#bc she ‘didn’t know what she was doing���

[shouyuus]

counting stars

violet; 4,988 words; hurt/comfort, fluff, slightly suggestive moments, no "y/n", wlw (duh), self-indulgent to the point of lunacy, lots of kissing, mentions of bodily harm (not self-inflicted), teeth-rotting fluff mostly, popstar!reader x vi au

summary: when vi shows up at your door, what to do but to let her in?

a/n: bc nothing bad is allowed to happen to vi in my fictional world(s). and also im literally cackling ofc the fic that ppl r the least interested in posted first is the one that i post first; i guess i just like to be contrary but also i want to spoil vi and this is the only way i know how

─── Ⅵ SHE SHOWS UP UNANNOUNCED, split lip and bloody knuckles, leaning against your doorframe on a thursday night; you answer the door in your sheer pink nightgown and fluffy slippers, a bottle of rose chilling in a bucket on the table.

“vi?”

“hey princess —” she clears her throat, her smirk going lopsided as she tries to hide a clear wince. a bead of blood seeps out the corner of her mouth as she sucks in a shaky breath, “miss me?”

your lashes flutter with worry as you step aside to let her through — there’s a distinct limp to her gait that she can’t quite hide with her usual swagger.

“what happened?” you ask, letting the door click shut, following half a step behind her as she drags herself into your penthouse flat, letting out a low whistle as she looks around.

“nice place you got here. fits though, pretty castle for a pretty princess —”

“violet…”

you reach out with delicate fingers, taking slow steps forward; she hisses out a breath, her eyes sharp and wild as a wounded lion’s, her mouth a blunt-edged slash as she swallows, gaze flickering between your fingertips and your face as if she’s unsure what you might do.

she winces as you rub a light thumb along her cheek; your finger pulls away red.

“sorry —” the word rips from her at your touch. her eyes drop, her whole body shakes. “i — i didn’t know where else to go — and i — i remembered seeing that stupid 100 questions video you did here for —”

“for the fashion magazine, yeah,” you say, your voice soft as a baby’s breath. your hand lingers, a palm against her cheek. she leans into your touch, the movement small as heartbreak, but just as heavy.

“c’mon, lets get you cleaned up.”

you let your hand trail down her arm till your fingers link, and you lead her to you expansive couch, pressing her down firmly even as she frowns at her grime-covered clothes against your pristine white sofa.

“i’d offer to pay for dry cleaning but —”

you cut her off with a sharp look.

“don’t you dare. and plus, i’ve been meaning to change up the upholstery forever.”

you grab a bottle of vodka from the top shelf and a box of cotton balls, plopping down across from her on the couch in a flurry of pink-colored satin, inching forward till you’re nearly parked in her lap.

vi’s eyebrows hike as you pop the top off the vodka bottle, a grin twitching at her lips.

you roll your eyes.

“it’s not for drinking —” you soak a few cotton balls in the vodka even as vi’s expression falls. you lean in; vi’s hands find their way to bend of your waist, settling there as you daub gingerly at the blotches of drying blood on her face.

“ouch —” vi winces dramatically as you press down on a particularly deep cut, her lips pushing up into a pout, “not even a little bit? might help dull out the pain —”

she cuts off as you swipe a thumb along her bottom lip, breath hitching as you frown slightly, making to tug away for a fresh cotton ball.

“don’t — don’t leave —” her voice comes out harsh, desperate. you still, expression softening impossibly.

“i’m not,” you say, patient. she finds her fingers digging into your hips but you only smile. “i’m not going anywhere. promise. but i do need another cotton ball.”

she worries at her bottom lip, and already, you can see the fresh blood collecting in at the corner of her mouth. you press back into her space, wiping the blood away. her entire body slants towards you, her shoulders tight, her arms flexed, as if she’s bracing for a punch or a kiss.

you nudge her nose with yours, lifting up ever so slightly to press your lips to her forehead.

the dam breaks — all the pieces falling, her head tipping forward onto your shoulder, her hands wrapping around you tight, and then tighter. you feel yourself being hauled into her lap as she buries her face in the crook of your neck, a sound caught halfway between a gasp and a sob wrenching from her throat.

“f-fuck — shit —”

there’s heat to her skin, the roughness of her bandages, fraying at the edges, the worn-in material of her pants, the damp streaks of her hair tickling your cheek. her breath is uneven as it splays out against your collarbones, and when she finally tugs away to wipe at her face with the back of her hand, looking anywhere but at you, her lashes blink away wet.

“sorry — god this must be real sexy, right? mm — fuck —” she sniffles, shaking out her hand, her other one coming up to caress your cheek. her gaze is unfocused even as she skims her fingers over your skin. “god, you’re so soft. it’s like you’re made of — of marshmallows or something —”

you catch her hand with a tiny sigh, letting your gaze flicker over the bloodied bandages before you rub a thumb along an unmarred patch of skin.

“and you can be too. if you ever wanted to learn.”

she goes quiet then, the bravado bleeding from her as you continue your quiet work of cleaning all her varied injuries, disinfecting the cuts and bandaging the bruises. for the most part, she stays quiet, offering up the bloodied parts of herself for your perusal without resistance. it’s only when you shift back or make to tug away for a second that she jerks forward, resolute in her all-consuming need to keep you close.

“there. that’s about as much as i can do right now,” you say, heaving a sigh as you brush away several strands of black-pink hair from her face, letting your thumb skim over the tattoo on her cheek.

“thanks.” her voice comes out slightly hoarse, her eyes cutting away from you for a second before flickering back.

“i’d say it’s nothing but…” you let your thumb trail down the line of her jaw, tracing over her fluttering pulse as you work your slow way down her neck, “i mean —” you let out a soft laugh, hiccupping slightly as she takes the chance to tug you even closer, pressing you to her, chest to chest, so that you have to brace both your palms against her shoulders just to keep steady. neither of you mentions the fact that her arms are shaking.

“it was a bad night,” she says. and it’s all she offers for a few minutes, but you don’t push her, content to rest against her, let her run circles into your skin with her fingers against the small of your back, her breaths evening out till she looks back up at you with a wry grin.

“let me guess,” you say, linking your fingers behind her neck, “you should see the other guy though, right?” you drop your voice in a mocking imitation; it sounds nothing like her but it manages to draw out a laugh, the sound ricocheting between the pair of you like an echo till it dissipates, leaving the air somehow slightly warmer than before.

“yeah. somethin’ like that,” she murmurs, leaning forward to nudge your nose with hers, eyes going dark.

you cup her cheeks and let her kiss you, lips on lips and gasping breaths, till her fingers are inching up the thin material of your night dress, bunching it up, her thumbs tracing the ridges of your ribs, the weight of her body pressing you back into the plush couch, far too big for the pair of you —

“v-vi — wait —” you gasp away from her, fingers tangled in her oil slick hair, her mouth trailing hot and wet down the side of your neck. she makes a grumbling sound, nipping at your collarbones before resting her chin on your sternum, her hands still grazing further and further up your nightgown.

“c’mon princess — you got to play doctor, so now lemme pay you back proper —“

“vi.” the sharpness to your voice jolts her, and a frown creases her forehead as she blinks up at you with her gunpowder eyes, her fingers now still against your skin. you puff out a breath, pushing yourself back up to cup her cheeks, squeezing them slightly between your palms.

“i don’t want you to ‘pay me back’ for anything.”

hurt and confusion chase each other in a butterfly-wing flutter of emotions across her eyes before she pulls back.

“you don’t want this?”

you fight back the urge the roll your eyes as you sigh, reaching out to tug her back, this time, it’s you crowding into her personal space, leaning in to kiss her solidly on the lips. you feel her go soft against you, her hands cupping the ridges of your ribs once more.

“of course i want this,” you murmur against her lips, “but i — i don’t want it as ‘payback’ for anything. i…” your breath catches as vi leans in to nip at your bottom lip, heat pluming up the back of your neck, cresting into your chest as you blink at her, “i want this… if you want to give it. and — and i want it because — because i want you.”

she makes a strange, pitched noise in the back of her throat as she crushes you to her, her mouth slotting over yours so desperately that your teeth clack, but when she pulls back, she’s shaking her head, resting her forehead against yours with a sigh.

“shit princess — you can’t say shit like that and not expect me to lose my fuckin’ mind — fuck —“

you let out a tinkling laugh, fingers now massaging the cords of muscle at the nape of her neck. a shiver runs through her, her lashes a sweep of ink and shadow.

“relax… i’m not going anywhere. promise,” you remind her even as she tips into you once more, a whine working from her throat into yours as her fingers dig into the supple skin of your waist, dragging you down the length of the couch till you’re pinned beneath her thighs.

she pulls away panting, your own chest a staccato rise and fall. but your eyes are steady when she finds them again and you reach up to trace her cheek.

“when’s the last time you’ve had a bath?”

the question catches her off-guard, making her jerk back slightly, a frown ticking down between her brows.

“what?”

you giggle, “a bath. like, a proper one.”

one of her eyebrows kick up, “you sayin’ i smell or something?”

you sigh, yet again fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you push yourself up onto your elbows, your pink nightgown rucked up to your thighs, your hair falling out of the messy bun you’d twisted it up into earlier that evening.

“no,” you let your voice linger on the word, pinning vi with a look, “but you do taste like the inside of a paint can so.”

her eyes narrow but she lets you wiggle out from beneath her, your fingers trailing down her arm to tug her behind you as you lead her into the master bathroom. the light clicks on and vi scoffs.

“wow.”

“pick a bubble-bath, any bubble-bath — my favorite’s the —”

“rose one?” she finishes, lifting up the nearly empty bottle of light pink bubbly water displayed on a white marble shelf full of multi-colored liquids.

you allow yourself a blush as you shrug, twisting on the taps and testing the temperature, drying off your hand before turning back towards her.

“so i know what i like. sue me.”

vi smirks in honest this time, uncapping the bottle and wafting it beneath her nose.

“mm, delicious.”

you don’t miss the licentious lilt to her voice, nor the flicker of dark, hungry light in her eyes.

you turn away, leaning across the vast bathtub to grab a white can.

“if you think that’s delicious — wait till you see the sugar scrub — oh!”

a pair of arms snakes around your middle, pulling you back against abs and a bandaged up chest. vi’s voice is hot by your ear as she noses into the side of your cheek.

“yeah? is it gonna make me taste less like the inside of a paint can?”

“mhm,” you say, letting your free hand rest naturally over both of hers, the other hand dipping into the sugar scrub to swipe a dollop of sticky white crystals onto her nose. she gasps, jerking back for just a second, going slightly cross-eyed before a mischievous expression eclipses her features and she hoists you up into her arms, holding you suspended over the slowly filling bathtub.

“don’t play this game with me, princess — there’s only one way it’ll end.”

you let out a bright peal of laughter that echoes around the soft marble walls, looping both your arms around her neck.

“try me.”

for a second, she makes as if to drop you, but she pulls you back into her chest at the last second, cradling you against her.

“alright princess, let’s see how good this bath is,” she says, her voice soft as she sets you back down on your feet. you lean up to give her a quick peck before taking the rose-scented bubble bath and pouring it into the swirling water.

by the time the tub is filled, the room is filled with a thin gauze of steam, and when you turn, you find vi standing awkwardly behind you, watching with one hand on her opposite elbow, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“in general,” you say, pushing to your feet, “people take baths with their clothes off.”

vi’s cheeks go blotchy, and her eyes skitter about the room.

“what, i’m just supposed to strip here and —”

her words cut off abruptly as you turn your back on her and tug your night gown from your body, stepping into the bubble-filled water, glancing over your shoulder.

“you coming?”

vi nearly trips out of her tight-fitting pants, tugging haphazardly at the bandages wrapped around her torso. when she finally steps into the water opposite you, she drops down with a soft splash, a loud groan rolling from her as her eyes flutter shut.

when she forces them open again, it’s to find you watching her with your round doe eyes, a sweet, knowing smile perched over your very kissable lips. she wonders at the heat in her cheeks, at the way it prickles at her skin, thinks to herself that it must be the steam, must be the hot water currently melting away at the knots that had braided themselves into her muscles the past few weeks, but she when she feels your calf nudging against her’s she can’t help the way her breath skids inside her chest.

“c’mere,” you motion, and vi blinks at you for a second before shifting till you’re face to face, her hovering uncertainly between your legs before you jerk your chin for her to turn around.

the bathtub is more than big enough to fit the both of you, and for a while, a comfortable quiet settles as she leans her back against your chest, your fingers dancing up the length of her arms, trailing warm water along her shoulders, tangling in the rapidly lightening tips of her hair.

the dark dye runs off her, pluming in the water like spilled ink. you steadily work your fingers through her tresses, smoothing out the knots, occasionally letting your nails scrape against her scalp.

“holy fuck that feels nice…”

you smile, washing as much the dye out as you can before rubbing your thumbs into her shoulders, feeling the tightness coiled there like springs. she grunts, shifting beneath your touch.

“y-you don’t have to do this y’know —” she tries to pull away, only to have you click your tongue impatiently and tug her right back.

“lemme know if i’m hurting you, okay?” is the only thing you say as you continue to massage her shoulders.

she softens, letting out a long sigh and a small chuckle.

“you’d have to try real hard to manage that, sweetcheeks.”

you puff out a tiny breath before digging your thumb into a particularly tender knot, her entire body buckling away from you.

“ow!” she twists around, eyes wide, even as you cast her a look that has her turning back again, but not before she flicks a bit of water at you, her other hand resting easy on your knee, bent next to her hip as she leans against you once more.

“this is the first thing they teach you how to do in a brothel,” you say, your voice light as you slowly work the tightness from each of vi’s muscles, applying gentle pressure, using the bubbles as lubricant.

“wait what?” she tries to turn around again, only for you to pinch lightly at one of her loosening knots, tutting.

“stay still and i’ll tell you the story.”

she stills, though her breath is still short, and the hand that had so recently been lolling against your knee is now stiff, her fingers wrapped around your limb as if to brace herself for what you’re about to say next.

“most people don’t know this, but i’m actually from the undercity — all my earliest memories are of the brothel, the girls there braiding my hair, or letting me sit on their vanities, smearing bits of lipstick on my cheeks as rouge. i think my mother must’ve been one of those girls once but… i never knew her. and it didn’t really matter anyway — i think… i was one of the lucky ones. at least i always had water and a hot bath when i wanted it.”

vi’s fingers tighten on your thigh before she lets up her grip, sighing as she presses her back more firmly against you.

“i’m sorry.”

you shrug, shifting a bit of hair from one shoulder to the other as you continue to dig your meticulous fingers into her weary muscles.

“don’t be. like i said, i was one of the lucky ones. but… i always knew that we were living a hard life. sometimes, one of the girls would vanish and… we’d never know where she went. sometimes, a guest would get a bit too rough and —” you let out a tiny laugh, “well i got pretty good at patching up cuts and bruises.”

you flatten your palms against her skin, running them along the expanse of her shoulders before pushing down her arms to squeeze at her firm biceps.

“there. how’s that feel?”

vi sits up, rolling her neck and shoulders with a loud groan.

“damn. that feels amazing but —” her expression softens as she reaches for you, running tender thumbs along the bend of your cheek.

“you — you don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to.”

“i know.” you catch her hand in yours, fingers curling in. all around you, perfumed mist hangs light in the air, hazing out the already diffused lighting. “but i want to.”

vi smiles, nodding.

you take another breath. your interlaced fingers sink into the murky water.

“when i turned thirteen, they started teaching me the ropes — massages first —”

“thirteen,” vi’s voice is harsh in the mist-hung room, the syllables cracking as they reverberate against the slick tiles.

you lilt your head, “how old were you when you ran your first job?”

vi stares, her mouth agape, “b-but — that’s — that’s different!”

“is it?”

she sputters for a few more seconds before deflating, shaking her head, tugging her hand from your grasp to splash water into her face, running both hands over her eyes with a groan.

somehow, she could picture it perfectly, you with your sweet smile and darling eyes, running deft fingers over the shoulders and necks of the unnamed girls at babette’s as they talk you through how to press just so, how to lull someone into your lap, and later, into your bed.

“but like i said… i was one of the lucky ones. really, really lucky — because one day, while i was refilling the water and tidying up the rooms, a guest heard me singing and… he offered me a gig topside.” you let yourself sink into the slowly cooling water, your hair flowing in a soft halo around your shoulders.

vi watches you with an inexplicable expression on her face — half-sadness, half-wonder.

“and the rest, well —” you flick a bit of water towards her; she blinks it away before pulling you into her chest, “you know the rest. or, i mean, i don’t know if you watched that entire 100-questions video —”

“i did.”

vi loops her arms around you, hooking her chin over your shoulder.

and once again, the quiet settles around you both, hanging solid in the air like so much dissipating steam.

“all that to say…” you murmur, turning slightly to face her, searching her eyes with your own, “you don’t have to pretend with me. not with me. not when it’s just the two of us.”

you watch her eyes widen ever so slightly, watch as her lips part and she hesitates over the words hanging at the tip of her tongue.

“thanks,” she finally manages, “for… for telling me this.”

you smile, pulling back to reach for the white can, unscrewing the top.

“okay. sugar-scrub time.”

by the time the pair of you leave the bath, the water’s cooled to a tepid chill at best. you offer vi a fluffy towel, wrapping one around yourself as you pad from the room in search for some clean loungewear.

you return with a large t-shirt and some shorts, which vi eyes for a second before pulling on, her cheeks darkening as she sees you watching her.

“quit looking at me like that…” she huffs as you tug on a loose shirt yourself, pulling on a pair of pink, lace-trimmed panties.

“like what? like you deserve to be looked at?” you ask, voice even as you run a towel over your damp hair. vi crinkles her nose, frowning down at her dirty clothes, piled in a lump on your bathroom floor. you shrug.

“leave it. that’s a tomorrow-problem. c’mon, bed-time.”

vi sighs, ruffling at her hair with the white towel, staring at the gray streaks she leaves behind. she glances up to find you standing by the bathroom door, a hand outstretched behind you, waiting.

she licks her lips before tossing the towel over her pile of clothes and reaching out to take your hand.

your bedroom is dark, lit only by the scatter of city lights from beyond your windows. through it, the city is a pulsing maze of tiny lights and spectral towers. you pause, glancing towards the skyline with a sigh.

“it’s a beautiful view,” vi says, coming up to stand behind you, looping an arm around your waist. you lean into her touch, her warmth, turning slightly to find her eyes just as faraway.

“yeah,” you grin, reaching up to touch her cheek, “you are.”

she turns, blinking at you for a second before your words register. she groans even as you laugh, the sound fizzling through her till her skin prickles with warmth and goosepimples.

“c’mon. bed.” she says, and you grin, allowing yourself to be led to your own bed, pulling back the silken covers, slipping beneath and watching as vi inches in next to you, pillowing her cheek on her arm. you angle your body towards hers, letting out a long, steadying breath.

she mirrors you — one breath, then another, then another.

“thanks, princess,” she says, after a few long moments.

you shuffle forward beneath the blankets, reaching out to wrap an arm around her waist. she closes her eyes, bending her head till you’re nose to nose.

“for what?”

vi lets out a puffed laugh, her lashes fluttering open again.

“for… letting me in.”

you press you lips, your eyes searching her’s. and here, in the dim moon-lit night, her eyes shone like twin stars, bright as firelights. you inch just a bit closer, letting your foreheads press as she shifts an arm to slip around your waist as well.

you hook your ankle over hers, shimmying till you’re hip to hip, your bodies arched into each other, bend for bend. she bites down on her lip, if only to stop it from quivering. you graze your hand up her arm to rest on her cheek.

“you know you’re always welcome here.”

vi laughs, the sound strangely watery as she blinks away the hot prickle biting up the back of her throat. it’s been so long since she’s had anywhere to come back to. and here you are, offering it up to her on a gold-gilded platter.

“yeah?” she says, even though her voice shakes and she has to swallow hard over the lump in her throat as she coaxes your chin up, angling your lips towards hers, “careful… i might actually take you up on that.”

“whatever’s mine is —” your breath hitches high as vi tugs you into her, crushing your lips to hers, a thick groan working it’s way through her chest. you taste salt on your tongue, even as she trails her mouth along your jawline to suck a dark, blossoming hickey into the side of your throat.

“— yours.” you finish, spearing your fingers through her hair to pull her back, your eyes soft in the gathering darkness. vi lets out a tiny, pitched whine as she buries her face in your chest, her body curling in on itself. you rock her against you, letting her grapple her fingers into your nightshirt, clutching you to her even as you sooth your palms over her head and neck, shushing her gently.

“fuck, princess…” she says, her voice slightly muffled, “you’re tryna spoil me rotten, huh.”

you smile, letting her pull back just far enough to catch a glimpse of your face.

“well, someone’s gotta do it.”

vi chuckles, the sound rumbling from her chest to yours.

“yeah well… i’m glad you’re the one angling for the job, sweets.”

you hum, letting your eyes fall shut as vi’s grip on you loosens, and the pair of you sink into the liquid warmth of each others bodies.

vi shifts, tucking you deeper into her arms as you content yourself with sighing into her skin, and it’s an almost automatic spin-click of both your bodies, your limbs settling into and against each other, your torsos turning to just the right spot, just the right angles to fit against one another.

you settle, and feel the world settle around you — time itself seems to breathe and slacken, the evening-shaped seconds and minutes ticking each into its own place, like the teeth on a set of cogs, catching one rung into another, spinning one after the other till everything starts to hum into place.

sleep slips its gossamer gauze over your eyes and vi shifts, her lips ghosting your forehead.

“whatever gods up there that put you in my life…” she whispers, her voice tight, you make a soft noise, like a question, or perhaps a confirmation, leaning up to level your faces once more. your eyes open and vi finds her own reflection staring back at her, the shape somehow softened by your gaze, and she wonders, not for the first time, what you see in her, what you’ve always seen in her, that makes you so…

“there’s already a shrine set up for them in the living room,” you murmur, and for a second, vi stares, her own mind quiet for the first time in a long while. you smile sleepily at her confusion, nuzzling her nose with yours, “what, you didn’t know? i’d been thanking them for you since the first day we met.”

vi makes a sound like a hiccup, shaking her head as warmth bubbles through her, a champagne-colored shake-fizzle-pop of emotions welling up behind her eyes, making her head spin.

“well shit —” she grins, tugging you ever closer, “you’re always one step ahead of me, aren’t you princess?”

you hum, carding your fingers through her hair as she settles against you once more.

“mhm,” a tired little yawn, “and maybe tomorrow morning, if you’re feeling up to it —”

“yeah?” vi’s voice is soft, is sweet, is almost reverent as she kisses the skin of your sternum, her lips lingering right beneath your collarbones.

“i could show you some of the other things i picked up at the brothel.”

vi groans, her fingers digging into your hips at the tantalizing thought.

“mm, you mean other than giving people amazing shoulder massages?”

you laugh, and outside, a large neon sign flickers off, tossing the room into a deeper, richer dark.

“yep. but for now…”

“sleep?” vi asks.

you nod, watching as her eyelids flutter shut, and you let yours do the same. your fingers find hers beneath the blankets; your palms press and she gives you a tiny squeeze. you squeeze back and smile.

“sleep.”

[fleurseoul]

- [ 6 : 24 ] - k.sn - 엔하이픈

sunoo in which he cuddles with you in bed and gets needy for your pretty lips and pussy. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

trigger warnings :: face sitting, pet names, soft¡dom sunoo. <- let me know if i missed anything!

authors note :: short sunoo fic bc i got some motivation the day before thanksgiving!! 🧸��ི

© :: also thanks to @alessialvl for the inspiration!! it was her sunoo nsfw audio that gave me this idea. ( she gave me permission to do this. )

18+ minors, do not interact!! you’ve been warned.

sunoo was really needy today, mostly because he had a rough day during practice and he needed to take his mind of something less stressful. he had his head buried in your chest and his arms wrapped around your waist, gently caressing your hips.

“what’s wrong, ddeonu?” you asked him, gently stroking his hair as he sighed with contentment, nuzzling his head even more into your body.

“rough day..” he mumbled, not even trying to form a full sentence in front of you. he couldn’t not, even if he really wanted to. you were just too pretty and innocent for your own good.

you responded with a little hum as he shifted in his position, making so that he was straddling you. he looked so cute in this moment, all pouty, and his eyes were lost in your beauty that he worshiped.

he leaned in for a kiss in which you reciprocated, his lips soft and sweet. you loved the way his tongue would so easily slip into your mouth, rubbing against your own. you sighed as sunoo switched positions so that you were now on his lap.

his lips and mouth tasted like vanilla mixed with strawberries, it was just so ethereal. the flavor just made you feel so alive and well, you two loved each other to the moon and back.

as you two made out for another couple of minutes, he pulled away, breathing heavily slightly.

“i wonder what you taste like..” you heard him say under his breath. that’s when you realized that he wanted to eat you out.

that’s been on his bucket list for a while, now that you think about it. he’s been wanting to have you straddling him, his lips devouring your pussy.

“ddeonu..” you sighed, contemplating your next moves. were you really gonna sit on his pretty and innocent face?

after a few seconds of thinking, you laid him down on his back and crawled over him. he looked a little puzzled, but pleased nonetheless.

a/n :: i recommend listening to this during the next paragraphs.

“really? you’re gonna let me taste you?” you bit your lip, doubting and hesitating your decision. he pouted, gently grabbing your hips and bringing it closer to his face.

“please baby, let me taste you..” he begged and whined, drooling slightly. you couldn’t say no to him. he was too cute to resist.

“fine.” you gave in, letting your pussy cover his mouth. he gasped, but began licking and lapping your wetness. he whined and whimpered, but they soon began to turn into hums of pleasure. he sucked on your sensitive buds, relishing the taste of it.

you moaned softly, whining at the feeling of his warm and soft tongue on your pussy. you gripped onto the pillow and his shoulders, which made him lap even faster. sunoo’s tongue felt like heaven and it was deep inside of you.

you gently tugged on his hair, indicating that you were gonna cum soon. you were too much of a whining mess that you didn’t wanna form a coherent sentence just because of how good he was making you feel.

“s-sunoo!” you moaned, letting yourself release into his mouth. he happily licked up all of your sweet juices and the room was filled with the slurps coming from his mouth.

“i want more..” he whined after licking every single drop clean. you two ended up just showering together after that and cuddling in bed, watching some random k-dramas.

® :: ONCE AGAIN TYSM TO MY MOOT @alessialvl FOR GIVING ME INSPIRATION AND MOTIVATION!!

[notlongtolove]

the fox and her hound

“a fox?” he repeated, and you nodded. “a vixen.” spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. so you show him. not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff with a pinch of angst

content: a love story told through the allegory of a fox and a hound, mentions of metaphorical wounds

word count: 2k

note: no linked poem bc idk just thought of this and wanted to write it. mayhaps im taking this nature trope a tad too far lol but anyways i will probably come back to edit this.

a line: They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes.

On your first date with Spencer, you’d asked him what animal he’d be. He had paused, tilting his head just slightly. He’s never understood why people ask questions like these. What animal? What color? What season? Animals are animals, colors are colors. It would be impossible to pick one to embody his entire being. Such separate realms of nature, totally different worlds, he thinks.

But you’re sitting across from him, head tilted, eyes glinting under dim light. Pretty. So pretty. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, doesn’t want you to think he’s boring or stiff or unfun. He wants to answer correctly, even though he knows there’s no “correct” answer to this.

“Maybe a golden retriever,” he said, trying to keep casual, “or a beagle. Something friendly.”

Something safe, he thinks. Something pretty girls statistically like.

You had smiled then, slow and soft, lifting the glass of whiskey to your lips, you said with all the certainty in the world:

“I’m a fox.”

“A fox?” he repeated, and you nodded.

“A vixen.” 

You didn’t explain it, just swirled your glass like you were swirling the word on your tongue. You loved the taste of it, loved the way it warmed your chest on the way down. Foxes are well-adapted to stay warm. Their thick winter coats, their long, bushy tails. They don’t need anyone to hold them when the frost bites or when the wind howls through the trees.

Spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. The dog stays close to the house. He doesn’t stray far, never been anywhere else. He doesn’t know. So you show him. Not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up. The forest is dense, you see, the paths are winding and uneven. The shrubbery is thick, sharp branches clawing at the skin. There are logs in the way and the dog stumbles over them sometimes. You wonder if he’s getting tired, if your hidden path is too hard for him to navigate. If the spiders that weave their webs in his face and the fire ants that bite at his ankles are too painful to endure.

So, sometimes, you stop. You sit together on the forest floor, catching your breath. You wag your tails lazily and just talk.

“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?” he asks one evening.

The fox doesn’t answer right away. Her ears twitch, and her eyes flicker toward the trees.

“I don’t like the word never,” she says finally, “It feels like an impossible standard.”

The dog thinks about this, his brow furrowing. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she replies, her voice soft.

But the fox knows her way through the forest. She knows every twist and turn, every trap hidden beneath the leaves. You tell the dog he’d never catch up, sometimes hiding, sometimes running faster—just to see if he’ll try. Spencer doesn’t tell you how he sees that every time you disappear into the trees, you always turn back. Always looking over your shoulder, always checking to see if he’s still behind you. 

Eventually, you reach your den. Your fur coat is scratched and bruised from the branches and the logs, the forest leaving its marks on you like it always does. But you’re here. He’s here.

Silently, you wonder how many more times you’ll have to make this journey. You don’t think you can endure another. But you don’t say it.

Instead, you take him inside.

Your den is small, cobbled together from dirt and leaves, from twigs and scraps you’ve gathered over the years. You show him your dirt mantle, how you’d packed it tight with earth and how you’d lined with relics of your life. You show him the first flower you ever found, or what’s left of it—a brittle stem, its petals long gone. You tell him the story of the hound who crushed it. 

There’s a feather on the wall, light and fragile, from the first bird you ever caught. You smile as you tell him the story of the chase, how fun it had been to run and run with your foxes until the world blurred around you. Until you were the only one left. In the corner, something glints: A metal buckle, tarnished but unmistakable. From the shoe of the first hunter who’d ever caught you.

You trace your fur with your fingers, telling Spencer your adventures and stories of the traps and the teeth, of the hunters who came with rifles and ropes. The dog sits, listening, understanding. You show him how the edges of your den are marked, too. The walls are carved with notches—five, ten, fifteen. Each one a hunter or hound you’d escaped from. You’re proud, you say, even as you run your hand over the rough lines. They’re proof you survived, that you’ve outwitted them time and time again. Not unwounded, not unbroken, but alive. 

You tell him you’re very proud of yourself.

The dog tilts his head, watching you carefully. He sees the way your voice falters when you recount the stories of cages and leashes, how your tail twitches when you mention the hunters. Spencer thinks the fox is lying.

So, the dog tries to teach the fox his ways.

He clears out your mantle first. He takes down the brittle flower stem, the feather, the tarnished buckle. Then, he takes your paw and shows you how to sniff out the bright pretty toadstools, the ones that make the forest less dark. He shows you the rain puddles, not just for drinking, but for jumping in, for splashing until your laughter scares off the birds.

Together, you fill your den with new relics. Ticket stubs from the village fair, postcards you write but never send, laughter tucked away in secret corners. Kisses, soft and warm, planted like seeds that grow slowly into something that feels like home.

Spencer rubs off the old notches on your walls with the pads of his paws, the dust of their memory falling to the floor. In their place, you make new marks. Not notches, but drawings. A fox curled in the safety of her den. A dog lying beside her, his muzzle resting on his paws.

Night after night, you curl up beneath your mantle, snouts touching, tails tucked beneath you. 

And then winter comes. Now, your walls feel too big for just a lone fox.

You see, the dog always listens to his master. He sits, he fetches, he stays. But always under command, always under the whistle’s call. And when his master calls, he has to go. Tail wagging or tucked low, he goes. 

“You’re hardly ever here anymore,” your voice cuts sharper than you meant it to. 

“Can we please not do this now,” he says almost pleadingly, his jaw tight.

For the first time, in the quiet of your den, the fox feels the cold.

The dog goes. The fox doesn’t follow. She can’t. She doesn’t belong where the dog goes—to places of shiny badges and polished shoes, of clean, carpeted floors and voices that echo off tall, glass walls. So she waits in her den, her fur bristling against the chill, her paws worn from pacing the same patch of dirt.

You try to remind yourself of who you are. A fox, sly, swift, clever. A fox, who doesn’t need to wait for anyone. 

But still, when the forest quiets, you glance toward the trees. You press your ear to the ground, hoping to catch the faintest echo of his steps, the rustle of leaves under his paws. The fox runs her fingers over the edges of the drawings, tracing the uneven lines, patching the spaces in her den where the light and the wind get in with twigs and leaves. She roams the fields, trying to race the clouds again. But she doesn’t think she runs quite as fast without Spencer beside her. She chases her tail like he taught her, spinning in quick circles, but it’s not as fun when she’s alone. She doesn’t try to catch the birds anymore. It doesn’t feel the same.

When Spencer comes back, his coat bruised and worn from his time away, the fox licks his wounds. The scrapes and the scratches, soft and slow, patching his paws with the leaves she’s saved. ​​He carries something in his teeth—a token, a peace offering, a sign that he thought of you while he was away. 

A flower. 

He’d found it near the river, petals still dewy, fragile and bright. He hopes you like it. You do.

You take it from him with careful paws, eyes tracing its delicate form before placing it on your mantle, next to the postcards and ticket stubs, next to the daffodils, peonies, dahlias, irises and all the other flowers he’s found for you over time. You think back to the brittle and dead stem you once kept and wonder if there’s any way to hold onto something that beautiful forever.

Because sometimes even beautiful flowers die.

And when it comes to fight or flight, the fox always runs. They say it’s in her blood, in her very nature to flee. So she bolts. She runs away from the den, away from the mantle and the flowers he’d collected. The fox doesn’t know if she can find flowers quite as beautiful as the ones Spencer has given her.

You don’t need the flowers, you tell yourself. You’ll find a new den, find new birds to catch, rebuild your mantle from scratch, carve new notches in your walls once more. You always do.

But the hound finds you. Bred for hunting. Tracking. Scenting. For knowing where to look and how to catch. Bred for the hunt, he always finds you. Your crouched back, tail down, ready to pounce or bolt if you have to. Every instinct telling you to run, to vanish into the underbrush before he can catch you. 

“Open the door,” a voice calls, low and insistent.

The fox is curled in the corner of this den. It doesn’t hold the warmth of the last.

“I know you’re home.”

She shuts her eyes and digs deeper into the wall.

“Open the door,” he says, voice softening, pleading. "Please."

The fox exhales, and with a shudder that shakes through her, she reaches out and opens the door. She misses her flowers.

It’s not the chase you expect. No barking, no growling. You bare your teeth. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. 

“What do you want?” she asks, claws sharp.

“I want to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Then I’ll stay here until you do.”

And so the fox and the dog sit. They wait and wait then talk and talk. By the time the first rays of the sun creep above the treetops, the fox is laughing again. It’s a sound that is warm and bright, something that makes Spencer’s heart feel a little fuller, a little lighter. He thinks he understands now. 

They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes. The way she finds the sunniest patch to lay in and closes her eyes, tail swishing in contentment. They only see the scars and the snarls. They don’t ever see the joy.

“Why don’t you trust me?” he asks, his voice gentle but steady, the kind of tone that makes it clear he already knows the answer.

“I do,” you say quickly, instinctively.

He doesn’t push. He waits.

“I know you don’t,” he says finally, not accusing, just truthful.

You look away, fidgeting with your tail between your legs. “I’m trying,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says again, softer this time, his tail brushing lightly against your side.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: you’re here that’s the thing by beabadoobee tsunami by niki

[splinterclan]

I don’t know if it’s been brought up before, but have they ever considered letting Bess visit the kits instead of Cedar taking them to see her? Or was it immediately off the table when Whorl decided it would be best if they didn’t know about their mother? Kinda hoping this could be the solution they go for instead of making things worse 😭

If this option had been offered to her, Whorl likely would've accepted!

When the kits were first born, Bess didnt really want to raise them, she and Cedar weren't meant to last long - this is why Cedar took them to the clan once they were weaned. But she ended up finding a nice place to stay close by and she and Cedar kept seeing each other.

Eventually he convinced her to meet the kits again and after meeting she started growing attached and wanted to keep meeting them. But Bess hates anything to do with clans - she refuses to go near where the other cats are. She doesn't want to meet them, she doesn't want to stay with them, she wants nothing to do with clan life outside of seeing Cedarheart and now the kids as well.

Whorl only suggested the kits not knowing their mom bc she equated Bess giving them up to the clan = her not wanting them. Something that was true at the time! I mean why would she willingly seperate from her kits that young otherwise? Now Whorl doesnt know what to think of her, but she's willing to talk to them.

[demonic0angel]

I've had this idea rattling in my brain for a while, and I dont know what to do with it. Cannon Damian has had his spine replaced with titanium. Damian Fenton still has his normal spine. Titanium is about 3x heavier than bone.

The Batfam find out about Damian Fenton and they (cough cough Bruce) do a wellfare check by switching him with cannon Damian at school. Jazz instantly knows she does not have her son when she playfully tries to carry him to the car. Her son is not that heavy.

Maybe parallel universe shenanigans or the speedsters messing with the timeline caused there to be two Damians. 🤷‍♀️

I like this idea bc the angst and comfort would be so good. However, I have several questions.

1) Why would Bruce and the Batfam do this in the first place? If I misunderstood your ask, since it kinda seems like they also willingly switched out the Damians for a welfare check, then why didn’t they just keep the Damian with the titanium spine??

2) Why would canon!Damian go along with Jazz’s whims??

3) The entire Fenton Family is really powerful and protected by outside forces (Observants and Clockwork, Shadow, etc), how would they not know about the switch??

I’m confused, but this idea would be fun for the angst when Jazz fights to get her kid back and canon!Damian gets to spend time with her while Fenton!Damian kicks Bruce’s ass.

[084thoughts]

imagine they do this and just call it El Paso. And we start with a little montage of Chris living w his grandparents for the last 6 months and at the end of it there’s a knock on the door and it’s Eddie showing up out of the blue. We can parallel Chim running into Eli with Eddie reuniting w an old high school friend (aka crush) and unearthing all his angsty teen gay feelings. And this friend knew Shannon, but didn’t know she died and remembers they had Chris but is shocked he’s 14 bc it’s been so long and Eddie talks about ruining his relationship w his kid and being a bad father, and the friend is like, no, you are an amazing dad and reassures Eddie that he’s not failing or a fuckup. (Bonus points if this scene happens while they are drunk and emotional and they both start crying half way through). And Eddie and Chris grow closer and they’re apologies on both sides and they talk about Buck and Shannon at the lake and that’s when Chris says he misses the ocean because El Paso isn’t his home, his home is the one his dad fought for, the one fortified by Buck and Bobby and Pepa and Abuela and, for a short time, his mom. No matter what his grandparents give him, a pool, it can’t be the love and the life his dad built. A desert cannot be the ocean no matter how much it rains.

okay but eddie's version of boston. somewhere in 8b eddie goes to stay with his parents for a week to look at houses and start really repairing things with chris and it's His Episode. there's the occasional call with buck or bobby and a little scene of hen and chim asking how he's doing when buck has to end their call at the station. but it's just an eddie deep dive.

[nowiminexileseeingyouout]

Can you do that nsfw alphabet thing with kate?

NSFW ALPHABET HEADCANNONS

KATE MARTIN

A/N: did this one first bc it’s shorter and i’ve got stuff to do also this is lowk freaky i didn’t realise the prompts were like that my god

req still open - more fics coming soon!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

very affectionate and cuddly—will hold you close and run her fingers through your hair

likes to take care of the little things—fluffing pillows, getting blankets, water, or cloths.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kate would definitely be proud of her arms, especially after training.

Hips are a weakness for Kate—the curve of them and the way they fit in her hands (she loves to grip them during sex).

She loves your eyes and probably says cheesy stuff about how she could stare into them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

loves the taste of it 

Sharing cum with her partner is a major turn-on; she loves swapping it between their mouths in a messy kiss.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

She has a thing for being choked during sex even though she'd never admit it.

has a secret stash of porn on her phone that she watches to get herself off, mostly scenes that remind her of her and her partner

E = Experience (how experienced are they?) Do they know what they’re doing?

100% experienced and definitely knows what she’s doing but still gets nervous the first time with a new partner. 

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

cowgirl She loves seeing you bounce up and down and can still have control over you. 

or when you’re riding her face

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

for the most part serious but loves to tease her partner by playfully pinching or tickling you

prone to laughing during sex, especially if something unexpected happens

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

don’t really care about this one; it probably depends.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Kate is incredibly affectionate during sex, peppering your face and neck with soft kisses and gentle nips. She wants to worship every inch of their body.

Eye contact is important to Kate; she holds your gaze as you have sex, pouring all her adoration and desire into her eyes.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

usually before bed or when she's feeling stressed It's a way for her to unwind and release tension.

She prefers to use her fingers.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

sensory deprivation—blindfolding you and teasing you with ice or her tongue until you’re desperate for more.

Kate has a thing for overstimulation, pushing you to the brink of pleasure and pain until you’re shaking and begging for release.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Kate's favourite place to have sex is in the shower. She loves the feeling of hot water cascading over your naked bodies as you move together.

Kate adores lazy Sunday morning sex in bed, tangled in the sheets and trading slow, deep kisses.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Dirty talk and praise from her partner get Kate going. Hearing them moan her name, beg for more, tell her how good she feels...

motivated by the desire to please, to give you mind-blowing pleasure, and make you feel worshipped.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Kate dislikes when her partner is too passive or unresponsive. She wants them engaged, participating.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Kate absolutely loves giving oral sex. She takes great pride in her skills and enjoys nothing more than going down on her partner.

She's patient and thorough, taking her time to explore every fold and crevice with her tongue. Kate wants to map out her lover's most sensitive spots.

Kate is vocal during oral sex, moaning and growling against her partner's flesh, letting them know how much she's enjoying herself.

She's happy to receive oral too, but giving is definitely her preferred role. There's nothing Kate loves more than seeing her partner come undone because of her mouth.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Kate is versatile in her pacing, depending on her mood and what you need. She can be slow and sensual or fast and rough.

In general, Kate tends to start slow and build intensity. She loves to draw out the anticipation before unleashing the full force of her passion.

Kate pays attention to your responses and adjusts her pace accordingly. She wants to make sure you’re always on the same page, chasing pleasure together.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Morning quickies before practices are a speciality of Kate's. She'll wake you up with a heated kiss. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment?) Do they take risks? etc.)

Kate is always game to experiment and try new things in the bedroom.

She always prioritises safety and consent. She won't do anything that could seriously harm herself or her partner.

S = Stamina How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?

Kate has impressive stamina, thanks to years of athletic training. She can go multiple rounds in a single session.

Kate's stamina is one of her proudest assets. She takes great joy in outlasting her partner and leaving them spent and satisfied.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

With her partner, Kate most enjoys using the strap-on. She revels in the power dynamic, the control, the way it allows her to penetrate and dominate.

Kate also likes using toys to tease her partner, trailing a vibrator along their most sensitive spots until they're writhing with need. She'll edge them mercilessly, keeping them on the brink.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Kate loves to tease her partner, both in and out of the bedroom.

In public, Kate might "accidentally" brush her hand against her partner's ass or trace patterns on their skin through their clothes. Subtle touches that only they would notice.

If her partner is wearing something particularly enticing, Kate will definitely let them know how badly she wants to rip it off. She'll make her desire known, even if she has to wait to act on it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Kate is quite vocal during sex, especially when she's really turned on. She's not shy about expressing her pleasure.

Some of Kate's signature sounds include moans and gasps, growing louder and higher pitched as she gets closer to orgasm. Growls and grunts when she's being particularly rough or dominant, Breathy, drawn-out "Oh fucks" and "Yeses" to encourage her partner, Whimpers and whines when she's being edged or teased

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

secret love for cheesy romcoms and will stay up late watching them with you

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

🐱obviously

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

high sex drive because of her athleticism but will slow down during the season 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Kate is prone to falling asleep quickly after sex, especially if it was particularly intense.

If she doesn’t fall asleep afterwards, she’ll watch a movie with you to carry her to bed.

[folkloreintime]

Vamplor. - Taylor Swift x Reader Smut

Vampire!Taylor x female reader smut

warnings: smut, fem!reader oral (r!receiving), vampires, biting, mild blood play, amnesia(kinda??)

summary: Vamplor takes you back to her house and her intentions are very clear.

word count: 1.5k

A/N: not me being back the vamplor pull was just too strong lmaoo. I might do a part 2 of this where vamplor feeds on reader but pls lemme know if u want it or not bc it might be too freaky idk. Hope you enjoy! - pris

You could barely recall the recent events of this morning, a bad sleep turned into a bad morning which turned into an even worse day so when the sun set and you lazily walked your way back home, the local bar didn’t look so bad, its dim glow seeming much more enticing than the cold icy walls of your apartment, it seemed like an adequate end to the day.

However, now you were sitting in a room, two deep red glasses of wine sat at the table in front of you, the tall ceilings seemed like they could go on forever but the walls were ensconced in black as if they were trying to trap you. Memories, flashes of red lips and sultry whispers came back to you, a woman flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder laughing coyly, her face hidden from your gaze. You took a deep breath and turned towards the door. Nobody entered and you wondered if you should leave. It almost felt illegal, quietly tiptoeing towards the door and just before you turned the handle it burst open.

“Not leaving are you, Sweetness?” Her red lips pouted as she salaciously leaned on the door frame, essentially blocking you in. “No. I’m just…” The words fell short in your mouth because you didn’t actually know what you were doing here but the intrigue of the woman before you was enough to make you stay. “We were at the bar?” you questioned trying to piece together what little information you had. “Yes,” she chuckled, “We came here after the bar, the night is still young, so why waste it?” Her tall figure stepped into the room.

“Sit. We were having such a good conversation,” she gestured with a flick of her hand and you immediately felt yourself complying with her commands as if she had willed it so, “Oh… did someone make a mess?” She mocked you, shaking her head dismissively as you both looked at the wine now dripping unceremoniously on the floor, you didn’t even hear it fall, the silence in the room was deafening, only the sound of your breath and the creaking footsteps as she moved around you remained, just close enough where you could sense the air as she moved through it but not close enough to touch.

She handed you a rag and knelt to the floor with you, her blonde hair framed her face, the moonlight from the open window shone like stage lights illuminating her like a crowd pleaser. “Go on, Y/N. Clean up your mess.” her eyes darkened, the silhouette of her black lacy corset tightened against her pale skin as she leaned forward with intense eye contact. You began to soak up what liquid you could, the rag absorbing the fluid, now stained with red like an open wound. The small piece of cloth was doing very little to clean it up, sloshing the liquid back and forth making an even bigger mess, you sat up a little, almost admitting defeat when the woman piped up. “Need help?” it would have sounded sincere if not for her quirked up brow and loose smile on her lips . She cupped her hands on top of yours and you gasped. She was ice cold, shivers traveled up and down your spine and you didn’t move an inch.

She began to move her hands, moving yours with them. Left. Right. Left. Right. It was antagnosingly slow, and each time she stopped her grip on your

hands tightened ever so slightly. Her eyes studied you so intensely, you felt shy under her gaze, wholly exposed and unable to utter a word for fear she might just get up and leave. Suddenly, she stopped. “You can’t clean up your mess properly, Sweetness.” she tutted, both of your hands were stained red, the scent of mulled berries infiltrated your senses. “I’m sorry.” You looked away in shame, it seemed like the longer you spent with her the more shy you became.

“Sorry isn’t good enough, Y/N. You disrespected my company.” She stood, towering above you. “I’ll make it up to you.” Your voice was small now, looking at her through your eyelashes, she smoothed out her corset. “I guess I’ll just have to make a mess of you.” She grabbed your jaw, harshly raising your head so your eyes could meet. Her smirk was more sinister now, her blue eyes almost became black like the walls. “Stand.” she demanded.

Her cold hands clenched either side of your face and she leaned in, lips merely inches apart and where her breath should fan your face, there was none. She crashed her lips into yours, they moved around each other like an electric dance. She took your bottom lip into her mouth and sucked whilst you brought your hands to pull her closer. She stopped. “I didn’t say you could touch.” You breathed out, a little shocked. She grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you down onto the chaise lounge underneath the window. The moon casting its light onto her enshrouded face. Sweeping your hair to one side, she let the strap of your dress fall onto your shoulder. She traced lines from your upper jaw to chest with her black painted fingernails. You closed your eyes and listened to the sound of your heartbeat.

She knelt between your knees, her height making her level with you and laid kisses on your jaw, intermittently enveloping your mouth in a searing kiss. She moved down to your neck and started to suckle and kiss just above your pulse point. You closed your eyes in bliss, a small moan escaping. Suddenly, you felt a sharp pinch and your eyes shot open. “Sorry, got ahead of myself.” She laughed, throwing her head back, exposing sharp fangs overtop those full red lips.

A wave of nausea crashed over you as your breathing became rapid and shallow. The fear was palpable in the air but your lust and temptation still lingered. You recalled her electric energy in the bar, hanging on to her every word, bringing yourself closer just to feel what it’s like to be in her presence, letting a potentially dangerous woman have you? Would it be worth it?

Her long fingers grasped onto your waist as she slowly pushed you flat on the lounge chair. Now fully at her mercy, she pulled down the neck of your shirt as if it was greatly inconveniencing her, exposing your breasts to the air. She took one nipple into her mouth and lightly began to suck, your head rolled to the side and a moan fluttered its way from your throat. Her suckling turned into tiny bites, the thrill of knowing her sharp teeth could break the skin at any moment made the seconds go painstakingly slow.

Her actions became rougher and sloppier as she made her way down your body, stopping incrementally to leave a kiss or run her polar fingers through your hair, staring deeply into your eyes. Her blonde hair tickled the space between your thighs and her solid stature was the only reminder that she was even there. She leaned in and you jolted out of fear. “You scared of me, Sweetness?” She pouted, genuinely waiting for an answer. “No, I don’t think so.” You answered honestly as not trusting the womanly creature with her head in between your legs right now wouldn’t be very apt. “Good, because I’m about to be,” Her tongue made contact with your pussy, “Very mean right now.” she whispered.

The noises that erupt from your mouth sound wrecked and earth shattering as she begins a languid dance upon you. Her tongue lays flat against you before her mouth is hastily sucking your clit into her mouth, the whiplash of events making your head spin. She thrusts her tongue in, holds for a second and then pulls back. There’s a sheen to her supple lips, the red lipstick is a little smeared but the glint of hazy lust so intense in her eyes is enough to fuel both of you on. She spits on your pussy, a sultry whine leaves your mouth. Then she dives right back in continuing her machinations and the white hot pleasure begins to peak as you clasp a hand to the back of her head.

She laughs, the sound vibrating against you, bringing you to the crux. A million little stars fill your vision as her tongue furiously pushes against your pussy, the breath from your lungs punches the air and sweat beads on your forehead. Then she drags her teeth across to your thigh and bites. You almost ignite as cries flurry their way to the surface with every pulse of your clit. She moans for the first time and there's something off about the nonessential breath she lets out.

She rears her head up, the small red dribble coming from her mouth alarms you. You press against the small wound, red staining your fingertips, and slowly push them into her mouth. She takes them with no questions asked, leeching every droplet she can take. She releases your fingers and kisses your cheek, her hand cupping your neck.

“I think I might have to keep you forever.” She says, tilting her head.

“And you are?” You ask.

“Taylor, Sweetness.”

end.

[causenessus]

leaving soon. | dazai o.

dazai x f!reader

written in 3rd person bc i can

song recc: the fear of losing this by florist

word count: 2.8k words

notes: use of pet names angel, love, and bella; WARNING for mentions about suicidal ideation,, not heavy angst, it's just dazai. and also the reader thinking she'd be fine dying if she's with dazai. not in a manipulative way, just a way of loving him in every universe and state <3 lots of hurt/comfort, overthinking, and insecurity. basically both dazai and the reader are horrible at communication so they have to figure it out together. established relationship implied. takes place during cannibalism arc after dazai is shot. civilian or ada reader not specified on purpose. thank you for reading!

she was the first person they called when they found out.

well– the first after an ambulance had been called. after that, she was the next most important person to call.

not important enough to have any part in saving his life, though. not just as a doctor; she wasn’t good enough to prevent him from thinking of killing himself every day. she wasn’t important enough to keep him from throwing himself into the way of danger, not worth enough that he thought about what would affect her before he wound up in these situations–

it was wrong of her to be angry at him for something like this. she knew what she’d been getting into when she first met him. when she first started falling for him, and when she confessed. she knew all along what he was like, and she still loved him anyway.

yes, he had a past. yes, he joked about committing suicide every day. yes, he was reckless. yes, he was a mastermind. yes, he was selfless and willing to always put everything above himself. yes, he was bad at communication. yes, he was worthy of love. yes, he could give love.

relationships were a work in progress. they would always be until the day she ended up buried next to him, hopefully. deep down, a part of her had already forgiven him for the episode of panic and stress she'd had as soon as she'd recieved the broken call from atsushi. but the other half knew it also wasn’t wrong of her to feel upset when she'd heard that her boyfriend had been shot in an alleyway.

she knew him well enough to know he knew he was putting himself in risk of danger in that alleyway, whatever he'd been doing there. she reckoned he probably knew he was going to be shot, too. and if he knew all that, she just wanted to know why he didn’t give her a heads-up. she wasn't asking for all the details. even just a text, moments before, saying "hey. i'm about to end up in the hospital. someone might will call you. don't be too worried." she didn't expect them dating to miraculously change him into a man who didn't crave death at every moment, but had it been so wrong of her to hope that maybe being in a relationship would cause him to think twice before getting himself in situations like these, no matter how much he assured her he knew what he was doing?

one day, as much as she hoped it wouldn’t be the case, she feared there’d be something he failed to account for. one day, he'd go missing, and no one would be able to find him, and it'd stay that way. she feared one day they wouldn't be so lucky as to find him bleeding out in an alleyway when there was still a chance to save him.

but there she went again, being angry at dazai, then being angry at herself for being angry at him, and then shoving down her feelings before she even had the time to process them. because she didn’t want to be the overbearing girlfriend who always plagued and worried about her boyfriend, but she couldn’t help it when her boyfriend quite literally wanted and was trying to kill himself.

everyone she had talked to had agreed that it wasn’t wrong of her to feel worried about her partner and that they would support her if she decided to distance herself from him for her own sake, but she could never bring herself to do that. if anything, to be completely honest, she’d rather she die with him than leave him to die on his own. 

maybe she was weird or morbid for thinking that way. maybe she needed to seek help. but all she knew was that she truly loved him, but maybe he didn’t feel the same way. maybe their entire relationship was just temporary for him and he didn’t want to die with her at his side. maybe death was something sacred for him that he wanted to experience alone, or she just wasn't the perfect one for him and he was still looking for that "special one." she wasn’t entirely sure what his thoughts were on the concept, or what he really, truly thought of her. she didn't know if she was really of any value to him.

maybe she could figure it out for herself. maybe she was a horrible, terrible, awful girlfriend for not knowing what her boyfriend thought of committing suicide with her, but she had no idea. she wasn't sure what was okay for her to bring up, and what wasn't. how was one supposed to go about asking their partner's opinion on a double suicide? she had been frozen by this fear as she stood outside her hospital door, but it was something that had been on her mind long before now. the fear of bringing up something that might ruin their relationship started even before they were dating; with even the thought of confessing her feelings. even though she'd gotten past that, it never became easier bringing up touchy subjects with him, out of fear of triggering something without the intention to.

she had been stuck outside his door for more than ten minutes since she'd been left by a nurse to open his door and check on him. she was unsure of what to think of herself, and what to do. her hand was fisted and raised, ready to knock but then she decided ‘i’m the first person on his emergency contacts list. i don’t need to knock; he’s mine. he probably wants to see me. i’m his.’  

she swung the door open.

what was she doing with her face? what was she supposed to be saying? why had she decided to come in so abruptly? she should have knocked after all. she was reminded of the fact that she was not enough to stop osamu from wounding up in a hospital in the first place. she didn't have any right to barge in like this.

then, all of her worries melted away when he turned away from the window to see who’d entered his room and his face softened.

“[y/n],” he whispered, and she saw his bandaged hands loosen their grip on the sheets he'd been holding. his shoulders dropped, and his whole demeanor seemed to relax.

“osamu,” she called his name back, letting her body do what felt normal. she was glad it had a sense of what to do, because she felt like she was at a loss for words. if she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure if a tone of concern or of anger would come out. 

she took a seat in the chair pulled up to the side of his bed, loosely intertwining her fingers with his nearby hand. the bandages that adorned his skin didn’t bother her. in fact, she was often overcome with an urge to kiss over every inch of his body and tell him how beautiful he was. the hospital gown he wore was what bothered her; she thought everything about him was beautiful and she couldn’t stand the thought that there’d be a scar on his body because of her. because she hadn’t done a good enough job of telling him how loved and important he was. that he didn’t think of himself nor her as important enough to keep himself out of danger.

her lips were pressed into a grim line as she ran a thumb over his knuckles. she wished he would eat more.

“everything go well with the surgery?” she asked, talking softly as if the silent atmosphere in the room was fragile.

he hummed in response, “yeah, they took good care of me. i should be good to leave by tomorrow afternoon.”

her head perked up at the answer, “that soon already? are you sure?”

“yep! as long as i take it easy, they’ll let me go tomorrow which is good. thing are tense between the mafia and agency right now. ranpo and kunikida are fine, but we'll have to work together with them against the one who caused all this, and i’m the only one who can faciliate that.” 

she liked it when he explained everything to her, it made her feel helpful, as if at least he could share his thoughts with someone else rather than keeping them all wound up in his head. she nodded along, trying to push down the concerns she had for him. the mafia wasn’t always nice to work with; even if dazai was right and their cooperation was the best course of action, that didn’t mean they would agree to it–at least not without a fight.

“you are going to take it easy when you’re discharged. right?” she gave him a look, in which he gave her a wry smile in return.

“of course i will, bella! who do you think i am? and i’ll have you, my guardian angel to make sure of it, won’t i?” he laughed, squeezing her hand as he talked boldly.

it had been easy for her to forget that he would want her by his side but the reminder made her smile, “you’re right. i'll be there to make sure you don’t hurt yourself again.” she almost added something else to her sentence but the "again" spoke well for itself, she thought. she didn’t want to ruin the mood so she kept it vague and her mouth shut. dazai looked at her expectedly, as if he was waiting for her to say something else but she only smiled at him, “i think i’m going to go take a walk real quick, just to clear my head. is that okay? i’ll be back soon.” she made an excuse as she stood up, turning to walk towards the door of his room before a hand gripped her wrist, pulling her backward.

she yelped as she fell onto the bed, flush with his chest. she could feel and hear the groan he let out when she hit his torso and on reflex tried to push off of him to lighten the pressure on his wound but his grip remained strong around her wrist, pulling her closer.

the prick of pain that shot through his stomach was a small price to pay for having his girlfriend on his chest, where he had wanted her from the moment she’d walked through the door. he wrapped his arms around her back, keeping her secure and from escaping his arms.

she allowed herself to be held in his arms, knowing it was useless to try to fight it now. she sighed, trying to enjoy the moment as her ear rested against his chest, allowing her to hear his heartbeat while she looked out the hospital window to the orange colored sky. 

“why take a walk away from me?” he mumbled playfully, nose buried in her hair. when she didn't respond, he placed a gentle hand on both sides of her face, tenderly guiding her head up to look her in his eyes; warm, chocolate-brown pools of adoration.

this is pathetic.

how did she come in here upset and worried about him and end up being the one comforted?

“you’re thinking too much in that pretty head of yours, angel. you’re thinking way too much about things way out of your control. that isn’t good. i can’t let you worry yourself to death like this, love. you gotta let me know what’s up. pretty please?” his voice was soft and pleading, but she winced at the mention of the word death, averting her eyes from him, instead opting to lay her head back on his chest, focusing on the steady rhythm inside of it. it was the surest sound in the world, the only thing she felt that could silence her head at the moment.

“sorry, angel,” he brushed a hand through her hair again, “didn’t mean to upset you, but i can tell, you know. and it makes me worried. i want to know what’s upsetting you so much.”

“says you,” she replied, huffing in frustration. he waited for her to continue, and she did, “you think you’re worried? i’m worried. about you! you’re the problem.” his fingers stopped moving at the mention of him. 

“‘don’t worry about me,’ i can already tell what you're about to say. ‘yes i know i was shot but don’t worry it was all part of an elaborate plan i didn’t tell you about after promising to try to communicate better,’” she mimicked him, trying to explain to him her point. she feels the hum in his chest as he processes her words and starts to grasp it. “it’s just– i’m sorry if that’s mean. and i’m sorry for worrying because you don’t need that added to your plate, but i can’t help it. i didn’t want to tell you this at the start because i don’t want to overstep your boundaries or give you one more thing to fix. i don’t care much about you breaking your promise to communicate better because it’s a lot to ask and it can’t always be done. i know you’ve had a difficult past and i don’t mind, osamu. i’m not mad, all i want is for you to be safe. and i know that’s a lot to ask from a suicidal man and that’s why i don’t know where i have a say in all of this– but i love you and it hurts for me to see you put yourself in danger so carelessly without telling anyone, as if i’m not enough to make you think twice before injuring yourself. sometimes– sometimes it feels like i’m just something for you to toy with before you die. something for you to entertain yourself with before you inevitably end up leaving. and i don’t want you to leave. i don’t want you to die, or at the very least without me– but i also know that’s nearly impossible to ask of you.”

he had started to rub her scalp as some sort of apology while she’d explained her feelings to him, and she still couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. she felt pathetic and weak with the tears in her eyes, and even worse when they began to slip from her eyes, no doubt seeping through his shirt and bandages. “you have every right and place to say whatever you would like, bella.” he spoke up after a beat of silence as he thought. still, it didn’t make her feel any better. he could just be saying what he knew she wanted to hear, but what she wanted was the truth. how much time did she have left with him? how much was she worth? was he leaving soon?

“you're the closest person to me and you deserve to say whatever you would like and to know what’s going on. i love you, too,” she could practically hear the smile in his voice as he said those words which made her face turn red as she turned away from the window to hide it in his hospital gown. her own confession had slipped out of her without a second thought, but she hadn’t meant for this to be a serious moment of testing how much he loved her. “i wouldn’t have agreed to try to change if i didn’t want to, but that’s why i made you that promise. i do want to change and be better for you, whatever that entails. i’d rather talk to you about my plans even if you don’t like them so that you know what’s going on rather than leaving you in the dark. because i never want you to feel like you’re just a toy or anything of the sort. you’re so much more than that, bella, and i should show as much. i’ve been and am forever grateful for your love and patience, [y/n]. i don’t deserve either. ask whatever you want of me and i will do it. will you give me another chance, my angel?”

“of course,” she mumbled in response, nuzzling and kissing the center of his chest, finally feeling the truth and love behind his words spread through her body like a warm fire. “i love you,” she whispered, not expecting him to hear it.

“i love you too,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to her scalp.

a noise from the window made them both jump as they turned to see a spotted orange cat with a sardine in its mouth waiting outside. it was posed too well to be a normal cat, and the pair shared a glance as she moved to start to get off of him.

“do you want to come along with me this time, bella?”

“always.”

[stellar-collective]

have y’all ever seen that one post about Mistlefoe(TM)? it’s just mistletoe but instead of kissing whoever is under it you have to FIGHT them.

i think that mistlefoe is a time-honored Agency/Zoraxis tradition that stretches back so far that no one knows which of the two organizations came up with it first. over the years, it’s been honed down to a science: no weapons, one attack each, dodging and blocking is allowed. it’s still stupid dangerous but when has that EVER stopped them

most people have a signature attack that they do under the mistlefoe. here are a couple of my ideas, feel free to add on!!

Agent Phoenix - bit of a wildcard; default is a friendly slug to the shoulder since most agents don’t try to dodge their attack (highly subject to change since every Phoenix is so different)

Reginald - a well-telegraphed right hook that can be easily dodged. you’d better actually dodge it tho bc he hits HARD

Juniper - he’s slapping you. everyone knows that that’s what he’s going to do, and everyone thinks that they’re going to be the one who can block or dodge or otherwise avoid it, but you cannot prevent the John Juniper Movie Slap. it is inevitable. he’s slapped everyone at Zoraxis, and now he’s slapping everyone at the Agency. you cannot stop him

Roxana - she thinks that this game is stupid (true) but if absolutely forced to participate she’ll roll her eyes and punch you in the solar plexus and instantly knock the wind out you. most people don’t force her into it twice

Fabricator - she plays dirty, man. either she’s got a trap already set up (technically against the rules, but who’s going to call her out?) or she’s going for the shins with her high heels. you will die

Solaris - she’ll effortlessly block anything you throw at her, then flick your forehead. sounds weak but she’s got enough finger strength she can knock you off your feet like that

Hivemind - no bees allowed, so he’ll just pinch you really hard for a similar effect

Caliente - he’s the sort of man who respects the classics. you can expect any kind of straight-forward punch from him

Anna - when she first joined, she’d go for the ribs. by the end, though, whatever she threw was so easy to dodge it was sort of hard to tell what she was even going for

Ollie - he’s either booping your nose or laying you out flat with a punch even he didn’t know he was capable of, no inbetween

Zor - pray that you never find yourself under the mistlefoe with them. no one knows what they do because no one has ever survived it

did i miss your fave? do you have a funnier idea? lmk :]

[venuswarmlight]

I was hoping to request a jealous Mizu x reader, like maybe she sees reader joking around with Tenzin and she gets really jealous. Idk maybe something along those lines ig. Tbh you can do whatever really, I just want some jealous Mizu x reader stuff. Sorry if this sounds too vague😓, Anyway thank you 🩷🖤

I hope I didn’t read this too late! A lot of things happened but what matters now is that I can keep writing. Hope you enjoyed it, i did it femreader bc I assumed you wanted it that way(I ALSO DIDNT FIND A GIF FOR THIS IM SO SORRY itS BEEN MONTHS I DONT USE TUMBLR)

Warnings: nsfw at the end. Not very proofread. Taigen acting like a man in the 1600’s. BAD ENGLISH.

Notes: Reader is an archer. Idk I’ll be adding more

Jealous!Mizu x Fem!Reader.

Having a mercenary girlfriend was the best thing that happened to you, from the first time you two met until now your only work was following her like a puppy through the villages and kicking asses to the ground like the badass you were, and of course the cozy nights were you both trained your fighting skills next to a lake just to end it by making out until her hands were already in your chest, desperate for blowing off some steam. Your life next to Mizu was great, yeah, but thanks to an unfortunate serious of events you weren’t the only ones in a campfire nearby that forest lake. At least for now.

“I’ll see if there’s another rabbit out there.” Mizu got up from the snowy ground, and looked at you. “Scream if Taigen gets too nosy.” She said as she dead-stared at the man sitting next to you.

“I’ll be fine, but thank you.” You smiled at her and went back to polishing your arrows, while Taigen was doing literally anything but looking at you with curiosity.

After a few minutes you finally broke the ice between you and him, your voice as soft as a feather while you spoke “You’re staring, you know that?”

He immediately realized and turned his head to the campfire smoke, loosing himself in the front view. “I’m sorry, I’m just.. Surprised.” He answered later, hesitant.

“Of what?” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you lifted your gaze to look at him, concerned.

“Well, women like you are not usually seen in these conditions.. Much less with a man like him.” His words intrigued you, what did he meant by this? You inhaled deeply as you kept doing your work, finally storing the arrows in their respective case.

“I find myself very comfortable where I am right now, I don’t know what you m-”You were interrupted by Taigen, he turned himself getting in front of you.

“You’re too pretty to be an archer instead of living in an estate with a rich man.”

Oh. So this is what he meant. Your eyes widened and you started laughing, covering your mouth of embarrassment, honestly it was uncomfortable and out of place but you decided to take it as a compliment AND as a dare. Purposely changed the subject to avoid personal questions and scolded him, pushing him playfully. “Hey! My appearance has nothing to do with my abilities.”

Taigen chuckled, not pushing you back but being more confident with his approaching attitude. “I’m just saying the truth, you should-”

“Oh, yeah, that’s enough!” You jumped onto him, making him fall into the snow and taking him by surprise, his head bounced a bit on the ground, disoriented.

“What is wrong with you!?”

“Can’t fight a woman back? You must be shitting your pants right now, what a shame.” You spilled, sarcastically, but that dominance fell when he grabbed your hands placed in his chest and used it as a support to push you to the right, shifting positions, now his body was topping you, his hands immobilizing yours by pressing hard on your upper torso.

“Not bad.. But still not as good as me.” He proudly said, suddenly you kicked his butt with your knee from the back, making him loose his strength in your wrists, you repeated his last movement, ending again in how you started that silly fight, your giggles and laughters filled the forest’s natural sounds, and suddenly you totally forgot that Mizu could come back anytime and find you two in this compromising position.

You and Taigen struggled there for a few minutes, what he thought that would be a stupid kid’s fight turned into a challenge, even if it didn’t look like it, he started recognizing how.. Incredible you were, your smooth but hard blows, the little screams you made when you felt like you were gonna loose, now he understood.

How lucky Mizu was for having a girl like you.

You finished the fight by enlazing your fingers with an iron grip around his neck, and your other hand threatening his face with your fist, but you forgot that Taigen’s hands were still free. He grabbed your waist and managed to make you fall on your back as he stood up from the ground and made you loose your grip on his neck, his legs immobilizing yours and his hands putting your wrists above your head, his uncontrolled breathing crashing against your nose as he laughed. “Defeated.”

Before you could answer, you saw a third person kick Taigen’s body from the side, just in the ribs, making him fall to the ground, almost burning his whole body next to the campfire, you sat up quick and looked at him first, then looked up at your side, a tall figure with a dead bunny grabbed by the ears in front of you, those blue unsettling eyes staring at you with the coldest countenance. You knew right there and then she was mad as hell.

“Training without me?” Mizu got on her knees to the campfire to roast the rabbit, not caring about Taigen’s prolly broken rib (not really). You stood up to clean your clothes and sit next to her, nervous. You weren’t doing anything wrong, but still.

“We were just playing.” You excused yourself, trying to make her look at you, but no. She was ignoring you.

Instead of answering, her gaze turned out to Taigen, who was struggling to recover from that fucking kick that hurt as hell. “You’re getting too comfortable here, aren’t you?” Her tone was noticeably passive-aggressive, her grip on the roasting stick was tightening.

“That wasn’t fucking necessary! Fuck, it hurts..” He yelled, finally sitting a bit far from you two, you could feel the tension building heavier and thicker in the ambiance.

It was so uncomfortable you felt like you had to go. “I’m gonna wash my hands before eating, I won’t be long.” You got up to escape the funeral situation you were just in, but a hand grabbed yours, making you stop, you looked back with concern, Mizu was behind you with that angry gaze, sending shivers down your spine.

“It’s too dark to go alone.” She said, then looked at Taigen “Take care of the dinner, don’t screw it up.” He was about to talk but instantly shut his mouth like he knew if he talked he could end up dead.

You tried to forget her toxic behavior as you two disappeared yourselves into the woods, the moonlight making the path for both, the silence feeding your ‘I’m fucked’ thoughts and increasing more when you felt her grip on your hand tightening, she ended up dragging you to a not so far place, finally letting out your hand. The only thing you could look was her back and her little black bun.

“What was that?” She spat, aggressively turning herself and hoovering over you.

“I told you we were just playing.“You stepped back, but unconventionally bumped with a tree behind you, before you could realize, Mizu had you cornered, your chest rising and falling against hers as she looked down at you.

“It didn’t look like it.” And the jigsaw puzzles connected in your head. She was jealous.

“Are you doing this because you’re-”

”Maybe. Seeing my dove pinned down by a bald monkey it’s not funny.” Her words were sharp, you didn’t even know how to answer.

Your hand gently caressed her cheek, making her gaze softened as she looked at you. “You’re the only one in my heart.” You whispered, dragging her closer to your face, her hands traveling down your curves and grabbing your hips tightly, your heat already increasing its temperature as it mets her knee, rubbing your core tentatively.

“I still want to fuck that pretty smile outta’ you.” Her lips attacked you like an animal, making you whimper and moan against her watery mouth, her knee making you hump on it desperately and your inner thoughts begging for mercy cause’ this night was going to hit you hard and long.

[th3moongazer]

A thought I had about Lucanis - you know how acts of service are his love language right. And how he often shows this by preparing food or drink for his friends/the group/Rook.

But like, I feel that in a way it goes both ways. It’s his way of showing appreciation for the group, of doing his part, ‘earning his keep’ maybe in the early days when he felt like he didn’t fit in.

But on the other hand, the fact that the group allows him to do so is such a massive show of trust. I mean, that’s an Antivan Crow, a prolific one, and he’s making you food.

Throughout the game, there are TONS of mentions of Crow murders by poisoning food/drink/etc. I think it happens in banter, it certainly happens in mementos and decor you pick up.

Add on that he isn’t only a Crow but also a demon possessed Crow and companions like Harding definitely were wary of him at first? I dunno, I just feel like it means something that he not only enjoys taking care and cooking for everyone, but that EVERYONE appreciates and eats his food. Maybe I’m wrong but that feels like it means something, for the team but also for Lucanis considering that even the Crows themselves poison/kill each other for power.

(It also makes me wonder if that trust ever had to be earned. If Harding would be conveniently out on days he cooks (though I feel like she’d tell him to his face that she doesn’t trust him yet, she seems direct like that). If he ever brought someone something from the market and found it untouched still a few weeks later. If he “helped” Bellara cook for several days/weeks just so others could be reassured that the food wasn’t tampered with.)

I dunno, just some thoughts I had about him lately. And about what it really means being an Antivan Crow. Bc I can’t believe many people would truly trust them, knowing that at any point, their friends could turn on them if a contract demanded it. After all, Crows always fulfill their contracts.

[koyagifs]

𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾

pairing: pirate!wooyoung x mermaid!reader au: pirate au genre: angst with happy ending word count: 6.984k synopsis: wooyoung searched far and wide for his lover, regardless of the consequences. warning(s): toxic family relationships, screaming match. please let me know if i miss anything else!! now excuse me while i go cry bc i actually really love this couple :(

part one

Yn swam swiftly, the cool water embracing her like an old friend as she made her way behind the ship. The familiar silhouette loomed in the distance, its massive hull cutting through the water like a silent sentinel. Her heart ached with every stroke, but she knew she needed this—this space, this distance, to breathe.

As she glided deeper into the shadow of the ship, she couldn't help but glance down, her hand brushing against the smooth surface of the shell that Wooyoung had given her. The one they had picked out together, so long ago, while laughing and talking about dreams they both thought would never end.

The shell had always been a symbol of something deeper between them—a quiet promise, a token of their bond. It was delicate yet strong, much like their friendship, and Yn had never been able to part with it, even as things between them started to shift. But now, holding it in her hand, she felt the weight of what she had just walked away from—the weight of the words she couldn’t say, the feelings she didn’t know how to handle.

She sank lower into the water, letting the pressure surround her, blocking out everything but the rhythm of her breathing and the gentle pull of the ocean currents. She needed to escape, to think clearly, but even in this solitude, all she could hear was Wooyoung’s voice, his plea, the raw emotion in his words.

Why did you have to say it, Wooyoung? she thought, her chest tightening at the memory. Why did you have to make me feel this way?

She clenched the shell tighter in her hand, but even the coolness of the ocean couldn’t calm the storm inside her. Her heart was torn in two, caught between her love for him and the fear of losing everything. It’s too dangerous, she thought, the words repeating like a mantra in her mind. It’s too dangerous for both of us.

And yet, even as she told herself that, part of her longed to turn back, to swim back to him and just hold him. To tell him everything, even if it meant risking it all. But she knew she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she figured out what to do with the mess of emotions he had stirred in her.

As Yn approached the familiar, shimmering reef that marked the edge of her underwater home, the sense of comfort she usually felt was replaced with a growing dread. The vibrant coral, the swaying seaweed, and the soft hum of the ocean currents seemed to mock her unease. She knew what awaited her within the grand, shell-encrusted structure that she had called home for so long: the voices of her mother and father, heavy with disappointment and concern.

Her movements slowed as she approached the entrance, her fingers brushing against the intricate carvings along the coral doorway. She hesitated, her chest tightening as the imagined weight of their words pressed down on her. But the soft glow of the bioluminescent crystals inside told her she couldn’t avoid this forever.

As Yn swam deeper into the grand expanse of her underwater home, the familiar sight of guards stationed along the corridor came into view. They stood at attention, their tails shimmering faintly in the glow of bioluminescent coral lining the walls. Each one lowered their head respectfully as she passed, their deference a constant reminder of the expectations placed on her.

But instead of comfort or pride, Yn felt the weight of dread pressing harder against her chest with every stroke she took. The closer she got to the central chamber, the heavier her limbs felt, as though the water itself resisted her movements.

She could already hear the faint murmur of voices—her mother and father, undoubtedly waiting for her. Their tones were muffled but unmistakably stern, the cadence of concern woven tightly with disappointment. They would have known she was near the surface again. They always knew.

The ornate archway of the main hall came into view, encrusted with shimmering shells and pearls that gleamed like a beacon of tradition and authority. Yn hesitated for a moment, her fingers brushing the edge of the cool stone frame. She closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself before swimming inside.

As she crossed the threshold, the full weight of their presence struck her. Her mother, regal and poised, turned first, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. Her father, standing beside her, exuded quiet authority, his arms crossed over his chest. Both pairs of eyes locked onto her, heavy with unspoken questions and accusations.

"Yn," her mother said, her voice sharp but steady. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"

Yn clenched her fists, holding her head high despite the dread pooling in her stomach. "I’m here, aren’t I?" she replied, her voice more defiant than she intended, though it trembled with the effort.

Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You’ve been near the surface again. Near him, haven’t you?"

Yn didn’t answer right away. She stood tall, her posture defiant, but her gaze stayed fixed on a point just beyond them, refusing to meet their piercing stares. The weight of the shell in her hand was grounding, a reminder of the fleeting freedom she felt whenever she was with Wooyoung.

"Yn," her mother’s voice cut through the tension, softer than her father’s but no less filled with urgency. "Please, look at us. This isn’t a game. Do you know how dangerous this is? For all of us?"

Yn’s lips trembled, but she still didn’t answer. Her silence hung heavy in the water, the tension in the room thick enough to feel. Her father let out an annoyed groan, his patience clearly fraying. "Yn," he said, his voice sharp and cutting. "This is not the time for games. Answer me."

Her mother, more measured but equally concerned, sighed deeply, swimming closer to her. "Yn, sweetheart," she said softly, her tone a mix of worry and frustration. "We’re not trying to fight with you. We just need to understand—"

But before her mother could get any closer, Yn instinctively swam back, putting more distance between them. Her movements were quick and defensive, her eyes darting between them like a cornered creature. She gripped the shell tighter, as if it were the only thing tethering her to her emotions.

"You are to be wed to Prince Taeyong," her father declared, his voice echoing with finality throughout the chamber.

Yn froze, her mind spinning as his words settled like a stone in her chest. "What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her mother turned her head away, unable to bear the heartache etched so clearly in her daughter’s trembling voice. Guilt flickered across her face, but she remained silent, unwilling or unable to challenge her husband’s decision.

Her father’s tone remained cold and unyielding. "And you are to stay away from that boy," he added, his words cutting through the water like a blade. "A guard will be assigned to you at all times until the wedding. Do you understand me?"

Yn’s breath hitched as her father’s command struck her like a tidal wave. Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as anger and despair clashed within her. "You can’t do this," she said, her voice shaking but defiant.

Her father’s eyes narrowed, his expression hard as stone. "I can, and I will, if it means keeping you in line. This is not up for discussion, Yn. Your reckless behavior ends now."

Tears welled in Yn’s eyes, her vision blurring as her chest tightened. "I’m not some prisoner you can lock away!" she cried, her voice cracking with the force of her emotions. "This isn’t fair!"

"Fair?" her father scoffed, his voice filled with frustration. "Life isn’t fair, Yn. Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good, and this is yours. You’ll learn to accept it."

Her mother flinched at his harsh words, but still, she said nothing, her silence cutting deeper than any reprimand.

Yn shook her head, her tears falling freely now, the ache in her heart almost unbearable. She took a step back, the familiar corridors of her home suddenly feeling like the walls of a cage. Unable to bear the emotional wave that course through her body, she swam away.

She took a step back, the familiar corridors of her home suddenly feeling like the walls of a cage, each shimmering pearl and ornate shell a cruel reminder of the life she couldn’t escape. The weight of her father’s decree pressed down on her chest, suffocating and unrelenting.

Unable to bear the emotional wave coursing through her body, Yn turned and swam away, her movements fueled by desperation and heartbreak. The tears she had fought to hold back now spilled freely, dissolving into the water around her as she darted through the labyrinth of her palace.

Her mother called after her, her voice trembling with guilt and worry. "Yn, wait!"

But Yn didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The overwhelming sense of betrayal and confinement drove her forward, her tail slicing through the water with speed she didn’t know she possessed. She barely registered the concerned glances of guards and attendants as she passed, her only focus being escape—anywhere but here.

The glow of the palace faded behind her as she swam into the open expanse of the ocean, the familiar safety of home replaced by the vast, cold depths. The silence out here was deafening, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she could breathe, unbound by the crushing expectations and suffocating rules of her family.

Wooyoung perched in the crow’s nest, the salty breeze whipping through his hair as he scanned the endless expanse of ocean below. His heart was a mix of hope and dread, pounding in his chest as he clutched the spyglass tighter in his hand. The rhythmic creak of the ship beneath him was the only sound besides the distant crash of waves and the occasional call of a gull.

He had been up there for hours, his eyes flickering over the water’s surface in search of any sign of Yn. Every ripple, every shift in the current, made his heart leap, only to fall again when it turned out to be nothing.

"Come on," he murmured under his breath, his voice carried away by the wind. "Where are you, Yn?"

Wooyoung’s heart ached as he gripped the edge of the crow’s nest, his gaze fixed on the endless waves. The guilt that gnawed at him since his confession hadn’t eased—it had only grown. He hadn’t meant to put you in this position, torn between your world and his. But he couldn’t take the words back, nor could he deny the feelings he had kept bottled up for so long.

He sighed, running a hand through his wind-tousled hair. "I’m sorry," he whispered to the ocean, as if you could hear him.

He knew how much your parents hated humans—how they feared them, mistrusted them, and saw them as nothing but trouble. And yet, every time you defied their rules to visit him, it felt like a fleeting miracle. Wooyoung cherished every laugh you shared, every story you told, and every moment you spent together, even if they came with the risk of discovery.

But now, he couldn’t help but feel like he had pushed too far. The memory of your tear-filled eyes haunted him. He had wanted to protect you, to offer you a place where you could be free to be yourself. Instead, he had only made things harder for you.

He gripped the spyglass tightly, scanning the horizon again. The guilt weighed heavy in his chest, but it was no match for the fear of losing you. He had to see you, to know you were safe.

"Please," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. "Just let me see you again."

" hyung! "

Wooyoung’s head snapped down at the sound of Jongho’s voice. He saw him standing on the deck, waving up at him with his usual calm but firm expression. Beside Jongho stood Hongjoong, arms crossed and gaze piercing as it fixed on Wooyoung.

Wooyoung felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to stay in the crow’s nest, out of reach and away from Hongjoong’s scrutinizing stare. But he knew better than to ignore his captain.

With a heavy sigh, he began his descent, climbing down the rigging with a practiced ease that didn’t match the tension in his body. As his boots hit the deck, Jongho stepped back to let Hongjoong take center stage, his presence as commanding as ever.

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong said, his tone measured but firm. "Care to explain why you’ve been up there all day, staring at the horizon like a lost puppy?"

Wooyoung hesitated, glancing at Jongho, who simply raised an eyebrow as if to say, You’re on your own with this one.

"I, uh..." Wooyoung scratched the back of his neck, avoiding Hongjoong’s sharp gaze. "Just... keeping watch. You never know when trouble might show up, right?"

Hongjoong wasn’t buying it. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Trouble? Or someone?"

Wooyoung’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth to respond, but Hongjoong cut him off.

"You’ve been distracted, Wooyoung," Hongjoong said, his voice low but not unkind. "Ever since we left port, your head’s been somewhere else. And I don’t have to guess where."

Wooyoung kicked his feet against the deck, avoiding eye contact with Hongjoong as he heard Jongho’s footsteps fade away. The quiet left a heavy tension in the air, thick with the weight of unspoken words and the truth Wooyoung wasn’t sure he could face.

Hongjoong stopped a few paces behind him, his gaze sharp but silent for a long moment. Wooyoung could feel his captain’s presence without needing to look up. There was no anger in Hongjoong’s silence, just a deep concern that Wooyoung couldn’t ignore.

Finally, Hongjoong spoke, his voice quieter than before but no less serious. "You’re not the only one who cares about her, Wooyoung."

Wooyoung stiffened, his heart clenching. He didn’t want to hear it—not now. "I know," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I can’t help how I feel."

Hongjoong’s sigh was barely audible, but Wooyoung felt the weight of it. "I’m not telling you to stop caring about her," he said, his voice softening. "I’m telling you to think about what comes next. About what happens when you take this too far."

Wooyoung’s chest tightened, a hiss of annoyance leaving his lips as Hongjoong walked away. The quiet between them was suffocating, and Wooyoung could feel his temper rising. He wasn’t angry at Hongjoong—no, it was the situation. The weight of everything. The uncertainty. The pressure that had been building for so long.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "What does he know?" Wooyoung muttered under his breath, his gaze following Hongjoong’s retreating figure. It wasn’t like the captain was wrong, but Wooyoung couldn’t shake the feeling that Hongjoong just didn’t understand. He didn’t understand what it felt like to care for someone so deeply, to feel that pull in your heart every time you thought about them.

"Hey, Youngie," a familiar voice called out, pulling Wooyoung from his spiraling thoughts. He snapped his head toward the sound, his heart still racing from the intensity of the conversation with Hongjoong.

Luna stood there, her smile warm but knowing, her eyes soft with understanding.

Wooyoung didn’t immediately respond, instead running a hand through his hair in frustration. Luna’s presence, as comforting as it was, only reminded him of how tangled everything felt.

"You know Captain means well," Luna added, her tone light but laced with the kind of wisdom that made Wooyoung sigh deeply.

"I know," he muttered, glancing away. "It’s just... I don’t think he gets it, Luna." His voice was rough, the frustration of the conversation with Hongjoong still simmering beneath the surface.

Luna’s smile faded slightly, her expression softening into something more serious. She took a step closer, her presence grounding him in a way that only a friend who knew him well could.

"Wooyoung," she said quietly, her voice gentle but firm. " captain would be the only one to understand.

Wooyoung turned to look at her, confusion flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice a little sharper than he intended.

Luna gave him a soft, knowing smile. "I mean that Hongjoong isn't just some captain with a rigid sense of duty. He's been through things you can't even imagine—things that might make him understand what you're going through more than you realize."

Wooyoung frowned, processing her words. "I know he’s been through a lot, but—"

A sudden thud broke his thoughts, interrupting the flow of his words. Wooyoung’s head snapped toward the sound, heart racing as he quickly turned toward the railing. Luna, sensing his shift in attention, followed his gaze as both of them hurried to the side of the ship.

There, just below, emerging from the ocean, was Yn. Wooyoung's breath caught in his throat as he saw her, her wet hair clinging to her face, her eyes wide and searching. The sight of her made his heart race, but before he could take a step closer, he heard Hongjoong’s voice cut through the tension.

“Drop the net!” Hongjoong shouted, his tone commanding as he rushed to the railing. He glanced at Wooyoung, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and authority, and gave a sharp nod.

Yn swam toward the net, her heart pounding in her chest as the crew pulled it upward. She gripped onto the rope tightly, her tail swishing freely behind her as she was hauled up toward the ship. The coolness of the ocean clung to her, contrasting sharply with the warmth of the ship’s deck she was about to reach.

As San and Yeosang tugged the rope, Yn's muscles burned, but she didn’t let go. She wasn’t sure if it was the fear of being trapped again or the need to be close to Wooyoung that kept her holding on, but something deep inside her drove her forward. She could feel the weight of the crew's eyes on her, and though their intentions were to help, she couldn't shake the feeling of being caught once more between two worlds.

Wooyoung stood by the rope, his heart hammering in his chest as Yn got closer, her tail glistening in the moonlight as she swam toward him. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, as if every second that passed was drawing him closer to something both beautiful and uncertain.

As the net was pulled higher, Wooyoung stepped forward, eyes locked on Yn. There was so much between them—so much they hadn’t said, so many fears and doubts—but none of that mattered now. All he could focus on was her, and the desperate need to be by her side, to hold her, to help her in whatever way he could.

The footsteps of the crewmates faded into the distance, leaving Wooyoung and Yn in a silence that felt heavier than any storm. The ship rocked gently beneath them, but for a moment, the world felt like it had stopped spinning entirely.

Yn's breath hitched as her emotions broke free. The tears that had been simmering beneath the surface finally flowed freely, her body trembling as she clung to Wooyoung. She buried her face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace envelop her, even as her heart threatened to shatter.

Wooyoung's heart ached for her, and his grip tightened around her, as if he could hold her together when the world seemed intent on pulling her apart. His hand gently stroked her hair, murmuring words of admire.

She sobbed quietly into his chest, her voice muffled as she clung to him. "I’m so scared, Wooyoung. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what to say anymore."

Wooyoung's heart clenched at her words, his own throat tight with unshed tears. He could feel her shaking, the depth of her fear sinking into him. He wanted to promise her that everything would be okay, but he knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy.

" what happen? i haven't seen you cry this hard since san accidentally ate fish in front of you." Wooyoung asked.

Wooyoung’s heart skipped a beat as he gently helped Yn sit on the base of the ship, the weight of her words sinking in. His brow furrowed in concern, but when she let out a small laugh, he couldn’t help but smile, relieved to see even a hint of lightness in her eyes.

"Don't remind me," she muttered, her voice cracking slightly as she wiped away the remnants of her tears. "You know how much I hated sannie for that."

Wooyoung chuckled softly, relieved to see her trying to smile. "I won't," he promised, his tone soft. He moved to sit beside her, their shoulders touching, the warmth of his presence steadying her.

Then, Yn’s voice grew quieter, filled with the depth of everything she had been carrying. "My parents, Woo… I love you so, so much," she said, her words trembling as she glanced up at him, her eyes still shining with tears. "When you confessed to me, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to say yes, but… everything with my family, the ocean... it’s just so much. And I’ve always been stuck between two worlds."

Wooyoung’s heart seemed to stop at her words. The air around them felt heavy, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He pulled back slightly, just enough to see Yn’s face, her eyes still red from crying, but now filled with something that was both painful and determined.

“I’m betrothed to another, Woo…” she whispered again, her voice barely audible, as if saying the words out loud made them real in a way she hadn’t been ready for. Her gaze dropped to the ground, the weight of her confession settling in the space between them.

His mind raced, trying to process what she was saying. The world suddenly felt far too small for the two of them, caught in this unbearable tension. "What?" Wooyoung breathed out, his voice cracking slightly. "Yn, no, you can’t... you can’t be—"

“I didn’t want this, Woo,” she interrupted quickly, her voice sharp with frustration, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as him. "But my parents… they’ve already arranged it. It’s been decided, and I don’t have a choice. I… I can’t just run away from it."

Wooyoung’s heart shattered seeing Yn in so much pain. He hadn’t realized until now how deeply the weight of everything had been affecting her. The tears falling from her eyes mirrored his own, and for a moment, they just sat there—two souls bound by love but torn apart by circumstances beyond their control.

Yn picked at her scales absentmindedly, her fingers trembling as they traced the delicate lines of iridescent blue and green that decorated her skin. Her gaze was far away, lost in thoughts she couldn’t voice. Wooyoung’s chest tightened at the sight of her distress.

He shuffled slightly away, giving her space, though he didn’t want to. His own emotions were a whirlwind, and he needed to process everything, but it broke him to see her so lost.

"I don’t know what to do, Woo," she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost drowned by the sound of the ocean. She continued to pick at her scales, a nervous habit she’d developed whenever she was overwhelmed. "I love you so much, but my life... it’s like it’s already been decided for me. I don’t know how to change that."

Wooyoung swallowed hard, his heart aching at how powerless he felt in this moment. He had never felt so helpless before. But he had to remind her, even if he wasn’t sure how to fix everything yet.

Yn wiped her eyes quickly, startled by Hongjoong’s sudden appearance. Her heart skipped a beat, a mix of confusion and uncertainty swirling inside her. Wooyoung instinctively pulled her closer, his protective instincts kicking in, though he didn't release her.

Hongjoong’s smile remained soft, but there was a knowing glint in his eyes. “I may be able to help with that,” he said again, his voice calm but firm, as if he had an idea that could change everything for them.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, glancing at Yn before looking back at Hongjoong, the skepticism clear in his expression. “Help with what, hyung?”

Hongjoong’s gaze flickered to Yn, and then back to Wooyoung. “I know you both are in a difficult situation, but I’ve been paying attention. I think I might have a way to give you both more time—to find a solution that isn’t as... permanent as the one your parents have set for you, Yn.”

Yn’s brow furrowed as she sniffled again, still unsure. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice tentative, though her eyes were filled with a flicker of hope.

“I know it’s not much, and I’m not promising that this will be easy,” Hongjoong began, stepping closer to them both. “But... I think there’s a way we can buy you some time—time for you to figure things out without immediately being forced into that betrothal. Time for you to make your own choice.”

Yn clung tightly to the hammerhead shark, her fingers brushing against its rough, slick skin as it glided effortlessly through the water. The creature, a loyal companion and protector, seemed to sense her distress, its large head tilting slightly as it swam beneath her, providing her with the stability and comfort she needed in that moment.

The cold, deep waters of the ocean felt almost like a sanctuary compared to the heavy, suffocating pressure she had just left behind. The hammerhead shark, an imposing figure with its wide, angular head, was a reminder of the strength and resilience she still had within her, even when everything felt so out of control.

Yn’s heart raced as the shadows of the ocean grew longer, the dimming waters swallowing the light of the surface above. The hammerhead shark swam steadily beside her, its large head cutting through the water, but Yn felt an unsettling pull, a sense of dread that seemed to come from the very depths of the sea itself. It was as if the darkness beneath her was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Her tail flicked nervously, pushing her forward, but the ocean felt heavier now, as if each movement required more energy. She glanced over her shoulder at the ship trailing in the distance, the sound of creaking wood and faint voices carried by the wind. The weight of her decision hung in the air, the impossible choice between her love for Wooyoung and the demands of her family.

But now, there was something else lurking, a feeling that there was more at play than just her own fears. The shark beside her, once a comforting presence, now seemed more like a sentinel—silent, focused, as if it too sensed the danger.

Yn felt a shiver crawl up her spine, a sudden coldness settling in her chest as the shadows beneath the ocean deepened. The light from above was almost gone, swallowed by the growing night and the vastness of the sea. The shark moved more urgently now, its tail swishing faster as if it had sensed a shift in the water.

The closer they came to the ship, the heavier the air became. Yn’s pulse quickened, and she instinctively swam closer to the shark for protection. What was it? What had changed in the ocean’s current?

Suddenly, a dark shape flickered in the depths below—a ripple in the water that sent a jolt of panic through Yn’s chest. Her breath hitched, and her instincts screamed at her to swim faster, to get away. The hammerhead shark surged forward, pushing her onward, but it too seemed wary, its movements more frantic now.

“W-what’s down there?” Yn whispered to herself, her voice trembling in the water. She felt the pull of something dark, something ancient, something far beyond her comprehension. The ocean was vast, and it had its secrets. And right now, it felt like one of those secrets was waking up.

A low, rumbling growl echoed from the depths, vibrating through the water and shaking Yn to her core. She froze, her eyes wide with fear. The shark beside her turned, its body tensing as it swam in a tight circle, its instinct to protect her clear. But Yn’s gaze was fixed on the shadow moving beneath them, rising up from the depths like a predator. The water around them rippled as something enormous stirred in the dark.

Before she could process what was happening, the surface of the water above her began to ripple violently. The ship—a beacon of light and safety just moments before—suddenly seemed so far away.

The hammerhead shark hissed, its body bracing for something larger approaching, and Yn felt the sea itself shift, the ocean turning from a place of solace into one of danger.

Yn's breath caught in her throat as the shadows in the water cleared, and there, in the dim light filtering through the waves, she saw the unmistakable figures of her father and his guards. Her heart sank into her stomach, her pulse thundering in her ears. They were here.

Her father, his stern figure cutting through the water like a shadow, was flanked by two of his elite guards. They moved with an eerie grace, the sharp glint of their armor visible even in the depths. They were not here to negotiate. They were here to bring her back.

The hammerhead shark, her loyal companion and protector, let out a sharp, warning hiss, but before Yn could fully process the danger, the creature swam away, retreating into the deeper waters. The shark, once so steadfast at her side, was now gone—pulled away by some unseen force or by the overwhelming presence of the guards.

Yn's heart thudded painfully as her companion disappeared into the shadows, leaving her alone in the vast, suffocating ocean. The coldness of her father’s approach seemed to fill the water around her, and she could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on her, even from a distance.

"Yn," her father’s voice, low and commanding, cut through the water like a blade. "You’ve gone far enough."

Her breath hitched, her body frozen in place, and she didn’t respond immediately. The sting of his words—the disappointment, the anger—was too much to bear. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. The father who had always been her protector was now the one chasing her down, the one who would take her back to a life she didn’t want.

" no" yn said, surprising herself and her father. The word escaped Yn’s lips before she could fully process it. It was quiet, almost a whisper, but in the tense silence of the water, it rang out with a weight she hadn’t expected.

Her father’s eyes widened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something like uncertainty in his gaze. The guards, too, stopped in their tracks, looking at each other as if unsure whether they had heard correctly.

"No," Yn repeated, her voice stronger this time, though it trembled with the weight of her own defiance. The water around her seemed to thicken with the tension, as if the ocean itself was holding its breath.

Her father’s face hardened, and the anger that flashed in his eyes was a stark contrast to the brief softness she had seen. His jaw clenched, his posture shifting as he swam closer, his authority palpable in the water around them.

"You dare defy me?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, each word cutting through the current like a blade.

Yn’s heart was pounding in her chest, her tail flicking nervously beneath her, but there was no turning back now. She had said it. She had spoken the words that had been trapped inside her for so long.

"I’m not going back," she said, her voice firm, though the words felt foreign on her tongue. "I won’t marry him. I won’t live my life the way you want me to."

The fury in her father’s eyes was enough to send a shiver through Yn’s body, but she stood her ground. The desire to flee was overwhelming—her instincts screaming at her to swim away from the storm that was about to break. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything she had just said.

Her father’s glare bore into her, his tail lashing angrily behind him as he swam a few paces closer. The tension in the water thickened with every passing second, and Yn felt the weight of his disappointment like a physical force pressing against her chest. The ocean around them seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the next move.

“You really think you can defy me?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His normally controlled demeanor had shattered, and now the anger was raw, unchecked. “You are my daughter, Yn. You were never meant to have a choice. You belong to the kingdom. You belong to your people. Do you understand what that means?”

Yn swallowed hard, but her resolve held steady. She could feel the pounding of her heart in her ears, the fear and anger swirling within her, but she refused to show it. This was her moment. The one moment she would take for herself.

"Daddy, I love him!" Yn cried out, her voice breaking as she struggled against her father's iron grip. Every movement she made felt like she was being pulled further away from everything she wanted—away from Wooyoung, from the life she had begun to imagine with him. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the love she felt, and the overwhelming fear of losing it all.

Her father’s grip tightened, his eyes flashing with both anger and something colder, something deeper. "Enough, Yn!" he snapped, his voice sharp like a whip. "You cannot love him. He is human. You are of the sea, and that is where your loyalty must lie, not with a mere human."

Yn’s tail swished violently through the water, trying to free herself from his grasp, but her father’s strength was too much. His fingers dug into her arms, and with every pull, she was dragged further and further away from the ship that still held Wooyoung’s presence. The sight of the ship growing smaller in the distance filled her with a new wave of desperation.

"You don’t understand!" Yn cried, her voice thick with tears. "I don’t care that he’s human. I don’t care about the rules. I love him. Why can’t you just let me be happy?"

Her father’s face twisted in fury, his patience wearing thin. "You are a fool, Yn. You think love can change everything? The ocean does not care for love. It only cares for power and tradition. You cannot have both."

With a final, desperate tug, Yn broke free from her father's grip, her tail propelling her forward with all the strength she could muster. The rush of freedom surged through her, and for that brief, fleeting moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. She could feel the pull of the ocean behind her, but it wasn’t enough to drag her back. Not this time.

"I can and I will!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the water, filled with the determination that had been building up inside her for so long. The words felt like a declaration—both to herself and to her father. She would no longer let the fear of consequences stop her. She would no longer be bound by the traditions and expectations that had never felt like her own.

Her heart raced as she swam faster, pushing herself toward the surface, toward Wooyoung, and toward the ship she had almost lost. The water around her seemed to resist her movements, but her resolve was stronger than ever. She could do this.

Behind her, her father’s furious roar echoed, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She had already made her choice, and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone take that away from her.

The light of the surface was within reach, and with every stroke of her tail, it seemed to get closer, brighter. The ship loomed above her, and she could see the outlines of her friends on deck, the ship’s sails fluttering in the wind. But most importantly, she saw Wooyoung standing near the edge of the ship, his eyes scanning the horizon, looking for her.

A breathless cry escaped Yn as she surged toward the surface, breaking through the water and into the open air. The wind hit her face, and she gasped in a mix of relief and exhaustion, her eyes locking onto Wooyoung’s.

“Yn!” Wooyoung’s voice rang out, filled with both relief and concern as he rushed to the edge of the ship, his arms outstretched as if he could catch her.

Without thinking, Yn propelled herself forward, her heart leaping in her chest. She was here. She had made it. She was free.

With a final surge, she reached the ship, and Wooyoung’s hands were there to help pull her up, his touch warm and steady as he guided her onto the deck. He didn’t say anything at first—he didn’t need to. His eyes told her everything: that he was just as relieved as she was, that he was proud of her for making it.

Yn collapsed against him, her breath ragged as she held onto him tightly. She could feel the tears in her eyes, but they weren’t from sorrow anymore. They were from the overwhelming relief of knowing she had made it to where she truly belonged.

" did you get it?" yn asked, finally catching her breath.

Wooyoung smiled as it reached his eyes, he pulled out a iridescent pearl necklace that shine brightly. Wooyoung placed the necklace around her neck, Yn gasped as she felt the weight of the iridescent pearl necklace settle around her neck. The cool, smooth pearls brushed against her skin, and the moment the clasp clicked into place, a sudden warmth enveloped her entire body. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the unmistakable sensation of her tail slowly fading, replaced by a pair of legs. The transformation was both strange and beautiful—like her entire world was shifting beneath her.

Her once shimmering tail now felt like distant memory as the magic of the necklace took hold. She stared down at her new legs, flexing them slightly as the sensation of movement in a whole new form became clearer. Her fingers brushed the pearls of the necklace, their soft glow reflecting the hope in Wooyoung's eyes.

"You did it," she whispered, her voice a little unsteady. She looked up at Wooyoung, her heart swelling with gratitude. "You actually did it."

Wooyoung’s smile widened, the joy and relief in his expression lighting up the space between them. "I said I would." His eyes were full of warmth as he gazed at her, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of them, here, in this moment.

As Yn took a few tentative steps on her new legs, she stumbled slightly, still adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation. Wooyoung reached out, steadying her, his hands gentle but strong. "Easy," he said softly, his voice filled with affection. "You’ve got this."

Yn laughed lightly, the sound of it filling the air as she gained her balance, standing tall in front of him. Her eyes sparkled with newfound wonder, looking at Wooyoung with awe and affection.

Yn threw her whole body onto Wooyoung, her arms wrapping around him tightly as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. A joyous laugh bubbled up from her chest, the kind that she hadn’t felt in so long, and the world seemed to brighten around them. Wooyoung spun her around, the two of them twirling under the open sky, the sea breeze ruffling their hair.

Her heart soared with every spin, the excitement, the relief, and the love all mixing together in a whirlwind of happiness. Yn felt weightless in his arms, as if she were flying, her heart soaring with the freedom of the moment. Her lips parted in a soft sigh as she leaned into Wooyoung’s kiss, the warmth and tenderness of it sweeping through her like a wave. The world around them seemed to disappear—the ship, the sea, even the sky—until it was just the two of them, entwined in the embrace of their love.

Wooyoung’s hands gently cupped her face, his fingers tracing the soft curve of her cheek as he deepened the kiss. Yn melted into him, her hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, feeling the strength and steadiness of him beneath her touch.

It was a kiss filled with everything they had fought for: freedom, love, and the hope of a future they could finally share together.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested against one another, both of them breathless and smiling, eyes locked in a silent understanding. Yn’s heart still raced, not from fear or uncertainty, but from the sheer joy of knowing that they had crossed an impossible boundary to get to this point.

"You’re mine," Wooyoung whispered, his voice a soft promise.

"And you’re mine," Yn whispered back, her heart full.

[morganbritton132]

Oh geez this might be a double ask because my phone glitched out when I tried to send previously BUT just wanted to say that I love ur Steve has older siblings au

I also need to say that I shamelessly combined that au with ur post about Tommy knowing Steve the best. Just picturing Steve’s sibs zoning out when his mom lists what he can’t eat because they assume she’s just being difficult. Flash forward a few years and they accidentally poison Steve with like peanut butter cookies and are realllly lucky that Tommy was staying over that weekend and knows he’s allergic.

anyways thx for all ur writing!

I only got this ask once so we’re good! The Steve Has Older Siblings AU has kinda been on hold for a bit because Dustin is either the easiest or the hardest character to write and right now, he’s being difficult for me.

BUT! I love this.

I’m going to change it around a bit because I’m on this kick right now where Steve is allergic to aspirin. Also, with the way that Steve’s mom is written for this AU, she is negligent but protective of her son. I don’t think she’d allow peanut butter in the house if Steve was allergic.

She wouldn’t allow aspirin either but Richard insists that it’s the only thing that cures a migraine (hangover), and Steve’s eight. He doesn’t even like taking his Flintstone vitamins so she’s not concerned about him getting in the medicine cabinet.

It’s not common that Tommy stays over at Steve’s when they’re sick.

Typically his mom watches them at their house but she had to go wake up his grandma (“That doesn’t make any sense. Why can’t she set an alarm clock?”/”I dunno, Steve. That’s what Mommy said. She had to go to Granny’s wake.”) so Mrs. Harrington was babysitting them.

Mrs. Harrington isn’t very good at taking care of them. Tommy wouldn’t tell Steve that because it’ll make him sad, but his mom kinda sucks at this. She doesn’t even give them popsicles for their sore throats or kiss their foreheads to check their temperature. She just disappears for long periods of time to yell into the phone.

Tommy’s kinda happy when she has to go into the office because he thinks Claire might look after them, but she’s apparently studying in her room so Steve’s brothers are doing it.

Tommy secretly likes this better because Jason and Richie are very nice to him, and they tell him that he’s cooler than Steve. No one has ever said that before! Not even Carol and they got married under the jungle gym.

Tommy likes hanging out with them even if he feels icky today.

He is standing in the kitchen next to Steve, watching Richie cut a little orange pill in half with a knife. Richie keeps muttering under his breath about running out of the ‘liquid S H I T.’ Tommy thinks it’s funny that he said a bad word, but can’t laugh about it because he can see the bottle that the pill came out of and –

“I don’t think we take that,” He voices but Richie brushes him off. He says it’s like candy. Tommy has brothers too, so he knows that sometimes you gotta give in or they’ll rub your face into the carpet until you get rugburn, but, “I know but… but what if only I take it?”

“You take half,” Richie tells him. “Stevie over here takes the other half and then we’re right as rain. It reduces fever.”

“Yeah,” Jason adds from behind them. “So your brain doesn’t leak out your ears.”

Tommy looks over at Steve but he isn’t fully awake so there’s not much of a reaction there. Plus, he’s not a very good reader so Tommy’s not sure if he even knows what the bottle says. He tries again, ignoring Jason, “That’s not what Mrs. Harrington gave us earlier.”

“Yeah, I know. This is better.”

“Steve can’t take that,” Tommy tries again after he crunches the medicine between his teeth. He sticks out his tongue so Richie can see that it’s gone, and then adds, “Mommy gave that to him once and it made him really sick.”

“It did?” Steve croaks, snatching his hand back when Richie tries to hand him the pill. Richie tries to force the pill into his mouth but Steve presses his lips together. It makes his brother swear and gesture to Jason, and then Steve is snatched off his feet with a hand pinching his nose shut.

He struggles and Tommy wants to help but he – he also wants Richie and Jason to like him so, he doesn’t help. Steve gasps for breath and the pill goes in…and Steve is fine. He’s angry and out of breath, and his nose is still stuffy so he still kinda sounds like a frog but he’s not.. he’s not blue like last time.

Tommy thinks, oh. He thinks, cool.

Everything is fine for fifteen minutes and then Tommy is yelling out the door of Steve’s bedroom that they need help. Steve is breathing weird and – “and, I – I think he’s going to die!”

A lot of stuff happens at once. Claire leaves her room, Jason and Richie come up the stairs, and they all start yelling and blaming each other. No one really jumps into action until Tommy bursts into tears. Then it’s movement and car rides, and Tommy is sitting in the waiting room at the hospital without shoes on.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington rush into the room. The only thing he does know is that he’s never seen anybody look as angry as Mrs. Harrington did when she sees them.

She looks like she’s going to yell at them but Mr. Harrington grabs her by the arm and drags her to the reception desk. They disappear behind the white double doors that Steve went through.

It only makes Tommy cry harder.

[gcballet]

Red Dwarf as tweets/textposts pt.7

<- | RD | ->

[aardvaark]

i was thinking about how i wished leverage had a birthday episode for some of the characters cause that would be sweet, but then i realised something and basically…. okay here’s my thoughts in quotes form, just for fun

hardison: so when’s your birthday? i could plan something for us and the team to do and-

parker: i dont know

hardison: you don’t know… your own birthday?

parker: no, how would i know? pshh, cmon, you’re telling me you remember EXACTLY when you were born? watch this - hey, eliot, do you know your exact birth date?

eliot, innocently passing by, who was canonically anonymously dropped off at a hospital as an infant: no, how would i know?

parker: that’s what i said!

hardison: excuse me?? what is going on right now

sophie, walking into the apartment: whats wrong?

hardison: parker and eliot- well, okay, when’s your birthday? i just have to prove something.

sophie: …….july 12th

hardison: why did you pause? wait, is that your birthday or sophie devereaux’s birthday?

sophie: ………… (guilty silence)

parker: see, no one knows their real birthday! haha you’re so weird sometimes, hardison

hardison:

hardison: what the fuck guys