#and you dear reader are the audience

[fishparasite]

i think i need to do something for my friend

[shybluebirdninja]

Public Heat

Summary: Logan’s wild side takes over as he fucks you onto the balcony.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Human!Fem-reader Note               : exhibitionism sex, smut

The cool night air hit your skin, but the heat between you and Logan was enough to set the whole city on fire. You barely had time to think before you were pushed up against the railing of your balcony, Logan’s rough hands already pulling at your clothes, his growl rumbling through the darkness.

“Logan, we’re—” you started, glancing down at the street below, the lights of the city glowing, people walking by completely unaware of what was about to happen. But Logan didn’t care. He wasn’t the type to give a damn about who could see or who might hear. In fact, the thought of it seemed to turn him on more.

“You worried about a little audience, sweetheart?” he rasped into your ear, his voice dripping with that familiar roughness that always sent a shiver down your spine. His hands gripped your waist, spinning you around until your chest was pressed against the cold metal railing. The city was spread out below you like a playground, and here you were, at the mercy of this feral man.

Before you could say anything, Logan’s hands were on you again, tugging at your pants, rough and impatient, and you couldn’t help but moan as he peeled them down. The cool night air hit your exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat burning inside you, but you didn’t care. Not when Logan was behind you, his body pressed so close, his breath hot against your neck.

“You’re soaked already,” he growled, his hands running over your bare ass, squeezing possessively. “You like this, huh? Knowing anyone could look up and see you get fucked by me.”

You could barely respond, your mind spinning from the intensity, but your body gave him all the answers he needed. You pushed back against him, craving more, craving everything, and Logan’s low, dirty chuckle told you that he knew exactly what you wanted.

“That’s my girl,” he muttered, and before you could catch your breath, he slammed his dick into you, hard and deep. The force of it made you gasp, your hands gripping the railing for dear life as Logan started moving, not caring at all who might be watching.

The way he fucked you was wild, reckless, like he couldn’t hold back anymore, and the thought of people walking below, just a glance up and they’d see you like this, only made it hotter. Logan’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air. You could barely think, barely breathe, the only thing you could focus on was the way he felt inside you, the way he owned every inch of your body.

“Goddamn, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” Logan growled, his voice rough with lust. His hands slid up your back, pushing your chest further against the railing, arching you even more so he could bury himself deeper, harder. “You love this, don’t you? Letting everyone see how good you take it.”

You moaned, your body shaking with the intensity of it all, and Logan’s pace only quickened, his cock slamming into you over and over, making sure you felt every inch of him. The thrill of being so exposed, knowing anyone could see, made it impossible to hold back, and you could feel your orgasm building fast, your body tightening around him.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasped, barely able to form words, but Logan wasn’t stopping, wasn’t slowing down. He was relentless, his hands gripping your hips so hard you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow. But that was the last thing on your mind now.

The tension in your body snapped, and you came hard, your legs trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Logan growled in satisfaction, his hips slamming into you one last time as he chased his own release. You could feel him throbbing inside you, and then, with a deep, primal grunt, he came, filling you up as he held you tight against the railing.

For a moment, neither of you moved, just standing there, bodies pressed together, both of you trying to catch your breath. The sounds of the city below seemed distant, almost unreal, as you slowly came down from the high of it all.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he chuckled softly. “Think anyone saw?”

[fics-lovebot]

enhypen fic recs

main masterlist

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

i´ll be constantly updating this list so make sure to check it out often for new recs

pls remember to reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

LAST UPDATED: 21/12/2024 ( the ones with the ** are the last ones added!)

poly / ot7

**brought the heat back - ( @neos127 ) toxic!enha, listen,,,,SÑDFLHSÑDJFH the sunghoon one had me giggling at my laptop like a gremlin omg

their s/o falls asleep waiting for them - ( @heeliopheelia ) fluffFFYY

you take your engagement ring off during an argument - ( @heeliopheelia ) angst, love it

come back to me..please - ( @thinemoonshine ) text, angst, they want you back after they messed up but you´re over it. I read this when i want a lil angsty angst bc there´s a lot of begging and shi

leche of the sirens - ( @thinemoonshine ) dark romance, mature themes, revharem, obssesive and possesive behaviour, corrupt nobles!enha, siren!reader. GRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (insert that one pic of a werewolf ripping his shirt) THIS IS THE BEST THING I´VE READ IN A HOT MINUTEEEEEE!!!!! omg I literally DEVOURED this

you´re short - ( @nikrangdan ) fluff, crack, love itttttt

when you block them from your spam acc - ( @heeslomll ) text, fluff, crack, THIS IS SO FUCKFIJR FUNNY LMAO

"i wanna break up" prank hyung ver , maknes ver- ( @luvrseung ) text, crack, JAY IS MY KIND OF MANNNN, and riki LMAOOOO why is he like that.

makeup voiceovers - ( @kairoot ) fluff, crack, this is so creative omg, I love itttttttt

possessive - ( @kairoot ) text, fluff, crack, DKJSADKJHKASD so fun to read

dear husband - ( @atrirose ) fluff, you doing that one tiktoktrend where you call them husband outta nowhere, so cuteee

pretty boy - ( @atrirose ) fluff, tiktok trend where you call them "pretty boy"

exe.enhaboy_stopped_working.exe - ( @star-sim ) fluff, making them flustered. the Jay and Ni-ki ones are my favsss

is your girlfriend single? maknea line, hyung line - ( @star-sim ) fluff, crack, youtuber! non-idol bf! enhypen. when your youtuber bf finally shows you for the first time to his audience and the chat starts simping. PLSSSSSSSSSSSS READ IT, ITS SO GOOODDDD

"i want to break up" prank - ( @enha-stars ) text, crack. "wanna hear it in spanish? NOH" LDSJHFSJFDH WHY WOULD HE-

"we´d make a cute couple" - ( @sainns ) text, fluff, crack. NOT jay asking at what time u had a thought last night so he can be prepared lmao

“If you were walking past a strawberry field and you were very hungry, would you eat a strawberry?” - ( @luvrseung ) text, fluff, crack, heesung aint even know wtf he did lmao

hands - ( @cypherchii ) text, crack, enha legal line. "aint nobody looking at that", the sunghoon one .... no bc author is so real for that

another man paying for your nails - ( @joysbaereal ) text, fluff, crack, JAYYYYYY once again being the standard

a little less scandalous - ( @bywons ) fluff, suggestive, bad boy!enha

"i miss being single" prank hyung line - ( @joysbaereal ) text, fluff, very suggestive, sunghoon needs to chill out LMAO.

for their doll - ( @dioll ) fluff, enha hyung line. items the´d have in their car just for you, soooo cuteeeeee :(((((

the other man?? - ( @thinemoonshine ) text, jealousy, crack, they are NOT about to let their girlfriend be in the same vicinity or presence of another man—especially, not one-on-one.

brought the heat back - ( @neos127 ) toxic!enha, highschool au, the sunghoon one was sexy ngl LFJSDFKJSH

sending them dirty texts while being surrounded by family - ( @heejake-hoon ) hyung line, VVERY suggestive. SDLFKJLDKJFH STOPPP I HAD TO PUT MY PHONE ASIDE WITH THE JAY AND SUNGHOON ONES,,"Be careful what you wish for, baby girl… you know damn well this dick doesn’t play fair." HAD ME TEARING UPPP

charmed by her - ( @xoamiiren ) noona!reader, younger bf!enha, BC WHY DID HEESUGN AND JAY HAD ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET

give you the world (when you pout) - ( @okwonyo ) fluff, e.r NAURRR, NOT JAY CALLING HER "MY HEART" i lit threw my phone across my room, and sunghoon omg :(((( so fluffy

experienced vs inexperienced - ( @p4ranormaluv ) "which enha member wants someone inexperienced and which want someone experienced?" i 100% agree with this take and gawddd i have a thing for swtich!jake

blinded by your lethal face card - ( @blairbliss ) fluff, KSHKDFJHSKH stoooop this had me blushing n shii

**dress to impress? - ( @mlyscha ) crack, fluff, ASKJHS I LOVE THISSSSS, it´s so fun, JAY WAS SO OUTTA POCKET LMAO HAD ME LAUGHING OUT LOUD, thank god i was alone in my room or else

**did i rizz you up? - ( @wonryllis ) fluff, lowkey suggestive, STOPPPP THIS IS SO SDFLJKHLSH omg the niki one had me blushing idk idk AND DONT GET ME STARTED ON JUNGWONNN, that´s a man fr

**randomly giving them a rose on the street - ( @wonryllis ) fluff, omg???? i need a whole series based on this, so good

**tempting them during no nut november - ( @wonryllis ) smut, hyung line only, the sunghoon one is my favvvv

**when on your period - ( @fatalhoon ) bf!enha, fluff :((, PLEASEE YOUR HONOR I´M IN LOVE WITH 7 MEN! this is so amazing

**accidentally confessed - ( @sungbeams ) text, fluff, crack, this is so FUNNY !!! kjsfhksjfhd i loved it sm

**when you´re interested in league of legends - ( @heejamas ) texts, crack, fluff. HEESEUNG IS SO !!!!!!!!! LMAOOO i believe that would be him fr

**their 3yo daughter being angry at them - ( @yoursjaeyun ) crack, fluff, dad!enha hyung line, PLEASEEEEE they are so girl dad material :((, especially jay and hoon, i just know it

heesung

ex-bf! heesung texts - ( @fakeuwus ) crack, fluff, he´s SIMPIIINNGG

down bad - ( @boyfhee ) texts, crack, loser!hee, ITS SO FUNNY BC HE´S WEIRF AF UNPROVOKED SDFJS

hopeless - ( @star-sim ) FLUFF, emo!heesung, horrendously down bad! heeseung, cute sweet!reader. absolutely no one would have expected the dark, brooding, and rough heeseung lee to be hopelessly head over heels in love with the sweet, oblivious you. AAAAA THIS IS SO CUTEEEEEE

who r u? - ( @jlheon ) fluff, you and heesung are in situationship but none of the members knew your knew, so they make up all these plans to lowkey figure it out. this was soooo entertaining lmao, i loved it

**sex addict - ( @heesimp ) smut,,,,wow, i had never read anything involving the sex addict trope, like ever, this is so gggooooddddddd

jay

random texts with bf!jay - ( @enha-stars )

too sweet - ( @star-sim ) fluff, suggestive, badboy!jake, nerdy!reader, downbad!jake. Jay is scared he will hurt you in the future so he tries to break things off but at the end of the day he´s whipped LMAOOO, I LOVE ITTTTTT

say it back! - ( @star-sim ) FLUFF, non-idol! bf! jay, clingy cute!reader, whipped!jake, like fr, UGHHHHHHHH SO CUTE AND DOMESTIC

pics i posted on my ig story for my crush to see - ( @lattegyu ) ig stories, fluff, crack, smau, non idol!jay

pictures of bf!jay enha send you - ( @ddksoo ) text, fluff

justice and mercy - ( @thoughtsofmetaphor ) god!jay park x virgin!reader, NAHHHH the potential rev harem this had is insaneee, i love it

eat the rich - ( @enhypencores )chaebol!jay x fem!reader, wheeeewww, i love this sfdlsdjfljkshd he´s so manly and possessive

jake

fuck buddy jake - ( @heeseungsbm ) smut, lowkey fluff bc he´s got a fat crush

texts with ex-bf!jake - ( @bywons ) fluff, CRACK, he´s down bad fr

pictures of bf!jake enha send you - ( @ddksoo ) text, fluff

pics i posted on my ig story for my crush to see - ( @lattegyu ) ig stories, fluff, crack, smau, non idol!jake

brought the heat back - ( @jayniks ) smut, idol!jake, giving him a bj while he´s on weverse live sdlkjlsd WHEWW

hello kitty meets batman - ( @star-sim ) fluff, angst, lowkey smut, dark horror creator youtuber!jake, downbad!jake, beauty vlogger youtuber!reader. fans had no idea their fav youtubers were in a long-term secret relationship. THIS IS SO GOOOOOODDDDDDDD plsss, i wish i could read it again for the first time

things we never said - ( @hoonigiris ) very angsty. it’s heeseung’s wedding, jake’s had too much to drink, and really, he just misses you. perhaps what happens after are the things he should never say. This is realllyy well written, i loved it

clingy bf jake - ( @onyourmarkks ) PLSSS i want him so bad :((((((( he´s so bf

taste of heaven - ( @moonstruck-muses ) vamp au, smut, fluff, angst, vamp!jake, human!reader. he´s keeping his true nature a secret. THIS HAS IT ALLLLL and the smut is so gewd too, pls i would love the see another part of this

grwm to break up with my bf prank - ( @jaeyunwon ) fluff, LSDJFLSKJ JAKE WAS HEATED, so cute

**waiting on calls - ( @miumura ) fluff, angst, exes to lovers, second chance romance, ex bf!jake, non idol au, I LOVE THISSSSSSS, its so different and well written

**ouch my head - ( @jakesangel ) smau, crack, fluff, "when y/n almost gets hit by a random hot basketball player who happens to have a huge crush on he" this is an on going series, so so so entertaining and fun to read lmao

**everything but nothing - ( @cherryrikis ) ANGST (i love that shii), non-idol!au, break up talk, football cap!jake, fluffy happy ending, comfort, i rrrreally wished i could read what the rest of enha did to make yn go back to her and jake´s house omg

sunghoon

texting bf!sunghoon - ( @heeslomll ) text, fluff, crack, HE´S SO UNHINGED LMAO

texting bf!sunghoon - ( @heeslomll )text, THEY ARE HORNY AFFFFFF

**long distance bf text - ( @cupidhoons ) FLUFF, long distance relationship, idol!hoon, UUUHHHHHGGGGGG THIS IS SO !!!!!!!! :( pls when is it my turn to be happy

**unblock me! - ( @okwonyo ) smau, ex bf!hoon, THIS IS SO FUNNY PLSSSSS, i love me some desperte simp hoon

texts with ex-bf!sunghoon - ( @saursoob ) text, crack

sunghoon as your downbad bf - ( @jaeyunwrld ) text, crack, fluff

random ass texts - ( ( @saursoob ) fluff, crack, downbad!hoon

freaky bf!hoon texts - ( @enha-stars ) fluff, crack, very suggestive, downbad!hoon, mentions of pee kink,,,IKYFL

pictures of bf!sunghoon enha sends you - ( @enha-stars ) text, fluff

emergency contact - ( @hoonatic ) ANGSTYYYYYYYYY, fluff, exes to lovers. weeks after your breakup, sunghoon finds out that he’s still your emergency contact. i love it SO fucking MUCH plssss

the pussy eating competition - ( @karinasbaby ) smut, HELLO???? THIS WHOLE CONCEPT IS CRAAZZZYYYYYYYYY, bc WDYM there´s a competition of how many times a guy can make a girl squirt under 5 minutes??????? IM- it´s good yall

crush - ( @star-sim ) fluff, crack, non-idol! bf! sunghoon, sleepy!hoon, dumb!hoon. AAAAAAAAA i love it :( so domestic and fun and cute and :((((((

without words - ( @slytherinshua ) fluff, PLEASEE I NEED HIMMMMMMM :(((((((((( they´re so in love

**sidewalk theory - ( @mlyscha ) FLUff, bf!sunghoon,, wowww ahaha so WHAT IF KMS RN AND CHANGED THE TRAJECTORY OF EVERYONES LIFE?????? THIS IS SO LDKFJHSKDFHLKSJHDLKGSHJGHL :((( miss girl this made me want to ugly cry and scream bc why is it so fucking cute :(((((((((((

**fixed comfort - ( @paarksunghoon ) fluff, non-idol!hoon, "the one where sunghoon’s drunk at a bar and misses his girlfriend a little too much",,, SSSSSSO WHAT IF I TELL YALL THiS IS THE MOST SLICE OF LIFE-ISH AU I´VE EVER READ?????? it´s so domestic and cute and fluffy and perfect :((

sunoo

espresso - ( @star-sim ) dark academia au, downbad!sunoo, loser!sunoo nerd!sunoo, popular!reader, lots of sexual frustration. I LOVE ITTTTTTTTTT SMMM

please come back - ( @alvojake ) angst, fem!reader, car accident, death themes, this is perfect for one of those days you want to feel pAIN

jungwon

july jewels and music notes - ( @atrirose ) text, fluff, crack simp!jungwon. LOVE THIS, it makes me cackle

too much, baby? - ( @onlygarden ) smut, dom!jungwon, noona!reader, lowkey size kink, dacryphilia, overstimulation. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHAT IS THISSSSFHDFHSKDJ

xo (only if you say yes ) - ( @rinanextdoor ) fluff, popular!jungwoon, secret admirer!reader, PLSSSS i need to read the next parts, it´s so good. I can only IMAGINE to fluff

act a fool - ( @thoughtsofmetaphor ) street racer!won x member's little sister!reader. nahhhh this needs a whole kdrama, reader is so cool

not for sale - ( @thoughtsofmetaphor ) droid!yang jungwon, parts shop owner!reader, THIS IS CRAZZZZYYYYYYY, the way he switched up one reader after she was done fixing him i-

ni-ki

disclaimer: he may be 18+ but I don´t feel comfortable reading any smut about him, so there won´t be any listed in here

**tsundere boyfriend - ( @cupidhoons ) text au, FLUFF, bf!riki, i WHOLEHEARTEDLY BELIEVE HE´S LIKE THIS i wanna die :(

sweater - ( @star-sim )fluff, angst, hurt-comfort, non idol bf!riki, happy ending, he gets insecure bc he doesnt recgonaize the sweater you´re wearing,

boys night - ( @star-sim )fluff, crack, non idol!riki, where his six friends tries to help him text his school crush. I LOVE THISSS, such a fun read

random texts with bf!riki - ( @sainns ) fluff, CRACK, "if u were my ex i wouldnt get over u, i would start tweaking like austin mcbroom" LMAOOOO he´s so real for tar

pics i posted on my ig story for my crush to see - ( @lattegyu ) ig stories, fluff, crack, smau, non idol!riki

gamer!bf riki - ( @alvojake ) FLUFF, IM GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET RN SDKFSLHSJDFH this was so CUTE

necklace - ( @rikiislvr ) fluff, idol!riki, i WISH this would happen to me but i´m too broke to be frequenting the same stores as him alsjfha, need a part two asap plss

[planet-dusk]

tw//cnc, coercion

jisungie and coercion in a cnc roleplay scenario has been plaguing my mind for a while... he's all "please, baby? it hurts... i know you want it, too, right? i'll be quick.. promise"

"just the tip, please, baby. i promise. i love you. need you so much. you love me, too, right?"

which he immediately disobeys and slides right in, "why're you so wet, baby? you really wanted this, didn't you?"

"let me cum inside, babe. it belongs in this pussy, doesn't it? you know that."

if u have anything to add i might pass away but no pressure. ily ! i'm glad you're back:)

maesie it's so good to see you,, i hope you're doing well! and leaving such a treat in my inbox? yum <33

🏷️ han jisung x fem!reader. cw ; cnc, free use, breeding, pet names: baby, babe, doll ( 692 w. )

minors dni. for mature audiences only !

jisung gets so desperate when he's needy, and he's just a tad too big for you to not feel the sting without any prep of his fingers; the thought alone makes you wet at the most inconvenient times. so you and jisung came to an agreement: you get to use each other, wherever, whenever. but that doesn't mean it isn't fun to push back a little. feed into his recklessness.

"not now, babe," you manoeuvrer between the spice rack and the stove with jisung clinging to your back. "i'm trying to make dinner here."

"but i need you, baby. i love you. you love me too, right? i need you so bad. please, it hurts," he pleads, bulge pressing thick and heavy against your ass. "just lemme grind against you for a second then, yeah? i'll be quick."

he lifts your skirt and grabs your hips, hungry, fingers making indents in the flesh. his leaking cock slides between your thighs, rubbing against your clothed clit with every rock of his hips.

"that's my girl, so good for me, fuck— i can feel you throbbing trough your panties, baby." he kisses your shoulder, his grip on your hips becoming more insistent. "let me put it in, please? i need to feel your pretty cunt around me. just the tip, okay?"

"sung, the food —"

"dinner can wait," he slides your panties down to your knees and you instinctively push your hips back. the gentle but demanding press of his hand between your shoulder blades lowers you over the kitchen counter. his cock prods at your hole, clumsily in his need, catching on the rim a few times.

the knot in your stomach tightens at the prospect of him entering you raw. it isn't the first time but you know how much the pretense of it riles him up.

"n-no sungie, wait, not without a condom..."

"it's just the tip, baby. i'll pull out, i promise. god, this tiny pussy," jisung groans when your walls give way slowly for the thick head of his cock. you whimper at the burn, caught between the counter and his hips with nowhere to go but take it.

"i know, doll, i know." he soothes you with a kiss to your nape. you gasp when he sinks in deeper, the sting bleeding into a dull throb when he hits that sweet spot nestled between your walls. "'m sorry, shit — this pussy's sucking me right in, baby, i can't help it. want me that bad, huh? you're such a liar."

"'m not," you shake your head, cunt clenching around him at the same time.

"i can feel how wet you are, baby, i know you need this too." his hips slam into yours and he wraps an arm around your chest to lift you up, his long curls tickling your ear. "let me cum inside, babe, it belongs in this pussy, doesn't it? you know that."

his other hand's on your clit now, and you won't last long this way. you're too far gone to give him a proper answer so you shake your head again, stammering a chorus of pleas and moans as your orgasm quickly approaches.

"then why're you creaming on my cock, baby? this tight fucking pussy's begging to be bred," jisung groans, "knows who she belongs to. do you, baby? c'mon, tell me."

he forces his cock as deep as he can and you shudder, holding onto the counter top for dear life as he fucks you towards the peak of oversensitivity.

"y-you," you start to ramble, "it's all yours, sungie-ah, please..."

jisung leaves sloppy kisses all over your neck and shoulder, mumbling filthy words of praise into your skin. "best pussy in the whole freakin' world, gonna fill you up so good, baby, until it's dripping down your legs..."

he cums with a final gasp of your name, then holds you close for a moment. "thank you. i love you," he whispers into your hair, and you squeal in surprise when he spins you around and drops to his knees in front of you.

jisung laughs and presses a kiss to your mound. "dessert first."

© planet-dusk do not copy, translate or repost my works.

[bayjaruchel]

Underneath The Strobe Light

－－－

Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're aware of your feelings for Mike, but you're unsure if he feels the same. A single late-night conversation changes everything. (4.2k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

Extra Notes: Posted October 29, 2023

－－－

You know Mike, sometimes. Mainly in bits and pieces. 

You know he has that poster of Nebraska above his bed; you know he's got a soft spot for terrible eighties cartoons. You know he likes his steak well done. Maybe it's generally useless information — but you've tucked it all away in a dear corner of your brain, in a well-worn cardboard box with his name scrawled fondly on the side in Sharpie. 

He's been busy nowadays, especially with his awful new job at that abandoned restaurant. You've always been there if he needs someone to watch over Abby. It's a strange juxtaposition— spending more and more time at his house, but spending less and less time actually talking to him. But you know he's exhausted, both mentally and physically. 

You don't expect much. You don't need much. Even though Mike's always offered to actually pay you for babysitting Abby, you've always declined. 

However— needing and wanting are two very different things. 

And you want. So, so much. 

Sitting here, on the couch in his living room, your mind always wanders back to him. Abby's a really nice kid, even if she's a little on the eccentric side. Whenever you're sitting with her, watching her draw or watching the television, you can't really focus on Mike. But now, with her safely put to bed … There's nothing to stop you. Nothing to distract you from the empty spot next to you on the couch. 

You blink, already bleary-eyed from the hour. There's some mediocre sitcom playing on the television. It's practically white noise, and you can feel yourself slowly but surely being lulled to sleep. The stubborn part of you wants to fight it. The tired part of you wants to just let it happen. You fumble for the remote instead, switching the channel. 

World News Now? 

Not bad, you think wryly, slumping back into the pillows. You liked the guy playing the accordion and singing about the news, polka-style. Hopefully they'll bring that back. Maybe large broadcasting networks actually do know their audiences. 

Yeah, no. 

You stifle a yawn, tugging your blanket a little tighter. The room's dark, so the only real sources of light are coming from the kitchen and the bluish glow of the television. The only sounds besides that of the T.V. are the occasional car passing by, joined by the gentle chorus of crickets. It's quiet, but not in a discomforting way. 

It's kind of perfect. Like your own little bubble in the world. Untouchable. Not until the sun rises, anyway. 

Your bubble suddenly pops when a car pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the pavement, and your heart skips. 

It couldn't be anyone else. 

About a minute later, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock. The door swings open and then shuts behind him. Softly. He knows Abby would wake up if he slammed it. Then there's the thump of him setting down his stuff— carelessly. 

The couch cushions squeak a little when Mike sits down next to you. Silently. He's gotten rid of that stupid security vest. 

"Hey," you offer. 

"Hi," he obliges. 

You're sure he's not really paying attention to the T.V. "How was work?" 

It's bland small talk at best, and brutally annoying at worst. But it's the only way to move into interesting conversation territory. And he didn't just trudge past you to go flop down on his bed, so you're assuming he does want to talk. You might pretend not to know, but you're well aware of his social life— or lack thereof. Everyone needs to talk, sometimes. 

"Pretty dull." Rolling his probably stiff shoulders, he lets out a small sound of discomfort. Sheepishly, he murmurs: "I kind of … I kind of just napped, to be honest." 

"Aren't you supposed to be a security guard?" You tease. "That's a really important job, you know. You have to stop all the dangerous teenagers from breaking in and spray-painting dicks on the walls." 

He huffs out something reminiscent of a laugh. "Honestly, the pay's too low to take it seriously." 

"And yet … " 

"There weren't any kids, okay?" Mike shakes his head. When you turn to look at him, though, he's smiling. It's faint, but it's there. "No dangerous teenagers that I had to fight off. It was fine." 

"Fine?" 

"Fine." 

You don't want to let the silence set in. 

"Oh, yeah, we finished the leftover spaghetti earlier. For dinner. I hope that's okay." 

"No, it's terrible," he deadpans. "I hate you." 

"Asshole." 

"Whatever." Mike snickers, and you bask in its gloriousness. "Yeah, it's okay. I know that I probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Did you, uh … " He pauses for a split second. "… Did you like it?" 

His tone makes you wonder, but you hastily brush it off. "Yeah, I did," you clarify, "the sauce was pretty great. Was it store-bought, or?" Because if it was, then where can I get it?

"Yup," he replies, popping the 'p'. "Great stuff, for something that's canned. But I always add a little more garlic powder, too." 

"Oh, really?" 

Mike hums an affirmation. "It's like magic, I'm telling you. Doesn't even take a lot to add flavor." 

"That's cool." You rustle with your blanket again, adjusting it more out of habit than anything else. That, and it's kind of cold. "I'll try and remember it for later." 

He's almost cheeky when he speaks. 

"It's life-changing." 

You can't help but snort. "You sound like an addict." 

Incredulously, he glances at you. "To what? Garlic powder?" 

"Pretty much, yeah." 

"I can't believe that you'd say that." He slowly shakes his head, for the second time in the span of roughly a minute. "Especially as someone who's experienced it firsthand—" 

"—you're the one talking about how life-changing it is—" 

"—you can't possibly ignore the irresistible savoriness of garlic powder." 

You look at one another for a moment. The sheer absurdity of the situation sets in all at once. And, well. He starts giggling, and you can't hold it in, either. How could you? Even though he looks at least part zombie, his eyes are still very much alive. Despite the blatant awkwardness and lingering shyness that always follows him around, he's still got a very contagious laugh.  

After you both calm down, he lets out a long sigh. 

"It's getting really late." 

You cling to what little stubbornness remains. "Yeah?" 

"Are you gonna head home?" 

Again, there's something there. Despite his nonchalant attitude, it's almost like— 

—but you're probably overthinking. Wouldn't be anything new. He has to get some rest, and so do you. The drowsiness repeatedly threatening to tug your eyelids closed is a testament to that. Normally, you'd just pass out on the couch or something, and take off early in the morning; before Mike and Abby wake up. But now, it's different. Now, you actually have to make a choice before your sleepy body makes it for you. 

"Um." You rub your eyes again. "I mean. I could, if it's bothering you—" 

"It's not." 

He interrupts you so quickly that it catches you off-guard. It seemingly catches him off-guard, too, judging by the way he promptly averts his gaze and pretends to care about the guy on the television going on about some sort of plumber strike in the city. 

"Oh." You need a second to process. "Oh, okay. Well, in that case … I don't really think that it'd be safe for me to drive right now." You laugh, a little too airily for it to be completely genuine. "I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel or something." At least that's the truth. "I'll just take the couch. As usual." 

"Okay," he says. He's back to murmuring. 

"And I'll be gone before you eat breakfast." Subconsciously, you're fiddling with the slightly frayed edges of the blanket. It's well-loved. "As usual." 

You think you hear him suck in a breath, seconds before: 

"Why don't you stay?"  

Your own breath stutters in your chest. 

"... what?" Is all you can manage, without horrifically humiliating yourself. 

"I mean," he rushes to correct himself, "you come by sometimes because you want to spend time with Abby— she likes you a lot, you know, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me . I think—" He's properly nervous now, his knee bouncing up and down. But he's already continuing before you can get a word in. "I think she'd like you to be here in the morning. And you don't accept pay, anyway. You just— won't." 

His nervousness is spreading to you. "Hey, I—" 

"Why are you here, anyway?" 

The question sounds like it's been a long time coming. He's demanding you now, brow furrowed and eyes sparking with emotion. "Is it out of pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you feel sorry for Abby? Because if you do, then— then you can just—" 

"It's not!" You exclaim. 

Immediately, you realize that there's a sleeping girl not too far away, and shamefully lower your voice. 

"... It's not, I promise. I just—" It takes a little while for you to gather the right words, and when you do, you don't drop your gaze from him. All of his previous frustration is all but gone, replaced by a slightly wide-eyed expression that's making your heart ache a little. "I genuinely really like spending time with Abby, okay? She's really sweet, and creative, and just a really great kid. And I—" 

You stop yourself. 

"And you what?" Mike asks, gently. 

Might as well, huh? 

"And I really like spending time with you, too," you admit, finally unable to meet his eyes and focusing on your lap instead. 

There's an incredibly tense beat, in which you swear your life flashes before your eyes. 

Then: 

He's barely audible when he speaks. His knee has stopped bouncing, but he's playing with his thumbs. Clearly, your confession— vague as it was— resonated with him, in some way. You hope he understands what you meant, because you couldn't possibly put it all into words in a way that would make sense. 

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters. 

Your head almost snaps up at that. Maybe you had expected it, deep down— you're not oblivious, duh— but it's one thing to have a hunch, and another to have that hunch proven. And out loud, no less. 

"Yeah?" You dare to ask. 

Slowly, he looks up. He meets your eyes. 

"Yeah," he repeats breathlessly, like the wind's been knocked out of him. 

You let your blanket fall from your shoulders, and it slides all the way onto the floor. 

You reach out. 

He lets you lace your fingers through his. 

Mike's palm is sort of clammy— and he's shaking a little— but he still squeezes your hand. On instinct, you guess. It still makes you smile. He doesn't return it, but his lips are parted a little, and you really, really like that. More than you probably should. You like a lot of things about him more than you probably should. 

You scooch a little closer, and he doesn't move away. You let your gaze drop back down to his lips again, making your intentions clear. Still, you don't know if it's clear enough. You lean in, just barely. 

"... Can I?" 

His reply is almost instantaneous. 

"Please."  

You swallow all of the witty quips you could make, and kiss him instead. 

He's very tentative at first. Like he hasn't done this for a while. But you ease him into it�� and before long, he's got one hand on the back of your neck, the other somewhere near your waist. He tastes like coffee and something else you can't really put your finger on. It doesn't really matter, though. Because you are kissing him, damnit! 

His eyes are still shut when you part— with a soft smack — but they flutter open after a second. You're not sure if you're supposed to say something meaningful. Luckily, he leans in instead, and your thoughts are immediately transported elsewhere. 

You kiss like this for a while. It's really nice, and you know he needs it. So do you. 

However— when you start losing track of time, lost in the moment, he makes a noise. 

It's quiet, definitely. But it's nothing like the little hums and sighs he's been making so far. It makes you shift closer, pressing more insistently into him. And he responds, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around you, closing the little distance between your bodies that there was. You can practically feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest when you slip your tongue past his already kiss-swollen lips. 

He moans.  

You indulge yourself. For a little longer. And Mike chases you when you part. 

"We shouldn't do this in the living room," you whisper, nearly panting. "The couch is a little—" 

"Okay," he whispers back, already sounding wrecked. "Okay." 

You've been in his room before. You've sat on his bed— you've even laid on it before. But you've never straddled him on it before. It's a position that makes your head spin a little, and you occupy yourself with kissing him again. His hands fit perfectly on your hips, but they don't stay there for long, tragically— they trail upwards, up your waist, to your back. To your shoulders, and then back down again. It's as if he just can't get enough. You can't either. You need more. 

So, you tug at his shirt. He gets the message right away— hands scrambling to pull it up and over his head. He's still rather slim, but with a slight softness, mostly located in his midsection. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, as well as the provocative happy trail leading down from his navel. You drag your eyes downward, admiring him, and then decide that you're wearing too much clothing. Your top comes off, dropped onto the floor near his. 

Mike takes more time to admire you when your torso is completely bare. His hands are warm on your bare skin, and slightly rough. Like before, he's hesitant at first, but when you encourage him— either literally or with physical indications— he grows bolder. His stubble scratches gently against you when his lips find your collarbone. 

You squirm a little, not even realizing it— and you feel him. Simultaneously, you both gasp. He's not fully there, but he's at least half-hard— and it can't be comfortable in those jeans. 

"Should I—" 

"Yeah—" 

With steady fingers, you unbutton his fly, and then unzip him. It's a little awkward when he shimmies out of the jeans, and when you wriggle out of your bottoms— you both snicker a little, but he's back to comfortably breathless when you settle back onto his lap. Under normal circumstances, you would tease him again. And yet, you can't bring yourself to. Not right now, at least. 

All you want to do is keep going. 

You roll your hips, testing the waters. His breath audibly hitches, and his hands fly up to settle back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes already half-lidded— and they close when you grind down again. And again. His lips are clumsier this time when you kiss him, but he still reciprocates all the same. The sensation of him directly underneath you like this is intoxicating. You can feel every little twitch and every little jolt. 

"Fuck," he breathes, long and drawn-out, " God, I can— I can see the spot on your—" 

"Yeah?" You encourage, grinding down again, drinking in his answering groan. "You like that?" 

  "Yes —" 

"You want me to take 'em off?" 

Mike's pupils are blown wide, even though his eyes are already dark as is in the dimness of the room. He nods, once, then twice. "Yes," he murmurs. "Please," he adds, for good measure. 

He stares openly when you get off him, just enough to peel off your last remaining layer of clothing. And when you sit back down, well. It's obvious that you'll have to give him a second. "Can I," he says, finally, "can I touch you?" The way he's looking up at you again is just so sweet, so needy, that you consider saying no. Your throbbing core quickly shuts that idea down. 

"Go on," you encourage. 

He helps you move so he has easier access, and—  

His fingertips find your slit, already wet for him.

"Look what you did to me," you murmur. 

He visibly flushes— and then carefully works one finger into your slick heat. The feeling, combined with his thumb brushing against your clit— it's relief that you've needed this entire time, and you can't help but let a quiet sound escape your lips. It's apparently enough incentive for him to quicken his pace a little. Deliberately, he continues massaging your sensitive nub in a firm but easy pattern as he gently pushes a second finger inside you. 

Mike may be out of practice, but evidently, he still knows what he's doing. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, some more open-mouthed than others. Crooking his fingers, he maintains his diligent rhythm. A thought floats through your mind, unbidden— he must have strong hands, if he's been able to keep up like this—   

Two becomes three, and you're spreading your thighs a little wider for him. He's still transfixed, but speeds up at your urging, breath hot against the divot between your neck and shoulder. You chance a glance down, and you can see the visible outline of him through his boxers. You did that to him. He's desperate— for you. 

"Mike," you gasp, "nnh—" 

"Yeah, c'mon," he mouths, against your neck, "c'mon—" He's not letting up in the slightest, and when you tell him to, he speeds up again. He needs to see you cum just as much as you need to feel it. Your needs and wants are rapidly blending into one. You squeeze your eyes shut, but open them to look at him. His dark curls are a mess, his hand working tirelessly between your legs. 

  "Mike —" 

He says your name in return, like he's the one in the vulnerable position. 

"Mike , 'm gonna— 'm gonna—"  

"Please," his breaths are ragged, debauched, "cum, please, c'mon, lemme see it—" 

"Oh —" 

The tension snaps, and you spasm around his fingers. Your hips twitch, and you moan, your mouth falling open as you ride out your orgasm. You're rising— falling — molten honey pooling in your core, before flowing throughout your body. And Mike keeps going throughout it all, letting you enjoy the sensations until you're fully satisfied. 

Nearly boneless, you sag backward. His fingers, soaked with your glistening release, slip out of your cunt with a wet noise. He doesn't waste any time in bringing them up into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue— at the taste of you, he groans, even though it's muffled. Your mind takes a moment to catch up again with the world, but another thought manifests itself— how would he react, if you let him use his mouth on you? How would his head look between your thighs? He would be noisy, wouldn't he? Enthusiastic, pliant, and—

Your desire, although it waned for a short minute, comes back tenfold. But you take one look down again and— you can do that later. Right now, you want him inside you. 

Mike lets you tug him down for another kiss. He lets you feel the worn fabric on his thighs, almost playfully. When you palm him through them— he hisses through his teeth, hypersensitive even though you've barely touched him yet. You're going to fix that, though. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down. 

You were right. He's desperate. As soon as his overheated skin meets the cool air, he lets out another quiet hiss. And when you take him in hand— 

"Mmh —" A firm stroke from base to tip, and you've already got him. He's average in length, but a little girthy. You know he'll be perfect. There's a little drop at the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, focusing instead on warming him up a little. He whispers your name, once, when you pump up and down, twisting your wrist. 

"Got a condom?" You ask, stilling for a second. His eyes snap to you. 

"Oh my God, " he quickly mutters under his breath, before raising his volume, "uh, yeah, I think so. Lemme—" And he's already scrambling off the bed, opening the drawers of his nightstand with speed, but somehow simultaneously managing not to make much noise. He rifles through them, but soon emerges victoriously with what he was looking for. It's a little funny, how he doesn't waste any time in ripping it open and tossing the garbage into the mostly-overfull pail near his bed. Hastily, he rolls on the condom. You think he's expecting you to lay back or get up on your hands and knees so he can fuck you like that— you wouldn't be entirely opposed to it— but that's not what you want right now. 

You place your hands on his chest and push him back down so he's sitting against the headboard. He goes without complaint, even shifting when he understands what you want to do. He's flushed almost down to his neck. 

When you sink down on him in a smooth slide, still slick from earlier, you both moan. He sounds strained— he's biting his lower lip, squirming until he finally bottoms out. You have to take a moment to catch your breath, too; the fullness is just how you imagined, but it's so, so much, especially because of your lingering sensitivity. 

"I'm not—" He audibly swallows, hands tightening on your waist when you move just a little, "oh, fuck, I'm not gonna— I'm not gonna last long." He's babbling a little. "You're tight, fuck." 

You rock back and forth, once, and it's enough to force a choked noise from his throat. You watch his face, observing every little twitch, the clenching of his jaw. You can't hesitate for much longer, though— so you begin lifting yourself and dropping yourself down on his cock. Just in little movements at first, so you can get used to the feeling. His eyes squeeze shut— 

"Look at me," you demand, and he does. He doesn't try and thrust up into you when you really start to move. Up and down, up and down, with lewd plaps that accompany your sounds; his grunts—  you swear you hear him whimper .  His eyelashes flutter open and closed, as he struggles to follow your command, wanting to be good. For you. Even though you can see his thighs flexing as he holds everything back. You ride him for all you're worth. 

True to his words, you can tell when he gets close. Maybe he's been on edge this entire time. You thread your fingers through his hair— he buries his face into the crook of your neck, maybe out of embarrassment. You can feel how flushed he is, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Your muscles are aching, but you're determined to make him cum. You're determined to do this for him. 

He says your name, but it's more of a whine. "Please — I'm gonna— I can't — "  

"Go on," you pant, "you can. Don't hold back." Your arms are wrapped around his neck, now, holding him tight; just like his arms around your waist. The contact is almost too much, but somehow it's still not enough, despite him being inside you. "Go on," you repeat, after he whines again, the sound sending white-hot heat straight to your core. "Cum." 

Mike twitches, and you can feel him pulse— the sound he lets out is high-pitched, muffled into your skin. You slow your movements— the aftershocks of his orgasm last longer than yours. It might've been a little while for you, but it had definitely been longer for him. 

He doesn't let go, even after his breathing's slowed down. 

Gently, you pull his head back so you can look at him. He looks up at you with slightly wet eyes. The kisses you press to his cheeks and forehead make him scrunch up his face. 

"Hey," he rasps, "I gotta throw out the condom. Hang on." 

"Yeah, okay." 

When he slips out of you, you both sigh a little. With unsteady fingers, he ties up the condom before chucking it into the pail. 

The sheets are cool on your skin when he pulls them over you both. The room reeks of sex, but both of you are too exhausted to care. When you turn to lay on your side, he's behind you, throwing an arm over your waist. Tugging you closer. Almost absentmindedly, there's a kiss pressed to the back of your head. 

"Thank you," he mumbles. 

You stare at the far wall, unable to close your eyes just yet. 

"For what?" 

"For—" A pause. "For everything, I guess." 

The awkwardness is back. But you let it in. You smile. 

"You're welcome." 

He doesn't respond, but shuffles nearer, chest pressed up against your back. It's not long before you're both fast asleep. 

[puckleberryfinnie]

What Is This Feeling?

summary: you're the one thing he can't have, but he'll do anything to get you anyway, fem!reader x emperor geta

notes: for (this) request, thank you so much for sending that in again, love you for that! this definitely will not be history or character accurate, but I know most of you are just here for the vibes so here's this for you <3 if anyone wants more of him, you're more than welcome to send something in, make sure to take a look at my holiday event too!

part two is finally here! yippee!

Geta had everything he could ever want- food, clothing, women. Many women. All the divine things of the world were his, and it pleased him to know as such. All of Rome was at his beck and call.

Now, despite his interest in expanding empires to new locations, he'd never found himself interested in the contents of these areas. It seemed illogical, when he had everything he wanted and much, much more already.

As the power of Rome grew, however, the time came for a delegation to be put into place. It would be built in order to generate alliances among other strong empires, much like their own. It wasn't something of much interest of Geta- he'd have to give them an audience at some point, he'd imagined, but any might greater than his own was simply unimaginable in his mind.

It wasn't surprising for the people of your empire to know you'd be headed off along with the rest of the delegation sent to Rome. They knew your adventurous nature, and with your three older brothers limiting your chance of leading one day, there was no true reason for you not to be sent off, if not just for the year you'd be gone. Your father, as emperor, was weary, of course.

"Venturing into harsher lands might calm your restless nature, which is something that must happen as you become an important figure to your people, dear. Besides, you'll be protected under the royal court of Rome in any regard, to be sure."

The trip had been troublesome, despite the amenities offered for a trip of so many noble people. It was truly its length that made it quite so unbearable, being over a week of slow travelling. Upon entering into your destination, however, your opinions on the matter immediately had been washed away by incoming fascination. Your empire had been fantastic in its own ways, of course, but this went beyond every notion of an idea you'd had for it. The streets were filled with excitement, and the people of the streets were beyond respectful, bowing their heads as you passed them.

Your fascination only grew as you came closer to the center of the land. There were buildings, each taller than the last and adorned with the most extraordinary pieces of decoration. Large, open areas housed groups of patricians, you were sure, wearing extravagant clothing that draped over their bodies perfectly. Their jewelry was even more extravagant, to be sure, shiny accessories adorning every finger and neck.

It's not that you weren't used to such lavishness, but your people had been less... open about it, in many regards. It was unlikely to find open rooms with expensive items on display as they had here. It's no matter, though. You'd fit in, to be sure. Your empire had sent you in their finest garments, matching these people's clothing perfectly fine.

The audience with this neighboring empire had been something of great discussion among the court of Rome. With the newest news coming in of the emperor's daughter visiting, the excitement only grew. There were stories, of course, of her people favoring her, for her beauty and kindness was a blessing for them. It intrigued Geta, in some regards. He'd expected old men and boring meetings discussing topics that he was not the least bit interested in. But a woman? He was indefinitely more interested in that.

Him and his brother were leaning lazily against their large thrones, women and men strew across them, vying for their attention. As your party entered, they both stayed in their position, watching disinterestedly, nodding as the people continued to enter.

It was customary that you entered last, in all your glory. You entered gracefully, all heads turned towards you, all in awe of your divine nature. Geta wasn't any exception as he immediately sat up straighter, trying to get a better look at you. As you stopped in front of them, dipping your head in respect, he continued to lean closer, eyes wide as they went over your features carefully.

"Thank you for your gracious invitation, emperors."

As your eyes rose to greet the twins, they immediately met Geta's. His own pair were watching your every movement, a interested glint in them unlike ever you'd ever seen in the eyes of a man. It caught you, making you freeze under his gaze. He slowly pushed off whoever had been on him, getting up as he slowly made his way towards you.

"The pleasure is all our own. I hope you know we've been anxiously awaiting you, my lady."

His eyebrows rose, anticipating your reaction. When you simply smiled, bowing your head once again in recognition before being carted away by your supervisors, he was beyond surprised. Any normal woman would've been flattered and flushing at his words, but you'd walked away with that calming nature still radiating.

His brother wasn't paying much attention, but that wasn't too much of surprise as Geta turned towards him, watching Caracalla place some grapes in his mouth as he looked off to the side. He turned back to your retreating form once more, shouting at you in order to get your attention.

"I hope you enjoy your stay, my lady. I'll be sure to call on you later."

You simply smiled once again, letting out a small laugh. "I'd appreciate that, Emperor. Thank you." You along with the rest of your party exited after a moment, exhausted after your long trip and in need of rest.

After you were long gone, likely softly sleeping in one of their more extravagant guest rooms, as Geta had imagined, he was approached by one of his many advisors, named Claudius. Claudius was one of the more brave council members, who would speak out against the emperors for the benefit of Rome. It was a surprise that his head hadn't been chopped off yet.

"I only want the best for your empire, Your Grace, and with such I must make it known that interacting with the daughter of such a powerful ruler has its risks. If word got out to the Emperor that you were treating her as you would with a common woman, it surely would bring their strong empire's wrath down unto our sacred land."

"You must have no faith in the glory of Rome, Claudius. Any attack on their part would be stopped immediately, you should know this."

"Since we've last spoken their forces have doubled in size, Your Grace. Do what you will, but we need to make sure this alliance goes as it's supposed to."

He was effectively being told 'no,' and he did not enjoy it at all. Everything in his life had been handed to him on a silver platter, so it went against his nature to not take what he wanted- in this case, that being you. His hands were clenched as he walked through the hallways, headed to his sleeping chambers.

You'd been headed back from your light sleep, hoping to find some sort of entertainment when a body had rammed at you at full speed, knocking you to the ground. There was the emperor, looking angrily at the figure underneath him. This angry look slowly faded as he realized it was you, turning into a devilish smile as he slowly pulled himself up, his hands resting on either side of your head.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, my lady. How have you found your stay so far?" He was vibrating with a sort of enticing energy, almost as though he was purring. It was rather strange, but you couldn't bring yourself to move, frozen once again in his gaze.

"Oh- well, this place is magnificent, Your Grace. It's truly wonderful to be here."

"Mm.. well I'm very glad you decided to come, you've made all this alliance work much more... interesting." He finally pulled himself off you, keeping his eyes glued to yours as he reached for your hand to pull you up with him in a sudden movement. "And you must call me Geta, princess." His hand held onto yours, subtly moving a thumb across its surface.

"Of course Y- Geta. And you shall call me by mine, yes?" Your calm nature had been broken, just as he'd hoped it would. His smile only grew at your flustered state.

"If that's what you'd like I'll faithfully oblige, though I do think Princess suits you much better. I'd do anything you asked of me, though, darling." With that he brought your hand to his face, keeping eye contact as he left a kiss on its back side.

To Hell with Rome. He got what he wanted, and he wanted you.

woah ok so I think this is the most I've every written, hopefully it was still a bit interesting for you guys! thank you so much for reading, and let me know if you want more stuff from him or anyone else in Gladiator (the obsession is crazy right noww) (also, wicked themed title to feed into another obsession don’t mind me)

if you guys want any more of this one, please let me know, I can even create a tag list if that interests anyone <3

love ya!!

[faebled-stories]

Max Level: Pleasure Unlocked

Le Sserafim's Miyawaki Sakura x Male reader

AN: So... I may have been a tiny bit late to class today 😅. Why, you ask? Well... I was up all night re-watching Marry My Husband (totally worth it, btw). Anyway, fast forward to class, and I casually checked my phone, and—wait for it—WHAT?! Almost 300 likes for Ms. Kim Chaewon?! You guys are seriously amazing! 💖 This story was supposed to drop tomorrow, but because I love you all so much... here’s a little treat! 😘✨

P.S. Why is this lecture soooo long? Send help! 😂

Miyawaki Sakura, the eldest member of Le Sserafim, had found a new thrill—one that didn’t involve the stage lights or concert crowds. Live streaming had pulled her into its vibrant, fast-paced world of colorful pixels and instant connection. It wasn’t just a hobby anymore; it became her escape—a digital realm where she could unwind and be herself. Streaming offered her a space where she could share her love for video games in the most authentic way possible. Her laughter would echo through the headset, filling the room with the joy she found in navigating complex game worlds and strategizing with her audience. It was a welcome reprieve from the pressures of K-pop stardom, a place where she could exist without expectation.

But as Sakura’s love for streaming grew, so did the distance between her and Y/N. Y/N cherished their quiet evenings together—the ones filled with soft conversations, playful glances, and the warmth of shared intimacy. Now, those moments seemed to slip away, replaced by the blue glow of Sakura's monitor and the sounds of gaming filling the room. He found himself feeling increasingly sidelined, the comforting presence of his girlfriend diluted by the endless stream of fan interactions and in-game distractions. Every evening, as he sat in their apartment watching her stream, Y/N felt like a shadow in her life, forgotten behind the glow of her screen.

The silence after Sakura's gaming sessions hung in the air, heavy and unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the laughter that used to fill their nights. He would lie in bed, staring at the empty space beside him, wondering when their quiet, intimate nights had been swapped for late-night streams. The late-night absence became more palpable, the connection they once shared now buried beneath layers of bright pixels and fan interactions.

Frustrated and unsure of how to bridge the growing gap between them, Y/N turned to the one person who knew both of them best—Kwon Eunbi, Sakura's former leader and the matchmaker who had brought them together in the first place. Eunbi, always the voice of reason and support, listened with a thoughtful expression as Y/N poured out his concerns.

"I just don't know how to get her attention anymore," Y/N confessed, his voice tinged with frustration. "She used to light up when we were together, but now it feels like I'm competing with a screen."

Eunbi, ever the sage, leaned in with a twinkle in her eye, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Well, my dear, sometimes you just need to remind her of what she's missing," she said, her tone playful yet reassuring. "There's this little shop downtown. They have... items that might help reignite that spark you're worried about. A little mystery, a little surprise—that's the key."

Y/N blushed at the suggestion, but the idea intrigued him. Maybe Eunbi was right—maybe a little spontaneity was exactly what their relationship needed. "Okay noona," Y/N said with newfound determination. "Take me there. I'll do whatever it takes."

Eunbi grinned. "That's the spirit. Trust me, after this, she'll be more than eager to spend some time away from that screen, and if it doesn't work out... you have my number" the older girl winked before giving a slightly playful slap to Y/N’s behind

As soon as Eunbi led him into the little adult shop tucked away in a quiet side street downtown, Y/N’s nerves melted into curiosity. The shop was intimate, lined with rows of items that promised to stoke passion and bring lovers closer. Eunbi was more than willing to offer her guidance, clearly enjoying herself as she pointed out various products.

"Trust me," Eunbi had said with a wink, picking up a small bullet vibrator from one of the shelves. "This one is discreet but packs a punch, It's perfect for getting things started. She won’t see it coming." Y/N’s cheeks had flushed at the thought, but the image of Sakura’s surprised reaction made her smile. It was perfect for catching his girlfriend off guard.

As they continued browsing, Y/N’s eyes landed on a sleek, curved G-spot vibrating dildo that promised deeper, more intense sensations. He couldn’t help but imagine how Sakura might respond to its use—what that extra thrill might do to rekindle the heat between them. Eunbi happily skips over to Y/N with a box that he hasn't seen before, a rabbit ear vibrator "Y/N you have to get this, I’m telling you Sakura will melt and turn to putty in your hands, I have one myself and it's pretty amazing." Y/N looked at his noona with a skeptical look. Why is she so into this, is his precious noona actually not as innocent as she portrayed to the public?

Thinking about her words he can't deny that the idea of being the one to control Sakura’s pleasure sent a surge of excitement through him. He added it to his growing selection of items.

The final addition was a delicate set of pastel pink lingerie. His girlfriend's favorite color. lace-lined and revealing, something that he knew she would love, he remembered her saying she wanted something similar to this but was always ashamed and embarrassed to buy it

Y/N picked up the set knowing how much it would make his lover feel even sexier. He could already imagine the fabric clinging to his girlfriend's skin, the look in Sakura’s eyes when she sees it. There was no doubt that tonight, he would make sure all of Sakura’s attention was focused on him.

As the duo went to the counter the current cashier was about to take a break and out comes his replacement, someone who Y/N would not have expected to work here.

"Oh Eunbi unnie welcome back Oh! and Y/N oppa, what are you doing here?" the duck looking girl squealed. To say Y/N was shocked is an understatement. His girlfriend's former members, his friends, were all so familiar with this place.

"I was showing Y/N around the store, he needed my help" Responded the eldest. "Oppa is Sakura unnie giving you a hard time?" Yena responded, causing Y/N to shrink into himself in embarrassment. 

The girl started scanning the products one by one, her curious eyes glanced back and forth from y/n and each product he bought. "I didn't think Sakura unnie would be into this, I guess she's less of a prude than I thought" At this point Y/N just wanted to leave, he slightly hid behind his noona as she started placing her own products she wanted to buy. 

"I’ll pay for it Y/N I get a discount here, just pay me back after" Y/N nodded before Eunbi tapped her card and they both left with Yena waving to them, saying that they should visit her again.

With his purchases in hand, Y/N left the shop feeling embarrassed about the whole situation but he thought about the end goal and it made him feel more confident than ever. This was his chance to break through the monotony that had settled between them.

Later that evening, back in their shared apartment, Sakura was already in the midst of her nightly streaming routine. Her set up was in the living room, per Y/N's request after waking him up way too many times. It was bathed in the soft glow of the monitor, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across her face as she engaged with her audience. Y/N, his heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and excitement, watched from the shadows, clutching the items he had bought earlier.

He knew exactly what to do.

Grabbing a piece of paper, Y/N quickly scribbled a note and held it up just out of view of the camera, flashing it at Sakura with a grin. The note read: "Since you're so into games, let's play one right now, this will be level one, don't make anything obvious, good luck."

Sakura blinked in confusion at first, her head tilting as she tried to make sense of the message. But when she looked up at Y/N’s playful expression a delicate smile spread across his lips, a knowing look in his eyes. Sakura then glanced down at her stream, her posture adjusting as if nothing had changed, she quickly muted her mic. “ Not now Y/N, I'm busy.” before turning it back on and saying her mic was glitching. But Y/N had spent too long planning this out, spent too much money to turn back now. 

Satisfied with the confusion, Y/N smiled back. The game was on.

Without another word, Y/N crouched and began crawling under the desk. Since her desk was longer than any normal person would normally have, It made the access to the prize easy for him as he just needed to go from the side, his movements smooth and deliberate, hidden from the camera’s view. Sakura’s attention was still on the screen, her voice cheerful as she interacted with her viewers, but Y/N knew it wouldn’t be long before his girlfriend’s focus would shift entirely. Beneath the desk, Y/N felt a rush of excitement as he prepared to introduce a new level of spontaneity into Sakura’s night.

The note had been the first step—a secret shared between them, a playful challenge that only the two of them would understand. What happened next was up to Y/N, and he was ready to make it unforgettable.

Y/N smirked as he slowly slid the small bullet vibrator out of its box, he wiped it with a wet wipe before lifting up the pink short skirt in front of him, He brought the toy up and pressed it against Sakura's panty-covered mound, watching with delight as the Japanese girl jolted slightly in her seat. Sakura tried her best to maintain focus on the video game, determinedly gripping her mouse and keyboard as she attempted to hide her reactions to the subtle vibrations. But Y/N could see right through her act - the way Sakura's thighs clenched together, the slight flush creeping across her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickened.

To save face Sakura quickly slapped Y/N’s hand away from her wet pussy but Y/n quickly placed it back to its home.

The little vibrator buzzed away, its vibrations transmitted through the thin fabric barrier. Y/N could feel the heat radiating off of Sakura's core, could sense her wetness growing with each passing second. Sakura squirmed almost imperceptibly, fighting the urge to spread her legs further.

Sakura's game character died with a pitiful electronic squeal, breaking the spell. She blinked hard a few times, trying to regain her composure as she struggled to stay focused on the screen. Y/N chuckled quietly, pulling the vibrator away.

Rising up from his spot on the floor under the desk, Y/N made sure that he was holding eye contact with Sakura the whole way. Sakura's eyes widened as Y/N made a show of slowly swiping his fingers on the toy before rubbing them together and slowly pulling them apart a slick line of the idols juices were connecting Y/Ns fingers showing her that even though she's against it, her body doesn't lie. Y/N’s fingers were brought to his lips, eye contact still not breaking and in an exaggerated motion he licked her fingers clean. Sakura quickly glanced away, her face burning crimson now, but she couldn't keep her eyes from peeking back at Y/N. A shaky exhale escaped her lips.

Y/N just winked before reaching for a piece of paper that read Level 2 commencing before crawling back to her side of the desk, leaving Sakura even more flustered and distracted, though trying her best to play it cool. Y/N made a mental note - Sakura was even more responsive than expected. This was going to be fun indeed...

The next level involved the G-spot vibrating dildo, escalating the intensity. There was only one small thing blocking his way, deciding to deal with it he wrapped his fingers around her panties before giving it a quick and powerful tug completely ripping them. The sound loud enough to catch Sakura off guard. Shocked, the idol’s hand instinctively reached down, her fingertips brushing her now bare, wet pussy. She inhaled sharply, her body reacting to the sudden exposure, but she didn’t dare glance away from the screen.

Y/N teased her relentlessly, his fingers circling her entrance before finally pushing the toy into her slick cunt. He moved it slowly at first, letting her adjust to the sensation, feeling her muscles tighten around the intrusion. Sakura’s hand gripped her mouse tighter, her knuckles whitening as she fought to keep her composure. She nearly missed a key on her keyboard, her body betraying her as Y/N expertly played with her, pulling the toy out just as she neared the edge of release.

Her breath came in shallow, uneven pants. The subtle strain in her voice didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N, who watched with a smirk, knowing just how close she was to losing control. Yet, he denied her the satisfaction of climax, bringing her to the edge again and again only to retreat, leaving her desperate and aching.

“Fuck,” Sakura muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible as she tried to focus on her stream. Her viewers, blissfully unaware of the torment unfolding beneath her desk, cheered her on in the game, oblivious to the real game being played just out of sight.

Y/N pulled the toy away once more, but this time, Sakura couldn't hold back her frustration. "Ahh, what the fuck" she whispered harshly, trying to control her reaction. She couldn’t look down to see what he was doing, not without giving herself away on camera. She tried to push through the absence, hoping Y/N would relent, but the moment stretched on.

And then, without warning, Y/N switched the vibrations onto its highest setting and plunged it back into her, the thick dildo buried deep inside her clenching cunt, the toy felt around and lived up to its name, pressing on that spot she loved.

"AHHHH!" Sakura’s cry pierced the quiet of the room, her pussy convulsing around the toy as an intense orgasm overtook her. She barely had time to mute her mic, her thighs trembling and squeezing together, her stomach contracting as wave after wave of electric pleasure crashed over her. Her body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alight with sensation

Her game character spun wildly on screen, her mouse jerking out of control as her body seized up. Her viewers, concerned but unsuspecting, quickly flooded the chat with messages.

"Are you okay? What happened?" one asked.

"You just screamed like you saw a ghost, lol," commented another, oblivious to the real reason behind her outburst.

Sakura’s cheeks burned with humiliation. They had heard her, but thankfully they couldn’t know the truth—how their sweet, innocent idol was secretly being driven to the brink of madness by her boyfriend under the desk. With a shaky breath, she forced a laugh. "Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought I saw a bug under the desk," she lied, her voice higher than usual, the embarrassment clear. "You know how I get when it comes to bugs!"

Her viewers, still clueless, accepted the explanation, laughing along with her as they playfully scolded her for getting so worked up over something so trivial. But Sakura’s mind was far from the stream now. The aftershocks of her orgasm still rippled through her, and she bit her lip hard, willing her body to calm down. The irony wasn’t lost on her—here she was, playing the role of their wholesome crush while secretly being ravaged by Y/N just out of sight.

Satisfied for the moment, Y/N leaned in and gave her sensitive pussy a slow, teasing lick, sending another shiver through her body. Her thighs trembled, clenching around his head as his tongue worked its magic. She didn’t want to admit how much she missed this—missed him—but the pleasure coursing through her veins made it impossible to deny. He left a final lingering kiss against her soaked lips before pulling away, leaving her panting and desperate for more.

As Y/N stood, he reached for the final toy in his collection, pulling the rabbit-ear vibrator from his bag. His fingers traced the packaging—Rabbit Ear Toy: Maximum Clitoral Stimulation—and a grin spread across his face. The playful sparkle in his eyes revealed his mischievous intent, recalling how Eunbi had enthusiastically recommended this particular device. With a small chuckle, he knew this would be the perfect grand finale to their secret, unspoken game.

Y/N scribbled a quick note—Level three, good luck—and slid it over to Sakura. Her gaze flicked to him, and their eyes met briefly. A silent exchange of both anticipation and trepidation passed between them. The tension hung thick in the air, a blend of excitement and nerves that only heightened the moment. Sakura’s cheeks flushed as her fingers hovered over the keyboard, pretending to remain focused on the game, but her attention was split, knowing what was coming next.

As Y/N shifted back into his familiar spot under the desk, his breath hitched in anticipation. It had become his little domain, a place where he could send Sakura into oblivion without her viewers being any the wiser. He carefully unwrapped the vibrator—an egg-shaped toy, compact but powerful. The soft, flexible rabbit ears promised an intensity that could tip her over the edge with just the right pressure. His hands, steady and deliberate, moved between her legs, teasing her for a moment. The toy slipped between her folds, refusing to cooperate at first, but Y/N’s persistence paid off. He finally nestled it perfectly in place, the rabbit ears snugly embracing her clit.

For a second, he paused. The anticipation in the room grew thick as Sakura shifted in her chair, her breaths shallow. The tension between them felt electric. Y/N knew what this small delay would do to her—he was prolonging the inevitable, letting her body crave the release that was just out of reach. Then, with a press of the button, the vibrator buzzed to life.

The effect was immediate. A surge of pleasure ripped through Sakura’s body, her muscles tensing as the toy began its relentless rhythm. She bit down hard on her lower lip, trying desperately not to give herself away. The overwhelming sensation sent waves of heat cascading from her core, and her hands trembled as they hovered over her mouse and keyboard, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts, her body writhing ever so slightly, desperate to remain still for the camera.

Her chat lit up with messages of encouragement. Her viewers had no clue the real battle she was fighting—the one between maintaining her composure and succumbing to the pleasure that was quickly unraveling her. The boss fight on screen grew more intense, each phase of the battle requiring her utmost focus, but her concentration wavered with every flick of the vibrator against her clit. It was nearly impossible to think, let alone execute precise game mechanics, as the rabbit ears worked her over with merciless efficiency.

Sakura whispered to herself, “Y-You’ve got this, Sakura!” Her voice was strained, too high-pitched to mask her struggle, but she plastered on a wide smile for her audience. Her hands shook violently now as they moved across the keyboard, trying to keep up with the rapid pace of the game. Her pulse raced in sync with the toy, the pleasure mounting to unbearable levels.

The boss’s health bar ticked down in sync with her endurance, her every keystroke becoming sloppier, more frantic. As the final blow landed and the boss collapsed in defeat, Sakura could no longer hold back. Her body convulsed as the climax hit her like a tidal wave. A guttural shout escaped her lips as she slammed her hands down on the desk, her voice cracking with a blend of triumph and carnal release.

“YESSSS!!” she screamed, her eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving with the force of the orgasm that ripped through her. Her muscles clenched, and her toes curled as the vibrator continued its assault, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure until she was utterly spent.

Her viewers erupted into cheers, congratulating her on the hard-earned victory. Oblivious to the real reason behind her breathlessness and the flush on her face, they celebrated her skill and persistence. The screen flashed with messages of admiration, and Sakura forced herself to sit up, her body trembling with the aftershocks.

“Whew… that was intense!” she gasped, wiping away the sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her hand reached for her water glass, her fingers still trembling slightly as she took a long, much-needed drink. “Thanks for cheering me on, guys,” she added with a weak laugh, masking the exhaustion coursing through her.

As Sakura leaned back in her chair, Scrolling through other games to hopefully find a good one to end the night, Y/N, who had been patiently watching her recovery, wasn’t quite done yet. A devilish grin played on his lips as he leaned forward, his finger hovering over the vibrator’s controls. Without warning, he cranked the toy up to its highest setting.

The sudden jolt of the vibrator sent Sakura reeling. Her body stiffened, eyes widening in shock as the intensity of the stimulation threatened to unravel her all over again. Her breath hitched in her throat as her muscles tensed, gripping the arms of her chair to ground herself. Y/N’s laughter echoed softly from beneath the desk, watching her fight the new wave of pleasure with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction.

Sakura, the ever-composed streamer, found herself on the precipice of a new kind of experience. The powerful vibrations of the new toy sent shivers through her body, a primal force that ignited a wildfire of anticipation within her. Her body responded with a raw, undeniable intensity, the moisture building until it seeped through her folds, dripping off the chair and leaving a glistening trail on the floor. The sweet scent of candles that once permeated the room was quickly overtaken by the pungent aroma of her arousal, a testament to the burgeoning passion that consumed her.

As the pleasure reached its crescendo, a surge of instinct took over. With lightning-fast reflexes, Sakura muted her microphone and switched off her camera, craving the sanctuary of privacy for the intimate storm that was about to break. The online world faded away, and she surrendered completely to the throes of ecstasy.

The timing was impeccable. As Sakura neared her peak, Y/N, her boyfriend, seized the moment. He seamlessly combined the pleasure of the vibrator with the intimacy of his mouth, diving forward with a ravenous hunger. His tongue explored the depths of her, savoring her taste and fueling the fire that burned within her. Each flick and swirl of his tongue sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through her body, pushing her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

The combined sensations were too much for her to bear, and with an animalistic moan escaped Sakura's lips, a guttural sound intertwined with a scream that seemed to rise from the very core of her being. "UGH FUCK YEEESSSS Y/N!" Her voice was a raw expression of unrestrained pleasure. She grasped his hair, her body convulsing in a wave of ecstasy. Her legs lifted and wrapped around him pulling his face impossibly close to her core, her muscles contracting and relaxing with each tremor, the old gaming chair squeaking in protest with every movement. Her cheeks flushed a vibrant hue, a visible marker of her heightened state as she rode the wave of her orgasm with unbridled abandon, her breasts heaving with each ragged breath. Sakura climaxed with a force that left her breathless and trembling. Y/N continued his ministrations, prolonging her orgasm until she felt every ounce of pleasure.

For Y/N, the experience was both exhilarating and intensely intimate. He couldn't see anything; his vision was blocked by Sakura's body. Each subtle movement sent shivers down his spine—her soft skin felt warm and alive against him, her thighs encasing his head in a passionate vice that was as constricting as it was pleasurable. it was just the two of them, enveloped in a cocoon of heat and desire.

This was a Sakura he rarely saw, one that lay hidden behind the carefully curated persona of her online streams. In those moments, she had shed the facade of the cheerful, bubbly entertainer and revealed a side of herself that was raw and unfiltered. It was the Sakura from before her streaming career, the girl who had always been playful and spontaneous, exuding an authentic vulnerability that left him breathless. Her laughter echoed in the confines of his mind as he realized how seldom he’d had the chance to witness this intimate version of her.

The chaos of streaming and the demands of her audience faded into the background, replaced by a potent chemistry that crackled between them. His own heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum echoing the urgency of the moment, while his breath hitched at the raw display of passion and surrender before him. Every heartbeat was a reminder of how deeply and irrevocably he craved this connection.

This moment carved a permanent mark on him, etching itself into his memory like a secret tattoo. It was a reminder of the beautiful, complex dynamics that fueled their relationship—beyond the streaming lights and scripted interactions lay a blend of affection, longing, and a hint of danger. Their souls intertwined in this rare instance, revealing as much about their hearts as it did about their desires. The very essence of their bond lay anchored in these fleeting but fervent exchanges, making each encounter a treasure and a risk he was willing to embrace.

Sakura's breath came in ragged gasps as she slowly released her hold on Y/N, her legs trembling, weak from the intense stimulation. The room seemed to amplify all her senses, the cooling sensation of sweat mingling with her skin a stark contrast to the recent heat. Her legs, barely able to support her, struggled to find their footing as she fought to regain her composure. The assistant to her pleasure, the formidable toy that had helped push her to the edge of chaotic bliss, lay on the floor, a glistening reminder of the storm that had just passed. Its surface, coated in her essence, served as a tangible testament to her unleashed passion.

Realizing that her momentary loss of control had severed her connection with her viewers, Sakura quickly attempted to regain her composure. Her cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. But before she could complete the act of resuming, Y/N’s steady hand came to rest against her thigh, gently halting her fidgeting. Kneeling between her legs, his tall frame allowing him to almost come face to face with her, their eyes meeting in a moment that felt both electric and profoundly intimate.

Sakura's mind swirled with a haze of emotions, a flicker of melancholy washing over her like a soft tide. She missed these moments—the brief interludes where they could shed their roles and embrace a deeper connection, where laughter and genuine emotion melded seamlessly into something more. Each stolen glance, every shared laugh had been a thread weaving them closer, and yet, amidst the chaos of their lives, she felt those threads fraying, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

In that heavy silence, Y/N reached for her, his fingers warm as they gently cupped the back of her head. There was no need for words; his eyes spoke volumes, conveying understanding and longing in a single gaze. Then, with a tenderness that sent shivers down her spine, he leaned in and sealed their lips together in a passionate kiss. The flavors of her arousal mingled with saliva—a delicious, intoxicating symphony that danced on their tongues, each movement igniting a fire deep within her core.

Sakura was momentarily consumed by the warmth of his embrace, every worry dissolving into the sweet elixir of their connection. But as the kiss lingered, her heart raced at the thought of what lay beyond this moment. Still lost in the afterglow, Sakura whimpered softly when Y/N finally pulled away, his lips brushing against hers gently as they parted. His gaze held her captive, a silent promise lingering in the space between them, but it only deepened her desire, leaving her craving more.

This was the testament to their bond—a connection that blossomed amidst the chaos of her storm, a lingering whisper of hope amid uncertainty. She knew she couldn’t let this slip through her fingers again, not when they had ventured into a territory that felt so beautifully raw and undeniably real.

But as the seasoned entertainer she was, she corrected her streaming gadget, turning her webcam back on and adjusting her microphone. Her face, still flushed from her recent exertion and her lips swollen, was now contorted into an apologetic smile as she addressed her audience, hiding the true reason behind her sudden departure by blaming it on unpredictable internet issues.

"Sorry about that, guys," she panted, her voice slightly uneven with the remnants of her peak. "We had a little technical glitch," she continued, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous hint that was not quite caught by her virtual audience.

The chat, a flurry of messages, was filled with questions and mild irritation. Her viewers were curious, their previous excitement now shifted to suspicion and a growing sense of doubt . They wondered what had caused such a sudden disruption. Yet, despite their curiosity, they respected her privacy, unwilling to push for explanations that she was not willing to give until she was ready. In their minds, the truth of her interruptions could often be their most decadent fantasies, creating an air of mystique and allure around her that kept them coming back for more. Sakura, a master of her craft, knew how to keep her audience hooked, turning even a glitch into a potential performance enhancement, as her viewers' imaginations filled in the blanks left by their sudden disconnection.

Y/N, with an air of mystery swirling about him, gracefully emerged from under the desk, his presence suddenly filling the room with an electric energy. As if appearing from the shadows, he moved with a fluidity that captivated Sakura, drawing her gaze irresistibly. From his vantage point behind the monitor, Y/N's eyes met Sakura's, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths.

His movements were deliberate, with a rhythm that matched the beating of Sakura's heart, as if he were conducting an intimate dance where only the two of them could hear the music. The fact that he planned this whole thing gave Sakura a warm feeling. The remnants of their shared passion became a declaration of love, a promise of intimacy, and a reaffirmation of their bond.

Satisfied with his thorough work, Y/N offered Sakura a look, his eyes darting back and forth from Sakura and a bag that was placed just to the side. A secretive smile playing upon his lips. It was a silent challenge, an invitation for Sakura to join him in their next adventure. Turning away, he walked calmly towards the bedroom.

As he cleaned the toys and meticulously arranged them in their new resting place, the nightstand, Y/N took the time to appreciate the small details of their shared space. The nightstand, once merely a piece of furniture with no purpose, now held a whole new meaning, a symbol of their intimate connection.

Sakura remained seated, her breath catching in her throat as Y/N disappeared into the shadows of the bedroom. The atmosphere lingered with a charged energy, the room still humming from the intensity of their shared moment. Sakura’s mind raced, replaying the image of Y/N’s mischievous smile, his teasing, deliberate movements, and the unspoken promise that hung in the air like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

For a moment, Sakura sat frozen, the temptation pulling her forward. She felt a surge of warmth radiate through her, a tug towards the bedroom where Y/N awaited, his presence as enticing as ever. The weight of their connection, unspoken but deeply understood, anchored her as she ended the stream and rose from her seat.

Sakura’s eyes fell to the bag on the floor, under the coffee table, its presence both familiar and intriguing. She had seen Y/n walk in with it  earlier but hadn’t given it much thought in the midst of her stream. Now, as the evening light dimmed into twilight and the apartment grew quieter, curiosity took over. Slowly, she bent down, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the bag as she picked it up. It was a simple gesture, yet it sent a ripple of anticipation through her. 

Peeling back the wrapping, her breath caught when her eyes landed on the contents. A stunning set of lingerie lay folded neatly inside, the color immediately striking her—her favorite color. The rich, silky fabric shimmered slightly in the low light, delicate lace tracing intricate patterns along its edges. She lifted it out of the bag, feeling the cool smoothness of the material slip between her fingers. The fabric felt luxurious, softer than she imagined, and as she held it up, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Y/N had remembered.

In the whirlwind of their lives, it wasn’t often that someone paid attention to the small details, but Y/N always had a way of doing just that. Not just any lingerie, but a set that spoke to her tastes, a color that made her feel powerful, beautiful, sexy. The care and thoughtfulness behind it warmed her from the inside, the kind of warmth that settled deep, in the quiet places of the heart.

Sakura didn't waste time, a surge of excitement bubbling up inside her. Without even heading to the bathroom, she began to undress right there in the middle of the living room. Her body was sore, every muscle aching from the games “levels”, but the thrill of the moment outweighed the discomfort. She moved slowly, peeling away the layers of her clothing, and as each piece fell to the floor, she felt lighter. Her breath hitched when the cool air of the room brushed against her bare skin.

Pulling the lingerie up over her legs, she marveled at how perfectly it fit, as if it had been crafted just for her. The lace clung to her curves in all the right places, accentuating her figure in a way that made her feel both strong and undeniably feminine. She caught a glimpse of herself in the nearby mirror and paused for a moment. The reflection staring back at her was striking—she looked lovely and powerful. The fatigue that had settled into her bones seemed to dissipate, replaced by an invigorating energy, one that thrummed beneath her skin like a quiet storm ready to break.

Her gaze shifted from the mirror to the slightly ajar bedroom door, and that’s when she felt it. The pull. It was almost magnetic, an invisible force drawing her toward Y/N. There had always been something between them ever since they met, something more than words or physical attraction. It was an unspoken connection, a shared intimacy that went beyond the surface of things. Y/N had a way of turning even the smallest gestures into something profound. A simple gift of lingerie wasn’t just a gift; it was a conversation, an invitation, a reminder of the bond they shared.

Sakura’s heart raced as she stood at the threshold of the bedroom, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe. From where she stood, she could see Y/N’s silhouette bathed in the soft, golden glow of the bedside lamp. The room itself was dim, quiet, filled with the gentle hum of the night outside. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, focused. There was a look in his gaze—one that she knew well. Mischief, affection, desire, all wrapped into one.

Her breath caught again, but this time it wasn’t the cold air or the tightness of the lingerie. It was the way Y/N looked at her. As if she were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. As if the night was theirs and theirs alone.

Without breaking eye contact, Sakura stepped inside the room, her bare feet soundless against the wooden floor. The door clicked shut behind her, the soft sound echoing in the quiet. It was as if the outside world ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them in the cocoon of their own making. The air between them was thick with anticipation, with the unspoken promise of what was to come.

Y/N didn’t move, didn’t say a word. His gaze traveled over her slowly, taking in the sight of her standing before him in the delicate lace and silk he had chosen. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, appreciative smile, but there was something deeper in his eyes—a smoldering intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

She moved closer, the space between them shrinking with every step. Her own breathing had become shallow, her pulse quickening in response to the heat building between them. It wasn’t just about the physical desire; it was the emotional weight of everything they had shared, everything they had been through together, all condensed into this one, intimate moment.

Sakura reached the edge of the bed, standing just before him, her body illuminated by the soft, golden light. Y/N reached out, his hand gently grazing her thigh, his fingers brushing over the delicate lace. His touch was light, teasing, sending a shiver up her spine. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation, the feeling of his skin against hers.

He had given her so much today, endless pleasures each one more intense than the last. But now, as she stood before him, she knew the time had come, it was his turn. She smiled, slow and teasing, as her fingers toyed with the straps of the lingerie. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her voice a soft whisper filled with promise.

"You’ve given me so many gifts today baby. Now it’s your turn to unwrap your present." 

She gave him multiple kisses from his neck to his cheek, ending with a needy one on his lips.

“Since you're so into games, let's play one right now,” her words mimicking those that started this whole thing.

The night had just begun, filled with endless possibilities Sakura's situation mirrored her favorite games. She had failed multiple times but knew that this was a fresh start, an extra life, With a smile she positioned herself face to face with his crotch and pulled down Y/N's pants exposing his member, she gave the tip a quick kiss and lick, before reminding him that singing was not the only thing her mouth was used for.

Miyawaki Sakura was back on level one.

[unriding]

KINKTOBER DAY 30 — MACHINE FUCKING. 753 wc. mr reca x shy!f!reader. explicit smut (18+), college-like setting, power imbalance (professor x student), implied blindfolding (reader), overstimulation & mindbreak (reader), pet names used once

You wouldn’t consider acting to be your forte.

Not when it’s the primary reason as to why you seem to be perpetually stuck in a classroom. Doomed to re-do your lines over and over, raising your voice to the point where it really feels like you’re screaming at your audience- only for them to tell you that your voice is too quiet. Again. As if it was physically possible to get any louder than you already were.

At least, that’s what you thought.

If someone were to make a pie chart of how much time Mr. Reca has spent helping his students- you’re certain you’d fill up nearly the entire pie. Whether that’s something for you to be proud or ashamed of isn’t important- not when you’re so focused on ignoring the way he looks at you with such interest in his eyes.

You think it’s similar to the same way a scholar would inspect and pick apart a difficult math question. The way they squint at the chalkboard with an innocent, almost childlike curiosity, only- his gaze feels anything but innocent.

It never fails to fill your cheeks with a frustrating amount of warmth, and ultimately- you’d like to blame this for your failing grade in the course. You blame your own lecturer— Mr. Reca, and the way he leans in just a little too close to be considered proper for a student and their professor.

Though something like this is definitely not “proper” in anyone’s books.

“Hmm, not quite,” he tuts, “I’m fairly certain you could be just a lit-tle bit louder.”

The machine slams against a sensitive spot deep inside you, dildo slipping out when your hips jerk- only for it slide against your clit with a loud squelch as you gasp underneath him.

“P-Professor..” you manage to choke out, though it comes out more broken than you expected— the day spent whining and moaning at his mercy evident by the strain in your voice.

Not that he couldn’t tell by one glance at your cunt. You’ve lasted longer than expected- he’ll admit. Much, much longer, and it’s piqued his curiosity quite a bit.

“Quite the brilliant sight, indeed.” He laughs, an airy chuckle practically dripping with amusement. “If only you could see yourself, my dear. Perhaps we could turn this into our own secret film next time- for extra credit.”

“Wouldn’t you agree? A diligent student such as yourself should take the opportunity while it’s still on the table.”

Right. This entire thing had started off a bit less obscene- to some extent. A subtle leaning in towards your face with a reminder that to work under ‘pressure’ would help you preform better on the final. Then, it was a finger lingering just over your throat, slowly trailing around the skin- only to hover just over your pulse point.

How it finally escalated to being restrained to his table, lecture hall otherwise empty aside from a piece of machinery fucking a dildo deep inside you until your mind shatters is beyond your own understanding.

“It’s e-embarrassing…” you whimper. He doesn’t respond aside from a low, pitiful hum that goes straight to your cunt- then you hear a distinct buzz along with a couple clicks before you’re abruptly gasping once again, throwing your head back until your skull roughly bumps against the wood beneath you.

“Oh dear. Careful now. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to my prized student now, would we?”

A couple more clicks and you hear an unfamiliar sound from the remote. It’s maxed. You’re certain he’s just cranked it up to the fastest setting- and it settles once the machine responds, loudly fucking the toy in and out of you and you choke back your own sounds.

“Up, and up, and up,” he hums, as if singing a lullaby, though the way his humming trails into a low, deep chuckle only sends another flash of heat directly to your core. “That was a good noise you just made, little lamb. I would say a C score.”

“W-wait!” You gasp, the loudest your voice has come out all day- finally loud enough for him to hear over the embarrassing squelch of your cunt. “Professor!”

“A C score— yes. Hmmm?” Your breath hitches in your throat when he finally touches you for the first time that night, slowly trailing his finger down the center of your chest. “Though we still have all day to get to that A. I would expect only the best from a brilliant like yourself.”

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Love without lust

Emperor Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : smutish, erection problem, hurt/comfort, kissing, cuddling

Summary : After the festival lots of food and drink was passed around, coins were handed out and bets were placed. Above all, it was also the rhinoceros that had been prepared, Caracalla brushed himself with the special powder...but in the hours afterwards he had to realize lamentably that once again he could not pursue his love and lust even if he wanted to.

info : OMG I knew I had to write this idea after reading the script, but he can't have anything nice without suffering. Have fun reading ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A leader had to be strong and successful, he had to be a strategist and always two steps ahead of everyone else, but he also had to be windy who could wrap everyone around his finger just to strike at the right moment.

There were also attributes of kindness and yielding in order not to be rejected in negotiations, as a ruler it was always a fine line between being right and being condemned.

But there were attributes that at least Geta somehow managed to get right, who at least somehow tried to lead Rome for a few years, trying to implement all the knowledge his father had taught him and it all worked somehow, that was the main thing.

Everything worked except his brother Caracalla was not what he was supposed to be from the beginning, too bad, too jittery, not perfect and with his progressing madness it got worse and worse.

He loved his wife, his brother and Dundus, but above all it was his lucid moments that hurt him when he saw what he had done, what he had failed to do, that only hurt him more.

As much as his wife's encouraging words reassured him, if he could just take her hand and enjoy it he felt less bad, ,,My amusement is to see your joy” he had once told her when he had presented a trick with Dundus and her smile had enchanted him.

It had warmed his heart and made his stomach tingle with love and lust, something they would perform in the bedchamber...wouldn't he provide there too.

At first they were hardly noticeable, but they both had a duty to fulfill, an inheritance to be made, and even if the love was there, the emperor's body seemed to belong less and less to him.

As often as he sought out his beloved to make love to her, to make her happy in the light of torches, the more often it was his body that could not and he lay in her arms, ,,It will work out one day,” she tried to comfort him and stroked the blond hair on his head.

Even if their unhappiness boiled over from time to time, an empire like Rome's needs heirs, at least one, and when Geta died Caracalla would not be able to rule alone, not in his condition.

It was an open fact that was told behind closed doors...but this was not to be the case today. A big party was thrown when the new gladiators had fought and the arena fight in particular had pleased many of the elite and especially the emperors, ,,A ravishing celebration my dear” came from the empress's lips as she sat on the couch next to her husband.

Caracalla's broad grin reflected his excitement, there was the best food, gold hung everywhere and the exoticism only seemed to increase, ,,It's to everyone's liking!” she heard Geta say louder and cheers could be heard as her brother-in-law gave her a quick friendly glance.

Before the marriage it had always been Geta who had taken care of his brother, now he had found a helping hand in her and a compassion that meant a lot to him, returning the look she placed her hand on that of her husband.

Blue eyes that glanced hastily from the audience to her became calm for a moment, ,,You like it? Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked more quietly, almost unsure that he couldn't give her everything.

She nodded and leaned in to give him a quick kiss, feeling him cling to her, his answer coming from the woman who meant so much more to him than all of Rome could. So much more than a wife, a mother, a daughter, an aunt, someone to play with, to love, to desire. She was his heart.

The festival progressed and at some point both emperors joined the company themselves, which she did, some merchants had brought the latest fabrics and toys, both things that she and Caracalla both liked, which is why she left her husband's side for a moment.

A moment of which she was unaware of what he was doing, or rather what he hoped to gain from it, when only minutes later all the nobles gathered again in the main hall to attend the gladiatorial fight, during which she held Caracalla's hand to stem the tide of his euphoria.

The fight, the blood, the excitement, all of these things were something he liked more than ever since his illness. He knew that it somehow did him good, but it could also be insidious, which is why she always kept an eye on her darling.

But even when the fight was exciting, the crowd was cheering and even Geta the gladiator was applauding, Caracalla seemed more interested in enjoying himself than in swapping stories, so she left him and only said a few words of appreciation to the “poet” before she was the first to leave to put an end to the last hour of noise, wine and debauchery.

She used this time to occupy herself with embroidery, read books about fertility and tried to find a solution to her husband's problem with the doctors, which was more difficult than she had assumed.

From old writings that were hardly lesbian, to alternative remedies that were more deadly than helpful for her, to the idea that she should sleep with Geta, which was out of the question for her and them.

She knew how hard it was to run an empire and be there for the family at the same time, but she wanted to help if she gave birth to an heir, but it was Caracala's "fault" that it didn't work, because where there was no seed, there could be no child.

Hours that slowly brought the day to an end, she spoke once more with Geta who wanted to consult with the Senate the next morning, Caracalla disappeared into his room and did not take part in the meal - not unusual but disappointing.

The three of them were always calm, not too mad but not too sad either, he was kept happy by her and his brother and now alone, ,,He will find himself...believe me he always does” Geta tried to cheer her up before brother-in-law and sister-in-law wished each other goodnight and disappeared into their respective bedrooms as the moon slowly rose over Rome.

Her own toga already removed and her servants sent away, she wrapped herself in her evening cloak and lay down on the bed, her eyes on the text on the parchment as the crackling of fire from the torches could be heard...until she heard footsteps and only moments later the door to her chamber was pulled open.

,,Caracallas! Is everything all right?” she asked, unsure if anything had happened, which is why he came in so exuberantly, almost jittery, more excited than usual as he let the doors fall shut behind him and ignored her question, heading straight for her bed and leaping towards her.

Hands taking away her parchments and a broad smile that took her by surprise as he engaged her in a hasty kiss, his hands trying to open her robe trembling with overwhelm and her own fingers barely able to stop him.

,,Alive! My love I feel more ready than ever” he finally answered as he broke away from her, a brief moment between them as he looked at her, his blue eyes dilated and she saw the white sweater still lightly on his nose.

What had he taken? The question popped into her head, but when she felt his lips on her neck, nibbling and biting, she knew that whatever it was might lead to a result that pleased them both.

Her hands loosened his own clothes as best they could, he caressed her body, taking in every spot that wasn't covered, and she fell back into the pillows as she enjoyed his touch again.

Her fingers stroked through his blond hair, ,,Such a beautiful boy," she praised him and saw the bright pink waves between the smudged make-up, heard his groan and kissed him once more as he ran his hands over her breasts, massaging them lightly and kissing the warm skin further to her center and she hoped in her increasingly lust-filled mind that it would work.

The love between them had felt this good for a long time and she was almost as excited as she had been on their first night of marriage when he pushed her robe off her thighs and her body was almost completely exposed.

She closed her eyes as she could almost feel him...but when she heard the sudden rustle of fabric and a intake of air, she opened her eyes, slightly confused.

The lust that had just taken hold of him was mixed with panic and fear, blue eyes clouded with tears as he looked down at himself and looked like he was going to cry, ,,Don't...not again...I'm sorry” he couldn't quite form the sentence, he moved away from her avoiding her gaze as she slowly brought clarity back into her own head and straightened her robe.

Carefully crawling over to him, she placed her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace and feeling the tremors as he cried, as tears dripped and makeup smudged, ,,It's okay, I'm not disappointed you know that...it will work out one day,” she assured him as she caught a glimpse of his body.

What was initially a lust, an arousal was now a soft one again despite the drug he must have taken from the party, but Caracalla shook his head and held on to her tightly, only slowly catching her as his words simply turned back into tears.

,,You are an emperor, Caracallas you are my husband, my sweet sweet boy do you understand?” she asked as she took one of his hands to stroke him slowly over the head.

The empress voice cracked slightly as she saw him so hurt again, it hurt to see him like this when he was so full of joy, so full of confidence that he could finally give her a child...that he could finally be a better father of his own and she could finally be a mother who cared for a real child and not him.

Her kisses on his head continued to judge him all around and she slowly let him go, ,,Yes-Yes I understand...I thought it would work, just once more it didn't have to work...our love could have accomplished so much” he slowly let out and repositioned himself.

His head shot to hers in prayer and his blue eyes looked up at the painted ceiling showing the heroics and gods she held out one hand for him to hold onto and her other continued to stroke his head like a mother would, like his mother had done.

She held him there while the torches burned around them and she gradually felt his peace, ,,Our love will reach so much” she assured him saw blue eyes look at her and his smile became confident, he believed her and two hearts beat the same again that night as fear and sorrow were submerged in soft loving kisses and they had a night of safety and above all true love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @somepallings , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs , @artandmusicdubs , @eddie-munsons-mommy , @duck-duck-goose2 , @userchai , @the-a-word-2214 , @sweeteststing , @qardasngan

[igotanidea]

Stuck: Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader

A/N: seriously, I almost titled this chapter "idiot" , XD (and that's also the spoiler alert XD)

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

***

One year ago

„When will you get those irrational thoughts out of your head Y/N?”

“What irrational thoughts?”

“About marriage out of love. No such thing exist in the world, my dear and if you do not start living in reality you shall become a spinster!”

“Mother!” Y/N’s eyes grew wide at the harsh and unjust words. She was still so young and to almost be called an old maid—

“Do not raise your voice young lady. You shall marry this season otherwise you would be putting our noble house in a very compromising position.”

“But-“

“Ah! Do not object your mother Y/N. You’ll do as I say. I know what’s best for you and you shall follow the lead. And that is precisely why you’ll accept when Lord Bridgerton proposes to you.”

“Lord Bridgerton!? Which one!?”

“The viscount, dear.” Her mother fluttered her fan imperiously. “Lord Anthony Bridgerton.”

“There is no possibility that I-“

“Hush!”

“Mother I –“

“You’ll say yes.” The tone of voice became much more commanding, leaving no space for discussion. It was like Y/N’s fate has already been decided.

“And why shall I? Because the viscount has decided he has enough pleasantries exchanged with modistes and actresses and other ladies free of the burden of the title. Because mighty Lord Bridgerton decided it is time to tie bounds with a young noble lady, who will be naïve and foolish enough to look at his antics without as much as a blink of an eye. Who will – dear lord – bear him an heir to the title and be the perfect little wife he would order around.”

“Y/N Y/L/N!” her mother raised from the chaise longue with cheeks flushed due to her daughter impertinence. “You will accept the proposal!”

“I will not!”

“Your father has already made the appropriate commitments!”

“Commitments!?”

“You shall be courted like a young lady should and get married in the fall.”

“Mother!”

“It has been decided. Now, you go and make yourself presentable. Lord Bridgerton has announced his visit in the afternoon.”

***

The visit was a disaster, to use the light words.

It was clear as day that neither Anthony nor Y/N were fully content with this arrangement and subconsciously tried to discourage the other. That way, when one of them would actually break it off, said one would be to blame for the disgrace, that would undeniably fall on both families.

However-

Despite some many character discrepancies they were both pertinacious and individualistic, ready to go the greatest length to have one’s own way. Neither of them was even thinking of surrendering easily.

Therefore, during his first appointment as a suitor Anthony was met with cold stares, minimum exchange of words and very noticeable distance on his future bride’s part.

Immediately matching the atmosphere and repaying in kind, only doubled in intensity.

Getting burned with the tea in response.

Causing a lot of havoc, many fake words of apologies and even more words of assurance that is must have been an unfortunate accident and he holds no grudge.

For obvious reason the time spend in L/N;s household was cut extremely short and Y/N was send to bed without supper to think about her erratic behavior.

Next few visits were no better.

Especially not the one when Anthony and Y/N were to reveal to a wide audience the nature of their acquaintance by strolling on the promenade, beaming with happiness due to their soon-to-be marriage.

“Dear lord, you are to be enthusiastic.” Anthony hissed in Y/N’s ear grabbing her arm with a bit more force than needed “Smile.”

She put on a fake grin when they were passing by some familiar face, but as soon as the woman was gone she turned to Anthony throwing daggers at him.

“Giving me orders already, Lord Bridgerton?”

“Hopefully you can be tempered if we start getting you used to it this early.”

“Oh! Perhaps it should be you to change the perspective my lord. See the real face of a lady you decided to meet at the altar?”

“And here I though your wonderful mother raised you better.”

“Do not dare speak of my mother the ill way!” she almost yelled, almost yanking her hand free from his grip, stopping the walk and challenging him to do something reckless.

“Forgive me.” He became serious in an instant and the words of apologies actually seemed honest. “You are right, I overstepped.”

“Thank you.” She responded with a deep sigh. God knows how much it took for her to stay calm. Regardless of the on-going conflict and differences in views between Y/N and her mother, the young woman would never let anyone offend her family. Not even Lord Bridgerton. And he should know that straight away.

“Perhaps we have started off the wrong foot, Lady Y/L/N.”

“I believe so. Seemingly we have a way to bring out the worst in each other, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Is that a way to tell me I have already seen you on your lowest behavior?”

“Compliments, Lord Bridgerton, you have endured my greatest efforts to cause you dispiritedness.” Despite herself she let out a chuckle.

“I am known for my endurance even in the least favorable circumstances.”

“I shall keep on my efforts, nonetheless.”

“I am deeply convinced that this will be the case”

***

Dearest gentle reader,

It has come to this writer’s attention that the affection between Viscount Bridgerton and young lady Y/L/N is in full bloom.

Despite the initial misunderstandings and noble behavior, that hasn't deceived any member of the ton, even if have been well played, recent news and observation has shown that maybe there's less pretending and more truth to it. 

Much to the ton’s discombobulation, young pair has been seen laughing together while the viscount resorted to courting in the way that resemble his late father and Lady Violet Bridgerton manner.

This writer daresay that no elite member would have ever do as much as dream of Lord Anthony Bridgerton picking meadow flowers for his chosen one while walking in the fields, away from prying eyes. Neither anyone would ever think about the forever dreamer lady Y/l/n actually so close to fulfilling her dream of marrying out of love. Irrational thoughts, as someone may put.

It is yet to be decided whether the on-going courtship between lord Bridgerton and lady Y/L/N will be a source of impending scandal in the society or whether those two will actually succeed in keeping this lovable atmosphere for following years.

After all – real love is not easily found and even less easily kept once the obstacles arise.

***

Now.

“You are to be enthusiastic.” Anthony murmured taking Y/N;s arm and bowing to the passing nobles “Smile.”

Those words brought back some memories and she couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of the history that was in fact repeating itself.

“What is so funny?”

“Your memory does seem so be failing my lord. Won’t you remember the last situation when you told me to express my happiness and contentment to the ton?”

“I—” Anthony cut off, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh.

“Seem like you do after all.”

“Y/N…”

“Been a while since I had to pretend I was content though, given the fact that I truly was, of late.” The hint of sadness and melancholy was not to miss and did not make it easier for Anthony to pursue on the apologies he was tirelessly pursuing.

“Y/N…”

“Good job on choosing the right name since the person, whose hand you are now holding for display seem to be too much for you, my lord. To say the full truth I am fairly surprised you chased me here instead of focusing on spending time with one of your-“

“Don’t you finish that sentence.”

“Oh, I shall not, god forbid. I shall keep the pretenses as any lady married into a good family will.” She send the brightest smile to some kids that were running around, preached by their parents, holding her walls up.

At this point, mockery and distancing herself from the entire unfortunate events, if not fight, was the only way to prevent the emotional and mental breakdown and falling into tears. She was hurt. She was deeply hurt on a level she never thought existed. Anthony’s behavior hit precisely in all the sensitive spots, leaving her overthinking and wailing inside. Reminding her of all the years in her family’s household, being forced to act according to the standards, which she constantly broke, defying all the rules of ossified society and paying a heavy price for being herself despite the odds.

Being called too much, constantly.

Until she met Eloise, which was freeing. Y/N could finally feel like herself, spending a lot of time with Bridgertons.

And then meeting Anthony.

And actually creating a happy story with him, believing she would once and for all be free of the typecasting and tag putting.

But he started behaving in the same way to which she was exposed her entire life.

Too much.

Not enough.

And it made her angry.

“Please do forgive me for not easily being shaped in the wife you want me to be.”

“Shaped? I never wanted you any different!”

“Is that so?” she raised an eyebrow teasingly and it got her furious glance of her husband’s and the tightening bruising grip on her wrist. “you’re hurting me. Again.” The emphasis put on the last word actually made Anthony realize that he was not made of stone, but the words he wished to say were not coming easily.

“Y/N…” he clenched his jaw. She was mocking and challenging him even now, when he was trying to admit he was wrong and trying to apologize for the wrongdoings.

“Yes, my lord?” she took a step back, smiling in that light way that made him even more furious.

 “I believe you wanted to spend time on an intellectual conversation with my sister. Forgive me-“ he bowed in a distant manner reserved for strangers rather than spouses “-for being as impertinent to interrupt ladies’ time. I shall withdraw and leave you to continue on your – surely important- exchange”

And with those words, much to the shock of not only Y/N, but also Benedict and Eloise, who were still following them, Anthony bowed again and started walking away, raising clouds of dust due to the speed with which he rushed off from the place where he left his beloved wife.

Feeling the weight of failure and heartbreak on his shoulders, without a single way to make up for his mistake and keeping the face of a viscount at the same time.

Convinced that she hated him and there was no way to regain her favor and affection.

next part (finale!) : Just right

@pietrawebster @chrissisheadisinclouds @fuzzym4m4 @gloomysel @urfavnoirette @dd122004dd @milkbummm @bevstofu @taniasethi @syraxnyra @christinabae @pandoraneverland @bevstofu @topguncultleader @jana-jaeynneee @myaa21212121 @ziarah @cat-lockwood @leaf-rose-thorn @elissanatok @lily3450 @nervousmumbling @budugu @frickin-bats @sillyfreakfanparty @amberpanda99 @nycthophiliaa @myaa21212121 @bananaadeleigate @everybodystaycalm @fmhcatt @sankareatheundead @cat-lockwood @1potato2rulethemall

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 1 : “Unveiled” [cyberstalking] for Kinktober.

♡stalker! fyodor d. x afab! reader.

♡Synopsis: your secret life as a streamer takes a wild turn when feyda becomes dangerously obsessed with you, well uh.. obsessed enough to break in, not just to watch, but to finally fuck you.

♡Warnings: ņsfw, mdni, smųt with plot, cyberstalking, cybersex, obsessed! fedya, bdsm themes, non-con recording, dark themes, bondage, oral, cum mentioned, unprotected sex..etc.

♡Word count & a/n: 4k, i'm so sorry. i know i'm horrendously late. i might or might not have morphed into some sort of poetic lunatic by the end of this fic ppft. also, shoutout to fedya’s art by the brilliant " @isabeau333 " on x.

[SEE: Kink Coin & Winners Scoreboard]

it’s 1:46 a.m. again. you’re sitting on your bed, eyes wide open, staring at the glow of your phone screen. tonight feels different, but you can’t wrap your finger on why. there's a stillness in your own bedroom that makes your skin prickle with unease. you should be asleep by now—work’s in a few hours—but your body hums with a strange kind of thrill. a thrill you haven’t felt since him.

you unlock your phone and scroll through your messages—nothing. the usual fans, the usual comments. until you see it, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest as you catch the latest one:

unknown: “don’t bother, my dear. i’m already inside.”

unconsciously, your breath catches in your throat. inside? inside where? your fingers freeze as you stare at the screen. is someone actually stalking you? you can't help but think what if it’s just a prank, someone trying to mess with you, make you think that you're crazy or something.

but deep down, you know better.

because nothing exciting ever really happens to you. not in your real life, anyway. you’ve got your 9-to-5 job, well, the same routine every day as it was before him. you come home, make lunch, and watch a show to unwind from the long, exhausting day at work. mundane. predictable.

but after midnight, everything changes.

it’s the part of your life no one knows about. not even your closest friends. as soon as the clock hits 12, you shift into someone else entirely. that secret side of you comes alive, and for a few hours every night, you stream games to a hidden audience, identity shielded by the anonymity of your kitsune mask.

you’re known online as "kitsunekitten," a name that’s grown more popular than you ever expected. thousands of fans tune in religiously to watch you play everything from dishonoured to lies of p, dead cells, or resident evil. and with every stream, your fanbase grows. the praise, the attention—it feels good.

your phone buzzes again.

unknown: “look behind you.”

you freeze, breath hitching with fear as you feel the slight shiver spread across your body. your gaze darts to the corner of the room, where your webcam sits innocently atop your monitor. you’ve always felt secure with the mask on—no one could ever see your face, not really. but now? the idea that someone might be looking through the lens, watching your every move, makes your skin crawl.

for a long moment, you don’t move. you don’t dare to. but the urge to check if it's him is eating you alive. slowly, your head turns, heart pounding as your eyes scan the obscured room behind you.

there's nothing.

the room is exactly how you left it—empty, quiet.

your shoulders sag in relief, though your nerves still remain frayed, buzzing with adrenaline. you stand from your desk, pacing, trying everything just anything to shake the unease that's wrecking your system. you glance at the clock: 1:49 a.m. it’s too late to still be awake, but you’re wired. there’s no way you’re getting any sleep tonight, not after those messages.

your phone buzzes again, and against your better judgment, you grab it.

unknown: “you’re so cute when you’re scared.”

your blood runs cold, a shiver racing down your spine. there’s no way they can actually be inside… right? you check the door, locked. the windows, closed. you even peek through the curtains, scanning the street below. everything is as it should be, yet the feeling of being watched is suffocating.

how do they know?

another message:

unknown: “why don’t you check the stream again?”

your heart nearly stops. you rush back to your desk, hands trembling as you click open your streaming software. the screen flickers showing your room through the webcam—but something’s off.

the feed is lagging, slow, as if struggling to keep up. then, for a split second, you see it—a shadow in the corner of the room. you blink, leaning closer, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

panic sets in, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to do. but before you can type anything, another message appears, this time in the stream chat. their username, the same one that’s been following you for a few days now: raskolnikov.

“i like your mask, but it’s time we get rid of it, don’t you think?”

your pulse races trying your best to shut the stream down, but your cursor freezes. the mouse won’t respond. every click is to no avail. the screen blurs for a moment before the video feed cuts to black.

what the hell is going on?

then, just as you're about to reach for your phone to call 911, your screen lights up again, showing a video file playing. it’s footage of you—a vivid footage from inside your apartment. to be more exact from your bedroom. you recognize the view, the angle—it’s from your own webcam showing you, sleeping, unaware of the camera watching your every move you make.

your stomach churns. this isn’t real, no... this can’t be real.

then you hear it. this time, a voice comes from right behind you. it filters through your ears, clear with a chilling calmness to it.

“did you miss me, myskha?”

your body locks up, thrill tightening your throat. god! you're so stupid, of course it's him, you should've known it's him, that smooth, taunting tone you’d recognise anywhere.

it’s fyodor dostoevsky.

a few months ago, things were simple. your streams were gaining traction, and the messages were nothing out of the ordinary. until him.

it started small—just a user in your chat, “@demonfyodor,” who seemed more attentive than others. you didn’t think much of it at first. his comments were polite, sometimes even helpful. but then, they became more specific. he knew details about your personal life, things you had never shared on stream—what books you were reading, the colour of the shirt you wore to work that day.

you ignored it at first, brushing it off as a coincidence. but the coincidences kept piling up. he knew too much.

and then, the gifts started arriving. packages with no return address. items you’d mentioned offhandedly during a stream—a game you were interested in, a book you had your eye on, even a necklace you admired. they all came, perfectly wrapped, as if sent by someone who was always listening, aways watching.

by then, the messages grew more intense, sliding into your dms with a casual ease that sent shivers down your spine. easy to say that he wanted more than just to watch. he craved interaction, intimacy, a connection that transcended beyond the screen. and the thrill of having someone so alluringly close was insanely intoxicating, especially when you wore your mask, the anonymity allowing you to explore sides of yourself you’d long kept hidden.

at first, it was thrilling to engage in these flirty exchanges with him. fyodor had a specific way of using words that wrapped around you like silk, enticing you into a world of pleasure you had almost forgotten. he’d ask if you liked the gifts he sent—those perfect little treasures that you've always secretly craved. new packages started arriving, each one with a rush of excitement, revealing items that teased at your wildest fantasies—handcuffs, whips, and other bdsm delights that you had secretly wanted to try but never had the courage to explore.

you’d spent so long alone, single for what felt like an eternity, that you never expected to be so drawn to these fantasies again.

you found yourself lost in hours of texting, often escalating to calls and even facetiming late at night. there was this specific magnetic pull between you, a connection that was both so thrilling yet unbelievably terrifying. and the unforgettable nights you shared became an addiction—worse than nicotine, you realised.

safe to say that fyodor was different. well, he was smart, intuitive, and oh, that half-lidded gaze of his, those captivating amethyst eyes that seemed to pierce through your soul, made it nearly impossible to resist. the way he smirked when he facetimed you, so confident and smooth, drew you in like a cat to catnip.

fyodor had a unique talent for making you cum over and over again without even being in the same room. his silk smooth voice filling your senses with his soft moans and luscious whispers. you could almost feel him there with you, as if he knew every secret spot that would send you twirling into ecstasy.

“just for me, darling,” he would murmur in the dead of night, calling you while you lay there, helplessly aroused, stroking his deliciously lengthy pale cock while whispering sweet nothings that seemed to tangible your desire. it was intoxicating.

and oh the thrill of being sprawled out in front of him through the lens, just for his viewing pleasure, became a nightly ritual. you’d slowly slide the lavender dildo he gifted between your slick-coated folds, moaning softly as you fucked yourself just for him, eagerly awaiting his reaction. every squirm, every gasp was a performance, and the way he admired your every inch of you, the way his gaze burned into you through the screen, made it all the more exhilarating. you loved how pretty he made you feel, how desired, and how alive.

and then came the darker undertones—the realisation that the line between thrill and danger was razor-thin, especially when your connection to him spiraled deeper into obsession.

you were obsessed—completely consumed by him, and you could swear he felt the same. fyodor was always there, filling the void with his words and voice. until one day… he just disappeared.

no warning, no goodbye. nothing, just… gone.

he deleted all of his accounts, his number, everything. every trace of him, wiped clean, deactivated as if he had never existed in the first place. you thought it was some kind of sick game at first. a punishment, maybe? but for what ? you didn’t know. all you knew was the desperate, gnawing need for answers.

you spent days—weeks, really—searching for any trace of him, some clue, something that would explain why he’d vanish so suddenly. but there was nothing. it was as if he had planned this all along, like a predator keeping his prey hooked, dangling just out of reach before vanishing into the void, leaving you stranded in the wake of your obsession.

you’d find yourself obsessively refreshing your streams, hoping his username would pop up in the chat as it used to, scouring your dms, wondering if maybe he was still watching you, lurking among the anonymous fans. you caught yourself imagining him behind every new follower, every message, wondering if he was there, pulling the strings once again.

three months of silence. three agonizing months of waiting, hoping, wondering. were you in love with him? or was it just a pure obsession? you couldn’t tell anymore. all you knew was that he had burrowed into your life, into your mind, so deeply that it felt like you were drowning without him.

your late-night streams had become hollow rituals, devoid of the thrill they once held. the gifts he’d sent were still there, tucked away, untouched since his disappearance. you couldn’t bring yourself to use them anymore, not without him. Not without his voice in your ear, telling you how perfect you were, how beautiful you looked writhing on camera just for him.

"you're shaking my dear are you okay"

his smooth, silky voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts. okay? you're anything but okay. is he even kidding right now? you almost had a heart attack, convinced someone was about to kill you.

your hands tremble, mind racing with dozens of thoughts, questions colliding together in your head. but against all logic, despite the overwhelming fear, you can’t help but feel the familiar rush of dopamine hit your brain receptors.

you missed him. and you know exactly what that means.

he’s right there, sitting on your bed—flesh and bone, not just pixels on a screen. it’s almost too much to process. you hate to admit it, but he’s even more handsome in person. those amethyst eyes are sharper, more intriguing, and his smirk… makes your stomach twist with longing.

then, his voice again hypnotic, like velvet draping over your hearing senses:

“i’m sorry, myshka. i didn’t mean to disappear like that... i had some things to take care of.” he pauses, eyes searching your face for any sign that might let him push further. but all he finds is panic, disbelief, and hurt.

“i—i don’t understand,” you stammer, desperately searching for a way to make sense of it all.

his hand reaches out, brushing your cheek lightly. the touch makes you flinch, but it’s not out of fear. it's the way your body responds—a pink hue spreading underneath your cheeks colouring them so adorably.

“you’re trembling, my dear” he whispers, thumb trailing down to your lips. “but not just from fear, is it? no… there's something else, isn’t there, darling?”

you should push him away. you should scream. but instead, you stay frozen, heart pounding in your chest as his thumb presses lightly against your lower lip, and you can see the striking plum violet and mauve lines in his amaranthine irises.

“you’re so beautiful without the mask,” he continues, leaning slightly forward. “i’ve missed this. missed you.”

oh shit! the mask—how did you forget it? the realisation hits you like a truck, leaving you feeling achingly exposed, like a delicate flower stripped of its petals. is this okay? will he hurt you?

his other hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around your side delicately, drawing you closer to him.

“i’ve been watching you, myshka,” he smiles, that damn smile that you've always wondered when you'll see again. “every night, waiting for the right moment to return.”

“did you think about me?” he asks, eyes narrowing playfully, as if he already knows the answer. you swallow hard, not sure if you should be honest with him or not.

“y-yes,” you finally admit, of course, you thought about him—every single day and night. his essence always lingered in your mind like an addiction, one you couldn’t quite shake off. every moment of your life was coloured by the hope of his return.

“tell me what you want, myshka,” his eyes roam over your nightgown, captivated by how your lavender bra hugs your breasts so perfectly from underneath. tracing the cascade of your hair down your shoulders, with a few wisps caught teasingly between the soft curves of your cleavage. “i can give you everything and more.”

oh lord—the way he says it makes your vision blurs with lust, you want to tell him, you want to confess all of your darkest desires, the fantasies you’ve spun in the solitude of your room. but words fail you. instead, your body leans instinctively toward him, humming in delight, craving the contact you’ve denied yourself for so long.

“the little toys i sent you are gathering dust, aren’t they? i think it’s time we put them to use.”

your breath catches in your throat. how did he know? you hesitate for a second before rushing to your closet, fingers trembling slightly as you open the drawer and pull out the baby blue handcuffs and the magenta vibrator he gifted you months ago his smirk widens as he watches you, an amsuing glint speading into his eyes.

“good choice,” he murmurs, stepping closer to take the items from your hands, smirking viciously as he holds the cuffs like a trophy. “let’s see how well you can follow my orders tonight.”

slowly, he begins to undress you, hands exploring every inch of your soft skin as if you're a forbidden fruit in eve's garden. he traces his fingers along your arms, down your hips, then to your neck down your spin and the cloudy pillows of your ass. each touch makes your skin pebble, radiating flames under his tender touches. you’re not just his toy, you’re his masterpiece.

once he’s stripped you down to nothing, he leads you to the bed and gently handcuffs your wrists to the headboard, securing you in place. you're quite aware that there's a thin line between excitement and anxiety but right now? all you can think about is what he is planning.

as he finishes, he swoops down, lips brushing yours so teasingly, before pressing his cold ones against yours in a gentle chaste kiss growing handsier by each second, causing you to let out a muffled hum of surprise.

he pulls back watching your heaving chest as you catch him holding your kitsune mask, a vicious smile curling on his lips. “you know I can’t have my favorite little fox completely unmasked,” he teases, lifting it toward your face, placing the mask over your features to obscure your identity as he holds a camera in his other hand aiming it at you, its lens capturing the erotic moment. “i want to remember every exquisite detail,” he grouses erotically—placing the camera on your night stand before slowly taking off his clothes.

your breath hitches as you take in his details through the mask. yes, you've seen him naked multiple times before, but it was always behind the camera lenses, never this close. his body is pale and perfectly structured, and oh god, his waist—how is he that beautiful?

your gaze drifts lower, eyes widening as they lock onto his hard cock, the tip glistening and teasingly brushing against your slick folds. it’s a sight that sends a jolt of desire pooling low in your stomach. you want him—need him—right now.

he spreads your folds with two digits, looking eagerly with darkened amethyst orbs as your delicious juices drool from your empty hole.

“oh... myshka, your pussy is so much softer than i imagined.” he purrs as he watches your glossy lips part slightly letting out muffled mewls, the mask frames your features, leaving your mouth exposed for him. he tilts his hips ever so slightly letting the tip of his cock glide against your buzzing clit.

“mnff...fedya,” here comes your needy whimpers that he adores.

he lowers himself, so that his mouth is just a few inches from your cunt, warm breath faning against your wet puffy folds making your cunt gush more and more of its sweet juices.

he begins with teasing licks, the hot muscle swirling around your sensitive clit in circular motion, each flick makes your back arch and hips instinctively buck up yearning for more. a muffled 'mmff' vibrates against your hot sex, as he tastes the sweet honey seeping from between your folds like you’re the sweetest nectar.

“mmff myshka, can you stop moving so much?” he murmurs against your heat core, the vibrations adding to the delicious torment. his fingers dive deeper, curling inside you as he continues to work your clit with his mouth, the combination making you moan loudly, while struggling against your restrained hands, you desperately try to break free, yearning to let your fingers tug on his luscious black silk hair.

“please… more,” you gasp, unable to contain the desperation in your voice as he responds with a low, pleased growl, redoubling his efforts to bring you close enough to your sweet release.

but just as you’re about to cum, he suddenly pulls away. a desperate whimper escapes your lips, the pleasure abruptly cut off as you watch him with wide eyes, feeling the emptiness where he was just a moment ago.

“not yet, myshka,” he chuckles, licking his lips to taste the ghost of you.

without warning, he rams inside you, filling you to the hilt in one swift motion. a sharp gasp leaves your mouth as he stretches you, the sudden intrusion makes your vision blurry, stars flashing behind your eyes making every nerve in your body tingle with pleasure. as you feel yourself close to your release again, your walls clenching around him instinctively.

“черт! тебе так хорошо.” (fuck! you feel so good.) he groans as he begins to thrust deep, each swing of his hips sending ripples of ecstasy radiating from your core. “this tight little pussy of yours..ngh..is going to become my new obsession..mff”

you mull over his words as they feed at all parts of your hollow heart, making you feel butterflies in your stomach mingling with the coil tightening in your lower abdomen.

lost in a haze of blissful moans and blurred vision, you barely notice fyodor's hand gliding over to the vibrator. the moment he presses it against your swollen clit, a scream escapes your lips, a sound of pure ecstasy that mingles with his deep, satisfied moan. the buzzing sensation resonates deep within you, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire body. as his heavy shaft with veins straining against the skin, finds new pleasure points inside you that he commits to memory eager for the next time you make love.

heat coils between you as his furrowed brows speak of pure, concentrated desire. each deep stroke reshapes your walls, molding them to the weight and curve of his delicious lengthy cock, making sure no one else could ever fill you up the way he does. when your eyes meet, it’s like gazing into a galaxy of forbidden stars—his eyes telling you of a dark beauty of pleasure that pulls you higher and higher and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass blends with your moans, each collision driving you closer to the intoxicating edge of bliss.

you’re absolutely lost in the art of it, the way his body claims yours, painting pleasure across every nerve until the world outside dissolves and all that remains is just the two of you.

his breath comes in ragged, desperate gasps, tension in his muscles like the pull of a bowstring, ready to spill inside you at any given moment. he swells, every stroke only adding more fuel to the release building between you. the world narrows to this moment, the brush of his sweaty skin against your heaving chest, the pulse of pleasure echoing through your body with the buzzy rhythm of the vibrator pressed on your clit drives you straight away to your own release.

it's like stars colliding in the vastness of a violet sky, you shatter together. his name spills from your lips in a cry, body arching as pleasure crashes over you, flooding your senses. his hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he drives deeper, groaning low in his chest. and then you feel the heat of his release blooms inside you, filling you in waves as your walls pulse around him, pulling him in even tighter.

your bodies tremble in the afterglow, the world spinning and slowing until only the soft hum of breath and the fading echoes of pleasure remain. you glance at his irresistible eyes, seeing the remnants of that celestial fire, a shared intimacy that lingers even as the stars dim and the night settles into quiet.

he reaches over with a steady hand, grabbing the camera set just beyond the edge of the bed, with a smirk curling his lips, he flicks it off, the soft click signaling the end of the recording before he leans closer, fingers brushing against your cheekbone as he slowly pulls the mask off your face and gently frees your aching wrists from the restraints.

“beautiful,” he murmurs with a thick russian accent, his breath mingles with yours for a heartbeat before he closes the gap, capturing your lips in another deep, passionate kiss, mouth moving erotically against yours with the same fervor that had driven him moments before, as if he’s still chasing the aftershocks of pleasure through the taste of your glossy now-swollen lips.

“moya lyubov, you're designed just for me.”

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguru @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @laylabuurr

[lizzyiii]

hey, so ur works are literally heaven in itself (im in love with u)

you guys reading my works are what validate me in life (i'm so in love with you too, babe)

Scales and Arpeggios

pairing | aemond x wife!reader word count | 4.3k words summary | aemond and his wife share tender moments with their children, engaging in music lessons that bring warmth and joy to their family amidst the shadows of the dance of dragons.

note | slight angst, hotd au (greens win), KING AEMOND, toothrotting fluffff, children, no description of reader, fluffy Aemond, soft aemond, pregnant!reader a/n | aristocats inspired (duchess and her kittens), I thought of this this morning. I really needed this fluff after all my negative thoughts and feelings. also don't worry, I have all my requests in the making, and in my draft's - prepare for the angst and feels.

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Aemond was tired.

Day upon day, his life was mired in endless council meetings, audiences with quarrelsome lords, and grievances of the peasantry, all in the name of healing a realm ravaged by war.

It had been two years since the Dance of the Dragons had torn through the land, yet the scars remained, as fresh as the charred ruins left in the dragons’ wake.

And here he was, King of the Seven Kingdoms—but at what bitter cost. He had bested Daemon in the fierce clash over the God’s Eye, and his half-sister, the self-styled Queen, had been devoured by her own madness.

She met her end as Sunfyre tore her asunder upon Aegon’s command. Not long after, Aegon himself succumbed to his wounds, leaving the crown a hollow prize.

Aemond had defeated the Blacks. The traitors were vanquished, their cause snuffed out. But his family had been taken in the fires of war. Jaehaerys murdered; young Maelor torn apart; Daeron slain.

Helaena, dear Helaena, had taken her own life. And Aegon—Aegon had burned away with his dragon, his defiance crumbling under the agony of his wounds.

All that remained of his bloodline were fleeting shadows of memory and ashes of kin. Only his wife, the woman bound to him since he was but fourteen, remained steadfast.

Through the dark days of the war, you had been his only constant, his sole source of solace. In the end, that was all he had left: his bride, his son Aeron, his niece Jaehaera, and his mother, Queen Alicent, who clung to life with a frail resilience.

It was his wife, too, who had stayed his hand when he considered the fates of Daemon’s daughters. You had urged him to spare the lives of Baela and Rhaena, allowing them sanctuary with their sole surviving brother, Aegon the Younger, now far away in Driftmark.

And yet, his mother had been torn asunder by grief, the madness that followed the loss of three of her children consuming her like a wildfire. Just months ago, Alicent had succumbed to the cruel grip of Winter Fever, and with her passing, the warmth of their family had dimmed further.

He blamed himself, for in his fervor to protect his own—the children he adored and his beloved wife—he had allowed himself to be blind to his mother’s decline. Each day, he devoted himself to the care and nurturing of Aeron and Daenys, ensuring Jaehaera felt the presence of family, while the ever-looming responsibilities of the crown overshadowed his duties as a son.

Now, he barely caught glimpses of the life that remained. He would rise in the early hours, the dawn light casting a soft glow upon his wife’s sleeping form, a fleeting moment of peace before he was swept away by the relentless tide of royal obligations.

In the fleeting minutes before he departed for court, he could only admire the serene lines of your face, knowing that the day would steal him from your side again.

The children were no better; brief encounters in the corridors felt like whispers of a past he could hardly grasp. Aeron would be playing with his toys, and Daenys might be crawling after the palace cats, laughter echoing softly in the halls, but those joyful sounds seemed distant, muffled by the duties that consumed him.

But on this day, a flicker of fortune shone upon him; he had managed to complete his duties earlier than usual. Typically, he toiled long into the night, only to return to the warmth of their chambers when all were asleep. Though it was after supper, a glimmer of hope sparked within him that perhaps he could still find them, to grasp those precious moments he had so dearly missed.

Through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, the young Prince Aeron and Princess Jaehaera raced, their laughter echoing against the cold stone walls as they hurried toward the music lesson that awaited them. The air was filled with the thrill of their spirited competition, each eager to claim the title of first to arrive.

As they rounded a corner, Jaehaera noticed Aeron pulling ahead, determination etched across his small face. In a quick, daring move, she reached out and tugged at his tunic, managing to pull him back just enough to dart ahead. “Me first!” she shouted, her voice ringing with triumph.

Not to be outdone, Aeron swiftly grabbed hold of her arm, attempting to halt her advance. “And why should you be first?” he challenged.

Jaehaera strained against his grip, lifting her chin defiantly as she met his gaze. “Because I am the future queen, that’s why!” she declared, her voice bold and unwavering.

With that, she broke free, dashing down the corridor, but Aeron was quick on her heels, bumping her to the side in a playful shove that almost sent her sprawling against the wall. “You’re not a queen! You’re nothing but my cousin!” he yelled.

Jaehaera shot him a fierce glare, her brows knitting together. “I’ll show you if I’m a queen or not,” she murmured under her breath, determination simmering in her tone as they neared the door to the music room.

In a last-ditch effort to claim victory, Jaehaera pushed Aeron aside just as they reached the threshold. He stumbled slightly but quickly regained his footing, throwing a frown her way. “Fight fair, Jae!”

Without missing a beat, she rolled her eyes and slipped into the room, only to be met with an unexpected shove from Aeron as he followed closely behind. He hadn’t meant to, but the force sent Jaehaera tumbling to the ground with a hard thud that echoed in the hall.

She shot him a fierce glare, her lips forming a pout as she rubbed her side. “Now that hurt!” she exclaimed, the hint of a whine creeping into her voice.

“Aunty! Aunty!” she called out, her tone shifting to one of urgency.

Moments later, you entered the room, carrying Daenys on your hip. A mixture of sternness and affection danced on your face as you regarded the two children. “Jaehaera, my darling, Jaehaera,” you said, your voice firm but softening with a smile. “You must stop that; it is really not ladylike.”

Your gaze shifted to Aeron, your tone turning slightly admonishing. “And you, Aeron, such behavior is most unbecoming of a lovely gentleman.”

Aeron’s cheeks flushed, and he scowled at Jaehaera, ready to defend himself. “Well, she started it,” he retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.

Jaehaera, unfazed, lifted her chin in a gesture of regal disdain, pointedly turning her gaze away from him. “Queens do not start fights,” she declared, her voice dripping with authority. Then, with a scrunch of her nose, she added, “But they can finish them.”

Aeron rolled his eyes dramatically at Jaehaera, sticking out his tongue in mockery, but the jest was short-lived as he heard his mother’s voice call out from across the room. “Now, Aeron, don’t be rude,” you scolded, your tone firm but laced with affection.

He turned to you, flashing an innocent smile, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. “We were just practicing fighting and pushing,” he replied, his words punctuated by an exaggerated shrug that only added to the mischief of the moment.

You felt a jolt of discomfort at his words, a wave of haunting memories crashing over you. The echoes of past conflicts flickered in your mind—battles fought and lives lost, the heavy price of such lessons. “Targaryens do not practice fighting and pushing and things like that,” you replied, your voice low, the irony of your own words hanging heavily in the air. “It is just horrible.”

With a determined effort, you sought to redirect the conversation and lighten the mood. “Now,” you began, your expression softening as you turned your gaze to Daenys, nestled in your arms, her tiny form clearly on the brink of sleep.

You smiled adoringly at her, a sense of calm washing over you as you looked back at Jaehaera and Aeron. “Why don’t you two head over to the piano, and let’s begin our lesson?”

“Yes, Aunty!” Jaehaera chirped, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she practically danced toward the instrument, subtly shouldering Aeron aside.

Aeron glared at Jaehaera, his indignation flaring up momentarily, but he quickly turned to you with a soft nod. “Yes, Mama,” he replied.

“It’s time to practice your scales and your arpeggios,” you encouraged, as you moved toward the piano. You settled onto the chaise beside it, Daenys resting her head comfortably against your shoulder, her eyes half-closed as she watched her brother and cousin with a sleepy fascination.

Jaehaera stood poised beside the grand piano, her back straight and shoulders squared, a picture of determination. She cleared her throat, the sound echoing softly in the air, and waited expectantly for Aeron to begin.

However, she cast him a pointed glare as he took his sweet time, leisurely warming up his hands as if the lesson were no pressing matter.

Finally, after an impatient moment, Jaehaera announced, “I’m ready, Maestro,” her voice ringing with a blend of authority and hautiness.

Aeron shot her a sideways glance, his mischievous grin returning as he subtly shifted his foot and stomped down hard onto Jaehaera’s, eliciting a sharp squeak from her.

“Aunty, he did it again!” she exclaimed, turning her wide eyes toward you, indignation clear in her voice.

Aeron, unfazed, looked away, propping his chin on his hand with an exaggerated air of nonchalance. “Tattletale,” he whispered in response.

You carefully rubbed Daenys' back, the gentle motion soothing your daughter. Your patience was unwavering, as you said, “Now, Aeron, please, darling, settle down and play me your pretty little song.” Your voice was calm, and your tone both firm and nurturing.

With a resigned sigh, Aeron nodded, his playful demeanor shifting as he positioned himself at the piano. “Yes, Mama,” he murmured, fingers poised above the keys. As he began to play, the room filled with the soft, melodic strains of his music.

Aemond was at a loss, frustration tightening his chest as he searched the sprawling halls of the Red Keep for you. He had scoured your shared chambers, his personal solar, and the children’s bedrooms, but you were nowhere to be found.

The sinking feeling in his gut only grew as he realized he needed assistance, and at last, he sought out one of the guards stationed nearby.

The guard cleared his throat and straightened slightly, sensing the prince’s impatience. “At Her Grace's music lessons, sire,” he replied, his tone respectful.

“Music lessons?” Aemond murmured to himself, brow furrowing in confusion. He had not realized such an event was taking place, nor had he been informed of it.

Without another moment's hesitation, he rushed in the direction indicated, making his way down a seldom-used wing of the castle, its walls lined with faded tapestries and the whispers of history.

As he drew closer, he heard the unmistakable sound of a piano, its notes cascading through the air like a gentle stream, drawing him forward.

Coming closer to the door, he opened it quietly before he peeked his head inside, his heart melting at the sight as he heard Jaehaera's voice.

"Do mi sol do do sol mi do," the girl of six summers sang, her voice young and somewhat pitchy as she sang confidently, "Every truly cultured music student knows. You must learn your scales and your arpeggios Finger music ringing from your chest And not your nose. While you sing your scales and your arpeggios"

Aemond stood just beyond the doorway, a swell of pride filling his chest as he watched his five-year-old son, Aeron, seated at the piano. The boy’s fingers danced across the keys with a mixture of enthusiasm and concentration, his small face lit with determination.

To Aemond’s surprise, Aeron broke into song as well, his voice sweet yet tinged with the tremor of youth. “If you’re faithful to your daily practicing, you will find your progress is encouraging,” he sang, each note imbued with his budding confidence.

Beside him, Jaehaera stood, arms crossed and a hint of exasperation in her eyes as she rolled them subtly at Aeron’s exuberance. Aeron continued, his voice growing bolder yet still wavering, “Do mi sol me do, mi sol me fa la sol, it goes. When you do your scales and your arpeggios.”

Jaehaera lifted her voice to sing her part again, “Do mi so do,” but she was abruptly cut off by Aeron, who had become overly enthusiastic at the piano, his fingers now racing across the keys with fervor.

“Do mi sol do, do sol mi do,” you chimed in, your voice ethereal and melodic, casting a gentle spell over the room. Aemond found his gaze drawn to you, the light catching your features as you sang alongside the children.

Jaehaera quickly fell in with you, her voice harmonizing beautifully, “Do mi sol do, do sol mi do. Though at first it seems as though it doesn’t show, like a tree, ability will bloom and grow.”

In your arms, Daenys, who had previously been drifting off to sleep, now sat wide awake, her bright eyes filled with wonder as she attempted to mimic the words you and Jaehaera sang. Her babbling intermingled with the melody.

The three of you continued in unison, your voices intertwining, “If you’re smart, you’ll learn by heart what every artist knows. You must sing your scales.....and your arpeggios.”

Aemond leaned against the doorframe, a small smile gracing his lips as he took in the delightful scene unfolding before him. The flickering light of the candles cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the joy radiating from his children.

Aeron beamed at you, his face aglow with pride as the final notes of the song faded into the air. “How was that, Mama?” he asked, his bright eyes shining with eager anticipation.

You turned to him, your heart swelling with affection. “Absolutely wonderful, my love,” you replied, your voice laced with warmth and encouragement. Just as you opened your mouth to add more praise, a small, excited voice broke through the moment.

“Kēpa! Kēpa!” Daenys cried out, her tiny hands clapping together in delight, her wide lilac eyes fixed on the door where Aemond stood.

All three of you turned your attention toward the threshold, and Aemond couldn’t help but feel a slight flush of warmth at the sight of his little girl’s enthusiasm. He stood there, somewhat awkwardly.

“Do you wish to join us, my king?” you teased gently, a playful amusement dancing in your tone as you gestured for him to enter.

Aemond gave you a small smile before striding into the room, the familiar weight of his crown momentarily forgotten in the presence of his family.

Daenys, her cherubic face lighting up with excitement, eagerly raised her arms toward him, and he scooped her up effortlessly from your embrace, her giggles filling the air. “I was not aware there were music lessons in the first place,” he remarked, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Merely for the children’s entertainment, I assure you,” you replied softly, your heart warmed by the sight of your husband.

Aemond shot you a skeptical glance, an eyebrow arching slightly as he nodded. “Oh, I am sure,” he replied, a hint of teasing lacing his tone.

“Father, did you see how I played?” Aeron asked eagerly, his small hands still resting on the piano keys, a bright grin spreading across his face.

“Yes, I did,” Aemond said, his expression softening as he smiled down at his son. “Much better than any bard I’ve heard.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and Aeron beamed at the praise.

“And did you see how I sang, uncle?” Jaehaera chimed in, her voice a melodic chime that danced through the air like the notes of the piano.

“Yes, of course,” Aemond replied, nodding with genuine admiration. “One day, you might even come to rival the Queen’s voice.” The compliment brought a bright flush to Jaehaera's cheeks, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“She’ll be even better than me,” you murmured, a soft smile gracing your lips as you watched the exchange unfold.

As the children chattered excitedly, desperate for their King's attention, your gaze drifted to the doorway, where you spotted your maid, Emery, standing patiently, signaling that it was time for bed.

You cleared your throat gently, drawing the children's attention back to you. “Children, it’s time to go to bed,” you announced softly, your voice laced with warmth yet firm.

Aeron turned to you, his wide eyes shimmering with innocence as he clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Do we have to, Mama? Father just got here,” he implored, his lower lip jutting out in a way that made your heart ache.

You sighed, feeling your resolve weaken under the weight of his pleas. However, Aemond came to your rescue, his hand affectionately ruffling Aeron’s fluffy silver hair. “And I’ll come say goodnight once you are in bed, little king,” he promised, his voice soothing and reassuring.

You tilted your head toward the door, giving a gentle nudge. “Emery is waiting for you,” you murmured, the soft authority in your tone guiding them toward the inevitable.

Disappointment flickered in both Jaehaera’s and Aeron’s eyes, yet they nodded reluctantly. Jaehaera approached your side and planted a tender kiss on your cheek, her small frame radiating warmth as she bid you goodnight.

Following her lead, Aeron hurried to do the same, his kiss lingering a moment longer before he bent down to press his lips against your swelling stomach, his sweet gesture eliciting a smile from you.

Aemond, observing the tender moment, passed baby Daenys into your arms. She giggled excitedly, her laughter a delightful sound as you smothered her with kisses, before you handed Daenys to Emery, who was prepared to lead the children out.

As the soft patter of little feet faded down the corridor, the lively laughter and chatter of the children ebbed away, leaving you and Aemond cocooned in the warm embrace of the cozy chamber.

A serene silence enveloped the two of you, a precious moment amidst the storm of duties and the remnants of grief that lingered in the air.

“Hello, husband,” you greeted softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to shatter the comfortable stillness that settled between you.

“Hello, wife,” Aemond murmured in return, his tone low and warm as he lowered himself onto the piano bench beside you.

With a gentle grace, he let his hand drift over the piano keys, pausing just short of touching them. It was a silent acknowledgment of his lack of skill, yet he seemed fascinated by the instrument nonetheless.

You watched him, the lines of his face illuminated by the soft glow of the chamber, and felt a pang of affection.

“I apologize for not informing you about the lessons,” you said, your voice steady yet filled with sincerity.

“Tis alright,” he replied, though his gaze remained fixed away from you, a flicker of concern shadowing his features. “When did it begin?”

“The day of your mother’s funeral,” you replied gently, choosing your words with care. “Your duties had taken you away, and Aeron and Jaehaera were feeling very down. I thought music might lift their spirits, and it has. Jaehaera even asked me to teach her to sing and play.”

At the mention of that day, Aemond’s expression shifted. Guilt washed over him, and memories flooded back—his mother’s service at the Sept, the heavy atmosphere of sorrow, and how he had been swept away in the currents of his responsibilities, never given a moment to truly mourn.

He nodded thoughtfully, his voice barely above a whisper. “Aeron seems particularly skilled.”

“He is a very intelligent little boy,” you agreed, your eyes not leaving his as he continued to stare at the piano, lost in thought. “He has an eagerness to learn that reminds me of you.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the solemnity that hung in the air. “I fear he has far more talent than I ever did,” he said, a hint of pride seeping into his words. “But I’m glad to see them find joy in something so beautiful.”

“Music has a way of healing,” you remarked, a wistful smile playing on your lips. “Especially in times like these.”

He turned to face you fully, his piercing violet eye searching yours. “And what of you? How do you fare amidst the shadows of loss?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his concern. “I carry the grief, as we all do. But I find solace in our children. Their laughter reminds me of the light we can still find in our lives.”

Aemond’s gaze softened, and he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours with an intimacy that sent warmth coursing through you. “You are stronger than I,” he said earnestly. “I often wonder how you manage to bear the burdens we both carry.”

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, you replied, “We bear them together, my king. That is what family is for.”

Aemond's brow furrowed slightly, and he murmured, “Aeron... he shall be a better king than I.” His voice held a weight of expectation and uncertainty, a reflection of his own doubts.

You turned your gaze toward him, a hint of sadness flickering in your eyes as you stood and swiftly settled beside him on the bench.

Reaching out, you cupped his face in your hands, grounding him with your touch. “Only because he shall learn from your mistakes. Every king should be better than the former.”

Aemond stared into your eyes, his heart swelling with gratitude. In truth, he had often wondered what he had done to deserve your steadfast presence. Memories washed over him—of the day he first met you when he was merely fourteen, a boy angry and hateful at the world.

He leaned his forehead against yours, finding solace in your warmth. “You are very wise, my queen. You never lead me astray.”

“Destiny has its designs,” you replied softly, a small smile gracing your lips. “And I am merely fulfilling mine. To guide you, to stand by your side.”

He chuckled lightly, the sound a blend of affection and admiration. “Even when I do not deserve it?”

“Especially then,” you countered, your tone playful yet sincere. “Every king needs a queen to keep him grounded, to remind him of what truly matters.”

Aemond took a deep breath, the weight of the realm and his responsibilities momentarily lifted. “And what is that, my love?”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It is love, loyalty, and the hope for a better tomorrow. The kind of future we want for our children.”

Aemond leaned back, a rare lightness settling in his chest for the first time in what felt like an age. He placed his hand over your round belly, feeling the warmth radiate from within. You tilted your head, an amused smile blossoming on your lips as you caught his gaze.

“Aeron has taken to kissing my stomach,” you said, your tone playful. “He believes that if he shows enough affection, it might persuade my body to grant him a brother. He claims it would make his chances of having a fair fight against the girls much better.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. Then, nodding toward the piano, he added, “Teach me. I may never reach the heights of Aeron’s talent, but perhaps I could aspire to match little Daenys’ skill.”

Your laughter chimed like music in the air, a sound that warmed his spirit. Aemond grinned at the absurdity of comparing his potential to that of his infant daughter. “Very well,” you said, your eyes sparkling with delight. “First, let us see what you can do.”

You guided him closer to the piano, instructing him to place his large, slender hands over yours on the keys. “Feel the movement,” you encouraged, your voice soft and patient. “It’s not merely about the notes; it’s about the rhythm and the heart behind them.”

Unbeknownst to you and Aemond, enveloped in your own intimate world, three pairs of curious eyes peered in from the slightly ajar door of the chamber. Jaehaera, Aeron, and little Daenys had quietly slipped away from their caretakers.

Jaehaera, though only six years of age, sighed wistfully as she watched her uncle and aunt. “How romantic,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a sense of longing.

She cradled baby Daenys in her arms, the infant unusually calm, her wide eyes reflecting the gentle glow of the room as she took in the scene of her mother and father together.

Aeron, standing beside Jaehaera, observed his parents intently, a thoughtful frown furrowing his brow. “Do you think our marriage will be like that?” he asked, glancing over at Jaehaera to gauge her reaction.

Jaehaera turned to him, her gaze sharp and serious, her little brows furrowing in determination. “It has to, Aeron. It has to.”

“Do you think we’ll be that happy?” he pressed, his youthful innocence shining through, even as the shadows of doubt crept into his mind.

She nodded vigorously, her long silver hair bouncing with the motion. “Of course! The king and queen love each other. If we love each other like they do, it will be just as wonderful.”

Aeron pondered her words, his gaze drifting back to the sight of you and Aemond, lost in your shared moment. “And what if…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “What if things become difficult, like they do in the stories?”

Jaehaera frowned slightly, her youthful optimism momentarily faltering. “Then we fight for each other, just like they do,” she declared with conviction.

Aeron nodded, a small smile creeping onto his face. “I like that idea,” he said softly, his gaze drifting back to the happy scene of his mother and his father.

“We’ll make it the best story ever.”

[Jaehaera, Aeron, Daenys]

headcannonsss:

— aemond and reader end up having six children in total: aeron (18), daenys (15), mikael (13), jaemes (10), elaena (7) and aelora (4) + jaehaera (19)

— aeron and jaehaera marry

— daenys falls in love with aegon (rhaenyra's son)

— mikael comes out as gay

— jaemes and elaena marry

— aelora refuses to marry and part with her mother (sophie/donna relationship)

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[seiwas]

if art can be touched, will you let me hold you? | nanami kento

wc: 7.2k

summary: ​​you press love into each piece of art you create, and nanami wonders if you’ve ever been loved that way.

contains: f!reader, non-curse!au, ceramic artist!reader, pov switching, slowburn, reader wears a skirt, food mentions, bad breakup (mentioned), mentions of art critiques, almost explicit sex, it’s love without words.

a/n: a concept and fic i didn’t expect would be so dear to me; there are some very small personal touches in this but the main inspiration for this is ‘we’ve been loving in silence’, but some bgm are ‘can’t take my eyes off you’, and ‘make you feel my love’.

ao3 (needs account)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: showing ‘i love you’ in all the ways you aren’t used to

CLAY. Take your material of choice; turn it over, get a feel of it. Is it a suitable medium for your art?

You first meet Nanami in the halls of an echoing applause. 

The host’s spiel is muffled through the walls, but you know the program flow like the back of your hand—you’ve rehearsed your entrance every single day since being invited to announce your upcoming exhibit. In just a few minutes, your name will be called. 

Yellow cue cards slip through your fingers, scattering to the floor as a result of the haste from your last minute touch-up just moments before.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, checking the time. 

As you crouch low, a pair of brown Derby shoes land in front of you—long and thick fingers reaching for your cue cards on the floor. The time on his wrist matches yours, each second highlighted in the stark contrast of a dark face and silver exterior. 

You’re quick to receive his help, taking the cards into your hands as you lightly graze his fingertips. When you look up, you’re met with sharp lines—an angular jaw, eyebrows set straight; a pointed nose and his cheeks carving out hollow shadows.

A geometric study on blank canvas. 

It’s embarrassing, the way you fluster and bow, thanking him with a stutter as you’re brought back to the urgency of the matter by the sound of your name being called out. 

The rush to the conference hall has you breathing heavily, the nerves hitting you full force as you step up the stage, nearly tripping at the last step. Hues of blue, yellow, purple, and green lights glare at you, and when the host hands you the microphone, you chuckle nervously, clearing your throat before addressing everyone in the room to thank them for coming this afternoon.

Your exhibit is called ‘What is the Face of an (Un)Touched Soul?’—a collection of ceramic sculptures molded to the realism of a human face, with the soul imagined as varying patterns and colors that fit each featured individual. 

It’s been half a year since you started, with three out of six sculptures completed already. Two are in-progress, and you have yet to find a subject for one more; there are six more months for you to complete everything.

The audience sounds their applause, sophisticated claps and nods a familiar tune in the many years of your sculpting career. Critics in the room jot down their thoughts, reporters holding up microphones and recording devices to cover your announcement. 

You smile wide, the rehearsed kind. 

And at the end of your presentation, stepping down the stage, you spot him again. 

You think to approach him in that moment, to thank him properly instead of the fumbling mess you’d choked out in the hallway—but you’re pulled towards a crowd of reporters and critics, recording devices pushed just below your chin as you watch him disappear into a sea of faces not nearly as interesting as his. 

.

You meet Nanami again in the bustling morning rush at the bakery near your studio. 

The past few weeks have been head-down and tedious, late nights working on painting some of the last few pieces for your exhibit. One of them is of your niece, 5-years-old in mint and white innocence; your brushstrokes are featherlight, softly accentuated by sponge dabs—a slate barely filled in, with room for more colors to appear with time. 

Another is of your neighbor, an old man whose eyes have seen war beyond your comprehension—a retired soldier, a veteran of the military force. He plants primroses by his windowsill, the pastel yellow a stark contrast to the life he’s lived in red; neither of the colors cancel each other out, neither of them blend. You drag harsh strokes against his jawbone while smoothly gliding watercolor across his eyelids. 

The people in your sculptures have sparked an untapped curiosity within you—for stories, for lives, for souls and what those might look like. 

You bump into Nanami on his way out, the sandwich in his hand falling to the ground as you frantically attempt to pick it up.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” you turn over the sandwich, checking for any holes or openings in its packaging, “Let me–”

It only registers that it’s him when you notice the same brown Derby shoes, the same watch with that dark face and silver exterior, the same geometric perfection on his face when you look up and finally come eye-to-eye with that same fixed stare. 

You clear your throat. Well, this is embarrassing. 

“Let me buy you another sandwich.”

He doesn’t exactly look angry, expression set in straight lines, but you can’t tell for sure—there isn’t much you can go by.

“There’s no need,” he dusts off the wrapper, “it’s still sealed.” 

“Please, I insist,” you pat down your skirt, linen rough on your fingertips, “As a thank you too, for last time.” 

He arches a brow, and for a moment you worry that you’ve remembered him wrong—honey blonde hair and features you’ve been intrigued by since. 

“You insist.” he repeats, clarifying more than questioning. 

You nod. 

He sighs, checking his watch before pocketing his sandwich and turning back to open the bakery doors. 

The silence in line to the counter is awkward. Nanami remains impassive, hand tucked inside his pocket—you can’t read a single thing about him.

“I was meaning to thank you after the exhibit announcement,” you start, turning slightly to face him before looking ahead again. 

He hums. 

“But I couldn’t find you, so…” 

He hums again. 

The lack of response makes you nervous and quite honestly a bit irritated. Here you are, trying to be nice, and all you’re met with are dry—

“It’s no problem, but that’s thoughtful of you, thank you.” he finally says, “I didn’t expect you to remember.” 

A pause. 

“I’m sure you meet a lot of faces in your line of work.” he further clarifies, in case his earlier remark had offended you. 

You snort, “I wish.” 

The line moves forward.

“Ceramic faces, maybe. People not so much.” 

When you glance at Nanami, the look he returns is still characteristically inscrutable, but you think the corners of his eyes soften just a bit—to feel for you maybe, you hope, you think. 

The line moves quickly after that, and next thing you know it, you’re by the cashier, pointing at one sandwich for you and another for him. You buy him a cup of coffee too, just as an extra kind gesture (—for his time; you’re sure he has places to be and people to see), but he stops you. 

“Coffee’s on me.” he pulls out his card. 

“Oh,” you look up, surprised, “you don’t have to do that—”

“It’s only fair,” he nods as the cashier punches in the order, “now we’re even.” 

You attempt to rebut, but find no room for argument in the unbending weight of his gaze. 

An interesting man. 

You watch him stand by the claiming booth, hand in the pocket of his khaki suit. Nothing about him feels cohesive, yet he makes it work. Artistically, from a sculpting standpoint, the sharp lines on his face would be an interesting challenge—but beautiful, nonetheless. A study of near-perfection, you think. 

And it would seem obvious, that from the rigid cut of his jaw and the sharp edges of his cheekbones that he’d act just as pointed. 

Except, he doesn’t—a stark contrast to how much of a gentleman he seems to be. 

His blue shirt stands out when you’d assume he prefers subtlety, and it’s ridiculous, but that yellow cow print tie feels simultaneously out of place but so fitting. 

He walks toward you with your coffee, sandwich resting on his forearm.

“Thank you, Mr.—” you smile sheepishly, “Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.” 

“Nanami Kento.” the corners of his lips lift slightly. 

“Mr. Nanami,” you repeat, introducing yourself right after.

“Thank you as well.” he adds on as you both walk towards the doors. 

Something tells you this is a missed opportunity. Something tells you there’s more to learn about this interesting man and what lies beneath his straight-faced sincerity. 

The chatter from the bakery is replaced by the city’s breaths—cars passing, dogs barking, footsteps on pavement rushing to get to their next destination. And you and Nanami stand by the entrance, neither knowing how to say bye. 

“Do you come to this–” 

“My studio is just by the corner, so–” 

You quickly look at each other. Nanami bows his head slightly, hand gesturing for you to go first.

“Sorry, um,” you tuck your sandwich in the crook of your elbow, “yes, I come here pretty often. My studio is just around the corner, so I drop by for quick meals when I can. You?” 

“It’s on the way to work most days.” 

You nod, humming. 

Another awkward pause.

“I hope you–”

“I should get–”

You look at each other again, a bit more amused this time. The slight wrinkling of his eyes is impossible to hide.

He gestures for you to go first again, but you shake your head, offering him instead. 

“I hope the pieces for your exhibit are going well.” 

“Thank you,” you smile, bowing your head slightly.

That ‘something’ in your brain speaks to you again. 

“Actually,” you begin, “sorry if this is weird, please feel free to decline, but,” you shift your weight, “I have one last piece to do and I was wondering if I could ask you.” 

Nanami looks taken aback for a moment, eyes wider than normal as he processes what you’d just said. 

“Ask me… for an opinion?” he clarifies. 

You mentally facepalm yourself—you really should have made yourself clearer. 

“Sorry, no, I meant,” you take a deep breath, fingers fiddling with your skirt, “if you’d like to be the subject for it.” 

The expression on his face is as indecipherable as ever. 

.

.

.

MOLD. Be familiar with your art, learn more of its intricacies. What will you shape it to be? 

In the most unexpected play of events, Nanami says yes, but not without his hesitations. 

You explain your process: the selection of a subject, an interview to get to know them better, then a few meetings at the studio to create the mold of facial features before coating it in plaster. 

Never in his entire law career did Nanami ever think he would be into art, much more be chosen to be the subject for it. But he figures, if anyone were to get him to do things so wholly out of character like this, it would be you. 

After all, he’s been a fan of your works for a while—from your third exhibit up to your seventh one now. 

People love paintings and the strokes on canvas, admiring textures and blends of colors bleeding into one another; Nanami loves sculptures, a mixture of materials and techniques forming an object with more than one viewing plane.

“Have you always loved sculpting?” he asks, sitting still on the wooden stool in your studio. 

A few meetings have gone by by now, and he’s told you a few things about himself for this to be a comfortable enough way to spend his Friday night: he’s a lawyer in a firm he’s co-founded with a good friend, evenings being the only free time in his schedule; he lives alone in a two-bedroom apartment and his neighbor’s cat often lands on his balcony every morning; he likes coffee and tea, paperback books and music from the 30’s and 60’s. 

He chose to be a lawyer to correct the shitty system that’s vowed to help but has instead made it difficult for anyone genuinely trying to be good. 

“I started with paper craft first,” you mold out the slope of his nose, looking back and forth between him and the mass of clay on your desk, “you know that 3D looking paper art that kinda pops out of the page?” 

He hums instead, careful of any slight movement that may disrupt the pose you’re trying to replicate. 

“And this?” 

Your metal scraper drags on the sides of the sculpture’s nose, sharpening it as it narrows to the bridge. 

“I picked it up in college, was an outlet to keep me company during that time.”

The PR answer. 

Nanami knows most of your general story; pamphlets and exhibits always give a run-down of the artists’ individual histories. You’d started sculpting as soon as you entered college, a need for company while in a completely unfamiliar place with no more home to return to. It was all or nothing, and as the sculptures grew in number, so did your popularity—you are by no means a fresh name to the scene 10 years later. 

“Why do you love it?” he looks you in the eye. 

You pause, holding his gaze for a few seconds before looking away, focusing on the chunk of wet clay between your fingertips as it turns more pliable.

“It’s gotten me through a lot.” you sigh, attaching the piece of clay to form his lips, “Touching clay feels therapeutic sometimes, and you can tell from how it looks if it’s been molded with love.” 

The stillness in your studio is extra quiet, filled only with the faint sounds of your fingertips sticking onto clay; he doesn’t quite know what to say. 

“Sorry, that was cheesy.” you scrunch your nose and pout. 

He chuckles, a low laugh, “Not at all.” 

You lock eyes, the curve of your lips upturned. He feels his eyes soften around its edges. 

It makes sense, and he thinks he can understand; there must be a reason why he loves books with creased spines, why he prefers weathered pages—why the scratches on his vinyl records don’t bother him as much as it should. 

.

You both like your coffee without milk, just with a bit of sugar for yours. 

Nanami’s taken up baking, specifically breadmaking, in his spare time—he brings you sourdough the next Friday you meet. 

Your studio is an organized mess, scraps of clay decorating the otherwise bare and white space. To the left of the room is a large cork board filled with pinned sketches and some color swatches—a visual representation of the creative chaos in your mind. 

A whiteboard to its right holds your schedule, and everywhere across the room are your art pieces—on shelves, in glass cases. He assumes most of them are the versions that didn’t make it, considering that the ones that have are either auctioned off or left as collector’s pieces in exhibits and art museums. 

“That’s the first one I ever made.” you sneak up behind him, biting off the sandwich you hastily put together.

The sculpture is smaller than the busts you’ve made for your current exhibit, but it still occupies a third of your shelf. It’s unlike any of the works you’ve ever done, but he supposes it makes sense, given how much your style has probably evolved over time. 

The piece is a lot simpler in comparison to the edgy twists most of your works now contain, but the little girl fast asleep in the sculpture begs questions he’s not sure how to ask you—if he even should. 

He continues to stare, clearing his throat; you eye him knowingly and snort. 

“Just ask, I know you want to.” 

The texture of the carved blanket catches his eyes, the ripples and creases made to conform to the girl’s curled up figure. There’s a sadness underlying her comfort, a search for security while being wrapped in a bundle of safety. 

“Who is it?” he asks.

You pause before you answer; he’s worried he’s crossed a line. 

“Me.” you admit, a near-whisper. 

He hums, back still faced towards you. It explains, then, why he’s always felt an underlying sadness beneath the creases of your smiles. 

When he turns his face to the side, an attempt to catch your eyes, you look away, diverting. 

“Which one introduced you to me?” you gesture towards the rest of your pieces. 

As it’s come to be, Nanami’s learned that you’re good at that too—creating curves of deflections, pockets where you can hide when you feel something’s gotten too close. 

He plays along, turning around to view the expanse of your studio; it’s amazing, how the art pieces that stack shelf upon shelf all boil down to your hard work. You briefly mentioned that you haven’t taken a break from creating because you still don’t believe you deserve it.

“It’s not here,” he puts his hands in his pockets, “the one with the hand clutching a heart.” 

‘Unhand’—his favorite piece of yours; he’d seen it in one of the museums he had to visit for one of his clients. Hyperrealistic branches of veins and arteries running across an anatomical heart, every curve and indent a carefully placed texture to bring your piece to life. It comes clenched in a hand, the veins streaming across each finger while blending into those of the heart’s—at first glance, it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts.

It’s a different view from each angle—that’s why he likes it so much, along with the graphic nature of it. The pain feels vivid, real.

“Ah,” you run your fingers across your work table, fiddling with the small pieces of clay before taking a seat again, “that one.” 

Nanami follows but he doesn’t say anything, resuming his place in front of you in the usual way he’s done the past few weeks.

“I didn’t think I was the type to be moved by art.” he confesses, sitting still as you continue the final work on the clay wisps of his hair.

You encourage him to go on, nodding along. 

And he does, watching the way your steady hand forms features that look uncannily like him, if not better; strands of your hair always fall from behind your ears and he’s almost tempted to tuck it back to where it came from. 

He tells you of the pain he feels from that piece, how it presents itself in different ways depending on the area you focus on—the constricted blood vessels, the buildup of pressure from a vein blocked by a thumb, the strain of muscles at the back of the hand. 

A small smile makes its way onto your face, slightly sad but somehow relieved, “Didn’t expect you to be such a poet.” 

“Must be from being around you so often,” he responds.

And if it’s a trick of the light, a part of him sinks at that possibility—he thinks your smile stretches wider, suppressed only by the shyness trying to hide it; no pain whatsoever. 

Unexpectedly, you share with him the story. Not the filtered version, but the one just as raw and vivid as the sculpture made from it—a failed relationship that had you clinging onto sculpting as your lifeline. You spare him some of the gruesome details but hint at it enough that he can fill in the gaps on his own.

You tell him that you’re a people pleaser, you’ve learned—it’s the only way you can view that relationship with grace, that at least you understand yourself better because of it. That even when the grip on your heart wrung tight enough for each beat to hurt, you still clung on with all your worth. 

(Now you know you shouldn’t have.) 

People have come to you with stories of their own, sharing how much your art means to them. Critics write articles, both good and bad, detailing the technicalities of your work. The applause follows you everywhere you go, yet it has never touched you—has never gotten too close. 

If your art has touched others, has listened and spoken their truth in your handiwork, who does that for you? 

.

During one of the last few Friday meetings, you offer to teach him how to mold clay. 

He looks at you curiously, watching the way your fingertips pinch and squeeze, how they glide to smoothen the material and press down to create indents on the surface. 

“Do you want to try?” you ask, gaze still set on his sculpture in front of you. There’s a teasing edge to your tone, one that’s developed over the months of getting to know you more. 

“Would that be troublesome?” 

You laugh at his rigidness. 

“Of course not.” you push your piece aside, standing up to gather clay from the mound of it to your right. You lay down a wooden platform for him–his own little workspace–and slam a chunk of clay atop it, “I think you might be good at it actually, since you like making bread.” 

The movements are familiar but not entirely the same. He rolls up his sleeves, blue cotton pinching at the creases of his elbows; you hand him an apron to protect the rest of his clothing. There’s not much kneading involved, not much palm action too, but he learns to move his fingertips with a force he can only compare to creating little dimples into focaccia dough. 

You teach him how to make a bread basket—something practical but beginner-friendly; something he can use and keep as a reminder of you. 

The trickiest part of it is mimicking the rattan weavings, and you notice him struggling with it when his strips of clay begin to break. 

A screech fills the room as you push back your chair, standing up to go behind him as he attempts to salvage his work.

“Here, let me–” you reach over his shoulders, flattening some of the cracks from above him.

You’ve never been this close before, the thin strands of hair dusting your arms tickling the sides of his ears. These past few months, he’s watched your hands press and pull and form, turning each detail of his face into art. It’s only now, right next to his larger and rougher ones that he’s noticing just how small and delicate yours are. 

It’s dainty work, weaving and braiding. He attempts to do it again, but the clay only falls apart when he pulls too hard. 

You stifle a giggle, the vibrations tickling his back, “We might take a while here.” 

“I don’t mind.” he mumbles.

“You sure you don’t have anywhere else you’d rather be?” you lean forward, pressing closer until he feels your warmth against the back of his head, “I feel bad, I’ve been taking up most of your Friday nights already.” 

It shouldn’t mean anything; he shouldn’t feel anything—you seem to be unfazed; art is meant to be taught by doing.

But then your hands go over his, guiding them to lift each strand of clay gently before interweaving them with one another, and he thinks—

—this must be what it feels to be touched by art. 

So, no. 

There’s no other place he’d rather be. 

.

.

.

DRY. Give it time, let it settle. Watch your art come into form. Is this a good foundation? 

“Will you be free next weekend?” 

His question surprises you as you stand in line at the bakery. You tend to catch each other at just the right times almost everyday, saving a spot for whoever’s running a little late. 

Today, it’s you, rushing in slightly frazzled with your hair sticking out which way; you’d just finished up molding the sculpture late last night, letting it rest out to dry. Nanami’s head is turned towards you, hands in his pockets as he directs the same pointed gaze you’ve become all too accustomed to.

You must have forgotten to mention it. 

“Oh,” you turn to him, “there’s no need, our sessions are over.” 

His silence makes you nervous, just like it did the first (second) time you met.

Did you upset him? Did he already cancel plans to free up time for your studio? 

The entire trip to the cashier is quiet, but you find that he’s ordered ahead for you—your sandwich order and a cup of your usual coffee. He pays for it too, despite your refusal (and confusion). 

It’s when he hands over your drink by the corner of the room that he finally speaks. 

“Not for a session.” 

You tilt your head curiously. 

The coffee feels warm on your hand, and you think you see the same warmth at the tips of his ears, dusting it light pink. He coughs, fingers clenching around his tie before loosening it. 

“For a date.” 

.

You begin to take up his weekends now, too. 

Since that day at the bakery, when you’d nearly dropped your coffee before stuttering out your availability, you’ve already gone on seven dates (to you, at least; Nanami would officially count three). 

He insists on still visiting you every Friday, bringing you dinner as a reminder that you should eat on time and not the moment you’re keeling over from a rumbling stomach and a pounding headache. You count these as dates too—because what else do you call spending time with someone you like while having night-long conversations over good food? 

(Nanami creates a distinction though, prefers his dates to be more planned out and intended. On the three official dates you’ve gone on, he’s brought you to three different locations—a weekend market, a picnic by a lake after you’d mentioned something about it, and a vintage record shop on the outskirts of the city, a place he frequents often). 

The near-perfection you once thought of the man, a geometric study on canvas—he’s still every bit of it, still every bit as interesting as what he seemed, just in a completely different way. 

For a man typically so nonchalant, he is extremely particular about his tastes, borderline picky with trusted company. 

Nanami enjoys coffee (as expected), but the fermented filter kind, dripped down a V60 pour over to extract different notes of sweetness and acidity. You’d think he enjoys a straight black, face stoic enough to handle its bitter bite; but no, his jaw clenches when he dislikes the taste, his tongue sounding the faintest click against the roof of his mouth before he downs the entire thing in one gulp. 

He also happens to be extremely gentle, in a way you don’t expect from a man of his stature and build. Veins run through the back of his large hands, branching to webs around the thickness of his fingers; they may not be delicate enough to weave clay, but he carves out different patterns on the sourdough he presents to you every Friday. 

The first time he held your hand, it wasn’t exactly planned—an instinctive move to reach out his palm as you climbed the steps of the spiral staircase in the record store out of town. You’d barely felt it then, just the featherlight hold of his thumb pressed against your knuckles as you gripped the fabric of your skirt. 

(To your surprise, he kept it up all the way through, slipping his fingers through the gaps between yours as he showed you around vintage vinyls and the sound of love in muffled 60’s tunes.)

You imagine him to be like clay, a softness hardened over the years that have shaped him; smooth but solid to the touch, breaking into powdered shards once you manage to work your way through. 

It’s unexpected, but you like that. 

And you like him—quite a lot, really. 

This date–the tenth, or fourth, whichever–is a lot fancier than all the others, a more formal dinner with a few glasses of delicious wine whose name you by god, don’t remember. You’d been too focused on something else—the handsome way he’d slicked back strands of his honeyed hair. 

Black suits him, contrasting the paleness of his skin and complementing the sharpness of his features. 

Black, the color of his suit, pressed neatly to fit him perfectly. He looks clean, broad shoulders with straight slacks falling to exactly where they’re supposed to be. 

Black, which is the only thing you see, pressed up against him. You’re so close by your doorway, that half-minute of deciding whether to stay or walk away; he has one foot behind him and one firmly planted right next to yours. 

You share a breath, fingers lightly intertwined with his. 

There had been signs the entire night that it would lead to something like this—he’d played with your fingers a lot more, kept much closer to you than he ever has before. 

Every sound around you is amplified—each inhale and exhale, the gulp he makes; your heart beats on rampage.

When you look up, your noses are almost touching, and his eyes are shut, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. 

It’s a look you’ve only seen once before, when he’s stuck contemplating. 

“Kento,” you whisper. 

His eyes blink open slightly, the color of your coffee. He leans forward, forehead resting against yours as he takes a deep breath, “I–”

Then you kiss him. 

It’s mostly a peck really, and wholly out of character for you, but it’s that same something that compelled you to ask him to model for your sculpture months ago that’s pushed you to do this right now. 

You’re worried for that first split-second because he doesn’t move, shows no sign at all of reciprocating. It’s a moment before you consider parting that he finally softens, relaxing his lips as he glides them over yours. His fingers slot themselves by your ear, palm pressed against your jaw as he deepens it; you almost stumble back, his other hand catching your weight as it leans on your door. 

It’s a good thing you did this then, because you learn that he likes you too—very much, actually. 

.

Things are good a month until your exhibit. 

Things are good until they aren’t. 

You end up reading a premature critique on your exhibit, calling it ‘overrated’ and ‘boring’, detailing the trajectory of your decline as an artist, citing your works as having become increasingly more lackluster over the years. 

The critic calls your theme ‘lazy’ and ‘unoriginal’, predicting your pieces to be nothing extraordinary or different from your older sculptures. 

All this time, your publicist and manager have made it a point to protect you from things like this, requesting that you avoid searching up your name on social media or search engines. You’re usually fed with praises and the occasional constructive criticism, but never anything as spiteful as this. 

It’s every possible thing that could be said to invalidate your hard work. 

And you break because of it—along with Nanami’s sculpture.

It tips over accidentally, the funk in your mood making you especially clumsy. 

The damage is terrible, half of his face is gone, his neck down still intact but chipped off. It’s impossible to repair without redoing the entire thing—which, you don’t have the time for, either. 

You groan, banging your head against the table. 

Frustration leaks out in your tears, every inch of self-doubt surfacing. 

Nanami finds you in your studio that way. 

He’d texted you the entire day, tried calling you a few times to no success. It’s a Thursday, but without your usual ‘just got home’ text, he’d gotten worried and rushed over as soon as his meeting ended. 

If he’s being honest, you’ve been off this entire week—stressed and distant, overworked from revisiting all your finished sculptures for the exhibit in case of anything to change or tweak.

Then this. 

And it’s too much—it’s all too much. 

Nanami calls your name from your entryway and you look up with tears streaming down your face. He’s never seen you like this, you could never want him to. 

He hurries over, brows immediately furrowed as he digs into his pocket for a handkerchief. The cow print would make you giggle on any other day, but now, he uses it to wipe your tears away. 

“What happened?” his gaze shifts to your right, his sculpture half-ruined. 

Silence. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks hesitantly. 

You shake your head, swiping at your nose, “It won’t look the same, Ken.” 

“Do you want to redo it? I can clear up my schedule every–”

“There’s no time.” 

Nanami takes your hands to rub his thumbs over your knuckles, soothing. 

“Then we’ll do what we can.” 

The sincerity in his voice hurts you, the reassurance in his eyes even moreso. You’ve never had anyone look at you this way. 

“There’s no point.” your shoulders slump, lips trembling as another wave of tears pool on your lash line. “People are calling the exhibit a flop.” 

“Who?” 

You huff out, exhausted, “I don’t know, critics, media. Whoever.” 

He furrows his brows, firm, “They don’t understand what you’re doing.” 

You chuckle sarcastically, “They’re art critics, Ken, of course they–” 

“If it means something to you, what does it matter to anyone else?” 

That makes you look up. 

Nanami stares at you with the same unwavering gaze, no longer indecipherable to you. There’s a softness in the squint of his eyes that you now know means concern, with every pointed feature only meant to drive his words home. 

You’ve been second guessing everything down to the core of your abilities, because of what? A few words? This must be what you get for having a penchant to people please, for hinging on everything everyone has to say. 

“If you love what you create, then continue to make it.” he squeezes your hands, as if pressing the words into your bones gently. 

.

You remold and repair, and you build up your sculpture to something different but not worse than before. 

You remold and repair to build up yourself. 

The half that broke off isn’t as symmetrical as you’d like it to be—and it definitely doesn’t do justice to the man it’s sculpted of, but you think you like the softness you added to it, how his eyes look kinder. He means something else to you now, after all, compared to when you first started sculpting him. 

And you think, you know just what kind of design speaks of his soul. 

.

.

.

PAINT. Add the final touches, perfect your piece. Bring it to life with colors and details, whether it be for one pair of eyes or many. Do you now see?

Nanami teaches you how to make bread on a Sunday morning. 

Flour coats every surface of his counter, dustings of it transferred to the deep blue of his apron. You’re wearing a white one, borrowed from your studio. Elbow-to-elbow you knead, and he only has to teach you once for you to get the hang of it, really. 

He smirks, “You’re a natural.” 

“Must do stuff like this a lot in another life or something,” you stifle a giggle, playing along. 

It’s a beautiful day out, golden sunlight hitting your cheek—Nanami stares, sneaks peeks between every knead. The same strands of hair tucked behind your ear fall to frame your face, and he hooks his pinky around it to tuck it right back (because he can now, without having to hesitate). 

You turn to him, daylight in your eyes when you grin your thanks. 

His kitchen has an open space, deep wood and black metal detailings as its central theme (the white bread bread basket you made together stands out on the counter, but he’s done that on purpose). There’s a pretty extensive collection of alcohol in his liquor cabinet, along with his very particular coffee set-up right next to his record player slotted in the corner. 

On Sunday mornings, Nanami likes to keep his music playing; today, it’s the classic 60’s–’Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’–serving as your background beat, with the soft meows from the cat on his balcony as added accompaniment to the melody. 

He watches you sway, his feet tapping along, then you jolt, giggling in surprise when there’s a hiccup in the song (it’s from the scratches on his record, but he can’t bother replacing it with a new one). After that breakdown in your studio, you’ve seemed to loosen up immensely. 

“Ken,” you call him, “how much pressure do you usually put into kneading?” 

There’s no way to explain it, really, but to make you feel it yourself. 

“Let me–” he lets go of his dough, dusting his hands with more flour before coming up behind you. 

Nanami is a big man, tall and lean, all chest and shoulders—when he hunches over you, you look so small, delicately tucked into him. Heat rushes to his cheeks, if you turn around you’d see pink; the music is drowned out by his heartbeat. 

He leans forward, palms clasping over the back of your hands, fingers slotting themselves between the gaps of yours. 

“Like this,” he pushes down, his chest pressed against your back. To get a better look at the dough, he tilts his head to the side, nearly slotting it by your shoulder, “Can you feel it?” 

You hum, your swaying gone. He’s trying hard to focus on the bread, but when you turn your head to face him, the tip of your nose touching his cheek, he stops. 

The moment is tense, drowned into silence despite the music playing in the background. He can hear your every breath. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

Nanami knows it’s for many things—for agreeing to the sculpture, for spending time on it; for this Sunday morning, for being there when you needed someone the most. But that’s not the whole point of this, he thinks. It’s how you sound, voice heartfelt and filled with something else—a kind of affection he’s all too familiar with himself. 

This must be what you mean when you say you can tell if clay has been molded with love. 

.

In the quiet, Nanami’s hands move loudly. 

He holds you gently, just like he always has, but it’s a permission every time—like he’s asking if he can touch you, love you in ways you aren't used to. 

Your apron falls to the floor, followed by your skirt, the fabric pooling by your feet. The faded gray t-shirt you wear during studio days is tugged over your head, dropped next to him. He takes his time with you, turning you over, feeling you, knowing you—thick fingers squeezing the sides of your arms lightly as his lips press against your neck. 

A gasp escapes you. 

Then you move, nimble hands undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open as you feel across the planes of taut muscle on his stomach and chest. 

He groans, soft and low, your fingers brushing against his skin, ticklish. 

You take a step back and he moves along with you, letting you settle into yourself as you inch backwards, the back of your knees knocking against the edge of your bed. He holds your gaze as you move towards your headrest, your shy smile doing nothing to lessen the butterflies in his chest—you did mention that it’s been a while. 

He kneels on your bed, the mattress dipping to accommodate his weight—his slacks have been discarded to the side as he crawls over you. 

Beneath him, you look like the very subject art could only wish to replicate. 

So, he makes sure to remember all of it—to look close and memorize every detail of you as he dips down, arm planted to the side of your head as his other hand cradles your face, tilting your jaw up for a kiss. 

He catches your lower lip between his, running his tongue over it before sucking lightly. You moan, smooth and honey-sweet, bringing him closer with your fingers clasped behind his neck. The room is quiet save for your lips smacking against each other’s, warm and soft as the heat builds between you.  

Slowly and tenderly, with the same care you tend to clay, Nanami discovers all your dips and curves; he kneads the flesh of your hips, gripping your thighs as he kisses his way down the slopes of your body. 

You squirm in his hold, tugging at his hair when the sensation feels too much, too good. 

(But when he reaches between your legs, arms locking your thighs over his shoulders, you realize, nothing could have ever prepared you for this, for him—he treats you as if you are every bit of the art you make, and looks at you like it too.) 

Then, Nanami kisses you on the forehead when he’s inside you, lips pressing on the part of your skin that creases when your brow furrows. 

A tear drips down your face. 

“Should I–” he looks you in the eye, worried. 

“No,” you breathe out, a watery smile as you nudge your nose against his chin, “keep going.” 

So, he does; he loves you without the applause, with the feel of his hands, leaving no place untouched.

He moves his body against yours. 

It’s only after, when he tucks himself into your neck, arms wrapped around you and skin sticking onto skin that you tell him your tears aren’t anything bad. 

For the first time in a while, you feel full—perfectly content. 

.

He thinks you should be the final piece to your exhibit. 

It’s a grand event, the conference hall decked in some of your previous works; blankets of white cloth drape over the stage—the unveiling of all your sculptures. You’re standing to the side, looking pretty in a long white skirt while Nanami blends among the crowd, far back enough to remain hidden from reporters but close enough to catch your eyes should you look his way. 

You present each one, introducing the titles with brief descriptions of the people they’re sculpted from. The reasons for your designs are left primarily up to interpretation, but you’ve explained it all to Nanami—he’s listened to every single one. 

Then you present his sculpture, finding him through the crowd. The corner of your lips curl up slightly, the stage lights reflecting on your eyes. 

He smiles at you the same. 

‘The Undoing’ is what you call it—half-perfect and half-salvaged. 

It’s far from your original vision for the piece, but you think you like this more, splitting down the part that’d originally broken off into two different colors. His entire color scheme consists of yellows, greens, and browns—the perfected side of his face appears in clean strokes of coffee, with light yellows highlighting his pointed features. The angles are clean and sharp, his gaze straight and dead-on. 

Running down the cracks of the broken half is a sky blue line, an almost glowing effect added to the salvaged side. In a way, it’s an emergence, of the part of him you never thought existed—green wisps like leaves, a life springing from within. You add flecks of gold to mimic light bouncing off his irises the same way sand becomes a glittering sea of sunbeams. 

To you, Nanami is warm but cold to the touch, and he’s undone you just as much, has chipped away at the parts of you that have built themselves over years of habits reinforced and untouched. 

It is as much you as it is him. 

That’s what happens when you love someone, he supposes—an intermingling of souls. 

Kraft paper crinkles in his grip as he adjusts the bouquet of flowers behind him, deep red carnations and orange tulips decorated with white astilbe flowers—for when you get down, and he can have a moment with you privately. 

Now, he looks at you fondly, shifting his feet from where he’s standing. You search for his face, eyes darting to where you know you’ll find him; he meets your gaze, and you smile brighter, that one look ringing louder than the standing roars of an echoing applause.

a/n: each segment represents the steps to making a sculpture that i tried to parallel with the development of their relationship. V60 pour over is a kind of set-up for drip/filter coffee.

thank you notes: for @mididoodles, this is my very late birthday gift for you midi, but i hope you like it! (this also so happens to be your request for my in's and out's event) 🥺 + @soumies @scarabrat for reading through the first third of this and believing in the vision for this when i was so unsure of it, i love you both 🥺 + @stellamancer for helping me figure out what goes in the 'contains' 😭 + @augustinewrites to scratch the nanami itch 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[yuvany]

CORPSE BRIDE ft PARK SUNGHOON

SYNOPSIS : Sunghoon finds himself in a sticky situation, yearning to return to where he came from; the land of the living and be married to the one he feels his heart beating for..

CONTENT WARNINGS : unrequited love + angst + weapons + none of these character pairing (wony and hoon) are relavant to shipping, but just a choice of characters + blood + skeletons + graveyards + kidnapping + slight body horror description + fights

ACTORS : ENHYPEN SUNGHOON x corpse bride!FEMALE READER — side characters ; wonyoung as Victoria, Gaeul as Scraps

WORD COUNT : 4379

SUNGHOON DIDN'T MEAN TO RUN AWAY, and nor did he mean to meet you. He was simply just too nervous for the wedding his parents had set him up for. Sunghoon messed up his vows and set someone's attire on fire, but most embarrasing of all, he left his soon-to-be-bride alone and went into the woods to collect his mind and go over what he seemed to have rehearsed once too many times, but still gotten it wrong. It wasn't that Wonyoung, the girl he'd marry, was any wrong, if anything she was all everyone would want.

The dark woods where he found himself walking into was filled with tree branches sticking and poking out abnormally, and moss seeming to cover each and every stone he walked by. Slowly, he began to mutter the vows, "With this hand, I will...I will..." He gives it a second go. "With this hand I empty your cup. No that's not it." Sunghoon gets it wrong again and the crows that previously hid seemed to come alive now, causing commotion in the tree crowns while he continues to try to get his vows right, the bright moon now shining through the rustling leaves of the forest. "With this hand, I lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, I will be your wine." The sound of crows cawing becomes more insisting and demanding, encouraging Sunghoon to continue due to the new-found audience. "With this candle, I will light your way in darkness...with this ring..." He pulls out the ring from his pocket and looks at it for a second before kneeling down on one knee and propping the ring on a crooked root that extended from the ground. "...I ask you to be mine!"

The life from the forest had seemed to die in an instant, Sunghoon looks up at the quiet crows before attempting to pull the ring off the ring that had previously moved, but it manages to grab him around the wrist first. Just like that, he pulled himself free, pulling other roots along with him. While he is sprawled on the ground, he sees that the root has become a skeletal hand clamping around his wrist once more. Sunghoon exclaims in horror and shoves it away, and sees the ground in front of him split open, revealing a figure with a tattered and old wedding dress wearing his ring. "You may kiss the bride!" You cheer, but Sunghoon scrambles backwards, pushing and hitting leaves and roots while he tries to frantically escape. He makes his way through a graveyard and through the forest until he finds ease by the bridge, finally stoping to catch his breath, but when he turns around and sees you approaching him, and he is frozen in terror, letting you and the crows come close and encircle him.

The crows finally seemed to fly away and as Sunghoon looks around, all he sees are the misshapen buildings and totally different atmosphare from the last. "You were wonderful! So passionate. It was everything I dreamed of!" You exclaim giddily while a Black Widow climbs down your veil and shoots a web at Sunghoon when he takes a step back. "Now, dear, where do you think you're going?" Then an old maggot pops out of your eye, and you pop it right back in after it says, "I don't like him, he's creepy." The irony makes the situation all too hillarious, but scaring to Sunghoon who's still dizzy in the head from how sudden everything has changed.

"Oh Sunghoon! I can't wait for you to meet everyone!" You cheer excitedly. "How...how do you know my name?" He asks, hesitant, his knees quivering as he stands behind you. "You think I'd marry a stranger? Come one!" You grab him by the hand, pulling his sloppy body behind yours. You take him to the town squere while Sunghoon does his best to try to get help and get back to where he came from. He calls out, "Help! You have to help me, I've been kidnapped by . . . " before he finishes his sentence, the passer-by turns around to reveal that he is also a corspe. "...the dead." He mutters the last part unenthustiastically and recoils in horror. "He's a fresh one." Someone comments. "He's still soft." Another ones inquires, poking at Sunghoon with a stick. Everyone gathers around to observe the human.

"He's my husband. He gave me this ring!" You show it off to everyone proudly, your arm extended out and the crowd cheered and awes at the sight. Sunghoon gets overwhelmed by this, someone eagerly shakes his hand and makes a comment on how it stayed, then someone else figured put that he was breathing, fortunately, and getting close enough to hear his panting. "Oh please, leave him alone. He's only just arrived." You interrupt and turn to Sunghoon, your left eye popping out in the process and reveals the maggot from before. "We saw the whole wedding. It was romantic!" The green coloured being recalls, and from behind, the Black Widow appears again. "He reminds me of my third, seventh, twenty-fourth, and sixtythird husbands." "Before you ate them?" The maggot asks. "There was one thing missing though. He forgot to kiss the bride." Upon hearing what the maggot said, the crowd errupted in chants like highschool boys before a match in the locker rooms, and you giggle at this, hearing them chanting, "Kiss her! Kiss her!" This all still seems so surrel to Sunghoon, and he feels his eyelids shut and his knees buckle before it turns black.

Sunghoon wakes up and finds himself in some sort of pub with green flames lighting up the place, and in his field of vision, he sees skeletons leaning over him. "Have a drink dear boy." The waiter says, his head peeking through the fire and only his head is visible. He slides Sunghoon a glass before greeting you. While you mingle and spark conversations, Sunghoon waits there with wide eyes and horror as he inspects the area. He sees a band of corpses playing on some exotic instruments made of bones and scraps, and he also sees someone playing chess with a sword through his chest, and someone's jaw snaps and falls into someone else's bowl. Sunghoon feels like he's about to snap again, his knees feel restless like they want to run away and his palms are coated with glistering sweat. When no one's looking, Sunghoon finds the perfect opportunity to stand up and grabs the sword that had pierced one of the skeletons before, his sudden confidence and action caused everyone to stop what they were doing, and now they were looking at him in shock.

"Keep away! I have a ... Dwarf, and I'm not afraid to use him!! I want some questions! Now!" Sunghoon's hands are shaking and the nervousity is evident in his stance and voice. "Answers. I think you mean answers." Someone else corrects him. "Thank you, yes, answers. I need answers! Where am I? Why am I here? And who is she?!" Sunghoon calls out.

The lights suddenly dims and a spot light shines on the stage. "Since you're askin' . . . Hit it boys!" Someone on stage snapped his fingers and they began singing and dancing. After the show took a pause, Sunghoon uttered, "Pardon me, fellows, i''m going to be sick." Then they returned to singing again, and the cook hit the singer with her ladle.

The pud seemed so alive even though everyone here, excluding Sunghoon was dead. You plant a big kiss on his cheek after the song ends, leaving Sunghoon totally stunned.

You and Sunghoon were led to a table that was romantically lit by a single candle that created a comfortable atmosphare. "Dead! Demise...expired..." Sunghoon sprouted out of frustration. Then the head chef, named Paul, comes forward and speaks with a thick and clear accent. He asks if Sunghoon has any allgeriges, and he says, "Not that it matters anymore. Being that I kicked the bucket. Shuffled off this mortal coil." He says disheartened. In front of him, both you and Paul exchange awkward glances. "Young man, you are confused. You're not dead. You're just married!" Paul says, trying to cheer him up, but Sunghoon looks like he's had enough. "Very funny." "No, really. It's true." You say, and holds his hand above the candle on the table which makes him yelp out in pain. "Feel better?" You ask sincerily. Sunghoon rubs his hand and answers, "That hurt. But wait...that must mean...I'm still alive. I'm alive!" For the first time ever since he spoke his vows he seemed happy. The chef is annoyed by this, but you smile along with Sunghoon, happy that he is finally happy.

"But how can a living person marry a dead person?" He asks. "By making a vow! Which you did!" You say, smiling through it all. "But I'm already supposed to marry Wonyoung." "I'm sure she'll get over it. There's a lot of living people." You can sense how Sunghoon isn't trusting you yet.

"This Wonyoung. Did you love her?" You ask. "i never got the chance to find out. Truth is, we hardly know each other." Sunghoon sulks. "The thing is, Sunghoon, I know a lot about you. i've watched you wandering around the forest...sketching." Sunghoon perks an eyebrow at this and asks, "What? when?" "Haven't you ever felt like you weren't alone, even when you were? Or saw something out of the corner of your eye and turned and it wasn't there?" you ask and he nods. "It was me" You see how he finally relaxes and is deeply moved by this for some reason.

"We live in two different worlds, but they overlap sometimes. I think we're meant to find each other." You say. "i don't even know your name." he argues, his eyebrows are visibly knitted together as his eyes wander all over the place. "I can't believe I forgot to tell you my name...in all this excitement. My name is y/n." "I also have a little wedding gift for you." You whispered through your bony fingers and out comes a skeleton dog that rushes over to the table with its tail wagging happily. "Gaeul! My dog!" Sunghoon cheers after reading the name tag, happy to see her after a long time of being separated. Gaeul jumps up on his lap and licks him on the face. "I knew you'd be happy to see her." As you say that, the dog jumps up on the table and causes a ruckus that mkaes even the cook from earlier to interupt. "Who let that horried beast in here?" the cook exclaims in horror, her laddle waving at the dog. "He came in with the dog." Paul, the waiter, from before remarks, his eyes finding Sunghoon's. "I'm afraid he is mine. I mean was. Gaeul was my dog when I was a little boy." "Keep him out of my kitchen! Who knows where he's been." The cook cuts him off while he reminisce. The small canine friend jumps onto his lap happily while she barks.

"What a cutie." You say. "You should've seen her with fur." Sunghoon replied, while petting Gaeul. "Mother never approved of her jumping up like this. But yet again, she never approved of anything." Sunghoon sulks at the memory. "Do you think she'd approve of me?" You ask curiously. Sunghoon mocks a light of happiness and tells you, "Well, actually...now that you mentioned it, I think she would. Yes!I do believe she would. In fact, since we're m...married...you should meet her! And my father too. You should meet both my parents!" he awaits your reaction nervously. "What a fantastic idea! Let's go find them. Where are they buried?" You ask enthustiastically. "Oh, there's one slight problem..." Sunghoon whispers. "What is it?" "They're not from around here." You ask him where they are, and Sunghoon points his finger up indicating that they are still alive and breathing.

You take him to an elderly who helped creating a potion that took him and you back to the living world. You both pop up in a cementray in the night while it all had become gray again. You take a moment to yourself, missing the moonlight, so you dance under the trees, catching his full attention as your dress resembled smoke. You took a deep breath in and asked him which house was his. Sunghoon takes a moment and points to one on the right, which isn't his own home, but Wonyoung's. "Why don't I go first to prepare things?" He lies, and you trust him. After Sunghoon had ran away in the dark, the maggot and black widow appears again. Complementing her by how immensly trusting she is, but with a backhanded meaning to their words.

You now think about the situation. Sunghoon is here, in the living world, where he had mentioned a girl he was suppose to marry. With determination, you followed the path Sunghoon had previously taken. You climb up the balcony, hearing voices. "Sunghoon, what's wrong?" You hear a young female voice ask. "I seem to have found myself married. And you should know it is unexpected." He replies hesitantly. You push yousefl up at last, accidentally detaching your leg in the process. "Oh dear, and I did so want to make a good impression! I couldn't wait, darling. I wanted to meet …" Your tone sounded cherry at the start but gradually lost its light after looking up post fixing your leg. You see Wonyoung standing in front of you. Upon seeing this, you wrap one of your arms around Sunghoon's.

"Darling. Who is this?" You sneer at her. "Sunghoon! Who...What is this?" Wonyoung says horrified when she sees the ring on your finger. Sunghoon's head turns to you then Wonyoung once too many times. "Wonyoung, wait you don't understand! I can assure you it is not what you think- She's dead! Look!" He takes your boney arm and flaps it back and forth causing Wonyoung to scream. "Who is she?" You ask. "Yang Wonyoung. The girl I'm supposed to marry." Sunghoon admits. Suddenly the sound of loud banging is heard from through the door and muffled voices are heard yelling.

"You tricked me!" You say aggravated and grab his tightly, saying the word that the elder had told you to say if you wanted to return back to where you came from. Sunghoon panicks and yells for Wonyoung to save him.

"YOU LIED TO ME! Just to get back to that other woman!" You shout, your eyebrows knitted with anger. "Don't you understand. You are the other woman." Sunghoon says saddened, causing your heart to shatter. "No! You're married to me! She's the other woman!" Your hectic movements came to a halt as you wrapped your face with your bont hands and began to cry, Sunghoon is unsure of what to do and stands there awkwardly. The force of yoru tears makes your eye escape the socket, and with no other choice, Sunghoon picks it up and hands it to you again. "Look, I'm sorry....this just can't work." Sunghoon points out the elephant in the room that wasn't that obvious to you. "Why not? It's my eye isn't it?" You ask while putting it back in. "No...your eye is fine." "Really?" Your mood elevated and now you were looking at him lovetsruck again.

"Yes. Listen under different circumstances, well, who knows. But, we are just too different. I mean you're dead." He accentuates. "You should've thought about that before you asked me to marry you." You pout. "Why can't you understand? I'd never marry you!" The words struck you through the chest as if leavening a stinging sensation blooming in your chest. The words were sharp and they hurt you in ways you didn't expect Sunghoon to do. Instead of lashing out at him, you just hang your head down and turn around to walk out the elder's study, leaving Sunghoon feeling like sore thumb.

As you walk away with your head hung low, you pick up your old and dried wedding bouquet and name a couple of flowers, your sadness represented in your tone. Sunghoon can do nothing but watch as you walk away. Your two companions, the Black Window and Maggot are perched on your shoulders like birds as they tell you that Sunghoon isn't someone worth your precious mind and tears, in hopes to cheer you up.

Sunghoon walks up to you in the restaurant with the bouqet in hand, his steps are cautious in the still envirounment. "I think you dropped this..." He whispers, approaching closer and closer to you who is playing with the piano. You don't need to spare him or the flowers a glance before snatching them. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you about wanting to meet my parents. Truth is, I'm happier not to see them." he apologises, but you don't turn around nor acknowledge his attendance. The green maggot pops out once more. "Oh! Save it for the living girls, Hoon. I think you've said quite enough already." He comments.

"I never meant to-" Sunghoon gets cut off by the Black Widow appearing once again. "I've had dozens of husbands, none as awful as you. You should be ashamed!" She snarls, her legs waving hysrerically, pointing to him. "But I..." The Maggot is not early to cut him off again and says, "You're married now and there's nothing anyone can do about it. You might as well get used to it." It sounds harsh, but deep down, Sunghoon knows and understands where it's coming from.

"Don't bother, you can't force him to like me." You sulk, your back hunched. "But I do like you. Truly. It's just this evening hasn't exactly been going accoding to...plan." Sunghoon says awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. It is quiet for a while, so quiet that you'd hear a pin drop.

Sunghoon takes a seat on the chair beside you and begings playing on the piano with you. You paus and sneer at him before continuing. It continues like that, Sunghoon improvising and turning this to a duet. The melody is bitterweet yet loving, a tune for only the two of you. Gradually, you open up more, taking the spotlight for a riff, your hand popping off from your wrist and slides across the keys. You pick it up with a giggle. "Pardon my enthusiasm." "I like your enthusiasm."

IN THE VILLAGE SQUERE, spirits and skeletons are gathered with newfound energy to party. Sunghoon looks at the tear of his jacket, and before he can stare at it any longer, Black Widow appears and sews it up again, making it seem like a new jack. All the commotion is interupted by a 'newcomer'. Everyone is eager to see who it is, and Sunghoon almost immedietly calls out for the familiar figure. After chit-chatting with him, Sunghoon learns that Wonyoung is to be married with none other than Heeseung, one of the closest people to his family. Not too far away, you observe his reaction with your eyebrows knitted.

The decorations are set and everyone is cheering and celebrating. You happened to find an elder and speaks with him for a while about marriages. He tells you how it was back in his days when vows where simple and got done with rather quickly after you mentioned how quick yours and Victors were. "Lucky for me, I didn't have to! I was rather silent!" You joke, and when you look at him again, he is dead silent, not moving at all. "Excuse me?" He asks. "I was rather silent?" You repeat, now a lot more hesitant and unsure. "You didn't say your vows?" You shake your head. "My child, you muct both say the vows for the marriage to be binding." The air is still as you stare at each other. You had accidenatlly tricked Sunghoon this whole time, and now you were afraid he'd know about this and run away.

"Surely there's some way to fix this?" You're desperate to get an answer now. "You'll have to complete the cermony by saying your vows." "I'll say them right now!" Your breath is caught in your air way as you choke this out only for the elder to shake his head. He tells you that since the original cermony occured in the land of the living, your vows will need to be in the land of the living as well. Your bones are shaking and you can't bear to hear someone else tell you to be 'reasonable'. If you want to go to the living world, then so be it, but you don't want him to tell you that maybe the two of you weren't meant to be. You wanted to cry out of anger, it was as if nothing you ever desired would land in your arms easily. You have had enough of this.

"Listen up people! Listen up! There's a change of venue! Grab what you can and follow me! We're moving this party." Everyone cheers in excitement, but the elder has a look of concern on his face. While on the way, people rocket quesntions your way, and you ramble out an answer in an instant, not wanting to seem suspicious to Sunghoon in any way.

IN THE WORLD OF THE LIVING You and Sunghoon are close like a set. It is all well and the elder flips through a book as you and Sunghoon joing him for the ceremony. "Let's get straight to the vows. Living first." He bows to Sunghoon. You slip the ring off your finger and place it in his palm, he smiles at you, and you smile back, but there's a piece of guilt in your heart. After he finishes his vows, putting the ring back on your finger, the elder motions for you to say your vows. You take a deep breath in and began to speak, but half-way through you spot a familiar face hiding in the courner of the place, horror written on her face, it was Wonyoung.

"I can't" You pause. "What's wrong?" Sunghoon asks confused. "This is wrong." You let a tear roll down your cold cheek. Once again, you pull the ring off your finger. As you look at him you recall the desperate moments you shared with Sunghoon, it was embarrasing to think that this could be; the living and the dead. It all added up likes puzzle pieces and you were finally ready to accept the truth that stung so badly, leaving a permanent scar deep, deep within the old ones that are yet to heal.

"I LOVE YOU, Sunghoon, but you're not mine. My dreams were stolen from me, and now I've taken them from someone else." You look over at where you had seen the young lady, Wonyoung, before, and Sunghoon does so too. "Wonyoung!" he whispers to himself at the sight. Upon being the new centre of attention, you ask Wonyoung to come forward, and she does. You take her hand in yours, and asks Sunghoon for his as well. You gently place his on top of her hers, happy for them to finally be reunited. "Oh, how touching. I always cry at weddings." Another familiar voice calls out, and everyone looks over at the gate to reveal Heeseung causing the trio to gasp. "Our young lovers together at least. Surely now they can live happily ever after." He walks upp to the altar and grabs Wonyoung by the wirst, succesfully snatching her away from you two.

"you." you whisper, your pupils shrinking at the horrid sight. "y/n?" He echoes, equally as shocked. "You!" you repeat angered. "but-but, I left you" He stutters, and you finish his sentence, "for dead." This statement causes everyone in the crowd to gasp. Heeseung does his best to escape, even pulling a sword from someone's body only to first aim it at Wonyoung's throat and then at Sunghoon who challenge him to a duel. It is an intense chase of cat and mouse before Sunghoon gets knocked down on the floor, the sword aimed at his face. Heeseung doesn't hesitate to strike his sword at him, and you don't hesitate either to come in between, grebbing the sword that had stuck in between your ribs. You pulled it out and aimed it at him.

"get out." you ordered him. "Oh, I'm leaving." he says, walking up to the altar and grabbing a cup from the table all whilst you're still on guard. "But first, a toast to y/n!" he says raising his cup with red liquid. "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Tell me, my dear, can a heart still break once it stopped beating? hmm?" His words are harsh, leaving yet another scar. You silenly watch as he takes a gulp of the cup which he thinks is wine, but is actually poision, and he dies just before he manages to get out of the building.

While the rest of the corpses takes care of the now dead Heeseung, Sunghoon and Wonyoung are snuggled together. "I never thought I'd see you again." You walk away, not wanting to disturb their moment until you hear the male voice call out for you to wait. "I made a promise." He says, chasing behind you. "you kept your promise. you set me free. Now, I can do the same for you." You say one last time, pulling the ring off your finger and encaving it in his palm by clasping yours around his before turning around. The tears are eager to escape, but you wont let them, not now at least. With one last glace behind, your throw the bouquet in your grasp to the newly made couple with a smile before you stepped out in the bright moonlight. The second it hits your veil, it began to crumble and turn into small butterlies and just like that, you disappeared with no regrets.

TAGLIST : @dollyhoon @itjengirl @saeivra @orimuraa @pshwrldd

[lavandulawrites]

Carcass

Yandere Douma x reader

This is by far the most gory thing I’ve written (or at least posted).

Synopsis: Douma decides to show his love for you in the ways of punishing the woman who has harassed you countlessly.

Masterlist

Warnings: Douma is a warning himself, Douma is horrible in this, abuse (from a woman to reader), gore, violence, demon eating a human, someone gets eaten alive, Douma is head over heels in love with reader, manipulation, obsession, female reader, non of the violence is towards the reader except implied former abuse (not from Douma), Dead Dove: do not eat, let me know if I have missed anything

Word count: 1673

The hall was lit just enough so you could see the silhouettes of its contents. A young woman with long beautiful hair was sitting beside you on the tatami floor. By the door were multiple servants all dressed in white. Their face was turned downwards. The sliding doors slid open. The room froze as the long haired cult leader entered. It was like the air turned to ice and it burned whenever your breathed. Even though it was dark, you could see his jovial grin. His fangs as sharp and threatening as ever.

The woman besides you bowed and you followed after.

The man took a seat on the platform before you. “I am so glad you could come” his smile showing his sharp fangs. He spoke as you had a choice whether or not you would come when the cult leader asked for you. “You may leave us alone” he waved his hand at the servants. They bowed and fled the room silently like white ghosts.

He leaned forward. “What is your name dear?” his gaze was fixed on the woman beside you.

“Yui, sir” she bowed her head.

“Yui… What a beautiful name. Fitting for such a beautiful woman as yourself” his voice sweet, but uncanny.

She smiled and glanced at you with triumph in the corner of your eye. She was clearly happy with gaining the attention of the handsome cult leader.

He shifted his gaze to you. His rainbow eyes scanning your features for something. He hummed when he found what he was looking for.

“Miss Yui, wouldn’t you be so kind as to come up here?” he spoke in his honeyed voice while his eyes were still on you. You swallowed in fear, which caused him to laugh.

Yui rose to her feet and strutted to the platform, looking over her shoulder at you. Her red lips were twisted up into a taunting smile.

Douma patted his one of his crossed legs for her to sit. “You have suck beautiful hair…” he hummed as he held a strand up to his nose and sniffed it. “You see Yui… I have had such an exhausting day” he sighed.

“A person that I am quite fond of won’t respond to my advances” he turned towards her. “Can you believe such a thing? Luckily I have come up with a plan on how to get her closer.”

Yui looked at him with a confused expression, but quickly brushed it off. She smiled at him to continue

You looked down on you hands and knees wishing you could just disappear. Douma noticed your discomfort and laughed.

“Why the long face? Are you perhaps bored?” he tched. “Oh dear… We can’t have that” he shook his head and grinned. “Say what Yui. Why don’t we put on a show to entertain our little audience, hmm?”

Yui nodded. An obnoxious smile plastered on her beautiful face.

“I am so incredibly famished. Aren’t you, Yui?” he sighed dramatically as he looked at her through his long eyelashes.

“I suppose I am…” Yui answered sheepishly.

“Whatever should we do…” Douma sighed as he threw his hand back in an overly dramatic manner. He snapped his head back and raised his pointy finger upwards. “Oh! I have it!” he grinned and looked at Yui.

The black haired woman tilted her head at his sudden outburst.

“Why don’t you… Offer yourself to me?” his eyes beamed with mischief.

“My lord, I am not sure if I follow…” Yui’s voice filed with uncertainty.

Your hands harshly gripped the fabric of your clothing.

Douma must have noticed your movement given his widened smirk, but said nothing. His attention turned back to Yui. His fangs catching the light from the lanterns that hung on the walls. His long fingers gripped her shoulders. The claws of the demon digging into her clothing, almost ripping the fabric. He brought his nose down to her neck and inhaled. “Mmm… You smell heavenly, but not as good as my dearest” he snickered.

Yui gulped at his comment. Her brown eyes flickered to you.

“What is the matter Yui?” he tilted his head.

“N-nothing master…” she muttered with her eyes cast towards the floor.

“I thought so” he grinned. His pale hand moved to her neck and he pulled her closer. His face mere centimetres from hers. Pale blue nails dragged down her face leaving shudders. Douma’s eyes trained on you.

Your nails pressed crescent moons against your palms, your skin almost breaking. “Stop! Please Douma! Don’t do this!” you pleaded. Your voice was hoarse after many hours of not being used.

His smile widened. “You finally decided to grace us with your beautiful voice” his voice soft. His rainbow eyes bottomless as they gazed at you lovingly.

“I can however not stop this. Or rather, I won’t” his smile still as ever present. His pale hand yanked the ravenette’s head back, making her neck strained.

She yelped and instinctively tried to peel his hands away. Her struggles were met with the click of a tongue, which made her stop struggling.

“I am doing this because I love you, [Name]. Don’t ever think anything else” his expression blank save from his eyes which were blown wide and shinning. “I know how she has been treating you. I am just going to… teach her a lesson. That’s all.”

What made him look human before, was all gone. What remained was a monster with fangs and claws ready to tear apart its prey.

“I have been keeping an eye on you, Yui” his voice a low sneer. “My servants have told me how you treat my dear [Name]. Many days I’ve smelled you on her skin and hair. Don’t think her bruises go unnoticed” he leaned closer to her face.

“You are just a worthless piece of shit. You should have known your place and perhaps I would have speared your pathetic life” his jaw was clenched.

“I-I am sorry! I am sorry!” the woman cried as she felt his ice breath on her skin. Her dark eyes found yours as they sent you a silent plea. A plea for you to do anything to stop her death.

“Silence!” his shout uncharacteristic. “I did not give you permission to speak” his hold on her hair tightened.

He free hand wrapped itself around her neck. His nails digging into her skin making small droplets of blood break through it. “Oh how I have waited for this. How I have longed to rip you apart for your sins” with each word that left his mouth, his nails dug into her skin deeper.

She clawed at his hand, but to no avail. She was truly helpless in the grip of a wrathful demon. Blood dripped from her mouth as she watched you with tears in her eyes. You wanted to do something, but you knew it was nothing you could do. If you tried to stop him physically, he would only kill her faster and get more furious. Who knows who else he would then take his anger out on.

Gurgling sounds filled the room as his claws sunk in even deeper. With a giggle he ripped his hand out form her neck. His tongue leaped out and licked his bloodied hand. He sighed in delight. Yui desperately tried to stop the bleeding by pressing her hands on her wound, but the damage was to great. Her fate was sealed the first time she had glared at you.

“H…help…” she wheezed out. The gaping hole in her neck making you wanting to vomit. Veins were fully visible among with tendons. If you looked closely you could see the whiteness of her bones.

Douma pinned her down with a speed no human could possibly possess. He bit down on her shoulder and tore out a mouthful of fabric and flesh. The black haired woman screamed in terror and you thought your eardrums would explode.

“Douma!” you shouted. Your pleas feel on deaf ears as he continued to eat her alive. “Please stop!”

He didn’t spare you a single glance as he continued to tear of chunks of flesh from the screaming woman. His fangs were stained red and his pale skin speckled with blood. Despite the horrendous sight, he was utterly beautiful. It made you truly sick.

Douma’s claws dug into her chest and clutched around her heart. It was a wonder Yui wasn’t dead yet. “I’m feeling rather kind today, so I think we will stop for today” was all he said has he ripped out her heart. Her head fell back revealing her half eaten neck. Douma raised two of his fingers and flicked her forehead causing her head to tear of with a disgusting sound. With a thud it landed on the platform.

The jaws of the demon opened as he but down on her heart. He hummed in delight as he chewed.

You closed your eyes and tried to swallow the bile that threatened to spill from your lips. You cheeks were damp with tears you hadn’t seemed to notice through the horrible act that had happened before you.

“I hate you. I really hate you” you sneered through clenched teeth. You couldn’t bear to look at the pale blond demon as he happily ate the heart of the woman who he had just brutally murdered.

“Mmm… you might say that now, but it won’t be long before you run into my arms” he chuckled. “You are making me feel, [Name]. I would have never thought I would experience love before I met you. So how could I possibly let you go? I love yous i much that it hurts” he looked at with you such earnestness it took you by surprise

A splat sounded behind you as he threw the heart at the wall opposite of him. “I will be waiting my dear. Don’t disappoint me” you could feel his wile smile. Your skin felt as if it swirled up and died.

You truly hated him.

[yestrnight]

DOWN THIS RABBIT HOLE WE GO ! nite's kinktober 2024 m.list

ladies and gentlemen im about to match your freak this october

╰ may include. blue lock, genshin, honkai star rail, zzz, jjk, obey me, whb, twst

MESSAGE: warning i have not written anything yet lmao we're about to go in this bitch blind but lust is blind and baby imma read this like braille. this will be updated throughout the month also ignore my incoherent horny ramblings along the way. also i made this list myself. i made sure to choose all the freaky ones

day one | magical healing cock

PURI☆PURI HEALING CUM GO! magical girl! childe / reader ╰ oh no! while fighting the big bad monster, pure☆aqua accidentally let you, a civillian, get caught in the crossfire! before you transform into one of the baddie's goons, pure☆aqua needs to give you a magical girl's cum before it's too late!

day two | lactation

MY TITS ARE DOWN HERE! gallagher / gn! reader ╰ he's tired of slutting it out everyday for you and never catching your eye. after ingesting a vial out of sheer desperation, his heavy chest is now leaking milk and— oh dear, you wouldn't mind relieving his poor, swollen tits, right?

day three | audience

CLIP THAT, CHAT! streamers! venti, xiao, scara, heizou, kazuha / f! reader ╰ in a sex-positive world, showing off your nethers isn't going to earn you a ban on twitch.com. you, however, are a prude, and your streamer roommates are about to break you in front of the entire world just to change that.

day four | pegging

BY MY COCK YOU SHALL REPENT! oliver aiku / gn! reader ╰ playboys are the scum of the earth! you've watched all your friends cry one after the other because of some stupid washed-up soccer player. the last straw is oliver making your older sister cry! luckily, you've got just the right utensils to make him taste his own medicine...

day five | sex toys

THE MAGICAL POCKET PUSSY! ace trappola / afab! reader / deuce spade ╰ there's always something happening in night raven college, but even adeuce didn't expect a pocket pussy arriving on their front door step. there's really no harm in trying it out but huh... it feels so warm and wet... and huh! why are you blushing and squirming like that!?

day six | size difference

I'M JUST A GIRL :( true form! ryomen sukuna / f! reader ╰ after witnessing japan's newest oppressor in person, him and his 10 feet, four-armed, mouth-belly glory is all you can think about. so you accidentally stumble near his territory... just in time for sukuna to start wanting some fresh meat to make a snack of.

day seven | oviposition

TO EGG OR NOT TO EGG. naga! jamil viper / afab! reader ╰ you've been hearing rumors about a mythical naga residing in the forests. as an avid... researcher, you venture into the deep in search for the truth. you meet him, and quickly find yourself as his breeding ground this mating season.

day eight | monsterfucking

💉stay tuned for this day's lucky bastard!

we're not done yet !