#but that thread is going to haunt me for the rest of the night | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jolalibrary · 3 months ago

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take my picture

francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader | collection masterlist

summary: you find a polaroid camera, and offer to let frankie take photos.

chapter kink: photo exhibitionism. warnings: smut. frankie takes polaroids of you (consenting). oral (m!receiving). bit of cock praise. fingering. lots of sexy photos. underwear to the side. fuck bud things aka two fools who won't talk. frankie is a sleepy boy (not a warning, just stating facts now). blue has a name and job/likes/dislikes. no physical descriptions. wordcount: 3.9k. an: thanks to @pedgito for beta'ing. dedicated to @luxurychristmaspudding because i haunted her with this, she told me to write it, and i told her only if i could gift it to her. i love you bby. one day we hug, yes?

You’ve only been awake for an hour when he lets you know he’s here.

The clock on your kitchen wall tells you it’s midday, though the light outside seems to have forgotten. Everything is muted, as if the sun has forgotten to rise fully, the sky from your kitchen a blanket of dull grey, casting shadows over everything. You can sense the hum of activity—the muffled clatter of life moving above you, or people in the hallway.

Then, in a hundred and forty-six seconds—that’s all it takes—his knuckles tap softly on your door before he’s twisting the handle.

The coffee you’d only half-finished is swirling down the sink, and you’d just manage to fluff the cushions on your two-piece sofa when your eyes meet his. You worry, briefly, that the signs of your night shifts are as obvious on your face, as they are in your home. Little traces of exhaustion are scattered around—the shoes kicked off near the basket of unworn pairs, your jacket draped over the armchair, and your bag lying on its side, carelessly dropped and forgotten.

When he steps through, it appears as though he’s blind to it all. The usual duffel swings down from his shoulder, but this time he’s an accompanying pair of bags under his eyes—a tiredness that doesn’t filter away even when he smiles. There’s a tightness in his face, a 4 o’clock shadow you trace with your eyes that’s beginning to darken his jawline.

The greeting is gentler this time. Softer kisses, his fingers skating along your jaw, thumb resting on your chin, as his mouth slants over yours. Your lashes flutter closed as you tug him closer, pulling him in, melting into him before his face finds the curve of your neck. The duffel drops with a thump as both his arms cage you.

He breathes in, right against your neck, before he grazes unspoken words against your skin as your fingers massage the top of his neck, feeling the tightness, hearing how he lowly groans into your skin.

“You slept, captain?”

“Hmm,” he hums as his mouth presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

Ones you almost bow towards, lean into, let happen.

“Frankie.” Fingers sliding around his cheeks, lifting him, forcing his eyes to wander over yours. “Have you slept since you’ve been back? Preferably in the last day or two?”

Scratching the back of his head, temporarily averting his eyes as his nostrils flare, he eventually spits out, “Here and there.”

Tilting your head, sighing. Something there, unspoken. An explanation, one that would weave a thread between the two of you, a deepness you’re not sure either of you is willing to surrender to.

You’d sensed something was simmering beneath the surface when he told you he was back. The timing of his return and your string of night shifts had become an enemy to you both, keeping you apart, forcing him to go home and make excuses instead of—what you suspected was his usual—lying and saying he was back later than he was. The benefit of this was that the two of you rarely had the chance to converse as much as you have in the past few days—conversations broken up by your erratic sleep schedule and shifting time zones. Still, it had felt strange to find him keeping you company as you tried to eat leftover lasagne at three in the morning.

Thinking you like texting me too much.

What makes you say that?

You’ve responded within seconds, Morales.

You don’t admit you like texting him. That it’s nice, almost normal in the grand schemes of whatever this thing is. This thing where you text him and wait for a response, giddy when you see his name flash up; this thing where you count down, in your head only, to the day you think he’ll be home.

For sex, you remind yourself. Just sex—and food.

“Here or there less than three hours a day or…”

He glares, but smothers it quickly, jaw tightening as he keeps his hands in place.

“Bed, now.” His brow arches at your words, lips rolling as he stares. “Alone.”

“Blue… c’mon.”

“The plans we have require you to be awake for the duration, not somewhere between snoozing and existing. Just go, I don’t know, sleep for an hour or two in my bed.”

His brow raises again, remaining there, hovering over his brown eye. “In your bed.”

“Yeah, my bed.” Folding your arms, letting your lips slide into your cheek. “Don’t be difficult and argue with me. I’ve done four back-to-back night shifts.”

He snorts, eyes slightly wider than usual—as though acknowledging it, how you’ve overshared, how there’s a bit of you amongst the other parts.

“Look, I can study—I’ve got another nursing exam thing coming up and you can sleep, and then when you wake up, we can…”

Dragging his eyes up and down you, you try to remain tall, strong. Not giving in as you feel your skin warm under his gaze; not crack under the way he lingers on your legs, on your arms crossed just under your chest.

“Nurse, huh.”

“Go.”

“Fuck, alright.”

Smiling, watching him move to grab his bag, you begin biting the inside of your cheek, gnawing at it. “Hey,” you say, watching his eyes flick up, staring through his brows as he remains hinged, “Am I eating for one tomorrow night or?”

Softly, he begins to smile. Likely remembering the texts—the odd few the two of you have managed to send between whatever he does and your work.

It rises, the smirk kissing his eyes at the same time as the dimple appears on his cheek when he straightens up, sweats in hand as he takes a step closer. “Was thinking about you not eating alone for another night after that, if you still wanted?”

Swaying on the spot, you mirror his smirk. “You’re buying.”

Then he’s kissing you, fingers sliding around the back of your head, cupping it, as he smothers a reply to your mouth, a murmur of being back soon as he swats at your ass.

You don’t stop smiling for several minutes after your bedroom door closes.

Frankie wakes around the time you’ve grown sick of diagrams, words and note-making.

When your pastel highlighters are suddenly not as cute and the clear post-its are not as innovative as you first thought. When you’re distracting yourself with making a coffee, struggling to adjust to the fact it’s almost evening when in fact for you it’s more midday.

You’re barely three sips into your drink when he takes it, dwarfing your cup with his paw as his sip is larger than yours.

“Oh, help yourself, Morales.”

Smirking, he takes another small sip before handing it back. “Fuck, somehow forgot how pretty you are.”

You hum, placing the cup down, it clinking against the counter before he slides his arms around you. Instinctive, that’s how you’d describe it, your nails scraping against the base of his neck, the edge of your counter digging in as he presses his body flush against yours.

“Been thinking about you.”

“Memories of me serving you well, Morales.”

He groans as you kiss him, as you pull his mouth to yours—feeling how warm his mouth is, how there’s the slightest taste of mint.

“Poor Frankie, having to use his mind to jerk off in the desert or forest or… wherever you get sent to.”

Snorting, he grabs a handful of your ass, making your mouth open in a gasp before he smothers it with his lips. Kneading it, making your hips meet his. Your hand reaches for the side, knocking into it—the unboxed surprise that just catches his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“Well,” you say, picking it up, and turning it over in your hand. “It's a Polaroid camera.”

“I can see that.”

“Thought you might have grown tired of your imagination. Thought maybe I could give you a gift—especially when you left me with one of your shirts.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Smirking, you press the button—a flash illuminating, making him hiss a swear under his breath as the machine conjures and spits out the image.

“We can call it even then—what I’ve thought up.”

Fingers rubbing his eyes, one trying to crack open. “What’s that then?”

“You can say no.”

“Something I’ve yet to do with you but go on.”

Smiling, a flutter of nerves rumbling through you as you swallow. “Thought you could… take some souvenirs with you. For you. Your eyes only kinda thing.”

His brows furrow, flicking his gaze to the camera and back again before he’s biting his cheek. It dawns slowly, slipping over his face as his eyes darken, as he catches on to the nature of your suggestion.

Continuing, you meet his gaze. “You can pick how you want me, can shoot as many as you like—but you only get to take three with you.”

“Just three?”

Nodding, biting your lip. “I almost said one, but thought you’d like a mix—especially since you were gone longer this time.”

“You want me to have dirty photos of you, Blue.”

Smiling, nose brushing against the tip of his, “I’m just doing my bit, captain.”

The last word is punctuated by the way you hook a finger in your shorts and let them slide down to your ankles. Empowered, confident, even as a chill rushes over you and your skin goosebumps.

The way he stares, makes you wonder how you’ve ever settled for anything less than the lust in his eyes. An easy explanation for why you wait, because there can’t be anything better, right? The way he tilts his head slightly and runs his hand against his jaw as your clothes fall in soft thuds to your floor until you’re stood in nothing but a pair of panties.

Ones chosen, all intentionally picked. Selected.

All set to remove them when his hands stop you. When his rough hands slide over them and press your palms to the counter, mouth slanting over yours, softly but hungrily. The kind of kiss that would make your knees go if not for his frame pressing on you, his grip on your hands tightening as you bite at his lower lip.

“How do you want me?”

The tip of his nose brushes yours, eyes closed, before he breathlessly whispers, “On your knees.”

You smile, ghosting it over his. “Help me down then, baby.”

It slips out, slithers. The name he calls you, that you now call him.

His fingers slot between yours, gripping them tight as he helps you lower yourself to the ground—to the cold tiles of your kitchen as you stare up at him. Left only in a pair of lace panties you’re grateful you’d thrown on before.

“Can I taste you, captain?”

“Fuck—yeah. Sure.”

He’s already hard when you’re pulling him free—thick, twitching. The tip already glistening as you glide the fabric down, teasingly, watching the head of his cock meet the base of his stomach.

“Your cock is so perfect.”

Your hand wraps around it, smearing the bead of precum, smirking at the hiss you make him emit, lifting onto your knees as you begin to work him, his soft stomach shifting as he breathes deeply.

“Can’t wait to taste you, Frankie—”

“—Li—”

You make him choke on your name when your mouth wraps around him. The tip at first, tongue swirling around, savouring the tangy taste of him—until you take more of him. And more. Doing so until your eyes prick with tears and you feel annoyed that you’re not at the base.

But, it’s fleeting, passing. His moan makes it worth it.

From the weight of him on your tongue to the taste of him, it’s all worth it. You lick around the head and flick your eyes up to see his stare already trained on you, the muscles in his legs twitching under your palms, gliding your tongue—all flat—on the underside of him, smearing the tip along your lips as though its gloss.

If you didn’t know what he did for a job, you’d tell him with that glare he’d be good at it.

Especially when you take him deeper, hearing the reward of a hiss, of your name—all elongated and breathy. Tears prick and spill over as your nose meets the thick curls at the base of him, feeling him twitch, pulse—all thick and fucking divine in your throat before you’re forced to slide back up. Your cheeks hollowed, eyes flicking up to see his mouth parted in surprise, chest heaving.

You smirk, with difficulty. The thickness of him makes it challenging as you swirl your tongue around the tip and feel his fingers sliding under your chin.

And you want to touch yourself.

Smudge the mess between your thighs around your aching clit, dip two fingers into your heat—

“Too good to me, Blue.”

His praise and the sight of him in the low light, the evening bathing your room, making the perspiration on his chest glitter. It’s then you notice the camera in hand—dwarfed almost, by the size of his palm.

He’s holding it like a gesture, like a silent ask of permission. One you give. A nod, a slow blink, and you spot the surprise sewn into his brows. A look vanished a moment later as you take him to the base, nails digging into the back of his thighs as you plead for yourself not to choke again.

You don’t.

Not even when he gently rolls his hips to your movements,

“Need to take a picture, Blue. Need it.”

You hum, nose against the curls at the base of him, almost feverish with how much you want him. Desperate, agitated with it.

So you flick your eyes up, swallowing—a flurry of curses leaving his lips.

Click, flash—

—Click, flash.

It illuminates you. The bright light makes your eyes widen, forcing them to, filling them with surprise. It’s barely a second, but he steals what the glare provides in the thickening darkness as the clock ticks on.

He doesn’t need the photo to develop, he’s sure the image will be burned into his brain for a lifetime. You with your mouth full of him, cheeks hollowed around his spit-soaked cock as it dribbles down your chin and wets his palm.

There are stains on your cheeks—tears. One's from taking him so deep earlier, when he’d felt the need to remind you to be slow. He caught a glimpse of your glare then, but there’s no sign of it now. Your eyes are all glassy, completely fucked out. Knelt before him in nothing but the thinnest pair of panties, likely soaked, ruined. All for him.

All. For. Him.

Then the room dims again, the photo ejecting out of the camera as it begins to bloom and paint the scene, forever immortalised, and he has to stop himself from clicking the button again just to see you in that light.

You hum as though thinking it. So he snaps another, and another. Each flash creates a different scene, one with your eyes closed—your wet lashes against your cheek. The next you smirking, fingers around the base and your tongue licking at his slit—eyes burning into the camera lens.

You loosen up the more he takes, performing, kneeling up as your hand moves to cup his balls, to gently, ever so carefully roll them as you lick another stripe up the underside of his cock.

He hisses in curses, ones barely bitten back.

It takes all of his restraint not to come down your pretty little throat the next time you take him down it. Because you’re beautiful, but this is something else. An enigma, a gift, a heavenly being that is here for him, taking as much of him as you can.

Bobbing and sucking, little moans and mews around him as you do so. It’s all too much, his eyes clenching shut, feeling, just feeling, and feeling—

It feels like something should have ripped, as though the universe has pulled apart, but he knows it’s in his head. It rushes through him so quickly, splintering and knocking him off base as his elbow awkwardly collides with the dresser before he’s gripping it with all he has, panting through his nose, hips meeting your movements.

And then his hips buck, cock twitching on your tongue.

Then, he’s coming hard down your throat. From the top of his head to his toes, his muscles clench, tighten. Body roaring, licked with flames, his cock twitching as you lick up every drop, as he begins to tingle all over from it.

Whether it’s an intention, just for the camera in his hand or him alone, when your mouth slides from him, it hinges open. Waiting, hands falling to your lap. And he knows before he brightens you with the flash what he’s going to see. But, nothing compares when he glimpses it. Your pretty, perfect fucking mouth full of him.

It stirs in him. Hunger, agonising covetous to have you—to taste himself on your lips, tongue.

“Swallow, baby.”

And he hears it, in the thick silence that you do.

The photo hangs from the device as he plants it down, as he rests it and descends to his knees to meet you. Hand cupping the back of your head as he brings your mouth to his, as he licks into your mouth, as he groans at the way you open up to him and the suppleness of your skin.

Perfect, perfect, so fuckin’ perfect.

He whispers it to your lips, groans it against your jaw as he slides a hand between your legs, underwear moved to the side as the two of you moan in unison at first contact. You shifting, adjusting, knees spread as your ass meets your floor, palms pressed to the ground behind you, head tipping back, letting it escape—

“Please. Please, baby.”

It’s delicately said, all smooth, but encased and embroiled in damned desperation. Baby—he likes it when you say it, a thing he so rarely hears.

He rewards you for it by pressing two fingers inside you, finding you soak him to the knuckles. You tighten around him, the lewd sound of your pussy filling the air, and he swallows, transfixed—a slither of light is all he has. His attention fixed, thumb pressing to your clit as you arch into his hand, bearing down against it.

“Take it,” you moan, hips beginning to rock against him. “Take a picture, Frankie.”

He smirks, almost grins. Almost full of delirium that you exist, that you’ve chosen him, let him in, let him—

You whine his name, already so close. His free hand reaching, patting for it, knocking things over to the point you laugh—

“Break it all, Frankie. I don’t care, just need—”

“Shh,” he soothes, rubbing circles with his thumb, the other hand grasping the camera, pulling it with him as he adjusts his knees on the floor. “Got you, Blue. Always got you.”

I know, I know, I know.

A chant, a soundtrack to the way he curls his fingers until you’re pleading, sobbing.

Click, flash—

Fuck, you’re a mess. Wrecked, ruined. Underwear pulled to the side, black, maybe even ripped a little, with your back bowed and your face contorted—twisted in pleasure. He sees tear tracks on your cheeks from earlier, slick spread in the crease of your spread thighs. Your hips meet his movements, pressing his fingers down on the spongy spot that has you babbling—whining; thumb pressing against your swollen, puffy clit.

Let go, he thinks. Readying to say it, to plead. But then your hips jolt, your chin raising as your head falls back.

The sound of you when you come is one he’ll never grow tired of.

Least of all the taste of you when he slowly removes his fingers and licks them clean, his other thumb massaging your knee when you wince at the loss of him.

“Go get on your bed, Blue.”

You breathe, pant. “You bringing the camera?”

“If you want?”

He hears you exhale and almost feels your smirk even in the darkness.

By the time the two of you are done, there’s a sea of them—the Polaroids.

The sheets under the two of you are a mess, with little photographic evidence of the two of you scattered all around. A play-by-play of the last forty-five minutes.

His breath is caught, as is yours. The soft hue of your bedroom illuminated by the late afternoon filters in, shades of purple and deep oranges.

You’re resting against him, fitting under his arm—heart still beating, even through him as you try to catch your breath. It’s not like the last time, when you’d looked half-awake and rode him until he had to roll you over, it’s not like the time before when he’d watched soap suds slide down your spine, pussy swallowing his cock over and over as your cries echoed around the tiles. It’s soft, sweet, the moment the two of you are sharing. Fingers, splayed out, soft with nails trimmed, skate up and down his side, and it shouldn’t be a thing he thinks, never mind confessed.

But fuck is this perfect, you’re perfect.

Frankie fumbles for the camera, for the device forgotten amongst the sheets, leaving it there, resting. Waiting.

“So how many bedpans do you have—”

You swat at him first, the lightest laugh following, spreading out. So, he continues. Asking more oddities with a shake of your head, not breaking you, not earning more than a light giggle, until:

“You got a pair of scrubs around? I do like a woman in uniform.”

It bursts out of you then, a laugh—a real one—and he lifts the camera as your head rests on him. The click comes, the flash brighter than he remembers.

It’s snapped, taken—a laugh, yours, all but frozen in time.

Later, when the photo is developed and mixed in with a stack of others waiting to be chosen, he sees his own smile. It’s light, almost unfamiliar, given how long it’s been since he’s seen it.

That photo might be his favourite, but it isn’t one he keeps. He thinks it’s too soon for things like that.

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bangtangalicious · 4 months ago

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nexus (m) part 6

pairing: jungkook x reader, taehyung x reader ft. hobi x reader, namjoon x reader, yoongi x reader

smut: taehyung x reader, jungkook x reader, some hobi x reader

premise: a notorious casino conglomerate took you in when you were young. you grew up alongside their sons; inseparable from the oldest, infatuated with the middle, and engaged to the youngest. after a shocking murder, a detective with a vendetta drags you into unraveling a web of dangerous lies that cause you to question who you trust, and who you love

genre: 18+ slow burn romance mafia elite arranged marriage murder mystery thriller

characters: detective jungkook, heir taehyung, ceo namjoon, arms dealer hoseok, bartender yoongi, doctor jimin, best friend/heir seokjin

wordcount: 6.2k

warnings: 18+ multiple smut scenes, oral (f and m), fingering, sexual tension, like a lot of sexual tension, a lot of subtle touching, grinding, kisses, possessive behavior, tsundere!taehyung, implied bipolar disorder, angstttt, betrayal, light yandere undertones, taehyung gets his first kiss...and some other things too ;) breast play, hella teasing, did i mention sexual tension idk taehyung is hot ok but hes also scary do with that what you will, declarations of love, jungkook tryna be sweet we been knew ig, as you might imagine this sets the foreplay for loads of smut in the next part LOL, its a lot of slow burn build up and evident thirsting over this taehyung okay im not sorry

series navi | join taglist | masterlist

“I can’t lose you”

Taehyung’s words haunted you as you stared aimlessly at the tiled ceiling. The hospital room chilly, the smell of alcohol—the sanitizing kind, unfortunately—overwhelming your senses. There were other things you could be thinking about. Namjoon in jail. Jimin dead. Hobi betraying your trust.

But no. It had been Taehyung’s eyes that were on your mind—was it concern? Worry? Taehyung with emotions was a rare sighting. You were practically cherishing the moment.

“It’s late”

The devil in question sat by the windowsill of your private hospital room, minding his own. Reading. Fingers bending the corners of a paperback novel as his eyes trailed over the pages with interest.

Even in the dark hue of the night, the faded moon seemed to hit his face just right.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Go to sleep” His answer was frank, “None of that matters until you get better”

“How can I not think about it?” You snapped. “Namjoon went to jail for me. Because I was an idiot and trusted Hobi. Bet my ass he killed Dr. Park too. I’m probably next. And if he murders me—you won’t get to, Tae”

The corners of Taehyung’s lips curled ever so slightly.

His uninterested eyes steady on the pages of his novel. Not bothering to glance your way.

“Have you ever considered just keeping yourself out of dangerous situations? Whatever it is you’re trying to prove…that you’re powerful, like your mother…that my family wronged you—all it does is show that you’re still their puppet.”

He exhaled sharply, a dismissive scoff that tore your confidence thread by thread, finally meeting your eyes.

“It’s pathetic”

You’d had just about enough of him. Fingernails digging into your palms.

“You’re an asshole Taehyung” You informed him. He shrugged.

“I’m honest” He countered. “And you’re not used to that. You’re used to being babied.” Finally setting his book aside, he walked up to your bedside, kneeling down until he was at your eye level.

“Now will you please sleep?”

The look in his eyes perplexed you. You couldn’t quite tell if he was annoyed, or if he genuinely cared about your health.

Deep down, you knew he was right. Everything you’d done had been to prove a point.

Taehyung rested his head on the armrest. Watching you intently, his eyes tired, dropping unconsciously.

“You’re the one who needs sleep, idiot” You muttered under your breath, letting your fingers run through his soft, wispy black hair. “Taehyung” You nudged him. He barely opened his eyes.

“Get in here” You shifted over, giving him space. He didn’t question it in the moment, he was probably too tired. He didn’t face you. Kept a decent distance between you both.

You were paralyzed. Aware of his every breath. Aware of the way he shifted himself to get comfortable—you could sense the intention in his avoidance of touching your skin even slightly. His scent was more prominent.

“Do you miss your mother?”

His question was so quiet, you weren’t even sure it was real.

And it occurred to you then, that you’d never thought about it. That you’d never even been asked. In the chaos of your mother’s death, your move to the Kim’s and Taehyung being sent away—you barely even processed anything. All you remembered was Jin being so patronizingly worried about you—convincing you that he was all you needed. That you moving in with him would fix everything.

You blinked wildly. Trying to piece together a coherent answer.

“I liked her” A smile creeped onto his face. Or so you thought, as you turned to see the side of his face—his eyes steady on the ceiling fan. “She’d always get me hotteok”

You watched him. Inspected the mole on his neck. The curve of his cheek. The way his long lashes merged when he’d blink. The way the night sparkled in his eyes. The same eyes that would bend your will so easily.

Young Taehyung would give you one look and you’d give him the world. And he’d known it too.

It was so quiet. But your chest was beating loud in your ears.

You must have fallen asleep despite yourself. Dreaming of Jungkook had become a standard practice. This time, he was drowning. You were him, and he couldn’t breathe. You reached out to him as he screamed for you. He was terrified. Falling. Dying.

Breathe.

You tried to tell him. Swim to the surface. Breathe. Something chained him down.

Your eyes shot open.

It was dark.

You. You couldn’t breathe.

Suffocating you, the cotton tasted bitter on your toungue. You squirmed. Thrashing, trying to grab for someone—anyone. You screamed out, for what it was worth. Scratching at the strong hands that held the pillow down over your face.

Adrenaline surged. It occurred to you to kick your legs. You did.

Suddenly the grip loosened.

Taehyung was on the floor.

Panting.

Hyperventilating.

The pillow inches from his palm.

He was quivering. Eyes shot—looking down as if he himself couldn’t believe what he was doing.

You stared at him. Trying to comprehend. Trying to rationalize.

“Taehyung” His name left your mouth in a more accusatory manner than you meant it to. Was it a question or a plea—you were unsure. He met your eyes, and you saw fear. As if he’d been pulled out of a trance.

“I—” He couldn’t form the words. He receded into himself, moving back until he was as far from your hospital bed as he could be. Back pressed against the wall as he hugged his knees to his chest. His voice was shaking, “I don’t—”

“Were you trying to kill me?” You yelped, looking around suddenly for your phone. Grabbing it you held it to your chest, ready to call for help if he tried anything. You almost wanted to laugh—thinking for a moment that you were safe around Kim fucking Taehyung.

You should’ve known better.

Taehyung’s eyes were overcome with horror. Disgust, at himself. He looked at his hands as if they weren’t a part of his own body. Then back at you.

“Princess” He was breathless, “—I swear, I didn’t mean to. I was d-dreaming, I didn’t know”

You gulped. Your fingers curling around your phone as you tried to think.

Maybe he was telling you the truth. Taehyung didn’t know to lie to you. He was honest if nothing else.

“Come back” You let your voice soften, but your body remained tense. “Go back to sleep Tae”

Taehyung gave you an uncertain look.

You rose from the bed, the hospital gown falling loosely around your curves. Kneeling down, you met his eyes at his level. Taking the pillow from the ground, you reached your other hand out to him.

“Maybe,” You sighed, “Maybe being in a hospital is triggering for you” It was a stretch, but you needed to believe there was something. Something that wasn’t that Taehyung hated your guts. Resented you, and would go as far as to kill you in your sleep because of it.

“It is”

He confessed quietly, still not meeting your gaze.

The pout on his lips, evident.

“You didn’t have to stay”

He looked at you.

He said nothing.

“Why don’t I call Yoongi, hm?” You reasoned, “He can take you home” And then you can call Jungkook and get the fuck away from him.

The phone rang.

Jungkook groaned, shoving his face into his pillow.

It kept fucking ringing.

Knowing deep down it might be the precinct, reluctantly, he put the phone to his ear.

“Hey”

Your voice was an aphrodisiac.

He felt it straight in his chest. Awake, now. Worried, seconds later.

He rubbed his eyes, checking his phone to see how late it was.

“Y/n? Baby, is everything okay? Are you still at the hospital?”

“I’m fine.” You weren’t. He could hear the tremble in your voice, “I just sent Taehyung home. Can I come to your place?”

Jungkook sighed. “Sure. I’ll be there soon”

Perks of having a police vehicle. Traffic was never an issue for him.

Entering the hospital, he noticed Yoongi and Taehyung in the lobby, heading towards the back exit. Yoongi had his hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. Seemed to be reassuring him.

Jungkook wondered what happened. You called Yoongi to the hospital so late to take Taehyung home.

He got in the elevator. He knew what room you were in. He’d been the one to bring you to the hospital, before the staff kindly reminded him he was not family—or rather, he wasn’t a Kim, and therefore couldn’t go into your room.

Then Jimin’s body was found. Duty called.

Three gunshots. He didn’t see him, but the autopsy report was eerily similar to that of his own fathers.

You were waiting at the front desk of the inpatient ward. Signing what he assumed were your discharge papers. You noticed him, eyes lighting up immediately.

Jungkook placed his calloused palm against your cheek. Your eyes were so fucking beautiful it stung him just to look at you.

“You’re okay” He breathed, reassuring himself more than anything. His voice trembled softly into a chuckle as you nodded, covering his palm with your own.

“Yeah, I’m okay” His lips neared yours, not touching, but enough for you to feel his breath scrape against your nerves.

He took your hand in his, and led you out of the hospital to his car. It was a short drive to his apartment. It occurred to him that you’d likely never stepped foot on this side of the city. The streets were narrow. Crippling houses dotted his peripheral—a faint scent of smoke through his windows.

He parked on the edge of the street, in front of an average-sized apartment complex.

“The Jeon Manor” He joked lightly.

You pouted, grabbing his hand. Fingers lacing with his.

“You know I don’t care that you’re not rich”

Jungkook wanted to scoff. But he held it back. If only you knew. If only you realized what could have been his, if it hadn’t been for—

“I don’t care where we are, I just want to be with you”

You brought his hand to your lips.

“Stop” He exhaled.

“W-what?”

“Stop saying shit like that when you won’t fucking commit”

You gulped. His stare was intense as he pulled his hand away from you, running in through his dark curls.

“Jungkook” You reached for his shirt, tugging the fabric towards you but Jungkook’s jaw hardened. He turned away. “Jungkook I’m serious”

“You won’t leave Nexus for me, you told me that. You won’t fight for me”

You tugged harder. He grabbed your wrist, harsher than he meant to. Glaring at you.

You didn’t understand. Jungkook should have known. Why would you? This was personal for you. Running Nexus was a point you had to prove, he understood that. But it was the very thing he needed you to give up. If not, then you’d never forgive him for what was coming.

“I love you”

Jungkook’s eyes clenched shut, almost out of regret. He felt tears but pushed them down.

“No.” He shook his head. Shit. He had let this go too far.

For as much as he’d wanted to hear it, it was a wake up call. The two of you couldn’t be together.

“You can’t”

Then he kissed you. His heart was erratic, breathing too. A desperate kiss, fierce with need. Your body fell limp, melting into his touch. Falling into him because he was everything and all you needed.

Somehow, he brought you to his apartment. Kicking the door closed.

He lifted you onto the counter, not letting you breathe—not letting you think, but fighting a sweet war with your lips. You were spinning. Losing yourself every passing second—seconds which passed so slowly as the moment consumed you.

His hands which rested on the sides of your hips, crawled beneath the hem of your shirt. Delicately they explored your skin, rising to the curves of your chest. Caressing your breast, he deepened the kiss, tongue pushing past yours, tangling together.

“Jungkook” You whimpered. His mouth slanting down your jaw, to your neck. Where he tasted your sweet skin and you arched into him. His fingers drawing across your nipples with intention, causing fire to pulse through you.

You could feel him pressed against you, hips locked. Rocking ever so slightly.

Your phone began to vibrate. Jungkook hissed in irritation, backing away as you answered the call.

“Y/n”

Your blood ran cold.

That voice.

“Run”

You could see Jungkook’s eyes narrow at you. The line went dead. You were too stunned to speak.

“Who was it?” Jungkook inquired, looking at your phone. Gulping, you shook your head.

“I-um—just remembered that I need to take care of something”

His fingers hovered over your waist. “Okay, I can drive you” You stiffened as he kissed your neck again. “Or we could go after 20 minutes” His voice was husky.

Run.

Jungkook’s lips dipped to your chest, pushing the hem of your t-shirt up. Leaving pronounced kisses on every inch of skin he could find.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

You squinted behind him. There was an old family photograph hanging on the wall.

Two young boys. A father.

Their suits. Well-tailored. Designer.

Your breath hitched, Jungkook’s fingers slid across your slit.

“I love you baby” He mumbled as his lips returned to yours. “So fucking much, I almost hate you for it”

Two boys. A father.

Two.

“You’re an only child, right?”

Jungkook’s actions halted.

“Yeah,” He wiped his lips, “My mom died when I was young.”

“Any, other relatives…?” You slid off the counter carefully, pieces in your mind beginning to fit together.

Jungkook’s face hardened. Jaw stiff.

“Did Jimin say some bullshit to you?”

Oh God. Jimin had been hinting at some connection between Jin and Jungkook all along. You thought it had been a joke. A way to toy with Jungkook’s head.

That day. After you fucked Jungkook for the first time. Jin saw him. Jin knew him.

What if Jimin had been right? What if he had been the only one who was truly looking out for you all along?

“Did you kill Jimin?” The question had no sound. The air was still. The two of you, frozen in time.

“Come on, Y/n.” Jungkook sighed, “Jimin got what he deserved, but no I did not. He hurt you. He’s insane”

You flinched when he reached for your wrist.

He knew you figured it out.

You stepped outside the apartment. Running down the steps until you were back on the street. Outside Yoongi stood, leaning against the stone wall across the street as though he were expecting you.

“You knew” Was all you said.

Yoongi sighed, “I knew about Jungkook, but I needed to make sure if my hunch about Jin was true.”

You laughed bitterly. “That’s why my mother hated Jin. Because,” You couldn’t even say it. It made you want to vomit.

“Jin is a Jeon”

You blinked back tears. “But, why would he kill his own father?”

“Unless, he didn’t”

“Oh my God. You think…” You exhaled, feeling weak again. Yoongi held you upright. “Taehyung?”

He shrugged lightly, “It’s possible. More believable that a mother sends away the son who killed her lover than a son who simply witnessed something”

You were silent.

“You need to be careful” He made his voice as soft and kind as he possibly could. “I know about Hobi, but I’m honestly more suspicious of Jungkook.”

You nodded. The sun seemed to peak out from the horizon. A new day. A new betrayal.

Then the sound of the voice on the phone hit you. Run. So familiar. Like a ghost.

“Yoongi?”

“Yeah love?”

“Did you call my phone earlier?”

He shook his head. “No…why?”

“You’re back early” Taehyung answered the door, “Figured you’d spend the whole night with the Detective” His bland tone seemed to have been revived. You were too bewildered to care. You pushed past him, Yoongi following behind. Taehyung greeted him nicely. “Hyung”

You slumped into the couch immediately. Hand on your forehead as if it would ease the pounding.

Yoongi watched you, concerned. Taehyung looked to him for an explanation.

“So listen,” Yoongi cleared his throat. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but we still need to stay focused on pushing Hoseok out. The shareholders will be at the casino this evening for the anniversary gala”

“Yoongi” You laughed bitterly, “I don’t want to—”

“Y/n,” He responded, adamant, “This is what it’s like. You can’t hide just because shit’s hard. You’re not Jin’s princess anymore, you have responsibilities if you want back what’s yours. Taehyung isn’t ready to handle society on his own. He needs you”

A tear rolled down your cheek.

“Get some sleep” Yoongi rested his hand on your shoulder, caressing it gently. “It’s 7 AM, you’ve got plenty of time to get yourself together” His gaze diverted to Taehyung. “Black tie formal. I’ll send a suit for you. Make sure this one starts getting dressed at least 3 hours before we leave—she takes forever”

You let out a sad laugh, knowing Yoongi was trying to cheer you up but failing epically when all you had was a broken heart and impending doom.

Yoongi left, but Taehyung remained standing in front of you. A safe distance away, he simply observed you.

“You can sit you know” You grumbled.

He didn’t react. Didn’t move an inch.

“What’s wrong?” He inquired after a moment.

“Nothing,” You chuckled, “Just another missed opportunity for you to be the cause of my misery.”

“Was it,” Taehyung took a deep breath. Pausing, considering his next words carefully, “Was it him? Did the Detective hurt you?”

His eyes seemed to flash with something you couldn’t quite read.

“No” You stood up finally, “No the Detective is just another lying, manipulative asshole like the rest of you”

You walked past him, heading towards the foyer.

“I thought you loved him”

You whirled around. How he had managed to pick that up, you had no idea.

“I’ve decided I’m done with love” You stated confidently, “I end up falling for liars anyway”

You proceeded to storm up the stairs.

You were woken up by the sound of soft footsteps. Squinting, the evening sun blaring into your room, you noticed Taehyung pacing nervously outside of your room.

He was dressed.

Yoongi must have come by with the suit. It fit him perfectly. His dark hair was styled, tousled but neater than usual. His shoulders were prominent. The tailoring was perfect for his lean figure, and long legs. A gold watch on his wrist. It looked natural. He wore it so well.

Just like his brother.

Run.

“You’re awake” Finally, Taehyung stepped inside your room.

“Get dressed” He motioned towards a dry-cleaning bag that lay on your desk.

“Taehyung,” You sat upright, wiping the drool from your lips, “You look very handsome”

He blinked at you. Then walked away.

If you had any lingering doubt in your mind that the man by your side was in fact, Kim Taehyung—they were utterly dismissed. His Kim colors were shining. Despite his typical cold nature to you, Taehyung was the embodiment of charm.

Stepping into the casino, he had been initially overwhelmed by the stimulus: the lights, the slot machining whirring with bright colors, the crowd. You could feel him visibly tense even though he remained an appropriate distance away from you at all times. Close enough that folks knew you’d come together. Far enough to show you that he hadn’t forgotten about what happened.

The first few people who’d approached you had been friends of his mothers. You knew everyone well, everyone knew you. Taehyung would be quiet, shy at first, but it was that very aspect of his personality that made him alluring. He knew exactly what to say. His observant nature allowed him to navigate the different dynamics, pick up on cues expertly.

The elders respected his aura. The young were entranced by his mystery.

Every person he talked to was ready to trust him with their life. And if that wasn’t a Kim trait, you weren’t sure what was.

The only hiccups would arise when folks would bring up the past.

“Aren’t you two getting engaged?” Mr. Lee, one of Kim Enterprises’ stakeholders, asked politely, “So tragic what happened to dear Seokjin. But have you rescheduled?”

With speedy hesitation, Taehyung slid a hand onto the small of your back, looking into your eyes. There was a genuine passing of emotion, ever so subtle. He spoke, to Mr. Lee, but really—to you.

“In time” He smiled slightly. Looking back to Mr. Lee, “We are still mourning, in our own way”

“I’m sure Jin would be so proud of you”

You felt Taehyung tense at the implication. He maintained his composure, nevertheless, but you could see the turmoil stirring within him. Mr. Lee excused himself, and you turned to Taehyung, searching his eyes.

The mere mention of Jin had been pushing him closer and closer to the edge all night.

“Tae” You sighed, caressing his arm. “Want to take a break?”

“Please” His response was curt, but you could see his other hand balled up in a fist. Jin’s name had such a radial effect on him—one that reminded you that despite his ability to play the social field, he was dangerous.

Taehyung followed you to the backrooms where a younger crowd was immersed in pool, poker, and other debauchery.

“They loved you”

Taehyung merely shrugged. “Play the man, not the game” His eyes ghosted over you, “You taught me that”

You snorted lightly, as you found a quieter spot away from the buzz, Taehyung leaned against a wall, looking at ease.

“Taehyung, do remember how to play pool?” You asked suddenly as the billiard table came into your vision.

Taehyung thought for a moment. “Not really. But I’ll learn”

“Winner makes a wish, loser fulfills it” You challenged him. You really couldn’t help yourself. Being in the casino made you crave risk. But Taehyung wasn’t ready for high stakes, you knew that.

“Fine”

You start off expertly. Taehyung handed you the pool cue, the smooth wood cool against your fingertips.

"Alright, let me show you the basics," you said, positioning yourself near the table with a practiced ease.

He watched intently, his eyes following the calculated movements of your hands as you lined up a shot.

You demonstrated the proper stance, the controlled grip, and the delicate finesse required to send a ball into the pocket. With each shot, you explained the strategy, the physics of the angles, and the importance of precision.

You hit the shot expertly. With a smirk, you put down the pool cue and motioned for Taehyung to take your place.

"Your turn, Tae."

He eyed you skeptically but took the cue, positioning himself for the shot. You stepped behind him, your hand gently guiding his.

You’d never been so close to him. Not since the day you reunited, and he hugged you. And asked: are you scared of me, Princess?

Ever since then, there were oceans between you that you could only dream of crossing. He smelled good, you couldn’t help breathing in his fresh aura. The dimly lit room seemed to fade away just for a moment, and you wondered if he was effected like you were.

"Now, focus," you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear, though you maintained a level of indifference in your tone.

Taehyung's breath hitched imperceptibly, but he composed himself, focusing on the game. With your guidance, he took the shot, sinking the ball into the pocket expertly.

"Perfect," you praised, the ghost of a smile on your lips. "See, you’re a natural yet again. A true Kim”

Taehyung turned to face you, his gaze intense. "Anything I am is because of you”

You stiffened. His words were both a compliment and an accusation. God, seeing this side of him made him even more terrifying, because you didn’t trust yourself not to buy into the fact that he was some pure, innocent version of his older brother. He wasn’t. Kim Taehyung was unhinged. Any second he could snap, and you were on eggshells.

“Your turn” He handed back the cue. A few shots later, the two of you were neck and neck. The ocean between you two drying up slowly with every exchange of banter.

“Done with love, huh?”

You circled him as he lined up his next shot.

“What exactly did the Detective do to make you say something like that?”

You pursed your lips. “Why, gonna go beat him up?”

With a flick of his shoulder, the ball went in. Taehyung stood straight. “Maybe. What’d he do?”

He leaned against the table, handing you the cue as you positioned yourself. “He lied. He betrayed me. And I’m tired of loving liars”

“Didn’t you also lie to him?” He challenged. You shot him a glare. “Why haven’t you told him everything?”

You hit your mark. You missed. Taehyung’s blatant honesty was always unnerving. He wasn’t one to play games. “It’s complicated. I didn’t trust him. I still don’t trust him”

“And you expected him to trust you” Taehyung shrugged blandly. He stole the cue from your hand and before you could blink, he snapped the final shot. “Seems fair”

Taehyung’s last ball went in.

He beat you.

“Well” Taehyung huffed, trying to hide his gleaming pleasure. You almost wanted to roll your eyes. “I suppose that’s that” He looked at you expectantly.

“Okay Kim Taehyung, what wish can I grant you?” Cue in hand, you pretended to curtsy. Taehyung grabbed the end of the stick, using it to tug you towards him.

The space between you vanished. Only the cue between you, until Taehyung pulled it from your grip and set it aside.

There was something unrecognizable in his eyes. He licked his lips unconsciously.

“Well?” You looked up at him, suddenly aware of his height.

His fingers held your chin, tilting your face upward. Except his touch wasn’t harsh. Wasn’t painful.

Taehyung inhaled.

Your eyes widened as he closed his mouth over yours. His eyes shut—kissing you with a depraved delicateness. As if he was drinking your soul like he was the devil himself.

A touch so tender, and yet it seemed to steal away every last bit of purity within you, leaving behind a raging storm. Activating something so sinful—so wicked. All due to the decadent taste of his delicate lips.

He pushed your mouth open, deepening the kiss. And you—you were lost. Still utterly shocked that—Kim Taehyung was kissing you. The Kim Taehyung that wanted you dead. The Kim Taehyung who blamed you for everything—was actually kissing you.

It wasn’t like you’d never thought about it. The two of you no longer had to get engaged, but you lived with the man. And he was gorgeous. His quiet, mesmerizing charm. Enigmatic, smoldering and yet so calm. Who knew beneath that cold demeanor there was a tsunami waiting to be unleashed?

He didn’t give you an opportunity to question him. His lips felt too good on yours for you to care. The casino around you seemed to vortex—everything spinning: the colorful lights—until you were airborne.

Floating. Dizzy. Afraid to fall but so fucking glad you were in the sky.

His mouth coaxed out your fierceness until you began to feel impatient. You placed your hand on his pounding chest, a light push until he sat down on the bench. You slid into his lap, no longer thinking—no longer caring that you were in public. That there was a room full of people in the casino who could be staring. Taking pictures. Gossiping.

They were all dead for all you cared.

You gasped audibly, a soft moan as he pulled you impossibly closer. You were losing your breath. On the verge of fainting—overwhelmed with sensations. Everything was heightened—everything felt alive.

His hand was behind your neck, the other one on the small of your back. Both yours in his wavy black—cloud like hair.

He pulled away, finally—barely. Catching his breath. His chest rising as fast as yours, offset by his erratic heartbeat. He was nervous.

Was that his first kiss?

He swallowed, uncomfortably on edge. His eyes were dark with desire. An angry kind of lust.

You searched your mind for words. Something to tell him that he did so good. That you loved it—and you wanted more. He was searching your gaze for something, but you were speechless.

So you kissed him again. Because how the hell else are you supposed to communicate.

“Taehyung” Your hands moved to cup his cheeks. You shifted, letting your body roll against his. Grinding against him slow and sensual, letting your movements mimic those of your lips. He was hard—painstakingly so. And he felt so good tucked between your legs. Throbbing for you. Both his hands lowered to your hips, then back up your back as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you—or maybe he couldn’t believe you were real.

His hold was strong—not rough. Touch intentional but not desperate. He took his time with you as if he had all the time in the world, but was still somehow starved. Drinking from you was his only salvation. You—you were his salvation. And he was your ruin.

He pushed you away, suddenly. You blinked, dizzy from the loss of touch. Sensitive and damp, heart throbbing fast. He didn’t meet your gaze.

“Fuck”

You could see the judgmental stares all around. Rolling your jaw you smirked at the crowd.

“We own this place. I’d mind your business”

The chatter dissipated. You redirected your attention back onto Taehyung.

“Taehyung?” Your voice was soft. “You okay?”

You noticed how tightly he was gripping the table. His head down, looking anywhere but up at you. Eyes wide, spiraling in thought.

“I—” He exhaled, closing his eyes again.

Was he--?

You couldn’t help yourself. You knew he’d despise you for it—but Kim Taehyung already despised you. You weren’t going to pass up a chance to feel him cum.

You shifted his chair so he was facing away from prying eyes. Carefully you snuck under the pool table, clawing at his pants.

His fingers pulled your hand away. A warning glare.

You yanked your hand away, unzipping his pants and letting his pretty cock spring free.

You clicked your tongue. Poor thing was ready to burst.

Licking your lips, you let your tongue glide from his base all the way up his length where you left a soft, sweet kiss on his tip. You slid his tip into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked.

Flattening your tongue, you let his cock rest there. Like a dog, you waited for him to cum all over you.

Then you looked up at him.

His eyes locked onto yours—and they were wild.

He hissed, shooting into your mouth. You drank up everything he had to give—and it was quite a bit. He bucked over, knuckles turning white. The bite into his lip released blood with how hard he was trying to stay quiet. You let him push his cock into the hollow of your cheek and spurts continued to flow out of him. You rested your hand on his knee, and his hand covered yours. Holding it tenderly—as if he were thanking you.

You cleaned him up quickly, before returning to your seat, adjusting your dress inconspicuously.

You grinned at him, but he was not amused at all. Still panting.

“Was that your wish?” You beamed at him. He chuckled softly.

“I just wanted to know what it felt like”

It was an innocent intention. Almost heartwarming.

“And, what do you think?” You leaned into him, “Did I rock your world, Kim Taehyung?”

“You are my world. There was never a doubt”

His eyes glossed over. You wanted to melt in his gaze. Unravel. Instead, you were plunged into cold water.

“Fancy seeing you two here”

The hairs on your body straightened. Chills seeping over you at the familiar voice, laced with betrayal.

“Jung Hoseok” He extended a hand to Taehyung, “Pleasure’s all mine baby boy” Taehyung skeptically shook it.

Hobi was extremely amused at what he had walked in on. Of course, a whore like you would take a matter of days to wrap the young Kim boy around your finger.

“Nice job leashing the puppy” He muttered, cigarette at the edge of his lips. The smoke wisping past your unamused expression.

“I should kill you” Hobi grinned at your response.

“No need,” He tapped the cigarette ash on the edge of the ash tray. He had brough you to his private booth. Leaving Taehyung for the wolves.

“What do you want, Hobi? I don’t want to leave Taehyung alone too long”

“Why?” He leaned closer to you. His hand resting on your bare thigh. Your dress was so fucking slutty, he loved it. He always loved the way you’d dress to gamble. As if your body gave you an edge—it did. He knew you crumbled rich playboy’s resolve with one bat of your pretty eyes. “Are you so desperate for dick you’d take your lover’s little brother’s virginity?”

You rolled your eyes. “I asked you a fucking question,”

“A birdy told me that you found out about Jin’s daddy”

You squinted at him. “What about it?”

“Don’t you want to know the whole story?” Hobi’s fingers hooked under the straps of your dress, playing with them. “Of the infamous Jeon family? And your mother—the woman who tore down a legacy”

His hand slid between your legs.

“Long long ago, the entire arms distribution business lay in the hands of one famous Korean gangster. Jeon Junghyun.”

He brushed against your clit. Gentle circles while he gazed into your eyes. A wicked grin. Like he could kiss you or stab you in the back.

You latched onto his arm as he lured you towards an orgasm. His face burying against your neck, breathing you in as he continued to touch you. Nothing except your soft whimpers in the air.

The heat from his body infected your every nerve. His breath scalding over your cheek.

“Then there was this clever little bitch” You inhaled sharply, edging forward towards your high. He could tell—because he pressed a little harder.

“Who manipulated her way to the top. Gained favor of everyone under him and took him out with a stab to the back” His hands roamed your body, sliding up your dress. He pushed the fabric up until it bunched up above your breasts which he grabbed at eagerly.

Thumbs rolling over your nipples, he continued “She took everything from him, leaving him and his two sons to rot. But she wasn’t cruel. She let him stay as her right-hand”

Hobi left a soft kiss against your left breast. Then another. And another. His thumb back onto your clit, he licked and suckled you. You gasped—looking at him with big, pleading eyes. Curving into his touch.

“She grew the business. An arms distribution pipeline can be used for a lot of things. She went legit. Bought out other companies with the blood money. Began distributing just about everything.”

He licked your lips. The sensation like that of slowly sinking into absolute, soft bliss. Licking down your jaw, fluttering desperate hisses across your neck.

Then, he slipped one finger in—your face heating at the sound. You clenched around the protrusion and he reached deep inside. Working you slowly, carefully—before adding in another.

His kisses trailed back up to your mouth. His breaths were heavy, swallowing your moans. It was hauntingly intimate.

“Hobi” You pleaded, gripping onto him as you shook. Orgasm sweeping over you like an earthquake. Tremors from your heart to every finger and toe in your body. He was so wildly aroused that he couldn’t look away. His fingers were steady nevertheless, pumping you through it. “Fuck, Hobi please”

“Jeon Jungkook wants you dead sweetheart” The pain from his words pushed you over the edge. You soaked over his fingers, twitching wildly. “And so did his hyung. Kim Seokjin.”

The brisk night air bit at your skin as you seized Taehyung's wrist, pulling him outside. People were chattering, smoking cigars, the lights from the casinos madness still polluting the air. Limousines, sleek and imposing, formed a line ready to usher the remaining guests to their destinations.

Waving down a driver, you led Taehyung inside one. The plush leather seats cool against your exposed legs. The interior lit so you could see him in front of you, clear as day.

The light shut. Instead there were light sparkles on the ceiling of the limo as it began to move. The champagne swirled in your mind as you leaned back, looking out the window. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Like a rush, you wanted to lose yourself.

Your eyes shut for a moment. Remembering the way the light danced on your fac when you were with Jungkook that night at the club. Yearning for his touch, the look in his eyes when he told you how he felt.

You swallowed thickly, heart in too much pain to go down that road. You looked at Taehyung next to you, instinctively reaching out to touch his face. Gently, you took hold of his chin, coaxing his gaze to meet yours.

Your thumb traced over his cheek. Fingers dancing over his soft, delicate skin. His eyes fluttered close as you did. Teasing the edge of his lips ever so lightly. He really was a beautiful man. His lips looked soft. Devastating, with the way his shaken breath made them tremble.

He leaned into your touch, your fingers sliding up over his ear, pushing his hair out of his face. It felt like you were getting kicked in the chest repeatedly. Every part of you feeling numb but simultaneously sensitive to even the slightest movement of air.

He exhaled. The flow of his breath wavering. Or was it a moan, you weren’t sure.

You were about to pull your hand away, until Taehyung’s over fingers gripped your wrist. He stared at you, pupils wide. It was these moments where you felt like you could see him. His soft, vulnerable side, behind those concrete walls.

To your surprise, he brought your hand up to his face, kissing the inside of your wrist.

His lips softly melted into the sensitive area. Your breath hitched.

It was furiously intimate.

Holding your hand still, his eyes blinked back up at you. Almost as though he were asking permission.

Your throat was dry. The alcohol loosening the knots on your sense of logic.

His eyes traced over you, dipping down your entire body. The way he sat, leaning so his knees almost touched yours. The leather suddenly felt so hot against your skin. Under his flaming stare.

He inhaled, steady, before leaning into you. Tracing his nose behind your ear. You shivered. His touch making you dizzy. Needy. Quivering.

“You looked beautiful tonight”

They were plain words.

When he said them, they meant the world. Something bloomed inside you. You were spinning and breathless, mouth parting in shock. His lips barely grazing under your jaw.

He backed away, putting distance between you yet again.

Namjoon stood in the foyer, waiting for you to come home. The moment the door swung open, you darted into his embrace. It felt like a familiar haven, and he effortlessly hoisted you up, cradling you in a desperate hug, afraid you might vanish if he let go.

"I missed you," Namjoon murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek before reluctantly releasing you. His gaze then shifted to Taehyung, pride in his voice. "You too. You look great, Taehyung. I heard you went to the casino."

Taehyung's response was measured. "Are you out on bail?"

"No," Namjoon replied with a hint of bitterness, "Yoongi blackmailed Jungkook into letting me go."

Your heart tightened at his name.

"Where is he? I want to see him”

“Absolutely not” Namjoon was firm. “We don’t know how dangerous he is. I have some of my guys looking into it with Yoongi. He sure as hell had been in contact with Jin in the weeks leading up to his murder”

Namjoon cupped your face. “But other than that, it’s over. He won’t contact you. You’re free. I don’t want you worrying about this anymore”

You wanted to laugh at the term. Free. Especially since Namjoon was already back to telling you what you could and couldn’t do.

“What about Nexus?”

Namjoon smiled, taking your hand in his. “Come with me,”

You followed him. Taehyung a few paces behind. Namjoon brought you into the garden. There were a million fireflies. Out of the corner of your eye, you glanced at Taehyung, wondering if he remembered your tender moment in this same spot.

Namjoon lowered onto one knee.

Fuck. It was one of those moments where everything was so still. So quiet yet extremely loud in your chest. He smiled. Eyes meeting yours. Brimming.

“Marry me”

Your mouth was dry. The moisture building in your eyes instead. It hurt, deep inside because your mind took you to a certain tattooed, mean and yet tender man who you had left behind.

“Let me give you everything, Y/n” Namjoon continued, “The papers. The stocks. The business. You deserve it all and I will give it to you. I’ve done you wrong, and I know you aren’t where I am. I know you loved someone else”

His proposal hung in the luminous space. His words echoed in your ears. His gaze held both sincerity and vulnerability. He waited for your response, standing up so his fingers could brush against the side of your face. The fireflies flickered like stars behind him.

“I hope someday, it can be more than an arrangement. Someday you might love me the way I love you. But for now, I wanted you to have the option. I will give you everything, I promise”

Tears blurred your vision, and you took a steadying breath. "Namjoon," you whispered, your voice fragile yet resolute. Suddenly, with the prize standing in front of you, waiting for your claim, you realized how serious your answer was. If you married Namjoon, you were signing a deal with the devil. There would be no going back.

"I need time."

His eyes reflected understanding, and he stood, pulling you into a tender embrace. "Take all the time you need," he murmured against your hair.

You could still feel Taehyung watching the scene unfold. His expression unreadable, he retreated into the shadows.

Namjoon walked you to your bedroom, and you kissed him goodnight. He urged you not to stress. To take all the time and he’d be there, waiting when you were ready. No rush. This is what you’d wanted.

So why was it so hard to say yes?

Jungkook’s face engraved into your mind. Your gut flipping. You needed to find him. Needed to talk to him without Namjoon finding out. Your phone began to buzz. Hope coursed through you. Maybe it was him.

You answered quickly, excited.

“Don’t marry him”

There was no way.

“You’re mine”

series navi | join taglist | masterlist | scream in my asks

a/n: its been a fucking MINUTE. idek how to do thia anymore, please enjoy and let me know what you think !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TAEHYUNG omfg come scream with me pls thanks

and thank you for reading you hawtie <3

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heartfullofleeches · 5 months ago

Note

I've really been missing ff reader interacting with the bathroom succubus, they were a quick favourite of mine. Maybe like the reader getting bored and braiding their hair.

Standing outside the smoldering remains of the kitchen, your eyes gradually drift in the direction of your coworker as the flames rage on within the building. Screams of the firemen sent to take care of the fire drown beneath the groan and snap of wood. You probably could've gone the rest of your life without learning ninety percent of the repairs in that building were at the sacrifice of human flesh, but same as with the rest of the horrors you witness you shove it to the back of your mind until it inevitably haunts your nightmares.

"Whelp.... There goes my weekend. Lambchop will be fine in the freezer, but I know they're worried sick about me. Anyway, I'd say it'll be about...." You gadge the time with your hand, measuring the minutes it takes for human bone to fully merge with the floorboards. "Ten....fifteen minutes before things are back to normal. Can you do that thing you do with your hair so I can braid it?"

"You mean this?"

The succubus combs her fingers through her hair, the messy, uneven ends of her pixie cut growing longer, finer with each stroke. Her hair stops at the small of her back by the time she's finished, the dark roots of her natural hair color peaking from the same blonde dye still stain the bathroom walls.

"Why do you even dye your hair when you can change your hair and eye color whenever you want?"

"Sometimes it changes just from me thinking about a color. Gave an old guy a heart attack when my hair turned the same shade of red as your hat. It was kinda funny at the time, but then he started haunting the bathroom which is my territory so I had to get rid of him."

"Are you talking about David? Aw, I kinda liked that guy... He was going to teach me how to do my taxes. Sit down here, please."

Pointing down at the only fresh plot of grass this parking lot had to offer, you plop down beside the succubus as she sits with her legs tucked under her. Even sitting down she was a few inches taller than you. Like other parts of her, her height fluctuated depending on the day and her mood. You prop yourself up on your knees as you part her hair in three sections, weaving one over the other as she fishes her phone out of her pocket.

The succubus pretends to check through her messages, your eyes meeting every single time she opens the camera to peer over her shoulder. Staring down at her phone, you catch a glimpse of the stars. It isn't every night you pay attention to what's up there.

"This is nice...."

"Yeah....." The succubus positions an elbow on your knee - the shutter of a camera not going unnoticed as you look up at the night sky. Your hands function on autopilot, threading her hair down the curve of her spine. You can make out the tips of her small horns at this angle, hidden beneath the fluff of her curls.

"Hey, Lye...."

"Yeah?"

"You know you don't have to burn down the kitchen so I'll spend time with you, right?"

"Yeahhhhh, but your break wasn't for another hour. I needed my you time now."

"....Fair point."

#yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere blurb #female yandere #Fast food reader #yandere demon x reader

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spacebarbarianweird · 9 months ago

Text

The Dragon Made of Threads

Synopsis: Astarion is making a gift for you.

Tags: fluff

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion’s mind doesn’t let him rest.

The reverie is supposed to be a blessing, the only way for the True People to remember their long lives. But his long life was nothing but misery until very recently and he keeps being dragged into the darkness.

Oh, Astarion was so naive to believe it could have been over by killing his master and having the “rebirth” experience on the grave.

His past haunts him.

“You are tired,” you touch his forehead as if trying to sense fever. “You need some rest.”

“My sweet, elves can survive without trance for a week. And I am undead. I am fine.”

“You don't look fine. You have dark circles and your eyelids are puffy again. You need to rest.”

“No, I don’t!” He tries to sound confident but instead his voice resembles a rebellious teenager.

You are right, of course. The elves can survive without reverie for a week, the same way non-elves can make it through one or two sleepless nights. Then, the body and mind collapse.

But entering the reverie… Reliving tortures and humiliation… Feeling the same sense of misery and horror and hopelessness… No, he can’t do that. Not now. Not ever.

You are ready to sleep - it’s the first time in a month that you sleep in the room, not in the tent - the thick curtains protect Astarion from the merciless sun.

“Please,” you yawn. “Meditate.”

“I will.”

“Don’t lie to me, please, I know when you are dishonest.”

Astarion grins. “Oh, my sweet, I am no liar. I am going to reverie once you fall asleep. I just like watching you when the dreams take over you.”

“Astarion, when you say the truth your eyes are wide open. When you smirk, you lie. Listen, maybe I can do something? Something to make you… think about something pleasant? It’s been a year! There are a lot of good memories to relive. Let’s just find a way to point your mind in the right direction!”

A year of good memories. Well, a little bit more. Four months of having a tadpole in his brain, experiencing freedom and sunlight, falling in love, learning how to feel again, and how to be alive. All these memories are precious, even the ones he is embarrassed about. For example, using you in his own favor. It doesn’t matter you’ve forgiven him - it still hurts.

Astarion sighs and lies beside you. Your arms immediately wrap around him. The familiar warmth is so tender that Astarion lets himself slip away into the reverie.

He is indeed tired.

He needs to rest.

But instead of grasping a good memory, a pleasant or at least bearable, his mind collapses into the abyss.

Chained to the wall. Bleeding. Hurting. He can’t scream anymore. It’s an old memory from when he was still hoping. He begs for mercy but no one listens. Hunger. Pain. Blood. Again, again.

The master is whistling, carving the symbols on Astarion’s back with a silver dagger. The cursed metal feels like melted lava.

Astarion doesn’t need to sleep, neither does the vampire lord.

This is your life, forever. You are doomed. No one will save you.

No! No! It’s not true! It will end! It will take two centuries, two long and miserable centuries, but it will come to an end!

Astarion screams in the past until his throat burns.

“Astarion! Astarion!”

He feels the warm hands shaking his shoulders. He returns to reality like a drowned man from the dark waters, numb and restless.

You don’t say anything and he collapses into your arms, crying like a lost child.

“I can’t… I can’t… I need to rest… But I can’t…”

His back… His back is still bleeding, he can feel it, but your fingers caress the scars. It’s all over. It’s been more than a year. He will never return to those dungeons. No one will ever mutilate him again.

You let him go and pick up the travel sack in the corner.

“I bought something at the potion merchant. I think it might help.”

“Please, I - I can… handle…”

You take out a bottle with a golden liquid.

Angelic sleep potion.

The only way to make an elf experience regular sleep.

“No.”

“Astarion, what choice do you have? One more day like this and you won’t be able to walk on your own. You need it.”

“No! I am not drinking this! My mind keeps bringing me real nightmares and I have heard all about the creepy dreams and nightmares the sleeping mind can weave!”

“But it won't be reality! Besides, when a non-elf is exhausted like you, they don’t see dreams.”

“But I won’t be able to escape it. With reverie at least I know it’s a memory!”

You sit beside Astarion and hug him. “Please. If you don’t want to do this for yourself, do this for me. I can’t see you suffering like this.”

Astarion sighs. “You are manipulative, you know?”

“Learned from a professional”.

Astarion adjusts himself back on the bed and opens the bottle. The potion smells intoxicating. “But I do this only for you.”

“And I am grateful for your sacrifice.”

Astarion drains the bottle and before he manages to acknowledge anything, sleep takes him.

He sees visions and images. Places and people. Some are familiar, and some are not. His mind weaves the dreams out of emotions, memories, and experiences.

Astarion dreams of a dragon.

It’s an ancient species of dragons, otherworldly. A majestic creature capable of carrying a dragon rider on its back.

Astarion rides this dragon above the Trackless Sea. There is nothing but the water and open blue skies.

And the sun.

It feels like cat fur on his skin, gentle and warm.

Astarion wakes up still dizzy with the unrealness of what he saw.

And he feels amazing.

His body is rested, and his mind is clear. The dream was so vivid that Astarion would believe he was once a dragon rider if he didn’t know about the weird fantasies of non-elven dreams.

He looks at you, sound asleep in the bed. His. You are his. And he is yours. What a sheer amount of luck made you meet each other? And how lucky he is you chose him.

It is still afternoon, hours before the sunset and he knows too well you won't wake up till evening.

Astarion needs to occupy himself with something. He gets up, stretches his arms, and then sees your traveling cape on the floor.

“Such a messy little thing”, he chuckles. Astarion picks up the cape and notices a hole in the fabric.

Astarion takes his sewing kit from the traveling sack. He loves repairing things for you - complaining all the way, of course - but he never lets you sew yourself.

And then the idea comes to his mind.

Instead of black threads, he picks the red ones. It takes him a few attempts to understand how to do that but then the stitches come naturally from his fingers.

A dragon soaring in the skies. A divine creature from other planes. A beast that came to him in his dreams.

Astarion carefully embroiders the body of the dragon, then the wings and a stream of fire from its mouth.

He still has a lot of threads left and he starts embroidering the other dragon on the opposite side of the cape.

Then he notices something has changed.

The curtain is wide open and the moonlight streams inside the room. You sit beside him, smiling at his work.

“Oh, sorry, my sweet. I’ve been carried away��”

“It’s all right. I like watching you sew. But it’s the first time I see you making something like this.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course!” you touch the embroidered dragons. “So real! I didn’t know you could do such things!”

“I- I’ve seen them. In a dream.”

The tender fingers touch his curls. “You’ve rested, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I have,” Astarion hands you the cape. “If you want, I can add more. I just need more threads”.

You smile and kiss him. “Of course, I do. Thank you.”

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion angst #astarion drabble #astarion short fic #spacebarbarian fics #astarion fluff #astarion comfort #baldur's gate post game #Valentine Day Fic Exchange

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

Shameless

Sequel to Graceless

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: Here we are. The sequel but not the end.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

The string of the glove’s seam trails loosely from the thumb. You twist the thread, playing with it, but doing little to mend it. Even with a needle in hand, you have no whim to darn. There are many things in life that cannot be repaired no matter how you try. Occurrences which cannot be taken back.

You pull at the seam until a hole forms in it. You poke your finger through with no heed for the glove’s integrity. You detest that pair anyhow. The very same you wore… that day.

Albina lays at the foot of the bed, her head bent back over the edge as she peruses one of her novellas. Hannah and Cora disappeared ages ago and you only just heard them through the windows. They are likely causing chaos in the gardens. You hope your mother finds them and issues a reprimand for their immaturity.

The autumn thins the air as it creeps in around the window frame and you smell that discerning scent of dirt and leaves. Only a week and it feels as if the whole world has changed seasons. Your world has transformed irrevocably.

There’s a clatter and you glance over as Albina rolls onto her side. She’s always hated to be disturbed amid her stories. She huffs and falls onto her back to begin again, but the door bursts open, your two other sisters tromping through with excitement.

Albina shuts her book loudly and sighs as she sits up. You go back to your exploration of the glove, watching the thread stretch along the seam as you tug. If only that were Cora. If only you could rent her pretty hair from her pretty head. Or in the least, swat the smug grin from her lips.

You can’t even look at her. It just makes you think of him. Of how stupid you’d been. You believed his promises were meant for you but it’s only as you relive that haunting episode every night that you realise, he never proclaimed his intent for you, only alluded to a vague offer. Another mean trick.

“Lord Rogers has sent a gift,” Cora trills as she stands at the vanity, shuffling something unseen before her. Hannah stands at her side, bouncing with anticipation.

“Oh, what do you think it is?” Hannah chimes.

“Could you not unveil it in the sunroom, where there is no one reading?” Albina says as she drags herself to the edge of the bed, resting her book on her skirts.

“Could you not get your head out of those ridiculous fancies,” Cora retorts over her shoulder, “if you ever do for long enough, you might just find a husband too.”

You don’t look up. You refuse to give her the satisfaction. You haven’t missed her wandering glances, how she taunts you without even a word. She turns back to her gift and rustles beneath the thick paper.

“Oh, heavens,” she swoons and spins, “isn’t it beautiful?”

“Are those rubies?” Hannah preens.

“I think.”

“Garnet?” Albina suggests.

“No, no, surely they are rubies,” Cora insists. “Do you see?” She swirls around the room closer to you, “I must find the perfect gown to wear with this. Oh, he would fawn to see me in his ribbon, wouldn’t he, sister?”

You grip the glove tight as her figure looms over you. With your other hand, you clutch the needle, letting it jab into your palm until your eyes prick. You nod, “very beautiful.”

You stand the moment you get the words free of your dry throat. You try to smile but can only muster a strained grimace. You try to step past Cora but she moves with you.

“You’ve not even looked,” she says, “how would know how beautiful it is?”

“Cora, please.”

“No, no, have a look. It’s so elegant, isn’t it?”

You clamp your lips together. Your insides tangle painfully. Even as the tenderness leaves the bruises in your thighs, you swear they hurt just as much as the day after. You sniff.

“Please, move out of my way,” you beg.

“Oh, sister, why must you be so dour? Is that jealousy I sense?”

“No,” you snarl. Jealousy. Oh, something much deeper, something agonizing. “I said move.”

“Move? Well, it looks like I am the first to wear a title so it is me who should be issuing the orders, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Cor, you are not duchess yet,” Albina reproaches, “let her pass.”

The heat rises up your back and crawls onto your neck. You feel like you’re suffocating. You feel like the walls are closer together, as if the world is hewn in fire. It is all burning down around you.

“She is being a sour little brat about it, Al,” Cora snaps, “it isn’t fair of her to ruin my engagement. I don’t know where she ever got the idea that Lord Rogers had any mind for h–”

You don’t think. You need to get out of here. You shove Cora out of your way and stomp past her as she gasps. You drop the glove as the needle sinks further into your palm. You sweep out of the door and hurry down the corridor. You hear her, whining pitifully as you flee.

“She shoved me! She–”

“Oh, you did goad her,” Albina’s quiet scolding follows you to the stairs, “put that ribbon away, you’ll only ruin it.”

Ruin…

The word clings to you as you barrel down the stairs, as if running from your own shame and anger. You love your sister, you would never wish anything horrid on her, but you can’t help that small whisper in your mind that suggests that Lord Rogers may just treat her as cruelly as he has done you.

💙

The autumn continues its slow advance, nipping in the air and at the foliage alike. You smell the crispness as it wafts through the open window of the carriage, cooling the cluster of bodies within. Your father rides with the driver, guffawing loudly with the clop of hooves. Your mother fans herself as she needles away with her relentless critique.

…Albina, push your shoulders back; Hannah, keep your lips shut tight, you don’t need horseflies wandering in; You, fix your bonnet, it is dipping at the front; Oh, Cora, isn’t that a lovely ribbon…

You try not to mope. The more you do, the more pleasure Cora takes in her victory. You will forget it, you will go on as you’ve ever done. Dejected. You fold one hand around the other, your palm tender from the bite of the needle still wrought into your flesh.

You look up as the carriage slows. The lush green of the promenade tinges with edges of russet and patches of goldenrod. Lords and ladies stroll along the brickwork walkway, skirts swishing around languid steps, arms hooked in one another, others perched upon benches or huddled around the grand fountain at the center.

Your father climbs down as the driver unlatches the door. Your mother emerges first, her fan clapping shut sharply and knocking against the frame. Cora is second, then Albina, Hannah, and yourself. You come out behind them and feel your height all the more. You hunch and grip your wrist tight.

“Do not slouch,” your mother looks back and raps your arm with her fan, “no lord wants to walk alongside a hobbling giant.”

“Yes, mother,” you correct yourself and let your vision drift off into a vacant blur.

“Ladies,” a familiar timbre approaches with a pair of footsteps, “you’ve arrived.”

You refuse to look at Lord Rogers as he stands just along your peripheral. He greets your mother with a cordial bow of his head and shakes your father’s hand. At last, he addresses his betrothed as she wiggles in her skirts and nearly squeaks.

“Lord Rogers,” she drawls, “I wore the rubies.”

“Beautiful,” he praises, “my lady, might I request a stroll upon the promenade?”

“Aye, you may,” your father answers, volunteering himself as escort.

“Sir,” Rogers accepts elegantly and offers his arm to Cora, “and perhaps a few more daughters might care to join us?”

“They will remain with me,” your mother insists, “we would like to see the roses.”

You wait until they’ve departed to dare a peek at them. Lord Rogers struts away confidently with his arm through Cora’s. Your father trails them with his brass-tipped cane. Your ribs rack as if they might collapse in on themselves.

“Come girls, the autumn will wilt away the roses,” your mother declares, “let us make our rounds, perhaps we might have two engagements this season, hm?”

You linger behind the others. You keep your head down as you watch the toes of your boots poke out from beneath your skirts with each step. Your led by the hem of your sisters ahead of you.

As you approach the hoop of rose bushes, there is an unexpected furor. Voices trill and flutter, a booming laugh that rolls like thunder. You raise your eyes and see a blond head above a cluster of hats. You don't recognise the lord amid the clan of amused men.

"How rowdy," your mother remarks in her curmudgeon way.

She ignores the pluck of glee for the thorny tangles. Hannah and Albina give longing looks to the uproar but dutifully accompany your mother to the hedges. The eldest of your quartet pets the paling pink petals and grieves the browning at the edges.

The dullness of that moment feels like a promise. This is how life will always be for someone like you. You will never know excitement, you will only ever be a witness, a scrap of collateral left to squander.

You pretend to admire the greenery. The colours are faded and worn. Just like everything since that night. As you are.

You smell the leaves and the pollen and you're taken back to that moonlit moment. The cool air on your skin, the friction of his figure, his weight trapping you on the stone.

The leaves mesh together in a tapestry of swirling hues. You quickly dab your eyes before your tears can spill over. Those bouts come suddenly and dry up just as soon. You cannot let it take you here.

An emptiness enshrines you and you peer over to find yourself all alone. Your sisters and your mother have left you, forgotten you. Not such an unexpected plight but painful nonetheless. You turn in search of them and nearly collide with another.

You press yourself to the bushes behind you and swallow a gasp, creaking out an apology.

"Apologies, my lord, I did not see you–"

"Lady," the man greets with a courteous dip of his chin, looking down at you. Down! He is even taller than you.

The same lord with the blond hair who had a crowd raucous. You do not know him. He is rather older than any courtly debut.

"You mustn't catch yourself," he reaches around you delicately and untangles a fold of your skirt from the thorny vines, "it is too fine a dress to tarnish."

"Thank you, sir, it seems I am a bit obtuse at the moment," you force a smile.

He is very handsome. He eyes a brighter shade than even Lord Rogers and his hair even more golden. That comparison urges you back to the ground. You are still you and you cannot be so foolish as to let yourself believe contrary ever again.

"Might I–"

"I spy–"

You speak at the same time and both correct yourself. You defer and touch your lips in embarrassment, "apologies, once more, I keep treading on your toes."

"I have tough toes," he japes, "I meant to ask if I might have your name."

"Oh, yes, sir," you give him your name, "I admit I am ignorant of your own identity."

"Ah, yes, I have come from far," he grins, "Lord Thor Odinson, of Asgard."

"Asgard, why that is very far," you comment, "well, sir, it was a delight to meet you. Welcome to our homeland."

"A privilege," he returns, "if I might be so forward, as I am a stranger to this land, I would extend to you an invitation to dinner as I acquaint myself with your country. Would that be too improper?"

"Sir," you flutter your fingers at your side as you stand awkwardly before him, "I would needs ask my father."

"Yes, certainly you would, as you are unwed," he says as if untwining a riddle, "I do hope you will be permitted."

"My lord," you bow your head, "my mother…"

You look past him to your mother's fan as she beckons to you with it. Lord Odinson steps aside and extends his arm in gallant dismissal. You shift to move past him.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Allow me to thank you, lady, for entertaining my tedious conversation," he counters and you quickly flit away.

You near your mother as your other sisters crowd her. She is jibbering behind her fan, "...an ambassador," she says and snaps together the folds, "I hope you did not spoil our welcome."

"Mother?" You look at her in confusion, your cheek hot and tingling still.

"With that Lord, he did invite us to a dinner," she explains, "it would be very important for your father."

You shake your head. You don't argue. Ah, but the invitation was extended to all. Are you so foolish to think otherwise? You must shield yourself in the harsh lesson you've been taught. You are not and can never be special.

💙

The night of Lord Odinson's dinner arrives. You wear a gown of black patterned with deep green vines. Plain attire in contrast to Cora's shining scarlet silk, Alvina's buoyant blue bodice, and Hannah's deep rose sleeves. You add a simple beaded ribbon around your head, and a string of pearls around your neck.

"Dour," your mother remarks as she emerges in a tangerine satin, "ah, Cora, my darling, you look splendid. And to think, now that your engagement is public, you will be a pretty ornament on Lord Rogers' arm."

"Mother," she preens, averting her eyes in feigned modesty.

You clutch your reticule tight and glance over as you hear the approach of hooves. It is Lord Rogers' coach. The vehicle bustles towards the gates, open in expectation of him, and you look away. You can hardly bear the sight of red paint that decorates the doors.

His driver slows and breaks in the dirt. He greets your father as ever, gallant and proper. You put your teeth over your lower lip and peek up, catching the glint of Rogers' sapphire irises. His cheek dimples as his brows twitch. You swiftly rescind your gaze, favouring the dust on your slippers to him. He is as handsome as ever but to you, he is a vile cad. A demon clothed in cravat and vest.

He helps your mother first into the coach, then Cora, Hannah, Alvina, and finally yourself. He extends his gloved hand to you and you stare at his palm with disgust. You put your hand in his and step up into the vehicle. He squeezes before he lets go, a subtle tug on your skirt as you duck inside.

You sit on the bench between Albina and Hannah. You play with the strap of your reticule, focusing on it as you coil it like a snake. You only need to survive the journey to lord's manor. You've survived worse, and all at his hand.

💙

The manor is called The Nine Pillars, a rather strange name for a house, but referenced by the columns set into the stone walls. Each is topped with the facsimile of a different beast's head; a lion, a boar, a bear, a wolf, a falcon, a stallion, a bull, a viper, and an elephant. You lean over Albina to take it in, only to be nudged back to the middle.

You sigh and trail the part from the court. Attendants await your arrival at the broad steps of the manor house, the style much unlike that of the other courtly homes. The peak of the house resembles a warship overturned and the walls are without the typical white wash. It is very antiquated yet refined.

You enter the glowing hall, the glass lamps hung from the walls lit in an illuminating speckle. Voices carry from the drawing room where other guests gather and the bustle of the house staff flutters around the corridors and clamours from the kitchen. Your stole is taken by a groom and you nod in acknowledgement at his diligence. Your stomach swirls nervously.

The drawing room is a cluster of swishing skirts, flapping fans, and waggling coat tails. Your mother and father greet another older couple as your sisters disperse; Cora to show off her betrothed, Albina to whisper to Maria about her novels, and Hannah to gossip about the newest debuts. You find yourself lost before the sea of elegant figures.

You wade towards them, weaving between the bodies, looking around for any sense of welcome. Those who do see you, turn away quickly, as others pretend not to notice your towering form. You will find a place on the wall as you ever do.

"Lady," a deep voice calls but you don't bother to hear it. It cannot possibly be directed at you. It calls again, several times, before pronouncing your name. You spin to face Lord Odinson before you can retreat to your setinel against the wallpaper.

"My Lord," you greet him, "pardon me, there is much going on, I mustn't have heard you calling."

"Ah, but forgive me, it is rather uncouth to be shouting," he stops before you, "my mother always said I did blow in like a storm."

"Oh," you nod politely. You're not used to someone looking you in the eye, not without having to awkwardly contort your posture.

"She would like you, very much, I think."

"Why would you think that, my lord? You hardly know me."

"But I see you, a strong woman, built like a valkyrie. You are resilient and might I so forwardly say, resplendent."

"Sir?" You peer around, looking for an audience, for someone in collusion taking amusement from his false interest. It is always a trick.

"Again, I am the tempest, I cannot be subtle, not with a lady so stunning. Awe-inspiring. If I am the storm, you must be the sky," he remarks boldly.

You face him, a frown.

"Lady, it is a compliment," his face turns sober, "I hope I didn't overstep--"

"It is a joke. Who do you make laugh? For who am I the farce tonight?"

"Joke? Not at all. Never," he glances around the room. He is quiet as he takes in those around him. As he sees their elusive eyes and cold shoulders. "They cannot see what is right in front of them. A goddess--"

"No," you nearly sob, "no. I am not goddess." You bow your head, as you hear that same word from enough, a memory; Athena. "No sir," you put your chin up defiantly, "I will not be fooled by you."

"Fooled, my lady--"

"Excuse me," you shuffle away from him, "I need air..."

"Lady," he calls again but you elude him, delving into the crowd, marching away with head and shoulders down.

As you near the door, you hear a familiar laugh. You look to find Lord Rogers with Cora on his arm, his golden hair shining, her locks perfectly spiraled and set. He tilts his head towards her, "I call her my Athena," he says loudly, as if he knows you are listening, "for I worship her."

His eyes flick up and meet yours. You recoil and spin on your heel. Scalded, you flee into the hall and huddle into an alcove. No one would notice if you stayed out here all night.

💙

You sit among the guests at the table. The women chatter as the men speak in low voices about their business or some writ tabled in session that morning. You do neither as you're isolated in the fervor. As sherry and wine flows generously, you partake only of lemon water and loneliness.

You peer down the table and find yourself drawn to a pair of eyes. Lord Odinson. Where you expect tension or disappointment, you find only an amiable smile. He is almost dreamy as he watches you. You turn in your seat and look at Albina next to you, she's bent so far toward Hannah in her whispering that he likely cannot even see you.

You keep your gaze on the table. You will not encourage him. Lord Rogers taught you caution, he taught you your worth and not to think yourself above it. You feel suddenly sick, as if you could spew onto the table.

There is the clink of glass and someone clears their throat. The buzz around you hushes and all turn to the head of the table. You look over reluctantly. It is Lord Odinson, the host, about to make his toast. He stands, a crystal glass in hand.

"Welcome and thank you all for attending. You've all made me feel rather at home," he raises his glass and the guests mirror him. You lift yours a few seconds too late. He sets down the flute and continues, "and while you've all ingratiated me so kindly, I hope you might tolerate a little piece of my homeland."

He pauses and gestures to someone you can't see. A servant comes forward, holding a wooden box carved with symbols you don't recognise. Runes, perhaps.

"In my faith, there are the Valkyrie. They are the embodiment of female power and prestige and thus they are the keeper of our culture, of our ways. They are fertile and beautiful. So it is that each season, one lady is crowned as Valkyrie. I understand that I've come late but I am honoured to spend the season here, in your society. Thus, tonight has been more than a dinner..."

He stops as the servant opens the box. He takes out a crown of daisies wrought in gold and silver. He presents it to the room with a smile.

Cora leans forward as her eyes round in greed and the other women sit up, admiring the piece of jewelry and peeking at each other. You don't move, you stare at the wall and wait. You wonder who it will be. Maybe Cora or Maybelle and her doe eyes.

There is another lull, swollen with anticipation and intrigue. Lord Odinson gives a soft chuckle before he declares his valkyrie. No one speaks, none says a word. You blink. He speaks again.

You feel a nudge on your elbow as Albina leans towards you and whispers, "it's you."

You glance at her, then along the table. Cora's eyes are narrowed at you and Lord Rogers looks like he's chewing his own tongue. You turn your attention to Lord Odinson, trapped in surprise and disbelief.

"Yes, lady, please, come and claim your crown."

You grasp the arms of the chair and push it out as you rise. You walk stiffly, keenly aware of those watching you. You stride down the long table and near Lord Odinson. He faces you and hovers the crown over your head. You bow and he lowers it on, wiggling it to be sure it's firmly in place.

"It is I who shoulder defer to you, sweet lady," he lowers himself to a knee and bows his head, "our valkyrie."

The silence looms. You refuse to look back. You feel the stare, the disapproval, and disappointment. There's a clap and you flinch. Then another, and slowly the applause build.

Lord Odinson stands again and takes your hand, placing a kiss on your fingers. You meet his eyes, so intense you could melt.

"As I said," he keeps his timbre low, "it was not a joke."

💙

"Can I see it?" Albina asks as you go to set the crown on the narrow table.

"Oh, certainly," you turn to her. You're still burning with excitement. It's only one night, it doesn't mean anything, but it is a good night.

You hand her the crown and she takes it, admiring the craftwork with aw and showing it to Hannah as she nears. She places it on her head and rocks her shoulders.

"I am the valkyrie," she japes.

"No, I am the valkyrie," Hannah snatches the crown and dawns it.

"You are both children," Cora sneers as she shoves her ribbon of rubies into her jewelry box, "please, that lord is only here to pander to our king on his family's behalf. Nothing else."

"You're only jealous," Hannah rebukes.

"Am not," Cora stomps up and swipes the crown of daisies, "what would I need with a meaningless thing like this. Queen of what? The chimera? You don't even know what a valkyrie is."

"Nor do you," Hannah retorts.

"I do," Albina asserts, "they are an army of female warriors who lead the dead--"

"I do not give a fig," Cora flings the crown so it hits the bedframe and bounces off, "we don't believe in them here. That man is a fool."

"Oh, I saw you fawning over him, Cor," Albina goads, "don't lie. Rogers himself looked concerned."

"Fawning? Don't be silly."

You don't say a word as you go to fetch the crown from where it's fallen. You notice that one of the petals is bent out of shape. Oh, no.

"It's fine. She's right, it's just a silly crown."

"You all need to grow up," Cora insists, "as a woman soon to be married, I can see now how juvenile you lot are."

"Not married yet," Hannah snaps, "sooner the better if it means you're off."

"Charming, Hannah, I wonder why you've not had a proposal yet?"

Hannah waves her off with her hand and goes to Albina, "I'm tired. Help me out of my dress."

You turn away and set the crown on top of your own jewelry box. You take your time undoing the ribbon on your head and unclasping your pearls. You peel off your gloves and as you face the bed, you see Cora's hot glare.

"You'll see. That Lord Odinson will leave you behind and next season, you'll be on your way to a convent."

You swallow down her bitter words. Deep down, you don't doubt it. She is likely right but less than clairvoyant. You know better than any what your fate will be.

💙

You watch from the window as Cora walks in the gardens with Lord Rogers. Albina is in bed, moaning and rubbing her pelvis, as Hannah is downstairs with your mother stitching at her frame. The winds of autumn rattle the window frame and you back away, nervous to be caught observing.

You sit on the mattress and lean back against the pillow. Albina curls up on her side and faces you. You offer your hand and she latches on, squeezing. Her cramps have struck and she's already stained several shifts. Her blood has her in agony.

You don't mind keeping her company. Your own was due a week ago. You know because you've not stopped counting the days since... since Lord Rogers' proposal.

"I should hate to miss the promenade..." she mourns.

"You shouldn't miss very much," you assure her.

"Yes, but it will be cold soon. Too cold and it will snow and I will hate to go," she utters, "will you go?"

"Perhaps," you answer.

"And walk with Lord Odinson again?"

"If he wishes."

"I am certain he does. He is very friendly. Last night, when he told us of his families stronghold. About the mountains and the crossing rivers..."

"He has many stories," you agree, "and he tells them well."

"Oh, he does. He tells them for you."

"Pardon?" You nearly laugh.

"Sister, don't act clueless. He gave you his crown--"

"It was only a game."

"I do not think he plays."

"Why..."

"He always finds us on the promenade, doesn't he?"

"He is polite."

"Oh, you are stubborn."

You puff but don't argue further. She's wrong but she can't realise she is. She doesn't know what's happened, how you know for certain that he has no true intentions. That he cannot be any different than Lord Rogers.

💙

The hedges along the promenade are thinning. The roses have wilted away and the greenery curls and recedes. You wear a pair of lambskin gloves and an unlined cloak. It isn’t cold enough yet for fur.

As he does most days, Lord Rogers approaches to greet your family. Your mother and father bow to him briefly and bid their best before strolling off to meet with their peers. The betrothed couple will lead the way, as you walk behind with Hannah. Albina remains abed at home, her presence sorely missed as Hannah yawns and makes faces at the duke and his engaged.

You resist the urge to look around, to search for the man who crowned you valkyrie, the same who appeared at your side nearly every day. You restrained yourself from depending on his presence, from longing for it. He is a fleeting acquaintance, destined to return to Asgard one day. You shouldn't think so much of him.

“I wish we could have a summer wedding,” Lord Rogers declares, his voice raised loud enough for you to hear.

“But, my lord, that is so far away,” Cora protests, “so long as we wed before the snows, I will be content.”

“You, content. I am not mistaken, I know the sort of wife I’ve chosen,” he chides, “you only relish in that you might wear velvet.”

“Not at all my lord. I relish that I should marry you,” she preens, her arm hooked in his firmly.

You stare at the linking of their bodies. You remember the way he held you down, the way he cooed and coaxed, how he so softly coerced you. You should fear for your own sister, yet their misconceptions may be mutual.

“My ladies,” Lord Odinson’s voice precedes him and he steps up beside you, “and my lord. You are ashen, does the cold not agree with you?”

Lord Rogers glances over his shoulder, an edge in his jaw, “I handle it finely.”

You don’t mention he was only just longing for the summer. It isn’t any of your concern and you don’t very much care. Or you try not to.

“In Asgard, the winters, ah, they are splendid,” Odinson begins vibrantly, “there are days when the snow builds walls on its own and the next, they blow over to rippling oceans of frost. Endless and powdery.”

“Oh, we do not get so much snow here,” Hannah comments, “I don’t think I would survive such winters.”

You nod, listening intently as you picture the swirling snow and white dunes. It reminds you of a fairytale or a scene from one of Albina’s novels. Otherworldly and fantastical. Something entirely new and wonderful, but terrifying.

“And you, my valkyrie, would you face the blizzards?” Odinson challenges.

You hum thoughtfully. You know he is looking at you but you are too shy, too wary to return his gaze.

“I suppose with the proper cloak and a thick pair of boots, I might make it through, sir.”

“A coach and a horse, and any lady would say the same,” Rogers scoffs back at you, “girls hardly know the truth in matters of spirit. They can be overly presumptuous upon their own abilities.”

Odinson pushes his jacket back, hooking his finger in the pocket of his vest, “women are strong in ways men can never be. They carry lives, they bear the burden of the world, they maintain a grace lost on most men.”

“And the demure to the strength of men, to the wisdom they can never possess,” Rogers snaps back, laughing cruelly, “it is in the vows they take, is it not?”

“Only the strongest man can see the strength of women,” Odinson dismisses calmly, “my own mother keeps a pack of snow wolves. She goes out in the winter storms and reins her own sleigh. All while my father sits warm before his hearth. Her victories are not his losses.”

“Sounds rather quaint, Lord Odinson,” Rogers clucks, “your country strikes me as lacking civility.”

“Uncivil is a boring way of saying lively, and I promise, my home is much and more,” Odinson affirms, “but I think that fate has a way of placing us all where we belong, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rogers is quiet for a moment, his steps heavy as he strides on. He turns his head, his eye flicking between Odinson and yourself. He snorts and turns forward again.

“We must all take as we earn, accept what we do and do not get,” he says tritely, speaking animatedly with his hand in the air, “more often than not, we have only ourselves to thank… or blame.”

As cryptic as his words are, they are plain to you. That night with him was not unearned. Your foolishness bought your destruction. You must now live out your sentence of watching him walk arm in arm with another woman, your sister, everyday. You must accept that what he took can never be reclaimed.

💙

You sit in the garden, wrapped in a shawl as autumn breezes around the table. Your mother has a fur on her shoulders and your sisters chatter their teeth as they sip their tea. You rub your hands together, your gloves doing little against the crisp air. You suspect the days of dining without are close to done.

As you watch a leaf drift down from a branch, the hinges whine, and your father emerges from within. He gives an emphatic shiver as he claps his hands together. He seems rather pleases as he has his shoulders pushed back and his hat on a tilt.

"Daughters, my lovely wife, it is a beautiful day, is it not?"

You wonder at his uncharacteristic glee. Your father is ever practical and serious, on all matters. More so, he confounds as through the mutter of responses, he looks to you. You nod and agree with his sentiment softly.

"My daughter, my eldest, you... have a visitor."

You blink and withhold a grimace. He hates when you make faces. You force a smile and your voice crackles as you muster your voice.

"A visitor, father?"

"He is inside, he cannot have his tea alone," he says as if you should know who he alludes to.

You stand as Cora rolls her eyes, "who could be here for her?"

You notice how Albina and Hannah share a look. You cannot determine whether it is at your expense or Cora's.

"Daughter," your father drawls, "do not be sour that your betrothed eludes you."

"He does not--"

"So be happy for your sister and enjoy your tea."

She huffs and reaches for her cup. You step around her chair and approach your father. He smiles and as you near, he puts his hands on your arms. He is smiling. Genuinely.

"He has my blessing, of course, I will need accompany you to maintain propriety," he speaks quietly, "come."

You dip your chin down and meekly follow him inside. A servant pulls the door closed behind you. Your steps echo down the corridor as your father leads you to the sunroom. As you enter, there is some rustling and a subtle creak.

You peek up to find Lord Odinson standing with a hand on his vest. He bows to you and your father. You stop in the archway.

Your father proceeds, unaffected, and sits in the cushioned chair nearest the fireplace. He slaps his thighs as he splays his legs and grunts.

"Well, then, get on with it," your father grumbles.

Lord Odinson straightens his posture and gulps. He reaches up and toys with his cravat, the starch fabric already askew. He smiles, his cheeks reddening. He sways and looks between your father and yourself.

"I thought it very difficult to put this in ink but now I am here, I find the same is true of words," he says, laughing at his own joke, "so, lady, I trust this isn't very surprising to you. I've made my intentions clear and I've made your father a proposal, which he has graciously approved. Thus I put to you the question..." he twists his cravat, stops himself, then grips his jacket lapel, "would I be a fair husband to you? Er, or rather, would you... would you... honour me as a wife?"

The air stills and the chill that trailed you in dissipates. You blink dumbly and let your mouth fall open. You glance at your father. You understand his happiness now and yet you cannot believe it.

Your stomach churns and you clamp your mouth shut. The silence turns unbearable. You notice how Lord Odinson's cheek spasms and his complexion drains.

"Yes, sir, I... suppose... rather, I would..." you feel as if you're choking, "is it true? A marriage?"

"You wouldn't have to leave your homeland forever. I have some months ahead of me and my holdings here. We could visit--"

"Yes, yes, I will marry you," you murmur.

You hold your breath. Waiting. For one of them to break. For a peel of laughter between them. For it all to be another trick.

"Glory," Odinson exclaims as he proffers his hand, "shall we sit for tea, then, my valkyrie?"

You nod, unable to speak for fear of croaking. It is real. This man is real but you worry, his attention may yet prove false.

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nectardaddy · 3 months ago

Text

mirage | suna rintarou

seven | rolodex ★

masterlist

I haven't added music to this series; however, Soda by Nothing But Thieves helped me write this. I'd definitely take a listen!

ignore timestamps

cw/notes: messy x100 bass boosted in 4k, flawed characters, self destructive behavior, real/raw emotions, anxiety/panic attack, allusion to being overstimulated, very brief mention of throwing up (used as a metaphor, not detailed), repetitive statements done on purpose

She death gripped the metal counter with a small sigh, knuckles starting to grow sore from the tension she held onto. The cold metal sending a shock wave through her palms, a sudden iciness to it that she hoped would force her back to reality - it didn't.

Breathe.

As if telling herself that would make it any easier.

Her day started off normally, despite the pain the bashed her skull from drinking the night before. A familiarity to her routine that kept her stress relatively low - if something were to go amiss it ruined her day. A rolodex of mundane tasks and work obligations, but if she did them in a set order her stress was little to none. A schedule she stuck to meticulously, one wrong move and her day would be torn asunder.

Suna Rintarou threw a wrench in that complex order; took the rolodex in his hands and made a jumbled mess of it.

'I just want you to be happy.' Haunted her subconscious the moment she read it, the moment she finally went to sleep, and the moment she opened her eyes that morning. Lingered in the back of her mind throughout the day until it couldn't be ignored anymore; prowling around in her head like a cat - until it finally pounced.

Breathe.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but the thought of the green eyed man still rattled her to her very core. Feline and wild, at one point making her weak at the knees; now she only felt the need to vomit at the thought. To pull the nearest trash can towards her and heave; because why on earth did she still want him? Why did she still crave the attention of a man who's words were brash and unruly? Why did she still need the man who's kind sentiments never truly fizzled out?

Why did she still love the man whom she created to be the devil?

Distracting herself with every petty, trivial argument they had to negate the feelings of hopeless love. Purposefully unable to recall of times where he was doting, selfless - loving. It was better to remember him as a monster, if he ever was one in the first place, than think of him fondly.

Suna Rintarou ruined that image of himself for her. Shattered it into a million pieces and she watched in horror as it fell at her feet. 'I just want you to be happy' was the smoking gun that shot down any fleeting memory of a bickering past.

She reopened her eyes and seized the counter harder, an imprint of the table's edge embedding itself in her palm as she held it vehemently. With a tight jaw, she let her eyes slide to her phone resting on the table next to her. Staring back at her as a singular thought wracked her brain - call him.

Her world got a bit smaller when the thought hit her. Caving in on itself as the notion alone gave her tunnel vision.

Call him.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, sucking in a breath as all she could find herself to do was stare at the black screen in contemplation.

Call him.

A quick decision, one given without thought, that caused her body to move on its own. Picking up the phone and scrolling through her contacts with conviction, but without a thread of reflection. Yet the phone rang a bit too long, the fan next to her was a bit too loud, and the lights above her in the cramped back room were a bit too bright.

So she hung up the moment he answered and threw her phone back onto the table. She listened to it buzz relentlessly for the next few minutes with eyes screwed shut and knee bouncing until it finally fell silent again.

Breathe.

I am an unreliable narrator, obviously, and yes it was done on purpose do not come for me.

Iwa can pretty much guess what's going on, next chapter bout to go crazy with this

pay attention to the lock screen picture ;) (do not read me about that lock screen either I tried my best on canva)

if you don't know what a rolodex is, thanks for making me feel old, but (and this is the google definition) it's a "rotating card file device used to store a contact list"

she will not be telling the group chat what she's doing tonight

she will lie if they ask just like she lied to akaashi

yn I see you and I love you dearly

taglist (open , send an ASK)

@mollyrolls @causenessus @zumicho @seroh @eggyrocks

@nbcvs @rory-cakes @localgaytrainwreck @kodzu-ken @hermaeusmorax

@sunafc @lvtilzs @kr1nqu @iiwaijime @gsyche

@le000xxgrd @iheartpinky @strxwberri-s @wolffmaiden @yogurtkags

@superboywife @cherrypieyourface @soulfullystarry @bedeater @a-little-pebbl

@miliondollagirl @toges-cough-syrup @renardiererin @theycallmenanamisgirl @honeekyuu

@softpia @mfcherry @keeboismine @phoenix-eclipses

#haiykuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu!! smau #hq x reader #hq smau #suna rintarou #rintarou suna #suna rintarou x reader #suna smau #series: mirage

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nhularin · 1 year ago

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oh, say it ditto

PAIRING situationship!jungwon x reader GENRE angst, highschool AU WARNING insecurities, miscommunication?? WC 0.7k

❕series masterlist

November 21, 1998

"is it true?" minji, your friend, asked as she plopped on the chair in front of you, a melona ice stick in her hand "are you and yang jungwon from class 4 really dating?"

you paused. what were you supposed to tell her? ' yes we are' and then get turned down by the boy you liked like a fool? yeah, that's not going to happen.

so you only shook your head. as much as you didnt like the idea, you and jungwon aren't a thing, and he apparently has no intentions of making it official.

despite the late night calls or him waiting for you after school to walk you home, he has never confessed how he really feels about you

the small chit chat lingered in your head for the rest of class. insecurities and what ifs haunted your mind like a parasite not willing to leave its host. a frown etched on your forehead as you leaned on your chin, lost in your own world.

a cold sensation touched your skin, a gasp leaving your lips as you looked up to the perpetrator. and there he was, the boy who's slowly breaking your heart grinning like an angel fallen from grace.

"class prez, are you thirsty?" he asked with a bottle of banana milk in his hand, doe eyes forming into crescents and dimples leaving your legs wobbly. if you weren't already seated, you would've definitely fallen.

but silence hung heavy in the air and you didnt dare to speak. too afraid that his presence will make your voice betray you.

"thank you" you say with faux confidence.

why is he here? you never spoke at school, keeping your relationship out of sight from everyone. "im a private person" he has told you, but is that really the truth?

the absence of his affirmations left your heart wobbling and struggling on a fragile edge, desperately grasping onto threads of hope.

Like you a little, don’t want no riddle

maybe, just maybe, he needed time to sort through the maze of his own emotions. Maybe he was as afraid as you were, terrified of crossing the boundaries of friendship into something more.

"let me walk you to your next class, yn."

you heart ached and screamed for resistance, to turn him down and let you heal.

but you nodded.

December 18, 1998

but as days turned into weeks, doubt crept into the deepest recesses of your heart. fear of rejection clawed at your self-esteem, whispering cruel reminders of your misplaced hope. maybe you had misread everything. maybe his silence was a rejection in disguise, too painful to be spoken aloud.

February 17, 1999

each interaction became a tug-of-war in your mind, balancing on the precipice between euphoria and heartache. you weaved through the labyrinth of mixed signals, dissecting his every word, searching for hidden meanings. his smiles, his laughter, the moments you shared together, all fueled your longing for something deeper, for a connection that transcended the uncertainties of a situationship.

Say it, say it back, oh, say it ditto

and so, you found solace in the uncertain, cherishing the pieces of hope that still shimmered within. in the quiet depths of your heart, you held on to the possibility of reciprocated love, hoping that maybe one day, he would find the words to express what his silence couldn't.

but as the drizzling rain pattered against your window, a cruel realization settled within—a truth too raw to ignore. the love you craved, the affirmation you eagerly wanted, may never come. And with that realization came acceptance, a bittersweet realisation to the heart

November 21, 1999

each unspoken word became a chapter left unwritten, leaving room for unanswered questions and unresolved emotions. and though the journey with Jungwon held the potential for a love story, its unwritten conclusion deemed it as a tragedy, with you as its protagonist.

leaning against the window pane, your gaze shifted from the rain-streaked glass to the world beyond. a mixture of sorrow and comfort laced your heart as you realized that sometimes, the most beautiful stories were those that remained untold. and as you moved forward into the future, you carried with you the lessons learned, the strength gained, and a love that may forever remain stuck in the confusing space between what was and what could have been.

do you think about me now?

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radio-fmm · 6 months ago

Text

Pajarito Colibrí

Reader comforts Law drabble

Inspired by Natalia Lafourcade’s song Pajarito Colibrí, this song reminds me a lot to Law so I had to. Depictions of a breakdown but nothing crazy I believe, angst turn comfort? Happy ending

Masterlist

Law’s chest begins to fall quicker each breath he took, suddenly he es very aware of the heavy pain on his chest and his loud breathing hitting his ears. He looks down at his hands, inked with the word death, a reminder that he only brings misery to those around him, deaths touch. Everything spirals as he falls on his haunting memories, afraid of the future as he tries to hide form his past, happiness deemed impossible, an unrealistic dream he’s sure he’ll never fulfill. He covers his watering eyes, everything going black but, how could he hide from himself? He whimpers like a wounded dog and he’s certain there’s no way to get rid this pain that hangs heavy on his heart

“LAW!” your voice rings trough the walls of his office and he jolts up, meeting your worried eyes comforting him immeasurably and your hands positioned on either side of him

You had knocked 3 times on the door and called his title like 3 more, hearing no response only being met by a heavy uncontrollable breathing, opening the door to see your Captain trembling and completely lost.

You had never seen Law like this, he always seemed to project himself like this brave, confident, respectable Captain, having everything under control a plan for every situation; but as the dark night fell upon the moving waters of the sea, he becomes doubtful, afraid and at lost of breath.

You bring him back and he can’t believe it, his hands rest on your arms, making sure you’re real, that you’re here. Your eyes go over his tortured expression and it breaks your heart in a million peaces, you pray for the universe to set him free for whatever comes and haunts him in his solitude. You wish you had keep vigil for when he cried without comfort and sleep seemed to be a far away promise, to glue his broken parts together

Your hands caress his anguished face “Everything’s going to be ok” you assure the poor pirate as you hold him close a little doubtful but with the outmost care; caresses still rhythmic on his raven hairs, his arms heavy with grief holding onto you like a scared child holds onto his favorite plushie after a nightmare under the covers

You stay intertwined, your sweet voice whispering words Law wishes anyone would’ve had the tact to sing to him, he’s sure you were sent by an angel to keep him safe and sound, to ground him

“Don’t be scared” like magic he feels the heavy pain fall from his chest, his head falling onto the crook of your neck wetting it with his sour tears and broken sniffs. His heartbeat decelerates and syncs to yours, your breath like a calming melody threading with your voice that spills like honey forming a comforting blanket over his form, relaxing his rambling thoughts melting completely

Pulling back, his eyes that had shut open meeting your features once again “Law, don’t be afraid to live, I’ll be here to help you trough everything, please understand you’re here to be happy” he can feel himself breaking again, for the love your words carry, he can just nod and a smile tugs at your sweet lips that washes his worries away like the ocean waves, becoming foam, disappearing, never here

“Let’s get you to bed”

109 notes · View notes

circle-with-me · 8 months ago

Text

stung by the wasp

Pairing: Jolly Karlsson x OFC (Violet)

Content Warning/Tags: ⚠️ 18+MDNI!! male masturbation, male sexual fantasy, soft dom!OFC, light sub Jolly, fingering, finger riding, female masturbation, teasing, cum eating, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie.

Word Count: 5.3k

Tag List: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @darksigns-exe @ladyveronikawrites @malice-ov-mercy @to-be-written @sitkowski @foliosriot @collective-heartbreak @cookiesupplier @cind6547 @meekahy @lacktoesandtoddlerants @jilliemiw86 @sammyjoeee @blackveilomens @thisbicc @collapsedglasshouses @sacredthefran @anameunmusical @alastriaa @sprokat @bruisedleftknee @0fth34byss @unicornfairytail @catharsis-in-darkness @agravemisstake

Author’s Note: this is part 2 to the way you bend the way you break. thank you to @deathblacksmoke for beta’ing this 🤍

So come to me

No sense of restraint

It’s in Jolly’s favor that he knows the music so well. He has played their songs so many times he doesn’t even have to think about what he’s doing, he works strictly on muscle memory.

It’s in Jolly’s favor, because his mind is in a million places, but this show is not one of them.

He’s too busy thinking about her thighs wrapped around his head while he laps at her pussy. The movements and noises she makes when he inserts a finger inside her. How soft and plush her breasts feel in his hand. How being inside of her made him feral in a way he’s never felt with anyone before.

They had only had sex twice, once the night she came over and again the next morning. Jolly hadn’t seen her or barely heard from her in the ten days since she left, but she was all he could think about. He was beginning to feel like he dreamt it.

The metronome in his ear clicks and brings him back to reality for a moment. He opens his eyes and surveys the stage. He watches Nicholas screaming into his mic on the other end. He suddenly realizes what song they're on and that he’s supposed to be screaming along with him.

Shit.

Nicholas backs away from his mic and stares at him pointedly. Jolly gives the bassist an apologetic look in return and he rolls his eyes playfully, a soft smile on his lips. Nicholas can never stay mad at him for too long.

The rest of the show goes by smoothly with no issues. The embarrassment from his little mishap helped him focus but as the show continued his mind drifted back to Violet. By the time the show ended he was ripping his gear off and storming off the stage.

Jolly hears Noah and Matt call after him but he ignores them. He’s hot, dizzy, and needs to find somewhere to be alone before he loses it. The green room wasn’t an option so he stalks further backstage looking for an empty room. He finds a bathroom at the far end of the hallway and decides it will do.

He slams the door behind him and locks it, pacing the room. He threads his fingers together and places them on top of his head, breathing deeply and trying to will his thoughts away. No matter how hard he tries, they go straight back to her. It was like his mind was stuck on a loop and the only thing that would play is her.

Jolly shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. This was Violet. His best friend. She trusted him to give her what she needed and that was it. It wasn’t supposed to go any further than that. Something snapped in him that night. Now, he’s become this disgusting fiend desperate to have her again.

He strikes the door with the palm of his hand, frustrated, and leans against it. Deep breathing wasn’t working, trying to redirect his thoughts wasn’t working. The throbbing in his pants wasn’t going away and he couldn’t walk back out there in this state.

Jolly closes his eyes and his mind drifts again, back to her naked in his bed. The beautiful way she quivered when he made her cum. How sweet she tasted. She looked so gorgeous with her makeup completely ruined and running down her face. Her voice crying out for him has haunted him in his sleep since she left.

He would much prefer the soft skin of her hand than the rough calloused surface of his own, but he’s not in a position to complain. It’s still a mind blowing sensation when he spits in his hand and coats his cock, dragging the pre-cum from his slit down as well.

Jolly attempts to move slowly, limiting the noise so as not to give himself away but his thoughts betray him as he hears Violet’s voice in the back of his mind.

I need to feel you, daddy.

Jolly rests his head right below his arm, the only thing that was keeping him upright at this point. The cool metal of the door was no match for the heat radiating off of his skin. Beads of sweat form between his brows and drop from his face as he furrows them.

He bites back the moans that threaten to spill from him. He can’t risk anyone on the other side hearing. Fist moving rapidly over his aching cock, he chokes out her name as his orgasm crashes into him.

He cleans himself up and stuffs himself back into his pants. He stares at himself in the mirror, shame and disgust settling in.

“Oh, my flower. What have you done to me?”

“You want to talk about what happened out there?” Jolly hears Nicholas’ voice through the curtain of his bunk. He was considerate enough not to just fling it open, at least. None of the other guys would have given him that courtesy.

Jolly stares at the top of his bunk in silence, hoping Nicholas will think he’s not there. When he knocks on the paneling Jolly realizes he’s not getting out of this. He slides the curtain open in a huff to see Nicholas smiling at him. Jolly’s face softens at the younger man. It was hard to be in a bad mood around him.

“I’m sorry about that. I got distracted by something in the crowd. Won’t happen again.”

Nicholas narrows his eyes. Jolly knew better than to lie to him.

“We‘ve had fights, medical emergencies, people showing tits and ass in the crowd and you’ve never been that distracted before.” He takes a seat on the bunk opposite Jolly. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

Jolly lays back against his pillow pinching the bridge of his nose. Guess he has to tell him sooner or later.

“Violet and I had sex a couple of weeks ago.”

There’s no immediate response from Nicholas so Jolly lifts his head to look at him. If he is shocked, disappointed, or confused he doesn’t show it. He just stares back at Jolly with the same content look on his face.

“Go on.” Nicholas finally says.

“She came over to my place and asked if we could.. you know. So we did. It was just supposed to be for stress relief but I can’t get her out of my head, man.”

“Have you seen her since then? Talked to her?”

Jolly shakes his head. “I haven’t seen her and we’ve only texted a few times.”

“Maybe you should call her.”

The older man scoffs, looking at his friend incredulously.

“And say what? ‘Hey, Vi. I know we haven’t talked in a couple of weeks but I can’t get you off my mind, wanna fuck?’ No way.”

“Or.. “ Nicholas begins. “You could invite her to the party we’re throwing on Friday when we get back into town. You can talk to her then. It’s a casual environment so it won’t be as weird for the two of you.”

Jolly stares at Nicholas for a moment and then returns his attention to an uninteresting spot on the bunk above him.

“That’s not a bad idea.” He mumbles quietly.

Jolly can see the grin on Nicholas' face from his peripheral vision and he’s already annoyed. It’s contagious, however, and he finds himself smiling despite himself.

Nicholas gets up, nudging his leg with his knee.

“You need to get laid, dude. You’re grumpier than usual and if you fuck up on stage again Matt might kill you.”

Jolly laughs, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not afraid of Matt.”

“YOU SHOULD BE!” Matt’s voice booms from the front of the bus. Jolly and Nicholas trade glances and laugh. He decides then that he’ll call Violet tomorrow.

Jolly picks at a stray piece of wicker that had broken loose from the chair he’s sitting on. He’s kept his eye on her through the patio door all night, willing her to walk outside. She arrived two hours ago. They exchanged waves when she spotted him, a sweet smile on her face that made his knees buckle a little.

He hoped she would join everyone outside but she got caught up in conversation with someone he didn’t recognize. As she was finally making her way out the door, Folio caught her and dragged her back inside. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, chugging the rest of his beer.

Jolly glances over at her again, this time she’s glaring at him with a look that screams “get me out of here.” He heads into the house, deciding it was time for another beer anyways.

“Folio, my good man.” Jolly says loudly as soon as he spots them, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Would you mind terribly if I stole Violet from you?”

Folio shook his head and smiled. “Not at all. I’m probably boring her to death anyways.”

“You could never, my dear.” Violet responds, placing a kiss on his cheek, making him blush. “Thank you for educating me on.. what was it again?”

“Overfishing!” Folio answers. “It’s devastating to the marine ecosystem and their food chain!”

“That’s it. Thank you, Folio. Jolly, are you ready?”

“Absolutely.” Jolly says, giving Violet his arm. She takes it and waves to Folio as they retreat to the next room.

“Oh my God, thank you.” She whispers, clinging to his arm. “I love him to death but if I had to hear one more fact about fish I was going to rip my hair out.”

Jolly laughs at her. “He’s very enthusiastic about his hobbies. He means well.”

Violet claps her hand over her forehead. “I feel like a total asshole.”

Jolly turns to look for his friend who was currently standing in between the legs of another woman that was perched on the counter top. She was playing with his hair as he spoke and from his hand gestures, he was still talking about fishing. Jolly smirks and points.

“I think he’s doing okay.”

Violet looks over and laughs.

“We’ve been gone for five seconds!”

Jolly throws his head back in laughter. “He works fast, I’ll give him that.”

“So you wanted to talk to me?” Violet asks out of the blue. The question is so abrupt it throws Jolly off guard and he forgets for a moment that he invited her to the party for a reason. He nods quickly, looking down at her. She touches his arm and his skin ignites. This is going to be more difficult than he thought.

“Is there somewhere else that we can go? Somewhere more private?”

Jolly ushers her in the room, closing the door behind them. The only light on was the LEDs around the bed. He knew this wasn’t a good idea but all of the other rooms were occupied.

Violet plops into the plush gaming chair while Jolly sits on the bed opposite her. She playfully swings the chair around and giggles. If he didn’t know her personality as well as he did, he might assume she had too much to drink. She catches him watching her and her cheeks turn a bright pink.

“So.” She murmurs, scooting to the edge of the chair. Jolly purposely ignores the way her skirt rides up her thighs as she moves, but something catches his eye. Against his better judgment he glances down and spots it. A black leather garter with a silver metal heart in the middle.

“What did you want to talk about?” Her voice breaks through the filthy thoughts in his mind. Violet runs her hand over the garter and he has to pull himself together enough to form a response.

“I just uh.. wanted to-” He slowly drags out the last word when she spreads her legs a little, lifting one to cross it over the other but she hesitates briefly. In that split second Jolly sees the damp spot that has formed on her underwear. It disappears immediately as she crosses her legs but the damage has been done.

Any chance Jolly has of forming a coherent sentence now is completely gone. It was taxing enough for his short circuiting brain to close his mouth that was hanging open. All she did was adjust her position in her chair and he was panting and salivating like some kind of rabid dog.

Violet giggles softly, her fingers tracing the heart shaped charm on her garter.

“That’s what I figured. I missed you too, daddy.”

If his legs hadn’t been turned to jelly by her comment then he would have snatched her out of the chair and shown her how badly he missed her. However, the situation being what it was, Jolly just sits there, his fists balling up the fabric of his jeans.

Violet stands up and saunters over, placing both hands on his shoulders. He looks up at her as she rubs her thumb against his jawline. Her gaze softens the longer their eyes meet.

“Is this what you want?” She whispers.

“Yes. Please.” Jolly responds. At this point, he doesn’t care if he sounds desperate. He wants, no— he needs her.

Violet climbs on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Jolly has no idea what to do with his hands, a feeling he hasn’t had since he was a teenager. He struggles with his choice and evidently it’s obvious as she laughs and places his hands on her waist.

“This is not the same Jolly from the other night.” She says as she threads a hand through his hair. Jolly heaves a pleasant sigh and leans into her touch. He has been nervous to touch her all night but now that she was close to him again all of the nerves vanished.

“I’m not always so dominant, you know.” He replies, squeezing her waist. She squirms a little and he’s grateful that she’s not sitting directly on his crotch otherwise he’d render that statement useless.

“So my Jolly is a switch, huh?” A smirk plays across her lips and Jolly has to pretend that it doesn’t make his heart race hearing her call him hers.

“Something like that.” His eyes flicker from hers to her lips, and she licks them, earning her another squeeze. She scoots further into his lap, her clothed pussy rubbing against the hardening cock in his jeans.

Her skirt moves up her thighs and Jolly, suddenly feeling a bit more confident, drags his hands down to dig into the flesh. The action isn’t necessarily an encouragement to move, but if she takes it as such he won’t complain.

She doesn’t move, however, but she lifts herself off of him ever so slightly. Grabbing his hand from her thigh she pushes it between her legs guiding his fingers over the dampened fabric of her panties.

Jolly’s breath gets caught in his throat, his head swimming as she uses his fingers to push her panties aside. Between her gasps when she guides him over her clit and how wet she is already, Jolly is fairly certain he could cum untouched.

Violet tilts her head back, enjoying herself as she uses his hand for her pleasure. He watches her, wide eyed, desperate to kiss her or touch her somewhere. He doesn’t dare to interrupt the show. This was all he’d thought about for nearly two weeks.

Violet looks back at Jolly, her eyes glazed over in lust. Jolly imagines his eyes are much similar. She pulls him in, kissing him hard and desperately. She rises again and pushes two fingers inside of her, gasping at the stretch.

She rotates her hips, clenching around Jolly’s fingers. She takes his face in her hand, biting his lip as she begins to ride him. It takes her some time to come up with the words in between pants but she finally manages.

“Let me fuck myself on your fingers and then you can fill me up, okay?”

Jolly’s mouth goes dry and he nods, knowing that if the roles were reversed he would not accept that as an answer. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Violet as she grabs his chin firmly.

“I need your words, sweet boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He chokes out, and as soon as the words leave his mouth she clenches around his fingers so tight he’s positive that she’s cut off the circulation in his hand. It’s almost painful but there’s no way in hell he is going to stop her.

Jolly can’t decide what he wants to concentrate on more, her face or where they’re connected. He pushes her skirt up her waist further so he can get a better view. The sight of her bouncing on his fingers, and her slick coating his entire hand has him licking his lips and dying for a taste.

“My flower, please… Can I taste you?” Jolly begs.

“You can lick me from your fingers when I’m done. Now are you going to make me cum, or not?”

Jolly places his hand at the middle of her back, leaning her backward so he can have more room to work. Violet maintains her movements as he meets them, pressing the palm of his hand into her clit. She throws her head back, uttering the cries that Jolly’s been desperate to hear for so long. He curls his fingers inside of her and her movements slow, the spot he’s massaging wiping out every thought in her mind.

Jolly curls his hand around her neck, tilting her head forward to face him. Her eyes bore into his, glazed over with pleasure, as she attaches her forehead to his.

“Keep going, pretty girl. Doing so good for me.”

Violet keens at his praise while she clings to him, grinding her hips against his fingers. With the increased pressure against her sweet spot her orgasm collides into her with such force she seizes in Jolly’s lap, mouth agape but no sound comes out.

Jolly removes his fingers when she grabs at his wrist. He wastes no time shoving them between his lips, moaning at the delectable taste of her. She watches as he sucks her release from his digits, already missing them inside her.

The noises he makes cleaning his fingers are downright obscene. Once he’s certain every crevice of them have been cleaned, he moves to his palm and then down his wrist. Jolly sees her staring wide eyed, biting her lip. He smirks at her, running his tongue up his arm to catch a rogue drop that had fallen.

“Don’t wanna waste a single drop of my flower’s

sweet nectar.”

Violet whines and grinds against the bulge in Jolly’s pants. He groans, guiding her over his lap with a death grip on her. She leans his head back for better access to his neck, sucking bruises into his flesh. She roughly tries to remove his belt buckle but struggles.

“Easy, baby. We’ve got plenty of time.” Jolly chuckles, helping her remove his belt and pants. She pulls his boxers off and climbs back in his lap, his shirt quickly removed and discarded behind her.

“I’ve waited just as long as you have for this, Joakim.” She says, grabbing his cock. Between the grip she has on him and his full first name falling from her lips, Jolly’s resolve was dwindling quickly.

“Are you going to take your clothes off or am I going to have to do it for you?” He questions, cocking an eyebrow.

Violet squeezes his cock, eliciting a low groan from him. She smirks, pumping him so painfully slow it’s almost torturous.

“I think you’re forgetting who is in charge this time, love. It seems that I recall when I got mouthy you threatened to leave me to fend for myself.” She drags the pad of her thumb over his slit and he hisses. “You don’t want me to do that now, do you?”

The noise that escapes Jolly is pathetic as he wildly shakes his head. Violet raises her eyebrows in anticipation. He knows she’s waiting for a response but all he can think about is how she’s pressing on the tip of his cock with her thumb.

“I’m waiting.” She sings.

“No-No ma’am. Please don’t do that.” He chokes out, his throat so dry now his voice has become hoarse.

“Be a good boy for me and lie on the bed.” Violet says, lifting herself from his lap enough so that he can slide backwards. Once he’s settled back against the pillows in a way that satisfies her she crawls on top of him again.

“Now.” Violet hums, dragging her core against him. Jolly’s breath hitches as she slicks up his cock. He stretched her out with his fingers and she’s so wet he could probably just slip in if only she’d just—

“Love, I believe I was speaking to you.” Her fingers dig into the flesh of his jaw, puckering his lips. She sucks his lower lip into her mouth, biting on the flesh.

“Mmm. Now what was I saying? Oh yeah.” Violet readjusts herself making a point to press onto him even harder. He grunts, flexing his hands at his sides but does his best to pay attention.

“I’m going to take my clothes off. You’re going to watch me, and under no circumstances are you allowed to touch me, understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Jolly nods, fanning his arms out across the bed so she can see them.

Violet smiles, leaning over to kiss him.

“Thank you, sweet boy. So good for me.”

Jolly’s heart bursts at the praise. He chases her lips as she pulls away but she’s too quick. She runs her hands down the front of her sheer floral top, pulling it over her head. Her fingers trace the lace around the cups of her bra and she pulls them down exposing her breasts.

Jolly’s breath hitches when she leans over, hovering over his mouth. All he had to do was stick his tongue out and he could wrap it around her nipple but he kept his mouth shut tightly. He needed to be good for her.

Violet wets her forefinger and drags lazy circles around her nipple. Jolly watches as it pebbles and clenches his fists. He holds his breath completely when she drags it against his lips.

“Open up, love.”

The speed at which Jolly wraps his mouth around her surprises even her as she gasps a little. A mixture of a moan and a laugh leaves her when he closes his mouth tightly around her.

The pretty noises Jolly has missed so much fall from her lips as she rocks backs and forth on top of him. He can feel her getting wetter by the second, her arousal dripping down his balls the more she moves.

Her thighs squeeze him tight, her moans becoming louder. One hand is grabbing the flesh of his shoulder and the other is holding his head as close to her as possible, like he would stop unless he was forced.

As her movements become more erratic, Jolly knows her orgasm is near. He forces himself to think about music, literature, anything to keep his own from coming on. The blend of sensations, noises, and friction, however, were making it almost impossible.

Jolly watches her face from below as her second orgasm peaks. He’s infatuated by the way her mouth drops open and how her nose scrunches up. His favorite thing is how she shivers and smiles a little towards the end. He wishes he could film her so he can watch it over and over.

Maybe she’ll let him one day.

He forgets himself in the moment and lets go of the bedsheets, removing her bra and enveloping both breasts in his hands. He raises his hips up providing more pressure as she grinds against him. Violet falls on top of him as she finishes, running her hand underneath his head and gently pushing her fingers in his hair.

She kisses and nibbles at his neck. Jolly traces patterns across her back as he hums softly. The sweet moment is interrupted when she abruptly grips his hair, pulling his head back to look at her.

“What did I say about touching me, love?” Violet says firmly.

The realization hits him and Jolly’s hands fly back to the mattress. He stutters out an apology, something about how he just wanted to make her feel good. He knew it was futile though. He deserved to be punished.

“You were a good boy and didn’t cum but you broke the rules so I have to punish you, now.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jolly responds and she hums, kissing him and letting go of his hair. She sits up and removes her skirt. The only remaining clothing item was her soaked panties that had been pushed aside. Jolly writhes underneath her, letting out a pathetic whimper as she gets off of him. Violet sees his hand move slightly and tuts at him.

“Am I going to have to tie you up, love? I’m sure Noah has something in here we could use.”

Jolly shakes his head. “No ma’am. I’ll be good, I swear.”

Violet smiles and sits between his legs facing him, draping her own on either side of his waist. From this view, Jolly could see her entire body perfectly. She lifts her hips up, pulling her panties down and off her legs, throwing them into the floor.

She scoots up closer to him, her pussy so close to his throbbing cock he can practically feel her heat. Leaning back on her left elbow, her right hand lands on her inner thigh. Her fingers drag down, collecting her arousal that had dripped there.

Jolly’s eyes nearly bug out of his head when she runs a finger up her slit, collecting more juices. She brings the finger up to her mouth, wrapping her tongue around it. A loud, obscene “mmmm” follows as she pulls it between her lips with a pop.

“I can taste you too, sweet boy.”

His mind goes completely blank as she speaks. His cock jumps against his belly, the swollen red tip leaking even more. Her eyes trail down to where the pre-cum pools on his stomach and licks her lips.

Sitting forward Violet reaches over and swipes it with her fingertips. Her knuckles barely graze against the head of his cock but he’s so sensitive the contact makes him hiss. Instead of putting her fingers straight into her mouth this time, she applies his arousal to her lips, slowly rolling her tongue over them to collect it.

Violet spreads what didn’t go on her tongue onto her clit. Her head lolls back as she touches herself. The sight has Jolly clenching his jaw and white knuckling the bed sheets. When she fits two fingers inside of her with ease, he has to look away.

“I don’t think I said you could look away.” Violet says sweetly, with a warning behind it. “Look at me, Joakim.” Jolly takes a deep breath and looks back at her, immediately moaning.

The prettiest pussy he’s ever seen, quite possibly the only one he ever wants to see again for the rest of his life, was spread open before him. He sits up on his elbows, then on his hands, desperate to get closer. She grabs his thigh, a silent reminder to keep his hands to himself.

“Tell me you want it.”

Jolly’s mouth drops open as she uses his own game against him. He does want her more than anything else. He knows he won’t last long but by the way her thighs are subtly shaking, she won’t either. He swallows hard and nods, begging like he should.

“Yes. Yes, please.”

“Tell me what you want, sweet boy.” Her voice shakes as she speaks.

“My flower… please.” Jolly pants. “I want your pretty pussy. Need to be inside you.”

It’s clear that Violet’s resolve weakens significantly at his begging as she practically scrambles on top of him. She kisses him so hard that it makes his mouth hurt but he doesn’t mind. Violet pulls back panting and grabs his hands, placing them on her waist.

“Waist only. If they move, I stop.” She declares upon his lips with no real authority. Jolly nods appreciating the soft bits of skin he was given access to. His nails dig in her flesh and he buries his face in her neck when she lowers herself onto him.

The feeling of her cunt so warm and tight around him drives him crazy but calms the anxiety that has been raging inside of him for weeks. She chants his name while she rides him, and he realizes that just like him, she’s needed this too.

Violet bounces on him hard, neither of them concerned about how much noise they make. Luckily, the music from the party will drown most of it out anyways. Jolly keeps his hands where he was told to, focusing on leaving as many marks on her neck and chest as he could. He wanted to make sure she walked out of this room and everyone knew who she belonged to.

Jolly feels moisture as he nibbles her jaw and looks up. He notices tears falling down her face and calls out to her. Violet leans her forehead against his, both sticky with sweat. Her face twists as she tries to speak.

“F-feels so g-good, Jolly.” She whimpers. “I’m so close.”

“Cum with me, Käraste. I need it.” He begs.

“Touch me, please, please, pl-“ She repeats as Jolly reaches in between them to give her what she wants. The dominance and submission was gone and all that remained was their need for each other. Their climaxes hit together and it’s almost too much. Jolly falls back against the pillows, bringing Violet with him, thrusting into her chasing their highs.

He rolls them over but doesn’t let go of her. He’s afraid she’ll leave again and never come back. Violet hugs him, almost as if she heard his thoughts and was trying to comfort him. It’s peaceful with her like this. Suddenly, she giggles against his chest, leaning back to face him.

“Does this mean I have to run you a bubble bath and comb your hair this time?”

Jolly shakes with laughter and she joins him.

“I mean, aftercare is important and so is that beautiful hair of yours.”

Jolly laughs some more and kisses her forehead. She smiles up at him and for a moment he forgets how to breathe. Her green eyes reflect the changing colors from the LEDs. He kisses her, holding her so tightly against him he’s afraid he’ll suffocate her but she simply melts into his arms.

When they part she refuses to stop, continuously pecking at his lips. Jolly decides they need to get up before Noah finds them in his bed and she whines but agrees. They get dressed and sneak down the stairs. Jolly grabs them two bottles of water and waves goodbye, hurriedly pulling her outside.

They walk to her car and Jolly leans back against the driver side door, hoping to delay the inevitable. He cracks open the bottle of water and takes a drink, nudging a rock on the ground with his boot. Violet stops a few feet in front of him. He glances at her, confused.

“What are you doing?”

“Walking you to your car?” Jolly responds, even more confused.

“I’ve been drinking. I can’t drive.” Violet says, winking.

Jolly smirks, immediately playing along. He smacks himself in the forehead playfully, rolling his eyes.

“Of course. How silly of me!”

Violet sighs in faux disappointment. “I guess you’re just going to have to take me home.”

Jolly presses his tongue to his cheek and then swipes it behind his lower lip. “Well if I do that I might as well spend the night.”

Violet cocks an eyebrow.

“To take care of you. Ya know. Since you’re such a drunk and all.” He winks at her.

Violet cackles and rolls her eyes. “Just take me home already, Joakim.”

“Yes ma’am.”

#jolly karlsson #joakim jolly karlsson #joakim karlsson #jolly karlsson x ofc #joakim jolly karlsson x ofc #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult #jolly karlsson fanfic #jolly karlsson fanfiction #jolly karlsson fic

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arafilez · 7 months ago

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੭୧ ⼂ MY MIND AND ME ﹗

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ kgv x reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤangst comfort 𓏧 drabble ㅤㅤ warnings depression crying ㅤ﹢ㅤ0.6k wc ㅤ𓏧ㅤ req

You look outside your window and lean your head against it, letting the room's quietness consume you. Your eyes follow a group of kids on their bicycles laughing and playing around on the road on the spring morning. It is beautiful actually! The air smells nice with all the flowers, the breeze is cool and the birds are singing but none of that removes the emptiness within you.

The negligence to do anything at all, the knowledge that you will probably mess up even if you try well haunts inside your mind as if it has dug up a hole and peacefully rests there. You look over at the dirty pile of papers you wanted to arrange for your project last night and sigh.

What’s the point? You will probably fail it anyway! The room looks a mess, unlike your mind! Your mind is peaceful. Cool, calm and useless. It has established you are good for nothing, a house of cards which will break with the lightest gush of wind. Or is it working through the torture in its sails? You don’t know.

You would rather not solve anything with this irresponsible and useless self of yours. A creak of your door makes you look up in panic. Did your forgetful self not lock the door? Your eyes widen in fear, breaths shallowing and mind hazed. Something’s severely wrong and you are the cause of it.

Your breath quickens and becomes heavier as your eyes dart frantically across the room until your eyes lock with your roommate Gyuvin and his brown eyes that are filled with concern. “Gyu hey,” you mutter out as cheerfully as possible as Gyuvin’s eyes hold yours and a shudder rakes through your body.

He can’t. He won’t possibly know what is going on with you. Is anything going on with you?

“Are you okay?” he asks, crossing the room with quick strides and gently threading his fingers with yours as you nod. Yes, you are fine, you just feel worthless and that’s realistic. So basically you are fine.

Gyuvin’s eyes go over your features and the past few weeks come crashing back to him- the small amounts of dinner you had, your messy desk, your reluctance to attend classes and so many more issues he had missed. He knew something was wrong and his instinct suffered from the idea while his conscience told him he was overreacting. But today he knew!

He looks at you and whispers, “Hey we’re gonna be okay,” and you snort. You probably want to cry but what is the point? And what does he know? You might never be okay anymore. Your throat constricts and you choke a light sob as you feel Gyuvin’s arm circle around yours. You cannot break down; you have been building it up so well and must use it when needed.

But when Gyuvin puts his head over yours, his arms becoming tighter around your body, your eyes tear up at everything that has happened for so long and worsened over the past few weeks. A small tear runs down your eyes and his fingers hold your hand tighter.

Pressing a light kiss at the top of your head and making a mental note to book an appointment Gyuvin caresses your fingers. He knows he can’t fully help you but he will do whatever he can. Even if it means, holding you and never letting go.

Because you need someone and he will gladly be that someone any day of his life.

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤtysm anon for requesting this, i did some cosulting with my dad's psychiatrist friend about depression and tried. so i am aware it isn't goodㅤ𓏧ㅤ libraryㅤ zb1 shelfㅤ navi

੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ @slytherinshua @sxmmerberries ㅤ𓏧ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added

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dragonqueenofice · 9 months ago

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A Cloth Flower

Word Count: 630

Summary: Flowers discarded as soon as they bloom, yet love blossoms brighter still (Or, you try and fail to make a bouquet for a budding crush)

notes: i love men who are just a little fucked up

A red spider lily, born of crimson cloth and wire sits upon your desk. Your hands work to add more petals, forming the flower into the form oh so recognizable. “How many am I gonna need?” You ponder, glancing up and rewinding back the tutorial that’s been playing for around three hours now, and stuck on the same spot for half that time. You weave the next petal into its spot, doubt seeding into your mind as the flower forms alongside. “Does he even like spider lilies?” You ponder, cutting the cloth for another petal as the guide speaks that this is the last step. “He's always haunted by death, why would he want more reminders?”

So you scrap it, tossing the flower aside like the past three hours meant nothing. The vibrant red lily resting atop the scraps of cloth and projects abandoned as soon as started like a king atop his throne. You feel no remorse, not sparing a glance for the poor flower’s descent as your eyes are on the monitor ahead, fingers typing flowers that mean life and looking through results.

—

A peach blossom, born of pastel cloth and wire sits upon your desk. Your hands work to add the last petal to the small flower, forming it into the third of the to-be bouquet. You glance up to the monitor and groan, despising the song that started but not having the energy to change it. Your hands insert in the next petal, your mind not noticing the size of the blossom growing one petal too large as doubt seeds in yet again, “wouldn't he hate a flower about life more?” your mind whispers, hands lowering the flower onto the table with little revere. Knuckles clack against the wood as your thumbs press down on the petals, bending them out of shape, “Haunted by death, yes, but infected with life… What if he hates it? What if he hates me?”

So you toss them, blossoms fluttering down and resting beside the lily atop scraps of their own, yet another projected abandoned and yet another wasted night. One hand threads fingers through your hair as the other types, painfully slow, flowers that mean love.

—

“Could you go fetch our dear creative?” Kafka’s honey-sweet voice rings through Blade’s head as his shoes clack against the floor, coming to a stop at your door. He clicks the master key Kafka lent him to your door, pondering for only a second why the Hunters have such high tech doors as it opens. He steps in and the lights come on, illuminating your sleeping form slumped over the desk and the scraps of cloth sprawled around the wood. The cloth, an iris purple in hue is formed into an approximation of a petal, it seems you passed out mid-work. Blade steps towards the desk, stopping beside the chair as his eye is caught by the vibrant flowers left discarded in the trash. He reaches out, curious to feel the silken cloth of the creations you labored over, but his arm disturbs the chair and startles you awake.

You make eye contact, Blade’s piercing gaze stuck on your eyes as you freeze up like a startled fawn. “...Why are you in my room?” You finally break the deafening silence with whispered words.

“Kafka wanted you.” He holds out a gloved hand to help you stand, Kafka’s warning to “play nice” echoing in his head as you stand, reluctantly pressing your palm to his for support. Blade doesn’t question that strange feeling that clenches around his heart, seeing your hand clasped over his, and he doesn’t question the arm he offers you for support against your back when you walk. He’s playing nice, a blade doesn’t feel after all.

#dragon queen writes #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr blade #blade hsr #blade x reader #hsr blade x reader #blade hsr x reader #wow Dragon writing for not genshin #it's a moment in history

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bullet-prooflove · 8 months ago

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The Romantic: Nicholas Baxter x Reader (L&O)

Tagging: @kmc1989 flopiboni @toheavenwmydrms

Nick knows the instant he lays eyes on you that you’re the woman he’s going to spend the rest of his life with. He’s sitting in the audience at the Philharmonic with a woman his sister had set him up with you step onto the stage in a forest green wrap dress and fresh flowers in your hair. He’s transfixed from the moment you pick up the violin.

Your music, it’s haunting. It flows through his body, awakening parts of him that he didn’t even know existed. He feels joy, hope, elation and then he hits the lows, the sadness, the melancholy. It’s the most intimate experience he’s had in a long time.

It’s in the interval that he actually looks at the leaflet he was handed on the way into the theatre.

It has your name written across the top along with the show title.

Rosanna Delarue – A Journey Through Italy.

His date leaves halfway through but Nick, he stays for the entire thing.

It’s a month later at the Central Park Preforming Arts Gala that the two of you are formally introduced. You’re wearing a cornflower blue dress tonight, your hair is threaded with fresh flowers of the same colour. You look ethereal, a beacon amongst the deluge of black and white.

“Call me Rosie.” You request when you offer him your hand.

It’s etched into his heart from the moment he takes it.

The two of you hit it off immediately, he spends the night completely captivated as you sip cocktails at the bar regaling him with tales from your travels. When he puts you in a cab later that night, he gives you his card.

“I really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.” He says sincerely. “Give me a call if you ever want to do it again.”

He marries you a year later.

When he gets in tonight, the sweet serenade of your violin greets him. It’s the first time you’ve been home in over two months because you’ve been touring in Europe. Nick hangs up his overcoat before setting down his briefcase alongside the shoe rack. He lingers in the doorway of the living room watching as you play.

You still look as beautiful as the night he first saw you. You’re clad in one of his shirts and a pair of jeans that hug you in all the right places. Your damp hair is tied back into a messy bun, stray strands falling across your features.

You have your eyes closed because it helps you to visualise the music. Your synaesthesia allows you to see every note and every chord in a series of colours. It’s a fascinating quirk, he’d spent hours questioning you when you first told him about the condition.

“Rosie.” He says softly and your eyes flicker open to meet his.

The edges of your mouth tip up into a small smile and the tune changes, the opening bars to Elvis Presley’s ‘Love Me Tender’ filling his ears. It’s your wedding song, the first one you danced to as husband and wife.

“For my husband,” You say affectionately. “The Romantic.”

Love Nick? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#nicholas baxter #tony goodwyn #nicholas baxter x reader #nicholas baxter x you #nick baxter #nick baxter x reader #nick baxter x you #law and order

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blkgirl-writing · 8 months ago

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Refuge for the Wicked

"Sharing a Blanket" from flufftober (In march)

Gale Dekarios x Durge!reader

Summary: You can't escape the faded memories of your haunted past, and sleep is nothing but a nightmare. Gale can't seem to sleep either. Maybe some extra warmth will help.

A/N: Prompt from @flufftober

(spring), I started late so I just started on 6! I might go back and write the first few. Also writing alongside my wonderful friend @ficbrish who made this fic happen, thank you! Also thanks to Jane Eyre for being my background audiobook and reminding me of big words.

TW: Dark Urge reader, (vague morbid thoughts, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of anxiety attacks), fluffy overall dw.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

In the dead of night, when the fireflies and stars lit up the sky, the air was too quiet to stand. Your head buzzed like frantic bees in a fallen hive, trying everything to get out, the brutal bloodied images flashing across your vision. No refuge for the wicked, You'd told yourself over and over, when sleep couldn't take you. But, You had been proven wrong.

Gale hadn't had the best rest either, used to the comforts of his tower, his warm tressym on his lap, and endless books to ease his mind into sleep. He had seen you turning in your sleep, and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder, whispering an invitation to his own tent. You had refused, worried about your cruel hands during slumber. but gods above, any sound had to be better than bitter silence, and one thing you knew about Gale, was that there would never be stale air.

It became pattern, after a few nights. The others would sleep, and you'd sneak away to his cozy corner, and Gale would talk. About anything, really. Gale shared his fondest memories, read a chapter from his small stash of literature, and even teach you a few simple spells. Your favorite was when he'd recite the most romantic poems. They felt warm, somehow. stirring something deep within you. Those nights, you'd rest peacefully, no dreams or nightmares, just darkness. Gale's voice became the only comfort in your world. And even nights he could sleep effortlessly, you found yourself wandering into his tent, curled up in the opposite corner from him.

This night, however, neither of you could sleep, and yet there was still quiet. It felt like hours,

"It's certainly cold tonight," Gale muttered.

"I can start another fire closer?" You offered.

"No no no, let me." At a snap of his fingers, a flame appeared in the dirt just in front of his tent. Never wavering and never moving, just taking the edge off the nipping air.

A few more moments passed, and you tucked your knees to your chest, hands cupped over your mouth to stop the numbness from climbing further up your fingers.

"Come here, you're freezing to death," Gale pulled the blanket over, opening up a space for you right next to him. Maybe he saw your hesitation, or maybe he wanted you next to him just as much as you wanted him, but he outstretched his hand to yours, his soft but calloused fingers wrapping around your frozen ones, and ever so gently pulled you towards him. Knowing it wasn't just an empty offer was enough for you to settle into him, his arm wrapped carefully around your waist, your head nestled into his shoulder, and finally, warmth enveloping your body underneath his big, heavy blanket.

"Thank you." This...was nice.

"Any time." His fingers played with a loose thread on the blanket, just by your hip. "You're more than welcome to keep your things here."

"Oh," Was all you managed, eyes fluttering away from his face for a moment. this closeness was something to be afraid of, you knew deep down you were supposed to be alone. But in his arms, you felt a calmness that you'd never known before. But you felt like you didn't deserve that bliss. "I don't need a tent or anything."

"I'm very sure you could manage on your own, but you don't have to." Gale spoke softly, almost like he was telling a secret, a small smile forming"You've spoiled me, I can't quite sleep right without you next to me."

You blinked, staring into the flicker of the fire before you. All you could think about was the soft fabric on your skin, so opposite from the biting that ran through your blood, and the warmth he brought from his touch, his body comforting and steady against yours. "Are you saying you miss me, Gale?"

"Quite a bit, actually." You could feel his eyes on you, but you hadn't dared to look, not yet. You knew there was kindness in his stare, it sent shivers down your spine, a sign that you didn't deserve the caring offer he implied, asked of. Your body rejected that but gods above did you want nothing but it. Because with him, Your mind was free, heart full, body light.

"I would really love that." You replied. Finally, a smile, from happiness, and not morbidity. You leaned further into him, intertwining your legs with his, Gale resting his head on top of yours, placing a barely noticeable kiss on your forehead.

"I'm glad you spoke to me."

'Hm?" Gale spoke, voice low and gravely, clearly between the realm of wake and sleep.

"I'm glad, that you spoke to me, to come to your tent that night."

"Oh," Gale rolled further into you, getting more comfortable, "I wish I had sooner." and with that, he drifted into sleep, the fire extinguishing in a wisp. Leaving you to think about his words, and your thoughts. You truly did love, that he invited you once, and again to stay, and he really meant it.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

just before sunrise was when you silently awoke from more night terrors. Astarion still off in the woods, surely feeding. otherwise, everyone was sound asleep. Or so you thought.

You had a few minutes in your own thoughts, sitting up and staring blankly into the dim glow of the distant campfire. Gale, with his big heart and smart mouth, won you over, no denying it anymore. It was clear when your small respite of nightmares, dreams filled with him, almost fighting to keep you sane.

"Good morning." Gale leaned on his hand, looking at you with a groggy fondness, like you were the sunrise and sunset, beautiful and full of life. His eyes nearly glimmered when he looked at you through his sleepy eyes.

"I thought you were asleep." You smiled, cozying back into the warm blanket, the cold morning air still too crisp, or you just used it as an excuse to be close to him again. And as if he read your thoughts, he drew you closer to him with a gentle touch.

"Stay" He whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, oh gods above his voice sounded like warm whiskey and the smoothness of turning new pages. "-please"

Well, there was no denying that. You couldn't pry yourself away from Gale. You held him tight, as if he'd wake up and realize his mistake, you had mistaken his words and actions and never felt this comfort again. His warm breath tickled your lower neck, his head on your chest, eyes barely open, but fixated on you. under the blanket, shielded from the light of the day, heavy eyes not daring to look away from his.

He smiled. A soft smile, but full of light. His lips were slightly chapped, eyes tinted red, details you missed upon his face at a distance, now fully on display as you tilted down. lips inches from his.

Your eyes flickered closed as he sank further into you. Gale enveloped you, body and soul, connecting in a sleepy haze, melting into a kiss. Only stopping for air, a mumbled word, and another kiss. Countless kisses, ending in peaceful slumber.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

TAGLIST

Please reach out if you wish to be added!!

@shyminnie07 @makers-breath @claryvoyantfray @black-sapphic @fapqueen

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kocherry · 2 years ago

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❅ ~ Hellfire ~ ❅

Yandere Capitano x Nun!Reader

Hello everyone this is a songfic base on the song “Hellfire” from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The yandere aspect is what makes this fic different version from the original Nun!Reader fics ♡

I hope you guys enjoy this cuz I really went down the drain for the Capitano Agenda mainly because of how @jessamine-rose writes Capitano and it inspired me to do a yandere fic about him as well sksksksksk

Sypnosis: Capitano sees himself above the trivial feelings of love and lust. He sings a prayer to the Tsaritsa because of his revolting desire to make you his and his alone. However, the temptation of having you in his arms is quite hard to resist.

Content: Songfic, Yandere Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, Religious Sacrilege, Kidnapping, Power Imbalance, Perverse Thoughts, Destructive Acts

< 2.2k words under the cut >

Oh, Archon of mine, you know I am not a righteous man

Of my virtue I am justly your proud soldier

Dear Tsarista, you know I'm so much dignified

But why do I have such a despicable desire for a pure soul

Please tell me Tsaritsa, why do I see her dancing there?

Why her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul?

In the dark night that the fake sky showed, the nation of Mondstadt sleeps quietly along with its visitors from a foreign land. The Fatui soldiers were all asleep and only Capitano remains awake in a place where he stayed in the City of Freedom. He remains to be restless as he stares at the burning hearth while gripping onto his sword’s handle tightly.

The Captain continues to sing a prayer of song to the Cryo Archon, he couldn’t close his eyes and sleep knowing he had much more to fulfill than his mission.

On the day he met you, he couldn’t forget how you stood up against him and demanded for a duel to save those wretched Knights of Favonius from his wrath. Despite being covered by the church’s garments, your body moves swiftly to dodge his attacks. Your face is bear for him to see and he could see your eyes glaring at him… he felt attracted to them and he hated himself for it.

He especially hates the pyro vision that hangs above your bosom. It kept him awake as he could recall how you glow like fire.

A fire that continues to haunt his mind, heart, and soul.

I feel her, I see her

The sun caught in her hair

Is blazing in me out of all control

Capitano whimpers this part of the song as he crosses his arms and held his shaking shoulders with the most hurtful grip. His armored sharp fingers pierced through the armor and scrapes his skin as he continues to stare at the heart which had the fire shape into your figure. And behind the dark void of his helmet, his dark blue eyes stares at you with longing to hold you and yet his gaze also craves to thrust his cock deep within your tight walls.

The way his thoughts spiral between the threads of loving and lusting for you made Capitano shiver once again. How he hate the way he feels because such perverted scenarios he played inside his mind deprecates how he sees himself. As the matter of fact, he began to think on why not let such desires come true?

And maybe it was time for him to finally rest for the night, Capitano knew it was enough prayers to the Tsaritsa as it was undignified of him to let out those words come out. He puts out the fire in the hearth by piercing his sword through the burning wood, he feels frustrated about tonight’s prayers.

After all it was your fault that he feels this way.

Like fire, Hellfire

This fire in my skin

This burning desire

Is turning me to sin

“Capitano, where do you think you’re going?”

The said man stopped in his tracks, he certainly didn’t expect to see you first thing in the morning and he quietly continues his song of prayer inside his mind. Then he turns to see you still covered as the Church of Favonius’ garments, and he wonders how you would look without them.

“Do you wish to accompany me if you are asking such questions?” He asks with a hopeful tone.

The way your eyes flicker in surprise but also has the glint of letting your guard down being deceive by how soft his deep voice had become. “Well, someone has to keep an eye over you Lord Harbinger, what if you harm Mondstadt’s citizens again?” You folded your arms shaping your breasts into the white garment you wear and the pyro vision waves slightly from the action.

By the Archon of Love’s mercy, Capitano is cursed with the bountiful visual he just saw and also blessed that his helmet covered his gaze.

“Very well you may accompany me Sister (Y/N).”

Your name rolls out of his voice as if he’s been practicing saying your name perfectly and he wonders when he could call you without the Nun title.

It's not my fault, I'm not to blame

It is the nun who wields her bow who sent this flame

It's not my fault, if in my Archon's plan

She made the devil so much stronger than a man!

Capitano hoarsely sings the prayer as he falls into his knees holding the sides of his helmet he couldn’t believe what just happened.

You two were just spending another day deep in the ice-cold mountains of Dragonspine to battle the Snowboar King. When victory came due to the tag team you two made, you suddenly hugged him out of the blue out of happiness. Your long wish to venture the mountains and fulfilled your inner child’s ambition to defeat the monster has been done because of the Captain’s help.

That was also the very first time that Capitano saw you smiling and laughing, those images will forever bury inside his mind. Unless he takes you for himself then perhaps every day, he could see you with such happy expressions that he stirs up.

When it was night and the time for you to part ways with him, you express gratitude for letting you fulfill a long wish as a child. You always had been a caged little dove by your family and you told Capitano of your prison despite being a Sister in the Church of Favoinus.

Little did you know that Capitano only wishes for you transfer from your family’s prison to his own.

And when you kissed the side of his helmet that was the last straw as it provokes Capitano’s darkest thoughts in desiring you. He slowly composes himself as he stands up from the ground, he grips the handle of his sword as he slams the door open. The heavy footsteps could be heard in the quiet night but none could ever wake up from this dangerous aura because the Fatui Harbinger only wishes harm to one person in this nation.

Capitano will have you and damn your Archon’s absence because he cannot protect you from him anymore.

Protect me, Tsaritsa

Don't let the nun cast her pyro vision’s spell

Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone

Destroy (Y/N)

And let her taste the fires of hell

Or else let her be mine and mine alone

Capitano’s prayer is full of hypocrisy once again, because it was too late, the Cryo Archon couldn’t erase his feelings. You were to blamed for whatever will happen to you from now on as he continues to take another step towards the place where you sleep. The dark void in his helmet begin to light up as his dark blue eyes glow under the dark night of the fake sky.

And when you woke up, the sun isn’t the one who greeted you.

“Let me go this instant! I don’t wish to harm you… you’re the only friend that I truly had please don’t make me hate you Capitano.”

Your voice is filled with betrayal and fear, yet despite feeling those emotions you still linger to a thread of hope that Capitano will let you go. He admires how that even in this situation you would try to see the goodness in him. A goodness that never existed in the first place anyway, for what does that trait could even contribute to his duties as a Fatui Harbinger?

“Didn’t you wish to be free of your family? Didn’t you desire to get away from Mondstadt because you never felt its freedom? And didn’t you say that you want to be with me?”

Capitano had a tight grip on your arm which made you whimper, if this was a different situation, you would have said yes. The only time you ever feel yourself is when you’re with him but… why does it feel like you were just transferring from one prison to the next. You didn’t understand why Capitano suddenly began to change… or maybe this was always how he felt about you.

The vision that hanged below your neck began to glow, “I’ll never be yours.” You told him as your bow materializes in your hand to fight for your freedom.

And the Captain thinks about how cute you would look utterly defeated under him when you would soon realize that you never had any power to win against him.

Hellfire, Darkfire

Now (Y/N), it's your turn

Choose me or your pyre

Be mine or you will burn

Capitano’s prayer turned its direction towards you.

Blood dripped down from your forehead and cheek, they were cut by the blades of the First of the Fatui Harbingers, the Captain. The duel didn’t last longer than you had anticipated despite having a pyro vision, you could not last against Capitano’s honed skills as a fighter. Though defeated you still push yourself up from the grass field even if you were still kneeling on the ground. You look up to his helmet and found the twisted love in the dark abyss of his mask.

The tip of the Captain’s sword lifted your chin up gently.

“Do you yield?”

The situation is a déjà vu from your first duel with him but there is no honor in this fight, not when Capitano fought to utterly humiliate and incapacitate you. Like before, you never gave a verbal answer and turned the tides against him but now. How could you ever fight back when your pyro vision is out of your reach? It was on his hand threatening to destroy it.

“Please don’t.” You were helpless against him, no one would ever come to your help because he chose a place in Mondstadt where people would avoid going into. “That’s the only beautiful thing that ever happened to me in all my life… please don’t take my vision away.”

With your pride already stepped on, the only thing you could do is beg for his mercy but Capitano is confused why you would beg. The only answer he wants to come out of your mouth is that you would accept to be his and his alone.

Oh, Anemo Archon save her from me

Oh, Cryo Archon have mercy on me

But she will be mine

Or she will burn

Capitano notice how you were confused by his sudden prayer song when you didn’t give him an answer. He wants someone to save you from his monstrosity and yet if you would not love him, you will suffer. And despite having defeated you in a fight, his heart ache when you started to cry about his threats to destroy your vision. You were gripping onto his cape tightly as you continue to beg for him to give your pyro vision back.

He kneels down to your form and place his armored hand over your damp cheek, he slowly wipes your tears away. “Forgive me Sister (Y/N), I am a sinner in the eyes of my god but I would not regret the time we had spent together. I may be a monster in your eyes but in my own, I only see a man who desires your love.” Before you could even oppose he gently lifted up your chin and pressed his thumb against your lips. He wants forget how you made him feel because you would be happier without him but alas...

Capitano will never forget and now he wants to know if your lips would have a sweet taste.

Despite the hypocrisy of his actions and words, he is deceivingly comforting you because no one could get you out of this situation other than Capitano himself.

“I will forcibly take you back with me.” His tone turned dark and the ounce of fear you felt tripled.

“And I will never forgive myself because I will never give you a choice. You sought for freedom but I can never give that to you. So I will only propose to you only this once.” Capitano gently lay you to sit on the ground so it will be him to be the one kneeling now with one knee on the scorched grass field.

He then pierces his sword to the ground, he holds out his hand asking you to hold him, you took it of course out of fear. When you did hold his large armored hand, he was trembling despite the fact you could see how utterly composed he is for someone who had put you in this situation.

“Come with me, I wish not to dishonor your virtue by having only to defeat you in a duel.”

Never had you hear him so soft and gentle yet his tone full of desperation and his words were horrifying.

“Marry me (Y/N), and I promise you will not be caged like a bird. I will let you fly on the condition you will have me at your side at all times.”

Tears had fell from your eyes because you knew that your choice will be the one that will give Capitano the satisfaction of his proposal that is more-like a demand. “My answer is yes… I will marry you…” You didn’t voice out that you were just afraid to reject him.

And with your acceptance Capitano thanks the Cryo Archon for his answered prayer but most of all he dedictated his final ode to you.

Like fire, Hellfire, Darkfire… (Y/N) you are mine and mine alone.

~ End

A/N: Also if you guys haven't read the Nun!Reader series, some of the scenes there are parallel to the events that happened there :>

#capitano #il capitano #capitano x reader #il capitano x reader #capitano x nun!reader #yandere capitano #yandere capitano x reader #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui harbingers #fatui harbinger x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #the capitano agenda #fem reader

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