And fuck, so am I. 

“F-Fuck!”

“Oh, fuck.” I groan a little too loudly for my liking and explode in my cupped hand. 

I can’t remember the last time I came this fucking hard. I fumble into the kitchen and clean myself up, fixing my boxers and taking a moment to gather myself. I’m going to pretend like I didn’t just cum to one of my shadows and head to bed. 

I’ll deal with this heat thing tomorrow. 

— —

It’s been a few hours and I still haven’t slept. Nor have I calmed down either. I’m getting a little concerned. How many hours need to pass before I see a doctor about having a hard on again? It won’t fucking go down and it’s got its own heartbeat. But how could it when her scent is leaking through the cracks of the door frame? It’s literally seeping out the room in a light tangible mist. 

I don’t know how much more I can take. Her sounds are definitely not helping either. They’re so much louder and desperate—raw and primal. She is most certainly fucking herself in there. And I’d be the world’s biggest liar if I said I didn’t want to be the one in there fucking her. All she needs to do is say the words, and I’d shove my cock in her little cunt so fucking deep. 

I catch my breath. How long was I holding it for? I’m sweating like I’ve climbed a hundred stories and I swear my muscles are swelling. I slip my shirt off, it’s way too tight. The timer says there’s about two hours left until this peaks but I can’t last that long. I’ll have to take Kaisel out to get some fresh air or something. 

Or I’m going to fuck her. 

Shirtless, I grab a coat and bolt to the front door.

“...M-Master.” 

Fuck. She’s calling for me. Fuck. I need to leave now. 

“...oh!...please.” 

My hand grips the door handle and I watch myself turn it. Wait. This isn’t the handle to the front door. It creaks open and her intoxicating scent bursts out and hits me like a ten ton truck. My head spins and my vision blurs for a second. Shit. I blink to focus my eyes and—

Oh, god. 

She’s bent over on all fours in a bed of my linen and laundry, sticking her pussy up in the air. Right in front of my face. Presented on a silver platter for my enjoyment. Swollen and bright pink, and ultra glossy from her heat. 

Fuck, that is where this delicious scent is coming from. 

It looks like it’d be so warm and gooey inside. I need to find out–to be inside. My cock throbs at the thought and I adjust myself. She begins rocking back and forth, thrusting her pussy into the air and then onto my very soaked pillow. Has she been using that thing to get off this whole time? No wonder this has lasted for hours.  

I glance down at her face and the expression etched into her soft features sends a pang through my chest. She’s been suffering, unsatisfied and desperate for a proper release this entire time. I’ve left her here this long because of why again? I can’t remember, but it doesn’t matter. Because I’m going to make this all better.

“You called.” 

your pov

I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight. Not that I’m necessarily surprised or anything, but it still sucks. King Jin-woo’s scent is making this way worse than it usually is. My body probably thinks that a male is here to mate–or whatever my aunt says about Lycans in their heat. Father never allowed that of course, so it quickly became just a bedtime folklore for me. 

But shit, now that it’s happening…everything is so much more intense. 

I rock back and forth. Harder. Faster. It aches, a constant throb of need, pulsing in my womb, in my pussy. I yearn to be filled. By him. By my master, my king. My body craves him, his scent. 

My head feels like it’s stuffed with wool and I can’t concentrate to form a coherent thought. A moan splits my lips and I’m head first into the pillow, arching my back and sticking my pussy in the air. I can feel how swollen I am, and I’m dripping everywhere—down my legs, onto his sheets, his blankets, his clothes.  

My hand mindlessly wanders between my thighs, again. Jokes on it, because nothing it or this pillow can do is going to make it go away. I’ve lost count on how many times I’ve rubbed at that little bump down there. But I know it’s enough to make it really puffy and sensitive. I feel my fingers press little circles into it, and my tears start flowing again. 

I’m crying like an idiot. Thank the gods that I’m alone. The sensation is so overwhelming. It’s too much yet nowhere near enough at the same time. My body is craving more than my fingers can give. Something big enough to reach deep inside me and get rid of that itch I can’t ever reach. My back bows even more and my toes strain and sink into the bed.

I’m presenting my pussy to nobody. 

Because no one’s coming. There is no male. 

My knees drag forward and I hardly bring myself to mount his pillow again. It’s wet from the times I’ve used it to make myself cum. I’m so sore and weak but I can’t help myself. This is truly pathetic, and I ought to be ashamed of myself. But I’m not. I’m really not. I want to call out for him, my master. 

My alpha. 

He’ll make this better, he’ll make the ache go away. 

“...m-master…alpha…” I hear myself croak and another cramp rattles me. “...oh! please...” 

I rock again, sinking my pussy down onto Jinwoo’s pillow and then shoving it back into the air. 

A gust of wind makes me shudder and I hump the pillow another time. 

“You called.” 

Masters’ deep voice envelops me like a cool breeze on a humid day. I didn’t even hear him come in. It feels like my ears are stuffed with cotton, too. My hips thrust my pussy even harder into the air. 

What’s happening to me? 

It’s never been this bad.

“Please.” I barely manage to get out. He should know what I’m asking for, he’s the male. My hips rut my mound into his pillow, pressing my hard, sticky clit into the wet fabric. His footsteps come closer, and I can feel his overpowering presence behind me. It’s so domineering, I feel like I’m suffocating.

“Please, what?” His voice is thick with restraint.

But why is he resisting?

“Please, help me.” I sob the last two words, dismounting his pillow and shuffling back until my knees are at the edge of the bed. “I can’t take it a-anymore, alpha.” 

“Alpha? That’s new.” He lets out a husky chuckle and his fingertips brush against my outer thigh as he positions himself behind me. I whine from his touch and my back sinks even lower. “I guess you could say that I’m your alpha, sure.” 

“Yes, alpha. Please, a-alpha. It’s h-hurting now.”

I’m blubbering. Nothing makes sense. Nothing feels right. I can’t think clearly, I can’t stop my tears, I can’t stop my body. I’m scared, but also excited and aroused. His fingers sink into the fat on my thigh and drag themselves up to my hip, seizing it with force. He tugs me onto him, pressing his clothed bulge against my swollen pussy. 

“Fuck, love. Your pussy is weeping.” He groans, gripping my other hip to hold me steady. I’m not going anywhere. I need this. “Is that how badly she wants me? Enough to cry?” 

He’s speaking about my pussy like it’s got a mind of its own. I mean, it feels that way right now. It’s throbbing for him, leaking clear beads of this sticky liquid it won’t stop making onto his pants. 

He needs to take those off, how will we do this if he doesn’t?   

Master yanks at my hips, ramming me back onto him suddenly–roughly.

“Answer me.” He growls and a sweltering heat floods my cunt. 

“Yes, alpha.” I whisper in anticipation, spreading my legs a little further to make space for his huge figure.

He is alpha. 

“Good girl.” I feel him pluck at the string on his pants and tug them down his legs. “Now, you want me to help you? Yeah?” Jinwoo’s voice is rough and it’s doing things to my body. His hand slips to my inner thigh and his fingertips barely brush against my puffy clit. 

“Mmm—mhm!” I hum and nod, chasing his fingers with my hips. Why is he teasing me? “Please al-pha.” 

“You know, you’re a well-mannered shadow when it suits you, princess.” Jinwoo lets out a subtle chuckle, arching over me until he’s cheek to cheek with me. His cock is prodding at me but in all the wrong places. He needs to be inside. 

“Say the words. And I’ll do it.” His voice lowers to a whisper and he’s putting more and more weight on top of me. “Tell me exactly how you need me to help you.”

I don’t understand how any of this is possible but I don’t care. I’ve never felt more alive than at this moment. 

“Inside. P-Put it inside.” I whimper shakily and my hips stutter to notch him at my opening. It’s becoming obvious that he’s doing this on purpose and I can’t understand why. “H-Hurry please!” 

“Tsk... Put what inside, love?” He tsks, and a menacing smirk tugs at his lips. His knees sink into the mattress behind me. 

“You, alpha. You.” I answer desperately, and he remains stockstill. “Your…cock.” 

“Oh. This?” I feel him tug down his boxers and his cock springs out. It’s hot against me, twitching and pulsing between my pussy lips. I nod like an idiot and my bottom lip quivers. 

Why is he doing this to me?

“Inside where?” His smirk morphs into a little grin and he lets go of my hip to guide himself exactly where he’s supposed to be. “Here?” 

Gods, yes. Yes. Right there.

“Come on. Tell your alpha.” Jin-woo growls the order. 

“Yes. Want you in my pussy! Ple-ase!” I cry out and back up on him, and I hear him chuckle again. What’s so fucking funny? He needs to hurry or I’m going to lose myself completely. 

“God, it's taken everything in me to hold back for this long, you know that? You’ve really been fucking with my head.” Master grumbles, rubbing his cockhead up and down along my slick opening. “Just keeping you here in this form is using most of my mana, princess. I don’t know how much patience I have left in me.”

In this form? What form? I don’t care. He needs to move. 

“Don’t you feel it?” He whispers, catching himself just right at my softest, most sensitive spot. He pushes, gently, slowly. It’s huge. Oh, no. No, he won’t fit. But he needs to. He has to. I spread myself even more, meeting this pressure half way. 

“Don’t you feel…alive? Or is your heat fucking with your head too much for you to notice?” 

What the fuck is he on about?

Smack.

Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh, fuck. 

A high pitched noise rings my ears and I think it might be me. My body tenses and my mind goes blank. The burn is divine but he might actually be splitting me wide open. He’s so big, so deep—so fucking deep. Pushing an exquisite pressure right into that tender, itchy part inside me. It hurts, but it hurts so good. I had no idea that this is what I’ve been missing for all these dreadful months.  

Jinwoo huffs next to my ear, stilling himself inside me. “You okay?”

sung jin-woo’s pov

Easy, Jin. Slowly. Let’s not break her.

I’m pumping mana into her so her form is more real than shadow. From her soft curves down to each strand of hair on her head—I know she’s feeling every little thing as if her heart were actually beating. I don’t think she’s realized though, she’s way too out of it. 

“Don’t you feel…alive? Or is your heat fucking with your head too much for you to notice?”

I attempt to breach her and meet pure resistance. God, she’s tight as fuck. I heave a breath and roll my hips forward, breaking that resistance little by little until I feel a sudden pop. She squeals and her pussy clamps down on my cock, fuck—not good. Not. Good.

The compulsion to sink myself all the way inside is entirely too overwhelming. I try my best to fight it but my hips stammer against my will and whatever strength I have left goes right into forcing my cock inside her tight little cunt in one hard thrust.  

Holy fuck, yes. 

Her pussy isn’t anything near what I imagined. It’s everything and more. And it didn’t give easy. She’s so warm and sticky and soft inside. She’s hugging every inch my cock so fucking tight. 

I grit my teeth so I don’t spray my load inside her. I need to calm down, keep a level head. Make sure I don’t do anything I shouldn’t—like spray my load inside her. But she’s so tight and tense, she’s going to snap my dick in two if she doesn’t ease up. 

She feels like a virgin.

Shit. I didn’t even consider the fact that this might be her first time. 

“You okay?” I huff, desperately trying to resist the urge to rut into her and work her little pussy open for me. If she is, I’ve probably hurt her. “Don’t tell me I just stole your virginity, princess.” 

She whimpers and nods her head into my pillow. Shit. I did. I should’ve been gentler—stayed in control. Eased her into it, stretched her first. 

“S-shh—‘m sorry. Does it hurt?”

She does a series of nods and shakes, like she’s entirely unsure about how she’s feeling right now. But her eyes say it all, they’re puffy and glisten from her tears. I make sure not to move at all, I’m as still as the statue that once killed me. 

“Breathe. It’ll stop hurting soon.” I coo and force myself to loosen my grip on her hips so I can trail my fingers along her spine. She backs up onto me and I glance down.

Dear God, why did I look down? 

Her pussy is stretched thin on my cock, it actually looks like it's sucking me in. Gratification swirls deep in my belly when the dangerous realization sinks in. 

I’m the first cock to ever be in this pussy. 

This cunt belongs to me, and only me now. A flame ignites within me that’s all consuming. It’s a feeling—a feeling of something that’s been imprinted into my being from the very beginning—an instinctual urge that I must satisfy. 

The urge to claim this female underneath me, to make her pussy mine and to stain her womb with my seed. 

Control yourself, Jin. Look away. 

I fling my head back because there’s no way that I can willingly tear my eyes away from the sight of her virgin cunt stretching so beautifully around my cock. I eye the popcorn ceiling and follow the blades of the fan as they spin. 

Focus, focus.

The urge to look again rides me. I grunt and fight it, I have more restraint than this. I clench my jaw. Fuck, I don’t know if I can hold out. I can feel her pussy relaxing and tightening around me. 

Then she rocks on me. 

Back and forth, back and forth. Like she did on the pillow that’s completely drenched with her cum. A low rumble comes from her, she’s growling her impatience, trying to fuck me. I look down and god, her pussy is quivering, drooling strings of her sweet, sticky nectar on my cock. 

She rocks against me harder and lets out a broken groan, and her thighs start to shake. I think she’s gonna come. Fuck yes, she’s about to come on me. 

“Don’t tell me. Is my little virgin princess about to come?”

My instincts dominate me, and my hips buck against my volition. I’m totally out of control. How in the world is she doing this to me? I'm behaving like a goddamn animal. 

Thrust. 

Please, God. 

Thrust. 

I can’t stop myself. 

She nods frantically and meets my brutal thrusts with desperation and need. I growl and piston my cock inside her pussy, hard. She moans loud and long, and her cunt squeezes me so hard that I get a headrush. Her pussy pulses, coating me in a thick slick. 

She’s cumming. Fuck, she’s cumming. 

“Yes, cum on my cock.” I encourage her, hunching over her petite frame. The skin on the back of her neck looks so soft—so delicate. “So pretty.” I want to bite it. Mark her so everyone will know that she belongs to me. What the fuck? No. I won’t do that. I can’t. 

But I want to. And my cock is already kissing her womb so why can’t I exactly?

She’s my shadow, that’s why. She’s not in the right frame of mind. That’s why.

But I’m not either. 

your pov

Whatever pain I felt is long gone, replaced by an overwhelming sensation of good, and right—how things should be. 

Bright white stars twinkle behind my closed eyes. Waves of raw pleasure smack into me and make my legs tremble uncontrollably. He’s filling me so good that I have no other choice but to take his cock and his every thrust.

“Yes, cum on my cock. So pretty.” His words are a hot mist against my neck and I feel his weight shift on top of me. 

Yes. Mount me. 

“Fuck, why do I want to bite you so bad?” 

I don’t know but he should. I show him my throat and whine low, spreading my legs for him to fuck me again. 

“Do it.” I moan, and my hips rock again. I want him to pound me, and then fill my empty womb—it aches. “Please. Bite me, fuck me.” 

He tenses behind me, resisting again. I don’t want him to. 

“I didn’t know such filth could come from a princess’s mouth.” 

Jinwoo’s dark, monotonous voice sends a spasm through my pussy. His fingers grip my jaw and he tugs my head back, exposing my throat. His hot tongue drags along my pulsating jugular and he shuffles from his knees to the balls of his feet. 

“I don’t understand exactly how you’re doing this to me, but I hope you can take it.” He growls a warning and I break out into a shiver. “Because I don’t think I can hold back anymore.” 

He pulls out of me, leaving his mushroomy cockhead notched right under my pelvic bone. The empty feeling makes me mewl and my hips search for him. 

“You’re so fucking noisy.” He huffs, annoyed, teeth scraping against my skin. “So goddamn needy.” His fingers tighten on my jaw, and he plunges his cock back inside me. I see more stars, more fireworks. I yelp out, and my tears trickle down my cheeks again. 

“Quiet, princess. The floor under us will think I’m doing something you don’t want.”

And then he bites me. 

He sinks his blunt teeth into me, locking his jaw when I begin to squirm from the feeling of being claimed—marked. The fingers wrapped around my jaw quickly slip down my throat and muffle my shriek. 

Gods, it’s too much. Too much. 

“Yes—yes!” I gurgle, and he bites down even harder. I’ll be bruised for weeks but that’s okay. 

He grinds into me, grunting while he’s shoving all he can inside as deep as it’ll go. He works me open, and I feel him deep in my tummy. I guess I’ll be bruised there too, and that’s definitely okay. I want to feel him in me for weeks, until the moon shows me her wicked face again.

Alpha releases me from his bite and he kisses the double crescent mark. I feel him pepper kisses down my shoulder, and he tastes my skin there too. He’s not moving anymore, just staying really deep inside me, hunched over me, breathing hard and loud. I whine loud and suckle on his fingers. 

“Mmm, fuck. Hush.” He snaps at me, breathless. “You want alpha to make it better?”

I nod again, my tears and saliva dribble onto his hand, down his wrist. I see his eyes glow bright in my peripheral vision. He’s going to wreck me and I can’t wait.

“Then be a good girl for me, won’t you?” He growls and smacks into me. 

Once, twice. Thrice. Again, and again. Brutally, cruelly. His thrusts are bloodthirsty, like he’s the beast and not me. He holds me firmly in place, his grip is unrelenting—I can’t get away even if I tried. I’m forced to take each unsparing strike and stroke. 

That heat whirls in my lower abdomen again, and I feel like a matchstick about to burst into flames. His cock is ramming right into that spot super deep, filling it, swelling it. I bite down on his fingers to stifle a guttural moan and he hisses, picking up his pace as punishment. I clamp down on his cock and—

I’m gonna come. 

“Not yet.” He grunts, pulling his fingers out of my mouth and shoving me onto my stomach. 

He yanks his cock out of me and strokes himself with one hand while he uses the other to toss me onto my back. Now he’s looking down at me with an intoxicated expression, bullying his thick frame between my trembling legs. He’s back on the balls of his heels, folding me in half, pinning my legs back so my knees graze against my pointed ears. 

“I want to see what you look like when you come, princess.” 

His cock prods at my sore pussy before he catches it just right and drives himself back inside me with an urgency. He lets out a depraved groan, one that makes me a little nervous, and I swear he goes even deeper than before. 

“M-Master…Al-Alpha…” I whisper as best as I can in this position and my bottom lip juts out. “‘s s-so deep.” 

“Isn’t that what you want, hm?” He uses his strength to push himself into me and his heavy balls press into me. I squeal from the pressure and jolt back but he keeps me where he wants me. “...what you need?” 

My head spins and I start sputtering, switching between mumbling and trying to catch my breath as his weight punches the air out of my lungs. 

“You look so fucked out right now.” He withdraws from me and plunges into me again, putting all of his weight on me. “So drunk on my cock. Yeah?”

I whimper shakily and electricity bolts up my spine. 

“Ooh, fuck. Let me see how pretty you look when you come, love.” He smirks and fucks into me hard and fast, staring deep into my eyes—taking my soul for a second time. “Come on—” He’s growling all his words, his hips striking me with purpose and intention, vicious smack after smack—coaxing my orgasm out of me. “Let your alpha feel your little virgin cunt.” My face screws and I sob when my release takes over me, sending my body into a frenzied convulsion underneath him. “Yes, that’s my pretty girl. Good girl.” He pants and presses his forehead into mine, and his movements falter. “Gonna breed you so deep, so hard, fuck—” 

Yes. Breed me. 

He lets out a sudden, loud grunt, and then I feel it. A harsh throb that isn’t mine, and a heat flooding deep inside me. His hips buck and rut in an uncontrolled manner, and he groans lengthily, darkly. His breath is heavy and fast, and he’s still looking me deep in the eye. I feel myself fade, the dim lights in his room darken some more and my breath won’t stop hitching. I’m satiated and so full—so happy. 

I’m exactly where I should be. 

sung jin-woo’s pov

 I watch her eyes unfocus and her eyelids droop—she’s slipping away. I ease up off of her and throw her leg over to her side, and tuck myself behind her. I stay inside her, making sure not a single drop of my seed is spilled. If I could plug her full of me, I would. My head is still quite foggy, but I can feel that it’s starting to clear now. Her scent is less potent, and her body isn’t as hot to the touch. 

Is it over?

Notification: [Secret Quest: A Lycan’s Heat] is complete.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Her heat has broken. I dismiss the blue screen and glance over to my bedside clock—6:47a.m. An orange hue illuminates behind my grey curtains, and my eyes grow heavier. My mana is dangerously low, but I’ll let it run out completely. 

I don’t want this to end just yet. 

[damnfeelings09]

A.N: special thanks to the lovely @xobunni0 I love how you write my boy and futuristic lovers is a masterpiece. This one is inspired in the song E.T as well as on your work, thank you darling! I suggest you all go to her blog if you haven't already.

Also, you will find OC name here (like in other pov's of mine) but this is still an xreader ff, it's just that I dont quite like putting y/n or _____ :( sorry *Also (this is the last one I promise) english is not my first lenguage so there could be some grammar errors and so, sorry in advance!

E.T - Shadow's version

“You're so hypnotizing Could you be the devil? Could you be an angel?”

190605. You entered the code, and the door made a metallic sound before opening, revealing a second door that required voice access.

“Special Agent Dr. Moon,” you said confidently. The door opened for you. You walked into the GUN facility; floor -16 was cold and dark, the lights flickering on as you made your way to room 296. You scanned your ID and waited a few seconds before turning the handle. There, in front of you, was the hedgehog you loved so much. The ultimate lifeform was lying on the cot, tossing a ball and hitting the ceiling over and over again. His ears twitched, catching the unmistakable sound of your heels.

“Back so soon?” he said, sitting up. “Careful, doc, they’ll think you’ve lost your mind.”

“And do we care?” you smiled, standing just a few inches away from the large polycarbonate cristal like wall that separated you. You quickly raised your hand and rested it against the wall. Shadow didn’t waste any time, using his speed to reach your side in one second, placing his hand against yours.

“Your touch, magnetizing Feels like I am floating Leaves my body glowing”

You didn’t really know when or how it had happened. You had been working in GUN's medical wing for five years, initially as a field medic, until, after two years, you were promoted to Head of Medical Staff. Later, you decided to focus on Mobian medicine—not because you had much to work with, but when the opportunity arose to learn more about this fascinating species, you couldn’t refuse. At first, it was just a few check-ups for Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles, a few tests for speed and strength, samples of their fur and blood, studying their anatomy and physiology. While it wasn’t all that different from humans, it wasn’t exactly the same either. They healed faster, could endure higher levels of pain and temperatures—something that would kill an average human would only cause temporary damage to a Mobian. Furthermore, human diseases didn’t affect them, but that didn’t mean their diseases couldn’t cause a worldwide pandemic.

Eight months ago, Commander Hillsprung had tasked you with analyzing a different specimen. Something that wasn’t entirely Mobian, but also wasn’t human. In fact, no one was sure what it was—the Project Shadow, as everyone called it. At first, the project was falling apart. Despite Shadow volunteering, he didn’t agree with the tests they were putting him through. Five different people had tried to study him—scientists, physicists, even veterinarians—but he wouldn’t let anyone get close enough. He’d remove the equipment, refuse to give samples. They didn’t know what else to do. Just when it seemed like the research would fail, that’s when you appeared.

“They say, be afraid You're not like the others”

Shadow looked at you attentively. You hadn't approached him like the others, nor did you look at him the same way they did. Although he could sense the uncertainty, there was something else… curiosity, perhaps admiration? He wasn't sure, but he knew you were different. The fascination you felt for him was written all over your face, like a big, glowing sign. This allowed Shadow to lower his guard, just a little.

You spoke to him and recognized him for what he was—an equal. Over time, Shadow grew accustomed to your presence. You would arrive early, much earlier than the other agents, and have a brief conversation where you'd tell him about the findings you'd made about him. Shadow always listened with interest to everything you said, enjoying the fruit you had kindly brought him. He could hear the enthusiasm and excitement in your voice, loved the smile that appeared when you made a new discovery, and noticed how you furrowed your brow when the tests didn’t turn out as expected.

"It will work," Shadow would tell you as he followed you across the room from his side of the glass.

"And what if it doesn’t? I’ve failed the last three attempts. The component isn’t stable enough; I can’t reach your DNA. My samples are running out."

"There’s more where that came from," he remarked, shrugging in a nonchalant tone.

"I don’t want to puncture you with the needle again. Your skin heals in less than a minute, the wound has to be large enough to get a good sample, plus... I don’t like hurting you," you said, meeting his gaze.

"You’re the only one here who cares about me. I only trust you to do this. Besides, this will help me know where I come from, what I am, who I am."

When you heard him say that, something inside you broke. Shadow was alone, lost, and trusted you to help him learn everything he could about himself. Instinctively, you took his hand, intertwining your fingers through the small window where they passed his food.

"I promise I will."

“Boy, you're an alien Your touch, so foreign It's supernatural Extraterrestrial”

After that, Shadow had become dependent on you, and you on him. At first, you controlled it well, one or two stolen glances, shared smiles, the brush of your hands when you examined him, staying late to see him again, pretending you had forgotten an instrument in his room just to open the door and sit by his side, shoulder to shoulder, all to be close to him. That worked, until a speed test at the HRW training center (used to me High Range Weapons center) of GUN. A stupid agent launched rockets toward Shadow, boasting that if he truly was the ultimate lifeform, it wouldn’t be anything for him. Six heat-seeking rockets pursued Shadow across the platform as you shouted at the agent while trying to stop the missiles with the computer. "Let it go," said Commander Hillsprung. "But... but sir, Shad... Project Shadow is not ready yet, the tests are still incomplete in the lab, it’s too risky considering the new rings are inhibiting his powers even more." "If I didn’t know you, Agent, I’d think you were concerned about the... alien." You paled at his accusations. No one, especially Commander Hillsprung, could know that you were fraternizing with Shadow. "They wouldn’t understand," you thought. "N-no, sir, not at all. I just think about what’s best for the research," you said, controlling your breathing as calmly as possible. "Then let the test proceed. It’s time for the ultimate weapon to show us what it’s made of."

You couldn’t do anything but watch as Shadow jumped and ran, dodging the missiles. Yes, he was the most powerful being on the planet, heck… he was the most powerful being in the galaxy as far as you knew, but knowing that he couldn’t use all of his powers to save himself made your insides twist with dread. Shadow dodged four of the missiles with the grace and ease of a gazelle. He was fast, strong, precise. Every hit he delivered destroyed the missile without leaving a scratch. When only two missiles remained to be destroyed, Shadow stopped, standing still in the middle of the platform. A small smirk appeared on his face as he thought, "Is this all they’ve got? Pathetic." Both missiles were heading toward him, but just before they hit, Shadow leapt so high, leaving the missiles below him as they exploded into each other. You celebrated Shadow’s victory, while the high-ranking officials watched in stunned silence at what had happened. The agent who had launched the missiles had his jaw clenched so tightly that you’d swear his teeth were going to break. He was upset, no, he was furious. He was tired of that lab rat taking all the attention.

“You're so supersonic Wanna feel your powers Stun me with your laser “

You quickly made your way to the training center entrance, running towards Shadow while cheering him on for the excellent job he had done, your heart racing with excitement, overjoyed with happiness, as you extended your arms toward him. He met halfway, smiling, happy with what you had both achieved together.

“Your kiss is cosmic Every move is magic”

You enjoyed the moment so much, the warmth of your arms, that you didn’t notice when a seventh missile was launched directly at you. With no time to get both of you out of there, and without his Chaos Control to teleport, he decided to save you. It didn’t matter what would happen to him, Shadow only knew you had to be safe. He threw you a few meters away from him, your body hitting the hard ground and your head slamming against the wall. Your vision was blurry, and the ringing in your ears made it impossible to recognize anything around you. Someone grabbed your arm, shaking it, and in the distance, you heard your name, but couldn’t understand anything else. More agents ran to the left of the training room, and a stretcher passed in front of you. The next thing happened like a flash. The stretcher carried something black on it, cables and tubes surrounding a thin, small body, agents in lab coats running behind the stretcher. That’s when you reacted to what had happened. Shadow had been hit by the missile’s explosion directly in an attempt to save your life. As best as you could, you got up and ran after the stretcher, stumbling along the way. Your colleagues tried to stop you, but there was no force in the world that could separate you from Shadow.

“This is transcendental On another level Boy, you're my lucky star”

Regaining your vision, you approached the medical room where they had Shadow. His jet-black fur, once as bright as the night sky, was now covered in dirt and bloodstains. He wore a mask covering his mouth and nose, his breathing was labored, and his heartbeat irregular. “An arrhythmia” you thought. The panic and fear of losing him overtook you, but this was not the time to run off and cry; Shadow needed you. "10mg of adenosine," you requested from the nurse beside you as you searched for the IV in his arm. "Dr. Moon, you should..." she tried to persuade you. "10mg of adenosine, NOW, or we're going to lose him." After administering the medication, you noticed his heart rate normalized to 250 bpm, something normal considering his condition and the fact that we were talking about a supersonic hedgehog. "I want everyone out of the room." "But, boss..." "Didn't you hear what I said? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" The entire medical team exited the room. You quickly approached Shadow, took the device you always carried with you, and lowered the power of the inhibitor rings. Shadow needed to recover fast, damn it, you needed him to recover fast, and he wouldn't be able to achieve that if he was at 10% of his power.

“I wanna walk on your wavelength

And be there when you vibrate For you, I'll risk it all, all”

"You'll be fine," you said as you wiped his muzzle, removing the dirt and blood that you found along the way. Your hand rested on Shadow's cheek, it was warm, which was a good sign, right? You positioned yourself on his right side on the stretcher, counting each breath, each heartbeat. Shadow made a sound, a tiny whimper that you wouldn't have been able to hear if you weren't just inches away from his face. You quickly removed the mask from his snout, and he slowly opened his eyes, focusing his sight as if searching for something, until he saw you by his side. "Mo-mo...on?" he said, followed by a small whimper. "I'm here," you said, leaning in and bringing your forehead to his. Shadow sighed, gently stroking your cheek, relieved to see that you were alright. "You saved me," you whispered for both of you, your warm breath meeting Shadow's mouth.

“Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me Infect me with your lovin' Fill me with your poison Take me, ta-ta-take me Wanna be your victim Ready for abduction”

You both opened your eyes at the same time, the fire making itself present in the crimson orbs of Shadow, without thinking, without planning, you succumbed to what your heart longed for and kissed him. A deep, needed, desired kiss. Your tongues dancing together a dangerous waltz, small bites on your lower lip, courtesy of his sharp canines created the perfect mix between pain and satisfaction. Your hands stroking his quills, careful not to prick you, although at this point it was the least of your worries. The monitor that Shadow was connecting to shooting at 1000 lpm while taking you by the waist sitting you in his lap. Fuck, how much he wanted this, how much he needed this. It had been a while since the looks and smiles were no longer enough for him. Shadow had dreamed of this moment more than he would admit, spending his moments fantasizing about what it would be like to taste those pink lips, what flavor they had, if they were as smooth as he imagined.

They were not, it was even better than what he imagined.

You separated ‘cause the lack of air, with your breathing agitated, choppy, just before you pulled away, Shadow took you by surprise, giving a caress, licking your cheek, causing you to blush instantly, not because you disliked, but because he had seemed so... tender.

 Shadow’s heart rate normalized again, settling on the stretcher as a reddish blush painted his muzzle. The dim light, the rise and fall of your chest, the strands of hair falling over your face, your lips red from the make out session that had just occurred.

“A goddess” thought the hedgehog. You reached out for his hand, fingers entwined, no one said a thing, it wasn’t necessary. What you felt for each other was more than enough.

“Boy, you're an alien Your touch, so foreign It's supernatural Extraterrestrial”

[yawnderu]

A/N: We made it to 3k less than a month after I reached 2k followers 🥺<3!!

I was genuinely not expecting this when I first made my account, but so far I've gotten so much support and I've met so many lovely people. I'm always reading your comments and reblogs, you mfs are hilarious JFEHJBFEHJB💕Onto the nasty sinful monkey sex now.

Synopsis: tired of working a dead-end job with no rewards, your childhood best friend offers you a job at his company, promising the stress levels are minimal and the pay is good. You accept with no second thoughts, not realizing you were tricked into becoming a stress relief toy for his men.

CW: humiliation, hard sex, gangbang, double vaginal, triple penetration, unsafe sex, creampie, 14 vs 1, cum swallowing, bukkake, spit kink, cockdrunk reader, deepthroat, handjobs, size kink, watersports.

Being a commander who saw his soldiers as family, Graves knew he always had to watch out for his men, reward them for their hard work and loyalty, and what better way to do that than with a sweet little thing like you? Their own personal stress relief toy, who was tricked into taking a job at the Shadow Company, yet so willing to please. So eager.

"You're enjoying this more than you should." He's teasing you, of course, yet his cocky expression does nothing to help the pooling warmth on your stomach. One of the shadows is sitting behind you, gloved hands hooked under your knees to keep your legs open while Graves grinded his clothed boner on your bare cunt, the fabric feeling almost painful if it wasn't for how wet you are.

"Maybe I am." You manage to reply, barely able to speak between whiny moans and soft gasps, his cock rubbing in all the right places, but the stimulation wasn't enough. No, he had been teasing you like this for the past 20 minutes, making his men watch as you became a putty mess in his hand. The shadows were men of discipline and self-control, keeping their hands folded politely behind their backs, ignoring their painful, throbbing cocks until their commander allowed them to use their brand new chew toy.

"I want you to know," He began, hand slipping under your chin firmly to force you to look up at him, hard cock rubbing faster up and down your cunt, pressing into you harder. "That I ain't playin' with you, Stray. My men will do anythin' I tell them to. Last chance to pull out." He warned and you shook your head no, his cocky smile growing even wider as his other hand went to squeeze your tit, looking for any signs of discomfort and much to his delight, seeing none.

"I can take it." The words are more of a reassurance to yourself, gaze drifting around the room and counting the men inside. 14, including Graves. You swallow thickly, nervous eyes drifting back to Graves, who simply raises an eyebrow in return, waiting for you to realize just how fucked up you are if you don't pull out.

"I can take it." You repeat, slowly believing the words more and more. He simply smiles and ruffles your hair affectionately, the same way he always did growing up.

"Attagirl." He pulled away from you and you can see the satisfaction in his eyes, knowing you'll do a good job for him. He nods to his men and they quickly get to work, hands groping you all over, long fingers entering your cunt roughly to the point you're becoming nothing but a whiny, whimpering mess. They're rough and impatient, your wrists being grabbed and forced onto their hard cocks until you're willingly jerking them off, hands barely able to wrap around their thick lengths. It's intimidating, yet so hot to be locked in a room full of hormonal, pent-up military men.

"On your knees." One of them commands, yet you're forced on your knees before you can even try to get up. Four cocks are in front of you and you begin sucking with no hesitation, eyes closing as you give into your role at the company. Your lips wrap around one of them, slowly taking him deeper until he gets too impatient and forces your head down to the base, the gagging noises your throat lets out simply making it feel better.

"Good girl." You don't even know who's praising you, but it's enough to give you the encouragement you needed, starting to bob your head up and down until you're pulled off the cock, a new one being shoved down your throat. They're using you— you know it, and you're letting them. You get passed around, tasting and sucking on different dicks while your hands keep themselves busy, deep moans and groans coming from above you. They get too impatient quick, the man you recognize as Oz wrapping his fingers on your hair, pulling on it until you willingly get up, throwing you into bed and opening your legs wide with brutal force. You look down, eyes widening as you see just jow thick he is.

"You said you could take it, ain't that right?" He uses your words against you, the tip of his cock rubbing up and down your folds, your head dropping back as a moan escapes your lips. That's all he needs for confirmation, hands firmly holding the curve of your waist before he buries his cock to the hilt in one thrust. A pained moan escapes your lips, eyebrows furrowing as your nails dig into his arm— the pretty, long acrylic nails Graves paid for earlier that day.

"Shit... S‐slow down, asshole." The way you struggle to take him is almost cute, a cocky smirk pulling on his lips as he shakes his head no once, holding onto you tighter while he slams in and out of you. You don't have much room to complain before another cock is being shoved into your face, your lips willingly wrapping around the tip, hollowing your cheeks while your tongue circles all over it. Your whiny moans are muffled as you slowly begin to suck more and more, the pleasure of being groped all over and being fucked good slowly getting rid of any hints of regret you may have.

"Fucking slut." Oz says, hand coming up to gently pinch and pull on your nipples while he fucks into you faster. All you can do is nod, tears dotting your eyelashes at the mix of pain and pleasure, using the cock in your mouth to cover up the embarrassing sounds escaping you from being a used like a whore. Your body is manhandled into another position, a different shadow underneath you who wastes no time on fucking into your cunt, filling you just as much as Oz was. Your hands are kept busy jerking off more cocks while your mouth is put into good use again, muffling the moan of protest that threatens to escape when you feel the tip of a dick teasing the entrance of your ass.

"Wait—" You manage to speak when the shadow takes his cock out of your throat to give you time to breathe, only to be interrupted by your throat being forced open again. You close your eyes tightly, trying your best to relax, the folds of your tight hole slowly being eased, the man is being surprisingly gentle for someone who holds so much power over you.

"Good girl." He praises softly, voice deep with desire, yet holding so much care. His hand gently caresses your ass as he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust before his hands rest on your waist, pulling you up and down his cock, the thin layer of skin diving your ass and cunt making the pleasure even greater. It doesn't take much before you're willingly slamming your hips down, moving in your own pace and fucking yourself into the big cocks inside you like a greedy whore, too eager to wait.

"Lovely girl, ain't she?" You can recognize Grave's voice, choosing to ignore it for now as you simply focus on feeling good. It doesn't take long until the men are taking turns with you, wet cunt leaking everywhere, yet none of them seem to care. You wince as you feel a second cock on the entrance of your pussy, nervous, yet eager to please. You don't even have to lift your head to know whose cock it is— fucking Phillip Graves. The man who got you into this situation on the first place... which you're now glad happened.

He's surprisingly gentle as he squeezes his cock into your airtight hole, the pain of the stretch only being overpowered by the feeling of a cock slamming back into your throat, nose hitting dark, curly pubes every single time the masked man makes you deepthroat him. Your whiny moans are mixed in with the lewd, wet sounds of your holes being used and abused. You lost count of how many times you were filled, mind too hazy from all the overstimulation, yet you can register the door closing behind them, leaving you alone with Graves.

''Attagirl.'' He praises, his hand running down the length of your sweaty hair as his soft cock settles into your cum-stained lips, half-lidded eyes looking up at him with curiosity. Your mouth is suddenly filled with a warm liquid and you swallow without thinking about it, eyes closing once he's done pissing into your slutty mouth. He slowly pulls out, putting his cock back in his pants and admiring the mess his men did of your body, covered in cum and small bruises from their strong hold when they were fucking you.

''I got another job for ya. Ever heard of the 141?''

[myownwholewildworld]

v. a Roman’s rotten heart - acta, non verba

chapter 4 | series masterlist | ao3 | chapter 6 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: temptation is sweeter than honey. a/n: well, well, well, what can i say other than this whole chapter had me howling? over half of it is smut, so if that's not your thing, i'm sorry? 🤓 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings: 18+, mdni. mentions of war, death, starvation, marital abuse, infidelity. some fluff because cormag is a grumpy sweetheart. marcus is the praise/consent king. very soft!marcus (yes, this is a warning). he talks you through it. a lot of fingering. nipple play. unprotected piv. reverse lap dance and reverse cowgirl positions. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin). marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. unbeta'd, very minimal editing (soz). w/c: ~8.8k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Come see me tonight,” Marcus almost begged you as you turned around in his embrace.

He had you pinned against the wall of the garderobe, the small room filled with the scent of wine and sex.

You chuckled, eyeing him through your lashes. It was a good sign that he was eager, but you wondered if he was just trying to bed you, fuck you and then be done with you. All men were the same, especially men like him — drunk with power, believing they were above everyone else, that they could get anyone to bend to their will.

And… was not that what you were trying to do anyway?

“I’ll see what I can do,” you conceded, leaving him hanging. “But won’t you have an early day tomorrow? I’m sure being the General of Rome have you waking up like an early bird.”

You were fishing for information, and hoped he would bite the bait.

Surprisingly, he did.

“Tomorrow we are going on a reconnaissance mission around the area, stalk out some points of interest where…” he trailed off, probably realising he had spoken too much. “But I don’t mind having a late night when I know it will be worth it.”

He surely knew how to make one feel fucking special. But what he said was like gold dust to you — it wasn’t much, but enough to get your plan working. You’d need to speak to some people, see what could be arranged, but if it worked out, perhaps your people could instil some fear in those rotten Roman hearts.

You wondered if Marcus’ was as rotten as his people’s. An idea of him had formed in your mind, and it contradicted what he had shown you so far. But only a man with a rotten heart could cause so much pain, so much grief.

You chewed your bottom lip, crouching for a second to collect the jug you had dropped before.

“If I finish early after cleaning up all the mess of your birthday’s celebration…” you teased.

“Right,” Marcus took a step back, liberating you from the warm prison of his body. “You go first, I’ll wait a couple of minutes then leave.”

“Such a gentleman, worried about my reputation,” you mocked him a bit, hand on the doorknob.

“I am,” Marcus replied, and you were not sure if he was joking back or being serious.

You didn’t stay to find out, scurrying away down the hallway straight to the kitchens. There were a lot of people in the small room, with Cormag at the forefront of it, barking commands and orders to everyone. The air was heavy, a cloud of smoke collecting close to the low ceiling.

The poor cook was profusely sweating near the hearth, his paw stirring a cauldron with a big wooden spoon.

“Ye deaf lad?! Bring that over right now!” the old git screamed at the top of his lungs, breaking into a coughing fit a second later.

Tomorrow you would make sure to put out the fire and clean that damn chimney, because one of these days Cormag was going to cough up a lung. You wouldn’t tell him though, otherwise he would try and talk you out of it, pointing out that it was no job for a lady. As if you cared.

Placing the empty jug down on one of counters, you saw Brighid and Isla tattling in a corner, giggling and blushing. You could only imagine what they were talking about. Had Brighid recognised you? It was dark inside the garderobe, and Marcus had tried to shield you from her, but the maid could be very perceptive.

Then Brighid swept the room and waved at you to come over, still snickering.

You steeled your back and sauntered towards them, not sure what to expect.

“Oh, mo bana-phrionnsa, you’re not going to believe what I just saw!” she squealed, almost too excitedly. “I just saw the Roman General fucking one of the harlots in the garderobe!”

Should you take offense in being mistaken for a prostitute? Perhaps you should but didn’t. It was actually a relief. Being caught red-handed sheathing Acacius’ cock in a crowded event like this would have been bad, really bad.

“Did you now?!” you faked the same level of excitement, sharing in the gossip.

The rest of the night was a haze, serving plates and taking empty ones away, cleaning up after the unwanted guests, replenishing wine and beer one pint after the next. Your feet hurt, although the dull, pleasant aching between your legs had nothing to do with standing up for hours. You had Marcus to thank for that.

Perhaps you were being paranoid, but you felt strangers’ eyes on you for the remainder of the night. You had avoided looking at the dais the whole evening, slightly worried that if your eyes lingered on him for too long, people would notice and add up your absence with his. That wasn’t the kind of attention you needed.

The last of the Romans had left now while you and the maids continued to clean after them. Marcus and Maximus were the last ones to exit the great hall, and you could sense the General’s brown eyes burning through your skin as he walked towards the double doors. You didn’t look his way, although the temptation was there. You knew if you did, you would not be able to stop yourself from following him to his room.

Two hours had gone by, and you were knackered. Rummaging through a basket, you found one of the plums that Cormag had gotten for you from Fachabair, jumped and sat on the clean counter. Your feet dangled in front of you, your mind stuck in that garderobe.

You were so distracted, your heart almost escaped your chest when someone spoke behind you.

“Meanbh-chuileag (Highland midge),” you almost fell from the counter when you turned around to look at the old cook.

“Cormag! I almost threw up my heart right now,” you accused him, his hearty laugh reverberating in the room.

“Didnae ye hear my ol’ knees clicking? Umnae (am not) that stealthy, fear beag (little one). What are you doing here? It’s so late, you should be in bed,” he questioned you, stopping in front of you with arms folded.

You rolled your eyes — Cormag was too close to a father figure to you, so you would sometimes give him the same attitude you did your dad.

“I was about to go, just wanted something sweet before I left.”

“Is that why all the plums are disappearing so quickly?” his brows knitted together, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Coireach (guilty). They are just too sweet. Didnae you say you bought them for me exclusively?”

“Exclusively? Now I don’t recall saying that, ye wee liar,” Cormag joked, his expression softening. “Are you and your family having enough to eat?”

The old man had a nose for hunger. While you were not starving, you did save as much food as possible so your niece and nephew would not go to bed with an empty belly. Bonnie was trying her best to keep you all fed, but four more mouths to cater for in the household meant that resources were a tad scarce. Your sister’s children were used to Cormag’s cooking, not having known hunger for a single day of their lives. And you didn’t want that to change now.

“We are making ends meet,” you eluded, shrugging, while sinking your teeth in the plum.

Cormag tutted at you and with no other words, he veered around and shuffled around in the kitchen. You watched him with curiosity, not sure of what he was doing. Got off the counter to drop the stone in the bin.

“Here, you take all of this with you, and I won’t accept no for an answer,” Cormag placed down a basket full of food. “They are leftovers from tonight. Brighid, Isla and the lads have already had their share.”

You could smell the stew even with the tiny cauldron covered. Fresh vegetables, berries, bread, and, of course, quite a few plums along with other seasonal fruits. All that food would keep you all fed for a few days.

His generosity made the knot in your throat swell, your eyes lighting up with unspent tears. You had not expected to feel emotional, but the cook’s kindness reminded you too much of the family you had lost.

“Cormag,” you whispered, fearing your voice might crack, “mòran taing (thank you).”

He waved one of his paws, making light of the situation.

“Dinnae mention it. You still have a few inches to grow,” he jested, palming your shoulder.

His joke worked — it lightened your mood.

“I am six and twenty. I don’t think I’m growing any more than this,” you chortled, grabbing the basket to rest it on your hip. “Awright, I’m leaving before you diminish the castle’s reserves.”

“Off you go then,” his hands did a brushing motion, the man almost pushing you out of his kitchen.

If you had planned on visiting Marcus tonight, that had now changed — carrying all this food to Bonnie’s home was your main priority. You couldn’t wait to see the sparkle in your niece and nephew’s eyes when they woke up in the morning, plums and berries ready for them to break their fast.

Marcus knew that the rebels would be up in arms, but he did not expect them to be so bloodthirsty. The barbarians from the Highlands were not going to go down quietly, he had come to learn.

He had lost at least a dozen of men in the skirmish. They had been ambushed in their way to Cùil Lodair (Culloden), and none of his trackers had seen any indication of the small legion being followed. The moment they entered the woods and the path narrowed, arrows flew from tree to tree. Hell ensued, a dance of swords quickly singing its melody up to the treetops.

With his wounds still fresh and healing, Marcus had been able to knock down the first two men that approached him. Maximus and Cassius had come to his aid in time — the warmth soaking the tunic underneath his armour a good indication that he was bleeding again.

The General looked around him before jumping onto Faun’s back. Death followed him everywhere he went, like an old companion stalking his every step. He should be used to it by now—the reeking stench of humanity’s demise—but the truth was, Marcus never would. It never became easier, just manageable, but his duty to Rome had him drown the lingering doubts living quietly in the back of his mind.

After an unsuccessful mission—never made it past the woods—they returned to the castle, carrying their own dead and leaving behind a pile of bodies for their people to mourn and bury.

His muscles ached with exhaustion as he crossed the barbican. A dense fog had settled in the bailey, not a soul to be seen. As he trudged forward and the warm air of the keep hit his damp skin, his senses flared — alert, hoping to cross eyes with you.

Marcus had not seen you since his birthday. Despite asking you to join you that evening, you had not shown up at his door. He had waited up for a couple of hours and when reality dawned, he called it a night, somewhat resigned.

Perhaps it was for the best. He was a married man, after all. It was normal for men to take up a mistress or two, but Marcus was the kind to think that matrimony was holy — despite the hardships and the cheating, that was. At least, that was his mind up until he met you.

Should not be after a woman who was several years younger than himself either, he thought with a pout. But whatever spell you had him under, he could not break free from. You were like the opium poppy — your mere proximity could soothe pain, but also cause it.

“You need to get that stitched up again, Acacius,” Cassius pointed out, interrupting his line of thought.

Marcus’ palm was pressing on the wound on his hip — he had almost forgotten about the pain, the thought of you soothing.

“I’ll call for Atticus,” Maximus chipped in, and Marcus nodded.

“Shite!” you staggered backwards.

The hardened soot and coal you had been poking at with a broomstick to unblock the chimney’s breast dislodged from the inner walls. Snapping your head back, your face was saved by hair’s breadth, but the black ash had cascaded down your chest, staining the red linen dress you were fashioning today.

You clapped your hands together, a cloud of soot flying around you as you tried to shake off the rest of it off your clothes.

Huffing and puffing, you grabbed the damn broomstick and brush the mess off the floor. At least the chimney was unblocked now, so the air would not be loaded with smoke when the hearth was ignited again.

At least the kitchen was empty, so no one was witness to what has happened. Not that you were a refined lady worries about being seen like this, but you just knew that if Cormag was around, he would be giving you hell.

Once you were done, you left the kitchen and sauntered towards the doors to the bailey. You were in dire need of a dunking to clean yourself — you knew the perfect secluded spot on River Ness’ bank, one you had been going to since you were a child.

“Callie?”

The voice behind you made your heart skip a beat and your feet freeze. One you would now recognise anywhere.

“Dux Meus,” you murmured, turning around to face the fire of your desire.

Dux Meus. His lower tummy burnt at the words.

The last thing Marcus had hoped to see this fine morning was you standing in the hallway, a red dress hugging the hourglass figure he longed for. Your chest was covered in what seemed to be ash and soot, a deep black staining ruining the front of your pretty dress. It spread to your neck, your cheeks, the tip of your nose — and your green eyes so bright that they were pulling him in.

“What’s happened?”

“A minor inconvenience in the kitchens, Dominus. I was unblocking the chimney’s breast and, well…” you lifted your arms and pointed at yourself. “I guess my reflexes are not as sharp as I would have liked.”

Marcus grinned, the annoyance in your voice adding to the entertainment.

“I guess not,” he hummed, his fingertips burning to touch you. “I can help you,” the words escaped him before his brain was able to catch up with his own intentions.

I can help you clean yourself, he meant.

Your eyes locked for what felt like an eternity, the pupils in your orbs flickering, pondering.

One of your brows raised in your forehead and you took a step forward towards him.

“Only if it is not inconvenient for you, Dux Meus,” you cooed with a girlish smile.

“Of course not,” he quickly replied. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

“I believe your pretty dress is ruined,” Marcus husked, the damp rag brushing the exposed skin of your clavicle.

This was fucking torture. He was playing a game, and your patience was running thin. He had been paying immense attention to every inch of your skin, cleaning off all soot and ash. You knew he was debating, but he wouldn’t have taken you to his bedchambers—your room—if he hadn’t had something in mind.

The same thing you had in mind, to be completely honest.

“It appears so,” you said, sliding your hand to his.

To hell with subtleties — the tension was eating you up.

You guided his hand, the one holding the linen cloth, to the valley between the swell of your boobs. Slowly you pushed it down, one corner of the rag disappearing between your breasts.

Marcus didn’t say a word. And he didn’t need to, because the way he was looking at you—like a man who had not drunk water in days—was speaking for him.

You were not sure who had taken the initiative, but soon enough you were in his embrace, his mouth warming your lips as his hands rested gently on either side of your waist.

“I need you,” you mumbled, possibly being sincere for the first time.

You had not been able to stop thinking about what happened in the garderobe. Every time the memory came back, you would find yourself rubbing your knees together to quench the thirst between your thighs.

Marcus groaned in reply, his hands harsher now as they found the buttons on the back. With steady fingers, he undid every single one of them until your dress cascaded off your body and gathered at your feet. Soon your loincloth was also on the floor, leaving you completely naked.

The General took a step back to take in the sight of you — the intensity in his brown eyes making you blush as he studied every square inch of your body.

“You look beautiful,” he muttered, one hand reaching up to cup one of your breasts, his thumb skimming the nipple. You pursed your lips at the gentle touch. “You are beautiful, mel.”

Then he bowed down to kiss you again, and he took control of your hands to show you how to undress him. So you did under his delicate guidance, until you both were equally bare.

Marcus’ body was a woman’s dream — or, at least, yours. Toned but not too muscular, a hard chest, strong and defined arms, his lower tummy slightly softer with the passage of time, a pronounced V line, and then a happy, hairy trail that your eyes eagerly followed.

His cock had started to harden, the tip pearly with his excitement. The length was generous, but the girth was what caught your attention.

No wonder why he couldn’t fit it in the first time. Perhaps it hadn’t been your body’s rejection, but that Marcus’ dick was thick, very thick.

“It’s alright, honey, we’ll make it work,” he hummed, his thumb tilting your chin up to press a soft kiss on your mouth.

Then he walked to the bed—his ass, goddamn his ass—and sat on the feathery mattress.

You were standing there, completely naked and suddenly you felt shy — your arms wrapping around your body to try and cover yourself up. Your skin had bristled, not because of the room temperature, but because you felt completely exposed to him.

Being shy was not something you were used to, but everything you had endured with your late husband had taken a toll on you, one you had not expected at all. It pained you to acknowledge that Iain might have broken your spirit a tad more than what you would have liked to admit.

Marcus’ nudity should have calmed you, but instead it made your eyes widened and your heart pound harder.

He was big, really big ― to the point that you pondered if he would ever fit inside you. No wonder why he had only fucked you with the tip a couple of days ago. Taking more inches of his cock seemed like an unachievable task, at least for you. You were no stranger to sex, having been subdued to satisfy all of Iain’s vices, but this… this was too fucking different to what you had expected.

Doubt nagged at your mind, questioning yourself. Perhaps this was all a bad idea, wanting to seduce Marcus to get information off him. But you truly didn’t see any other way of obtaining what you needed ― leverage.

Marcus extended one of his hands towards you.

“It’s alright, melculum. Just want to make you feel good,” he husked, his palm an open invitation to join him, sat on the bed. Your bed.

You slipped your hand to his and he pulled you gently until you were sat on his bare lap. His hardening dick rested on the side of your left thigh, warm and heavy. His right hand traced mindless lines on your back, while his left caressed your belly, the pads of his fingers lightly stroking your mound.

With eyes shut, you sighed, relaxing at his touch. Marcus kissed your shoulder, then the curvature of your neck.

“That’s it, mel, relax. We are not doing anything you don’t want to,” he whispered.

And you believed him. Knew better than trusting your enemy, but his voice was so reassuring, there was no more room for your initial doubt.

His left hand surprised you travelling up instead of down, cupping your left breast while his thumb stroked your nipple. A shiver of need went down your spine, soothed by the gentle pet of his right hand on your back. His beard scratched your bristled skin as he crouched down a little to trap your taut nipple between his lips.

Inevitably, your head tilted back, mouth agape with short breaths. Marcus worked your nipple diligently, the warmth of his lips dripping onto the wrinkled nub. And even as you started trembling on his lap, he did not stop. If anything, your little gasps and quiet moans spurred him on, his tongue flicking your nipple.

The sensation was too much ― Marcus latched on your breast as a man starved, his broad hand cradling your breast with reverence. He was intent on making it good for you and not asking for anything in return. But your instinct wanted you to reciprocate, you needed to do something.

Your left hand found his stiffened cock, leaned against your thigh. Tentatively, your fingertips stroked the leaky mushroom head, which gifted you a deep groan coming from his chest. Hearing him moan around your nipple was a great incentive to explore him a bit more, so you swiped his glans with your thumb, collecting a pearl of precum and buttering it onto his tacky skin.

“You don’t have to,” he purred between licks.

“But I want to,” you cooed back, mind mushy with pleasure.

Marcus’ efforts on your nipple doubled, twirling the tight button between his teeth and pulling slightly before soothing the gesture with a wet kiss on your bud. You couldn’t help but whimper, dampness gathering between your thighs.

As if he knew how drenched you were getting, the hand that cupped your breast slowly trailed down until it found your mound again. His ring finger stroked the outline of your seam a few times, your knees pressed together so your juices wouldn’t leak out.

“Let me see how wet you are, please,” Marcus murmured in a moment of reprieve, his lips pecking your nipple with every word he spoke.

You couldn’t resist him, not anymore, so you parted your legs just enough to let his hand slip between your thighs. The moment his ring finger dunked in your warmth, you both moaned in unison. The pad of his finger slid across your velvety skin, from your clenching hole to your writhing clit, a few times, as if he wanted to get acquainted with the map of your pussy.

“You’re soaking,” he grunted. “So damn wet for me, melculum.”

His words in combination with his cheeky finger short-circuited your brain, that coiling sensation you had been craving these last two days starting to take form low in your belly. It was warm in here now, so much your cheeks flushed as if you had drunk a pint of uisge beatha.

With lazy strokes on your soggy slit, Marcus’ tongue kept on licking and flicking your nipple, now completely sodden with his spit. His digit worked you slowly too, moving up and down between your swollen pussy lips until it caught on your needy clit. You sobbed quietly at the touch, and sensing how much you enjoyed that, Marcus repeated it.

Soon enough you were mewling into the abyss as the General pressed languid circles on your bundle of nerves at the same time he was lapping at the tip of your boob. And the moment he sunk the first phalange of his ring finger in your leaking hole, your wails just grew louder.

With an unhurried pace, he pumped the tip of his digit in and out of you, feeling your inner walls relaxing around him. A couple of minutes later, your walls had adjusted to the intrusion, his finger now completely buried in your seeping hole down to the knuckle.

You heaved, pursing your lips in a vain attempt to control your moaning, but the pleasure building up inside you was too great to bear. Too intense to ignore. You bit down your bottom lip until you almost drew blood, your hips bucking up with a mind of their own.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you feel that?” Marcus’ devilish mouth abandoned your nipple, lips pressed against your ear. “Come for me, please. Melt for me.”

You resisted, wanting to prolong this moment. It felt too good to let it go just yet, albeit your whole body was commending you to. Your insides tightened around Marcus’ lone finger as you tried to hold on to the feeling a little longer.

You were so lost to the new sensations, you hadn’t realised your own fingers were wrapping snugly around Marcus’ throbbing erection. Hoping he would falter, you began to pump him slowly, his hot glans leaking onto the skin of your thigh.

“Don’t be a tease, mel, don’t want to come yet,” he groaned in your ear. His finger suddenly left your insides to slap your hand away from his shaft.

You sobbed at the emptiness, the coiling feeling starting to diminish. The idea of not finding relief haunted you, so you obeyed his command.

Your fingers found his wrist, gripping it tight and guiding him back to your beating cunt. You coaxed your pussy lips apart with his fingers and silently begged him to resume where he had left off.

“Are you going to be good for me and come?” he asked, kissing your shoulder. “Do you promise?”

You nodded with vehemency.

“Good girl.”

With more urgency now, Marcus worked you back to the edge of the pleasure cliff, forcing you to climb up to the top with a relentless pace. Every time his ring finger bottomed out inside you, his thumb would flick your burning clit. The repeated tease of his hand was your undoing.

Teary eyes and parted lips, you moaned as an enormous wave washed over you, the coil inside finally snapping with a force unknown to mankind. Or, at least, unknown to you. Marcus kept on fingering you throughout, pulling the last bit of pleasure out of you until you were spent.

You hadn’t realised how much you had leaked until you felt his wet thigh underneath, sticky and warm with your release.

“I’m sorry, I’ll clean―” you tried to move off his lap, but Marcus’ strong arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you on his lap.

“Don’t apologise, it’s normal. It means you’re enjoying it,” he reassured you, then lifted his gaze to yours, a lingering question dancing in his dilated pupils. “I thought you were a widow?”

He was not wrong. But not all men spent the time he was taking to make it pleasurable for women.

“I am. But my late husband only cared about himself,” you told the truth, a crack of sincerity in your carefully built façade. “Never took the time to… make it good for me.”

Marcus frowned with incomprehension at your revelation, his mouth falling into a flat line. Was that a ray of anger? If it was, it quickly disappeared from his brown eyes.

Judging by what had just happened, you knew he was the complete opposite to Iain in that respect.

“Two days ago, in the garderobe. Was that your first time orgasming?”

You pouted, feeling like the conversation was taking a very personal turn. But you didn’t want to lie to him, there was enough deceit between you two. So you nodded, eyes withdrawn with a tinge of embarrassment.

Marcus cursed himself, annoyed with something although you didn’t know what. Annoyed with you, perhaps?

His thumb stroked your bottom lip, soothing the grimace showing on your face.

“Had I known, I wouldn’t have taken you like that. This should have been the first time you climaxed, melculum. I am sorry,” he apologised, and your heart jolted.

He was angry with himself. But the whole thing had been so good, you wouldn’t have done anything different. The memory of Marcus’ tip fucking the first two inches of your pussy had kept you warm at night.

“What? Nay, don’t. It was good, really good. I wouldn’t change a thing about what happened,” you quickly replied.

And what was worst, you actually meant it.

For a minute, Marcus didn’t speak a word, studying your face expression until he reached the conclusion that you were not lying.

“Stand up for me,” he said out of nowhere.

You obliged, the tremor of your knees almost gone. standing in front of him, he leaned forward, hands on either side of your waist, to kiss your mound. The intimacy of such gesture caught you off guard. Then he leaned back and dragged his body on the bed until he was sat in the middle of it, back resting against the headboard, knees bent with his soles resting flat on the silky bedsheets.

He palmed his thigh, his cock so erect it twitched with every heartbeat against his happy trail.

“Come here,” he mumbled with need.

You might not know what you had to do, but your body definitely knew what it needed to do to chase that high again. So you crawled on the bed until you were straddling him, the tip of his throbbing cock kissing your hooded clit.

Marcus’ hand cupped your ass, and then tutted.

“Not yet, mel, I need to make sure you are completely ready,” he husked.

It was your time to frown.

“I am ready,” you assured him.

“It was only one finger, sweetheart―”

“One thick finger,” you remarked, snappy.

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yes, but I need you to take all of this,” he whispered, his hand gripping the base of his cock to direct your attention there.

He was girthy. Probably too girthy. One of his fingers was nothing in comparison.

You swallowed, your gaze looking for his.

“Yeah, I know, dove. We’ll take it slow,” he leaned forward a bit to kiss your right nipple. “Turn around, I want you to sit on my lap with your back resting on my chest.”

The promise of another climax numbed your mind, so you did exactly as he had asked. Sat on his lap, you leaned back until your bare back met his hard torso. His knees were still bent, and he slipped his forearms under your thighs to lift them up over his own thighs. The back of your thighs were now resting on top of his, and when Marcus pulled his knees apart, your legs followed the motion, leaving you completely open and exposed.

When your eyes drifted down your own body, you saw Marcus’ erection poking in between your thighs, gently lodged between your pussy lips. His hips moved slightly under you, his length skidding along your drenched fold, the head disappearing from sight as it dragged backwards across your seam. It hitched in your entrance, just briefly ― then Marcus tugged his hips upwards and his glans reappeared again, protruding where your slit began.

Marcus repeated the whole process a few times, his name dripping from your mouth in choked moans. He buried his crooked nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.

“You feel like heaven right now,” he mumbled, kissing the nape of your neck. “Play with your boobs for me, mel, my hands are about to be very busy, sadly can’t be everywhere.”

His request had your cunt gushing some more, if that was even possible. You felt so wet down there, you even wondered if there was something wrong with you. Couldn’t be that out of all men on this world, the one who killed your family was who had you melting under his touch.

Feeling a bubble of slick leaking from your hole on his thudding shaft, you leaned your head back on his shoulder and moved your hair out of the way, some ginger curls cascading down your front, covering your breasts. Cupped your underboob and pushed them up, creating a deep valley between your tits.

“That’s it, stroke them for me, melculum,” he mused as both of his hands rode up your inner thigs until your pussy was framed between them. “Brush both of your nipples with your thumbs, just lightly. Don’t be too harsh with them, they are sensitive.”

Marcus talked you through playing with your buds, petting them gently as he was telling you. While doing so, his left hand grabbed at his cock and began to pump himself, while his right started working your clit again. Looking down, you just caught a glimpse, which sent you trembling on his lap like a newborn foal.

He cupped your mound, the pads of all his fingers rubbing your clit leisurely, as if you had all time in the world. The fire burning between your legs hiked up your spine the moment Marcus let go of his cock and it sat snug against your pussy again, his fingers stopping for a second.

You whimpered in protest, your nipples hardening under the touch of your thumbs.

“Shh, it’s okay, Callie,” he heartened you, only to resume the petting of your slick nub. You let go a sigh of relief. “There you go.”

His free hand went down your thigh to find your drooling entrance, testing it out with one finger. Your pussy sheathed it with ease and Marcus hummed behind you.

“You’re much more relaxed now,” he praised. “Pinch those nipples for me, twist them gently between your thumb and index.” You did as you were told, another wail tearing your throat apart. “Yes, just like that, you’re doing so well, mel.” He gave you a moment to acclimatise to the feeling of having hands everywhere ― your nipples, your clit, your hole. It was almost too much. “Now, suck on your thumbs so they are wet and go back to rub those beautiful buds for me. Imagine they are my fingers. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, desperate. Doing exactly as you were told, the sudden cold of your spit on your nipples made the sensitive skin under your thumbs wrinkle. The brief pain transformed into something else, hellfire running through your veins.

So focused on your breasts, you had almost forgotten about Marcus fingering your pussy and smothering your clit at the same time. Your toes curled, hips bucking up, so close to that cliff again, one you would throw yourself off gladly.

“You’re doing very well―so, so well,” Marcus’ praise was like music to your ears, all your nerve endings firing with delight. “You think you can take another finger?”

You sobbed, shaking your head.

“Yes, please,” you begged.

As promised, Marcus introduced his middle finger, the pads of both dragging along your anterior wall to find that sweet, soft spot. Your hips jerked up and then back down on him, grinding a circular motion on his lower tummy.

“Well done, mel. I am sure we can get your sweet tight pussy to make room for me.”

His cock twitched between your thighs, leaking, and you knew he was as desperate as you. So, while one hand skimmed your nipple, the other drifted down to caress his glans with your thumb. Marcus rumbled underneath, his breath hitching with a quiet moan ― you did it again.

His fingers sunk inside of you effortlessly now, pumping in and out and all you could hear were the squelching noises coming from your swollen lips. It should have felt embarrassing, but it had the opposite effect on you ― if anything, they made you gush even more.

“If you can take three fingers… shit…” Marcus almost lost his composure there, “if you can, then you’ll be ready, sweetheart. Shall we try?”

You gripped his beating erection harder in response, mewling audibly now with every stroke on your clit, every thrust of his fingers, the caress of your own thumb on your nipple… Then the third finger went in smoothly and you saw stars behind your closed eyes.

It just was too much. Your knees quivered and so did your cunt, clutching on his fingers. You felt your inner walls contracting, but this time it was different ― it wasn’t to get the fingers out, but to push them as far in as you could. And Marcus obliged, bottoming out, then slipping them out and back in. The coil inside you twisted feverishly and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

You started wailing, grinding your ass against his tummy, in an attempt to increase the friction in your drenched opening, in your clit, everywhere.

“You’re close, mel, you’re so close,” Marcus huffed. “I want to try something. Do you trust me?”

You were barely able to nod at his words ― right now, you would do anything he asked for.

His fingers left your hole with a pop, and the second hand stopped petting your clit right when you were so close to fall off the cliff of your pleasure.

You panicked, tears brimming now as a sense of anxiety peaked inside you.

“M-Ma-Marcus,” you complained in a stutter, your whole body shaking.

You didn’t have much time to finish your protest, because he grabbed your hand off his cock and pushed your fingers against your clit. He showed you how to move them in circles, coaching you for a minute, teaching you how to pleasure yourself.

“Keep touching your sweet little clit for me, deliciae (darling),” Marcus groaned, his voice raspy and deep. “I’m going in. I want you to come while you sheathe me.”

And with no further ado, he slipped his forearms under your thighs, lifted you off his lap to align the tip of his veiny dick with your entrance. Slowly he dropped you, his length furrowing its way up your cavity with no difficulty.

The moment his glans was sat and more inches intruded, you finally came. The strength of your release had your whole being shaken up, your climax so intense you couldn’t see anything even through half-lidded eyes. Feral moans escaped your lips, every inch of Marcus’ cock intensifying the climax that had you on its tight grip.

Your inner walls hugged his cock, choked it actually. Your heart was racing so fast, you could feel the heartbeat in your quivering cunt, a sensation so overwhelming it almost sent you over the edge again.

You hadn’t realised, but Marcus was completely seated inside you, buried down to the hilt, his balls intimately kissing your puffy lips. Fullness tugged at your walls, stretching them, still adapting around his girth. He was everywhere ― filling every crevice, every nook and cranny. You felt his presence so intensely, it was staggering.

“Oh Gods…” Marcus sounded like he was within an inch of his life. “You feel so good, melculum. So warm, so wet, s-so… uhm… so tight. Heaven on Earth,” he prayed in a hush, his tone almost breaking. “How… are you feeling?”

“Blissed out,” you hummed. “Full, in the best way possible.”

Those were all the words Marcus needed to hear from you. He had been to hell and back, and even though his cock had been barely stimulated, he was throbbing for you. Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he felt this… needy.

And now he was in heaven, his shaft sweetly embraced by your wet warmth. A gift you were, sent by Gods themselves ― there was no other explanation.

Marcus’ forearms were still resting on the back of your thighs, then he hoisted you up ever so slightly, moving you up his length so you would free a few inches of his cock. The cold air of the room clung onto his damp shaft, a shiver running down his spine, then placed you back down on his lap.

Every time he pushed you up and down on his lap, you would moan like a woman possessed. Your little sobs and whimpers were the best melody he had ever listened to ― so quiet, yet so wanton. They filled your mouth and spilt over your lips like honey. He would drink them right now if he could.

His dick pulsated hard when your pussy fluttered around him, then your walls tensed around him and Marcus snapped his head back against the headboard, a feral groan ringing in his eardrums.

“Do that again, please,” he requested, all his fingers digging in the flesh of your thighs.

“W-what?”

“Squeeze your walls for me, sweetheart. Hug me tight,” Marcus mumbled, struggling towards the end the moment you did exactly as he asked. “For everything that is holy―”

And you did it again, his words dying out as you clamped down on him with a strength that had him delirious. His mind spiralled down and just in the last second, Marcus stopped himself from coming.

“Such a mischievous nymph you are,” it wasn’t an accusation but a compliment. “Let me see if you’re still playing with that taut pearl in your pussy the way I’ve shown you.”

When he looked over your shoulder, you coaxed your sodden flaps apart for him, showing him how your fingertips worked your clit. Marcus’ hips jerked up at the irresistible sight, burying himself further down in you. His waist waved underneath you, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

“You’re doing great, mel. Such a good girl,” he moaned in your ear, nipping your lobe. “Do you like that, hm? Rubbing your tight little button?”

Your reply was a trembling whimper, your pursed bottom lip quivering with your eyes shut. Your brows were knitting together, bunny lines hugging your upturned nose. Marcus could feel your need, your palpitations. Your desperation.

“Is it too much, melculum?” You nodded, almost crying now. “I know, sweetheart, but we can remedy that. Do you want to come so you feel better?” Another nod of your head. “Alright, do you think you can ride me?”

“Aye, I want to ride you, Marcus,” you sobbed his name, his balls tensing up into his lower tummy.

Marcus let go of your thighs and helped you accommodate your knees to either side of him, so you were straddling him backwards. His hands caressed your round ass cheeks, eyes locked on where your bodies connected.

“Do whatever feels right, honey.”

Overtaken by instinct, you leaned forward and placed your hands between his calves, fisting the bedsheets as you started bouncing your hips up and down on his lap. Marcus let you find your rhythm, standing still underneath, letting you use him as needed.

The sweet choke of your pussy was too much ― too tight, too wet, too warm. This was the best he had felt in fucking decades, all thanks to you. Slowly, he matched your thrusts with his own, fucking up into you, meeting you halfway while his hands on your hips kept you grounded.

The slapping of his testicles on your swollen fold went on for a few minutes, a lewd cacophony echoing between the walls of his bedchamber. And soon enough he found himself grasping for control, his cock pulsating uncontrollably inside you.

You might have felt his pulse, because you spoke between choked wails.

“You can come inside, I can take―”

“What? No,” his response was instinctual, cutting you off before you finished. “You don’t need to take anything.”

Because the mere idea of you drinking some sort of potion so his seed wouldn’t take made him sick. Was that what your late husband had taught you? Was that how you were treated in bed, like a simple plaything to be used to satiate a man’s lust?

Those thoughts were deserted the moment your entrance squeezed hard around him, your moans mixing with the clapping sound of skin on skin. You pushed down your hips onto his lap, your sweet ass flush with his lower tummy. He felt another orgasm hit you and Marcus fucked you through it, steadily rutting up into you.

His own climax was near, all his muscles tensing with anticipation, his hips stuttering. With the last drop of his sanity, he lifted your butt up, his erection becoming free and resting between the swells of your ass cheeks. A second later, white ropes painted the small of your back while Marcus let go of a guttural groan.

With a fucked-out expression and a sweet grin, you looked over your shoulder and down at his spent sliding down your back. Marcus reached for the bedsheet and cleaned his cum off your skin delicately, his brown eyes fixed on your emerald ones.

“You’ve done extremely well for me, melculum. Exquisitely well,” he remarked, his hands smoothing over your thighs. “Come here.”

You turned around and laid down besides him, the upper half of your body resting on top of his torso. Your cheek rested on his sternum while his fingers traced invisible lanes on your arm, just above your elbow.

A moment of quietness lingered as your rapid breaths calmed down, your hearts settling back into a normal pace at the same time.

“I thought it was bad for you,” you muttered, the palm of your hand splaying right underneath his belly button.

“What was?” Marcus asked, confused.

“Uhmm…” you paused for a second, dubious, but then decided to trust him with your questions. “Coming outside. I was told it was extremely painful for the man to come if you are not buried… deep inside of a pussy.”

Your words awakened something with him, something dark and primal ― protective. For a moment, Marcus wished your husband was alive, so he could teach him how to be a real man. He had started to create a picture of what your sex life had been so far, and it wasn’t a pretty one.

In retrospect, he regretted having taken you so hastily in the garderobe. Barely took the time to work you to a climax. Marcus had paid worshipping attention to your breasts, but when it came to your clit, he had not been as attentive. Marcus should have shown you how good that could feel, should have taken his sweet time like he had done today, but he had been too anxious to fuck you.

Marcus looked for the best way to tell you without making you feel naïve. He didn’t want you thinking something like that, that he would force his seed on you for his own pleasure.

“That’s not how it is, mel. I’m sorry you’ve been told that,” his lips brushed your red crown, then pressed a kiss on your forehead. Could you hear how hard his heart was pounding with rage? One he was trying to quiet down. “I can come outside just fine, that’s not an issue. I prefer that a thousand times over you having to drink some nasty potion that will end up hurting you.”

His care for you was genuine, and Marcus was shocked at the truth that thought held. He barely knew you, but what he had seen of you so far had him reeled in like a fish attached to a rusty hook.

You were so direct, snappy even, with a sarcastic retort always at the ready. Your strong personality was refreshing, especially to someone like Marcus, used to be surrounded by women who would bow their head down at the sight of him. But knowing this side of you now―a tad insecure and inexperienced, rediscovering what sex was really like―, he wondered how much of your façade was just that, a carefully built stonewall to keep people at bay.

“Oh, I see,” you muttered, the skin between your brows pinching.

Marcus tilted your chin up with his thumb. His gaze roved over your face, studying it and finding that you seemed to be upset, possibly with yourself. He didn’t like that.

His thumb stroked your bottom lip to relax your pouting expression.

“If you were told such a thing, it’s normal that you believed it. I just don’t want to lie to you, don’t want to take advantage of you, melculum. I want you to enjoy yourself, to discover what you like and don’t like in bed.” The hand that was caressing your arm travelled down your back, went over the swell of your round globes until he found the slick of your arousal clinging onto your pussy lips. He stroked them carefully, buttering your sticky cunt with your own juices. “This is how I want you, sweetheart. Creamy and satisfied. That’s all I care about.”

You hummed at his words, eyes shut and mouth agape. His fingers pried your pussy open, the cold air on your wet, sensitive skin made you shiver on his chest.

Acacius knew too damn well what he was doing, taunting you again like this. You didn’t think you had it in yourself to come again, but the General seemed to think otherwise.

His index found your clit and stroked it maddingly slow. Seemed like he was right.

You gasped, chewing your bottom lip, your mind drifting away at his intimate touch.

“I think you can come for me again, don’t you?”

You whimpered in response, lifting your bent left leg until it rested on of his lap, so he could reach your swollen, reddened pussy better. You humped the side of his thigh, grinding on his hairy skin to get you off.

“You’re drenched,” he purred with satisfaction, kissing your forehead as your seeping hole sucked in his finger eagerly. You moaned. “Seems like you need me to take care of you again, mel.”

His fingering had you drooling onto his chest until you came again, sobbing like a babe gasping for their first breath. Your limbs felt numb as your pussy pulsed a few more times, releasing the last of your arousal onto Marcus’ palm. He rubbed your seam, cupping your whole pussy, until you were completely done.

Then tapped your cunt softly, gently. “Feeling calmer now?”

You nodded, blissed out and speechless.

You remained on top of his chest while coming down from your latest high. You had lost count of how many times Marcus had made you come now, but keeping count had not been on your foremind. What you had realised though was that this―whatever this was―was dangerous.

You had expected Marcus to behave exactly like Iain ― to take you how he wanted and discard you when he was done with you. Yet here he was, making sure you had no more orgasm to give him tonight. This was not your plan at all ― you banked on him being a complete monster who would ravish you given the chance.

This could complicate everything, and you even wondered if you should stop this madness before shit got too real.

A man with a rotten heart would not have you question your decisions. Perhaps it wasn’t rotten, only spoilt.

It’s just sex, a means to an end. Doesn’t matter how good, how fucking delicious he makes it to be. Fuck him, enjoy it, get what you need from him, then destroy him. Easy, you reminded yourself, albeit with less determination than before.

“I should be going,” you mumbled, unwilling to leave this bed despite the inner talk you just gave yourself ― your bed that now was his.

“So soon?” he whispered, his lips twitching in a pout.

Damn him for making it difficult to leave.

“My aunt will be wondering where I’ve gone. Can’t risk her coming here looking for me, can we?” you tried to make light of the situation with a white lie.

“I guess not,” he finally agreed after a brief silence, then kissed your forehead. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Patience is a virtue, Marcus,” you mocked him a bit, sitting up on the bed. “And mine has run out, I’m afraid. Aye, I’ll come tomorrow.”

Marcus sat up on bed too, hugging your waist, his mouth dangerously close to yours.

“I will make sure that you come tomorrow, mel,” the double meaning was not lost on you, even less on your gushing pussy.

You swallowed a whimper, kissing his lips briefly to then jump out of bed and grab your clothes off the floor. You put them on as fast as you could.

“You better,” you threatened him, softening the gesture with a wink, before you disappeared through the door.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

[bokettochild]

Little Soldier Boy, Come Marching Home

I apparently had some Uncle Aflon brainrot (could y'all tell?) and it spawned this monster!

Not sure if I'm actually going to make a story about this, I mean a proper one, but this refused to let my brain rest until I wrote at least this much, so I figured I'd share it for the folks who kept sending me Aflon asks :)

(Yes I am very aware that the title is from a song, I'd recommend listening to the Reinaeiry cover on YouTube, because it's also rotted my brain since I listened to it and I think it suits Aflon and Legend quite well T-T)

-

  The first time he held Link, it was standing on the edge of the wood, away from the eyes of all the kingdom and under a veil of darkness. The forest chattered and whispered behind him, bringing to mind whispers of thieving Kolkiri and fae, and it had made him hold the babe in his arms all the tighter. 

  His sister-in-law was watching him closely, hands hovering, wary, like she didn’t trust him to hold the child quite right, ready every second to take the positively tiny bundle back from him and tuck that red and fitful face back against her own breast, hushing and cooing softly herself as she’d been when he’d arrived there. She didn’t though, although whether that was due to his own skill or some sort of restraint from the woman, he wasn’t certain. 

  “What’s the little ‘us name then?” He’d asked, pushing down the swaddling of rough fabric, far too rough for so small a thing, but lined carefully with far finer where no eyes could see. The child within trembled, cold air drawing a wavering wail from a tiny mouth. There wasn’t much to see anyways, he was a baby, same as anyone had ever had. Far smaller than Aflon had ever seen before though; so small he almost could hold him in one hand alone, but by all other means the tiny creature wasn’t much to look at. 

  Despite that though, Loretta’s dark gaze hadn’t lifted once from the infant, usually stern features awash with pure adoration as one trailing hand lifted the blanket back up to shield the babe once more. “Link.” 

  “Like the hero?” The dead one? 

  “Like the star,” her hands lingered so close to the face of her child, and in answer, the tiny one stilled, quieting as though some spell was laid over him. “Like the boy who brought hope to dark countries when Hyrule was at her worst.” 

  “Sir Raven’s squire.” 

  She’d nodded. “The same.” 

  And the child was just, well, a child; a tiny wee thing that felt so fragile to hands accustomed to the sword, and Aflon had shaken his head with a sigh, turning to Loretta with the question that had plagued him since he’d been given his riding orders this morning with the command to meet her here. “Why me?” 

  Those had been the words to make her draw back, pain welling up behind dark violet eyes that avoided his own. “There’s no one else I can ask.” 

  “He’s your son.” 

  “Which is the same as a sentence of death,” she’d hissed, tone harsh as her blade, “you know as well as I how Hyrule sees its crown. You took a vow the same as any other knight.” 

  He had. 

  “That child,” her child, “stands no chance, no matter what I do, if I keep him with me.” 

  Aflon had shifted, sparing the bundle in his arms a glance one more before murmuring, “his chances are pretty slim regardless, ‘Etta. Babes this small-” 

  “I know,” She’d run a finger along a tiny cheek, face pinching into something bordering on gentle, on sweet, something no one would describe the woman as save with her steads, “But it’s the best I can give him.” 

  He’d felt the weight of those words, the weight of their expectation, and all the more so when the Queen of all Hyrule had lifted violet eyes to hold his own and given him her final command. “Protect him, Aflon. He’s not just your prince, he’s your nephew, and I swear on hell’s ashes if you fail him, I will flay you.” Typically, he’d have assumed her words to be in jest, but the fire behind her eyes, a furious and dangerous love the likes of which he’s only heard tell of a mother for her babe, had made him take the words to heart. 

  “I won’t fail you, your grace.” 

  “No,” she’d stepped closer, pulled his arms down just a bit further so she could duck her head and press a kiss to a tiny cheek, “don’t fail him. All else doesn’t matter-” 

 “The princess-” 

 “I will mind the princess,” Loretta’s eyes had darkened, “and failing that, the Impa sent is a good one. Your priority is him,” and both of them had turned to the child, a child so tiny he almost weighed nothing, but yet lay so heavy in his arms with duty set beside him. “He needs you.” 

  And he did. He hadn’t seen it then, hadn’t felt it, but even a man made in blood and battle knows the worth of life. And so, somehow, he’d managed. 

  He’d carried his little charge back to the closest village and taken a room, managing to ignore the curious and lingering gazes of the locals at a young knight in full armor with a tiny baby in his arms.  

  In truth, he hadn’t been sure where to go from there. Loretta had entrusted him with her child, which meant all other missions, whatever they might be, were out of the question. His duty as a knight, as a soldier, was now changed, which, all considered, wasn’t the worst fate in the world. Still, he’d mused, staring at the tiny creature that slept more than he stirred, it’s not exactly the life he’d imagined for himself. 

  They’d always been knights, or so his own father had taught himself and his brother. The men in their family take up the sword and the women the plow and reigns of a rancher. Their older sister already is married with her own farm, and goodness knows Banzetta himself, though king consort, still carries his blade as the second in command to their warrior queen. For himself, Aflon has never imagined anything else than to serve as his forefathers, perhaps to marry, although there’s no woman who’s caught his eye as of yet, or at least none he’d be keen to stay beside for all his life. He can’t continue traveling Hyrule though, not with a tiny child in his care, not when the world out there is still so dangerous and dark. 

  For days, he’d stayed at the inn. He’d had no direction or clue, but he’d done his best to mind the tiny princeling in his care, although his attempts must have been very poorly indeed because it wasn’t long at all before two of the local village women had been knocking down his door and scolding him left right and sideways. 

  Without the women of Kakariko, Aflon could say for a certainty that neither he nor Link would have made it through that winter. They had though. The ladies of Kakariko nursed his precious nephew alongside their own children, taught himself how to change and clean a child, how to swaddle them up tight against the cold, how to burp and soothe them. He’d listened with care, listened like they were marching orders from a commanding officer, and he’d taken them all to heart, employing every bit of skill imparted to best fulfill his duty to the child in his care. 

  Thankful as he was for those women, the many mothers of Kakariko, young and old both, there was still, despite their care, a fear that gripped him each time one of them took up Link in their arms. The babe was a prince of Hyrule, and were that known it would be easy to stage some incident to see that the bad omen that was a royal son was no more. The women of the village would laugh, saying that anxiety for a child was normal, but they had no conception how deeply his fear ran each time one of them held the boy, each time he had to turn his back on his helpless charge for even the smallest of moments. 

  Come spring, he’d settled, bought a piece of land with the money he’d saved over the years and made a home for himself. As it happened, an old orchard had been up for sale, just close enough to the village to keep in touch with those who’d shown them kindness, but with enough distance that he no longer felt the need to be on the defense at all times against neighbors who might seek to harm the boy in his care. 

  They’d asked, some of the village folk, if the baby was his. For lack of a better response, he’d said Link was his brother’s. No one questioned it. Why would they? He was a stranger to them, and though chatter would sound on street corners wondering what had happened to lead him, ‘a clueless young man who hasn’t the faintest on how to mind a babe’ to have care of Link, but they’d never asked him anything more, just gone on offering advice. 

  That was fine though. That was better than them all assuming he was the father, because it felt wrong to allow such a misconception. He couldn’t say why, but when a parent still lives and wants their child, there’s no right for another to claim them as their own. Besides, he couldn’t be a father. 

  As it was, some days he felt he was doing a terrible job of being an uncle. 

  And he hadn’t thought of himself as such at first, but somewhere amid long nights sitting up, just watching labored breaths from a body almost too frail to take them, somewhere amid whispered words with doctors who’d told him to let go already, with midwives who’d urged him to keep fighting as long as his little one did, somewhere along the line of spending every day forever in the presence of the child, there’d come a day when he’d stopped worrying about his charge, and where he’d started fretting about his nephew. 

  Maybe it was those moments of clarity and wakefulness when big bright eyes would stay up at him, so curious. When floppy little ears would follow the sounds of his voice, or tiny hands would cling fast to an offered finger, toothless jaws working at its tip with little coos and warbles. He couldn’t say. But somewhere in that first winter he’d gone from a knight with a charge to an uncle with a nephew, and he’d never wanted to go back. 

  Sure, it was hard some days. Link was a sickly baby from the start, and he grew slowly. He was bright though, so very bright, like a star as his mother had said, and with every passing day those eyes so like the queen’s own had filled up with their own constellations of joy and smiles, tiny hands clapping, little feet stumbling.  

  Despite all concerns and doubts, his little Link beat the odds. 

  The child was his sunshine. He’d never been a very social man, so the company of a single boy wasn’t bad at all in his opinion. Granted, with just the two of them it had raised concerns when Link hadn’t learned to speak when he should, and for a time he’d wondered if perhaps it was for a lack of him having used words enough for the little one to know them, but in time he’d accepted that words weren’t to be had, and while some village folk would murmur that a changeling might have been traded for his precious bundle, stolen by jealous kolkiri in vengeance for their own lost little one, he’d never minded too much. He’d learned to speak with his hands from the village elder, and so Link had as well, and by that means they’d gotten along quite well until the wee one had made up his mind to try for actual sounds. 

  His old friends from the army were company at times, stopping in between missions and runs, catching a drink or a place to stay. He used to worry about exposing Link to the life he’d known among them, but in front of the child they’d all minded well, many even offering help and kindness he’d never dare to ask for. Some had children of their own, they said, others younger siblings. Regardless of the reason though, not a man would enter his home as didn’t have a kind word for his nephew, and while worry still brewed up within to see Loretta’s child among men sworn to prevent his existence, not a one had ever guessed at the truth. 

  And then everything had changed when Link turned eight. 

  He’d been talking by then. Belated though it was, words would come to him at times, although he’d prefer his hands over his tongue. Despite the murmurs of locals though, the boy was bright, sitting up more often than not with whatever book Aflon could find for him and positively devouring anything inside of them, big violet eyes near glittering in delight at the world painted for his eager mind, at the discoveries and worlds and words and stories- heavens did his little star love the stories! He had ever so much to say about what he read, and a smile brighter than the sun itself, and small though he still was, weak though he’d likely always be, Aflon adored the boy that ran to his arms at every day’s end and shared home and heart with him. 

  He’d had doubts, in the beginning, that he could settle to a quiet life, but it never felt quiet with Link so eagerly learning about it beside him, indeed, it felt like he’d only just learned what it was to be alive for himself! 

  And every day was a new adventure, teaching his nephew something new or finding himself taught some lesson or fact. Every night was settling down before the fire and holding firm against the plea of “one more page!” before smothering his precious Link in mustachioed kisses and tucking him in tight against the chill of the night. Sometimes they were disturbed with guests and his efforts would be in vain, but nine times out of ten when that did happen, Captain Bertram or Major Wilkins would take the lad back to bed and recount enough stories to finally have him dozing off against them, ready to be tucked back in again upon their departure. 

  He wouldn’t have changed that life for the world though. 

  Yet, the world seemed to have other plans. 

  Link had startled awake in the middle of a storm one night, tearfully insisting that something was wrong, that there was danger, that Zelda, the sister he didn’t know was his even then, was in danger and that she’d told him so herself.  

  To another man, it might have been nothing, just a bad dream, but Aflon had himself woken before to the sound of startled cries sounding through an army camp. He could remember when the queen would awake from a vision while traveling with himself and his brother, and many a time, Banzetta had recounted to him when it happened that he hadn’t seen. It was in their blood, the people of Hyrule would say, that those of the royal line would sometimes be given visions, often of future events and or trouble brewing beyond even the eyes of the Sheikah. That was how all the prophecies surrounding his own family had come about, how the reappearance of a hero had been foretold. 

  So, upon hearing such strange words from the mouth of his nephew, rather than beg him return to bed or otherwise ignore it, Aflon had taken it to heart. After all, he’d been reminded, looking down at the tear-stained face at his bedside, Link may be his nephew, but he was also still Loretta’s son; still born with the blood of the crown, a prince of Hyrule. 

   So, although Loretta had told him to leave Zelda’s care to herself long ago, back when she and Banzetta were still alive and before some mission had gone awry and the both were lost forever- despite the fact that the Impa chosen by the sheikah had, indeed, never once failed in her duties, he’d still chosen to attend to the fears of his nephew and brave the storm, just in case. He’d chosen to risk it, even if it did mean he’d strayed from his orders. 

  He wishes every day that he hadn’t.  

  If only he’d done as Loretta said and minded Link first and foremost, maybe nothing would have changed. If only he’d promised that in the morning they would go together- although, looking back, he knows the princess would have been dead by that time if he had. 

  He’s long come to grips with the fact that whatever he had done, there would have been no happy ending, but even so, he still hates himself that he had allowed what happened next. 

  Rather than tell him to go home, rather than protect him, shield him from the world his mother never wanted him to know, Aflon had looked into the terrified eyes of his nephew, down in the depths of the castle sewers where the boy had followed him against his orders, he’d used his final breaths to push a sword and shield into hands too small to hold them, bidding the child go to save Zelda. He’d known he was dying, he’d known Link was scared, but at that little obedient nod, he’d also known something more: 

  His death would leave Link the last of their bloodline, and a prophecy given to a queen long ago had once said that it would be the last of them that would face Ganon when next he emerged. Looking at eyes the same as Loretta’s own, albeit far kinder, he’d found himself reminded of those words, and sickeningly certain that he was witnessing the birth of that hero. His little Link who wanted to be a farmer, who didn’t know how to fight and who was still so tiny, so young, was going to become the Hero of Hyrule. 

  Though he’d been bleeding out as they spoke, he’s rather certain it was heartbreak that had been his undoing, not the wound in his side, and he’d drawn his final breath to the sound of sniffled tears. 

  Yet, it seemed his eyes had only just closed before they were opening again, pain gone and so too his young charge. At first, he’d thought perhaps he’d struck his head somehow and dreamed the whole thing, but both sword and shield were gone as well, although when he reached the end of the sewer system the prison was quiet, empty of any princess, and when he’d turned back and returned to the outside world, not only was it daylight, but it was spring. 

  It had been a late autumn storm that he’d traveled through to reach the castle. 

  He’d thought, hoped, that it was some trick, but when he’d hurried along back towards town, to the house, everyone he passed seemed to think nothing at all of the fact that they were plowing fields and making ready for a planting. They were preparing for a new year of work, as though the winter itself wasn’t supposed to be coming, as though it had already happened! And there were still bits of snow lying about. There was a dampness to the ground of a fresh fallen rain. The world itself seemed insistent it tell him that he was wrong. But if he was, then where had the time gone, and what had happened? Where was Link and why was his side unmarred as though never an ax had plowed through it? 

  His feet had all but flown down the paths, paying little or no mind to those he passed or the startled shouts they sent his way. His goal had been set; his destination desperately darted towards. 

  The house looked entirely normal when he’d finally reached it. The orchard was beginning to brighten, not yet blooming, still expecting another snap of cold before the season truly sprung, but they were well along to blossoming. The path was clear, nothing and no one on it, and when he’d come to the door, he’d found it locked up tight. As it should be, as he’d left it, as he’d taught Link to leave it. He still had his key with him even though his sword was missing, and though his hands trembled he’d still managed to fish it out and, with some struggle, had gotten it into the lock. 

  The house looked the same as it had when he left. Clean as a whistle because a soldier’s training still lingered with him even after eight years and that expectation was one that he’d taught Link to hold himself to as well. Their beds were made sloppily, as though the boy had tried to do it for him after he’d left and maybe given up after, or else simply been unable to see, from his height, how crookedly the blankets had been lain. Most notably though, Aflon had noted, there wasn’t much in the way of dust. There wasn’t much in the way of dirt. The only difference that he found was that the pot, which he kept by the door for spare rupees, was empty. 

  His breath had evened some at that. A clean house meant someone had minded it, and missing rupees were nothing if it meant Link hadn’t been left to starve in the unidentified period of time where Aflon had been absent. 

  Or so he had thought. 

  It was two days later, two days he’d spent searching the whole neighborhood, quite at the end of his rope in fear as Link hadn’t been seen at all in that time, when at last he’d laid eyes on his nephew. 

  Or rather, when he’d met the hero. 

  Because the wary creature that entered the cottage door and froze, hand on a sword and dark eyes so large in a thin face, was not his nephew. Because his nephew would have run to him with maybe a few tears or a cheer, jumping into his arms with a hug rather than start and draw a blade the moment Aflon made a motion towards him. 

  Link didn’t fear him. 

  The boy who came to him in Link’s stead did. 

  When he voiced his worries to the women who’d helped to mind the lad over the years, some would say perhaps he’d been taken, changed for a changeling by the forest children, at last getting their hands on a hero to replace their own. Others just shook their heads and sighed, unwilling to explain why. 

  He’d known though that the child in his home wasn’t a changeling though. No, because that child had eyes every bit as much like the late queen. Eyes that knew war, and battle, that bore the burden of a kingdom which dragged on too small shoulders, eyes that Knew, that Looked, and eyes that Saw people for what they were, not simply what they’d claim to be. There was no doubt, looking at that boy, that he was Loretta’s son. 

  But he wasn’t Aflon’s nephew. 

  Link was bright and bubbly, quieter by nature but prone to prattling when the mood took him. The silent little thing that lived in his house, wary like a rabbit hunted and hidden, was a stark contrast. Link liked to travel with him, going to town for any errands and skip-tripping along the path at his side, getting distracted by small creatures and ever full of questions.  

  Not only did the hero avoid going out of the house when he could, preferring instead to stay inside behind a locked-up door and shuttered windows, but when he did go out, the lad was ever scanning the world, ever watching the sky and the path as though expecting an attack from one or the other. He didn’t stray off towards sudden changes, curious ears cocked, he put a hand to his shoulder and looked for a blade. 

  The child that came back to him held the manner and look of an old knight, not a child too young to even be a page, and it disturbed him. He tried though. This was Loretta’s son, the prince of Hyrule, and as he’d later learned, the boy had indeed become the country’s hero. Not that the boy had told him that himself. No, the child in his home didn’t speak, tongue faltering and sounds stuttering before hands would lift to answer questions in as few words as possible. 

  Two of his fingers were crooked, Aflon realized, watching him, heart aching. Two fingers and, in those first days, he’d favor one leg over the other. 

  He wanted to help, but the boy was wary of touch, starting and panicking as a first reaction if he didn’t see it coming and wincing even when he could. He kept a wide space between himself and anyone, a swords-distance, Aflon realized after a spell, although as for the blade he carried, well, that had disappeared after the first few weeks. It wasn’t the sword he’d handed to his nephew though. The sword that the hero held was unfamiliar to him; radiant, beautiful, masterfully forged so that his own blade paled in comparison. His was absent, and the one time he had asked what happened to it, he’d just watched violet eyes fall and shoulders hunch, and immediately changed the subject. 

  It was hard. His nephew looked the same as Loretta’s child, same face, same form, same stature, although time had made her changes too. The boy was scrawny, and though he had hoped his lost rupees meant his charge was still fed even with him gone, he’d come to doubt that. 

  He wasn’t sure what to make of it when, at learning of his own return, one of the neighbors down the road had invited them both for dinner, and the hero child had only stared at his own plate, stirring the food around but not eating. He’d dismissed it at first, but soon it became abundantly clear that the hero would not eat food he couldn’t watch being prepared, not unless it was a meal offered by Aflon himself, and, to his own surprise, Dolly, the village elder’s wife. 

  Somehow, both she, Dolly, and Sahasralah, the elder, were the only ones who seemed unaffected by how his charge had changed. In fact, more than once, Aflon would find himself watching, wistful, as the two would speak with or even handle the hero with not a thing done to show fear in response. Simple acceptance met their motions, their words, and at times he’d almost been tempted to ask if maybe the boy that wore Link’s face wanted to stay with them instead, as he seemed so much more at peace in their home. 

  He didn’t though. He’d sworn a vow, a vow to do his duty to his prince, to his queen, and though he wasn’t certain if Loretta’s spirit would haunt him if he failed that, he wasn’t exactly keen to find out. 

  He couldn’t leave her son with strangers, with people she didn’t know or trust. Still, as the days passed, house silent as a crypt and the boy inside nearly the corpse it housed, he’d found the temptation growing daily. 

  At night as he’d blow out the lamps, now knowing full well not to approach his charge in the dark and sometimes fearing to even look at him (because what looked back was a slip of a shade with eyes glinting red like a rabbit’s in the low light of the hearth and by all means hardly human) he’d fight his own mind on the matter. Stay or leave, linger with what wasn’t any longer what he’d sword to protect, the child that wasn’t his nephew but was a hero. 

  Loretta said to protect him, he’d remind himself as he lay beneath the blankets. Yet, small hands knew the touch of blood, and the boy who’d wandered in at his door knew a blade like knights four times his age still hadn’t learned. Lying there at night, he’d wonder to himself, what was there left to protect the boy from? Loretta’s child already had seen everything she wanted to shield him from, so what was even the point, when there was no more innocence to shield? 

  It was that thinking, after weeks, months, that had led to him gathering up clothing and books, toys left behind because the person who would leave with him wasn’t a child but a young soldier, so what did they matter? He’d packed things up, watched the hero slip to his side to help, dutifully but silently gathering Link’s clothes and folding them up with the same careful effort Link always did, ending with the same misshapen result, and tucking them away like they would do every summer for the trip back to his own childhood home. 

  He’d locked the door tight that summer. Shut up the shutters and minded that nothing was left untended, no mess within or without. Long ears had cocked sideways, big eyes watching, curious, but nothing was said with scarred hands holding their bags while he prepared the house for their departure. 

  Most summers, he’d take Link down to Lon-Lon so the boy could stay with his grandparents and Aflon could attend to the heavier tasks of their orchard without worrying over minding the lad or leaving him feeling alone. This year though, after Mother had ushered the boy within the ranch house, shooting him a startled stare over his shoulder, he’d not gone back to the cottage. 

  Aflon Lon had, instead, taken to the road. 

  Guilt ate at him, but he’d known there was no going back.  

  He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t return to the house. It wasn’t home without the laughter of his nephew, without bright eyes and brighter smiles. It wasn’t home without a presence at his side working away at the trees, muttering and talking at times to the birds who’d stop to watch them in their labor. It wasn’t home without Link, and Link- or at least the boy he knew, was gone. 

 So, he’d wandered Hyrule. He hadn’t traveled in a long while, but it was easy to take up again, to wander the roads by day and make camp at night. He stopped in old haunts he used to visit as a knight to see how they had changed, and he’d thought nothing of his wanderings. After all, it was summer; the summers were always free for him to do what he wanted. It was when autumn had begun to show her colors that guilt had well and truly began to build up inside of him. 

  Link would be waiting at the gates of Lon-Lon, watching the road for his uncle to come and bring him home. He knew it wouldn’t be the same eager stare, ears crooked and head rested on folded arms as the boy would perch on the rungs of the fence, leaning his whole weight against it and keeping eyes and ears on the road. The hero child would likely sit with more wariness, but despite all changes there was no doubt in Aflon’s mind that he’d wait all the same. 

  The difference though, the real one, was that this time, Aflon couldn’t come back. He couldn’t. 

  He couldn’t go back to that house, that child, he couldn’t live like that forever, with the shade of what should have been. 

  Mother and Father though, they could handle a soldier boy. They’d handled Banzetta after his first battles, they’d know how to work with Loretta, and if they could manage the parents of his own charge, he was sure theft were the best suited to handling a young hero. Not only that, but they were safe, they were good, and they’d never hurt Link for the circumstances of his birth. They would be better to him than Aflon could be, and given time, he was sure the hero would settle there again, into a life with a knight, a lady, a history of heroes all around him on the walls and swords ready for his hands; the life he’d taken on, but one Aflon couldn’t watch lived. 

  As for himself, he’d wander. He’d travel, he’d embrace the world he’d had to forsake for a small bundle. By winter, he’d gone further south than he’d ever strayed, gone where word of the hero didn’t reach, where peace and simplicity beckoned. He’d meant to resist, but an evening in a bar with a pretty woman at his side had changed that. 

  “Here alone, stranger?” She’d asked, voice thick with a drawl and gaze bold as she’d settled beside him. 

  He’d never been a bold man, quiet by nature, so he’d nodded. 

  She hadn’t been dissuaded, motioning to the barkeep for a round for them both before striking up chatter, asking where he was from? What brought him here? Where was he going? And his answer of course had been that he was from central Hyrule, seeking his fate and unsure where he’d find it. 

  “D’ya have a family?” She’d asked, honest and friendly. “Can’t be easy for them not knowing where you are.” 

  And he’d hesitated, just a moment, before offering a stilted smile and answering “just my parents and a sister.” 

  A sister who’d left, he told her, to marry a man from across the border, who visited at times but was busy with a farm and a family of her own, much like his own parents were even in their older age. He’d said nothing of a nephew, just the same as he’d left out the dead older brother and sister-in-law. 

  He’d lingered in that town for a few more days, and she’d been at the pub each night, coming to join him when he entered and striking up chatter until they were both looking forwards to the evening when they’d happen upon each other. Somehow though, that had turned to arranged meetings, to wandering, to talking, to a kiss that left him speechless and a courtship that left him stumbling and eager like he hadn’t been since he was just a boy. 

  He’d wondered how she hadn’t had a fella before he’d come, but he’d thanked the heavens for it too, especially when he’d proposed, when they’d taken a home together, when they’d made the choice to live life together. 

  It was easy to forget, for a while, in that early bliss, in the whirlwind of emotions, what he’d left behind to find it. He was reminded though when their own little one was born, when a little boy had been laid in his arms and he’d started when blue shone back at him rather than violet. 

  Liza would laugh and tease him, calling him a worrywart when he fussed. She’d say it was like he’d never held a child before; he was so cautious. She’d remind him to relax, when she found him sitting up and watching the wee one slumber, because he was healthy, he was fine, they needn’t worry so much because while babies need care, they won’t break if you breathed wrong. 

  Aflon couldn’t help himself though. 

  He was used to looking for signs of trouble, for any hint of illness. He’d started when their boy had started babbling, started talking, at only two years old. Liza had said that was normal, that they wouldn’t stay babies forever, that it was part of growing up. Still, he’d found himself signing more than speaking with the boy, and more times than he could count, the wrong name had slipped to his lips. 

  Their son had dark hair like his mother, blue eyes like Aflon himself, but it always startled him to see them. It was supposed to be strawberry blonde, with starlit skies veiled beneath. He expected a slip of a child who was quiet but eager, not a loud little thing that ran and darted and climbed and made him panic because Link was fragile! …except this wasn’t Link, and his son was strong, like him, like Liza. His son was bold, loud, like a little boy was supposed to be, not timid and wary like the boy he’d left behind. 

  It never stopped catching him off guard though. Their little Rusl didn’t care anything for books, or reading, or sitting still. He was always off with other children of the village; he was always climbing trees and ‘sword fighting’ other young ones with twigs they’d find on the roadside. 

  He was a normal boy, all told, but somehow that was more jarring, in so many ways, than if he hadn’t been. Because Aflon had never dealt with a normal boy, he realized. Even Before, his Link hadn’t been normal, he just hadn’t known to see it. 

  It was strange, how often Rusl would stare, watching people without those hesitant little falters that Link always had when someone met his eyes. He didn’t pay attention to the little details, didn’t care to watch the sky or the sun. He didn’t care about stars or tiny creatures or pouring over books the same size as himself for hours. 

  The one thing that the two boys did have in common though, was a love for stories of heroes. 

  Link used to bury his little button nose in the volumes of history that told of the Hero of the Four Sword, the Hero of the Skies: the chosen hero. Rusl didn’t read much, but one day he’d come back to their home with Liza after errands, and he’d had nothing on his mind except some story he’d heard about the Hero of Legends. 

  Aflon had paused in making dinner, frowning because he’d never heard of that hero before, because Link never spoke of that title. 

  “Who is the Hero of Legend?” He’d asked, turning to the dirt streaked four-year-old at the door. 

  “He’s who killed Ganon and saved Princess Zelda!” Had been his answer. “He’s so cool, I wish he’d come to our village so I could meet him!” 

  He hadn’t realized, until Liza had darted across the kitchen and scooped up the pot, that their meal had boiled over, or that it’d burned his hand when it did. 

  Rusl and his friends would talk about Link, pretend to be Link, say they wanted to be heroes like him, be knights, be brave. He’d be in the village and stories would sound, gossip between neighbors recounting the latest exploits of the Hero of Legend. He’d killed Ganon twice, he’d traveled the world, he’d saved Labrynna from a witch, he’d fought some tyrant down in Holodrum. Everyone had a different rumor that they’d heard, everyone a different thought on what the hero might be like. Despite all they’d chatter about though, all he could see in his own mind was a boy with heavy eyes and crooked fingers that trembled when he used them to talk. 

  Aflon had gone home that day, after hearing all the chatter, all the stories, all the news that had come down to them from some merchant who’d strayed to town, and he’d told Liza he was taking a trip. 

  “Just for a few days,” he’d said, wrapping arms around her and trying to smile, even though he’d known she’d see past it. “Just to see how my parents are doing.” He’d left out the part about his old house, about the child he’d raised inside it. He knew it was wrong, felt guilt eat away each time his mind turned there, but he’d never let slip about the boy he’d raised before meeting her, the child he’d left behind. 

  Link, as he’d known him, was gone, why speak of what wasn’t there any longer? Why drag everything he’d tried to leave behind into the perfection he’d stumbled himself into? 

  Still, he needed to know, needed to see, and maybe, just maybe, he’d wanted to see Loretta’s boy again, just to assure himself that he was alright, because try as he might, much as he wished, worry still plagued his heart for the little soldier boy he’d left at Lon-Lon. 

  He’d stopped by the house first, if only out of curiosity for what had become of it. It had been years, had the village elders sold it? Left it be? He didn’t know, so he’d taken the road around Kakariko, hood up as he passed old neighbors, boots stumbling some on a path he knew better than that back to his own wife and child. 

  The cottage hadn’t changed a bit. Standing on the path, apple trees shivering in a slight breeze, he’d almost felt a decade younger, almost tricked himself into thinking he’d need only open the old wood door, the door whose key still sat heavy in his pocket, and a bright little face would whip around to meet him, gap-toothed grin his welcome home as feet would pit-patter across the worn-out floors. Maybe it was that image that tricked his feet into walking, following a path altered only by shade of trees grown taller in his absence, their fruit hanging heavy but not yet ready to be plucked.  

  It’d be cider making season soon, he’d mused to himself, hand digging through his pocket for a key he couldn’t name why he still carried. Absently, he wondered if the old press was still down in the basement, if Link- because it must be Link- had minded to keep it oiled and tended, or if he’d left off using it. After all, the former knight chuckled, the boy couldn’t even turn the handle fully on his own, now could he? 

  His mind had been so caught in his thoughts he hadn’t been minding his surroundings, pushing the door open after a moment’s struggle (the key stuck more than it once used to) and moving to enter his old home. He hadn’t expected to be immediately whacked over the head, nor, when he’d picked himself up again, to find himself face to… face(?) with a masked figure. 

  “We aren’t open!” The purple clad individual had declared, mallet in hand, and a small creature with wings- which could in no ways be considered a bird- fluttering about at his shoulders, squawking and hissing something terrible. “And if you thought you could break in, you’re dead wrong!” 

  Aflon had blinked, slowly, and then started, gaze flying about the house briefly. 

  It wasn’t changed, not really. Pictures were all taken down and boxes were tucked against the walls, but the couch, the rocking chair, the china-cabinet, it was all still there, still in the same places, now with new stains and scuffs, but he could recognize them all the same. Really, the only major difference was the desk near the door scattered over with glittering items and objects, little price tags set before them in poor mimicry of a shop. 

  He wasn’t sure if the purple clad figure was meant to be here or not, but given that the house still technically belonged to him, he’d been more than slightly caught off guard. 

  “I’m not here for a shop, I- who are you?” 

  “Who are you?” The apparent merchant had demanded in answer, face shielded behind a hood that looked like it was meant to resemble a very, very odd face. “And why are you here?” Their voice was trembling slightly, but they stood firm despite. 

  “I live- or, well…” he’d paused, picking himself up and dusting himself off, “I used to live here. This was my house- still is actually, I’ve just been away.” 

  Despite not being able to see the merchant’s eyes, he could feel the apprehension in their gaze, weighty as it was as they looked up at him, one hand on their hip and the other holding fast to their oversized mallet. “You must have the wrong house; this one belongs to Mister Hero.” 

  Oh. 

  “You mean Link?” 

  “You know him?” Their head cocked on one side, hood following with a flap of long ear-like attachments. 

  Aflon had nodded briefly. “Do you?” 

  “Of course!” And suddenly the mallet was gone, the figure gesturing about with a cheery chirp now entering their tone. “He’s my housemate! Lets me stay here, keep up the shop while he’s gone and all that lovely sort of thing. Didn’t realize he had a landlord himself though! So terribly sorry if he’s been stiffing you on rent, he’s been out of town for forever now, you see.” 

  He’d nodded. He hadn’t known what better to do. 

  The stranger had introduced themselves as Ravio, offered to show him their wares, but when asked about Link had firmly insisted that he knew nothing more than that the hero was off on some mission for the crown or something and that he was just keeping the house in order for him. 

  It had been all Aflon needed to hear though. Link was still alive, apparently having embraced his role as the hero, and it seemed he wasn’t alone. He must have left the farm at some time, but seeing as he was approaching fifteen it made sense. He’d been rather eager for his freedom at that age too. 

  The kid would be fine, he’d told himself, walking back to Liza and Rusl. Link didn’t need him; he was getting along fine. 

  Somehow, even with the whole trip home to convince himself of that, it hadn’t worked. In fact, now he couldn’t stop thinking about it, slipping more with Rusl, drifting off at home. Liza wouldn’t let him in the kitchen anymore, insisting that he was too prone to forgetting what he’d been doing, too likely to hurt himself because he wasn’t paying attention. She’d begged him to see a doctor, or talk to her, but he’d waved it off, saying he was just tired, just thinking, he was fine; he just needed to rest. He knew she didn’t believe him, but she’d stopped asking at least. 

  If only he could stop himself thinking as easily. 

  But as the months and seasons passed, more worry had grown, more thoughts. 

  Link is turning sixteen this winter. Sixteen years since he’d stood on the edge of the wood with the queen of Hyrule and taken her child in his arms, promising to guard him. Only eight of those years were spent keeping that promise, only half, and he’d startled when he’d realized it. Even now, he’s left wondering, as he braves a storm so like that night that robbed him of his precious nephew, has Link changed? What is he like now? Did he ever grow into those too-big ears of his? Did he learn to look men in the eyes when he spoke to them, to steady his voice and hold himself with surety and not simply just skill? 

 His boy will be becoming a man, and he doesn’t know what that man looks like. 

  Or rather, he didn’t. 

  Because when he comes home, drenched to the bone but with a fresh kill in hand, ready for dinner, ready for him to show Rusl how to skin and prepare it, he finds his house full of strangers, his wide smiling and telling him that they’re travelers, more boys than men, and they need a place to stay but the inn is so far. Of course he greets them, of course he looks at men in armor and offers a smile like he would to his old brothers in arms, welcomes them to his home. 

  He didn’t realize, until just now, how much he missed hosting people fresh off the path he once used to follow, how much he missed their stories or sharing a smoke or a drink with men like himself once in a while, not just farming folk (nice as they are). 

  He’s midway to offering the a warm welcome when his eyes stray to the fire and he finds himself freezing. 

  Great violet eyes, shaded heavy under strawberry blonde, plastered down by dampness and the storm that howls just outside the door, stare up at him. 

  His breath catches. 

  It’s Loretta’s face, freckled and fine, fae-like features and faint traces of scars, upturned nose and steady jaw, but the galaxies that gaze out from violet pools aren’t the queen, even if everything else about the figure at his fire is. No, those stars are all Link, all his nephew, and the weight of that stare, not sure and stern like his sister-in-law but yet also not startled and wide like that day eight years back when he’d first met the hero. 

  In the same breath, it’s the dead queen and the young hero that sits before him. It’s Loretta with accusing eyes, fire burning in their depths as his own words ring in his head, sounding a promise, a vow to do as she’d said, to guard and guide her son, to protect him, no matter what. Yet it’s Link, it’s that little boy with eyes that know a demon’s smile and remember him bathed in his own blood. 

  If his heart had failed him when he’d first put a sword in the hands of his nephew, it’s ache is a thousand times worse as he stares at the result of that action, even as it refuses to cease in an endless flutter inside him as shock touches the face of the little soldier boy he’d left behind eight years ago, but who’s somehow, some way, found his way back before Aflon’s fire, staring up at him with the same startled gaze that shook and broke his world so long ago. 

  His knees hit the floor even as Liza cries out in concern, hands fluttering about him, but he can’t lift his eyes to look at her. Instead, he’s trapped in an endless expanse of dying stars. 

  “Link.” 

  Long ears, still too big for his nephew, turn his way at the sound of his voice, the answer coming out breathless and disbelieving. “Uncle?” 

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #04 死

† forest rendezvous †

"They say the most dangerous predators are the ones that make you feel safe before they strike. But watching him calculate each shot with deadly precision, you realize there might be something even more dangerous - the ones who warn you exactly what they are, and still make you want to stay."

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6k

rating: mature

content: forced proximity, piggyback, sniping, ominous threats, badmouthing, hinting at deeper wounds

☠ author's note ☠

A/N: Oh wow, apparently I even had author's notes saved in my drafts when I started writing this back in 2020? Past!me had *thoughts* and present!me is just here like (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

So I'm basically taking those written thoughts and rechanneling them through my 2025 brain. And let me tell you, the cognitive dissonance is REAL. Like past!me was all "but it's a slow burn!" and current!me is just cackling in the corner because honey... you have no idea what's coming ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д

I really debated on whether to include the piggyback scene or not. Had the whole thing pictured out a LONG time ago (we're talking pre-pandemic long, yes I am ancient, no I don't want to talk about it), but wasn't sure if I should add it here... you know, being a slow burn and all that jazz. But I think it works? They're both so against it that it's basically negative development at this point lmao.

Also, FORCED PROXIMITY MY BELOVEDS. If you think I'm not going to milk every single trope in existence, you clearly don't know me well enough yet. Just wait until we get to- *gets tackled by the spoiler police*

As always, thank you for reading! Your comments give me life and serotonin, which I desperately need because my caffeine addiction can only do so much. Stay tuned! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧​​​​​​​

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⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Shit—"

The word slips out as you struggle to your feet, using Jeon's hand like some kind of reluctant lifeline.

That's when your ankle decides to remind you exactly how badly you messed up trying to ambush him earlier. The adrenaline's wearing off, leaving behind nothing but raw, throbbing pain that makes you want to scream. Or cry. Maybe both.

"I think I twisted my ankle."

Jeon drops your hand like it's burning him, his expression morphing into pure exasperation. 

"You must be kidding me." 

"Yeah, because I love pretending to be injured during paintball." The pain makes your words sharper than intended. "It's my favorite hobby, actually."

He presses his hand against his face and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. His expression shifts from annoyed to something more complex—like a storm trying to decide which direction to blow.

The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable. You lean against the rock, trying to take weight off your ankle, but it just keeps t̶h̶r̶o̶b̶b̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶ hurting worse with each passing second.

Finally, Jeon clicks his tongue and strides over to you. Then he just... turns around. Stands there. Like you're supposed to know what that means.

When you don't move, he adds, "Hop on," in a voice that somehow manages to sound both annoyed and urgent at the same time. 

Like he's throwing commands to a dog.

You stare at his back, brain struggling to process what's happening. This is Jeon—Mr. Ice Prince himself—offering you a piggyback ride. The same guy who can barely stand being in the same room as you most days.

He glances over his shoulder, dark eyes meeting yours. "I said, hop on. We don't have all day."

"No way." Pride makes you lift your chin despite the pain. "I'm not getting a piggyback from you. I'll just... wait here."

His patience visibly snaps. He turns to face you fully. "You can't walk, and you'll be a liability." The words come out sharp and cold. "If someone from his team finds you, you're out. And now, you're on my team."

"What do you mean I'm on your team?"

"You ask too many questions." He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶'̶r̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶n̶o̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ done with your attitude. "Were you or were you not with my team when shit went down?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"It's an improvisation game. It's V's thing, stealth. Remember?" His voice cuts through yours like a knife. "Whoever's with me when V strikes is on my team. Same goes for him. It's really not that complicated."

He takes a deep breath, face muscles shifting to something more controlled. When he looks at you again, he seems determined. 

"I'm not losing to V, especially not because of you. So either hop on," the gentleness in his voice has an edge that makes you tense, "or I'll pull rank and make it an order."

Your blood boils at that. The audacity of this man, threatening to pull rank just because you don't want to get a piggyback ride like some kid. But he's right, and that just pisses you off more. Your ankle's screaming, and you're basically a sitting duck out here.

Fuck. 

You hobble closer, swallowing your pride along with a string of curses. The warmth oozing off his body envelops you swiftly, making your heart do weird things in your chest.

Getting on his back is awkward and t̶h̶o̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶l̶y̶ ̶h̶u̶m̶i̶l̶i̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ uncomfortable, but he lifts you like you weigh nothing. His body is all lean muscle under your hands, which is just... t̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶o̶n̶e̶ not something you need to think about right now. You kind of want to knee him in the ribs, just because you can.

You don't, though. Your ankle's already betrayed you once tonight—no need to make things worse.

He starts moving with careful, measured steps. Neither of you speaks. If he's as annoyed as you are about this whole situation, he doesn't show it anymore. His focus is entirely on the game now, eyes scanning the darkness, body tense and ready. Like a storm gathering strength.

And that just pisses you off more. Here you are, swallowing your pride with every step he takes, while he acts like carrying you is just another mission parameter to execute. The quiet forest floor suddenly seems way more appealing than being trapped in his personal weather system.

His breathing is steady, a rhythm that somehow makes the tension worse. Because yeah, he's helping you, but it feels like being rescued by a particularly moody thundercloud. The fact that you need him right now doesn't make you like him any better—it just makes everything more complicated.

Your eyes are dragged to the edges of his tattoos where they disappear under his shirt. Each one probably has a story, but good luck getting those out of Mr. Storm-and-Silence here. 

Still, you're curious. 

Are they about pain? Strength? Or maybe he just likes sitting through hours of needles because he's t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶m̶a̶s̶o̶c̶h̶i̶s̶t̶ that dedicated to his aesthetic.

The silence starts to feel heavy, pressing down like gathering clouds. All you can see is his back, and the closeness makes your skin buzz like it's charged with static.

"So where exactly are we going?" You break the silence because honestly, anything's better than drowning in his suffocating presence.

"Paintball weapon cache."

"Wait, what?" You can't keep the disbelief out of your voice. "I thought we were getting my ankle checked out—"

"This is a simulation." He cuts off. "V's games are unpredictable, but they mirror real scenarios. We adapt. We deal."

There's something under that icy tone—a competitiveness that makes you think this is more than just training to him. Your fingers twitch against his shoulders, and you try not to think about the muscle shifting under your hands.

"You do this often?" You find yourself asking, curiosity winning over irritation.

"Unfortunately." The word carries a gust of dry humor. "V likes his... creative training methods. Paintball, surprise drills, mock raids. He's impulsive, but effective."

"Sounds... fun?" The word tastes weird in your mouth.

"If you enjoy being perpetually ambushed." His dry tone makes your lips twitch despite yourself.

You fall quiet, thinking about these two forces of nature—Jeon's storms and V's thorny garden. Different kinds of dangerous, but both leaving destruction in their wake (duh, they're assassins?). One's all calculated precision, the other pure chaos—yet somehow they both keep the gang's deadliest division running. 

"So what's the plan now?" You try to keep your voice neutral. If you're stuck being his human backpack, might as well try to be useful.

"We arm ourselves." His voice gains a strategizing color. "It's not about having the most firepower. Real situations never go according to plan."

Something about his tone piques your curiosity even further. "Has he always been like this? V? With the whole paintball ambush thing?"

Jeon lets out a sound that's caught between amusement and irritation. "Yeah. You never know what to expect with that psycho. There was this one time when he—"

He cuts himself off abruptly. You can feel how his muscles tense against your legs, probably kicking himself for almost sharing something personal.

"When he what?" You can't help pushing. The rare glimpse behind his walls is too tempting to ignore.

"Never mind." His voice goes flat, that familiar coldness sliding back into place.

The silence stretches again, pregnant with all the things he won't say. It's strange, catching these tiny cracks in his perfect ice-prince facade. Makes you wonder what other stories he's keeping locked away.

As you move deeper into the forest, his competitive side starts showing through. He explains the rules like he's briefing for a real mission, all strategy and tactics.

"...And the objective?" You ask, trying to piece it all together.

"Last team standing wins." His voice rumbles through his back against your chest. "Or take out the opposing leader—me or V."

"Makes sense." You nod, hyper-aware of how his voice ricochets through you. "But why so intense? It's just paintball, right?"

The question slips out before you can stop it. But really—all this drama over some colored paint?

"It's never just a game." The edge in his voice could cut glass. "In our world, everything's a test. A challenge. We're constantly proving ourselves. You should know that by now."

His words sink in slowly. You do know—every day in this place feels like walking a tightrope, being watched, measured, judged. Even something as simple as paintball becomes another arena to prove your worth.

"This is exhausting," you mutter, and you actually mean it. The weight of constant training, constant proving yourself—it gets old fast.

"It is." Something in Jeon's voice makes you wish you could see his face. There's a pause, then: "But it's necessary. Keeps us sharp. Survival of the fittest and all that shit."

The bitterness in those last words catches you off guard. It's weird hearing him talk like this—like maybe he's not totally sold on the whole 'constant competition' thing either. The thought of Jeon having doubts about anything feels like finding a dent in what you thought was solid concrete.

He continues moving through the forest like he was born here, feet finding paths you can barely see in the dark. The trees loom overhead, their leaves whispering secrets you can't quite catch. Soon, you are opening your mouth again before your brain can stop you.

"How'd you end up here?"

His stride breaks—just for a second, but you feel it. The air grows heavy again, pressing down on your shoulders. 

"Circumstances. Choices." The words come out clipped, that familiar wall slamming back into place. "Same as anyone else."

You can practically taste the story he's not telling. Something dark and messy that turned him into this walking hurricane of a person. But pushing would be stupid, and contrary to popular belief, you're not that dumb.

"Right." You let it drop, focusing instead on how the moonlight catches on his silver chain when he moves.

Jeon picks up speed, and the trees seem to close in around you both. It seems to be a sign you are approaching your destination.

"So once we get the guns, what's the plan?" You try to break the weird tension that's settled between you.

"Find high ground," he says, voice low and focused. "Somewhere we can see everything but stay hidden. Sniping's all about patience and precision."

"And you think there's actually a spot like that around here?" You can't keep the skepticism from your voice. You've done your fair share of surveillance—good vantage points are rare as hell in this forest.

He just grunts, confident as ever. "I know this place like the back of my hand." He actually lifts one hand to prove his point, the moonlight catching on his rings. 

It shouldn't be as hot as it is. 

Silence falls again and the trees grow closer together, moonlight filtering through in weird patterns that make everything look kind of surreal. The darkness feels heavy, like it's trying to remind you both that you're not exactly on a fun camping trip here.

You watch him scan the forest ahead, all focus and precision. It hits you that this is his element—the quiet, the calculation, the waiting game.

"You really think this'll work against V's team?" The doubt slips into your voice before you can stop it.

"It's not about what works against them." He sounds almost philosophical, which is... different. "It's about playing to our strengths."

He pauses to lick his lip ring—a habit you're starting to notice—before adding: "Plus, I'm Chief of Tactical Assassinations for a reason. Best sniper in Kkangpae. Best in South Korea."

"Best in the whole country? For real?" You hate how interested you sound.

"Probably." His shoulders lift in a small shrug that makes you bounce slightly.

"Right." You roll your eyes. "Got any proof of that?"

"I do." The response comes quick, matter-of-fact. "They're all dead though."

A snort escapes before you can stop it. 

Shit. 

Okay. That may have been actually funny. But you're definitely not laughing at his jokes. He might have a sense of humor hiding under all that ice, but he's still an ass.

Jeon slows down as you reach what looks like the world's most underwhelming hideout—just a tiny hut tucked between the trees. His muscles go tense against your legs, like he's preparing for trouble. The way he lowers you to the ground is weirdly gentle for someone who usually acts like basic human contact might give him hives.

Your ankle screams in protest when you put weight on it, making you wobble slightly. Something flickers across Jeon's face—t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶c̶e̶r̶n̶ probably just annoyance at having to babysit you.

"You good?" 

The question catches you off guard. Since when does the ice prince care if you're okay?

You manage a nod, not trusting yourself to speak without letting out some embarrassing noise of pain. He turns toward the hut but pauses, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

"Tell me if you see movement." His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Any movement."

Then he's gone, slipping into the darkness of the hut. You hear him moving around inside, probably doing some super-professional sniper inventory check or whatever the hell he does.

When he emerges, he's carrying two paintball rifles like they weigh nothing. You try really hard not to notice how the moonlight catches on his arm muscles as he moves, or how smoothly he closes the door with just a flick of his wrist.

He hands you one of the rifles, dark eyes scanning the forest with the kind of focus that reminds you why he's chief of his division. Then he just... crouches down again, waiting for you to climb back on.

The sight of him effortlessly holding a rifle while offering you a piggyback makes something in your chest twist. How dare he make this look so easy? How dare he be this capable and t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ this insufferable at the same time?

You sigh, swallowing your pride along with several choice words about the universe's sick sense of humor, and climb back onto his back. His body is warm against yours and you hate that you notice. You hate even more that he's not even breaking a sweat carrying both you and the gear.

Stupid attractive jerk with his stupid perfect aim and his stupid strength. The least he could do is be ugly, but no—he had to look like that while being the most irritating person you've ever met.

Jeon stands like your weight is nothing—because of course he does. He adjusts the rifle with practiced ease, and you try really hard not to notice how effortlessly he handles both you and a weapon. It's t̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶b̶r̶a̶i̶n̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶i̶v̶a̶t̶e̶d̶ annoying how good he is at literally everything.

His movements fall into a steady rhythm as he walks, and you find yourself swaying slightly with each step. It's weird being this close to someone you can barely stand. The guy who's usually a walking natural disaster is suddenly all careful precision, like the calm before a storm.

The hill stretches up ahead, moonlight painting everything in silver and shadow. Somewhere in the distance, paintball guns are still going off. Sounds like V's twisted little game is still in full swing for everyone else who isn't stuck playing piggyback with their nemesis.

You watch the forest ahead, trying to focus on anything except how warm Jeon is against the cool night air. He moves through the undergrowth like he was born for this. The higher you climb, the slower he moves, until finally he stops altogether.

Without a word—because god forbid he actually communicate like a normal person—he crouches slightly. Your cue to get off this incredibly awkward ride.

"Here." His voice is barely above a whisper as he helps you down with surprising care. 

You scan the area, taking in the elevated position and clear view of the forest below. It's perfect for sniping, which makes sense given who picked it. But something about being this exposed makes your skin crawl.

"This is way too exposed." Your instincts are screaming at you to find better cover. The entire forest floor is visible from up here, which means you're visible too. "We need something more concealed."

Jeon turns his head just enough to catch your eye in the moonlight. "Trust me."

Two simple words, but they hit different.

Trust isn't something that comes easy in this life. Especially not between you and Mr. Hurricane himself. 

Yet here he is, asking for it like it's that simple.

You weigh your options, torn between your screaming survival instincts and his calm certainty. Finally, you give him a reluctant nod. What choice do you really have?

You can't help watching as Jeon sets up his position. The way he moves is t̶o̶o̶ ̶g̶r̶a̶c̶e̶f̶u̶l̶ irritatingly efficient, precise and purposeful. His eyes scan the terrain with a focus that makes your mouth inexplicably dry. 

Because it's weird seeing him like this. The usual cold, intimidating chief is gone, replaced by someone who moves with quiet, deadly grace. Every shift of his body as he positions the rifle speaks of years of practice, of countless nights spent perfecting each tiny movement.

The hurricane that usually swirls around him has settled into something different—a gentle breeze that makes your skin tingle. It's... weird. 

Almost peaceful.

You can't help studying him while he's focused like this. The way his dark eyes track every movement below, how his brow furrows just slightly when he's thinking. His silver piercings catch the moonlight when he shifts, and you find yourself leaning closer. 

Just to see better, obviously. For tactical reasons.

Movement near the cache catches your attention. Jeon goes completely still beside you, the kind of stillness that reminds you he's literally the best sniper in South Korea. You lean in further, trying to see what he's seeing, and suddenly realize how close you are. Your shoulder brushes his, but neither of you moves away. You're both too focused on the target below, who's digging through supplies like they've got all the time in the world.

"Wait for it..." His voice is barely a whisper, warm breath ghosting past your ear. His finger hovers over the trigger with the patience of someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

The poor soul at the cache has no idea what's coming. The air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

Then—bang.

The shot is perfect because of course it is. A splash of neon paint blooms on the target's back like some abstract art piece. They jump about a foot in the air, spinning around wildly.

"Dammit, Jeon!" The shout echoes through the trees. There's only one person who could make a shot that clean from such distance.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. Even Jeon's mouth twitches at the corner—the closest thing to a smile you've ever seen from him. For a split second, a gentle breeze wraps around you both like a shared secret.

You nearly jump out of your skin when Jeon's eyes suddenly meet yours. For a heartbeat, maybe two, neither of you moves.

It's... t̶o̶o̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ weird. The way his dark eyes seem to see right through you, how his hurricane wraps around you like you're in the eye of the storm. Too close. You're close enough to count his stupidly long eyelashes, to see the tiny scar on his cheek catch moonlight.

Then reality crashes back in. Jeon shifts away so fast you'd think you burned him, putting blessed distance between you. The barriers slam back into place—he's your superior, you're just some annoying ensign he got stuck babysitting during paintball. That's all this is.

You lean back too, trying to ignore the way your heart's still doing gymnastics in your chest. It's unsettling, this weird moment of... something. Not respect, definitely not that, but maybe a reluctant acknowledgment that there's more to him than just being an ice-cold asshole. The way he handled that shot, the focus in his eyes, the subtle pride in his posture—it's t̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶t̶e̶s̶t̶ annoyingly impressive.

Jeon's already back in sniper mode, all business again like nothing happened. But the air feels different now. Like the air has picked up speed, swirling with renewed intensity as if trying to blow away whatever just passed between you.

You watch him work, wondering when exactly you started noticing things like how his jaw clenches when he's concentrating, or how his fingers move with such precise grace on the trigger.

You tell yourself the shiver down your spine is just from the cold night air.

"I should leave." The words come out low, almost like he's talking to himself. He stands up, towering over you, a dark silhouette against the forest green. "Won't take long for them to tell V where I am."

"What, you scared?" The question slips out before you can stop it. 

Since when does the great Jeon run from a fight? Especially with V?

"No." It's instant, defensive. His tone is laced with something like irritation. "With V, you play his game. I just landed a shot. He'll know exactly where I am the second he gets here." A pause. "That's why you're staying."

"I see." You answer automatically. Then your brain catches up.

Wait.

"Hold up—I'm what now?" The words come out sharp. "So I'm just bait?"

"Yeah?" He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like he can't fathom why you're even asking. "You'll draw him out."

"Didn't you literally just give me that whole speech about 'making do' and 'real situations'?" Your voice rises with each word. "And now you're using your teammate as bait? Real nice. Guess I was right—you are a hypocrite."

"Sometimes sacrifices are necessary." His voice is cool, professional. "Plus, between us..."

He looks at you then, really looks, and something in your chest goes tight. Those dark eyes of his catch moonlight like black ice, beautiful and deadly. His stupidly long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and when he blinks, it feels deliberate. Like he's giving you time to process what comes next.

"You're the expendable one. Here, and in real life."

"Fuck off." The words come out sharp and mean, exactly how you want them.

His eyebrow arches, silver beads catching moonlight like a warning. "Watch your tone."

You can feel the hurricane bearing down on you again. It sneaks through the cracks in your attire, scratching at the outer layer of your skin. It is oppressive, suffocating. Engulfs your whole being almost instantly, almost as if to blow you off balance.

"So you're really doing this?" Your voice cracks a little, caught between rage and something that feels too much like hurt. "Just leaving me here as bait?"

He doesn't even blink. Those dark eyes of his are cold and distant now, like you're just another variable in one of his calculations.

"It's strategic, not personal."

"Strategic." You let out a laugh that's more like a snarl. The thought of being nothing but a disposable piece in his game makes your blood boil. Being used by anyone would piss you off, but being used by Jeon? That's a special kind of infuriating.

He takes a step back from you now, creating physical distance as if he was uncomfortable. Maybe, somewhere under all that ice, he actually feels bad about this. But t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶f̶u̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ you're probably just seeing what you want to see.

"Stay low and keep quiet." His voice goes all authoritative again, his standoffish nature coming right back. "If V knows it's a trap, we lose our advantage."

You cross your arms, watching Jeon's figure fade into the shadows. Every cell in your body screams to call him out, to demand better than being left as bait, but...

What leverage do you have? The answer hits like a slap: absolutely none.

He moves like a ghost between the trees, that hurricane of his dissipating until you're left alone with nothing but forest sounds for company. His words echo in your head, each syllable of "expendable" burning like acid.

You try to shift position, searching for some way to sit that doesn't make your ankle scream or your pride hurt worse. Hard to do when you're officially demoted to bait in this stupid paintball game. 

Stupid Jeon. How can he turn even mock battles into some grand strategic play? 

Your jaw clenches. At least real bait doesn't have to deal with the indignity of knowing it's bait.

The forest is too quiet now, like it's holding its breath. You try to focus, to be the good little decoy he wants, but between your throbbing ankle and the rage simmering under your skin, concentration's a lost cause. Your thoughts spin like leaves in a storm, each one circling back to how much you want to punch that perfect face of his.

Then—something changes.

It's subtle. Just the slightest shift in the air, barely enough to stir the leaves. But every instinct you have lights up like a warning flare. You freeze, hardly daring to breathe as you strain to locate whatever's setting off your internal alarms.

That's when you feel it—thorny vines wrapping around your lungs, making each breath sharp and dangerous. V materializes from the darkness like he was born from it, moving with the kind of liquid grace that reminds you why he's chief of stealth. Before you can blink, cold metal presses against your neck—his paintball gun, a very pointed reminder of how screwed you are.

The speed of it leaves you breathless. Or maybe that's his thorny rose aura, squeezing tighter with each passing second. His mastery of stealth isn't just reputation—it's terrifying reality.

"Shh, shh, shh." His breath ghosts over your ear, playful and deadly all at once.

You hadn't planned on screaming, but the way his aura constricts around you makes you reconsider.

"Where's Jeon?" V's voice is barely above a whisper, but something in it makes your blood run cold.

You hesitate. Part of you wants to sell Jeon out—serves him right for using you as bait. But something in V's tone makes you think carefully about your next words. This might be a game to everyone else, but V... V plays different.

"He left me," you manage, voice tight. "Twisted my ankle."

The laugh that follows sounds wrong, like broken glass wrapped in velvet. His thorny vines squeeze tighter.

"Typical Jeon." The way he says it drips poison. "Once a traitor, always a traitor." There's history there, old wounds still bleeding. "Abandoning a teammate? That's cold, even for him."

The paintball gun stays pressed against your neck. Except... is it really loaded with paint? Your stomach drops as you realize you have no way of knowing. Not with V. Not when he's got that edge to his voice that makes you think maybe this stopped being a game the moment he spotted you.

Every instinct screams at you to run, but you're trapped between fight or flight, knowing either choice could end badly.

"He's not here then?" V sounds almost disappointed, like a kid whose favorite toy got taken away. "Pity. I was hoping for a proper reunion."

The gun against your neck suddenly feels a lot more real. You're not the target—you're just the bait. Again. Except this time, it's not just your pride at stake.

"Should've expected as much..." His laugh raises goosebumps on your skin. "No loyalty in that one, hmm? Makes you wonder what he'd do in a real bind. Leave you to rot, probably."

You stay quiet, letting V's poison drip. Each word feels calculated, like he's trying to infect you with his hatred for Jeon. His vines constrict tighter around your lungs with every syllable, and you can't help wondering what made these two hate each other so viciously.

"That's Jeon for you." The words drip with disgust, but V's smirking like this is all some twisted game. "Self-serving. Cold. Doesn't care who he steps on to get what he wants."

The way he's focused on his little villain monologue gives you an opening. Adrenaline floods your system as you make your move—one hard stomp on his foot. His yelp of surprise is almost satisfying.

You shove the paintball gun away from your neck, twisting out of his grip. For one glorious second, you think you might actually get away.

Then reality hits. Literally.

V moves like water, flowing around your escape attempt like he knew exactly what you'd do. Before you can blink, you're eating dirt, his weight pinning you down. The gun barrel presses cold against your forehead, and you realize just how badly you miscalculated.

"Not bad, dear." His grin makes your skin crawl. "But not good enough."

You're pinned, his weight heavy and his presence suffocating. His thorns dig deeper with each breath, and you can almost feel them cutting through your skin. 

You're trapped, completely at his mercy, but damned if you'll let him see you scared.

He leans in close. "Let me give you a piece of advice." His whisper raises goosebumps on your neck. "Watch your back around Jeon. He's more dangerous than you think."

The warning in his voice sounds too personal, too raw to be just another mind game. Like maybe he's speaking from experience.

"Oh, I'm counting on it." The words come out steadier than you feel with V's weight pinning you down. You manage to keep your voice even despite the lack of oxygen making it to your brain.

Something flickers across his face—confusion, maybe suspicion. Those stealth instincts of his finally catching up, but too late.

SPLAT.

Paint explodes across V's back in a neon burst. His whole body goes rigid against yours, muscles freezing mid-squeeze. The look of pure disbelief on his face almost makes this whole night worth it.

When he turns to look over his shoulder, you already know what he'll see. Jeon emerges from the shadows like he was born from them, rifle balanced casually in those tattooed hands. Even playing paintball in the middle of the night, he somehow manages to look t̶o̶o̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ irritatingly put-together.

He runs his fingers through dark hair, pushing it back from his face in a way that's probably supposed to look casual but comes off more like a shampoo commercial. The silver in his piercings catches moonlight, and honestly? It's just rude how he makes everything look so effortless. Like being unfairly attractive is just another one of his many talents.

V's weight disappears as he stands, and suddenly his whole demeanor shifts. The deadly predator from moments ago vanishes, replaced by that familiar chaos-loving trickster. His laugh rings through the trees as he claps, adorned with delight instead of danger.

"Bravo, Jeon!" V calls out theatrically into the forest shadows where Jeon now stands revealed. "Always hiding in the shadows like the snake you are."

Jeon's face is blank, but there's something razor-sharp in the way he moves

"Far better than always playing the fool to hide your incompetence, if you ask me." Jeon retorts sharply, ice crystallizing each syllable.

"Incompetence?" V's laugh has an ugly edge to it. "That's rich, coming from you. Can't even follow basic gang rules, but here you are, talking shit."

Something flickers across Jeon's face—too quick to catch, but his expression grows darker, more intense. Seems like V knows exactly where to stick the knife.

"A gang built on backstabbing might want to rethink its rules." Jeon's voice could freeze hell over. It's like the winds around him whip faster now.

"See, that's your problem." V tilts his head, a mischievous, lazy grin spreading all over his lips. "When I stab someone in the back, at least I don't cry about it after."

The smile he gives Jeon is pure venom—like he's referencing something that happened between them, something that left scars.

"Right." Jeon practically spits the word. "You only get emotional when you're the one getting fucked over."

They stare each other down, and you feel thorny vines trying to pierce through howling wind and rain. Finally, Jeon looks away first, shaking his head like he's trying to dislodge memories he'd rather forget.

Jeon's eyes find yours, and it's not concern you see there—more like he's doing some kind of damage assessment without having to actually ask if you're okay.

You don't give him the satisfaction of a response. He left you as bait, remember? Used you like some expendable pawn in his little game with V.

But something annoying nags at the back of your mind. 

Because he did come back. 

The moment breaks when Jeon looks away, that weird tension snapping like a rubber band. His typhoon-self settles back into its usual pattern as he stands there radiating smug victory. The paint splattered across V's back is proof enough of who won this round.

"That's it then. This round goes to me." He says it like he's commenting on the weather, not like he just outmaneuvered the most dangerous man in Kkangpae.

There's something almost boring about how he announces his win—no gloating, no pride, just checking another box on whatever mental list he keeps in that pretty head of his.

His eyes flick back to you. "Time to get you to the infirmary—"

"Let's not pretend you've suddenly gone soft, Jeon." V cuts him off, setting down his gun with this little head tilt that somehow manages to be both playful and threatening. 

"Oh, please." The disdain in Jeon's voice is too evident. "She just needs to get her ankle checked, and it's not like she can walk there."

V steps closer, moonlight painting him silver. There's something otherworldly about him now—like some fairy tale creature that lures people into trouble with a smile.

"I'll take her to medical myself." His voice drips honey-sweet mockery. "Sounds more fun than whatever boring escort you had planned."

You watch Jeon consider this, weighing something in his head. After what feels like forever, he just... shrugs. Like he couldn't care less what happens to you.

"Sure." His voice is pure ice. "She's your problem now."

Then he just... walks away. No backward glance, no hint that he gives a single shit about leaving you with someone who literally had a gun to your head five minutes ago. The winds that seem to surround him dissipate with each step he takes, leaving you feeling weirdly hollow.

V turns to you with that signature grin of his—the one that's equal parts charming and concerning. He offers his hand with exaggerated gallantry, like some twisted prince charming.

He then scoops you up, bridal style of course because that's V for you, and you can't help but notice he's stronger than he looks. The transition from ground to air is smooth despite your resistance, but what choice do you have? Crawl to the castle?

Your eyes find Jeon one last time as V starts walking. Something in your chest twists when you realize he's not even looking back. You hate that you wanted him to fight this, to show something about handing you over to V. Your twisted ankle is his fault, after all.

But his face might as well be carved from stone. If he feels anything about this situation, he's buried it so deep even his hurricane can't dig it up.

next | index

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@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @redcherrykook @somehowukook @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya

[frostbitebakery]

There’s a room where the Light won’t find you

Surrender AU

There are certain misconceptions when it comes to the… the them of them, Cody has to admit.

“I would like to have proof of life of my General,” he says instead of answering the same question the Commander has asked him twice now. The statement sits uncomfortable under his breastbone. He lost count how often he’s had to say it in his life.

“Are you that codependent,” the replica of his mouth snarks back. Curious, usually he and his counterparts have more patience than this.

The answer to that is a definite yes. Obi-Wan and he, they’re woven together. Only Obi-Wan’s lightsaber could cut them apart. He wonders where it is after they’ve taken it from its resting place above his heart.

“You’ll protect it,” Obi-Wan had asked, voice cracking and begging, closing Cody’s palms around the weapon’s hilt. It had been after Ghost had rescued them from that hellhole, after Obi-Wan’s hands had become too weak to wield his lightsaber despite the trials of reconstructive surgeries and physical therapy.

“Like your life,” Cody had sworn, lips finally not sore anymore from the ripped out stitches, the punishments from their captors that were so much more effective when delivered on Cody than Obi-Wan himself.

“I would like to have proof of life of my General,” he says again.

The Commander pushes out a sigh. “He’s… okay.”

Debatable. Cody isn’t there and no one knows - can know - how Obi-Wan’s hands spasm after a while, how his knee is acting up. How his grip on himself has been slipping, recently. The tight control even in the chaos had held steady for so long. Because even changed like this, Obi-Wan has been a master of his own self. Until they found these counterparts at least.

They’re so Light, hammers into Cody’s head.

“General Kenobi is asking him some questions himself,” the Commander states like he’s dangling bait.

Cody sincerely wishes him good luck with that. Getting an answer to “What do you want for breakfast” is a discovery of heretofore unknown wells of patience and the higher ground most days. Honey toast, by the way. “I would like to have proof of life of my General.”

Cody, they’re so Light. Obi-Wan is alone with a beacon to the Light he’s been desperately searching for in dozens of universes. He will do something well-thought-through and stupidly risky.

The Commander watches him for a few long moments, and Cody watches right back. He doesn’t smirk in triumph when the Commander activates the comm on his vambrace.

“General, could you put—,” Cody’s mouth twitches at the Commander’s faltering, the steeling for the reality of them, “the Sith on the comm?”

A moment later Obi-Wan is in the holo. Bound but whole, because the good guys don’t believe in torture. “Are you alright?” he asks, sickly golden eyes roving over what the holo displays of Cody.

Cody smiles, softening further once Obi-Wan echoes him with his own. “Yes. You?”

There’s misconceptions about them. Other people’s delusions of knowing them seem to think Obi-Wan and he can only be brutal, be cruel and harsh. Towards everyone else, and towards each other. Trapped in a bloody dance or something rivaling that kind of stupid. Those people don’t, thankfully, know the gentleness flowing through their touches. They kiss the other in reverence, soft and precious monster. What is between them, a connection forged in blood and pain, is anything but. It’s the one thing where they’re truly selfish. Holding each other close, burrowed into each other.

When Obi-Wan had asked him what he wants, the answer had been simple and sprouting thorns.

“You,” Cody had answered, sure and steadfast.

Obi-Wan had almost flinched, cane scraping over the floor. “Even as I am now?”

Always. At every second their lives had existed in orbit to each other. Every possible face Obi-Wan had worn, Cody had wanted him. But— “I think,” he had replied, stroking the paper-thin grey skin under a yellow eye, “this is the only version I’m allowed to have.”

“I miss you,” Obi-Wan says on the holo, and Cody goes cold.

“Obi-Wan, don’t—“

The connection winks out and he knows that it was Obi-Wan, that the Force suppression cuffs must have some fault he detected and exploited.

He whips his head up, urgency clocking in inside his chest and ticking. “Stun him,” he grits out, just to not yell, and startles the Commander. “Make him unconscious any way necessary.” He swallows. “But please don’t kill him.” I need him.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

A Storm of Stars - Chapter Three.

I am updating a day early, besties, as I will be busy all day tomorrow. Enjoy!

Summary: The Targaryen twin stars. Two sides of the same coin. Aemond and Aemella Targaryen, second children of King Viserys I and his queen, Alicent Hightower, had spent their entire lives almost as one, the lines blurring where one twin ended and the other began. What started as an inseparable sibling bond eventually bloomed into a deep, limitless love.

A day would come, though, when their love story - famed for generations to come - would be tested by the one who sought to tear them apart. When the storm of stars descended, nobody who had wronged them would come away unscathed. 

Words - 4,062

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added.

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Incest, mentions of child loss through miscarriage. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapters - One Two

As the afternoon drew into the inky dusk of evening, Aemond found himself grow weary after being summoned to the small council, his brother the king requesting his presence. It seemed though to be little more than to continually rebuke his practical advice, Aemond left wondering for what end he had been called there at all.  

“That will be all, my lords,” Aegon spoke from the head of the table, the men present as well as the dowager queen all rising. “Not you, Aemond. Be seated.” 

He waited until they had left the room, nodding to the royal cup bearer to refill their wine goblets, lifting the freshly topped up vessel to his lips. “I keep you here as a courtesy as my brother, to inform you firstly before the others of my proposal going forth in our war effort.” 

Aemond looked a touch pained to have been kept behind, his thumb absently spinning the Valyrian steel wedding band upon his fourth finger, as he often did when keen to return to his wife. Most persons of nobility chose gold, but he and his beloved had sought something a little different for theirs.  

“I am listening.” He would at least extend the courtesy of that much, not that Aegon often partook in offering the same token. 

“Our alliances are so far yielding good success, but what I wish to secure will take a certain differing strategy,” he began, another mouthful of wine gulped back. “The pretender unfortunately has the greater advantage in so much as she holds the pledge and loyalty of the north, an alliance I wish to snatch out from beneath her.” 

A challenging commission if ever there was one, Aemond recognised. It was well known throughout the Seven Kingdoms that House Stark embraced their loyalty to a fault. It would take much to turn the tides in their favour with Cregan Stark himself. 

“And how do you propose such a task be accomplished?” 

“That, Aemond, is simple,” he began, lifting his chin. “I will offer him a wife, and Lord Stark himself a seat at my small council. Men, even as noble as he, can always be seduced by the promise of power.” 

He shook himself internally, not immediately able to recall an available Targaryen to offer as a bride. “How?” he questioned sharply. “The only women of our house who remain loyal to the Green and whom are of marital age are our own wives. Unless you seek to offer our mother, a proposition I cannot see her accepting.” 

The king’s smile split his mouth almost sinisterly. “I do not propose such, but Aemella will be your wife no longer when I seek an annulment to your marriage, freeing her to carry out a greater duty for our side.” 

Gods be good, the king could not be serious. Aemond balked, fury dancing in his eye. Was he dreaming? “You cannot possibly mean to use my wife as a mere pawn in your war effort.” he seethed, fingers clenching into fists on the table before him. “I will not allow it.” 

Aegon’s expression remained unchanged, his demeanour disturbingly calm. “You misunderstand, brother. This is not a request. It is a command. For the good of our house, sacrifices must be made. You are loyal, are you not?”  

“I am loyal to the Green,” he spat, “but even more so to Aemella. You ask too much of me, Aegon. This is madness.”  

The king set his goblet down with a hard thud, his eyes narrowing. “Madness, you say? No, Aemond. Madness is you and Vhagar chasing our nephew through the eye of a storm to his demise. This is strategy. Cold, calculated strategy. The north will not bend easily, but they can be persuaded. Aemella is our best chance at solidifying our power.”  

Except that it wasn’t strategy. This, Aemond knew well, was not solely confined to their efforts to strengthen their seat. Nay. Aegon, as ever, relished in the opportunity to toy with him. He honestly could not believe his ears, that his brother thought a plan so feeble, driven by his own need to exact cruelty upon him and little more, was by any means viable.  

“If you suggest this in all sincerity, then brother, you are unfit to seat yourself upon the Iron Throne. A king does not entertain such follies. Besides, however would it look within court, hmm? To break up a harmonious marriage simply to achieve alliance?” 

Aegon shrugged, smirking. “Your marriage is childless. A sham of a union by that token, some might suggest. An annulment would not be frowned upon. Besides, I am the king. What I fucking decree shall come to pass.” 

“By choice, we are childless. You know why,” Aemond gritted, feeling his temper flickering further into life deep in the pit of his belly. While their lack of children might have been a bone of contusion for him at present, he would not take kindly to his relationship being labelled a sham because they remained barren. “When Mella wishes it so again, I will grant her offspring.”  

The king’s voice broke on a burst of mocking laughter. “Do you even fuck her, brother? Or is the marriage merely you hiding in the skirts of our sister, too terrified of something real? You cling to the one you shared a womb with because you fear anything else. Seven hells, you probably fear her just as much,” he drawled, circling the rim of his wine goblet with a pointed finger. 

Aemond clenched his teeth, the grinding noise audible. “You speak in ridiculous assertions based in mere fantasy. As ever. Anything to demean me.” 

Leaning forward, Aegon was enthralled to have received a reaction. His younger brother’s words were calm, but his demeanour lacked it. It there was ever a way to get to Aemond, it was through his twin. “You do. I see it in your eye. When you were thirteen, you refused my offer to take you to a brothel, so you might know what it is to wet your cock. You likely still do not. Tsk, tsk.” 

And on he continued with his streaming torment. “Poor Aemella, shackled to a man who fears her cunt too much to go anywhere near it. Was there ever a child at all, or perhaps you arranged another to lay with her in order to sire the babe who was never to be?”  

His nostrils flared, remembering the harrowing night, holding a bloodied, wailing Aemella in his arms after their loss, trying in some way to comfort the intense pain his darling wife had suffered. “I will not allow this to stand, Aegon. My marriage is not subject to annulment for political gain or otherwise. We need not forge any new alliances – northern or otherwise – through betrothal.  

“Myself and Vhagar, Aemella and Fyreclaw, we are the most competent dragonriders within the realm. Sending her north is an action with little merit behind it. She is needed here. Her place is here, at my side. As it always has been and shall be to come.”  

Aegon lifted his chin, his top lip curling. “If I set the order that she is to be married to house Stark, then it is not for you to argue.” Oh, how his brother very much begged to differ, unable to truly believe this spite driven agenda was sincerely his plan of action. 

“May I remind you that I was called to your council to do just that; counsel. Not to hear of ridiculous ideas cooked up in order to needlessly break up my marriage. Be honest, Aegon. You do not seek to marry off Aemella in order to forge stronger alliances in our time of war. You seek it to feed your own perverse interest in punishing me.” 

Aegon laughed once again, lifting his wine goblet to his lips. “And to what end is this perceived punishment, dear brother?” 

He did not hesitate in stating the obvious. “For my role in earning the title of kinslayer, first and foremost.” Indeed, Aegon could not argue with such an assertion, Aemond continuing.

“You also wish to keep me as far from the throne as humanly possible. The rest is mere cruelty, a twisted game. Rather childish, I find. And to think, I am the younger of us. Then again, I was always a threat, was I not? After all, you never sought this, never wanted it either.” He leaned forward in his seat, his eye narrowing. “Now is not the time to play your petulant games, Aegon. Now is the time for us to stand unified.” 

With a deliberate, measured breath, the king considered his brother's words. He swirled the deep red liquid in his goblet, his eyes closing momentarily as he seemed to calculate his next move. Aemond's steadfast resolve was a formidable barrier, one that Aegon had tested countless times before. Most of the time as children, he’d broken it, but his brother was undoubtedly much stronger in character than he had once been. 

"Do not mistake me for a fool, Aemond," he finally spoke, his tone laced with a blend of amusement and underlying threat. "Your love for our sister is undeniable, but love does not always align with duty. The realm demands sacrifices, and sometimes those sacrifices come at the expense of personal desires." 

Aemond's gaze remained unyielding, his determination unwavering. "I will continue to assume you the fool if you let your hostility toward me drive your agenda. Especially at a time of war.” 

“A war your foolhardy actions ignited,” Aegon spat, poking his index finger onto the table aggressively. “Would I be so wrong to punish you for that?” 

“Yes, and I tire of having this thrown at me by you and our mother at every given opportunity!” he began, his words strong, voice set to the conviction he felt inside that no, he would not continually be blamed over the semantics of their current position. “Whether I had been the catalyst or not, we both know the pretender would never relinquish her claim. That is a given. War was inevitable!”  

Leaning back, he picked up his goblet, draining the contents. “I will not sacrifice my love, my wife, for the sake of a fleeting political advantage. Our bond is unbreakable, and no decree from the crown will change that." Rising from the table, he turned, storming toward the door, beyond exhausted by the measure of his brother and his ridiculous games.  

“I was not asking you, Aemond.” 

Pivoting on his heel, he lifted his chin. “No, but I am telling you. If you push this ahead then you go to war with me, too. Distension within these walls will not lead to your victory. Only your downfall. Choose wisely.” 

Returning to his quarters, he dreaded having to reveal the state of play to Aemella, knowing of course his usually calm and well-measured wife would likely - to put it mildly – be plunged into nothing less than tempestuous fury.  

“Mella?” he called, entering the living area of their quarters, taking a beaker and decanting into it a large measure of rum, bolting it back in one gulp. Turning, he saw her move through the room, aiming a nod to where he poured himself a second measure. 

“Your meeting with our brother went successfully, then?”  

Her light sarcasm was met with a stony face, Aemond taking a seat. “Trust me. Once I have revealed the news I hold, you might find yourself in need of similar fortification.” He patted the space beside him, sipping his drink before placing the beaker upon the table. “Come, sit. You must promise me, though, that you will not fly into incandescence.” 

Her heart jolted sharply, unsure she could uphold such a vow. “Well, husband. That all depends on what it is that I am about to learn.” Sitting at his side, her hand went to his thigh, resting atop the lean, hard muscle beneath his britches, ready to hear his news. Once it had been revealed, she did not remain seated for much longer. 

“He cannot seriously seek to enact this?” she cried, her eyes wide and usual cool composure all but lost. 

Aemond nodded. “He does, and he is a fool for it. I told him as much.” 

“A fool? Brother, that is putting it in the mildest of terms!” Her voice cracked on a sudden gasp of laughter, throwing her hands to the heavens. “He will make himself a laughingstock! Annulling his sibling’s marriage in order to marry his sister off in hopes of a forged alliance with Cregan Stark? Has his lost his mind entirely?” She began to pace, Aemond leaving her to her need as he remained seated.  

“He thinks that little of our union as to order its dissolution for political gain, a gain he isn’t likely to successfully attain? We all know how strong a bond is with the Stark’s and their word. Cregan will no more back away from his pledge to Rhaenyra with the promise of a bride and a seat upon the small council dangled before him than he would the threat of burning Winterfell to its foundations with dragon fire!” 

Her husband sighed, sinking his rum. “Reason is lost upon him. He seeks this of course not merely as a feather in his cap for our war effort, but mostly to spite me. I instructed that this truly was not the time nor place for his games, to exact his personal vendetta against me further.” His mouth tightened, nostrils flaring. “He did that to me enough when we were children.” 

Aemella's pacing slowed as she processed the weight of Aemond's words. Her eyes, once wide with fury, now narrowed with determination. "Then we must be ready for what comes next," she declared, her voice resolute. "If Aegon wishes to tear us apart for his own gain – or under the masquerade that this is to fortify alliances - he will find us unyielding. We will not be pawns in his reckless game." 

He reached out, halting her pacing and taking her hand firmly in his. "You are right, my love. We stand together, and together we are stronger than he could ever imagine." He paused, a spark of defiance lighting his gaze. “Besides, there is a way we could make this ridiculousness cease before he truly has chance to set the wheels in motion.”  

She caught his drift immediately, a flash of trepidation flickering in her eyes. She knew, though. It would kill his plan dead, should this preposterous scheme to have their marriage annulled ever come to fruition.  

Aemella was not naive enough to think that Aemond wouldn’t personally relish in getting his own way by extension, too, but truly, the gravitas of the situation meant that she had little choice but to allow it. It was the only way to put a stumbling block before their brother.  

“He cannot dissolve our marriage and send me north if I am carrying your child.”  

Even though it had been his suggestion, he still looked upon her with care, remembering well her hurt after their very recent quarrels on the matter. “It is the perfect counteraction to his treachery. Are you quite ready for such, for us to try again? You made your stance very clear only this morning.”  

He received his answer in Aemella lifting her dress, seating herself astride him, her skirts pooling in froth around his hips as she leaned to press her mouth to his. Her kiss was all honeyed embers, her tongue rolling slowly with his as his hands moved to bracket her slender waist.  

“Take me to bed and fill me with your seed, my love.” 

He did not need to be asked twice.  

Clothes were shed, the alluring dance of hands delighting over bodies they knew inside and out, soft moans peppering the air between kisses borne of fever and need. There in his wife’s embrace, though, Aemond still struggled to truly shake the king’s words from his mind. 

“He said I feared you, you know,” he muttered bitterly, his hands gliding her curves, one lowering to gently cup at her sex. “Your cunt specifically.” 

Aemella snorted on a chuckle. “Oh, darling husband. For a man who fears it, you certainly do spend ample time within it.”  

“Just as I plan to tonight, as I so sweetly task myself with putting a babe in your womb, my love.”  

Even through his pledged resolve, Aemella still felt turbulence coiling through him. She always did read him flawlessly, sensing his need for her to take charge of him for a while, banish what haunted his thoughts like phantoms. 

Turning him onto his back, her fingers weaved with his, squeezing his big hands in hers. “Lie back, my beloved. Let me show you how much I hunger for you at my mercy.” 

Desire danced in his eye, as well as a little playful objection to countenance. “Oh, I am to acquiesce to your dominance, darling wife?”  

“Yes, you are” she purred reaching to the bedpost, her fingers curling around the ever-present length of black rope looped around the heavy wood. “And if you do not,” she continued, threading it over his wrists, “I shall force it.”  

A sharp tug had him sufficiently bound, a soft grunt of appreciation welling in his throat. “Then it looks as if I am without further option but to allow it.” 

“I will untie you again,” she pledged, scattering a descending path of kisses upon his chest. “Eventually.” 

His eyebrow fluttered. “You enjoy my hands too much to keep me bound for long, love.” He watched her mouth lowering, tongue licking along the thin line of silver hair descending his navel, leading to the thicker, but well-groomed thatch above his cock. As soon as her mouth closed around his hardness, his head rolled back onto the bed, a groan fluttering from his lips. He’d needed this for hours. 

“Gods, Mella,” he panted, lifting his head once more to watch himself vanish into her mouth. “I... I... fuck. My words fail me.” 

“Then for once, be quiet, husband. Not too quiet, though.” Indeed, he was not, the groans she pulled from his throat upon flickering her tongue over the very tip of his cock all smoke and grit, her mouth swallowing him back again tantalisingly slowly. 

He was heavy and wide between her lips, the salty tang of leaky fluid mingling on her tongue as she slid her mouth as far as it would go, using her hand on the remaining inches. She thought herself the luckiest of women, married to a handsome man she not only adored beyond measure, but with a long, thick cock he knew exactly how to use. 

The sound of the rope pulling as his arms tensed brought her delight, his hips shivering as pleasure corded through him. He twitched against her tongue as she tightened the pressure, her cheeks hollowing, watching the way all of his chiselled muscles danced beneath his pale, blemish free skin.  

While the prince and princess spent their evening favouring the pleasures of one another, not much could bring the same to their brother. Aegon sat alone in his quarters, his hand steadfastly clutched around a wine goblet, drinking to his usual excess to quell his burdens.

He stewed in fury over the reckless tactics implemented by his brother, thinking Aemond should be lucky that marrying their sister off to a Stark was the only punishment he was receiving. 

“A war criminal, instigator of this wretched mess we find ourselves in, and he can only continue to think of himself?” he gritted, draining the goblet. “Pompous fucking twat!”  

More wine was poured hastily, Aegon feeling restless and prickled to his very bones. He did not trust that his brother might not once again show such abandon, be ignited by the short fuse of his temper. After all, the king knew well how powerful Aemomd was capable of being.  

It was why he had always sought to make him feel less than, bring him down to a size he could more easily manage. He would have exerted much further cruelty upon him too, had it not been for Aemella standing so rigidity in her twin’s corner.  

Without her there at his side, Aemomd would be half the man he was. To part them would destroy him, render him powerless in his quest to – as the king so asserted – usurp the throne from beneath him by devious means. What he ultimately failed to realise, though, was that the calming influence of Aemella was perhaps the only buffer that prevented Aemond becoming as unhinged as he probably would without her.  

This aside, it was not solely his own paranoia over such that drove his decision, though. Within Aegon, a streak of envy ran just as deep as the gorge of inferiority. 

He had never wished to be married to his sibling, the union bore him not one ounce of contentment. Witnessing his brother and sister in such matrimonial harmony twisted sharp in the pit of his guts. Aemond loved her more than life itself, was entirely happy with her, and there was he, betrothed to his oddity of a sister, without one ounce of Aemella’s intelligence or grace.  

In short, he hated what they had, that fierce fury leaving him to sink so much wine within his quarters, he swayed in drunkenness while making his way to theirs. Nearing the guarded door, he could hear muffled noises from behind the heavy wood, ordering Ser Arryk to move aside before flinging the door open.  

There on the bed, he witnessed the sight of his sister spread before Aemond, his mouth buried at her apex. Aemond jumped a little, freezing as embarrassment misted over him, Aemella covering her breasts with her arms.  

That bashfulness soon retreated, though, when Aemond realised that on this occasion, he had the definite upper hand over his brother. Perhaps it was high time that the tormented become the tormentor. 

Looking up over the rise of her covered breasts, he released his suck upon her with a soft little slurp.  

“Can I help you, brother?” he spoke, the king staring piercingly at the scene, swaying as he grasped the door for support. At least Ser Arryk had the good grace to turn around and avert his eyes.  

“I’ve... and you... I’ve...” he slurred, chagrin pinking his cheeks. 

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “Allow me to guess,” he smirked, “you’ve come to witness for yourself how much I fear my wife’s cunt, hmm?” He placed a quick lick to her bud, making her jolt and gasp through her chuckles, her laughter aimed at the ridiculousness of their elder sibling. He then sat up, holding his gaze defiantly, steering his cock to sink into the cunt he so allegedly feared right to the very hilt. 

It only added further insult to injury, for Aegon to notice that his younger brother also happened to be hung like a horse. 

“If you’ll excuse me, your grace. I’d rather not make love to my wife with an audience. Unless of course, you wish to perhaps learn something about what it is to pleasure a woman? If so, then by all means, do stay.”  

Having his shame tactics turned back on him to such an extent, Aegon felt his ire glow white-hot, only serving to embarrass himself further by releasing the door to storm over toward the bed, making it all of three steps before ending up in a drunken heap.  

“Ser Arryk, if you would be so kind to escort the king back to his quarters,” Aemond called, lifting Aemella from the bed to protect her modesty in front of him, the knight entering and coming to the king’s assist. Aegon made little protest to fight, so annihilated he was upon the wine he truly did not have the stomach for.  

The door closed softly, Aemond smirking. “Mittys.” he hissed quietly, turning his full attention back to his wife, who did indeed agree their brother to be much the idiot.  

While the drunken ruler was taken to his bed, the love and passion shared between his siblings was ignited to roaring flame within theirs. And, just maybe, the beginnings of what would make his dastardly plans to part them an impossibility. 

A/N - Now, did you enjoy what you just read? Please remember, this is not Instagram. Clicking that heart does little, but a comment? Your author will be rewarded. A comment and reblog? Your author is throwing roses at your feet! It takes less time to do this than it did for you to read the chapter, too. Please, be kind and help support the fandom! :)

Next Chapter

[snippet-z]

Prompt: Secret Identity

3 years ago

"This isn't working anymore." The words hurt as they make their way out of his throat, ripping through his vocal chords and down his tongue; still, it would hurt more to hold them in.

He's not sure what response he wants to hear. A few months ago he'd have been expecting a staunch protest, or a promise to keep fighting, to figure things out. Today? It's a gamble, and unfortunately for him, he's always had shit luck at cards.

The silence swells around them as they refuse to meet each other's eye, searching for something else to hold on to, finding purchase in the ghosts of memories dancing in the living room. It's foreign, the inability to find comfort in each other, like walking along the edge of a cliff, never knowing when you might fall. They knew from the start it won't be easy to build a life together, not with the both them operating in Security Service, separated by duty and timezones more often than not; but they made it work, through sweat and tears they made it work.

Until something went wrong, and the secrets started piling up -- longer nights, confessions swallowed down, wounds stitched alone instead of with a helping hand; just like that, a wall appeared around them, and they didn't see it until it was too late.

"No, it isn't," Edwin agrees, and surprisingly enough, the admission hurts less than Charles expected it to. It's like they both knew for a while that their picturesque life was just an illusion, a bad deal made on borrowd time, and for a price much higher than they agreed upon. He doesn't regret it, not a single second of it, but somehow in the last few weeks, the weight of it became too much to handle. The sudden relief is bitter and painful, but welcome all the same.

Their eyes finally meet, and it's like looking at a stranger. He doesn't recognise the narrow line of his mouth, the paleness of his cheeks, the cut on the brow clumsily pulled together with stitches. Edwin looks different, exhausted more than ever, shoulders slumped down as if he's given up completely under the burden he refuses to share. It's not working anymore.

"For what it's worth, I truly am sorry," he says, and Charles knows he means it, because as often as they have to act on the job, this amount of heartbreak cannot be faked into one sentence so easily. In another life, he'd have walked back on what he said right now, forgave and promised to figure it out again. In this life, he can't do this anymore, not when it's ruining them both.

"I know. I love you," he says, nodding, accepting the apology, letting him go. Edwin's eyes escape him again, and he knows that both of them are holding back tears. Charles takes a step back, allowing the distance that's grown between them to take it's final shape.

Edwin is gone before sunset.

Present day

"You have no idea how glad we are to finally have you here. Everyone was crawling out of their skin in the Q-branch for a while, and I'm pretty sure Jenny is on the verge of throwing knives at them any day now."

The endless chattering is nice, comforting yet informative all the same, and truly welcome in the unfamiliar environment.

It's unbelievable, how fast your life can change in a single moment. Charles wasn't expecting to ever be recruited for MI6 -- he never considered himself smart or agile enough, and his achievements on the field felt underwhelming more often than not; yet somehow it seems he had impressed someone higher up, and now he's here, soon to be the assistant head of the Q-branch of Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Niko is still talking, pointing to different rooms and corridors, but he doesn't retain the explanations, too caught up with taking it all in and trying to catch up to her. For someone so short and in such high heels, she's incredibly fast.

"I know you probably talked to Jenny already, I'm assuming you had to since you know, you've been recruited as her second in command and all that, but don't let her intimidate you too much. She's actually a big softie under all that- oh, I probably shouldn't be saying that, shoud I?" Niko chuckes, and it's so infectious he finds himself smiling -- and he doesn't remember the last time he did that.

They turn another corner, and she stops so abruptly he almost runs into her. "Ta-dah!" she exclaims, throwing in some jazz hands, and Charles has a feeling she actually means them, "Welcome to your new kingdom!"

His jaw drops when she opens the door for him, but he doesn't have the time to feel embarrassed, not when all around him there's an overabundance of, well, everything. People are milling around, everyone working on one thing or other. Something explodes to their left, but none of the three people closest to it source flinch, instead frowning at the smoke and noting something down furiously. It's Wonderland.

"Jenny's office is right behind those doors," she points forward, to the furthest corner of the hall. There stands a small cubicle separated from the rest of the room, looking as if someone cut out some room for it as an afterthought. The walls are made out of frosted glass which looks thick even from a distance, and although not much can be seen inside, he can still make out two human-like shapes.

"Should we disturb her?" he asks Niko as she marches on towards the office, "It seems she has company."

Niko turns to him with a wide grin which speaks of mischief. "Whoever it is can scram," she says confidently, "I scheduled the meeting between you two myself."

Charles has no other choice but to follow, wondering whether he's about to become the shortest-employed staff in the history of MI6.

"Hey Jenny, your new guy is here- Oh, hi 007!" Niko greets as she walks into the office without a single knock, then makes room for him to enter.

Two heads turn towards them in seconds, and he doesn't miss the air of annoyance present in the room.

The Quartermaster quickly pulls herself together, drawing herself to her full height from where she was leaning over the desk. She gives him a cold, measuring gaze, before moving on to Niko, her shoulders sagging in exasperation -- it seems even the highest of the higher ups can't help but give into the charm of the tiny agent and her pink heels.

Charles gulps instinctually, the rest of Niko's greeting finally registering in his brain. He was not expecting to meet 007, maybe ever, certainly not today. Now, he always knew to take the stories he's heard about them in service with a grain of salt, but at the same time it was hard not to give into the mysticism of MI6's most famous agent.

He turns towards the last person in the room, and in a split second the whole world turns on its axis, leaving him confused and breathless.

Because if Niko's words are to be trusted, he's looking at 007 right now. He's also looking at Edwin.

[atropinenightshade]

"Like a Villain" Had to be Written by Rhian to Rafal

The song:

The artist is Bad Omens.

Look into my face, then look again We are not the same, we're different To tell your tales and fables, you couldn't wait You need a new clean slate without the dents A place to put your pain, your consequence When you look into the mirror, are you even there?

This goes back to the twins having "the same face" or at least most of it, and the whole part near the end of Fall where Rafal says "We are the same, brother" and Rhian replies "We are not the same." The fairy and fables reflect the world they live in and the school of which Rafal assumed he was master of. The "new slate" could be Rafal's new good streak. The pain could be the inevitable difference after witnessing a horrible war-- or the pain Rafal caused others. And technically, he is a person of consequence.

I don't wanna know all your secrets 'cause I'll tell It's hard enough being alone with myself I don't know how long I'll be holding on I know you tried your hardest, I know that you meant well But you pushed me to the edge and I slipped, and then I fell I don't know how long I'll be holding on

The first line reminds me slightly of naive Rise Rhian and the second how much Rhian wanted friendship and love throughout the prequels. Rhian would be holding on to goodness, but in Fall, that goodness starts to slip away and he gradually becomes the villain. The fourth and fifth lines can be related to Rafal at the end of Fall and how he meant well, but had pushed Rhian to his edge, where he finally commits the crime of fratricide. It also can be Rafal's whole relationship with Rhian, where he meant well, but ended up hurting Rhian's mental health severely than helping him.

So write a brand-new page, then write again I know your act is staged yet you pretend All while you're turning tables with missing legs I think you've overstayed your welcome in So go the fuck away, don't come again I'll see your face in the fire and burn it out

This sounds very Storian-esque and the development of Rhian's aggression towards his brother. It also reminds me how Rhian acts like he is the master instead of Rafal-- I'm sure in Fall he wanted Rafal to fuck off (pardon my French) and if he was crueler he could have burnt Rafal's face out. he has the dragon fire, and he is associated with blue. Blue stars are the hottest, if I am not mistaken. Rhian had his brother's body cremated. Rafal also tries to lie to Rhian during the moth-letter opener confrontation, which could fit this section.

Like a villain, I couldn't be I didn't need it, it needed me Like a villain, I couldn't be I didn't need it, it needed me

I think this shows that Rhian, at least for me, now rules Evil as the purely evil twin. he is a commander of armies and even james can't control his magic. It also feels like a sense of embracing the inner darkness in you, like what he did in Fall before Pan shot Timon.

[amethystfairy1]

I am so sorry in advance because this is a really overthinky question for a really basic thing and I doubt that too much thought was put into it but I've been so curious about Tango (and blaze-borns in general ig) and how he works since reading TT esp, because of the burns, so I have a few questions :) [post-writing extra apology for possibly the longest ask in tumblr history, I should just make a Google doc and start sending links atp 😭]

°•~°•~°•~°•~

Just to walk you through the thought process, I tend to really, really think about little things since I zone out so much and need something to occupy my brain-time lol, so it started with the question how do the blazeborn water burns work? And that led to a slew of other questions.

The first question was "why water?" Ofc the first thought is that it's a temperature thing, as in TTSBC, super hot water doesn't have this issue. However, it's not like every room-temperature thing hurts them. So second thought was that blaze-born have something lava or fire-like just beneath their skin, with their skin acting as insulation. This makes sense, as they have an "internal flame" they can will to heat up on command, and also makes sense since there has to be some layer of insulation given that Zed describes his hands as "warm", but he's not actually being burnt, which, given that Tango can melt glass and metal after heating up, it's safe to assume even his base temperature is really hot.

I'd guesstimate 1000°c since that's about fire temp, so the skin layer has to be HELLA insulated. I also had some questions about why blazeborn even were that temperature, since, given the nether origin, there's no real evolutionary reason for netherborn in general to be able to cool enough to not hurt flesh, but I guess piglins exist... I also thought way too hard about that and started questioning how the hell (haha) blazeborn exist in the first place as they're implied to be part human to an extent... and that train of thought was left in the dust. More important questions to be had.

Anyways so I read a zedango one-shot I'm at least 75% sure was written by you, where Tango says water burns him "like lava burns [humans]". So naturally I did a ton of research as to how lava burns humans, and how burns work, and the chemistry behind it. Google, surprisingly, failed me miserably, and I had to use Google scholar and guess a ton, but I think the gist is that (and thank you Wikipedia) when fire is on stuff, the heat energy causes said stuff to turn into a vapor and make light. Human skin has a buncha oil and carbon and hydrogen and oxygen, all stuff that's great for fire. This tied into another question I had, which was "would pouring lava on the burn help?"

So first question: why does water help burns, and why does it hurt fire, and is it related. Short answer: yes. Long answer: water is REALLY GOOD at absorbing *temperature*. When water goes on fire, it basically consumes all the heat energy, making the fire die out, since, as discussed prior, fire (and lava!) work by using heat energy to make light. It helps with burns for the same reason, basically taking the temperature off of the burn. Cold water is bad for burns, though, as it doesn't absorb the temperature as well (being cold) and skin being cold is bad for the damaged tissue, and the cold constricts blood vessels trying to heal the area.

So, with this logic, should it be reversed, pouring lava on the burns would hypothetically help, since the initial problem is that the water stole all the heat, and pain is doing it's job of saying "hey, something's wrong here, stop moving so we can fix it." HOWEVER, while typing this out, I remembered something.

In TT, Tango's water burns are described as purple and bruise-like. I've been using real-life logic, but this isn't a real life earth setting. This is a minecraft setting. And what happens in minecraft when water meets lava? No, not cobblestone, that's the other way around. Obsidian. A purple rock. This means that the earlier theory that blazeborn have lava under their skin is basically confirmed. It also disputes the earlier theory that lava would help, as Tango was wrong. Water does not burn the same way lava does, it burns the same way liquid nitrogen does (which, really, makes sense).

Remember earlier about cold water closing off blood vessels? Well, in severe frostbite situations, something similar happens. The lack of bloodglow is the main problem. Safe to. Assume the lack of lava-flow would ALSO be bad. Obsidian forms when lava cools rapidly, which makes sense. Tango's under-skin layer turning to rock resembles frostbite in a lot of ways. It's hard to move, hurts a ton, and even turns purple-blue. How do you treat severe frostbite? Well, warm water does help, but using the warm water method hurts INSANELY. The recommended action is to just try to warm it up the least painful way possible and take a ton of painkillers. Now, people can dip their hands in liquid nitrogen and be fine. How? The internal heat of one's hand and insulation of their skin plus the fact that LN is hydrophobic means that the oil and moisture on your skin should keep you safe for a second or so. But pretty quickly your abysmal heat gets beaten. Now take water, which is really good at absorbing heat. Frostbite in seconds.

That leaves only two questions: Why does the blazeborn skin only insulate one way? Given Tango's ability to be fine to the touch, you'd think that he's super insulated and thus protected. Easy answer? Being nether-born, there's no real reason to be immune to the cold in general. Water is literally not a thing. The second question: Why does Tango need to drink??? Easy answer; it's one of the criteria to be "alive." Need water to function. But water is completely unavailable in the nether. "They drink lava" makes no sense, as lava effectively is just hot rock. It makes sense Tango needs water, as things like... tongues, eyes, ect really need that stuff. But blazes don't, as they're fire. There's no way to get water from food, as nothing else (in the nether) has a high water content, and in ttsbc, water hurts even to drink prior to entering the mouth, but the digestive tract can handle it. Is it the human side? If so, how did Tango live in the nether so long in TT?

I was tempted to go "okay too much overthinking" at this point, but I refused to give up. So, I've determined something. A quick Google says humans need water to "regulate temperature, digest, circulate blood, salivate, and pee". How does water help with these things? It's a really really good solvent. What else is a good solvent? Basically just nail polish. Okay. New plan. Piglins exist in the nether, and they are flesh-based, organic, and pretty close to the overworld mob, well... the pig. Crazy, I know.

Anyway, [how've I not hit a character limit] that means water HAS to exist in the nether. What else proves this? BASALT! Pretty sure I watched a matpat theory that said something like this, but eh game theory is always gonna beat me to it.

Water has to exist somewhere in the nether. Where? How? I daresay, ice. In earlier versions, ice in the nether would become water. Later this was removed. However, now, ice placed in the nether will stay ice. How? Who cares, it's perfect!

Should the ice exist beneath the rocks, say under basalt or netherrack (which we can assume netherack is really good at insulation as it doesn't burn like magma in MC) people of the nether could eat that ice, which would melt without using too much of their body heat and dehydrating them like it does normal people due to the fact that their body isn't working overdrive to melt it by heating up, since theyre already more than warm enough, and it means the piglins likely just melt their ice and drink it super fast. The ice could be held by the claws, preventing burns, and BAM. Blazeborn mystery solved.

°•~°•~°•~

TL;DR? I ask too many questions and think too hard. Also, blaze born get frostbite, not burns, eat ice, and should not be thought of from an origin perspective. (Seriously, given the serious variations types of hybrids and mutants, what were people doing????)

Come back next week for my rant on Doc being our only cannon double-hybrid/mutant as a creeper goat and the implications of interspecies children and what is considered a "main" subspecies and why, as well as the consideration of a possible history of purity in breeding given the amount of people who are just one thing, how many of trait get passed down and why, weather the bird side can become more dominant in avians, how siblings can have different bird subspecies,(raven and parrot?) and why TT avians have bird legs and TTSBC ones don't!

[After consideration I'm sending this anonymously because it doesn't matter whether tumblr says there's no way to know, I think it's possible to guess who I am given... uhh... the book in your inbox]

I.

I think you're giving me a lot of credit here for thinking things through this much...I do try to think things through but this is...

WOW!

This is AWESOME! You did so much research into it and that's SO SO SO cool! I love it! I don't really have much to add too it...but I can help with that second bit! I've mentioned before, but if your parents are different subspecies, you will ALWAYS be born of one or the other. For example, if Joel and Lizzie ever had a kid in TTSBC, that kid would be either a cat hybrid or a butterfly hybrid, not both, and no mixed traits. If they had another kid, it would flip the coin again. Avians feather colors are similar coin flips based on parentage! As for why the TT avians have bird feet and the TTSBC avians don't...? Well, if you wanna deep dive on that, go for it! This whole thing was SO COOL to read! Thank you so much for reading and enjoying my AUs so much!

[hearted-anon]

Hello, how are you?💗 I just wanted to know if you could do a Lee Hyunjin and Ler Han

P.D. May Hyunjin suffer😈

In honour of the poll, I decided to write the loser instead of the winner.

Visuals

Words: 2360

Note: New style because mobile

T/w: Angst, bondage, rough tickling

Lee: Rap better

Ler: Dance better

Jisung could only describe what he was feeling as empty. His warm exterior dimmed to a cold, unstable interior as he closed the door to his room with a shaky breath. His knees sunk to the floor, feeling the decreasing temperature prick at him for his actions. His throat was completely dry, his eyes unrelenting without tears no matter how much he tried to let it out, crashing onto the floor with a heart that was wrecked with guilt.

“You’re nothing but a visual Hyunjin, face it already!” Han could distinctly remember the tense silence that followed, played back in his mind like a broken record that he desperately wanted to stop. The way Hyunjin’s eyes widened, covering up the pieces that were shattering beneath the scowl he had. He could even remember how a single tear fell from his eye after storming off, how Hyunjin didn’t even utter a word of response; he knew he had cut deep into a once healed wound. What he didn’t recall was what the fight was about, other than the fact he had completely torn his hyung’s heart into pieces.

“Ji? Open the door please.” The authoritative command from his leader rang shrill into his ears, a demand in tone but comforting to his pained body. Stumbling for the door, he swung it open lazily, refusing to meet eyes with the older. However, Chan was having none of it, pulling him back by his shoulders and forcing Jisung to meet his gaze. Eyes that were strict, disappointed and worried all at the same time struck through him, instantly bringing tears to his eyes. It felt wrong to cry, did it not? He had caused the damage, yet the waterworks were starting up for him, what about Hyunjin?

“You know what you’ve done, right? How badly you’ve hurt Hyunjin?” Chan whispered, not wanting to worsen the situation than it already has. Every second that passed cut deeper into Jisung’s already sunken heart, imagining what Hyunjin was doing. He couldn’t help but cry, couldn’t help but let himself feel the wrong that weighed heavy on his shoulders. The older pulled him into a comforting embrace, he can’t stand to see them all so upset. Cradling a hand through the younger’s hair, he felt his shirt stained with tears as broken sobs rang throughout the room, a trembling Han clinging onto him for dear life.

“I-I’m sorry…so sorry…” The ace repeated himself shakily, despite knowing that Chan wasn’t the person he should be apologising to. Rubbing soothing circles onto the younger’s back, the leader tried his very best to calm the roaring cries that came from the ace, all to no avail as his breakdown only came back stronger; thinking that Hyunjin was left all alone without comfort. The older could barely even move Jisung an inch off his shoulder, pathetic cries that rang throughout the room echoed loudly.

“If you wanna apologise, I could bring you to Hyunjin’s room…” Chan had never seen Han’s eyes light up so fast, instantly lifting his head from Chris’s now soaked shoulder. An eager nod came from the younger, glistening and pleading eyes that no one could ever resist following behind.

And that was how he ended up at Hyunjin’s front door to his room.

“H-Hyung?” Jisung’s voice echoed through the seemingly empty room of the artist that once resided, now dark and gloomy without a splash of colour in sight. The blinds were pulled down completely, making Han frown in the obvious poor state his room was in. Just then, he heard the sheets of the bed loudly ruffling, a shadowy figure of a ferret in plain sight.

“What, I know what I am, you going to rub in some more?” Hyunjin hissed from the bed, even from afar the younger could feel the daggers that stabbed into his heart from the glare he was sent. It pained his heart that throbbed when Hyunjin clearly thought that Jisung was here to rub salt into his open wound, but he couldn’t say there was wrong in what he thought; that made it hurt even more than it should’ve, didn’t it? A lump in Han’s throat formed as he contemplated what to do, he didn’t want to risk scaring Hyunjin away or making him aggressive, his heart sank in guilt in the quiet aircon that fulfilled his shameful expression in the darkness.

“Please, can we talk?” If he was allowed to, he’d go right on his hands and knees onto burning coal if it meant he would be given the chance to speak, feeling tears already welling back into his eyes; curse his stupid emotions tugging at his heartstrings, he felt so pathetic. Under Hyunjin’s gaze he was small, nothing but his prey and he knew that, the towering height difference noticeable as the older inhaled deeply, the fresh scent of his paints intoxicating him with its fumes. It was a battle between heaven and its oceans, a storming rage within the waves that the ones above couldn’t soothe, and he knew it well. However, the waves crashed calmly into the ocean, seeing the heaven’s frail wings that failed to flutter, inviting Jisung to sit next to him on the bed.

“Spit it out quickly if it’s something to insult me.” Hyunjin sighed, dropping his head into his elbows in defeat, knowing that he couldn’t resist the quokka’s charm. Jisung couldn’t believe what he was hearing from the artist, the fact that his first impression was thinking that he had come back just to pour more gasoline into the fire made his heart sting, but he knew he couldn’t blame the older, remembering their history. With tears once again falling from his face like a never ending waterfall, he pulled the ferret in for what felt like the tightest hug he ever gave, apologies tumbling from his mouth faster than the older could comprehend.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened, not expecting the sudden action as his hands froze in place, so did his entire body. He knew that Jisung’s lachrymose tears were dripping in guilt, but yet he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, his throat had run dry for words. Eventually as he swallowed his grudge, he pulled the younger in for a hug silently, his eyes brimming with tears as well as he embraced his own fear. It felt wrong, their puerile silence that lingered instead of talking things out, but it felt better than anything else. The seas had calmed their waves, now becoming calm tides that brushed against the shore gently as their pounding hearts came to a slow.

“Please, can I do something to make it up to you?” A breathless whisper caressed Hyunjin’s ear, desperate for forgiveness as he was, the older felt himself sigh at Jisung’s plan. He knew that Han’s ways of comfort were so fatuous it was rare he ever agreed, but seeing the puppy eyes he was being flashed with he couldn’t help but agree. Like a child who had gotten the present they wanted for Christmas, Jisung’s smile popped right back up, glistening eyes crinkling as he set his plan into action at last.

Now laying on his back against the cool sheets of his bed, he felt his arms being pulled up gently by the younger, tied against the bed frame with a leftover sweater that he was using to wipe his tears; too upset previously to even go outside to grab any tissue. Although the process was quite simple, the older felt himself being pestered with questions of concern from the younger every few seconds, puffed cheeks that were trying to ensure that Hyunjin was comfortable with everything; it was cute as much as annoying at times.

“What are we doing- HEHEY!” The ferret tried to question before fingers were rapidly squeezing his sides, blanking his thoughts out with a harsh crash as he squealed. The quokka immediately retracted his hands, a shy smile peeking upward at him as if he was innocent, earning a glare in his direction. Hesitantly, Jisung placed his trembling hands back onto Hyunjin’s sides, looking at him tentatively as his eyes sparkled under the dim lighting. With a lump in his throat, he knew what was happening, falling under the rapper’s charm was nothing new to him, nodding his head slowly in giving permission to proceed.

“You’re more than just a visual. And I’ll show it to you.” Hands slipped under his tank top onto his bare stomach, the ferret squeaking as nails scribbled and scratched the surface gently. Sweet giggles began to pour out from his mouth like a melody that soothed the younger’s ears, keeping up with the delicate touch as he leaned down to coo at the reddening cheeks he saw on the taller.

“Aren’t you just so cute? You see these muscles, hard work from all the dancing you do yea?” Jisung mumbled, squeezing his sides once harshly to earn a sharp shriek from Hyunjin before travelling to his ribs, tapping at the bones teasingly. The ferret giggled in giddy anticipation, shaking his head in a fruitless attempt to stop Jisung from his determination to tickle the older into pieces.

“Ji plehehease don’t! I-I’m behehegging- AHAHAH!” Hyunjin tried his very best to persuade Han not to go to town on his very hypersensitive body, even throwing in a nickname to sweeten the deal. But it was all in vain, narrowing eyes locking onto him like a target before fingers dug into his ribs aggressively, pressing into the flesh between the bones as they went up and down like an accordion. A shrill shriek was let out into the artist’s room before he bursted into high pitched laughter, digging his heels into the bed as he begged for release.

“Look at that laugh! It’s so precious, don’t ya think~? How about we give those vocals some more appreciation!” Jisung exclaimed enthusiastically, earning quite the objection from under him. Deep down, the younger couldn’t help but still feel the weight of his guilt pulling him down at the look of the older’s smiley expression, one that he himself had previously ruined. And now he was definitely going to put it back together.

“ARGHAHAHA! NOHO NO NO! JISUNG PLEHEHEASE!” The taller begged hopelessly, practically screaming his lungs out when the moment his eyes managed to get a peek through his boisterous laughter was met with the sight of Jisung’s head lowering towards his stomach. He twisted, pulled at the sweater, kicked out his legs on his plush bed, nothing worked to avoid the pair of soft lips that were about to descend onto his poor stomach. The shorter simply shot him a cheeky smile, diving his head under Hyunjin’s shirt before simply placing his lips there. No action, no breathing, just…living there; it got a scream from the older regardless.

“P-Please! Sungie h-have mercy!” The ferret whimpered as the fingers too, came to a slow stop, settling for drumming a rhythm onto his bare sides gently, teasingly to rile his nerves up, cruel. Even if Han couldn’t see it, he could practically feel the nervous gaze that bore through his soul as his warm breath grazed the older’s stomach, waiting like a predator about to pounce onto their prey. The muscles under him twitched and quivered in anticipation, soft giggles spilling from Hyunjin, the anxiety in him was not at all repressible with the delicate touches on his smooth skin.

“Who’s the cutest dancer? Who has a great English accent?” Jisung cooed, nuzzling his head into Jinnie’s stomach like he would with a baby. The silky hair that brushed along his stomach along with the stiff stubble that Jisung was adamant on not shaving, due to recording schedules being held back for break along his waist was too much overwhelming, Hyunjin letting out the loudest squeal he could muster before hollering with cackles, shaking his head rapidly from the sensations that quickly spread throughout his body.

“NAHAHAHA! I CAHAHAN’T! I CAHA- EEHAHAHAHA!” Hyunjin babbled mindlessly through his booming hysterics, words barely coherent anymore with the laughter that didn’t fail to interrupt him. It didn’t help when pesky fingers came to his hips, grabbing the bones aggressively before kneading it like pizza dough, sending the older into another frenzy. He felt Jisung take in a short breath, still writhing from the fingers that were dipped into his hollows like glue.

“I said, who’s the cutest dancer with the cute english accent?” The quokka repeated sternly, blowing another long and buzzing raspberry onto Hyunjin’s belly, earning another scream. He slammed his back against the bed, squirmed as much as he could, almost feeling the sweater tear a string or two from the sheer strength he was pulling at.

“MEHEHEHE! P-PLEASE I CAHAHAN’T!” The taller shrieked, followed by lots of repetitions of the word ‘me’, tears of mirth welling up in his eyes fairly quicker than Jisung thought, mentally noting to tell the older to get a thicker shirt. With reddened cheeks that spread to his ears and neck, tears that stained the pillows and a sweater that was pleading to break, Han let up with a soft smile, watching the mess he’s created of the older.

“Ahaha..ehehe..s-so ticklish..” Hyunjin snickered breathlessly, unable to help but stammer as his arms twitched from being untied, falling to his sides like jelly. Pulling himself out of the older’s shirt, the quokka climbed onto the ferret for a warm cuddle, arms wrapping around his waist as his head struggled to snuggle into the taller’s shoulder, earning a warm chuckle. Feeling his cheeks die down of their cherry red colour, he turned to face the younger with a wide smile of gratitude, silently intertwining their fingers in an unshared moment of tranquillity. They both knew no words needed to be shared, insecurities and guilt lifting off their shoulders at last as their eyes closed for slumber.

The next morning, lots of singing and feet tapping onto the wooden floor were heard, the duo finally having a peace of mind knowing that they will never feel as insecure with each other when they had found their puzzle piece; themselves.

[sanjisboyfie]

๑ keep safe : heartfelt conversations with a chef (5)

one piece x male reader

play 'em like guitars, 

only one of my toys 

(cause i like you a lot) 

no holds barred, i was sent to destroy 

putting on my music while i'm watching the boys

『 prev 』

on the path [name] had chosen, there were little to no prey presenting itself. for as far as his eye could see there was only trees surrounding him. he sighed in annoyance, not doing well in the humid climate.

he fanned himself with the collar of his shirt, wishing that he had brought one of those drinks sanji had made. he hummed in thought, resisting the urge to sing out for something to jump out at him.

just as he was walking past the water bank, he heard something swimming beside him. in interest, he peaked over and saw a school of…dinosaurs.

“oi, are you real?” [name] asked out loud, jumping into the water without a second thought.

they all scattered rather quickly at the sudden action, but then seemed to be more angry at him than scared now. one tried to bite his ankle, which he calmly lifted out of the water, and then giggled in glee.

“yes! there’s at least five of you guys in here, i can see all of you! i love seafood!” [name] cheered, spreading his palms out in front of the water and squinting, “jackpot!”

in a moment’s notice, all of the aquatic creatures were lifted out of the water at the same time, seemingly floating in mid air.

they began to thrash all around and [name] chuckled at their actions, “you all look so funny!” he said, bringing them onto land by moving his hands. they followed the actions of his hands.

any onlooker would assume that it was completely magical, the hovering dinosaurs obeying the command of his hands.

but to [name] it was a simple feat, his lips drawn into a thin line as he hummed as he organized their flapping bodies.

they were about 70 feet long, but good thing there was more than enough land space for him to place all of them.

“but how am i going to carry all of you back?” [name] thought out loud, rubbing his chin in thought as his eyebrows furrowed together. “it’d be a waste of my energy to do the thing, so i might as well do the other thing,” he said, ignoring the struggle the dinosaurs were exhibiting in being outside of the water.

“alright, it’s settled!” he cheered, “i’ll make you guys a net and drag you back to base. it should be enough food for months…or maybe just a week,” [name] corrected, remembering that now him and luffy were sailing on the same ship.

so he soon began to get to work. he gathered up the leaves and branches of trees, the actions making him think back to his childhood with luffy. when they used to get their own prey in that vast forest.

it was an annoying process, though. he had to weave the leaves and branches pretty intricately in order for it to carry the five dinosaurs without breaking apart.

there were a couple of explosions that he could hear resounding from throughout the island, but if anything, he just brushed it off as the norm. after all, the island was pretty weird. he didn’t try thinking about it too much.

“finally! i’m finished…halfway,” [name] said, sweatdropping as he realized how he had to put more work into getting the dinosaurs back home rather than catching them. “i should’ve had a pirate bento too, i’m hungry,”

he looked at the now dead dinosaurs in hunger, but shook his head, insisting that it was for later and not now, no matter how hungry he was.

after a couple of more minutes of sitting diligently and weaving, he was able to make an effective net. he quickly carried all of them to thee net and tied it shut, hauling it all back to merry.

he barely broke a sweat pulling it all the way back, but frowned when he realized he had to clear an incoming obstacle. there was a bunch of trees in his way and it’s be a pain to go around, so he took the sword around his back, careful not to unsheath it, and slashed the air sideways.

in a second, the trees were all falling down and gave him a nice path to walk through.

“sweet!” he said, letting the sword rest back on his back while he walked through the clearing.

to his surprise, zoro and sanji were on the other side of the trees and he lit up to see that they had their prey as well.

“guys, look what i got!” [name] said, lifting the net over his shoulder like it was a sack of potatoes and slamming it down in front of him, to proudly display it.

the swordsman and chef looked at [name] as if he was crazy, their shoulders scrunched up at the sudden slamming of 5, seventy foot dinosaurs in front of them.

“oi…” zoro said in disbelief, looking at the grinning man and then back to the 5 dead dinosaurs.

“well…” sanji said, looking at the possible food and merely accepting the fact [name] had captured a better lot of food than the either of them.

before they were arguing about which had a more bountiful catch, but then [name] came along and completely crushed their competition. not to mention, he got five of them whilst zoro and sanji only got one.

either way, one of [name]’s catches was already stumping their own in pure length.

“it seems they were eating well before i got them, how lucky!” [name] cheered, jumping up to the duo and having stars in his eyes once he saw what they caught. “wow! these look so yummy!”

it perfectly mimicked the image luffy had whenever he saw a piece of meat.

“i wonder what dinosaur meat tastes like, say sanji! cook some up right now, i’m hungry!” [name] said, jumping up and down as he looked at the blonde chef.

“hold your horses, i’m not gonna cook up a meal right now!” sanji barked at him, irritation clear on his face.

“but i’m hungry!!!” [name] whined, “i just got us some good meat, why would we even catch it if we weren’t going to eat it?! wasting my time!”

“shut up already! i get it!” sanji said, punching [name] down on the head to shut him up.

zoro on the other hand was still annoyed at the fact [name] bested him in a competition again.

“i’m gonna catch more food!” zoro announced, unimpressed with the current whines of [name].

“food,” [name] said simply, more so demanded. and sanji’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. as unreasonable [name] was being, he didn’t feel it was right to leave him so hungry.

he was practically drooling at the idea of food and since they had such an excess, it really wouldn’t hurt to make a meal. sanji scoffed, pushing [name]’s head down so that the h/c haired boy could stop making puppy dog eyes at him.

“i hear you, let’s go then,” sanji said, taking ahold of his portion of prey. “oi, shitty swordsman, meet us back at the ship when that volcano erupts again! bring your own food too, i’m not carrying your shitty catch!”

“fuck off!” zoro shouted back, already a good distance away.

“food! food! food!!!” [name] cheered, easily picking up his own prey and skipping back to the going merry. sanji sweatdropped at the brute force [name] was using, but boiled it down to how insane his captain was as well.

if the two of them grew up together, it would only make sense they had similar personality traits.

‘endless stomachs aren’t things that are just developed through hanging out with each other, though,’ sanji thought to himself, wondering why they had to get another crewmate just like their captain, in terms of appetite.

the two finally made it back to the merry where [name] cut up their food to make more easy to bring on board. and when he was done slicing them up, he’d throw them up to sanji, who brought some portions of it into the kitchen.

when [name] stowed away the rest of the food, he immediately ran to the kitchen to eat what sanji made.

it seemed he was still prepping the food, but [name] was more than content to just watch.

“so sanji, where did luffy find you?”

surprisingly, despite [name]’s hungry stomach, he was rather calm in waiting for his food now that they were in the kitchen.

“i used to work at a restaurant, baratie, in the east blue,”

“i’ve never been! were you the chef there? if you were, i bet the place was always packed!” [name] complimented, trying to hide his obvious hunger for the meat that was beginning to finally be cooked.

interestingly enough, sanji had more than just a pan on the stove. there was one pot that was boiling full of whatever [name] couldn’t see and something was in the oven as well. but [name] was too hungry to notice or pay any mind as to why sanji had his kitchen set up like that.

he was the chef, after all, and [name] wasn’t going to question him and his expertise.

“i was the chef there, but the old man running it was pretty shit as making the menu,” sanji said, a smirk on his face, “i always came up with better things than what he had to offer,”

[name] laughed in amusement and at sanji’s obvious confident.

“was everything you made yummy?”

“the best in all of the east blue,” sanji reinforced, making [name] break out into more laughter.

sanji gently smiled, enjoying the conversation.

“so sanji, why did you join luffy?” [name] tilted his head in interest, making sanji still for a moment.

his back was turned to [name], so the h/c haired man couldn’t see his face, but sanji was grinning from ear to ear. the chef put out his cigarette and turned around to [name] with that look of excitement on his face.

“have you heard of the all blue?” sanji asked, making [name] lean forward over the counter in interest.

“nope!” [name] said, popping the ‘p.’

“i joined luffy because i want to see the all blue. it’s a point on the map where all the oceans all converge at a single place,” sanji said, leaning against the counter behind him while [name] leaned inwards to show his genuine interest. “it’s my dream to find it - i’m sure it exists!”

[name] grinned widely, “i can’t wait to see it with you, sanji! then we’d get to eat even more seafood! i love seafood,” [name] commented, sanji making a mental note of that.

sanji brightened up even more, “they say that there is an endless amount of entire species that aren’t even found anywhere but in all blue! never even been seen before, but they’re all at that one point,”

[name] felt himself get excited as well. sanji’s dream was surely desirable. plus the idea that there are a bunch of unknown fishes just swimming around made his stomach feel particularly empty.

“that means-” [name] slammed his hands down on the counter, stars in his eyes. sanji flinched at the sudden movement, wondering what had [name] so startled, but [name] then continued on, “we’d be the first to ever eat all that food!”

sanji paused, taking in what [name] was saying. he blinked a couple of times before his smile cracked into a wide grin, until he was laughing his head off. his boisterous and carefree laugh made [name] nod in excitement, taking sanji’s laughter as a confirmation.

“right, sanji?!”

“that’s right, we would be the first to eat all that food,” sanji chuckled, finally settling down from his outburst of laughter. he clutched his stomach and looked at [name] one more time before turning back around to check on the cooking food.

“you gotta find the all blue, sanji!” [name] cheered, making sanji chuckle as he tended to cooking the food.

in a couple of minutes, the meat that was being seared in the pan was presented in front of [name].

“here, pan seared dinosaur meat,” sanji lit up a cigarette, leaning back and blowing out the smoke, “i wasn’t able to really see how the food would end up tasting with the seasonings, so be honest. and for some reason, all the alcohol we use for cooking is gone…last i remembered we had at least three barrels, so that’s a shame.”

[name]’s eyes almost teared up at the mere smell of the food. then without wasting a second he dug into the dish.

the moment the dinosaur meat hit his tongue, he was almost completely folded over the counter. his head smacked down onto the table as he tried to preoperly process the different tastes.

“oi! what is it?!” sanji asked, poking [name]’s shoulder as [name] was still face down on the table.

then when [name] whipped his head up, the tears streaming down his face was then sparking sanji to be concerned.

“what happened?!”

[name] sniffled, shoving another spoonful of food into his mouth, “iz sho yummy, sanji!” [name] cried out, swallowing bits and pieces of the meat whole it almost looked like he wasn’t even chewing it.

sanji smiled at the obvious signs of enjoyment on [name]’s face, ruffling his hair to calm him down. his fingers were immediately drowned by [name]’s hair and he chuckled at the sensation. he rubbed his palm against [name]’s head a couple more times before pulling away.

“glad you like it!” sanji said, although he realized that: if he really wanted to know if the seasoning on the food was good or not, he probably should not have asked [name]. not to mention he was already hungry and the man seemed the type to eat about anything.

but still, the look of enjoyment on his face was a look that sanji never got tired of, as a chef.

in a couple of minutes, [name] finished the meal entirely and was eagerly waiting for what was to be served next.

“i have some meat roasting in the oven, which luffy usually likes the most, and then there’s a stew i’m waiting to finish as well,” sanji explained, motioning to the different dishes that were being prepared.

“so yummy!” [name] cheered, rubbing his stomach.

sanji nodded his head whilst also tending to the stew in front of him.

“has luffy been a handful as your captain?” [name] asked, seemingly in the mood to ask more questions as he waited for more food.

sanji scoffed, as if that was nothing but an understatement. “how much trouble have we been in just because of his actions…” his voice trailed off as he genuinely tried counting.

“haha! that’s so like luffy,” [name] said, a genuine grin on his face, “how many times i had to save his ass is more than i could count,”

“so he was always a piece of shit?” sanji joked, pleased when he heard [name]’s laughter echo in the kitchen.

“always!” [name] said, in confirmation.

“not hard to believe,” sanji hummed. but then as he was throwing in the pieces of diced up meat into the boiling stew, he felt a smidge of curiosity fill him. “so, how did you catch this? they’re marine life, aren’t they?”

“oh yeah, i plucked them up out of the water!” [name] said in a carefree manner.

“with your hands?” sanji asked, eyebrow raising up in shock.

“no, like this!” [name] simply moved his finger up and sanji was lifted off of the ground for a short moment. before [name] moved his finger back down and sanji’s feet were on the floor once again.

“what the hell was that!?”

“my power!” [name] said in a whimsical voice, before his smile fell into an unsure look on his face, “but i don’t really like it,”

“what is the power exactly?!” sanji shouted, still in stupor of how exactly that worked.

“eh, it’s a long story, though, and i’m hungry,” [name] whined, hoping sanji would drop the subject.

“that’s too outlandish to not think about,” sanji said, but seeing the hungry look on [name]’s face, he simply shook his head and turned back to the stove, “whatever, don’t do that again, though, it was weird,”

“it is weird, isn’t it?” [name] hummed, a smile on his face, but the tone he spoke with was rather off putting. sanji didn’t reply, not wanting to push the subject further.

the two continued to talk about several unrelated things, killing time as the food was not done yet.

[name] liked the atmosphere, and sanji would rather die to admit it, but he enjoyed it as well. getting to just talk to [name], and vice versa, was relaxing. it was funny though, whenever [name] would say something particularly funny just to rile the blonde up and sanji would have an outburst at him.

“hm, i wonder where the others are,” [name] said, licking his lips as he finished off the stew that was in his bowl. it was completely licked clean, making sanji huff in annoyance at the mess all around his face.

he used a napkin to clean the remainder of the food splashed across [name]’s cheeks, making the man grin in glee, “thanks, sanji!”

“maybe if you didn’t eat like a slob you wouldn’t have to thank me,” sanji sighed, folding the napkin and placing it back on the table. “but, that is a good question. the others should have been back by now.”

[name] looked at sanji in interest as the chef walked out of the kitchen. on instinct, he followed after him and made sure to take one last sip of water before leaving.

“ooh, are we going to look for them?”

“see if there’s something wrong, yeah,” sanji confirmed, jumping off of the side of the ship and [name] following after him.

“but the islands so big, we should just wait there for them,” [name] argued, but it seemed he wasn’t really fighting the idea of exploring as he was following sanji.

“if any harm came onto nami-swan or vivi-chwan and i was just back there on the ship sitting on my ass, i think i’d kill myself,” sanji said stoically, making [name] laugh at his seriousness.

“you really love women, huh?”

“women!” sanji shouted, pointing a finger at [name] and jabbing it into his forehead, “are the most prized beings to walk this earth! except maybe mermaids…! but!!! nami-swan and vivi-chwan are the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid eyes on and i will die to protect them both!”

[name] laughed at the public display of one-sided affection and nodded his head mindlessly.

“are you saying you wouldn’t lay down your life to protect a woman?! that’s a shame for any man to admit!” sanji chastised, blowing out the smoke of his cigarette.

“i’m not saying i wouldn’t, but i’d need a reason,” [name] said, actually thinking about his answer, “i feel like - i would for nami since she’s apart of the crew, plus she’s a good navigator,”

“she’s the best, most beautiful navigator!” sanji reinforced, casually kicking down some plants that were in their way.

“vivi, hmm, i don’t really know her well, but she seems like a good and honest woman who cares for her people,” [name] thought out loud, “i’d try to not die if i had to save her,”

“vivi-chwan is the most selfless person on our ship! and she’s beautiful!” sanji proclaimed.

“you sure love calling them beautiful,” [name] chuckled, making sanji whip his head around with a glare. immediately, to dodge sanji’s fury, he spoke again, “not that i disagree, but maybe you should try a differnet approach in flattering them. if they hear the same nonsensical compliments given to them, that you give to any woman you see, you’ll simply seem like a…sleeze!”

sanji’s eyes twitched at the point [name] made and in retaliation, he simply brought his leg down to his [name] on the head.

“but i was just telling the truth!”

“i don’t want to hear any advice regarding women when it comes to you!” sanji shouted, waving his hand.

“hey, i know a whole lot about woman!” [name] argued, crossing his arms over his chest.

“right, right,” sanji said, not believing him.

“i’m telling the truth! there’s a very kind woman that taught me everything i need to know about respecting women back on my home island!” [name] said, but sanji wasn’t really listening. it seemed [name]’s defenses were going in one ear and out the other.

and just when [name] was going to continue fighting for his case, sanji stopped suddenly, making him bump into sanji’s back.

“hah? what gives?” [name] said, an annoyed look on his face.

“what’s this thing doing here?” sanji said, making [name] peak around his head to see that there was an odd structure.

when [name] scanned it over, he realized that it was hardened wax in the shape of a home. inside there was a lovely tea set that was surrounding the table, but really nothing else.

“boring,” [name] said in disinterest, pushing against the walls to see just how sturdy the makeshift home was. when he then tried punching it, despite it making the ground shake beneath them, there was no cracking in the wall.

“don’t go causing a ruckus for no reason!” sanji scolded, kicking him in the head once more.

then suddenly, there was a ringing sound heard. [name] jumped at the familiar sound, looking around for where it was coming from.

“pura-pura-pura-pura,” the monotonous ring sounded off.

“sanji answer it,” [name] said, pointing at the box.

“i know, i know, move over!” sanji pushed [name] away from the box and picked up the den den mushi inside. after he brought up the talking end from the snail, he greeted the caller, “heya, you called the damn restaurant. you want reservations?”

[name] stiffled his laughter, listening in closely for the response.

“quit fooling around, dumbass,” the gruff voice on the other end warned, “aren’t you a bit late with your report?”

[name] frowned, not liking the tone. very rude, in his opinion.

“oh, a report? and who might i be talking to?” sanji said back, not taken aback by the caller at all.

“it’s me, mr. 0,”

this for some reason made sanji turn serious. [name] just blinked in confusion. it was silent on both ends for a while before mr.0 spoke up again, “it’s been days since i issued my last order. what’s going on?”

“why the silent treatment?” the voice continued. “have you eliminated Princess Vivi and The Straw Hats?”

[name] grimaced at the question, about to speak up against the caller before sanji clamped his mouth shut with his open palm.

“yeah mission complete,” sanji said in a carefree tone, “i got rid of everyone who found out about your secret, so there’s no need to go after them anymore,”

“good, as we speak the unluckies are on their way to confirm your mission is complete and to delivery a certain package,”

“unluckies? package?” sanji asked.

“an eternal pose that points to the alabasta kingdom,”

‘score!’ [name] thought to himself.

“you and miss golden week will head to alabasta, the time has come. we’re about to begin our most important operation. details will be given when you arrive on alabasta, wait for my orders.’

‘this guy sure likes speaking in riddles, i don’t like riddles,’ [name] said to himself, crossing his arms over his chest.

just as [name] finished his thought there was as sudden clanking behind him and when he turned around he saw two barrels of guns being pointed directly at him.

he looked at them boredly, especially when he saw the sea otter suddenly whip out sea shells with knives on the end as his weapon of choice.

[name] took ahold of sanji’s collar and threw him under the table to duck fof cover.

“didn’t i tell you i don’t need you looking out for me?!” sanji cried out in annoyance, but [name] paid him no mind. the two were now leaned against the overturned table as a cover.

“stupid bird!” [name] cursed out, looking over the table to see that he was out of bullets, it seems. “take care of the otter!”

“don’t order me around either, shit for brains!”

[name] kicked the table out and made sure it hit the bird in the face before advancing to the wax window. the bird had lost its balance and was currently outside of the wax home. so [name] looked at it in distaste, pointed his open palm at it, and then scrunched up his fist.

mimicking his actions, the bird then was formed into a tight ball and compressed to half of its size.

“leave us alone!” [name] shouted, bringing his arm up into the air - the bird unwillingly following it its trapped state - and than slamming his fist into the ground, causing the balled up bird to drop a couple of feet down into the soil.

even if that didn’t finish it off, there was no way it could escape now seeing as the hole was only the size of its balled up form. it didn’t even have an inch to move if it wanted to.

when [name] turned around, sanji was still speaking to mr. 0. with his newfound annoyance and slight rage, [name] had the urge to take the den den mushi and give mr. 0 a piece of his own mind.

but finally, the two were done talking and [name] was free to punch the wax wall in annoyance. this time it really did break under the pressure, “stupid animals! sanji, i’m hungry!”

“that doesn’t relate at all, shit for brains! plus, you just ate a whole feast back on the ship!” sanji sighed, rubbing his forehead to ease a possible headache. “let’s just go back and find vivi-chan and nami-san,”

_

[ .ᐟ ] i genuinely think sanji and [name]'s dynamic is going to be my favorite ever to write- because here is some ... WOMAN-obsessed GUY thats going to FALL IN LOVE with another GUY, it's gonna be so good and funny. hopefully i deliver the best slow burn that i can with this concept + i love sanji

[ .ᐟ ] "putting on my music while i'm watching the boys" = putting on my music while you're watching your loyal cook - cook (sanji) you a whole three course meal, just the two of you on the ship alone. 

ー

『 prev 』 ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🌊 ꒱ 『 next 』

[leejenowrld]

back to you is so good im getting pissed bc id have to wait for a while like three more chapters BUT its also like i’m so engrossed that it doesnt matter I JUST NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT😭😭😭 but im also about to rup my headd off

you’re such an amazing writer btw♥️ atp you should really make a career out of it like your shit is CRAZY it deserves to be published in a hardcover book😭😭

(ps. pls give a LITTLE spoiler😭)

this message is everything. everything. i need you to know that — you have no idea how much it means to me that you feel that engrossed, like you want to rip your head off (i am right there with you, fully bald, screaming at my own keyboard). that’s exactly the energy i want you to feel in this story. i’m lowkey feeling the same but i also don’t want ‘back to you’ to end😭😭😭

and your words about publishing?? i am clutching my heart. truly. the fact that you would say it deserves to be in hardcover — i am so deeply grateful you see this story in that way. i pour my whole chest into every scene, every twist, every moment between them, and knowing it’s reaching you like this makes every single second of it worth it.

now… your little (big) spoiler because you deserve it. (future me will regret this) i haven’t actually written anything yet but i have a lot of plans so this is what i was able to come up with in a few minutes lol it’s not something that will be in the fic but more so teasing an arc i want to heavily explore <3 brace yourselves. i warned you.

there was a time, in college, when karina would’ve done just about anything to get jaemin to look at her the way he looked at every other girl in the room. she played it cool, of course, always cool, never desperate — she had too much pride for that. but it was there, in the quiet ways she lingered near him at parties, in the sharp one-liners she threw across the room just to see if he’d catch them. she watched him slip away with girl after girl, all eager to feel his mouth on their necks, his hands under their skirts, while he brushed karina off with little more than a polite smile. not my type, he told her once, flat and unapologetic. not looking for something casual. and the worst part? he meant it. there was no game in his voice, no hidden tease. jaemin, for all his reputation, had always been the kind of man who guarded his real appetite behind a smirk and a mystery, keeping some parts of himself tightly leashed, some lines even he wouldn’t cross.

but time is cruel. time cracks men open from the inside. time makes a man into what he swore he’d never be.

years later, they find each other again, not at some reckless college party, but across the wide sweep of a new york gala, lights burning cold over them, city alive outside the glass walls. he’s not the boy she once knew, and she’s not the girl who used to chase his shadow. they’ve both sharpened into versions of themselves they couldn’t have imagined. jaemin’s a pediatric resident now — and it’s almost funny, almost, if you don’t look too close at the jagged edges underneath. he carries himself with that same rakish charm, that careless roll of his shoulders, but there’s a hard shine in his eyes that wasn’t there before. a man who never expected to become anyone’s hero but stumbled into it anyway, all rough edges and unexpected tenderness, a product of too much pain layered over too many sleepless nights. he’s seen things. felt things. and instead of softening him, it’s carved him into someone dangerous.

karina’s no less of a weapon. she’s cutthroat in the industry now, creative director for a luxury fashion house, her signature dripping off campaigns across the city skyline. she doesn't chase anymore — she commands. her gaze, when it lands on jaemin across the gala, is assessing, cool, full of the kind of quiet contempt only a woman who has moved on can wear convincingly. her heels click as she crosses to him, silk dress hugging her frame like it was poured over her skin, her voice smooth and razor-sharp when she stops beside him at the bar.

"i don’t do boys who used to fuck their way through half of campus," she says, lifting her glass to her lips, eyes never leaving his face. her words are deliberate. calculated. because she knows the irony cuts deepest here, now, when they’ve both become exactly what they once weren’t. jaemin, who once turned her down with a straight face, is now the man she assumed he was back then — loose, reckless, fucking anything that’ll have him just to feel something pulse beneath his skin.

his smirk twists wider, but there’s something fractured in it, something that nearly aches to look at if you pay too much attention. he raises his glass in return, toasts her cool gaze, and lets the weight of history pull the corner of his mouth higher. "good thing i’ve got the whole half left," he replies, low and rough, like gravel under velvet.

but it’s not cockiness, not really. it’s hunger. it’s regret, twisted into want. it’s the unspoken memory of all the times he brushed her off, and the sharp sting of knowing she doesn’t need him now, not the way she once did. she watches him, just watches, like she’s peeling him apart with her eyes alone, and for the first time — maybe ever — jaemin feels like he’s the one being hunted.

there’s a moment, right then, that catches between them like a live wire. it thrums with every unspoken thing, every missed chance, every burn they thought time had buried but never really cooled.

and they both feel it.

god, they feel it.

[mothofstars]

Epic: The Musical - Tier list to appease my autism

Epic is quite possibly my favourite musical of all time, and after the release of the Wisdom Saga, I really wanted to rank the songs and put my thoughts about them somewhere.

And I'm not about to spend 5 hours on this and not post it anywhere, so please enjoy my ramblings! From least favourite to most favourite, here is my Epic tier list!

30. Full Speed Ahead - Troy Saga

It's worth pointing out, I don't dislike any of these songs. I like all of the songs, and think they are all important and serve the overall musical. But this, for me, is a bit more of an 'establishing' song. It serves as exposition to get us from one place to another, both literally for the crew, and musically as we move from the emotional song of Just a Man to the more fun Open Arms.

29. Storm - Ocean Saga

This is also a little bit more of an exposition song, but for me I think this mix is stronger, I love the call and response, and for some reason still giggle when they all point towards the island in the sky!

28. Luck Runs Out - Ocean Saga

I like the way this shows the starts of the cracks forming between Ody and Eurylochus. Eurylochus, quite rightly, gets a little weirded out by the idea of climbing up to a floating island that has a potential god resting upon it. Ody on the other hand hasn't had the crap beaten out of him enough times yet, and still has the optimism that means he will do just that. You can hear a twinge of pain in Ody's voice as he realises that his second in command is starting to doubt his actions, all the while he is just doing his best to keep his crew together and alive.

27. Open Arms - Troy Saga

This song is great - What is there to say about this sweet boy that hasn't already been said? We all know and love him, and this song shows off that sweetness and love for life so well. However, this song is so much better when used in other songs to absolutely shatter your heart into a million tiny pieces as we all grieve our happy friend. This song is still strong, but I think its overall impact comes more from its use in other songs, rather than the original!

26. Polyphemus - Cyclops Saga

The brutality of this introduction to this saga is terrifying. I still get chills during the cyclops saga, and the turn at the end of the song is so well done. Each verse seems to add another layer of tension, and we feel like we are sneaking closer and closer to a conclusion that favours the crew, and then, we get stomped.

25. The Horse and the Infant - Troy Saga

This is one of the best openings to a musical - we know the main characters, we know what they want, and we know exactly where they all stand. This is achieved without too much wordy-ness and exposition, and just serves as a great and powerful introduction. Also, love how Ody is immediately humbled by being presented with a challenge he already struggles with, bringing him closer to the listener. I've been told by a few that if you have the prior context of the books that came before the Odyssy that the names being read out at the start is like a nice little round of references to previous stories - it's a shame this doesn't hit for me yet, as I am still learning quite a bit of the context surrounding this musical. For me, as well, there is just so much going on in this song, that my head spins a little lol.

24. Survive - Cyclops Saga

Very similarly to the Troy saga, the second song of the cyclops saga once again seems to have the aim of humbling Ody and making him closer to us, your average mortal, than a god. You can feel the genuine pain and fear in his voice as his friends fall, and the splashes and smashes of blood and club are poignant and painful to listen to. We get to see the tactician brain of his working to full speed, with a steady ticking in the background making it feel like Athena is right there with him, which is a lovely touch.

23. Remember Them - Cyclops Saga

Wow, this song is so strong and painful at the same time. The fade into the song, hearing Ody's mind snap straight into action and then him calling out to his friends with directions demonstrates his tactician brain and his ability to lead them really well, but also feels like he is also trying to guide the crew through the first big loss they will experience together. He steps right up, refocuses them, and gets shit done. Shame he didn't kill him, but this would be a very short story if he did!

22. Keep Your Friends Close - Ocean Saga

I am but a small, simple lesbian. The way Kira sings here just feels so nice and floaty, while also showing her more mischievous nature. The longing in Ody's voice as he sings for his family is so painful, and makes the next song hit so much harder. The promise of him being the same, knowing that not to be the case it heart-breaking. Also, give me more Winions. I need them as plushies please. Thank you.

21. Mutiny - Thunder Saga

The absolute gall of Eurylochus to be a massive fucking hypocrite and then pull out the line of "I'm starving my friend" with that much pain in his voice is breath-taking and incredible. He doesn't even feel like he really wants to betray Ody, but is just doing exactly what he thinks he needs to do to see another day. Little does he know. This song also suffers a little from the same problem I have with The Horse and The Infant - a lil too much going on

20. Ruthlessness - Ocean Saga

HELLO SIR! My goodness this mans vocals are so smooth but rough at the same time. The growl that he gives to his voice whilst still flowing the lyrics together so musically is just so impressive. And the background instrumentation imitating the crashing of waves against the ship is *chefs kiss*. And then..... ALL I GOTTA DO IS OPEN THIS BAG!!!!!! I think this song might rate higher for me if I didn't end it with the most tonal whiplash ever. It's hilarious, don't get me wrong. But my gods, does it pull me out of the song a little bit lol.

19. Different Beast - Thunder Saga

The way I jumped out of my seat when I first listened to this saga, admittedly at 6am, I think I could have punched a hole in the roof were I less vertically challenged. He means business, this song shows that, and gods is it good. The small plea for mercy from the sirens who feel like they already know the answer, and the ruthlessness of his response. Hey look, he is learning!...

18. Puppeteer - Circe Saga

A woman. What? She had me in just one song. I would thank her if she turned me into a pig. Her vocals are perfection, the chanting of her power, the way she can hypnotise a whole crew. I find it interesting too, how just the promise of a warm meal and a safe place, even if it might be a trick, is enough to pull the crew into her arms. They may be under her spell, but part of me thinks so may have chosen this if given the option.

17. Wouldn't You Like - Circe Saga

Look, all I'm saying is that it was very telling that the day after the Circe sage came out that my Spotify started filling up with TROY's music. He is amazing, plays the character in the best way I have seen bar none so far. And that fur coat and sunglasses?! What a look. Also its funny hearing a British phrase as a plant name.

16. The Underworld - Underworld Saga

Jorge please, my face is stained from tears shed in this song. Every single time I listen to this I shed at least 3 tears. It's like a subscription cost of pain in return for a song that is as moving as it is powerful and reflective. The call backs to the previous sings are haunting, no pun intended, and the choice to have his own mother play Ody's mother is genius, and I hate and love it. As someone who has lost a connection to their own mother, it always makes me tear up as he yearns to be with her again, and shows the regret in his voice that he never got to say goodbye.

15 and 14. Done For *and* There Are Other Ways - Circe Saga

I cannot separate these two songs in my mind. Not only do they flow from one to the other perfectly, but they just do such a good job of leading us from a battle of power to a battle of the mind, with the flowing, seductive vocals from Talya and the trance of the music behind it. Again, I would have absolutely stayed with her, I am weak. I like to think my wife would forgive me!

13. Little Wolf - Wisdom Saga

Little wolf is such a good song because, even without Athena, the vocals are just so damn crisp and punchy. When I saw that the animatic in the livestream showcase was a streetfighter style animation, it made perfect sense - the punch of the beat and the chanting of the team behind the enemy works so well. And then, my goddess arrives to swoop in and steal my heart. She has clearly grown in the last few sagas and years that have passed, and I think this introduction of her back into the musical does a great job doing that. She comes in, bestows wisdom, helps a kid kick some ass, and with it once again confirms my status as a lesbian.

12. Just a Man - Troy Saga

This. Is. Heart-breaking. I'm sure that many people have the same reaction to this, but as the beginning of Ody's journey, it just hits so hard. Him recalling his own young son, and then knowing how long they will be apart makes it even more impactful. The change of pacing from the lullaby of the first part, to the painful growl in his voice as his questions his actions and realises that he has done is just pain.

11. Monster - Underworld Saga

This was so hard to pick apart from I'm Just a Man. I love them both. The only reason this stands a little higher is the overall arc from the song that precedes this one into it is a little stronger, and I love the complete rage in his voice. He did all this, tried to do right by his crew and his wife, and is told by the man who he thinks will help him get home that "yeaaah nah you are absolutely fucked, have you seen yourself recently?!". Yeah, I would sing like this too. He can see where he went wrong, and this acts as a really nice turning point for him going forward. If he is going to be seen as a changed man, who's ruthless actions will hurt those him around him, he might as well go all in. he is the monster ra ra ra

10. Suffering - Thunder Saga

Jorge tucking his hair behind his ear. End of review. No but really, this is great. I know he did a TikTok on this, but the way the lyrics flow into each other to create this hypnotising melody is just breath-taking, and I will never forget the moment of 'wait hold up what is happening' the first time I listened to this song. First I thought that this was dream Penelope, back from her saga with the windy bag, and then was genuinely taken back by references to a daughter. oh no

9. Thunder Bringer - Thunder Saga

I get a bit annoyed, very stupidly, when I cannot sing along to a song I really like. It's one thing I love about listening to musicals, is learning the songs and then performing them to mu plushies in a vague attempt to satisfy the very anxious performer that lives inside me. Which means that a lot of my favourite songs are ones that fit within my vocal range, that i can sing along to. This one is so far outside of my vocal range, it might as well be on a whole other plane of existence. But my gods do I absolutely adore this song none the less. How can the asshole that is Zeus sound so fucking cool while being this much of a dick towards women while flipping off Ody in the background. This song is just an ego flex. Good job Luke Holt. Fuck Zeus.

8. My Goodbye - Cyclops Saga

I really like the way this song shows the 'youth', for want of a better word, of Athena and the impact on Ody's actions on her and its just so good. The vocals show so much of their pain and anger, and the mix is just perfect. The contrast is Ody screaming at her and then the genuine pain in her voice, the impact of her responsibility as a god is so good. No words can properly do this song justice. The best part is, neither of them are correct here. If they had just sat down and had a chat like grown ups they might have stayed alongside each other, but both think that their actions are the correct one, and i cannot entirely disagree with either response.

7. We'll Be Fine - Wisdom Saga

Kinda loving that most of the Athena songs are all sat together. It makes me so happy. The absolute sobbing that erupted from my eyes, nose and mouth during this song would have probably classed as a downpour. I love both of these characters so much, and Athena's vocals at the start are so heart-breaking and bittersweet, followed by the most heart-warming duet that has ever graced my ears. Also, the childlike joy and wonder behind the vocals from Telemachus are so beautiful and cute, and I would fight for him!!

6. Warrior of the Mind - Troy Saga

Ah, Athena, my beloved. I would perish for you in a heartbeat. I just love the heart that Teagan gives her through her performance - its so warm and playful in the introduction part, and they both almost feel like each others hype, its fantastic! It's also a great way to show off the influence that she has over Ody - she puts herself right in the centre, reminding him exactly why she respects him so much, while affirming her stance on his training.

5. Legendary - Wisdom Saga

Miguel's casting was one of the most perfect ones in this history of this musical. Not only because of his incredible vocals, but because they fit so perfectly with Jorge's. I can fully picture this kid and his dad together, their voices sound so much like each others, just like a younger version. This song is the perfect match of catchy and smooth, and it just soothes my brain perfectly. Special credit to the retort to Antinous about his mother. This is the perfect opening to one of the best sagas we have been gifted yet. Side note - I cannot wait to see Antinous get absolutely stomped into the ground (please gods tell me he does or I will never sleep at night) because my goodness, what a line delivery. I will throw this man. Protect Telemachus, throw Antinous off a roof like the baby, and someone get Argos a new toy.

4. God Games - Wisdom Saga

I'm not someone who listens to the demo's much (bar listening to Hermes laugh on repeat, and occasionally looking up lyrics). I like that they are out there, and my wife absolutely adores them, but I prefer to wait till the full release so I can listen to everything with a full cast and mix. Did that stop me from having over 20 videos of different people lip-syncing to the bits of Hera for this song, making me look like the thirstiest person in my area. No. I don't think that this song could be anywhere other than my top three. All the singers are incredible, all of the animatics are incredible (special shout out to Athena disco dancing into madness) and I wept like a baby when it was over.

3. No Longer You - Underworld Saga

This song is perfect. I have no notes. This is where my true top songs really begins. This song is so passionate while not straying into anger (outside of Jorge's owl impression that is), while at the same making the prophet sound entirely distant, almost uncaring. It's an added bonus that this song sits right near the bottom of my vocal range and so serves for great belting material when I need to let out feelings.

2. Scylla - Thunder Saga

This saga did an amazing job of making me absolutely loose my mind with every single one of its songs. Not all of them are what I would regard as my favourites, nor would I even say that this is necessarily my favourite saga (I think we can all guess which one is), but my gods can Scylla absolutely take my life. This song is perfect - The slow introduction into the absolutely mind bending vocals from KJ, with the growl of a monster and the voice of a monarch. Its incredible, and I will forever be trying to sing this just as half as well as they do.

1 . Love in Paradise - Wisdom Saga

I wish I could write all of the words that this song deserves, but I'm sobbing too much to focus, so you will have to deal with whatever I have that i can see behind this waterfall of tears. Athena travelling through the previous sagas and reliving all the pain that Ody went through sent me into a state to begin with. And then, Calypso arrives and reminds me how gay I am. I want to go to her island and give her hug. If it weren't for the animatic, and the little face that she makes when she finds out Ody is married, I wouldn't have stopped crying for a single second. Her intension aren't pure. She is desperate, she is alone, she is sad. She is very morally grey. All she wants is someone to soothe her, and in turn she tries to relieve his pain. It's important to note here that, outside of looking up her future songs, I have very little knowledge about Calypso. For me, based on the lyrics we have from "Not Sorry For Loving You", she seems to have been forced to remain on this island for hundreds of years with no contact. Is what she does to Ody horrible - yes. Do I think she wants to hurt him -no. And I also don't believe that she is trying to manipulate him to get off the ledge just so she can have her lover back - I read this as someone who is in love and trying their best to make them happy and keep them safe. Ody couldn't leave the island, and she couldn't let him be free, they have to ask Zeus for that. Not to get too deep, but her crying out to Ody makes me melt every time. The gut retching pain from Ody drying out for all those he has lost and who he thinks he will never see again is haunting. Give me a year and the ability to remove my fear of thousands of needle pokes, I will probably get the line "Life would be so much worse if you had died" nicely printed onto my body. This is the perfect song to top off all the other perfect songs here. I cannot express how much this song means to me.

Thank you, Jorge.

To give a summery, here are the Saga's ranked!

1 . Wisdom 2 . Underworld 3 . Thunder 4 . Circe 5 . Cyclops 6 . Troy 7 . Ocean