#but I am satisfied with this selection

[me-gems]

Hello tumblr, I come bearing Perry fusion concepts. Names might not be final.

Prehnite: Lilac Pearl and Perry fusion. A little morose, a little tsundere. Did a version with tights and one with socks, but I like the socks one better I think (since Lilac and Perry both have tights, it makes sense to give Prehnite tights too, but the idea that one of their tights translated to shorts and the other's translated to socks is a cute idea. Plus I think it just looks better.) Might curl her hair just a bit more in the final version.

Variscite: Turquoise and Perry fusion. Very indignant, and pretty arrogant; holier-than-thou, even. Perry's annoyance towards Turquoise brings out both his components' sets of eyes, lol. Has scientist vibes. Might make the colours a tad more blue in the final version.

Diopside: Plum Spinel and Perry fusion. I imagine them being like a radical 80s/90s cartoon. Very loud and proud. They've got sharp teeth, lots of freckles, and sick shades. I forgot to incorporate Plum's pigtails somehow, but maybe they just disappear for this fusion. The design is pretty busy already...

[val-of-the-north]

Lmao thank you for tagging me, this was kind of hard! Wanted to choose a handful from a few of the series I love. Tried to stay diverse.

Mad Mew Mew/Dummy (Undertale/UTDR) We go way back, she meant so much to me even before her more substantial character arc that made people actually care about her lmao. Will never forgive the fact it was never implemented in any capacity in the PC version of the game. I need more of her, pls Deltarune pls.

Patches (Soulsborne as a whole) He is just a funny lad, a silly little goober, my chummy chum chum. No matter how strange things get, he is always kind of comforting to bump into. He is like, a familiar face in unfamiliar worlds. You know what to expect from him, always, yet he always finds ways to surprise you. Good character.

Magolor (Kirby) A close call between him and Nightmare, but ultimately, I needed to go with the egg boy because he is just so much fun and has plenty of characters to bounce off of. There's something very alluring to his personality. Mischievous little man, never stop exploiting my trust and my money (actually please stop doing the latter I beg of you)

Curly Brace (Cave Story) Surprisingly, she has been a muse of mine since time immemorial. There's something about her that just exudes joy, I don't even know how to explain it. But yeah, robo girl best girl, loved kicking ass together while in hell.

Golbez (Final Fantasy) I didn't think much of him besides his theme being awsome, but his writing in Dissidia kind of elevated him for me. He is such a sad figure and I love his potential bond with Cecil. Also, he is a powerful warlock in big armor, like, hello??? That's the kind of design I am an absolute simp for lmao.

It was fun! I love these blorbos so much ahahah.

Ok, now tagging... (only if you want to participate ofc) @hazmatmaid @sweet-sirin @tangerinethecat @greenblueyulum @alan-p-49

5 Comfort Characters, 5 Tags

Thanks for the tag @mako-neexu, this seems pretty fun.

Kim Dokja from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint (orv)

Bedivere from fgo

Watanuki Kimihiro from XxxHolic

Romani Archaman also from fgo (i cry thinking of this man)

Xiao from Genshin Impact

Honorable Mentions (bc they deserve it): Oberon Vortigern, Dimitri fire emblem, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Xie Lian tgcf.

Tags: @loomss, @chaoticending, @torrentialslide, @lee-hakhyun, @thevoidofshitposts. Of course, it's completely optional, and anyone interested can participate.

[uncanny-tranny]

There's something so insane to me about being able to create and recreate vintage or even ancient music, clothes, fabrics, building architecture, anything, really.

I watched this video about a lady who knit a WWII-era vest, and it was really unique, because the cable work would eat up yarn, when there were shortages of fibers. This pattern would have likely been used by people to send overseas to soldiers, and now it's being created in a time where this war has been over for generations. What were the people making this pattern thinking of? What about the people making the vest? Could they fathom a world where world wars didn't happen back to back? Could they imagine what peace felt like, or did it fade like a distant memory, a faint friend? All we have now are the remnants of their efforts, a "simple" vest that would warm the bodies of countless people the knitter would never have imagined were here on earth with them.

We're reaching across time to learn about other people - we're reaching our hands out just to grasp anything tangible. And when we've take hold of something, all we can do is say I love you I love you I love you

[mushroom-through-the-stargate]

like delusionally i would like to think I could talk myself out of any situation but truthfully I am a loser with shit communication skills who consistently rolls Nat 1s on Interactions

like that whole "how would you handle running into a wraith" : delusional me thinks I'd mental gymnastics my way out of that situation but realistic me is like nah I'd compare myself to puffcorn and the wraith would let me go because I killed the mood

[iero]

Tagged by the very lovely @amaranth (Thank you so much Elena! This was a lot of fun! ❤️) to do this before and after gif coloring challenge! Sorry that this is just about 2-3 days late! The coloring is on top, the original is on the bottom if that wasn’t already apparent. 

I don’t have much to say about my colorings except the selective color adjustment is my best friend and FUCK coloring the Upside Down. All my homies hate coloring the Upside Down. 

Gonna tag some friends here... Uh, @ofalltheginjoints, @houseofwolvesv2, @greatpartymp3, @reysorigins, @dracs, @userparamore, @rickyolsen, @joseph-quinns and any other gifmaker that possibly wants to do this! :) 

[lymbycsystem]

TAG SPILLAGE : :

ooc : : ooc; calm, turtle talks, atlas bends

castiel: c; castiel ( the abandoned son) jamie: c; jamie ( the neglected son ) dean: c; dean ( there ain't no other men like me ) tim: c; timmy ( are you crazy i'm not gonna jump ) ben: soldier boy ( nobody's the new me pal ) ryan: c; ryan ( he burns everything down then kills me ) john; c; homelander (why am i not good enough for you ) c; homelander ( you are dark and i kind of like it ) c; homelander (i will laser every fucking one of you )

tag games: : dash games, dash tags, tag games

wishlists : : is this a wishlist?

memes : : memes, rp memes, please select a muse :

queues : : i hope that queue miss me cuz i miss queue too, absent queue

nsfw/usfw things : : ;hunger like me you know nothing satisfies me but your soul

negativity : : ooc tbd

[dark-moonlust]

Tentacle Trouble PART 2: Breeding Mate

Pairing: Tentacle monster x human f!reader

Summary: Carrying your monster mate’s eggs is no simple task. You must be filled with his seed to nurture the eggs and your mate is more than eager to pound you to oblivion and fill you to the brim.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, explicit tentacle smut, pregnancy kink, triple pen in mouth, pussy and ass, loads of come. Don’t like, don’t read.

Find the series here.

Living with your tentacled monster was easier than you’d expected. The days ever since your mating had become a blur of passionate moments and comforting touches. You were also fully pregnant, your mate’s eggs nestled safely within you. Your belly was round and heavy, making you waddle funnily —or incredibly cutely as your mate often praised. He could look at you like hours, gazing at your features and not get bored.

You couldn’t believe he loved you so much, yet it was all real. Your mate was a beast of the sea, yet he was caring, gentle and satisfied all your desires. You saw past his appearance and felt deeply connected to his heart.

A hand curving over your stomach, you swayed as you kicked the blankets and moved out of your cozy nest. You wore no clothes underneath; it was just you and your mate at the cave you were living together and you were never cold, your caring monster kept you warm and filled at all times.

The cave was silent and lit by the glow of bioluminescent algae on the walls. The gentle sound of the sea came from outside as you waddled through its passages. You’d woken up because your mate wasn’t there to embrace you. You were heavily dependent on him and the feel of his tentacles all around you. Pregnancy hormones drove you crazy daily, but your mate was more than eager to satisfy you in every way.

“Where are you, love?” you called out, a little tense. His absence was unsettling. He rarely left your side.

Right on time, you heard the soft slither of tentacles on stone. Sighing in relief, you rushed to him— as fast as your swollen belly would allow. You met him at the place that you’d redecorated as the living room. Your mate took most of the space, his body round and huge, surrounded by tentacles. His three eyes twinkled and when he saw you, lingering on your swollen breasts and belly. He slithered quickly to your side, tentacles reaching out to support you.

“I’m back, little one.” His voice was a soothing hum in your mind. “Did you miss me?”

“Hmm, I was worried,” you muttered, your lips quivering. Stupid hormones again.

A tentacle cupped your face. "Hush, don’t worry. I am here now. I had to find something special for you.”

Nuzzling into him, you glanced down and noticed the bundle he carried, wrapped in sea leaves. He gave it to you and you unwrapped the leaves to find a selection of fruit, sweets and other human snacks. Your heart swelled. He’d gone to find human food for you and from the sight of it, he’d risked his life.

“You went to find food for me?”

His voice touched your mind. "A friend of mine, a merman, often brings me human snacks from the land. I traded some pearls to get these for you."

Your eyes watered. “You are unbelievably sweet. Thank you.” You reached on your toes, caressing his slimy head. “Thank you so much, baby.”

Your mate didn’t mind to be affectionately called baby by you. On the contrary, you could shear he went more aroused each time you spoke his nickname so sweetly.

Immensely happy, you devoured the fruit and snacks and fortified yourself on the delicious chocolate. Your mate didn’t like human food and was content to have his tentacles all around you, caressing your belly soothingly. When you finished your meal, you sat back against him, a wave of contentment washing over you.

“Satisfied?”

“Hmm…” you smiled up at him, resting your hands atop the tentacles cradling your belly.

“The eggs keep pulsing,” he sensed. “They need to be nurtured.”

“Yes, need you, too…” you whined just as his limbs tucked you to sit close to his massive body, your back against his front. Slimy tentacles spiraled around your ankles, opening you up, baring your slick pussy. Trickles of cum escaped the puffed lips from when he’d fucked you earlier. Your mate feed you his seed in every way possible. The eggs required his essence in your system to grow healthy and strong.

Two more tentacles wrapped around your full tits, the tips of the appendages wetting and flicking your leaking nipples. Another tentacle teased your cunt, the tip rubbing the moist folds before breaching inside. A second one followed, helping spread your pussy so that his monstrous ridged cock could thrust up inside you. Holding you from your arms, your mate lifted you up and down on his shaft, driving deep.

You came with a sweet roar, your pussy seizing around him.

But that was only the beginning.

More slippery limbs slid up your body, placing you on all fours, ass propped into the air. From behind you, your mate’s appendages enfolded your belly and rubbed your poor little clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. A tentacle coaxed your mouth apart and slowly filled your mouth, stuffing you down to your throat. It leaked sweet nutritious essence down your throat.

You breathed steadily from your nose and whimpered when you felt another appendage poking your the tight bud of your ass. It was slightly smaller than his primary tentacle-cock but still twice as thick and long as a human cock. It breached the tight ring of muscle, the mushroom head lodging deep in your guts.

Whines and moans were wrenched from you when he began fucking all your three holes simultaneously. His cock pulled put from your pussy long enough for his other cock to rail your ass, while the tentacle down your throat filled your belly with sweet nutrients. The only sounds in the cave were those of your muffled cries and the lewd squelching of his tentacles as they thrust in and out of your body.

Pleasure heightened again as you started panting, hard for you to breathe with the tentacle thrusting down your throat. Your mate sensed that immediately and freed your mouth, just in time for you to take a deep inhale and let out a loud moan as you climaxed. Whining, sobbing and thrashing, you could only ride your orgasm and surrender to the furious pounding of his cocks claiming you.

Your mate let out a monstrous sound and his relentless thrusting finally stopped. Both cocks plunged as deep at they could go, exploding with a torrent of cum. They spurted and spurted for minutes, filling your holes to overflowing. His seed tricked down your shaking thighs and to prevent any more from spilling out, he lifted you to lie back against him, his cocks plugging his cum inside you.

“Fuckkk…” you muttered, blissfully-spent, eyes glazed. “Baby, I think you overdid it this time.”

You winced at the the amount of cum in your pussy and ass. It was too much and it made your belly swell even further. You felt like you carried a baby elephant.

“I’m sorry, little one. But you know I must keep my seed inside you for a while,” he told you. “It’s good for the eggs.”

You nodded. “Are the eggs alright?”

He hummed, his tentacles tracing abstract patterns across your swollen belly.

“More than alright. Our eggs are growing strong inside you. You did so well, my strong human,” he said in your mind, his voice filled with pride. “You let me fuck your pretty little holes and took my load like a good mate. Beautiful, you’re so beautiful and strong.”

“Love you,” you whispered, just before your eyes shut and you fell asleep.

“And I love you,” he replied, his tentacles weaving over you like a makeshift blanket to keep you warm and protected.

I hope you liked this! Follow and click to get notified when I update. I try to update weekly, sometimes even daily! Any kind of support is appreciated. Reblogging and comments even more so! 🖤

[cactus-cuddler]

Thanks for the request! I had some issues with tumblr and had to delete the previous answer and now I don't have the question anymore. I hope whoever asked me can still find it and like it <3

𝑨𝒏 𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒔𝒔

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Pairing: dom!Natasha Romanoff x Sub!female!reader

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Word count: 1,5 k

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Plot: Natasha can't resist your ass in a pair of jeans

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Warning: contains explicit sex scenes

Shopping with Natasha is like shopping with a child. She just doesn't enjoy it and doesn't even make the effort to pretend. The only part she likes is when you're in the dressing room, showing her the clothes you want to buy and asking for her opinion on whether they look good on you. But even then, it's not very helpful, because in her eyes, everything looks good on you-from garbage bags to actual trash cans.

Today, you need to buy a pair of jeans. You've noticed that the ones you have don't fit quite the way you'd like-some are too loose, and others too tight. "Am I gaining weight?" you ask Natasha, and her alarm bells immediately go on. It's a dangerous question, and she knows she could find herself single at any moment, so she carefully measures her words. "Absolutely not, you're just growing, little one," she replies, placing her hands on your hips and kissing your lips so you won't respond. She even convinces you to measure yourself, and you find you've grown almost an inch (with your shoes on).

You select a few pairs of jeans that might suit your curves best and choose three to try on. You head to the dressing rooms and ask your girlfriend to wait outside while you show her each pair one by one. The first pair fits well, enhancing your legs and hugging your hips perfectly. The second pair is similar but looser and doesn't show off the shape of your legs. The last pair makes your ass look amazing, and Natasha can't help but be captivated by it. "I understand why your jeans don't fit at home!" she exclaims enthusiastically, staring shamelessly at your divine ass. You look straight into her eyes as her cheeks flush with the color of her hair. Seeing your ass so perfectly wrapped in this jeans has her blood rushing to her head-and between her legs, she feels a warm sensation. "Your ass has grown!" she exclaims, and you giggle. You know it's not true; it's just the effect of the jeans. You change back into your clothes and decide to buy all three pairs. You pay with your card and, satisfied with your purchases, head home in Natasha's car.

Natasha treats you like a princess, even though she knows you don't need that kind of attention. But you enjoy it. She opens the car door for you, lets you use the mirrors freely, and allows you to keep your essentials like hair ties, makeup, jewelry, and creams in her car. To say that you love her is an understatement.

You've invited some old friends over for dinner this evening, which is why you were motivated to buy new jeans, and for this occasion, you plan to show off your new purchase. You put on the jeans Natasha liked so much and pair them with a t-shirt that's short enough to leave your ass in plain sight. "Y/N, we forgot to buy drinks!" Natasha exclaims as she sets the table (she sets the table while you cook) while you're in the middle of choosing the right earrings. You're bent over, not sitting on the chair, so you can look at yourself in the mirror while putting them on. Natasha is once again entranced by the sight. "We still have an hour, and they're always late. Let's go buy them now," you reply calmly as you put on the last earring.

Natasha grabs her car keys, you you bag and then you head to the nearest supermarket, taking the opportunity to pick up a few other things you're missing at home.

When you arrive at the supermarket, your fantastic ass doesn't go unnoticed. Natasha, feeling jealous, decides to walk behind you, while you push the shopping cart so she can be the only one enjoying the view. In her head, she's already imagining several scenarios where she'll rip those jeans off to get her hands on your amazing butt.

Making sure no one is watching, she reaches out and squeezes your buttocks, making you jump in surprise. You smile at her and playfully slap her hand before returning to your shopping.

Once you're back home, you barely have time to put away the groceries before Natasha scoops you up onto her shoulders and carries you into the bedroom. "That ass is illegal," she says, throwing you onto the bed and flipping you onto your belly before straddling you. "Nat, they'll be here in half an hour!" you exclaim, reminding her of dinner. "That's cute that you think you'll last that long," she teases, and you blush. A warmth spreads throughout your body as you feel the heat between your legs. "I've been holding back all day. Don't I deserve a treat?" she whispers in your ear. "You're right, you do deserve it," you reply.

Your body is on fire now and waiting when the night with your friends finishes would make the both of you explode in front of them.

Natasha slaps your ass and then starts massaging it with your jeans still covering it. She tries to take them off from behind but there is a zip and a button that won't allow it so she makes you turn on your back and with a brusque gesture she removes the button and the zip.

Because of the force used you were afraid she would tear your recently bought jeans. She puts you in doggy style to have your ass well exposed in front of her. She leaves a few little slaps on it and then she digs her fingers in.

“What a fantastic ass," Natasha says before putting her face in between and focusing her tongue on your ass. She penetrates your ass with her tongue and then inserts a finger inside which she pushes carefully, making sure to give you only and exclusively pleasure.

You arch your back from the pleasure she is giving you and in the meantime, unable to resist the calls of your pussy, you start to touch it making circular movements on your clit. You start moaning in pleasure asking Natasha to give you more as she licks and penetrates the entrance of your ass while your fingers focus on your hot little cunt. She stains your ass with her delicate bites and while her mouth is focused on that she reaches out a hand to touch your breast still covered by your shirt and bra.

She gently makes you lie down on your back and decides to take care of your pussy too, which is wet and just waiting for her tongue.

She positions herself between your legs and starts sucking your clit, looking straight into your eyes and forcing you to watch her suck it. Now, to your displeasure, she leaves your breasts aside for the short time she has available. She wants to make you come by focusing only on your lower abdomen, as she is good at doing.

Your hands move into her hair and you push her closer to your cunt. She starts to penetrate your pussy with two fingers and while she holds your clit between her lips, your sighs become ever louder and more desperate.

“Nat, I'm about to come,” you tell her, biting your lip to keep from screaming.

"Come for me baby," she replies, continuing to penetrate you and looking straight into your eyes to admire how beautiful you are while being overwhelmed by the pleasure she gives you.

Without making you repeat it, you come on her fingers while your body still trembles. Once you come, she grabs you by the throat and kisses you with wish and feeling your taste between her tongue make you even more excited and you would like to lick her pussy to feel her sweet taste and make her come with your tongue but she gets up leaving your mind fantasizing about her cunt.

Nat gets up and opens a drawer. That drawer you know all too well and pulls out a purple strap-on but before she can make another move the doorbell rings. The red-head bites the inside of her lip as you grab a pair of slacks and your jeans.

You order Natasha to go and open the door only after changing her T-shirt which is wet with your pleasure and try to make yourself presentable.

"As soon as they leave, I'm going to fuck you until you forget your name," Natasha announces as she closes the door behind her. Oh, you know she's going to do it, you didn't need her to tell you.

You decide to change your jeans, you don't want to provoke her too much and you decide to put on the baggy ones and while you try to erase the expression of someone who has just been eaten out you hear your guests asking about you.

[orilimbs]

There's no time to explain who am I, so im gonna show you my own take on Horrortale Yellow.

This au's name doesn't need to be explained, the underground sets in an uncanny ambient after a neutral route in general, but based on Undertale Yellow's timeline, the underground sets in this ambient after a neutral route made by Integrity.

Each area like The Dark Ruins and Snowfall (Lower Snowdin) are based on the horsemen of the apocalypse in order: Death (Ruins), Pestilence (Snowdin), Famine (Dunes/The Wild East), War (Steamworks and UG Apartments), and finally, the last area called "Clover's judgement" can be heaven or hell depending of the route (genocide, neutral or pacifist (NOT FLAWED), where your fate will be sealed if you choose to fight Zenith Martlet, Kitsune Ceroba or Flowey.

Monsters CAN bleed in this au if they arent at a very low HP but still damaged, if they lost all their HP they turn into dust normally along with the blood.

I dont have enough energy to explain every character's deep lore on this au, so im gonna say their general characteristics:

Clover is 10-years old, they escaped from home and fell from a mountain on accident, without having any bandages or any gun, they have to dodge every attack to not to die. They fell in a flower bed that had spines on it, making them lose a part of their vision and getting hurt, leaving them with a very low HP permanently at the beginning.

Dalv is a REAL vampire this time, he will try to attack Clover no matter if theyre friends or not, but Dalv knows is better for Clover to leave his house for their own good if they want to survive. Dalv is selectively mute and has vampire urges that need to be satisfied. He lost a horn in a fight that he doesnt remember.

Martlet lives in Snowfall where there is a fungus infection that was born after the dust mixed with very cold snow on trees that made a fungus live on fruits and honey panels. Martlet is infected and a bit hungry, but she would never attack a poor child. She's vulnerable to cold and diseases, she's is in the late-third phase of infection where fungus take place on her physical body and cant fly.

Ceroba lives in the dunes where everyone fights and eat themselves to survive, concluding on cannibalism and blood, everyone is hungry and will attack anyone who steps on the area. Ceroba has a scar on her left eye like Clover and has insomnia to protect Kanako and Chujin, who are alive but need to be feed. She has SEVERE problems with Orion (Starlo's brother).

Axis was created after Integrity's neutral route where The Integrity Incident never happened, Axis serves as a doctor and emergency robot, when he was closed in the Steamworks, the Steamworks and UG Apartments summerged on war due to being trapped by their own creators. Axis is mute due to his "radio" being damaged, he is a pacifist and tries to help Clover until Clover and Ceroba wrongly attack him.

I will drop more information later, but these are the most important ones. The others who I didnt included (Decibat, El Bailador, Starlo, Orion, along with others) are secondary or important to a specific character's development. Here are the old designs, some of them stay the same and others changed a little bit or generally.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

im sorry for this one guys (may god help me repent for my sins)

stepbro! luffy, zoro, sanji x fem!reader

in which you'e living out a fucked-up fantasy

warnings: very taboo subject, porn without plot, please dont read if uncomfortable!!!, the guys are lowkey toxic (sorry again), penetration, doin' it raw (use protection plz), oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), derogatory, literally uses porn logic im sorry; MDNI (this is for the best i promise)

luffy:

"lu-luffy" the gasp turns into a choked moan as the man in front of you drills into you harder, his fingers digging into your cheek absentmindedly. his words are a whisper, as if he gives two shits about getting caught. liar, if he cared about getting caught fucking you, he wouldn't have walked into your room at 2 in the morning when your parents are one room down the hall, and practically kissed you till you were pulling his pants down and begging him to fuck you. "what's wrong?" he pants, laughing out a bit. almost mocking you, "gon' cum on my dick again, yn? am i doing that good huh?" your words are an incohorent jamble, just a rough selection of pretty moans, groans and broken cries of his pretty name. "j-just like that. ngh, fuck. fuckin' take it" he thrusts, his cock stretching your cunt as he slams hard against you again and again. your eyes are closing fast, teeth sinking down on your bottom lip as you feel your body convulse, being flooded by the oncoming orgasm. "eyes on me" he flashes you a cocky delirious smile as his cock buries deeper within your cunt, filling every inch of your pussy with himself. and then he's moving faster, more erratically as if he's losing sanity by the second. "please, yn. please, please, pl-ease" he mumbles, "let me cum— inside."

zoro:

all of your concerns of your parents walking into the living room in the middle of the night and seeing you and your older step-brother tangled together had flew out the second you felt him against your cunt.

and then, with another particularly harsh kiss against the bundle on nerves, you came. thighs shaking, eyes closed and back arching off his mattress. you came hard.

your hands pulled at the familiar green locks, tugging and tugging as you feel kitten licks against your overstimulated clit. his tongue played with your core with practiced ease; going up and down, sideways and in circles till your hips were bucking up wildly and your hand was pushing him down harder against your cunt. "zo-zoro, zoro fuck, imsofuc- fucking close" as if on cue, his actions became harsher. he alternated cruelly between sucking and softly kissing. one moment being merciful before torturing your ravaged cunt. his hums and moans against your cunt deepened the coil in your stomach till it was all you can feel— in your blood-stream, against your skin, in the back of your skull.

all you knew and felt was roronoa zoro.

sanji:

but his tongue was still lapping up against your folds, unyielding. stroking the nub up and down, tongue slipping into your leaking entrance swiftly, humming as you squirm and force his face away.

your fingers were pulling deftly against his scalp, tugging till it pained him enough to stop. but instead, as retaliation, he curled his biceps against your thigh, burying his face harder against your aching cunt. "zo-zoro, no please please, no" you whined, arching into his touch as he continued his assault against your core, "it's too sen-sitive, please." his head lifted for just a moment, lips drenched in your essence and a cocky grin plastered onto every inch of his face. his bottom lip jut out, "aww too much?" you nod frantically and he smirked, a self satisfying smile of some sorts.

"too bad im having the time of my life." one of his arms reached upwards, putting two fingers in your mouth, "how bout you shut up and take it?"

"yn, love" he whines when your hands skim over his pants for the millionth time this evening, "we're supposed to do laundry, quit teasin'." you were supposed to be doing laundry and he was supposed to be helping you out. but somehow, cramped inside that small room, behind those closed doors your lips had come to ghost over his and his hands fleetingly touched your waist. "what?" you giggled, teasing him through his sweats again, "i thought i could repay you for the favor last night." "really?" he corks up an eyebrow, his fingers finding peace against your cheeks, "get down on your knees then" "but what if your mom walked in-" "as if a whore like you fucking cares. knees, now." you flashed him a light smile, getting down till you were face to face with his erection. your fingers swiftly pulled his sweats down and you looked up at him doe-eyed when his cock hit against your lips with a salty, lingering taste. his large palm against the back of your head guided you till you were taking in his dick, sucking intently on every inch. "fuck, darlin', just like that. yn fuu-fuck", he moaned as you swirled your tongue on his tip, then tracing over the light vein imprints. when he bucked his hips into your mouth harder and pushed you in deeper, you hummed against him, choking at the sudden intrusion. continuing your movements till you felt your jaw go slack, you heard his ragged breathing before he whispered a faint, "fuck i'm gunna cum, sh-shit" with a bit of his essence dripping off your chin, you look up at your step-brother. his gaze intertwined with lust, he gives you a smirk, "good fuckin' girl"

a/n: supposed to be on hiatus but who cares at this point, hope you like it

[helluvapoison]

Let Me Love You

Angel Dust x Reader

18+ only, /minors DNI

warnings: nsfw, val, porn and trauma mentions, implied male reader, fluffy fluffy smut

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• He thought he was more than ready for your first time together after waiting, what, two months?

• To establish the difference between you and other one night stands or “coworkers”, you insisted on dates, flowers, gifts and shit for him

• He appreciated the fuck out of it, don’t get him wrong, but he didn’t get it

• Plus he was beyond pent up

• It was safe to say Angel’s never dabbled in anything vanilla

• Hell’s porn selection is vast but Angel’s never done anything “softcore”

• If the category existed down here, Val would’ve monopolized it already

• The word for whatever it was you were doing escaped him

• Kissing his neck, his cheeks, the corners of his lips (but never directly on them)

• You held his hands not to pin them in place, just… to hold them

• “Hey, sugar—What’re you doin’?”

• “Loving on you,” You said as if it should be answer enough then hesitated, “That’s— Is that ok?”

• Yes, his heart screamed but his voice sounded unsure

• You rut against him slowly, so slowly it could be torture yet eliciting a symphony of noises from Angel

• “Wanna make you feel good,” You coo against his lips, “Fuck, Angel, you’re so beautiful.”

• He tries to cover his mouth to stop the moan he lets out upon hearing that

• “No,” You whine, gently taking hold of his wrist and prying it away, locking his fingers against your own, “Gotta hear you, baby. Need to. Need all of you.”

• You’re lost in your own pleasure you don’t realize there’s tears pricking at your boyfriends eye’s

• Overwhelmed didn’t feel like a big enough expression to convey his emotions

• Angel felt so strangely and wholly loved

• His legs wrap around your waist, arms around your back and neck pulling you closer than before

• He needs more

• You’re holding back to make sure Angel reaches his peak before you

• “You’re so— ahh— perfect, Angie.”

• His breathe hitches

• “Sweet,” a kiss, “Funny,” another, higher on his neck, “Thoughtful—“

• “I am not,” Angel snorts, then flinches and assumes he ruined the mood

• Marrying your foreheads together so he has no choice but to hold your face, you chuckle, “Are so,”

• It’s alien to him how sexy and satisfying this is— not vanilla in the slightest

• Laughing during sex? (Val would never— no. Not thinking about him. Not now)

• He’s safe and yet exposed in an entirely new way, one that’s acceptable because you’re there coaxing him through it

• Maybe not in the moment, but later when you’re holding each other chest to chest, Angel realizes he wouldn’t mind more of this sappy shit

[healthylifeenjoy]

Gluco Shield Pro Supplements Health Product

used Gluco Shield Pro supplements for two months and found them to be a beneficial addition to my overall health regimen. This product is designed to support healthy blood sugar levels and promote overall well-being. In this review, I will share my personal experiences and insights into Gluco Shield Pro, including its benefits, ingredients, and usage.

Benefits of Gluco Shield Pro Gluco Shield Pro offers several potential benefits for individuals seeking to maintain healthy blood sugar levels. Firstly, the product contains a unique blend of natural ingredients that have been traditionally used to support metabolic health. These ingredients work synergistically to help regulate blood sugar levels and prevent spikes and crashes.

Secondly, Gluco Shield Pro may also contribute to improved energy levels and reduced fatigue. When blood sugar levels are balanced, the body can efficiently utilize glucose for energy production, leading to sustained mental and physical performance.

Ingredients Gluco Shield Pro is formulated with a carefully selected combination of natural ingredients, including:

Gymnema sylvestre: This herb has been traditionally used in Ayurvedic medicine to manage blood sugar levels. Gymnema sylvestre contains compounds that may help reduce sugar cravings and improve glucose absorption.

Bitter melon: Bitter melon is a tropical fruit with hypoglycemic properties. It contains substances that can help stimulate insulin production and increase glucose uptake by cells.

Cinnamon: Cinnamon is a spice with potential blood sugar-balancing effects. Studies have shown that cinnamon may improve insulin sensitivity and reduce fasting blood sugar levels.

Chromium: Chromium is a trace mineral that plays a role in glucose metabolism. It helps regulate blood sugar levels by enhancing insulin's effectiveness.

Usage Gluco Shield Pro comes in convenient capsule form. As per the manufacturer's recommendations, I took two capsules daily with meals. The capsules were easy to swallow and did not cause any digestive discomfort.

My Experience I have been using Gluco Shield Pro for the past two months and have noticed a positive impact on my overall health. My energy levels have increased significantly, and I no longer experience the same afternoon slumps as before. I also feel more mentally focused and alert.

While I cannot claim that Gluco Shield Pro has cured any underlying health conditions, I have observed a noticeable improvement in my blood sugar control. My occasional blood sugar readings have been within the normal range, and I have experienced fewer fluctuations.

Conclusion Overall, I am satisfied with my experience using Gluco Shield Pro. The product has provided me with several benefits, including improved energy levels, enhanced mental clarity, and potential support for healthy blood sugar management. If you are looking for a natural supplement to support your overall well-being, I would recommend giving Gluco Shield Pro a try.

Disclaimer It is important to note that individual results may vary. Gluco Shield Pro is not a substitute for medical advice or treatment. If you have any concerns about your health or blood sugar levels, it is crucial to consult with a healthcare professional.

[skzdarlings]

the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part v

part one| part two | part three | part four | part five | tba | ao3 link

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid all worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader described with curly hair.

content warnings: the previously established story dynamics are prevalent in this chapter, please proceed at own discretion. the king threatens sexual violence again. there is explicit consensual sexual content in this chapter with reader and jisung. first times, breaking of vows, lots of mental work packed in there lol.

chapter word count: 11500 words.

enjoy <3

-

Despite the delay, you reach the intended campsite before nightfall.  The king finds his own entertainment while everyone else works, erecting tents and constructing fire pits. 

Chan assigns Seungmin to watch the king while he occupies himself elsewhere.  The tension between the king and the leader ripples through the camp, though no one – not even the king – is audacious enough to remark on it. 

The kingsguard has a sanctified power, burdened with the responsibility of protecting the crown above all else.  This manifests as protecting the king, so long as oaths are kept and holy accords obeyed.   The king is abundantly aware he is not in the leader’s good graces right now.   Even that petulant fool of a man is smart enough to recognize that antagonism from an ancient religious order is a perilous position for a holy king. 

Because he cannot harass Chan, the king directs his ire towards Hyunjin, so Chan sends Hyunjin across the camp to help there.  Jisung accompanies him.  As the lowest ranked kingsguard, his absence will not be minded. 

You are irate, watching Hyunjin limp away with Jisung following behind him.  You think of their skill and bravery in protecting you from the assassins.  You think of their loyalty and good hearts.  They both deserve better. 

Stewing in irritation, you opt to stay out of the way.  It is better to remain unobtrusive rather than instigate more dramatics after the events of today.   

You kneel down in the grass, out of the way of the tents.  You are organizing a bag of personal effects when an unfamiliar pair of painted boots appear in your line of your vision.  You slowly look up, startled to find one of the king’s courtiers looming over you.  He is one of the few who has been riding in the carriage and you are surprised he is so far from the inner circle now. 

“Your Holy Majesty,” he says, surprising you with the appropriately respectful title.  He surprises you further by offering his hand and helping you to your feet.  The final surprise is a bow so deep he bends his knees.  “I ask for your grace and forgiveness,” he says.  “And I ask for you to pray on my behalf that the gods may also forgive me for my petty transgressions.  I would never speak ill of the gods-chosen king but—”  He looks over his shoulder briefly, spots the king far across the camp with the remainder of his inner circle.  Satisfied with the distance, he looks at you, expression solemn.  “But I believe human error may have conquered the holy senses,” he says.  In a lower voice, tinged with resentment, he says, “To raise hands to the queen in public, especially after the events of the other day…” 

You are still too surprised to respond.  You stand there, hands folded in front of you, blinking at the man. 

He says with some finality, “I know I am not alone in feeling this way.  Your Holiness, please ensure that you have support in some noble factions here – particularly after today.  And please do recall, this is not all the court, merely the king’s personal selection, and there are those at home in the capital who will also support you.” 

The sincerity of his oath leaves you stunned.  You stare at his footprints long after he has departed. 

The courtier does not return to the inner circle but joins a different cluster of palace residents.  Their attention turns to you,  followed by dips and bows. 

Your bewildered mind finally catches up to your racing heart.  You sweep into a quick return bow.  When you turn away, you let out a breath.  Your eyes trace the treeline around the clearing.  The smoky orange mist of sunset winds through the branches.  You look but do not see, mentally replaying the whole exchange.

It seems even the most devout courtiers have a restricted capacity for tolerance.  Their motivations may be selfish, in seeing a flagrant disrespect of the gods’ will and worrying what ramifications will manifest for them, but it is still a significant loyalty shift.

You allow yourself a little smile.  Knowing the camp is no longer brimming with hostiles lightens your heavy heart.

You are barely at ease when you turn around, startled again by yet another visitor.  This time is the kingsguard Minho.  He stands as still and patient as marble, poised like a handsome statue, hand on the hilt of his sword.  He lists slightly to that side, his other hand dangling in a fist. 

“Your Majesty,” he says.  His bow is more of a nod as he seems lost in contemplation – or maybe that is scrutiny, studying you like your face holds the answer to some profound question. 

You are open as ever, as patiently marble, waiting for him.  

He exhales.  It sounds like a surrendering.   It makes you nervous, especially with the way he darts a glances over his shoulder.  The king and other kingsguards are busy, the courtiers turned to their own affairs, and servants busy with meal preparation.

You cannot imagine what Minho has to say or do that cannot be witnessed.

Your answer comes without a word, but a gesture, his closed first opening between you.  You jump at what he reveals.

The phial of sleeping draft.  You assumed it was lost in the ocean tide.  Last you touched it, it went into your dress pocket, and that dress is now underwater.  You thought the draft was lost too.  You lamented the only protection you had in prolonging the king’s advances. 

It must have fallen out of your pocket earlier than that, when you threw yourself to the forest floor in sickness.  Minho helped you through it.  Somewhere in your distraction, he must have grabbed the bottle. 

A hot flash of terror spreads through you, looking at the dark liquid sloshing around in that little phial.  When you look up, his brow is furrowed, face pinched with intense scrutiny. 

You are not sure what to expect.   Minho is decent and he seems close with Jisung, which naturally lends your trust to him, but your interactions have been minimal and cordial.   He could grab you by the wrist and drag you to Chan, accusing you of harbouring poison.  It would no doubt instigate the king’s wrath and everything would spiral before you could catch your breath. 

Minho sighs. 

“Will it kill him?” he asks. 

“Oh.”  It is not the question you are expecting.  Nonetheless, with sincerity and pleading eyes, you reply, “No.  I swear.  It’s just a sleeping draft.  For – for myself.  To help me – at night.” 

He has clever eyes, full of thought.  You suspect he can deduce what that really means.    

“Mm,” is all he says.  He takes your hand and puts the phial in your palm, then he closes your fingers around it.  He gives you a look, something stern, something that demands secrecy without a word. 

You nod, clutching the bottle tightly. 

“Be careful,” he says. 

“Of course,” you reply. 

He walks away while you gather yourself, the adrenaline of two unpredictable encounters simmering.  It has not yet settled when the king barks an order, his voice making you jump, particularly when your name is included in his angry tone. 

It draws Hyunjin from the outskirts.  He is still teeming, looking as though he wants any excuse to swing at the king again, punishments be damned.  Jisung is a step behind him, looking with worried eyes while the king seeks you out. 

The king stops a distance from you, shouting across a fire pit, like he cannot be bothered to cross that space – or maybe because he sees a fuming Hyunjin in his periphery.  He does not look at the kingsguards, not even Chan who approaches on his other side. 

He glares at you, enunciating every word with a snarling upturn of his lip as he says, “Go to the river.  Bathe yourself.  You will see me tonight.” 

This gives you another flash of terror, wide-eyed as you stare at his retreating form.  The implications are not subtle.  They are also not surprising.  He has spent the day being belittled and tested and he blames the brunt of it on you.  Of course a cruel and violent man would wrestle back his supposed dignity in the only hateful way he can, putting you in whatever perceived place he believes you belong. 

You know he will make it awful.   He would have been unkind on your initial wedding night, but now you are certain he will be brutal.   He does not just want to use you, he wants to hurt you. 

You wish you could be stronger in the face of this reality, uncaring and brash and mouthy, snarking at him behind his back.  Your heart is not built that way.  You are frightened and very sad, fist curled so tightly at your side that it shakes. 

You almost forget what that fist is holding until you glance at Minho.  He is leaning against a tree, out of sight of the king.  He quirks an eyebrow then mimes taking a drink. 

Unfortunately, this makes you laugh, your nerves melting into the outburst of sound. 

The king looks at you over his shoulder, his eyes furious.  You feel the sparkle in your own as you stare back at him. 

Before the king speaks again, Chan steps forward.  His displeasure is obvious, his concern more so.   He looks at you with that despondency, helpless to do anything insofar as the marriage bed.  That is not the realm of the kingsguard, to say the least, though Chan looks like he wishes he could command otherwise. 

“The queen should not be left unaccompanied,” Chan says.  Looking at the king, he says bitingly, “Especially considering recent attempts on her life, Your Holiness.” 

Holiness sounds like an accusation in that tone. 

The king straightens, glaring back at Chan. 

Hyunjin, seemingly determined to escalate the mounting tension, walks towards you with an easy gait.  He smiles a very charming smile. 

“I can escort the queen,” he says, in a very different voice than usual, almost sultry in its depth.  It makes you blink in confusion.   

The king forgets Chan entirely as he reels around, pointing a finger at Hyunjin. 

“You will burn for eternity first, kingsguard,” the king snaps. 

Hyunjin just smiles prettily, hands folded neatly behind his back.  The lack of response agitates the already exasperated king, who huffs and shakes his head.  His eyes dart around and inevitably land on Han Jisung.  It startles Jisung who swings into an instinctive bow.  He stares wide-eyed at the ground. 

“Bard boy,” the king says.  “Take the queen.” 

You look at Jisung as he straightens.  His blinking gaze moves from the king to you. 

That laughter is still caught in your throat, its bubbling delight only intensifying as you look at each other.  You think of that kiss on the riverbank, the softness of his every glance since then.  You do not even think it is especially subtle, or maybe you are just supremely aware of it, holding his gaze as he approaches you.  You feel like it gives everything away. 

But the king is arrogant and he thinks Jisung is nobody important.  He does not even glance at Jisung, his eyes following Hyunjin as he waltzes away. 

“Are you going to take me then, bard boy?” you whisper. 

Jisung chokes on a laugh, a blush darkening the tips of his ears.  He looks over his shoulder but everyone else is ambling back to their posts.  

He looks at your innocently fluttering eyelashes. 

“Don’t tease,” he says with a nervous giggle.  “I think it might kill me.” 

He means it in a playfully hyperbolic way, but you grant there is a sobering truth to that statement.  It succeeds in quieting you, your fingers now clammy where they grip the phial.  You let your mind wander to that, preoccupied with the thought of tonight while you fetch some necessities.  Jisung is dutifully quiet the entire trek, following at an appropriate length all the way down to the riverside. 

You think he has similarly sobered, so quiet behind you as you step through the trees to the water.  The grass turns to sand and pebbles beneath your feet, crunching with every step. 

Your mind is far away, thinking of your very precarious position, how you can slip the king sleeping draft tonight, if it is even worth it to prolong the inevitable.  You doubt he will ever change his feelings for you.  You cannot be so demure and loving that a man with no respect for humanity will somehow see the special humanity in you. 

Your gaze rests on the flowing river, the setting sun as it casts streak of orange and lavender over the water.   The breeze is laced with an evening chill, brushing a curl off your shoulder.

You realize that is not the breeze.  The gentle touch is Jisung.  You shiver as his fingertips follow the tumbling curl down your back, until he is not even touching you but you still feel the proximity.  It moves through you with an intensity far more powerful than the king’s threatening glower. 

This warmth is not terror, a different heat that rushes and burns with startling efficiency. 

“What can I do?” he asks in that careful, low voice. 

You remember him behind you just like this, supporting your body, the look on his face and the feel of him as you discovered more pleasure than you ever knew existed.  You are amazed that it is not the most preached phenomenon of them all, that the gods would bestow such a gift on humanity.  You cannot imagine what you would have done without the revelation.  The immensity of it all has you shivering. 

“You’ve already done so much,” you say. 

“I’ll come to you after,” he says, words flowing in a nervous rush.  “I’ll help you.  Whatever you need – if you’re – if something happens – I can come.  The king won’t care if it’s just me.  I’m just bard boy, ha-ha, I don’t – it won’t matter, at least—”

You turn around.  His breath catches as your eyes meet.  His hand is still hovering, trembling, but he drops it to his side.  His eyes dart to the empty treeline and back. 

“Bard boy,” you whisper with a smile, teasing.  “The king may believe otherwise, but you are most assuredly admired by your queen.”  

“You—”  He looks at the still-empty treeline then you again.  He is so clearly flustered. On a startled, nervous laugh, he says, “You can’t say things like that to me.”

“Why not?” 

He kisses you, a reply made with no hesitation.  He cups a hand around your jaw, fingers firm on your neck with a guiding pull.  He kisses you and it is more than a touch.  If some kisses are whispers, this is a song, rhythmic and grand. 

Your knees nearly buckle beneath you.  This is your third kiss but it feels like first and the thousandth, the natural way you move together, gasps of breath and pressing lips.  His hand moves under your hair, cupping the back of your neck.  Your own hand raises, fingertips stroking his jaw then resting between his neck and shoulder. 

He makes a noise into the kiss, tilting his head, kissing you with so much intensity that you both stumble.  His eyes widen at his own actions, a hand covering his mouth as he looks at the treeline.  His startled expression makes you burst into giggles, still riding the high of the kiss itself. 

“That was – that was my fault,” he says, throwing his hands into a surrender, then raking them through his hair until it is a dishevelled mess.  “My fault, my fault, it’s fine, it’s fine.”  He makes a series of faces while muttering to himself, giggling nervously at you, then walking away to stand guard. 

You turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you touch your lips.  Somehow a kiss provided all the courage you needed to decide, yes, it will be worth prolonging the king’s advances.  You and Jisung are already outsmarting him, his arrogant eye turned to the wrong kingsguard, and you will continue to find ways to do so.   The sleeping draft was made by a friend and you know you will develop more.  Perhaps alone you cannot combat a king, but you are not alone. 

For now, you play his game.  A quick wash will feel good after the long day in the summer sun regardless of intention. 

You do not fully strip down, simply to your shift, as is appropriate for a queen bathing out-of-doors.  It is about the only appropriate protocol, as you should have more company than solitary male guard, even a kingsguard.  It is not surprising the king has you left you bereft of any ladies, forgoing introductions, actively discouraging his nobles.  That is something you will remedy yourself, in the capital. 

For now, you are not mad it is just you and Jisung.  You glance at him while disrobing, catching his eye, smiling at his flustered blush as he looks away again.

You pile your curls as high as you can, then step to the water.  Even though there is a chill in the air, the water is warm because the hot sun has been pouring down all day.  You suspect it will be colder to emerge than to enter.  For now, it is comfortable as it laps at the foot of your shift, darkening the hem as you walk. 

You find a smooth boulder to perch yourself, grateful to use one of your own soaps from home as you scrub your skin.  The breeze is sharp against your wet skin so you sink into the water up to your shoulders, paddling around for a little bit as you let the day wash off you. 

The sunset has lost its golden traces, from orange to pink, and you let yourself admire the colours as they swirl overhead. 

When you look at Jisung, he is already staring at you.  He is sitting on a rock, fiddling with the hilt of his sword in an absent-minded distraction.  He exhales heavily when you look at him. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“I—”  He laughs, seemingly at himself.  He thuds the heel of his palm against his forehead in a punishing little smack.  “Nothing,” he says.  He looks at the ground then slowly at you, his gaze moving across the shimmering water before tracing up your shoulders, neck, and face.   “I just hope no one tries to attack us right now,” he says.  “Because honestly?”  He lets go of the hilt to show his hand, revealing the slight tremble.  He immediately crosses his arms, tucking his hands under them.  “I don’t think I’d be much help,” he finishes with a laugh. 

“Don’t worry,” you say, matching his smile.  “I’ll keep you safe.” 

“Oh,” he says.  “Good.” 

You smile at each other for another moment.  It is disturbed when you hear the king shouting about food, far into the distance.  A couple of birds, no doubt settled for the night, fly out of the trees and away.  You spread your arms in the water and watch them go, wishing it was so easy to escape. 

“We should go back,” Jisung says, though he sounds as uneasy as he looks, biting his bottom lip, his big eyes as shiny and concerned as ever. 

The water is not very deep.  When you stand, it comes below your hips.  You squeak, a mousey and unqueenly sound, as the evening chill swarms you.

“Oh goodness,” you say, too distracted with the cold to think of much else.  “Robe, please.” 

Jisung is a very capable soldier.  You have witnessed it firsthand.  Where most of the kingsguards appear to specialize in certain skills, he has so far proven to be a master of everything.

But he trips over his own feet now.  He slides clumsily across the gravel, drawing a sharp line in the sand.   He manages to remain upright, only just, muttering to himself as he picks up the robe you requested. 

He steps to the water’s edge, the robe under his arm.  He holds out a hand to help guide you forward, but he is very distracted with looking at the rest of you, so he keeps accidentally moving it out of reach. 

You finally clasp his wandering hand.  Only then does he lift his frantic gaze to your eyes. 

This is your second time emerging from water in nothing but a shift, the light material leaving nothing to the imagination.  Last time, you were shy and embarrassed, but it seems a bit silly to be modest now considering what he has seen.  Furthermore, you do not feel embarrassed, not with the way he looks at you.  The shift clings to every curve, nearly translucent, more so with the chill as the sensitive peaks of your breasts pebble against the wet white fabric.   

His eyes dart there again, his mouth open.  He doesn’t say anything.  With a bit of struggle, he manages to say, “Ahhhh…?”

“Robe, please,” you say again, amused.  Truthfully, you are not as cold under his gaze, flushed with a tingling warmth that conquers the other senses. 

“Fuck,” Jisung says, shaking his head as he wraps the robe around your shoulders.  “Sorry for cursing, pretend you didn’t hear it.”

Now that he is speaking, the words come in a breathless stream.  It comes from an honest, human subconscious that a kingsguard should have under control, but which he has evidently relinquished from mental bondage. 

“I can hit him on the head,” Jisung says.  “I mean – fuck.  I can’t do that, obviously.  He’s the king.  I wouldn’t do that – but also I would, if you asked.  If you ask, it’s fine, I’d do anything for the queen.  I should obey the queen.  I must protect her.  Then again, if I hit him on the head, it could go wrong, and he could die, then I didn’t just hit the king but killed him, and kingsguards aren’t supposed to do that.  Well, sometimes they do, but that’s very rare and definitely not the bard’s call.  I shouldn’t kill the king, even if you ask, right?  Right.  Fuck.  Sorry for cursing.  You wouldn’t ask that anyway, even if he deserves it – ah!  I didn’t say that.  Maybe, instead, if I get him drunk, then he won’t be able to – you know–”

He lifts his finger, a rather impolite mime of a rising erection, which he realizes is a very rude gesture to make in front of the queen.   He throws his hands together in a prayer position instead. 

“By which I mean,” he says, “Nothing.  I meant none of that at all.  Of course.  Unless you say otherwise, your Majesty.  Then I meant it all.” 

It is silent save the sound of the river lapping at the shore.  His hands are still clasped for prayer and you are holding the robe closed.  He blinks at you.  You are already smiling. 

“Right,” he says.  “Umm… Fuck.”

You pat him on the arm, stepping around him.  You go to your bag of possessions, kneeling down to find the phial. 

“I wasn’t going to ask for help,” you say.  “I fear I have already put you in a precarious enough position as is—”

“You haven’t done anything,” he says, quick and sharp.  His black robes swish with the swiftness of his spin.  He marches to where you are knelt down. 

You look up at him, your hand closed around the phial, but he does not see it.  His eyes are on your face.

“Your Majesty,” Jisung says.  He crouches down so you can look at each other.  “I’m a lot better at speaking when I’m not – when I’m singing, especially a story about someone else.  That’s easier.  But I—”  He stares into your eyes.  His shoulders fall with an exhale, his expression softening just as surely.  “I wouldn’t go back to the easy I knew days ago.  I know I’m a mess now.  I don’t know what’s happening anymore, or what’s going to happen soon, but—”

He looks at the treeline.  It is still empty, of course.  The king does not see the pretty bard boy as a threat to his dignity and masculinity.  He is probably stomping and brooding and yelling some more, glaring at Hyunjin and Chan, while it is Jisung who lays a hand on your cheek.  Jisung captures you more completely than the king could do with iron. 

“It’s probably wrong to say,” Jisung speaks in a low, rasping voice, his face close to yours.  A tuft of dark hair falls near his brown eyes.  “It’s too selfish for a kingsguard or any mortal to say, but…   You said it first, that you feel the gods when we’re together.”  His thumb strokes your cheek and it might as well be a lightning bolt launched from the heavens, wracking your whole body with a shiver.  “I feel it too,” he says.  “I think I’m supposed to be here.  My life, the war, becoming a kingsguard, a – a – a queensguard – it was supposed to happen.  The gods led us here and we made it happen, and the gods allowed us, so we must – it must – it can’t be completely wrong, right?  When the king is like that, and you are like this.”

You are everything I ever dreamed of worshipping, he told you two nights ago, before you ever kissed, before you even really touched.  It seems those feelings have grown with yours. 

“You’re worth a thousand kings, Han Jisung,” you say. 

It is confident amidst his stammering, and it makes his eyes go wide.  You brush the hair away from those eyes. 

“I don’t know what will happen either,” you say.  “I know the king will try something untoward sooner than later, whether I am faithful and obedient or not.  I believe it is thus appropriate to reserve my faith and loyalty to that which I pray directly.”

You turn your face and kiss his palm.  You look at him from the corner of your eye, watching his breath catch as his eyes are bound to where your lips touch his skin. 

You wonder if he is so flushed because he is remembering how you said physical love was like prayer.  Hearing your words now, seeing and feeling your kiss, he seems to stop breathing entirely. 

“And in such a case as that,” you say, “I believe I would like at least once more night to pray for answers.” 

You open your hand and reveal the phial.  His gaze drops.  His eyebrows leap comically high as he looks between you and the bottle. 

He snatches it, looking at the treeline, then whispering so frantically that his voice breaks again, “Is that poison? Where in the name of all the gods did you get poison?”

You cup his face with both hands, laughing helplessly at his expression.  You stroke your thumbs across his cheeks and it lessens his panic. 

“It’s not poison,” you whisper.  “It’s just a sleeping draft.”

“A sleeping draft,” he says, words a little slurred as his cheeks are squished in your hands.  He looks down at the phial again, then at you.  “Well,” he says and gets to his feet.  He adjusts his sword belt, swishes the length of his robe and clears his throat.  “You could have opened with that,” he says. 

You are laughing as he helps you to your feet. 

-

Thanks to your friend’s sleeping draft and Jisung’s help, you escape the king unscathed for another night. 

Jisung completes his task in the only way Han Jisung would and could: with a great deal of theatricality. 

The sun is nearly set and everyone is gathered around the fire pits.  The king is with his inner circle, guarded by Changbin.  After changing into a clean dress, you sit with the remaining kingsguards.  The meal is simple, meat cooked in a spicy broth.  Apparently, esteemed kingsguard leader Bang Chan is tragically intolerant towards heavy spice, a fact you learn because the others relentlessly tease him. 

It makes him crack a smile, the first one all day.  He has charmingly deep dimples when he lets himself go.   You are sitting beside him and the sight delights you. 

In the midst of comforting food and friendly laughter, Chan looks at you.  While the others are rowdy and distracted, he takes a moment to say, “I’ll guard the king’s tent tonight,” he says.  “Find me, yeah?  If you need… anything.” 

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely touched.

His chivalry will not be required, however.  Moments after he says that, the king starts screaming. 

“You incompetent mongrel!” he shouts, clear across the campsite, scaring another pair of birds. 

The kingsguards are quickly on their feet, food and jibes forgotten. 

You stay sitting, slurping your soup.

“Your Holy Majesty, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, a thousand times sorry,” Jisung says to the king. 

You glance over there, watching as Jisung alternates between bowing and scooping up the bits of meat that splattered on the ground when he knocked over the king’s bowl of soup. 

When Jisung told you he would take care of administering the sleeping draft, he did not tell you his plan, maybe assuming you would not like it.  You cannot honestly say you are happy to see him intentionally drawing the king’s anger, but it is certainly a fair strategy.  The king is too surrounded to truly sneak up on him.  He is, however, very easy to antagonize.    

Jisung tries to hold out a dirty piece of meat as offering.  The king slaps it out of his hand.  Jisung looks at it with dramatically wide eyes.

“I swear to the gods, kingsguard—” the king says, raising his hand as if to strike Jisung.

Jisung bows again, holding up his hands in supplication. 

“I apologize, your Holiness,” he says, bowing some more as he grabs the king’s empty bowl.  He remains bent over while scampering around.  “It was an accident.  I’ll get you more food.  Forgive me, sire, I’m a worthless dog, I’m a flea on a dog, I’m a flea on a flea—”

The king kicks at him as Jisung scampers off to get more soup.   The other kingsguards sit back down, either laughing at the nonsense of shaking their heads, chalking it up to Jisung being a little clumsy and silly. 

You slurp some more soup. 

The king only makes it halfway through his meal before he falls asleep.  The remainder of his soup splashes onto the ground when the bowl falls out of his lap, so fortunately no one else ingests it.  

No one seems bothered by the peculiarity of his sudden slumber.   This seems to a combination of acknowledging the day was very exhausting, but also sighing with some relief that there is no more yelling. 

Chan, Changbin, and Minho carry the king back to his tent where he shall sleep alone, and where you shall not be visiting any time soon.  

Seungmin is assigned the first shift to guard your tent, but Jisung escorts you while Seungmin is still finishing his meal.  You and Jisung walk side by side, saying nothing suspicious or untoward.  Nothing beyond his wink and your smile, at least. 

“Was the king this bad on the journey over?” you ask while Jisung unties the clasps of your tent. 

“Almost worse,” Jisung admits.  “He doesn’t like travelling.  And you already know he wasn’t, um, happy with the wedding, heh.  Now everything with Felix—”

“Right,” you say, watching as the last clasp comes undone.  “I suppose an affair can change a man.”

Jisung laughs, though it is more of an exhale. 

“So I’ve heard,” he says.  

The tent opens.  There is a lit lantern inside, brightening the night with golden warmth.  The interior is simple, though marginally more comfortable than the average tent. It is tall enough you can walk around without ducking. The ground is neatly covered, a thick bedroll unfurled in the middle of the space.  It looks as inviting as it can be, blankets draped across the long cushion, a pillow at the head.  One of your smaller trunks is in the room.  There is a low table and a cushion beneath it, a tea pot and cup in wait.  The lantern sits on the ground, near the bed. 

You look at each other. 

It would require only a step, out of the darkness and into the light, and he could kiss you again.  Only a step, yet a serious one with real ramifications. 

Despite all that, you want him as you have never wanted anything before.  You want him so much that you learned how to want.   Before him, you were numb but content.  Now you feel every prickling tingle of a hair standing on edge, the anticipation twisting inside you, and the flush of heat that moves through you when his eyes move to your lips. 

“I—” he starts and never finishes.

You can see the complicated gears and cogs spinning in his head.  You think of him on his knees before you, kissing your hands, shaking with desperation.  Every kiss is both a gift and a surrendering, the forging of a serious vow in the breaking of another.  You want him, but not in the way a king wants his kingdom, not with a selfish and possessive cruelty, not with a command. 

“I enjoy your company,” you say.  “When Seungmin takes his post, would you play some music for me?  It would make me happy.” 

He releases a breath, laughter spilling out of him. 

“Yes,” he says, smiling at you.  “Yes, that would make me happy too.” 

Jisung stands guard until Seungmin arrives, then he leaves to fetch his guitar.  You dress down for the evening, removing your layers and letting your curls loose.  You sit on the bedroll in nothing but your shift.  It goes without saying that it does a better job of modesty when it is dry.  The recollection of Jisung’s staring makes your cheeks feel hot. 

You are smiling down at your embroidery when he returns.  There is only a brief conversation between him and Seungmin, the latter somewhat perplexed by his presence. It is not inappropriate for a kingsguard to guard the royal personage from inside the tent, but it has not been deemed necessary, nor has Jisung been posted. 

Jisung lets the guitar does most of the talking.  It is very persuasive.

Moments later, Jisung is inside the tent, lacing it closed again, the guitar on his back.  Somehow, the lacing of the tent ties feel even sturdier than a lock.  It would take a long time for someone to undo it, making it nearly impossible to sneak up on you. 

Though, you suspect it would also take you a long time to become conscious of the real world.  Jisung is not kissing you, not even touching you, just moving inside the same small space as you, and you are already distractingly rivetted. 

So distracted, you poke your finger on a needle.  You put your finger in your mouth to catch and wipe the tiny pinprick of blood, looking at Jisung as he sits down.  He does not sit on the bedroll, just beside it on the ground. 

His eyes flick to your mouth, his face a little flushed. 

“Ha-ha,” he speaks it more than laughs it.  “Right.  Music.  Um.” 

The first strum of the guitar feels very loud in this small space, making your heart jump.  The alarm slows to a gradual stop as you let the music surround you, the gentle plucking of each string.  He hums softly until you are visibly comfortable with the sound, then he starts to sing too. 

He starts with a familiar ballad, famous enough it reached your land at the borders.  The next song you do not know, but he has hummed snippets here and there over the past couple days.  The third song is about you, though it takes a second to realize it.  Your eyes are on your embroidery, knotting little loops of cherry blossom petals, when you realize the ‘mermaid in white with curly hair’ who has ‘wanting eyes for the soldier on the shore’ is maybe not so distant or fantastical as the lyrics might imply. 

You look at him, flicking your gaze to the sealed tent flap as if to remind him that others can hear.  He grins innocently and keeps singing, your story hidden in the details of some fictional recreation.  

Hearing his interpretation of your supposed thoughts makes you laugh, as he is often doing everything to make you laugh.  Hearing the thoughts of the soldier on the shore stirs rather differently, heart palpitating as he sings about longing and terror.  Both those feelings seem to torment the soldier, a man equal parts integrity, desire, and fear. 

The lyrics trail off though he keeps strumming the guitar.  You suppose the story is not yet finished. 

The melody changes a little.  He hums to chase it, perhaps crafting another song in his mind. 

You look at your cherry blossoms, listening to him, remembering the first time he sang to you.  He had never even spoken to you.  You did not know him at all.  You were alone and miserable, sulking in the dark, and he jumped into the light and touched you with his music. 

It feels like so much has changed, even while technically nothing has.  You are still married to the king.  You have both sworn oaths. 

His music still touches you.

Your vision blurs, then the first teardrop plunks onto a cherry blossom.  He notices immediately, just like he was the only one to see your tears at the ceremony.  The music comes to an abrupt stop, a suspended note awkwardly fractured.  He puts the guitar aside and gets on his knees, leaning over your embroidery to lift your face. 

You sniffle, smiling at him through your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.  “I’m not even crying because of the sad things.” 

“That’s okay,” he says, his face as morose.  He tries to smile softly, though his brow is still pinched with concern.  “You can cry,” he says.  “If it will make you feel better.” 

Yes, you think it will.  You have too long repressed feeling.  You are allowed to be angry and passionate and sad.  Crying and raging will not necessarily solve all your problems, but it will empty the clutter of your mind and soul. 

You let it wash away, then you let him wipe your eyes. 

“Thank you,” you say, wiping the last teardrop as he sits back. 

He picks up his guitar, though he just looks at it, running his hand along the neck while you tidy up your embroidery tools.  He looks from his art to yours, blinking at the cherry blossoms. 

“What are you making?” he asks. 

“Just bits and pieces, really,” you say.  “Spring is my favourite season.  It’s beautiful back home, with the blossoms and warm rain showers.  Everything sparkles all the time.”  

If you had not already cried, thinking of home might have done it.   Now, you just sniffle and lay the fabric down.  You smile at him. 

“What’s your favourite season?” you ask.

“Mine?”  His eyebrows lift.  His mouth is open as he looks for an answer, then he glances at your embroidery and laughs.  “Spring,” he says.

You swat his arm and he playfully howls, clutching it. 

“You can’t just say that because it’s mine,” you say. 

“Why not?” he asks, laughing. 

“Because!” 

“All right, all right,” he says.  He taps his chin with great contemplation.  “Autumn?  No, no, it’s gross in the capital then.  The rain doesn’t sparkle there, not in the fall.  It sort of just – pings.”  He makes a high-pitched sound on the word, miming each droplet as it tumbles and rings out.  “Let’s see then – it’s not autumn and spring is forbidden to me.  Ah, winter?  No.  No.  Guard duty in the winter is the worst.  Oops, I’m not supposed to say that – of course being a kingsguard is a blessing, and I can’t wait to experience the next winter, Amen.”  He opens his palms and pretends to pray, then bows his head before continuing.  “So it’s not those.  Then, ah, let me think.  What’s left? Hmmm…” 

You are already giggling when he leans towards you, grinning.

“Remind me,” he says.  “What’s left?”

“Summer, of course,” you say. 

“Ah, of course.  Let’s think.  It’s hot, muggy, and the rain doesn’t help either of those things.  Everything feels a bit like soup.  But…” 

“But…?”  You lean towards him as well, playfully eager, like this is the most important secret he could reveal.

“But,” he says, eyes dropping momentarily to your smile, then lifting again.  They crinkle with his own gentle grin, drawing your eyes there as well.  “That’s when we met,” he says. 

You look from his mouth to his eyes.  The joining of your gazes makes everything feel very quiet, slow, and warm.  Nothing exists past the golden light beside you. 

“It is,” you say. 

“Yes,” he says.  “Summer.  I think I used to hate it.  I think – I’ll never hate it again.” 

“That’s funny,” you say. “I feel the same way.”

“Well, you can’t,” he says, abruptly teasing again, “Because that’s my favourite, and you can’t just pick it because I did.” 

You laugh, but it catches you off guard so it is a rather ugly laugh, more of a snort.  Your hand flies up to cover your mouth.  He laughs at that sound more than anyting, though he tries to stifle it. 

You swat each other, trying and failing to keep the laughter down.  A kingsguard keeping watch, a bard playing music, that is one thing.  Giggling with the queen is a little different.   

He accidentally pokes himself on your needle.  It is laying between you, forgotten, and he puts his hand down.  He hisses as he lifts it, grimacing like he was run through with a sword rather than pinpricked with a sewing needle. 

“Oh my goodness,” you say, shaking your head with playful irritation.  You gather your embroidery things and place them out of reach so there are no more accidents.  “Silly,” you say.  “Big strong guard, you are.  It couldn’t have hurt that much.”

“It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt,” he says with dramatically sad eyes and a spectacular pout. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” you say, taking his hand.  It is not even bleeding.  Still, you bring it to your mouth. 

You do not intend to be seductive.  You are truly just playing, intending to wet his finger against your lips and tease him some more.  The moment your lips touch his skin, however, the whole energy inside the tent seems to shift.  If you did not know better, you would say the earth itself tilted.  You stomach drops with a swoop, as if you took off flying. 

You look at him while taking the tip of his finger in your mouth.  His smile vanishes too, those dark eyes suddenly smouldering in the lamplight.  Your heart is pounding so hard that it wakes up the rest of your body.  When you kiss that fingertip again, moving your mouth, making no mistake of its deliberateness, your heart seems to plummet as well.  It drops right between your legs when it continues to pound, sending heat in every direction, so stark and sure that it makes you want to double over. 

“Jisung,” you say, your lips a little wet. 

He does not have far to go, cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.  You clasp his shoulders, closing your eyes and kissing him back.  You definitely would not notice an intruder, nor even a fire, not even a god walking the earth.  You lose yourself completely, even more than those precious kisses from before.  Maybe it is knowing you are truly alone, that the king is out cold, that it is nighttime and you are in your shift and he is right here, and it would be so easy to lay down and—

“I—”  He abruptly breaks the kiss.  He still looks lost in it, eyes half-open, face tinged with a blush.  He pushes his fingers through his hair, shaking his head like that will pull him out of it. 

He looks at you, then your mouth, and falls right back in.  His eyes close like it is a little painful, and he groans when he kisses you, like it is rearranging him.   He cups your face with both hands and guides the kiss, opening his mouth, inexpertly but hungrily.  You follow, just as inexpertly but just as passionately.  You make a sound of your own, higher and lighter, sweet in the kiss as he licks into your open mouth. 

He is affected, either by the sound or your taste or your tongue against his.  He pulls back again, with a shuddering gasp, like he forgot to breathe the whole time.  You think you forgot too, breathing much harder than before. 

“I—I’m so—”  he says, forcing himself to look away.  He stares down at the lantern.  His eyes look a little wet, verging on tears as well.  He rubs his face, pushes his hand into his hair and keeps it there, the dark locks messy around his fingers. 

“Jisung,” you whisper his name, touching his shoulder, then his face.  “Jisung, I know.  This is – this is all crazy.”  He looks at you, eyes still sad, hand still shoved in his hair.  “I know,” you say.  “You’re not alone.  I know this is complicated.”  You stammer, tripping over your racing heart.  You cup his face and stroke his cheek.  “I’m not asking for anything but what you want to give me.”

“I know,” he whispers.  “I’m not scared of you.  I’m scared of me.  Of what I want to give.  It would be—”  He finally lets go of his hair.  It takes a second to fall back into place after being pushed for so long, falling messily across his forehead.  “It would be easier,” he says again, “if I didn’t want to, at all.  But I—” 

It is certainly easier for him to speak in song.  He conveyed so much as a soldier on the shore, longing and terror in equal parts.  Yes, that is all over his face as he looks at you, even if he cannot articulate it like this.  He just breathes, in and out.  He tilts his head and looks at you.  He is right, that this would all be easier if that expression was not so tender and loving. 

“What about you?” he asks.  “What do – what do you want to – give?” 

“Jisung,” you say, almost laughing, because isn’t it obvious?  “I want to give you everything.”

You thought that was so obvious, but his look says otherwise, that he is surprised and taken back and overcome. 

“I believe,” you say, “that even though we are surrounded by danger, my heart and my body would be truly safe with you.”

“Oh,” he says.  He gazes back at you for a time, then he looks down.  He takes your hand.  His eyes closed, he brings it to his mouth and kisses your palm.  He holds it to his face after, eyes still closed, clearly thinking very hard.  When he straightens, he says, “It is.  But when it comes to me, I—”  He laughs without much humour, looking at you, his expression rather withering and his tone self-deprecating.  “I think I’m broken beyond help.  I think I always have been.  I don’t even have a good reason why.  I just know I feel worthless if I don’t cling to the other vow that has ever meant anything and you – and I – and—”

“You’re safe with me too,” you say gently.  “Whatever that looks like, Jisung.  Whether you think it’s broken or not, I’ll take care of it all.” 

He nods, sharp and quick.  He rests his forehead against yours.  You close your eyes and stay there for a time, just breathing until your racing hearts are under control again.  He kisses your forehead before standing.  You stand as well, mostly to see that your legs still work, everything fuzzy after all that. 

He picks up his guitar and goes to the tent entrance.  He unlaces it carefully, then looks at you before parting it.  His expression is fond, his mouth open with some parting words, but his eyes widen and he swallows whatever gentle words were on his lips.  You look over your shoulder, wondering what surprised him, but there is nothing there.

“What is it?” you ask, smiling when he does. 

“Ah, uh, you—”  He points behind you with the guitar.  There is still nothing there.  When you lift an eyebrow at him, he giggles.  “Um, the light,” he says.  “Behind you – it, um.” 

Oh.  The lantern is shining right through your thin white shift.  Perhaps it is not reliable for modesty, even when dry, turning almost invisible as it reveals the shape of everything beneath the fabric. 

“Well,” you say, brushing the material out.  “I suppose it’s nothing you haven’t seen.” 

“Yes,” he says, breathlessly.  His eyes move down your body and up again.  It is such a thorough, thinking regard, that you think he might be changing his mind.  Then he swallows, closes his eyes, bows his head.  He departs without another word. 

You do not listen to hear if he and Seungmin speak some more.  You douse the lantern and climb under your blankets.  You thought you had tempered yourself, but that last look was hungrier and more powerful than a kiss.  With the image of him so fresh and clear in your mind, and with the tent securely laced shut again, you slide a hand beneath the covers and whisper his name again and again. 

-

You wake in the middle of the night.  You do not know what time, but it is nowhere near daylight, the world in darkness all around the tent.  You went to sleep to some bustling noise in the camp, but now it is silent, so you believe it is many hours later.

Your eyes adjust to the midnight blue, making out the shape of your table and trunk, the unlit lantern.   The only light is outside the tent, the guard posted with a lantern of his own.   He is holding it in the air so you can see his silhouette. 

Two silhouettes. 

It takes a moment for your groggy mind to catch up, but it does, and you realize there is a hushed argument happening on the other side of the tent.  You realize you are also right about the hour, because it is late enough that there was a guard change.  That is not Seungmin’s voice or silhouette outside the tent, but Minho.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Minho whispers, in obvious agitation.  “She’s sleeping.  Why would I let you into the queen’s tent?”

“I just want to see her.”  That voice is unmistakably Jisung.  You would recognize his voice anywhere.  Your heart wakes up faster than your mind, skipping beats. 

“In the middle of the night?”  Minho asks.  “Are you crazy?”

“Yes!” Jisung whispers back, with a high-pitched strain.  “I am!  Now let me see her!” 

“What kind of argument is that?” Minho asks. 

“I just—”  Jisung sighs.  You watch his silhouette, his hands moving through the air as he gestures at nothing.  “I’ve been thinking—”

“I get that’s new for you,” Minho says dryly, “But the queen can be alerted to this miracle tomorrow.”

“And I just need to see her,” Jisung finishes.  “Because – because I only have half my thoughts when I’m not with her.  Like the world is only half full and I’m only—”  He jabs his chest, exhales heavily.  “Only half whole.” 

The lantern lowers slightly, Minho seemingly losing power as his arm lowers. 

“Please,” Jisung says.  “I’m just going to talk to her.  I’ll be fast.  She won’t mind.  The king will be passed out until noon at least.  This is just – I need to see her.”

“I hate you,” Minho says.  “If I hear even one disgruntled squeak from her, I’m considering it permission to kill you for being a nuisance.”

“I can’t wait to haunt you forever,” Jisung says, clapping him on the shoulder with a friendly pat.

Minho shrugs him off.  The lantern swings away as Minho stalks back to his post.  He plunks the light on the ground. 

You can no longer see his silhouette, but you can hear as the tent unlaces.  Each slip of a tie has your heartbeat skipping.  You prop yourself up your elbows, watching slivers of moonlight slip into the tent.  Eventually the tent is undone enough that Jisung can step inside, then he grumbles and swears to himself as he tries to lace it back up again.

You sit all the way upright but he evidently does not see you.  At first, he is preoccupied with the laces.  Then, once the tent is secure, he turns around.  Your eyes are adjusted to the darkness so you see him perfectly, but his are not adjusted, and he evidently has no idea you are awake and upright and staring at him.

He seems to go through a myriad of emotions, his face an entire theatrical spectacle in the span of thirty seconds.  Then he curses and turns around and reaches for the laces, having seemingly lost all his nerves, intent on departing again. 

“Jisung?” you say.

It makes him jump, shoulders leaping.  He slowly turns around to face you.  He still does not see you properly, squinting through the dark, but you think your general shape is taking form.  He faces the correct angle, at least. 

“Um, yes?” he asks. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask. 

“Oh, that,” he says.  “Right. Um.  You see.  I was thinking about everything you said.  And everything I said.  And did.  And we did.  And he said and he did, the king I mean.  And I was just – I was thinking – what I mean is.”  He clasps his hands together and punctuates his words with a pointed gesture.  “The. reason. I. am. here.” 

He lets his arms fall to his side.  You think he can see you much better now, because his eyes finally find yours. 

He should be a terrifying figure in the dark, all long dark robes with a shiny sword at his hip.  But you are not scared.  His hands are the ones shaking, his eyes wide.  

“Yes?” you say softly, encouraging. 

He takes a step forward.  His hand rests on the hilt of his sword out of habit, no doubt a consolation to his nerves.  He looks down at it, seems to contemplate it like it has answers, or maybe just more questions.  Eventually, he reaches into his robes and undoes the sword belt.  You watch with baited breath as the sword falls into his hand. 

He crouches down, laying the sword on the ground.  On one knee, looking at the sword, then looking at you, he unclasps the top layer of his robes. 

“I think,” he says, “I’m here to pray.”

You are quickly out of the covers, crawling down the bedroll towards him.  He drops his other knee so he is kneeling upright at the foot of your bed, his robes open to the dark layer underneath, his chest rising and falling as quickly as his heart must be racing. 

You get up on your knees too, hands floating between you as you take a second to just look at each other.  His mouth is open like he has more to say, but he never finds the words.  You think there might be words, but they have all been said, and they are better encapsulated in a kiss. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in.  His hands find your waist, at first with the chivalrous touch of a guard, as he has been holding your waist and hips when he helps you from here to there.  Then the kiss deepens, your eyes close.  His tongue pushes against yours and his hands are searching, squeezing, feeling the shape of every curve under his palm. 

He says your name, not your title, your shift messily gathered in his fists.  He kisses you softly, just a peck, then another, then those kisses move across your face and down your neck.  You sink your fingers into his hair, holding him there as he kisses a long, hot kiss against your throat.  You feel it all the way down between your thighs, liquid heat and a pounding need.  You scratch  at his scalp as his open mouth moves across your skin and he moans.

“Shh,” you say gently, his voice softening against your neck, just a light sound as he licks the place he kissed. 

You want to tear the robe off his body, but you don’t want to startle him, his hands already shaking where they move over your clothed body.  You decide to go first, already more comfortable with it. 

You always thought disrobing for a lover would be petrifying, aghast at the thought of ever baring yourself to a husband.  Well, perhaps that last part is still true.  But it is not difficult to share yourself with Jisung.  You like the way he looks at you, like he is writing songs of worship in his head. 

You lean back, breathing hard, smiling at his face.  He looks flushed and messy, his lips wet.  He blinks at you, though his gaze lowers when you gather the hem of your shift and lift.  His mouth is hanging open when you toss it to the side. 

“It’s not like you haven’t seen me before,” you whisper, laughing lightly. 

“That was different,” he says.  “I couldn’t really look.  I tried not to look.  I knew if I did, I’d want to touch you.  I tried to pray instead.  But I can’t hear the gods when you’re not near me.  Now—”  His hand moves up your naked side, skimming your curves, his eyes following the trail.  He swipes his thumb across your breast and your back arches into him.  “Now,” he says again, dipping his head, “I know where I was made to be.”

His mouth closes around the tip of your breast, already pert from stimulation, hardening further between his lips.  He sweeps his tongue across your skin, moves to the other side.  His hands move everywhere, up and down. 

Before long, you are moving, laying on your back.  He tears off his outer robe and leaves it on the ground, following you down.  You will not push him for more, knowing already how much he is giving you, though one day you want to feel every inch of him, skin to skin.  It will happen, you decide.  One day, you will be in a bed, and there will be time, and you will never be done exploring. 

He lets your put your hand under his shirt, scratching down his spine.  His arms are bare so you squeeze those too.  Your legs part to make room for his hips.  You are kissing and you make a sound in each other’s mouths when he lowers his hips against you.  You can feel him through the material of his trousers, like you could that other night.  But where he ran away that night, ignoring his own feelings, this time he lets your hand wander down.  When you cup the hard shape of him in your palm, it makes your breath catch in an uneven stutter. 

“Jisung,” you whisper, arching against him when he says your name back. 

“Yes,” he says, pushing himself upright with shaking arms.  He kneels between your open legs, pushing his hair back, swallowing as he looks down.  His mouth moves but he doesn’t speak, though he does make a garbled noise when running his hands along the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

That skin is very sensitive.  You are already jumping by the time his hand is on you.  You have to cover your mouth.  No amount of touching yourself could prepare you for his touch, his fingers rougher and calloused both from his sword and his guitar. 

You are very wet, from earlier, from seconds ago.  He makes a face like he can feel the pleasure too, even though it his fingers, rubbing through all that wetness.   He finds that place he showed you, that he talked about, as adept with the instrument of your body as he is with any other tool he puts in his hands.  Just as he is always determined to make you laugh, he is now determined to give you that burst of pleasure.   He grips your thigh in one strong hand and deftly moves his other thumb around and around that small centre of pleasure. 

You twitch in his grip, still gasping with those short, stunted breaths.  You can keep your voice down on your own, but it requires more concentration now, swallowing those sounds as that pleasure breaks apart inside you.  Your hips lift, chasing his touch, then drop in shy retreat, oversensitive. 

He grips both thighs, squeezing the soft flesh, then runs his fingertips back to their centre, then up, up the curve of your chest, touching your open mouth.  You take his fingers in your mouth, nothing like before, which was playful then uncertain and demure.  You take them like you want to take everything, deep and wet and needy, moving your head, sucking them hard between your lips until he has to cover his own mouth to stop himself from being loud. 

He takes his hand back.  The other drops from his mouth.  You look at each other, hearts racing.   His hands are shaking again as he reaches for the ties of his trousers, fumbling more than a little. 

You sit up to help.  With him kneeling upright, it puts your face at a rather advantageous position.  His fingers get even more clumsy until he is no help at all, leaving it to you to unlace. 

You look up at him, holding his gaze.  This is certainly not the wedding night you were ever prepared to participate in.  You were instructed to lay back and wait, then it would happen and be over.   That could not be more different than your searching hands, eager to feel him, your eyes on any sliver of skin he shows you. 

Once the trousers are unlaced, there is little hiding, the fabric falling open and everything inside lifting up.  Truthfully, you are nervous again too, but also emboldened with passionate wanting.  You are aware you are about to do something that cannot be reversed in the eyes of the law. 

I’m the queen, you think.  I make my own law.

You touch him as he lays you back down.  When you are on your back, you lay your hands at your sides, your legs open around him, hair spread out underneath you. 

He pushes his trousers down his hips.  He looks into your face for as long as he can, but he eventually needs to look down.  He curses to himself as he is a little clumsy again, trying to guide himself to your entrance.  He finds it, but your body is a little resistant even though you are so wet.  You wince a little, but shake your head when he stops, telling him to keep going, please, please, please. 

You can only imagine how painful this would have been with the king.  Well, that man will never be your first, no matter what he tries in future.  It will always be Han Jisung, slowly pushing inside you, his sweaty face buried in your neck, murmuring your name as he fills you to utter completion. 

You almost cry when he is all the way inside you, not even from the tenderness, but just the rightness.  You cling to him, sliding a hand down the back of his shirt.  He rocks his hips a little, kissing your neck when you whimper. 

“It’s okay,” he says, lifting his face to look at you.  He kisses your lips, a few short pecks that leave you wanting more.  He stares down into your face like he can hardly believe you are real.  “I have you,” he says.  “I have you.” 

He knows how to listen beyond words, hearing every cry and request of your body, even if you cannot articulate it.  He is careful until that tender burn lessens, careful for his own sake too, muttering the occasional oath when you squeeze around him.  it soon really does sound like praying with how often he calls the gods and you. 

You kiss him, moaning into his mouth, probably clawing up his shoulders as he starts to understand how to roll his hips.  Those scratches won’t matter because he’s a kingsguard and he will be completely covered tomorrow.  Only you will know his back is a canvas of your pleasure, fingers bruising and nails raking desperately as he takes you, deeply, thoroughly. 

“I’m – I can’t – inside,” he says between breaths, face scrunched up as he nears his pleasure. 

“I know,” you say, but whimper helplessly.  “One day.” 

That makes him moan deeply, a sharp thrust into you, then he is quickly pulling out.  It just takes a single stroke from his hand before he finishes too.   It is more than you knew it would be, a white streak that falls across the soft skin of your belly.  It takes a second for the sight to register for him, then he squeaks and grabs his robe again. 

Cleaning that off the queen is almost certainly not the intended use of the kingsguard robes, but it makes the most sense, as he is more likely to be able to clean it without any questions.  Still, he seems to realize just how sacrilegious it is, looking at the black fabric, then at you. 

Then, he smiles.  It turns to a short laugh, a sound of disbelief. 

“We—” he says. 

“Yes,” you say, giggling too. 

You are not sure if he is more amazed with you or himself.  It certainly takes him a moment to stop looking so shocked, even though he was the one who walked in here.  Eventually, he comes to his senses, at least enough to lay down in your arms for a time. 

He can’t sleep here, but you hold him for a while and he is happy to let you, his head pillowed on the softness of your breasts, his arms around your middle.   He turns his face and kisses your skin, just a chaste kiss, but there is a fire simmering beneath your skin now, and you fear it will never be doused. 

You sit up together.  You kiss his bare arm, right up to where the shoulder of his shirt gets in the way.  He looks at you, appreciative, fond, and a little less scared. 

“We need to be careful,” he says. 

“Of course,” you say.

“I can’t let anything happen to you,” he says, cupping your face.  He brings it close to his, your noses touching. 

“I know you won’t,” you say.  “I’m safe in your hands, bard boy.” 

He laughs, then steals one final kiss.  He doesn’t put the outer robe back on, giving you a chagrined smile while you giggle.  You shuffle back into your shift while he stands up and re-ties his trousers.  He smooths his hair as best he can.  He hooks his swordbelt into place.

He looks somewhat more composed, but not entirely untouched.  You wonder if you look like that, if it’s all over your face, in the lines of your body.  You can certainly feel it inside, both literally with the ache between your thighs, and also emotionally. 

He unlaces the tent and looks at you again, gives you one last departing smile before he steps out. 

He has barely laced the tent shut before the lantern re-appears.  You catch Minho’s silhouette, his hand swinging down to swat Jisung hard on the backside.

“Ouch!” Jisung jumps.

“That was not talking, you asshole,” Minho hisses. 

Jisung, in much better spirits than his friend, simply plants a kiss on the other guard’s cheek and ruffles his hair.  Even in silhouette form, Minho is clearly shocked by this.  It takes him too long to retaliate, left standing there as Jisung skips away.

Minho shakes his head.

Smiling, you lay down to sleep, safe for tonight.  With your growing allies, you are confident will you find a way to remain so.   

[unabashegirl]

Fragments 2 — one shot

Harry runs into Y/N in Japan. She is his ex and she is seeking closure.

Author's note: Hello everyone! I've been holding the final part bc I feel like you are all going to hate me or love me for the ending and I am scared! Please don't hate me! I hope you enjoy!

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all chapters, various one shots like The Cover and much more :)

Please note that everything that is both underlined and italicized is from the past—they are flashbacks!

word count: 3.9K

--------------------------------

The kitchen filled with the gentle sound of slicing knives and the rhythmic motions of rice being pressed into nori. The chef’s voice was calm and patient as he guided them through the process, but Y/N and Harry remained mostly silent, their focus turned inward as they worked. The only other sound was the soft, traditional music playing in the background, adding to the atmosphere of quiet reflection.

Y/N carefully rolled the sushi, her movements precise as she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. She could feel Harry’s presence beside her, his silent focus mirroring her own. They moved in tandem, following the chef’s instructions, but there was a tension in the air, a heaviness that neither could ignore.

When the last roll was finally placed on the bamboo mat, the chef stepped back with a satisfied smile. “Very well done,” he praised, nodding to both of them. “You have a natural talent for this.”

Y/N gave a small, polite smile in return, glancing at Harry who nodded in agreement, though his eyes seemed distant. The chef clapped his hands together lightly, signaling the end of the lesson.

“I will leave you both to enjoy the fruits of your labor,” the chef said warmly. “Please, take your time. It has been an honor to teach you.”

With that, he bowed and quietly excused himself from the room, leaving them alone with their carefully crafted sushi rolls.

Y/N stood there for a moment, her eyes lingering on the perfectly arranged sushi before them. The silence that followed the chef’s departure felt louder, more suffocating. She could feel the weight of unsaid words pressing down on her, but she wasn’t sure how to break through the barrier that had formed between them.

Harry was the first to move, picking up a pair of chopsticks and carefully selecting a piece of sushi. He looked at her then, his gaze searching, as if trying to find something in her expression. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice soft but carrying an undertone of uncertainty.

Y/N nodded, reaching for her own chopsticks, but her hands trembled slightly as she did. She felt his eyes on her, watching, waiting for something—maybe for her to say the words that neither of them had yet found the courage to speak.

They ate in silence, the sushi as perfect as the chef had promised, but it was difficult to enjoy it with the thick tension in the air. The music played on, soothing and distant, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

The silence between them grew unbearable, stretching out like an unspoken challenge neither of them wanted to confront. Harry set down his chopsticks, the clatter against the plate louder than it should have been in the quiet room. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers rubbing at his temples as if trying to ease away the tension that had built up over the course of the afternoon.

Y/N noticed his sudden stillness, her heart rate quickening as she sensed the shift in the atmosphere. She watched him, her chopsticks frozen in mid-air, her breath catching as she waited for him to speak. There was something in his eyes—something dark, conflicted—that made her stomach churn with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Harry finally met her gaze, his eyes filled with a depth of sorrow that she hadn’t seen before. His voice, when he spoke, was strained, as if the words were being torn from somewhere deep inside him. “I guess it’s time to tell you”

She blinked, her chest tightening at the seriousness in his tone. “What is it?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

He hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as they rested on the table. “The reason I distanced myself,” he began, his voice cracking with the weight of what he was about to confess, “was because I… I did something.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her mind racing as she tried to comprehend what he was saying. “What do you mean?” she whispered, dread settling in her stomach.

Harry looked away, his jaw clenched as if he could barely bring himself to continue. “I cheated on you,” he finally admitted, his words laced with a deep, agonizing guilt. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. And when I realized what I’d done… I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t look you in the eyes knowing how much I’d hurt you.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath Y/N’s feet, the shock of his confession hitting her like a physical blow. Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces, each one cutting deeper than the last as she struggled to process his words. She could barely breathe, the pain in her chest so intense that she thought it might suffocate her.

“You… you cheated on me?” she repeated, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and raw, searing hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you just pushed me away?”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you more than I already had,” Harry confessed, his voice heavy with regret. “I thought if I distanced myself, if I just… distanced myself, it would be easier for you. That maybe you could hate me and move on, without having to see my face and be reminded of what I did.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, blurring her vision as the reality of his betrayal settled in. “So instead of being honest with me, you let me believe it was something else—something I did wrong?” she asked, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “You let me think I wasn’t enough for you?”

Harry winced, the guilt in his eyes deepening as he heard the pain in her voice. “I know I messed up, Y/N. I know I made it worse by not telling you. But I was scared. I was a coward.”

Y/N’s hands shook as she wiped away the tears that had started to fall, her heart breaking all over again as she realized how deeply he had hurt her. “You should have told me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You should have let me decide how to feel, how to move on. Instead, you just… left me in the dark.”

She walked through the living room, her steps light and tentative as if trying not to disturb the heavy silence that hung between her and Harry. He was seated on the large, plush sofa, a thick blanket draped over his legs as he stared intently at the flickering screen of his laptop. His eyes were focused, but his posture was rigid, every line of his body radiating a cold detachment that Y/N found hard to ignore.

“H,” she began softly, her voice breaking the silence like a tentative knock on a closed door. “I was thinking of making some hot cocoa. Do you want some?”

Harry didn’t look up from his laptop, his fingers tapping away at the keyboard. “No, thanks,” he replied curtly, his voice devoid of warmth. “I’m busy.”

Y/N’s heart sank at his response, but she tried to keep her tone upbeat, forcing a small smile as she turned towards the kitchen. “Okay, Just let me know if you change your mind.”

She busied herself with the cocoa, the rhythmic sound of the milk heating and the clinking of the spoon against the mug providing a small, soothing distraction. She could hear Harry’s muffled voice as he spoke into his phone, his words barely audible over the hum of the appliances. The conversation was brief, and when he hung up, he remained seated, his focus returning to the laptop.

As Y/N walked back into the living room with her steaming mug, she hesitated for a moment before taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa. She tried to find a comfortable position, but the distance between them felt insurmountable.

Harry,” she said after a few minutes, her voice trembling slightly as she attempted to bridge the gap. “Can we talk? I feel like we haven’t really spent any time together lately. So, I was planning perhaps we could spend the weekend at my parents cabin outside of the city. I’ve already asked for the keys”.

He glanced at her briefly, his expression impassive. “I can’t this weekend,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’ve got a lot on my plate. Maybe later.”

Y/N’s smile faltered, but she nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. “Alright”.

She took a sip of her cocoa, the warmth of the drink contrasting sharply with the chill she felt in the room. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the soft clacking of Harry’s keyboard and the occasional rustle of his papers. Y/N watched him from across the room, her heart aching as she saw the man she loved becoming more and more distant.

Time passed slowly, each minute dragging as Y/N tried to fill the silence with small, meaningless activities—flipping through a magazine, tidying up the living room, adjusting the throw pillows on the sofa. She would glance at Harry every now and then, hoping to catch his eye, to see a sign of the warmth they once shared. But each time, she was met with a cold, unfeeling stare.

Eventually, she stood up, unable to bear the distance any longer. She walked to the window, looking out at the city lights that seemed so distant and unreachable. Her reflection in the glass was a stark reminder of how far apart they had grown, and the sight of her own lonely figure only deepened her sense of isolation.

Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Harry,” she said softly, her voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. “I know things have been hard lately, but I miss us”.

Harry’s eyes opened slowly, and he looked at her with a mixture of fatigue and frustration. “I don’t know if we can fix this,” he said quietly.

The sadness in his voice cut through Y/N like a knife, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. “But I’m willing to try. For us”.

Harry looked at her, and for a moment, she got a glimpse of his old self. But then, he closed his eyes and pulled away slightly, the emotional distance between them reasserting itself. “I don’t know if I can,” he said softly.

“I know,” Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. “I was wrong, and I’m so sorry. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But I need you to know that it meant nothing. It was a mistake—a stupid, drunken mistake—and it never changed how much I loved you.”

Y/N shook her head, the ache in her chest almost unbearable. “But it did change things, Harry. It changed everything. You broke us… and you broke me.”

Harry’s eyes filled with tears, the sight of her in so much pain almost too much for him to bear. He reached out, wanting to comfort her, but Y/N flinched away, the hurt too fresh, too raw.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she pulled back. “You don’t get to touch me, not after this.”

The rejection hit Harry like a punch to the gut, but he knew he deserved it. He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he repeated, his voice barely holding together. “I wish I could take it back. I wish I could undo everything and go back to the way things were.”

But Y/N could only shake her head, the tears streaming down her face as the reality of their situation sank in. The man she had loved so deeply, the man she had trusted with her heart, had betrayed her in the worst possible way. And now, there was nothing left but the broken pieces of what they once had.

Y/N sat there, tears streaming down her face as she tried to come to terms with the bombshell Harry had just dropped on her. Every part of her wanted to scream, to throw the pain back in his face, to make him feel even a fraction of the hurt he had caused her. But all she could do was sit there, numb and hollow, as the man she once loved shattered everything she thought she knew about their relationship.

Harry’s own tears were falling now, silent and slow, as he watched her break before his eyes. He had expected anger, yelling, even hatred—but this quiet devastation was worse. It was the kind of pain that didn’t have an outlet, that didn’t have a voice. It just lingered, suffocating them both in its grip.

“Say something,” Harry finally whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “Please, Y/N… anything.”

But what was there to say? What words could possibly convey the depth of the betrayal she felt? Y/N looked at him, really looked at him, and saw a man who was just as broken as she was. The realization hit her like a tidal wave—he was drowning in his own regret, but that didn’t make what he did any less unforgivable.

“You want me to say something?” she finally replied, her voice eerily calm despite the chaos inside her. “Fine. I loved you, Harry. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life. I would have done anything for you, given you everything. And you threw it all away for… what? For a night of wild sex?”

Harry flinched at her words, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. “It wasn’t worth it,” he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know that now. But at the time, I was just… lost. I was struggling with the pressure, the expectations, and I messed up. And I hate myself for it every single day.”

“Good,” Y/N said sharply, her eyes blazing with the anger she had been holding back. “You should hate yourself. Because you didn’t just hurt me—you destroyed me. You made me question everything, made me question if you ever loved me”.

Her words sliced through Harry like a knife, each one cutting deeper than the last. “I loved you.” he whispered desperately. “I love you. I was the one who wasn’t enough. I was weak, and I let my insecurities and fears ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Y/N’s tears fell faster now, the anger and heartbreak swirling together in a storm she couldn’t control. “You should have come to me,” she cried, her voice breaking. “You should have trusted me, talked to me, instead of turning to someone else. We could have figured it out together, Harry. But you made that impossible.”

“I know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I hate myself for that, too. But I can’t change what happened, no matter how much I want to. All I can do now is tell you the truth, no matter how much it hurts, and hope that someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart splintering with each word he spoke. “Forgive you?” she repeated, her voice hollow. “How am I supposed to forgive you when you’ve taken everything from me? You were my safe place, my home… and now, I don’t even know who you are.”

She glanced around the small entryway, her eyes lingering on the few personal items she had packed—clothes, a few cherished mementos, and the essentials she needed to start a new chapter.

The decision had been a long time coming, but today, she had reached her breaking point. She had given everything she had to make their relationship work, to bridge the emotional chasm that had grown between them, but Harry’s coldness and distance had eroded her hope. She was tired of fighting alone, tired of trying to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping through her fingers.

She had just finished dragging her suitcase down the stairs when she heard the familiar sound of the front door opening. Her heart sank as she realized that Harry had returned from the studio earlier than expected. The footsteps grew louder, and she braced herself for the confrontation she had been dreading.

Harry stepped into the hallway, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and exhaustion as he saw her. “Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of surprise. “Going on a trip?”

The sight of him, looking worn out from a long day at the studio, only served to amplify the emotional storm inside her. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her shaking hands. "I'm leaving.”

Harry’s expression shifted from confusion to alarm. “Leaving? What do you mean? Where are you going?”

Y/N reached for her suitcase and gave it a resolute tug. “I’m leaving. I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of fighting, tired of trying to make things work when it feels like I’m the only one putting in any effort.”

Harry’s face fell, his exhaustion giving way to a wave of panic. “Y/N, wait. Can we talk about this? Please?”

She shook her head, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. “I’ve tried, Harry. I’ve tried to make us work, to be the person you need. But I’m exhausted. I deserve to be loved, to be with someone who truly wants to be with me”.

Harry’s eyes widened with hurt and confusion. “Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

Y/N took a step back, the weight of her decision pressing heavily on her shoulders. “I’ve heard all the explanations I need,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “The truth is, I’m done trying to fix something that feels broken beyond repair. I’ve given everything I have, and I just… I can’t keep doing this.”

She reached for the handle of her suitcase, her hands trembling slightly. “I just want to be loved, Harry. I want to be with someone who sees me and values me for who I am. And right now, that isn’t you.”

Harry’s face contorted with anguish, the pain of her words cutting deeply. “Y/N, please don’t do this,” he pleaded, stepping closer but stopping when he saw the resolute look in her eyes.

Y/N took a deep breath, her resolved unwavering. “I can’t stay here and keep hoping for something that may never change.”

She turned to leave, but Harry reached out, grabbing her arm gently. “Just give me one more chance,” he begged, his voice filled with desperation.

Y/N looked at him, her heart breaking at the sight of his tear-streaked face and the raw emotion in his eyes. “I deserve more” .

With that, she pulled her arm free, her heart aching as she walked out of the apartment and down the stairs. Every step felt like a small victory and a deep loss at the same time. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she took one last look at the building, at the life she was leaving behind, and then stepped out into the evening air.

The room fell into a suffocating silence, the air thick with the unspoken question hanging between them. Y/N could see the desperation in Harry’s eyes, the plea for a second chance, but all she could feel was the overwhelming ache in her chest, the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to hold herself together. “I don’t know if I can ever look at you and not resent you for it”.

Harry’s face crumpled at her words, the pain in his eyes almost too much to bear. “I understand,” he said softly, his voice filled with sorrow. “I won’t ask you to make any decisions. I just needed you to know the truth. I’ll accept it even if it means letting you go again.”

The finality of his words hung in the air, a bitter reminder of how far they had fallen from the love they once shared. Y/N looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer, the tears blurring her vision as the reality of their situation crashed down around her.

In that moment, the sushi on the table, the music playing softly in the background, the cozy warmth of the restaurant—none of it mattered. All that existed was the chasm between them, the deep, irreparable wound that no amount of apologies or regret could ever heal.

She stood up from the table, her movements slow and deliberate as she gathered her things. Harry stood up as well, his face pale and stricken with anguish. “I know that I am supposed to let you go. But please don’t go” he begged, his voice cracking. “I can’t lose you again”. Harry had hoped that this time around things would’ve ended different than that day at the apartment. However, it seemed like he was reliving it.

Y/N took a deep breath, the finality of her decision weighing heavily on her. “I can’t” her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face. “I can’t keep doing this to myself. You have to let me go”. She walked towards the restaurant’s exit, her heart heavy with the sadness of the parting. As she reached the door, she turned to look back at Harry one last time, her eyes filled with sorrow and a lingering love that could never be fully extinguished. “Bye H”

Harry watched her, his own tears falling freely now. The pain of her leaving was evident in every line of his face, but he made no move to stop her, knowing deep down that he had lost her.

Y/N stepped out into the cool night air, the city lights casting a gentle glow that only served to highlight the deep darkness she felt within. She paused for a moment, looking back at the restaurant where they had just shared their final, heart-wrenching conversation. Despite the sadness that still clung to her, a part of her felt unexpectedly lighter.

The weight of the past seemed to lift from her shoulders, replaced by a newfound clarity. She realized, with painful but liberating honesty, that her worth was never in question—it was never about her. She had finally found the closure she had so desperately sought. As she walked away, she felt a quiet confidence settle within her. She knew now that she deserved to be loved deeply and genuinely, and that there was someone out there who would truly appreciate her for who she was.

As she disappeared into the horizon, Harry stood alone in the doorway, the ache of her absence a stark reminder of the love that had slipped through his fingers. Of the only person that loved him with honesty.

part 1

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Thanks to my dad for filming this awesome, super hot send off to my breasts, which are getting removed today! Gotta make them nice and clean for the med students at the University of Charleston! I wouldn't want them to be all sweaty and gross after I masturbated all morning picturing my big gorgeous tits getting picked apart for someone's college assignment. Why am I losing my boobs, you may ask? Well, I got a letter in the mail last week saying that my breasts were the ideal size to be worked on by students at this University.

I kept getting surveys on my social media about my bra size and overall satisfaction with my breasts, and if I was worried they might 'be cancerous'. I have big boobs so stuff like this is common. I always answered honestly, I'm a HH-Cup and growing, that I like my breasts but feel they're probably too large, and that I'm very worried they probably have cancerous growths. Like why else are they so big???? That's what my doctor kept telling me anyway, that they're highly likely to be 'acutely cancerous'. Random men stop me when I'm out jogging and offer to give me breast exams because my boobs are so big it's concerning to them, I guess. They really grab and squeeze my boobs until they ache but I know they're professionals and know what they're doing, they tell me they're medical specialists or surgeons and a lot of them politely offer to escort me to their clinic or house to remove my breasts because they can feel 'all kinds of cysts and tumors in them'. I don't feel any lumps but they're the experts. I always politely decline...... until now, anyway.

The letter was really official looking and says I've been selected because of my untreated condition and it's irresponsible not to have my cancerous growths removed, which is what the letter calls my boobs. I called and they set up the appointment. My breasts are to be removed in front of an auditorium, the procedure being judged by the students' professor of surgery. So I called the university and they said they find candidates based on surveys like the ones I took on Instagram and TikTok. Apparently my videos are getting shared in various medical groups where surgeons make comments about how badly they want to remove my breasts and how they'd do anything to bring me to their shed or basement and remove them, don't know why they don't say clinic, I guess these surgeons work from home, maybe? But seeing their comments was such a wake up call about how badly I need to do this! They seem so eager to help me lose my 'cancer bags' as they put it. I always thought my breasts were sexy but they find them gross and unhealthy, I guess.....

So, I don't have much choice. I'll be detained if I don't fulfill my appointment with the University, it says in the letter, and the lady at the desk in the University said the same thing. I could go to jail for denying the students their ability to complete their project, and I could be fined on top of jail time. So I need to finally stop being so selfish by keeping these big bouncy tumor sacks of mine and let these students dismantle them for their big project. A bunch of other girls were picked so I won't be alone. It'll be kinda nice watching them go through the same thing and get their boobs taken apart and tossed in the trash. Only trouble is now that I got picked I'm getting a bunch more surveys..... some are asking if I'm satisfied with my clit, if I feel like I need to masturbate too frequently, and if I'd be willing to try out having it removed someday...... Other surveys are asking all kinds of other questions, about my limbs, even my uterus! I dunno..... daddy just says to answer honestly and he'll happily stand by me no matter what and film more before/after vids and tributes to whatever the university needs my body for....."

[icyg4l]

Should You Shoot Your Shot?

hello beautiful people! i have been so busy with school & honestly, i haven’t been feeling up to par. i have some ideas drafted up but i would like to hear some suggestions from you guys. i am gonna turn my ask box on again! i would like to hear more than just fs readings though. also, i will continue with my halloween themed tarot series! look out for two drops in one day, my lovelies. if you would like to book a reading with me, go to my very first pinned post. thank you! :) without further ado, please select the pile that you are drawn to!

top left-to-bottom right: (1-4)

pile one: you are a strong soldier, my love. i feel like the person you're interested in has a lot of suitors and because of that, it will be hard to fully capture their attention. i feel like you need to soften your approach. if you're the type to post thirst traps or to post obvious subliminal, this person will overlook you. i honestly think that your best bet is to act unbothered. in your case, being laidback will work great in your case. also, I keep hearing "come harder just because". what I am getting from this is that you need to be more creative with the way that you shoot your shot. you may be surprised at who you may attract.

cards used: ace of flags, the high priestess, five of flags, elder of pentacles.

extras: butterfly shrimp. princess fiona. it's my d*ck in a box! christmas carols. new video game record. papa's pizzeria. shuffle the deck. gardener. fast-paced. fish hooks (2010).

pile two: i can tell that you have a type, pile two. you're the loving, nurturing type. you probably spoil your lovers with gifts and affection. however, you need to know when to pull back when you aren't receiving what you want. in your situation, you should go for it. shoot your shot! however, there is nothing wrong with wanting to take some initiative. however, based on your past experiences, you should try not to go all out this time. take your time. in the past, you could have been ghosted frequently or taken advantage of. you need to assert your boundaries. you are the prize, babe. go in with the attitude that this is not someone you need, but rather someone that you'd like to keep you company. if they want you, then they'd show you that through reciprocated action. remember that.

cards used: ace of lanterns, three of chalices, nine of flags, child of chalices, queen of lanterns, four of flags, child of flags, the house mother.

extras: wasted liquor. "spectacular". popular by demi lovato. hair in the wind. focusing on myself. self-worth. "sweetpea". diamonds dancing. parental issues. abandonment wounds.

pile three: baby, you don't have no business being romantically involved with anyone at this time. i heard the phrase "emotional turmoil". you recently could have gone through a drastic change in your life, specifically more to do with a loss (breakup, loss of a family member, job loss, etc). right now, there is a focus on your time of healing. you need to build up your spiritual endurance. if you are ready to give up on yourself, how can you give to others properly? if you decide to go and deal with this person, you won't be satisfied. this reminds me of a child getting attached to a toy and then ends up getting attached to another because it's newer. that's not healthy. people's emotions are not to be toyed with, pile three. it's possible that your gut issues will intensify if you decide to go against the grain and deal with this person. it's not worth it, babe. just wait your turn.

cards used: death, the star, the castle, queen of chalices, four of chalices, child of lanterns, the moon, eight of lanterns.

extras: sweet potato fries. count your blessings. paint the perfect picture. saweetie. 2000s photos. overly-emotional. comfort foods. sock-it-to-me cake. foreplay. rush. high rise.

pile four: pile four, it looks really good for you. not only should you shoot your shot, but there is a high chance of you connecting with this person on a spiritual level. therefore, this will actually result in something serious. i feel that this is a divinely orchestrated union. it's possible that you two could have mutual connections. it's possible that you could have been in the same place at the same time as them (red string theory hahaaa). i feel like your spirit guides are waiting for you to initiate the conversation. it's time to make shit happen. send the dm/message. it'll all be worth it. this is your time to shine, lovely.

cards used: eight of plants, the brujx, three of chalices, the grande dame.

extras: rose. sade listener. hijab. sweat. forty five degrees. kisses down low. i love the color pink. long legs. picky eater. choosey lover. secure attachment style. papa grande.