#but this someone believed in a world with vivid color | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jkwrites-m · 27 days ago

Text

Another Time (1)

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: soulmates, past life, thriller, smut, fluff, angst

Word Count: 7.9k

Summary: When Y/N and Jungkook begin sharing vivid dreams of each other, their connection feels too real to ignore. When tragedy from a past life begins bleeding into the present, they’re forced to unravel the mystery of love, betrayal, and fate.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, emotional child abuse, shitty ass parents, slight cursing, sexual tension, fluff, cigarettes, alcohol consumption (pls drink responsibly!!), kissing, heavy petting (??)

A/N: hi so this is my first ever fic (: I normally just read but one day (abt 3 months ago) I wanted to write something so I decided to try and it took me a that long bc I’m really lazy and suffer from perfectionism so I had to write then rewrite the entire thing first 😭 anyways please enjoy and let me know what you think and any criticism is welcome! - m 🫶

Notes : okay ONE more thing 🤧 anything in normal text is present day. Anything in BOLD is a dream-memory. Okay NOW you can enjoy 🫶

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ next

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There are things in this universe no one can truly explain.

Not with science. Not with reason. Not even with faith. Some things simply are. They’re undeniable, inexplicable, scary.

Like the way a stranger can stop you in your tracks with a single glance. You’ve never met them, yet something in you stirs like a memory. A flicker of recognition that doesn't belong in this moment, but somewhere before it. You feel it before you understand it: the quiet certainty that this person was never a stranger at all.

Or how a passing scent that carries the trace of something familiar. Cigarette smoke and spring rain, warm vanilla and leather, a perfume you haven’t smelled in years. Then suddenly, you’re not standing in the present anymore. You’re somewhere between then and now, in a place you remember too well.

And then, there’s the connection. The kind that you don’t form. It’s the kind that you remember. You meet someone, and it doesn’t feel like the beginning. It feels like you're returning. You speak in glances, in comfortable silences, in laughter of stories that have long since passed. As if your souls had been waiting, circling back through lifetimes just to find each other again.

═══════

You remember how your mother used to talk about love.

Not just in passing, clichés or fairy tales, but with the influence of someone who had lived it. She spoke about her father like he had been written into her story long before they ever even met. She’d say his name like it held her heart. And every time she did, you felt something hopeful bloom quietly inside you.

On quiet days, coloring at the dining room table, where the sun would slip through the kitchen windows and the world outside felt calm, she'd tell you how she first saw him. How he wasn’t trying to be noticed. He didn’t have to be. He just was. A first glance on that blind date, a leap into the unknown from the suggestion of a friend, and somehow, she knew that he was the one.

“I loved him before he ever looked my way,” she would whisper over coffee, stirring the spoon slowly like she was turning back time. “It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t planned. But I just… knew.” She said it in a way that made you believe her. Not because it sounded magical, but because it didn’t. It sounded like the truth. Like something your own heart might recognize one day too, if it ever got the chance.

Somehow, it became the blueprint for my own dreams. I didn’t just want love. I wanted that. That unshakable certainty. That gentle breath of familiarity. But even before I could name it as love, before I ever heard her stories of fate and forever, there was him.

That funny-looking boy I saw every night in my dreams. His large eyes always had a hint of curiosity and playfulness. For as long as I could remember, he was always there. With eyes I never really understood but always trusted. The dreams weren’t centered on me, though they came through my eyes. He was always the focus, the center of every scene. I watched him grow alongside me, getting older with each year, his features maturing just as mine did. The way he would look at me with more love in every single dream.

═══════

The playground smelled like sunshine and peanut butter.

The bell had barely finished ringing when the doors burst open and kids flooded the blacktop like bees from a hive. It was the kind of day where the air was crisp but the sun still made your cheeks warm. Rust-colored leaves dotted the corners of the chain-link fence and crunched under running sneakers.

Jungkook ran straight for the jungle gym, sneakers squeaking as he slid down the metal pole like a firefighter. He landed with a triumphant “Ta-da!” and turned, grinning wide when he saw her.

Y/N stood nearby, hugging her puffy red jacket close, watching him with a shy smile. She had a piece of bubblegum in her mouth and a Barbie band-aid on her left knee.

“You saw that, right?” Jungkook asked, bouncing in place. “I totally didn’t fall this time.”

“I saw,” she giggled, stepping closer. “You looked like a superhero.”

Jungkook puffed out his chest. “I am a superhero. Want me to save you from lava or something?”

Y/N grinned. “Only if the lava is pink.”

“That’s the worst kind,” he said seriously. “We’ll need snacks before we go.”

They made their way to the tire swing, spinning each other so fast that their laughs got tangled in the wind. At one point, Y/N stumbled off, dizzy, and landed in the grass.

Jungkook flopped down beside her, brushing dirt off his sleeves.

“Hey,” he said after a moment, poking her arm.

“What?”

“I like you.”

She blinked at him.

“Like a lot,” he added. “Like more than pizza.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s a lot.”

He nodded solemnly. “I think I’m gonna marry you one day.”

Her face went bright pink. She covered it with her mittened hands. “You can’t say that!”

“Why not?” Jungkook grinned. “You’re my favorite person.”

She peeked through her fingers. “Well... I guess I like you too. But I still like pizza.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “We can have pizza at the wedding.”

Y/N burst out laughing.

The teacher blew the whistle. Recess was over.

But as they lined up, side by side, Jungkook reached out and took her mittened hand in his.

Just for a second.

And neither of them let go too quickly.

═══════

The strange thing was, it never felt like now. It always felt like then. Like another time entirely. The clothes, the places, the colorful lights and blur of a different decade. When I was little, I thought maybe he was just in my imagination. My make-believe friend that night had brought to life. But as I aged, the dreams didn't fade. They grew sharper. Eventually, a bitter understanding settled inside of me: he was from the past.

And yet, knowing that didn’t make it any easier to let go.

I never stopped searching for his face. Even when I didn't realize it. My eyes would drift across train stations, cafés, bookstores, airports. Scanning crowds without meaning to. Not for anything in particular- just for him. That face I would know in an instant. That echo from my dreams that never left.

Maybe it was my mother’s stories that kept the hope alive. Maybe it was something older, something deep within me. But even in the moments when I told myself to stop believing in things I couldn’t explain, the never ending search continued.

And then one day, it happened.

Not in a dream. Not in memory.

In life.

═══════

Jungkook never believed in love.

Not because he didn’t want to. But because, in his world, love was nothing more than a hollow word people used when they had to. In his house, silence was more common than words, and cold glares were the constant norm.

His parents had never loved each other. At least, not in a way he ever saw. They moved around each other like strangers forced to share the same space. There were no soft touches. No laughter through the walls. No bedtime stories. No warm goodnights. Just clipped sentences, slammed doors, and the ever-present disdain beneath the surface.

And for him? Well, he was just existing. A fixture. An afterthought. Someone they were forced to provide for but never nurtured. No hugs or encouragement. Just expectations, rules, and dismissals that cut deeper than words ever could.

So when he would fall asleep and the dreams would happen, he hated them.

Every night, like clockwork, she would appear.

That same girl. That same face. Always glowing with a kind of warmth he couldn’t understand. Always smiling at him like he was someone worth loving. And the worst part? They were happy. Together. In love. He’d see them laughing, holding hands, growing together through many make-believe summers and cozy winters that didn’t belong in his world. He saw their first kiss. Their first time. The way she looked at him like she knew him more than he knew himself.

═══════

It was the Sadie Hawkins dance, and the lights had been dimmed just enough to feel like something important could happen—but not so dark that the chaperones couldn’t still see everything.

Y/N stood near the refreshment table, fidgeting with the hem of her pink dress, hands slightly clammy. Across the room, Jungkook was talking to his best friend, but he kept sneaking glances at her every few seconds, like his eyes had their own crush and weren’t good at hiding it.

She had asked him last week, stammering so badly that he hadn’t even answered at first. He just nodded really fast like a bobblehead, cheeks as red as a cherry slushie.

Now they were here. Together. At an actual dance. And it felt like the whole world had tilted just a little.

A slow song started playing.

Jungkook appeared at her side like a ghost in an ill-fitting button-down shirt.

“Wanna dance?” he mumbled, voice cracking a little at the end.

She smiled, heart pounding in her ears. “Okay.”

They moved to the middle of the floor, hands hovering before they finally found each other, his hands on her waist, hers on his shoulder. They swayed awkwardly. Off-beat. Too close, then too far. Her nose bumped his once.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” he whispered back, his smile crooked and nervous.

Their foreheads were nearly touching now. Everyone else had disappeared - their classmates, the disco ball, the terrible decorations made from crepe paper and glitter glue. It was just them. Two kids with too-big feelings and too-small words.

“I... um,” Jungkook started, blinking. “Can I... kiss you?”

Her eyes went wide. “Right now?”

He nodded, petrified.

She swallowed. “Okay.”

They both leaned in too fast and bumped noses again. She tilted her head the other way and Jungkook followed, and after a moment of complete, breathless chaos

Their lips meet.

It was clumsy. Quick. Barely there. But it was warm. And electric. And perfect in the weirdest, most middle-school kind of way.

Y/N pulled back, wide-eyed and stunned.

“Whoa,” she whispered.

Jungkook nodded slowly. “Yeah. Like... wow.”

She giggled, and he laughed too.

And for the rest of the night, they danced without saying much, just grinning like fools who’d discovered something the universe had been keeping secret just for them.

═══════

It was fucking infuriating.

He didn’t want to see her. He didn't want to want her. He didn’t want to wake up every morning with the ache of something lost. The dreams felt like a cruel joke. A taunt from the universe that seemed to mock him with everything he would never have, and worse, everything he didn’t deserve.

And still… she kept showing up. Always the same eyes. Always the same kindness. Never pushing, never judging. She was just simply there. A promise etched into his being. A truth he didn't ask for.

So he tried to ignore it and drown it out. Bury himself in a cold detachment, a trait he unfortunately inherited, in girls who didn’t remind him of her. He picked up habits that offered easy silence. Those became his comfort, his escape, his rebellion to the universe.

The drinking started as a way to sleep without dreams. The smoking was more about the waiting and something to do with his hands when the nights got too quiet. They numbed the edges of things, blurred out the longing, buried the ache beneath a haze he could control. He told himself the dreams meant nothing. She meant nothing. Just static in the brain. A side effect of loneliness and an overactive imagination.

But then he saw her.

He saw you. In real life.

In this life.

And all that anger, all that resentment, all those years of bitterness crumbled with just one look.

Because it was her.

The girl from the dreams.

The girl who’d haunted him in the corners of his mind, who he thought was nothing more than a fantasy.

And suddenly, he wasn’t angry anymore. He was infatuated . Completely undone in an instant. Not by what he remembered, but by what was standing right in front of him. Her, completely real, breathing, and even more beautiful than any dream he had ever captured.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to approach someone he’d loved and resented for so long. Someone he’d never met, yet somehow knew like a book he helped write.

He just knew the moment he saw you, the universe stopped joking.

═══════

A neon sign buzzed faintly in the window of Vinyl & Bean, the downtown café tucked between a record store and a flower shop, with Bowie’s “Let’s Dance” playing low through the jukebox. Outside, snow drifted in soft spirals, glossing across the sidewalks in a glistening coat of white that made the world feel hushed and still.

Jungkook sat at a booth in the far corner, bouncing his knee beneath the table, fingers tapping the lip of a paper cup. His leather jacket squeaked slightly as he adjusted in the seat. The café smelled like cinnamon, espresso, and old books. It felt like something out of a movie.

She walked in, hands shoved into pockets, laughing at something the barista said as she stepped through the door.

And just like that, everything else blurred out.

She wore a denim jacket patched with band logos, hair a little damp, cheeks pink from the cold. There were tiny snowflakes clinging to her lashes, and a glint in her eyes that knocked the air out of Jungkook’s lungs.

She saw him and lit up like she always did.

“Well, well,” she teased, approaching the booth. “You waited for me.”

Jungkook stood too fast, knocking his knee on the table, cursing under his breath. “Always,” he said, trying to play it cool and utterly failing. “You’re my favorite person to wait for.”

She laughed, sliding into the seat across from him. “That was dangerously charming.”

“Was it?” he grinned. “Good. I rehearsed that one.”

She rested her chin on her hands, looking at him like he hung the stars. “You’re nervous. You only rehearse lines when you’re nervous.”

“Not true. I also do it when I want to impress someone wildly out of my league.”

“Smooth,” she giggled. “So, what’s the occasion?”

He shrugged, then handed her a folded napkin. “Just wanted to spend the day with you. Also… I wrote you a poem.”

She blinked. “You wrote me a poem? Are you trying to kill me?”

“You’ll live. Barely.”

Unfolding it, she read aloud: ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you’

She groaned. “God, you're such a sap.”

Jungkook beamed. “And yet, here you are. Still dating the sap.”

She reached across the table, curling her fingers around his. “I’m dating you, Jungkook. The sap just makes it better.”

Outside, the rain kept time with the music inside, an old Prince song fading into Eurythmics, laughter buzzing through the café from a few tables over.

They talked for hours - remembering stupid inside jokes, debating the best love song of the decade (“It’s Endless Love,” she insisted, and he pretended to be horrified), and playing that game where they guessed what strangers were saying at other tables.

He watched her like she was a moment he didn’t want to blink through.

And the whole time, his hand in his jacket pocket fidgeted with the little velvet box.

Now, his heart whispered. Do it now.

But every time she laughed or looked at him with those soft, knowing eyes, the words tangled in his throat.

So he cleared it. Looked down. Looked back up.

“Hey,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

She tilted her head. “Sounds serious.”

“It is,” he said. “Kind of.”

She stares up at him, giving her full attention, wrapping her fingers around the mug for warmth. “I’m listening.”

Jungkook stood suddenly, heart pounding against his ribs like a drumline, and came around to kneel beside the booth. The whole café didn’t stop (this wasn’t a movie), but it sure felt like it did.

Her eyes widened. “Wait - what are you - ”

He opened the little box.

And there it was.

A ring. Delicate, gold, with a small round diamond in the center.

“I know it’s not the biggest ring and this isn’t the fanciest place. And I’m definitely sweating,” he laughed nervously. “But I’ve loved you since the first time you forgot my name at daycare. I’ve loved you through every mixtape, every late-night phone call, every time you made fun of my handwriting.”

He swallowed, eyes bright.

“I want every coffee with you. Every snowy day. Every slow dance in a parking lot after everyone else has gone home. I want this. I want you forever. So… will you please marry me?”

She just bursted out laughing. Not mocking, not dismissive. Just overwhelmed joy, bubbling out like a soda shaken too hard.

“Yes,” she breathed, nodding furiously. “Yes, yes, a million times yes.”

Jungkook blinked. “Wait, really??”

She pulled him up by the collar of his jacket and kissed him right there in the middle of the coffee shop, hands in his hair, the ring still in the box between them.

“Of course really,” she whispered. “You’re it for me.”

Jungkook kissed her like it was the first time all over again, grinning so hard he almost missed her slipping the ring on by herself.

He sat beside her after, heart still racing, holding her hand like it anchored him.

“You know,” she teased, “this better not be a dream.”

═══════

The scent of coffee beans drifted through the air, rich and comforting, clinging to the worn wooden beams of the café ceiling. It was a quiet Tuesday morning in Seoul.

It was cold enough that my breath was still visible as I stepped inside, a scarf wrapped around my neck and the directions on my phone still running. The city was still unfamiliar. Fast and loud - it made me feel alive in a way that was both thrilling and intimidating.

I took a tentative step toward the counter, the soft chime above the door echoing faintly throughout the shop. I really didn’t mean to find this place. But it was warm, and something tugged in my chest, telling me to go into the coffee shop tucked on a quieter street near the subway station.

That’s when I saw him.

Sitting at the far corner table, dark hair tousled, sleeves pushed up, showcasing tattoos I’d never seen before. A black coffee steaming in front of him.

It was him.

The boy from my dreams. From the night before.

He looked older here. Real. Less like the soft, loving film reel I’d been watching in my sleep for years and more like someone the universe had dragged across decades just to place here, in front of me, in flesh and blood.

My pulse skipped. My hands went cold. But I couldn’t look away.

═══════

From his corner, Jungkook lifted his eyes and felt something punch the air from his lungs. A girl stood near the door- eyes wide, lips parted slightly, cheeks pink from the winter chill- and for a moment he thought he was dreaming again. It was her. The girl. His girl. He blinked hard, trying to shake you loose from his imagination.

But she didn’t disappear.

You didn’t disappear.

Neither of us moved. The noise of the café faded into a soft hum, the way the dreams always dulled the background. It was just us now, and the heavy pounding of unspoken recognition.

I stepped forward slowly, with my heart in my throat.

Say something, don’t just stand there.

I felt like a kid again, all awkward limbs and restless thoughts, but the pull was too strong to ignore. My voice came out softer than I wanted.

“Hi,” I said, brushing her hair behind one ear. “Sorry, this is going to sound weird, but… you look really familiar.”

Jungkook stared at her, startled, heart hammering. The dream version of her had always spoken first. And the real version? She was right here. She was real.

He panicked.

“Yeah?” he muttered, already pulling his gaze away. “Don’t think I know you.”

His voice wasn’t cruel, but it was clipped. Cold. Defensive.

I blinked. “Oh. I - sorry. I just thought…”

I trailed off, cheeks going red again. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything. He wasn’t the same person as the one in my dream.

I quickly turned, my stomach sinking as I reached for the door.

Then came the scrape of a chair behind me.

“Wait.”

I paused, hand on the door, but I didn’t turn around.

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair and stepped closer, his voice softer now. “Sorry. That was… I’m not good at first impressions.”

I turned, eyes cautious. “You think?”

He gave a smirk. “Okay, I deserved that.”

I bit down on my lip, torn between annoyance and disbelief. “I was just trying to say hi. You looked familiar.”

“So did you,” he said quietly. “Too familiar.”

We stood there, the tension between them shifting- less sharp now, more curious.

“I’m Jungkook,” he said, giving a small bow before holding out his hand.

“Y/N,” I replied, copying the bow and placing my smaller hand in his. His grip was warm. Steady. Electrifying.

“You just moved here?” he asked.

I nodded. “That obvious? I’ve wanted to live in Seoul since I was a kid. Kind of surreal.”

Jungkook tilted his head, his eyes sweeping over me with more interest than he probably should’ve shown. “Dream city for a dream girl, huh?”

I laughed, caught off guard by the line and the sudden switch to flirtation. “Oh god, is that your idea of flirting?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?” he winked.

I shook my head, blush spreading up my neck. “Barely.”

“I know this is forward but, can I have your number?”

My brows lifted. “Why?”

“So I can text you bad puns and pretend it’s not an excuse to see you again, obviously.”

I smiled despite myself and handed my phone over. “Fine. But no attitude next time.”

He typed in his number, a giant toothy smile gracing his breathtaking face. “Promise.”

We parted with a lingering glance, both carrying a spark neither wanted to admit was fate.

I walked away feeling like the world had tilted just slightly into place. Mom’s stories whispering into my ear.

And for the first time in years, Jungkook didn’t feel like running from his past - he felt like chasing the future.

Something that had been waiting for both of them.

In dreams.

And now, finally, in reality.

═══════

Morning light spilled across the bed in warm, golden stripes, slipping between half-drawn blinds and brushing over tangled sheets, tousled hair, and two grinning faces buried in each other.

Y/N blinked awake to the soft weight of Jungkook’s arm across her waist, his thumb lazily drawing circles against her skin.

She turned slowly, still not quite believing the sparkle of the ring on her finger.

“You’re staring,” she whispered, finding him already awake, already smiling.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, voice husky with sleep. “I proposed to the prettiest girl on Earth last night. Kind of want to make sure it wasn’t a dream.”

She smiled, eyes fluttering. “If it was, we had the same one.”

Jungkook leaned in and kissed her. It was slow, lingering, the kind of kiss that tasted like shared futures and morning breath you didn’t care about. His hand slid to her hip, tugging her slightly closer.

She gasped quietly when he deepened the kiss, noses brushing, fingers finding bare skin beneath the covers.

“Hey,” she whispered, breath hitching. “You’re getting handsy.”

“I just got engaged,” he whispered back, lips grazing hers between words. “I earned it.”

She giggled, burying her face in his neck as he trailed kisses along her jaw.

“Slow down, Romeo,” she teased, pulling the blanket higher. “You already locked me in.”

“Just making sure you stay locked in,” he said with a wink.

And they stayed there just tangled in warmth, laughter, and love that felt like it had always been there.

═══════

The next morning, Seoul looked different.

I walked these same streets just yesterday, bundled in my coat, trying to memorize subway exits and the names of cafes, but now it all shimmered with a quiet kind of electricity.

Maybe it was the coffee still lingering in my system. Or maybe it was the number saved in my phone. Jungkook . It looked strange seeing his name there, not scrawled across the edges of sleep, but real.

I haven’t texted him yet.

Every time I tried, I’d just delete it, too nervous to say the wrong thing, too thrilled to ruin this spell. Because what if it wasn’t real? What if he forgot me already? What if I only imagined the way he smiled when he typed in his number?

I clutched my phone tighter in my pocket.

Meanwhile, across the city, Jungkook hadn’t stopped thinking about you.

He hadn’t smoked all morning, hadn’t even touched the bottle of soju his roommate left open on the counter. He didn’t know what the hell was happening to him, but something in his chest felt lighter. And heavier. All at once.

He tried to distract himself with dumb things. Scrolling through his feed, lifting weights, cleaning his place, but his mind kept circling back to you. Your soft laugh. The way your voice caught at the start of every sentence, like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to speak. The way you looked at him like you knew him, even when you shouldn’t have.

He finally grabbed his phone and stared at your name.

Y/N.

He almost didn’t send it. But then,

Jungkook: you like coffee or was that a one-time thing?

He hit send before he could overthink it, then threw the phone across the couch like it was on fire.

Your phone buzzed while you were inside a convenience store picking up ramen and instant rice. I froze. Then read it. Then reread it three more times.

My lips curled up before I even realized I was smiling.

Y/N: i like coffee. just not assholes who sit in corners of cafes ☺️.

I sent it before I could overthink it, then grabbed a snack that I didn’t even want just to keep my hands busy.

Back on the other side of the city, Jungkook read your reply and barked out a laugh. He liked that you had bite. He liked that you remembered. And fuck, he liked that you even replied.

Jungkook: let me try again? same café? 2pm?

Your fingers hovered over the keys. Then:

Y/N: you better be nice this time

Jungkook: no promises 😉

═══════

Before 2pm, I was already there. I sat at the corner booth, the same one he had occupied yesterday, my nerves buzzing under my skin like tv static. I wore something simple (nothing crazy like the girls in the dreams wore) but I felt more real, more alive, than I ever had before.

Jungkook walked in five minutes late. On purpose.

He spotted you instantly. And when your eyes met, that same undeniable electric current passed between you again.

He walked over, running a hand through his already tousled hair, doing his best to play it cool.

“You’re in my spot,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “I thought we weren’t doing attitude today.”

“Right,” he smirked, sliding into the seat across from you. “Hi, again.”

“Hi,” you replied, softer this time.

You ordered coffees and chatted about safe topics - your new job, the weirdness of grocery stores here, the best street food in Seoul. He asked questions, teasing ones, and you answered with playful half-lies and awkward truths.

I never brought up the dreams. I kept them a secret. Like if I said them aloud, he would disappear.

But I didn’t have to.

It was in every glance. Every pause between sentences. In the way we already moved around each other like we’ve done this before.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing just a little. “So, Seoul… is it really your dream?”

“Since I was eight,” I nodded. “I used to beg my mom to let me study Korean. She thought I was insane.”

“Smart mom,” he teased.

You stuck your tongue out at him. “You asked for this conversation.”

“I did,” he said, his tone softer now. “And I’m glad I did.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. Curious. Like the pause before a kiss.

Eventually, Jungkook leaned forward, voice lower. “So… can I get your number again?”

“You already have it.” I said while tilting my head.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “But I needed a reason to ask for a proper date.”

I flushed and glanced down, biting my bottom lip.

“Okay,” softly. “Ask.”

“Would you like to maybe… hang out again sometime that doesn’t involve caffeine and attitude?”

I laughed. “Sure. But I’m picking the spot next time.”

He held out his pinky. “Deal.”

I locked mine with his.

This wasn’t the beginning of something.

It was the continuation of something our hearts had already started, long before we ever met.

In another life. In another dream.

And finally, finally, in reality.

═══════

Later that night, I stood by my apartment window, staring out at the distant city lights.

Fingers brushing over my phone, hesitating above Jungkook’s name in my messages. I didn’t have a reason to text him. Not yet. But I kept replaying every second of the afternoon, the way he looked at me, the way he smiled like he was holding back laughter and fear at the same time. It was disarming.

And confusing.

He was both familiar and foreign. Pieces of him still echoed the version I’d grown up with in my dreams - like his bunny smile, the way he tilted his head when listening, or the gentleness behind his sarcasm - but the real-life version was rawer. Edgier. There was pain in his eyes he didn’t talk about, and I didn’t dare ask

I wanted to. God, I really fucking wanted to. But this wasn’t a dream. I didn’t know the rules here.

Across town, Jungkook sat on his bed with a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. The smoke curled toward the ceiling, joining the faint scent of old cologne and fabric softener. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you walked away from him earlier.

He was hooked.

He hated how fast it happened. How badly he already wanted to see you again. Not for lust. Not even out of curiosity.

He just missed you.

And that didn’t make sense.

You weren’t supposed to be real. You weren’t supposed to walk into his favorite café, all wide eyes and nervous smiles, looking like the answer to a question he hadn’t asked aloud.

He took another drag and exhaled slowly. His room was silent except for the hum of traffic from outside. He hadn’t told anyone about the dreams in awhile. But now you were here and that reality was breaking down every wall he’d spent years building.

He grabbed his phone and typed something. Deleted it. Typed again.

Jungkook: you got a favorite place in the city yet?

He hit send and laid back, staring at the ceiling.

Your reply came less than a minute later.

Y/N: my rooftop? does that count?

Jungkook: it counts. as long as i get to see it one day.

You hesitate.. Then type:

Y/N: you just might .

The words lingered between you, a silent promise neither was ready to define.

═══════

The next few days passed in a blur of texts and nervous anticipation. You didn’t meet in person again but talked constantly. Stupid jokes. Music links. Flirty texts that made you blush into your pillow and made him smirk like a schoolboy with a crush.

It was easy.

Too easy.

And that scared you

One night, as rain drummed softly against your windows, you curled up in bed and let your mind wander back to the old dreams. The ones set in vivid tones. The ones where Jungkook wore vintage jackets and danced with you at candlelit dinners. Where he kissed you on sidewalks under flickering neon signs and would whisper secrets like you had all the time in the world

He had been softer in those dreams. Safer. But maybe that was because dream-Jungkook didn’t have real scars.

This Jungkook, the one who smoked too much and apologized too little, wasn’t perfect.

But he was real.

And you’re starting to think that maybe… just maybe… that was better.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sat on the edge of his kitchen counter, finishing his third beer and flicking ash into a cracked ceramic dish. The apartment was too quiet. Too heavy with thought. And his phone buzzed again.

Y/N: do you ever feel like we’ve known each other longer than we have?

His heart kicked hard in his chest.

He stared at the message.

Typed:

Jungkook: all the time.

Deleted it.

Typed:

Jungkook: maybe we have.

He didn’t send that one either.

Instead, he turned off the screen and let the silence settle in around him.

Some things didn’t need to be said.

Not yet

Because this wasn’t a dream anymore.

This was the start of something terrifyingly, beautifully real.

═══════

The arcade buzzed with neon lights and synthy pop music, the air thick with the scent of popcorn, soda syrup, and adolescent adrenaline. Machines chirped and beeped, some blasting digitized explosions while others played victory jingles. Street Fighter II blared from the corner as kids huddled around it, cheering for pixelated punches.

Jungkook didn’t care about any of that. His attention was locked on one thing.

Y/N.

She stood in front of a claw machine, brow furrowed as she tried to snag a sad-looking plush dolphin trapped in the corner. Her tongue peeked out the side of her mouth in concentration, and Jungkook (leaning against the side of the machine) watched with an unrelenting smirk.

“You’re way too cute to be this competitive,” he teased, nudging her hip with his.

She elbowed him gently, not looking away. “If I get this thing, it’s going on our wedding cake.”

Jungkook leaned in close, his lips brushing just beneath her ear. “Then I hope it never comes out. I like watching you like this.”

She flushed instantly, eyes darting around to make sure no one was looking. “Jungkook,” she hissed, swatting at his arm. “We’re in public!”

“I know,” he said shamelessly, resting both hands on her waist and pulling her back against his chest. “You’re hot, we’re engaged, and I’m obsessed with you. Sue me.”

She wriggled free, barely holding in a laugh as she turned to face him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.” He grinned and took her hand, spinning her once like they were dancing on a hardwood floor instead of sticky arcade carpet.

Her laughter was soft, nervous, delighted.

He caught her against his chest again, this time kissing her cheek so exaggeratedly loud she squealed and pushed him away. “Stop!”

“No.”

“People are watching,” she whispered.

“I don’t care. Let them stare,” he said, eyes locked on hers, voice dropping low. “You’re mine.”

Her heart stuttered. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re marrying me.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I’ll remind you,” he murmured, nuzzling into her neck. “Every hour. Every minute. Every second. Especially in public.”

She shoved him away again, cheeks blazing. “Play something. Go shoot aliens or save a princess or whatever.”

Jungkook gave her one last dramatic kiss on the hand before winking. “I’ll win you a prize.”

“You already did.”

He stopped, grinning like a fool. “God, I love you.”

And before she could hide her smile, he was off, coins in hand, yelling, “THIS ONE’S FOR YOU, BABE!” while running toward Time Crisis like a man on a mission.

She stood there, arms crossed, heart racing.

Totally his.

═══════

By the end of the week, you had memorized Jungkook’s texting habits.

He was dry in the morning, playful by late afternoon, and strangely sentimental around midnight. He sent voice notes when he was too lazy to type, used emojis constantly, and had a habit of ghosting for hours only to come back with something stupidly charming like “miss me?”

You had never smiled at your phone so much in your life.

And yet, you were terrified.

Because the closer you felt to him, the more you feared you were leaning into something one-sided. What if he was just like this with everyone? What if I was just a novelty, a foreign girl with big eyes and a soft laugh, here for a brief chapter in his much bigger story?

But still, I answered. Every time.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was battling his own storm of questions. He’d never wanted to know someone this fast. It made him restless, made him drink more, smoke more, then feel guilty for doing both. You had a calm to you that made his walls feel too high, too sharp. He wanted to tell you everything. And yet, he couldn’t tell you anything.

Not the truth. Not about the dreams. Not about why it scared him so much to see you in real life.

Still, he wanted to see you again. In person. He wanted to know what your voice sounded like when you weren't typing behind a screen.

Jungkook: friday. movie? there’s a rooftop one in hongdae. i’ll bring snacks.

Her reply came within seconds.

Y/N: only if you don’t bring attitude .

Jungkook: debatable.

═══════

Friday came too quickly.

You had spent way too long picking an outfit. You kept it simple - black jeans, white tee, oversized denim jacket - but somehow it felt like a costume. Like you were dressing for the version of him that lived in your dreams.

When you arrived, he was already there, leaning against the wall like he’d walked out of a magazine cover, a bag of snacks dangling from his hand and a smug grin on his face.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I’m three minutes early.”

“Exactly. I’ve been waiting.”

You rolled your eyes and followed him up the steps to the rooftop, where a projector flickered against a white brick wall and the city hummed beneath you.

You found seats in the back, away from the crowd. Close. Too close.

Jungkook offered you a pack of sour gummies.

“Peace offering.”

You took it, smirking. “You’re forgiven. For now.”

You didn’t watch the movie. Well, not really.

You whispered throughout, your voices low and tangled in laughter.

He told you about his worst date ever: some girl who brought her ex to the restaurant by mistake. And you told him about your first week in Korea, how you accidentally thanked a store clerk by calling him your brother.

“I panicked!” I said, laughing into my hands.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

I looked at him, smile fading slightly.

“You really think so?”

He leaned in closer, his voice low and sure. “I think you’re beautiful. Even when you call people your brother.”

I blushed, looking away.

And in that moment, he realized something dangerous- he was falling for you.

Hard.

He tried to pull back. Tried to play it cool. But your hand was resting just close enough that his fingers ached to touch yours. So he did. Lightly. Testing.

You didn’t move.

Your hands stayed there, quietly touching, while the movie played on.

And for a few stolen moments, everything felt perfect.

But deep down, Jungkook’s chest still carried a quiet warning. A whisper from the dreams that always ended in goodbye.

Still, he held your hand.

Still, you let him.

Neither of you said what you were thinking.

But both of us felt it.

This wasn’t just attraction.

It wasn’t even just fate.

It was something older.

Something deeper.

And it terrified them both.

═══════

The wind outside whispered through the trees, stirring the last golden leaves loose.

Fall had settled over the city like a thick, cozy blanket. Inside their apartment, the glow of candles flickered against the walls, casting shadows that danced with the soft, rhythmic hum of the heater. The TV played faintly- an episode of The Wonder Years flashing across the screen like a memory too old to belong to them but too familiar not to feel.

Y/N was nestled between Jungkook’s thighs on the couch, her back pressed to his chest, the two of them cocooned under a heavy throw blanket. Her socks were mismatched. His hands were tucked beneath the blanket, warm and resting low on her stomach, his thumbs brushing soft circles across the cotton of her shirt.

“You know,” he murmured near her ear, “for someone who claims to hate cheesy shows, you’ve been totally quiet for twenty minutes.”

“I’m studying,” she said, eyes still on the screen.

“Studying what? Kevin Arnold’s tragic boyhood?”

“I’m studying your taste in TV.”

Jungkook laughed, his voice deep and warm, the sound sending a ripple of heat across her skin. “Dangerous subject,” he murmured. “You might fall for me all over again.”

She tilted her head slightly to glance at him. “You think I ever stopped?”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “Not for a second.”

Something shifted in the air then- not awkward, but charged. The space between them was nothing, and somehow that made it everything. Her body was molded to his, hips resting snug against his, the kind of closeness where even breathing felt deliberate.

“Careful,” she said lightly. “You’re being smooth.”

“I’m always smooth.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re chaotic at best.”

“And yet…” He leaned in a little, brushing his nose along the shell of her ear. “You keep coming back.

She didn’t answer, but her breath caught just enough for him to notice. His smirk widened.

Outside, wind rattled the windows slightly. A few branches tapped against the pane, but the real storm was happening on the couch- quiet, warm, and buzzing with tension.

“You cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

He slid one hand under her shirt, fingertips grazing her bare stomach. “Better?”

She stiffened slightly, but not because she wanted him to stop. “Your hands are freezing.”

“Liar,” he murmured, lips ghosting against the curve of her neck now. “You just got goosebumps.”

She tried to wriggle away, but it was no use as he tightened his arms around her playfully, pulling her back flush against him.

“You’re terrible,” she whispered.

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“Babe,” he drawled, the word like a slow grin. “You’re literally in my lap. With my hand under your shirt.”

“That was your doing,” she argued, barely breathing.

He chuckled again, slow and low. “You didn’t exactly protest.”

His fingers were still light on her skin, not moving much, just enough to be noticed. Every now and then he’d sweep a thumb just above her navel, barely there, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. But they both knew he was.

The episode on TV faded into the next one. Neither of them noticed.

She shifted slightly, trying to regain some sense of composure but her movement just ground her hips deeper against his, and then she noticed. Jungkook stilled behind her, then exhaled through his nose sharply.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” she murmured, cheeks flushed.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice suddenly rougher, quieter. “You feel what you’re doing to me?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The weight of his words landed heavy and electric, her breath hitching as his hands finally did move, traveling slowly up her ribs to just beneath her bra, then back down again, teasing but never crossing the line, but standing right at the edge of it.

“You gonna keep teasing me like this?” he asked.

She turned her head just enough to meet his eyes. His gaze was dark, heated, but his lips still wore that maddening smirk.

“I think you’re the one doing the teasing.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jungkook said, shifting just slightly behind her. “If I were teasing, you'd be trembling.”

She was, a little.

He pressed a kiss to her neck - soft, deliberate, lips lingering.

She gasped.

And then he stopped.

Pulled back.

Just a breath’s distance.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice now light again, smug. “It’s still fall. Gotta save something for winter.”

She whined in frustration, smacking his thigh without heat. “I hate you.”

“You adore me,” he corrected, wrapping his arms tighter around her. “Also, you make this adorable little sound when I kiss your neck. It’s like a hiccup and a sigh.”

“Jungkook.”

“Say it again.”

“Say what?”

“My name. You always sound like you’re mad when you say it, but it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Jungkook.”

He groaned softly. “There it is.”

“You’re actually insane.”

“You’re literally blushing through a flannel right now.”

She grabbed a pillow and shoved it backward towards his face, but he dodged, laughing.

“C’mere,” he said, turning her slightly so she was straddling his lap, the blanket slipping down pooling at their sides. His hands slid to her hips, warm and confident. “Let me look at you.”

Her heart pounded as she steadied herself against his chest. His eyes were soft now but still dark, still heavy with the energy hanging thick between them.

“You look like a dream,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Like something I’d remember if I woke up too soon.”

“You can’t say things like that,” she whispered, barely holding eye contact.

“But I mean them.”

He let his thumb graze her jaw. “And you like it.”

“I hate how much I like it,” she admitted.

“Good,” he murmured. “I want you to hate it. I want it to wreck you.”

The room was too quiet. Too warm. Too close.

She leaned in a little. Just enough to feel his breath against her lips.

His voice was barely audible now. “You gonna kiss me?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” he teased, raising a brow. “You’re sitting in my lap.”

“You said we’re saving things for winter,” she whispered, breathless.

Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re cruel.”

She smiled. “You love it.”

“God, I really do.”

The moment hovered, their lips close enough to share a secret, but neither one moving quite yet like if they kissed, it’d break something open they wouldn’t be able to close again.

“I want you,” he said softly, finally. “Not just tonight. Every damn day.”

She pressed her forehead to his, eyes fluttering shut.

“You have me,” she whispered. “You always do.”

You didn’t need to kiss after that.

Because the tension, the pull between you, was the kiss.

═══════

♡ next

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♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 05/11/2025

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook ff #jungkook #bts ffs #bts ff #bts #jkwrites m #another time m

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novaursa · 9 months ago

Text

The Veil of Fire (2/3)

- Summary: Your twin sister, Helaena, had her dreams, but you were gifted with something else. Something akin to a terrible purpose.

- Pairing: aunt!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: Keep in mind there is an unspoken time jump at the beginning. For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️☺️

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The dream begins as it always does: a rush of cold air against your skin, the sensation of soaring high above the world. But this time, it's different. You are not merely flying. You are the one flying. The sensation is more intense, more visceral. The air is no longer just cold—it’s frigid, biting at your scales. Your scales. You feel them shift and ripple across your massive form as your wings beat powerfully against the wind.

You are not in your own body anymore. You are Morgoth, the great black beast, the Cannibal. Every breath you take is a storm, every movement a tremor through the sky. The power surging through your veins is intoxicating, more so than any wine. It is raw, untamed strength, and you revel in it as your sharp eyes scan the land below.

The world is a patchwork of greens and browns, interspersed with the blue of rivers snaking through the land. The familiar coastlines and rocky shores of Dragonstone fade behind you as you soar southward, your massive wings cutting through the clouds like a knife through flesh.

You feel hungry—an overwhelming, primal hunger that gnaws at your insides. It is a need that cannot be ignored, a relentless force driving you to find something, someone, to satiate it. You spot movement below—a flash of color among the drab hues of the earth. Your vision narrows, focusing with deadly precision.

It’s a child.

The thought, the recognition, flickers at the edge of your consciousness, but Morgoth doesn’t care. Morgoth doesn’t know guilt or mercy. The boy is small, alone, wandering too far from the safety of his village, and that makes him prey.

You swoop down with a terrifying speed, your wings folding in, the wind howling around you as the ground rushes up to meet you. The child looks up, and for a brief, agonizing moment, you see his face clearly—wide eyes filled with fear, mouth open in a scream that will never be heard.

And then your jaws close around him.

The crunch of bones breaking, the hot rush of blood flooding your mouth—it is all so vivid, so real. You can taste the metallic tang on your tongue, feel the flesh tearing as your teeth rip through it. The child’s body is small, fragile, and it is gone within moments, reduced to nothing more than a memory of a meal.

But the hunger remains. It is insatiable, a constant demand that drives you to keep hunting, to keep killing. You feel the blood dripping from your jaws, the pieces of torn flesh stuck between your teeth. There is a satisfaction in it, a primal contentment that you know is not your own. It is Morgoth’s. But it is also yours.

The realization hits you like a blow to the chest. You are Morgoth. No, not just Morgoth. You are something more, something different. A warg. The word comes to you from the depths of your memory, a whisper of knowledge shared by your brother Aemond. He would know, of course. He is rarely wrong in matters of scholarship.

You are a warg—the first in Valyrian history, if Aemond’s ancient texts are to be believed. The thought should terrify you, and yet, it does not. There is a certain exhilaration in it, a sense of destiny fulfilled. The Old Gods of the North are said to gift such powers, but never had you imagined that it would be you—a daughter of Viserys Targaryen, twin sister to Helaena, bonded to the Cannibal—who would carry this curse, or gift.

Morgoth's form begins to fade, the sensations dimming as you feel yourself being pulled back, back into your own body. The taste of blood lingers on your tongue, even as the sight of the mutilated child haunts the edges of your vision. It is a part of you now, forever etched into your soul.

You wake with a start, gasping for air as if you had been submerged in water. Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic beat that echoes the flight of the dragon. The darkness of your chamber feels suffocating, the air thick with the remnants of the dream. You can still feel the echo of Morgoth’s power coursing through you, the raw, untamed energy that had once been his.

But it was not just his. It was yours.

The room is silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. Your hands shake as you clutch the sheets, trying to ground yourself in the reality of your chamber. Yet, the memory of the dream, of Morgoth’s hunt, is too fresh, too real to dismiss.

The door creaks open, and you turn sharply, still on edge. Aegon stands in the doorway, his usually languid expression tight with concern. “I heard you,” he murmurs, stepping into the room without hesitation. He is the only one you have ever allowed to see you like this—vulnerable, afraid.

“I had another dream,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it was more than a dream. I think I—” You falter, the words sticking in your throat. How do you even begin to explain what you have become?

Aegon approaches, his brow furrowing as he listens. “What did you see?” he asks, his tone softer, more careful.

You swallow hard, trying to push back the rising nausea. “I was Morgoth again,” you say slowly. “I was him, Aegon. I felt everything he felt—saw through his eyes, tasted…tasted blood.”

He goes still, his eyes searching your face for any sign of jest. But there is none. “You’re serious,” he breathes, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You nod, unable to speak. The memory of the child’s body, the way it was torn apart, flashes before your eyes again. You shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could somehow protect you from the horrors you’ve witnessed.

Aegon’s hand is warm as he reaches out, pulling you close. He holds you tightly, offering what comfort he can. “You’re the strongest person I know,” he whispers into your hair. “Whatever this is…you’ll face it. We’ll face it.”

You cling to him, your heart still racing, as you try to find solace in his words. But deep down, you know that this is only the beginning. The bond you share with Morgoth is growing stronger, and with it, the darkness that comes with being a warg. You are not just a Targaryen anymore. You are something more, something ancient and terrifying.

And as you close your eyes, you can still feel the echo of wings beating against the wind, the hunger that will never be sated.

The halls of the royal quarters are eerily silent, save for the soft padding of your footsteps on the cold stone floor. Hours have passed since Aegon left your chambers, his presence a fleeting comfort in the wake of the nightmare that still clings to your consciousness like a shroud. You cannot find peace, no matter how hard you try. The burden of this terrible purpose—this dark gift that has revealed itself to you—weighs heavily on your mind.

You feel Morgoth's presence within you, a shadow that has taken root in your very soul. The power, the hunger—it lingers, a constant reminder of what you have become. Every breath you take is filled with the taste of blood, every shadow in the corridor seems to whisper your name. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the cold that seeps into your bones, but it is no use. There is no warmth to be found in these halls tonight.

As you turn a corner, the distant sound of muffled voices reaches your ears. You stop, your heart quickening as you recognize the direction—toward the nursery. A sense of dread washes over you, and without a second thought, you quicken your pace, your feet moving faster and faster until you are nearly running. The voices grow louder, more frantic, and you can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

When you reach the door to the nursery, it is ajar, just enough for you to see inside. Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the scene before you.

Two men are standing over the cradle where your sister Helaena's twins—Jaehaerys and Jaehaera—lie sleeping. One is a large, brutish figure with a butcher’s cleaver in his hand, the other smaller, wiry, with the sharp, feral look of a rat catcher. They move with purpose, their intent clear. The larger man lifts the cleaver, poised to strike.

Rage explodes within you, hot and blinding. Without thinking, without hesitation, you burst into the room, a fierce cry tearing from your throat.

“No!” you scream, launching yourself at the butcher with a force that surprises even you. Your body slams into his, and the two of you crash to the floor in a tangled heap. The cleaver skitters across the stone, out of his reach, and you feel a momentary surge of triumph.

But the butcher is strong, far stronger than you anticipated. He grapples with you, trying to throw you off, his thick hands closing around your throat. You struggle beneath him, your vision darkening as he squeezes tighter, but the fear, the desperation, only fuels your anger.

And then, something primal takes over.

Morgoth’s presence surges within you, filling you with a savage strength. You snap your head forward, your teeth sinking into the flesh of the butcher’s neck. The taste of blood floods your mouth, but you do not stop. You bite down harder, feeling the skin tear, the muscle give way. His grip on your throat loosens as he lets out a gurgling scream, but you do not relent. You rip at his throat, tearing through flesh and artery until the blood sprays across your face, hot and metallic.

The butcher's body goes limp, collapsing onto the floor beside you. You release him, panting, your mouth and chin drenched in his blood. The rage, the bloodlust—it thrums through you, and you feel more alive than you ever have before.

The rat catcher, the smaller of the two men, watches you with wide, terrified eyes. His hand shakes as he raises a knife, but he is no match for you. You stand, the taste of blood still on your tongue, and he hesitates, his fear palpable. He slashes at you wildly, the blade catching your cheek and lips, splitting the skin open and sending a fresh wave of pain coursing through you. Blood drips down your face, mingling with the butcher’s, but you barely feel it.

He turns and runs, fleeing in terror, leaving you standing over the lifeless body of his accomplice. You can hear the soft whimpering of the twins behind you, but you do not turn to look at them. Not yet. The taste of blood is still in your mouth, the memory of your teeth ripping through flesh still fresh in your mind. You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, to calm the storm that rages inside you.

“Where were the guards?” you ask aloud, your voice hoarse and trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

At that moment, the door to the nursery opens wider, and Helaena steps inside. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with horror as she takes in the sight before her—the blood, the body, the terror written across your face. “What…what happened?” she whispers, her voice shaking as she rushes to the cradle, checking on her children. They are safe, unharmed, but their frightened cries tug at your heart, pulling you back from the brink.

You swallow hard, trying to push the words past the lump in your throat. “I—someone sent them. Assassins. They tried to kill the children.” Your voice breaks, and you can see the tears welling in Helaena’s eyes as she clutches her twins to her chest.

“Where were the guards?” you ask again, more insistent this time. Your voice is a raw, angry rasp, filled with the same fury that drove you to kill the butcher.

Helaena shakes her head, her expression one of dazed confusion. “I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I don’t know…”

You feel a surge of frustration, of helplessness. How could this have happened? How could they have gotten so close to the royal children without anyone stopping them? The questions burn in your mind, but there is no time to dwell on them now. You need to find your mother.

You rush from the nursery, your blood-stained hands clenched into fists, your mouth still aching from where the rat catcher’s blade cut you. You make your way through the winding corridors, ignoring the startled looks from the few servants you pass. They shrink back, their eyes widening as they take in the blood on your face, but you do not stop. Your heart pounds in your chest, a drumbeat of urgency, driving you forward.

When you reach your mother’s chambers, you do not bother to knock. You shove the door open, your breath coming in harsh gasps as you take in the scene before you.

Alicent is in bed, her hair loose around her shoulders, her face flushed with the afterglow of pleasure. And beside her, just beginning to rise from the sheets, is Ser Criston Cole. The sight stops you in your tracks, a cold fury settling in the pit of your stomach.

They both freeze, their eyes locking onto you. Alicent’s expression shifts from surprise to horror as she takes in your appearance—the blood, the cut on your cheek and lips, the wild look in your eyes. “What happened?” she demands, her voice rising in panic as she scrambles out of bed, clutching a sheet to her chest.

“I killed one of the men who tried to murder Helaena’s children,” you say, your voice cold and detached. “I tore his flesh with my teeth like a morsel.”

Ser Criston recoils, his face paling at your words. His disgust is clear, but you do not care. He is nothing to you, less than nothing.

Alicent gasps, her hands flying to her mouth as she takes a step toward you. “Gods, what has happened to you? What have you done?” she whispers, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and concern.

You take a step closer, your eyes locking onto Ser Criston’s. “He could be next if he touches you again,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “Do you understand me, Mother? I will not allow him to sully our family any further.”

Ser Criston’s hand instinctively moves to his sword, but you do not flinch. If anything, your gaze hardens, a silent challenge that makes him pause.

“Go,” you command, your voice filled with the authority of a queen. “Leave us. Now.”

He hesitates, his eyes flicking to Alicent for guidance, but she says nothing, her face ashen. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he turns and leaves the room, casting one last wary glance over his shoulder as he goes.

As the door closes behind him, Alicent sinks onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as she looks at you. “What are you becoming?” she asks, her voice breaking with the weight of her sorrow.

You do not answer her. You do not know the answer yourself. All you know is that something inside you has changed, something dark and fierce, and it will not be easily tamed.

The usual murmur of voices is absent today in the small council chamber, replaced by a grim silence as they await the arrival of King Aegon. Every face is drawn with worry, every pair of eyes darkened by the implications of the previous night’s events. The attempted murder of the royal children has shaken the Red Keep to its core.

The door swings open with a force that startles everyone in the room. Aegon strides in, his expression thunderous, the weight of his fury visible in every step. His usually languid demeanor is gone, replaced by something fierce, something primal. He looks every inch the dragon he was born to be, and it is clear that the rage burning in his chest will not be easily quelled.

Following close behind him is Ser Criston Cole, his face a mask of stone, and Dowager Queen Alicent, her expression one of anxious concern. But it is the sight of you, being carefully led by the Grand Maester Orwyle, that makes the entire room go still. Your face is pale, and the fresh bandage covering your cheek cannot hide the dark bloodstain that has soaked through. The scar will be a permanent reminder of the violence you endured, a testament to the ferocity with which you defended your sister’s children.

Aegon’s gaze hardens as he looks at you, and a muscle in his jaw tics with the effort to control his emotions. He cannot allow himself to lose control, not here, not now. The council must see him as strong, unyielding in the face of this treachery.

“My children,” Aegon begins, his voice low and trembling with restrained anger, “were almost butchered in their beds last night. My sister”—his eyes flick to you, softening for just a moment—“bears the proof of her courage on her face, yet the threat lingers. Who dares to strike at the heart of the royal family?”

He slams his hand down on the table, the sound reverberating through the chamber. The council members flinch, but none dare to speak first. They have never seen Aegon like this—so utterly consumed by wrath.

It is Larys Strong who breaks the silence, his voice measured and calm, as if speaking of the weather. “Your Grace,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “all traces of this foul deed lead to one conclusion. It was your uncle, Daemon, and his wife, Rhaenyra. They are the only ones who would dare such a brazen act against you.”

There is a murmur of agreement around the table, but Aegon’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Daemon,” he repeats, the name dripping with venom. “Is this about Luke?”

“There can be no other explanation, Your Grace,” Larys continues, his gaze flicking to you momentarily. “The men who were sent to do this terrible thing—they were no common cutthroats. They were professionals, well-trained and well-paid. Such men would only be employed by someone with the means and the motive to strike at the heart of the Targaryen line.”

Aegon clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white. “And yet, despite all of their planning, they were thwarted by my sister.” His voice rises, filled with pride and fury in equal measure. “She fought them off, saved my children from certain death. And she has been rewarded with a scar that she will bear for the rest of her life!”

He turns his gaze to the Grand Maester, who is busy tending to you, his wrinkled hands gentle as they adjust the bandage on your cheek. “Tell them, Orwyle,” Aegon demands. “Tell them what they’ve done to her.”

Orwyle looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and regret. “The wound is deep, Your Grace. It will heal, but the scar… The scar will remain. It is a mark of great courage, but also of great pain.”

Aegon’s expression darkens further, and he seems on the verge of losing control. “They have maimed my sister,” he growls. “They have tried to take my children from me. And you all stand here, debating who might be responsible, as if there is any doubt!”

Lord Larys remains calm, though there is a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Your Grace, if we are to respond to this attack, we must be certain of our enemy. Daemon and Rhaenyra have been gathering forces, preparing for war. They believe the Iron Throne rightfully belongs to Rhaenyra. This is a move to weaken you, to destabilize your reign.”

Aegon’s eyes flash with something dark and dangerous. “Then we will give them war,” he says, his voice cold and resolute. “We will hunt them down like the traitors they are. But know this—my sister, the Princess, is under my protection. Any harm that befalls her will be met with a wrath that will make the Seven Kingdoms tremble.”

He looks at you again, his expression softening just a fraction. “I will not let them touch you again,” he vows. “Not while I still draw breath.”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, but none dare to oppose the king’s decree. They know that Aegon’s rage is like a wildfire, and any who stand in its path will be consumed.

Ser Criston Cole steps forward, his voice steady and reassuring. “Your Grace, I will see to it that the palace is secured. We will not allow another breach like this. The guards will be doubled, and I will personally oversee their training.”

Aegon nods, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface. “See that you do, Ser Criston. If there is another attempt on my family, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Ser Criston bows his head, accepting the king’s command without protest. He knows that Aegon’s fury is justified, and he will do whatever it takes to protect the royal family.

Aegon turns to you once more, his expression softening even further as he reaches out to take your hand. “You saved them,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a rare tenderness. “You saved my children, and I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

You look up at him, your eyes still filled with the pain and fear of the previous night. “I would do it again, Aegon,” you say softly. “They are my blood as much as yours.”

He squeezes your hand, his gaze filled with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. “And I will make sure that no one ever harms you again, sister,” he promises. “This, I swear.”

The small council remains silent, the weight of the king’s words hanging heavily in the air. The room is filled with the promise of retribution, and as Aegon looks around the table, each member knows that the events of the previous night have changed everything.

War is coming, and the blood that has been spilled will be avenged.

The flickering light of the hearth casts warm, dancing shadows across the stone walls of your chamber. The air is drenched with the scent of burning wood and the faint aroma of lavender from the candles you’ve lit. It is a rare moment of solitude in the Red Keep, a brief respite from the constant watchful eyes and the burden of your newfound abilities. You cherish these moments, where the weight of your responsibilities can be set aside, if only for a short while.

You sit by the fire, your fingers tracing the thin, silvery scar that now mars your cheek and lips—a permanent reminder of the night you fought to save your sister’s children. It is a small price to pay, you tell yourself, though the sting of that night lingers, not just in your flesh but in your heart.

Before you, on the small table beside your chair, lie two letters, each carefully unfolded and read multiple times. The first is from Daeron, your youngest brother, currently stationed in Oldtown. His words are full of affection and concern, the kind of letter that reminds you of simpler days when you were just his beloved sister, not the fierce protector or the silent warg you’ve become. You smile faintly as you reread his words, feeling a swell of love for him.

My dear sister, the letter begins, I think of you often, and I miss our days together in the gardens, where we spoke of nothing and everything. I long for the day when we are all reunited, and the shadow that looms over our family is lifted. Please take care, and know that my thoughts are with you always.

The innocence and sincerity in his words warm your heart, but they also remind you of the distance between you now—not just in miles, but in the paths your lives have taken. He still sees you as the sister who read to him and played with him in the courtyard, not as the woman you’ve become—marked by blood and fire, burdened with secrets you cannot share.

You set Daeron’s letter aside and reach for the second one, your heart beating a little faster as your fingers brush the familiar seal. Jace’s letter is more worn, the edges slightly crumpled from being unfolded and read countless times. His words, penned in his bold, confident hand, ignite a different fire within you—a longing that has been your constant companion ever since your secret affair began.

My dearest heart, the letter reads, it feels like an eternity since I last held you, since I last saw your face and felt the warmth of your smile. The days are cold and empty without you. I can think of nothing else but our next meeting. There is an island, a place we both know well. Come to me, my love. Let us forget the world, if only for a night.

The passion in his words makes your heart swell, your thoughts immediately drifting to the secluded island where you and Jace have met so many times before. It is a place of solace, of stolen moments that belong only to the two of you. The thought of seeing him again, of feeling his arms around you, is enough to make your breath catch.

But as you sit there, with the two letters before you, you are reminded of the dangerous path you walk. The love you share with Jace is forbidden, a fire that could consume you both if discovered. And yet, you cannot deny the pull, the need to be with him, to feel alive in a way that only he can make you feel.

Your eyes drift to the flames in the hearth, their warm glow reflecting in your eyes as you contemplate what must be done. With a heavy heart, you reach for the letters and hold them over the fire. The parchment catches quickly, curling and blackening as the flames consume the words written with such care and affection.

As the letters turn to ash, you feel a pang of regret, but also a sense of resolve. These letters were too dangerous to keep, too risky to let fall into the wrong hands. Your love for Jace and your affection for Daeron are now secrets you must carry in your heart alone.

You stand, brushing the ash from your fingers as you move to the window. The cool night air brushes against your scarred cheek, a contrast to the warmth of the fire. You close your eyes, letting your thoughts drift to Jace, to the feel of his hands on yours, the sound of his voice whispering your name. The thought of seeing him again fills you with a mix of excitement and fear. The danger, the secrecy, it only makes your love burn brighter, more fiercely.

But there is something else as well, something darker. The abilities that have manifested within you, the connection with Morgoth, the warg abilities you have struggled to control—they are always there, lurking in the background of your mind. You’ve been practicing, trying to understand and master them, but they are wild, untamed, much like the dragon within. The more you use them, the more you feel them growing stronger, more insistent.

The thought of what you could become, of what you might be capable of, both terrifies and excites you. You wonder if Jace would still love you if he knew the full extent of your abilities, if he knew the darkness that now shadows your every step.

But these thoughts, too, are set aside as you prepare for what comes next. There is no turning back now. You will go to the island, you will see him again. And you will face whatever comes, with the same fire that has carried you through every trial.

For now, you are content to let the night air soothe your worries, even if only for a moment. Tomorrow, you will return to the role you must play—daughter, sister, protector, and secret lover. But tonight, you allow yourself to imagine what it will feel like to be in Jace’s arms again, if only for a few stolen hours.

And as the flames in the hearth die down, leaving nothing but embers, you find yourself whispering into the darkness, a promise meant for no one but yourself: “I will see you soon, my love. And may the gods help anyone who tries to stop me.”

The island looms on the horizon, a solitary speck of land amidst the endless expanse of sea. The wind rushes past you as Morgoth’s powerful wings beat rhythmically against the air, the dragon’s massive form casting a long shadow over the water below. The island is a place of memories, of secrets shared in the moonlight and promises whispered in the dark. It is the only place where you and Jace can truly be yourselves, away from the prying eyes and the heavy weight of duty.

Morgoth lands with a graceful thud, the ground trembling beneath the weight of his massive claws. The familiar scent of salt and sand fills your senses as you slide from his back, your boots sinking into the soft, sun-warmed sand. You take a deep breath, the tension that has coiled in your chest since you last saw Jace beginning to unwind. Here, on this island, you can forget the world and simply be.

As you look around, your eyes find him almost immediately. Jace is just ahead, dismounting Vermax with practiced ease. His dark hair is tousled by the wind, and even from a distance, you can see the familiar warmth in his eyes, tempered by a hint of something darker—anger, perhaps, or worry. It doesn’t matter. The moment you see him, your heart leaps, and before you know it, you’re running toward him.

“Jace!” you call out, your voice filled with the joy and relief of finally being near him again. He turns at the sound of your voice, his expression softening as he sees you rushing toward him.

You reach him in moments, throwing yourself into his arms with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you both. He catches you easily, holding you tight against him as if he never wants to let you go. The warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him—it’s like coming home.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper against his neck, your arms wrapping around him as you press yourself closer, as if trying to make up for all the time you’ve spent apart.

“And I you,” he murmurs back, his voice rough with emotion. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning your face as if committing every detail to memory. But then his gaze catches on the scar that mars your cheek and lips, a reminder of the night that nearly tore your family apart.

His hand comes up to gently trace the line of the scar, his touch featherlight. “They did this to you,” he says, his voice hardening with barely restrained anger. “Daemon and my mother—they’re responsible for this.”

“Jace,” you begin, trying to soothe him, but the fire in his eyes only burns brighter.

“They sent those men,” he continues, his jaw clenching as he speaks. “They tried to kill your family, and you—” His voice breaks, and he closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “They tried to take you from me. Like Aemond took Luke.”

You can see the storm of emotions raging within him—anger, guilt, fear—but you cannot let him carry this burden alone. You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones in a tender caress. “I’m here, Jace,” you whisper, your voice filled with the love and reassurance you know he needs. “I’m alive. They didn’t take me. I’m right here with you.”

His eyes open, meeting yours, and you can see the flicker of uncertainty in them. But before he can say anything more, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that is both fierce and gentle, a silent promise that nothing and no one will come between you.

The kiss deepens quickly, the passion that has been building since your last meeting igniting like fire. The world falls away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other, in the heat of your desire. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you even closer, and you gasp against his lips as the intensity of your connection overwhelms you.

The sand beneath your feet is soft and warm as Jace lowers you both to the ground, his body pressing down against yours. The feel of him, the weight and the warmth of him, is both comforting and exhilarating. His hands are sure and familiar as they begin to undo the laces of your clothing, and you help him, your fingers trembling slightly with the urgency of your need.

There is no hesitation, no shyness between you. You’ve done this before, so many times, yet every time feels like the first—new and exhilarating, filled with the thrill of discovery and the comfort of familiarity. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is a distant hum, drowned out by the beating of your heart and the ragged breaths you share as you finally, finally, come together.

When he enters you, it’s with a practiced ease that sends a shiver of pleasure through your entire body. You both gasp, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity, as if every nerve ending has been set alight. You move together, a rhythm as old as time itself, each movement a silent declaration of your love, your longing, your need.

“Jace,” you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“I’m here,” he murmurs in response, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m here, my love.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him close as the passion between you builds, becoming wilder, more desperate. There is nothing gentle about it now, only the raw need to be as close as possible, to feel every inch of each other, to lose yourselves in the heat of the moment.

The world narrows down to the two of you—two souls entwined, lost in each other, as the fire between you blazes hotter, brighter. And when you finally reach that peak together, it is with a shared cry of pleasure, your bodies tensing and trembling as the waves of ecstasy wash over you.

Afterward, you lie there together on the sand, your bodies still entwined, your breathing slowly returning to normal. The warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze, the sound of the sea—it all feels distant, secondary, to the presence of Jace beside you.

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice filled with the kind of tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way possible.

“And I love you,” you reply, your voice soft but filled with conviction. You reach up to cup his face again, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw.

The warmth of the aftermath lingers in the air, the sound of the waves gently lapping against the shore as you lie entwined with Jace on the soft sand. His arm is draped around you, holding you close, as your head rests against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, a comforting rhythm that contrasts with the turmoil in your own. For a while, you both simply breathe, savoring the peace of this stolen moment. But the silence between you is heavy with unspoken words, and you can feel the weight of your fears pressing down on you, threatening to shatter the fragile tranquility you've found.

It’s Jace who finally breaks the silence, his voice soft and filled with concern. “You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. “I can feel something is troubling you.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you know you must say. You’ve carried this burden alone for too long, and if there’s anyone you can trust, it’s Jace. He deserves to know the truth, no matter how dark it may be.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. You feel his body tense slightly beneath you, but he doesn’t interrupt, waiting patiently for you to continue. “Something…something I’ve been struggling with for years now. And I’m afraid of what it means.”

Jace’s hand stills on your back, his attention fully focused on you. “You can tell me anything,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet reassurance that makes your heart ache. “Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

You sit up slightly, turning to face him as you gather the courage to speak. The look in his eyes—so full of love and concern—gives you the strength to continue. “I can…warg,” you say, the word feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue. “I can warg into Morgoth.”

Jace’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he reaches up to cup your face, his thumb gently brushing against the scar on your cheek. “Into your dragon?” he asks, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “It started a few years ago, in my dreams. I thought it was just that—dreams. But then it became more in recent months. I can feel him, see through his eyes, control him. I feel his hunger, his anger, and it terrifies me, Jace. I’m afraid I’m losing myself to him.”

Jace listens intently, his expression one of deep concern, but there is no judgment in his eyes—only understanding. “When…when the assassins came for Helaena’s children,” you continue, your voice breaking as the memories flood back, “I used that power. I was fighting one of the men, and I… I bit him. I tore out his throat with my teeth, just like Morgoth would. It wasn’t just instinct—it was something darker, something…unnatural.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you confess this, the horror of what you’ve done finally spilling out. “I’m afraid, Jace,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “I’m afraid I’m becoming a monster.”

For a moment, Jace says nothing, and you fear that he’ll pull away, that he’ll see you for the monster you believe yourself to be. But then, to your surprise, he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. His hand cradles the back of your head, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You’re not a monster,” he whispers fiercely, his voice filled with conviction. “You’re the bravest, most selfless person I know. You saved your sister’s children and you’ve done nothing but protect those you love. Whatever this power is, whatever it means, it doesn’t change who you are.”

You bury your face in his chest, letting his words wash over you, trying to believe them. But the fear still lingers, the doubt that you can’t quite shake. “But what if I can’t control it?” you ask, your voice muffled against him. “What if I hurt someone I love?”

Jace pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression serious but gentle. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he says firmly. “You’re not alone in this. We’ll learn to control it, to understand it. You’re stronger than you think, and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

His words bring a sense of relief you didn’t know you needed. For so long, you’ve carried this burden alone, but now, with Jace by your side, it doesn’t feel so overwhelming. You nod, trying to smile through your tears, but Jace catches the flicker of doubt still lingering in your eyes.

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—a kiss filled with all the love and reassurance he can give. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not alone,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I will love you, no matter what.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself believe in his words, letting his love and warmth seep into the cold, dark places within you. For the first time in months, you feel a glimmer of hope—hope that you are more than the darkness, more than the power that threatens to consume you.

“I love you, Jace,” you whisper, your voice steady for the first time since you began speaking. “And I trust you.”

In that moment, as you lie in his arms with the sea gently lapping at the shore, you feel a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time.

And together, you will find a way forward.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #jacerys velaryon #jace x y/n #jace x you #jace x reader #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader

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milksnake-tea · 8 months ago

Text

━━ die with a smile .

In every zombie apocalypse, there's always one who is immune to the infection. And Blade, it seems, is the unlucky one who has to carry that burden.

blade x gn!reader (kinda. relationship is ambiguous)

contains: gorey language (rotting flesh, wounds), zombie apocalypse au, horror(???? I GUESS????? I DONT EVEN KNOW BRO), reader dies lol, blade got major issues

wc: 2.4k

a/n: lord i am NOT good with horror BUT !!! might as well give this a try. if you can call this horror. I DONT EVEN KNOW I DONT WRITE OR READ HORROR IM JUST A GIRL anyways. this is for @stellaronhvnters's event that's happening rn! the prompt i ended up choosing was zombie, and i hope i brought it to life! i am actually so sad i wasn't allowed to write for sunday. can you believe this. SIGHS

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo

Immune.

It is a word that Blade has heard time and time over again, and a word he has grown to hate.

Immune. Immortal.

A blessing, it is, to any other soul, especially in an apocalypse such as this. In a world where survival itself is a luxury, and comfort even moreso, what sane person wouldn’t wish for eternal life - or better yet, a life without fear of death?

They say he is lucky, the others. They say that he is blessed, and that whatever cruel deity overlooked this world must’ve found a sliver of fondness towards him.

They say that he is not human, the others. They say that he is something entirely else - not someone, no, something that cannot possibly fathom the pains of humanity, of a mortal life.

And so they say, why not let him bear the weight of a savior? After all, blessings must be used, and they cannot allow Blade to be selfish.

A pity, truly. They seemed to have forgotten, the others, that no matter how blessed he may seem, the deity is still cruel, and will not stand for shortcuts.

And so, Blade has long forgotten the meaning of the word “companion”.

Days pass like seconds in his constant weariness, and his body has become something akin to that of a clock; going through the motions, surviving but not living. His eyes bear witness to the downfall of his home, and yet he cannot see it - he cannot see anything; not the once-vivid colors of nature nor the once-bright streams of light that dare to warm his barely living skin.

He knows not where he is right now. All he knows is that he is injured, a gash on his arm that streams with useless blood. It will heal in due time, which is why…

“This is unnecessary,” he rasps.

If you had a name, he doesn’t remember it. Your face is blurred as everything else in this world is. You’re one of many, hundreds, that he has traveled with - why, he doesn’t know. Perhaps he feels some sort of obligation, like the ones the others have said long ago, to protect those who aren’t favored like he is.

But that isn’t Blade’s main concern. What is, is the bandages binding his wound, bleeding bandages that are wasted on someone of his constitution.

“I will heal,” he continues, his voice a repetitive drawl. “Save it for your own skin.”

And yet the bandages do not fall - in fact, they may have tightened.

“Your blessing allows you to recover from injuries and pain,” you reply, weariness wearing down your own voice, and yet there is a spark of indignation beneath the exhaustion. “It does not excuse you of pain.”

Blade scoffs. “I am not so weak as to kneel from such an insignificant wound.”

“But it hurts, doesn’t it?”

He blinks. Seizing his stunned silence, you continue.

“While your body takes the time to heal, it becomes prey to infections, parasites, all of which are painful and annoying to deal with, as I’m sure you know. It isn’t wise to rely on your blessings all the time.”

But it’ll only take a second. Gods work quick, after all, and their blessings quicker. He has no need for your bandages nor for your ointment.

He sighs.

“Do what you want.”

He doesn’t have the energy to argue much further. If this futile attempt at aiding him is what will calm you, then he will bear with it.

Blade rears his head slightly so that he can catch a glimpse of the wasteland that lies outside the broken-down shack you’ve temporarily taken refuge in. The streets are quiet - for now. But evidence of past destruction stains the road in warning: do not stay, do not yield. Do not think you are safe, for even a moment, because that is when they will strike.

And they will come, the victims and the assailants, with their rotting flesh and grey skin, and you will have but two options: survive and remember, or join them in their pack.

Both you and Blade are well aware of this fact, evident by the fact that you are still human. No one survives long in a world like this without some sort of wits on them, which makes your insistence on treating him all the more befuddling.

He inhales, and the stench of decay fills his nostrils.

They will be here soon.

He stands up abruptly, interrupting your work and leaving the bandage untied. With a grunt, he finishes the binding himself, cutting off the excess with his namesake.

“We can’t afford to dally,” he says gruffly as he pulls on his black coat once more, hiding the bandages and shielding his scars from past battles. “Come.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. If you have any brains in there, you’ll follow.

It’s eerie, the way fog curls and billows like smoke as he wretches open the door. He cannot feel the wind, but he sees it well enough in the way it drags the fallen clouds across the deserted earth and tickles what little life is left in the leaves of wilted trees.

He hears your footsteps behind him, along with a little sigh, and he resumes his march.

Dried leaves crack under his boots. The air is quiet, as if he were in a vacuum chamber, too quiet. He wonders how long ago it had been since these dirtied streets were clean and covered not by leaves and dried flesh, but by the pit-pats of dozens of people, all on their next chapter of life.

The silence is deafening. His brows furrow slightly.

With a glance back at you, he confirms his suspicions. Your hackles are raised, and the grip on your weapon has switched from idle to offensive. You peer into the fog’s depths, scanning the premises for anything, live or dead, that might be hiding.

Neither of you dare to speak. Talking only sets them off.

But then again, if they are really here, there is little you can do to deter them.

They come in packs - at least, most of them do. Like the humans they used to be, they can be quite fickle. Most prefer each other’s company - if they can call it company, but there are always one or two or five who go on their own, and those either die quickly or become stronger than what is manageable.

His breath mists from his slightly parted lips.

He breathes in through his nose.

The air is sour.

He stops.

He listens.

And then he hears it - the crack of a leaf, crushed under a foot that is neither his nor yours.

Instinct seizes him and he whirls and grabs you and throws you out of the way. Steel meets flesh, carving it with the precision of a butcher and the life he used to have. He faintly registers cold blood as it coats his face in a splatter, its iron taste on the tip of his tongue as he shouts at you,

“Go!”

They come in packs, the creatures. As they swarm him like an infestation of houseflies, Blade begins to miss the eerie silence.

He plunges into a familiar, red-tinted haze. He slashes and slices and cuts through corpses of those who should’ve been put to rest. Rotted teeth bite into his arms (he briefly remembers your insistence on infection) and he kicks them off and his namesake soon follows.

Undying, the two of them are. They are more similar than the others like to admit, but truth is, they are both cursed by the deity. Never will they live, never will they die. Forever, they must exist in this world, until all that’s left of them is a memory.

For how much longer must he endure this? For how much longer must he fight?

He’s tired.

He wants to sleep.

But rest doesn’t come easy.

In the corner of his eye, another one of them lunges at him, falling teeth bared and eyes lolling from their sockets. He tugs his sword, but it is hindered - only slightly, embedded in the flesh of another. It’s a second he’ll lose, and a second that decides it all.

For a moment, he’s half tempted to let it bite.

But then comes a BANG! and then the distinctive smell of gunpowder and then his face is coated in body bits once more.

“What’re you doing?!” Now it’s your turn to grab his arm and pull him away. “There’s too many of them. Let’s get out of here!”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance. You’re loud, but you’ve got a point.

You shove him behind you and unclip one of the many grenades that hang from your belt. He knows this move well enough now, and therefore knows to avert his gaze once he hears the pin pulled and the bomb sails into the crowd of them.

BOOM!

The explosion is only just enough to startle their attackers and create enough of a divy in their ranks that you can push through. Blade leads the retreat, catching any stranglers with his sword while you keep your gun aimed behind you to ward away any pursuers.

He runs, as he always does. He scales hills with a speed that should’ve left his legs stiff and burning, leaps over canals that are flooded with pollution, and turns corners so fast that his neck might’ve broken. Only once or twice does he glance back to see if you are following.

You are, although, you are slower. Something is weighing you down.

He runs, until he can no longer hear the groans of the deceased and the sourness fades away into crisp nothingness. The smoke-fog lolls back, and he thinks he finds peace, but then-

A weight crashes into his back, making him stumble. With a growl he doesn’t feel, he leers at you.

“What now-?”

He stills as he sees your state.

“Sorry, I just-” Your breath is ragged as you pant. You try to push yourself off, but your legs give out and you crash back into him. But that’s not what catches Blade off-guard.

You are like a second sun, with the heat searing through your skin and burning him through his clothes. His eyes widen as he fully takes you in.

Sweat drips off of you in raindrops. Your skin shivers in small, terrifying tremors. Your breath is short and rasp and choked and hollow, as if every inhale takes all of your energy. Your eyes are barely peeking open as you try to stay conscious.

Words die on the tip of his tongue.

You inhale again, gasping as you try to speak. You want to move, but your body fails you.

“S-”

“Quiet.” He turns you against his chest to assess the danger. Your chest heaves, and- there.

He’s seen it far too many times.

No. Not again.

How- When? When had it- no.

His brows furrow and his teeth grit.

There, tearing through your jacket and into your shoulder, ripped clothes and frayed threads, a bite, black, purple, bruised and bloody and slobbery. And in between, the beginnings of greying skin.

An infection.

His mind begins to race for the first time in years. Fear erupts in him like a sealed volcano as he fights himself on what to do with you.

He should kill you. Get it over with, make it quick before you suffer. There’s no coming back from a bite - you’re as good as dead now, so it wouldn’t be wrong, right? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to kill a fallen companion (if you could even call them that).

Yes, he should - he needs to do it. Now, while you’re still weak and vulnerable, while you still hold your humanity within your grasp.

In one hand, is you, a person whom he has only known for a month or so. In the other hand is the sword that has never left his side.

The choice is obvious.

Yet why can’t he make it?

“Bl…Blade,” you rasp. His glare pierces you. “I…”

“Don’t waste your energy,” he says quietly, almost gently. He doesn’t recognize his own voice.

“...this-” you cough suddenly, hacking phlegm for a few horrid seconds before you’re able to speak again. “This is- like a really bad time to say this, but… you smell really, really good. Like… like… like meat.”

He freezes.

Now. Do it, as you always have. Don’t think of it any longer.

Yet his feet are rooted and his hands are stone. Like a moth to a flame, his eyes can’t tear away from your face as you stagger, dirtied hands clutching at his dirtied coat. Your lidded eyes are hazy.

His namesake is heavy like a weight in his hand. Bandaged, calloused fingers grip and shift and relax and then tighten again around the handle as he struggles with a decision.

He takes too long.

You lunge at him with abrupt strength and tackle him to the ground. Blade chokes as gravel digs into his shoulders. Still-warm hands seize onto his broad shoulders with a grip so tight they might shatter. And above him, the sun halos your silhouette, basking you in shadow.

The grip on his shoulders trembles.

“Sor….” your language begins to slur, deteriorating into the common groan of them. “Hung….”

Blade doesn’t reply, too caught up in his mind and in witnessing your last moments as a human. Your mouth hangs open, breath and saliva dripping from it as the grey climbs up your skin in patches of mold.

“Hurs…” you mutter. “Hurs… so…”

Your hands leave his shoulders in favor of pulling down his collar in a manner that is hauntingly gentle. You pull, layers and layers of cloth down and away until his throat is fully exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Fingers trace his throat, thumbs rubbing against it. Animalistic hunger overtakes your pupils, which have always smiled so kindly and tiredly at him, blurring all sentient thoughts away.

Blade squeezes his eyes shut. He breathes, feeling the air pool in his lungs.

And then, at last, he decides.

You scarcely resist as he switches your positions. He slams you to the concrete and raises his namesake, pointed tip situated just above your heart.

And then he sees you, as he always has.

And despite your clouded eyes, your dog-like breaths, and the mold growing on your skin, you smile softly.

But why?

Out of relief?

Out of gratitude?

Or… out of forgiveness?

Blade doesn’t know, nor does he ever find out, as he takes one last look at your life, soaking in all that remains of you and burning it into his memory.

And then he plunges, and the deity laughs once more.

And again, he loses the meaning of companion.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

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gladiatorcunt · 8 months ago

Text

- BELLY OF THE BEAST | II.

the ocean washed open your grave

cw: kinktober prompt (teratophilia), made up mer anatomy, double penetration (in reader’s ass and pussy) w/ two dicks on one guy, implied painal, merman!john b with siren tendencies, mer people eat humans, implied somnophilia and kidnapping and oviposition, mating rituals but only one party knew about them, background jjpope, blood, extremely dubious consent bordering on non con, implied plus size reader, reader’s intentionally silent, yandere

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

It’s the heart of july. You can see Venus this evening. Picked clean fish bones scuttle along the pebbled gray beach like a rake sifting through bramble. Broken shells litter the sand, shards of vivid color and shades of dull nude turned this way and that. Someone’s inspecting them on the edge of the water, angling their hands in strange ways to investigate how the sunlight shimmers off the shell. They’re agitated, their search going unsatisfied, loose strings of thread frayed at the ends without objects to connect.

Summer is stressing you out, too much time spent feeling pressure to have experiences when you should really be lounging the dog days away in an old timey rocking chair. You’d cringe at the condensation sliding down your glass of sweet tea. You’re on an aimless walk on the beach instead, keeping a wide berth from the shore.

That’s when you see him.

A sunken sunbeam on earth. His tail is a myriad of red-yellow-orange scales, when he moves he becomes a human man on fire. The flick of his ruby tail fin looks like flame taking shape in the open sea, something that you know is basically impossible, maybe your brain is swelling. But it gives you a moth’s wings all the same. You rub your eyes but he’s still there when you open them again.

A merman.

He’s hissing at the blonde guy fooling around with the shells, “JJ, get your tail back home or so help me.”

Which to you is just a series of clicks and trills.

“JJ” snorts, sticking his tongue out and going back to rifling through the shells.

You stand around awkwardly, transfixed and somehow unable to move away. The merman with brown hair finally spots you and his eyes widen for a split second before he makes a distressed bunch of clicks, to which the blonde one seems to get the message and dart under the surface of his water. His pile of shells are left unattended on the shore.

The brunette merman clears his throat, “Hi, there. What’s your name?” His voice is groggy around the unnatural syllables, but his tone is smooth and enticing.

You freeze, and all thoughts of sneaking away are out the window. You’ve seen him, you can’t ask him to trust that you wouldn’t tell anybody about him, not that they’d even believe you. Still, having insurance never hurt nobody.

You find yourself making footprints in the sand, stepping forward until you’re right in front of the merman, looking down at him like a child peers down a well. A cold sensation splashes at your spine through your clothes, but he doesn’t sing so he must not be a siren, that or he doesn’t need to sing to ensure you in his talons.

His teeth would give a great white shark the shivers as he smiles, mouthing your name back to you in the sea air.

The sloshing of the waves under the setting sun is all you can hear, and his warm brown eyes are all you can see. The world swirls around you, becoming mist that falls to the ground and is swiftly swept out to sea. One minute you’re plopping yourself down on the sand in front of the merman’s grinning face, and the next he’s scraping the edge of his talon along your thigh.

Men will be men, no matter the species.

“My name’s John B.” He says, his pupils dilating at the scent of your blossoming arousal, a shark with a single drop of the blood in the ocean. “So nice to meet you, babe.”

Later you’ll remember stuttering, trying to make excuses to peel away and run for the hills. But John B clicks disappointingly and sucks his teeth, fishing a stuck piece of flesh out from in between them. It’s the skin and hair still on that bit of meat that makes you stay, another stupid decision you’ll kick yourself for later if you even survive. You try to open your mouth to speak, but the movement is sluggish and your words feel trapped in your vocal chords by some kind of force field.

How much can you explain away putting yourself in danger because the man with a fish’s tail and gills was hot? John B smiles from ear to ear when you give into the pull between you two, swishing his crimson tail fin back and forth as your eyes fixate on the flecks of melted gold in his.

Hours seem to pass by in a blur and when you’re aware of reality again, you’re on your back with John B hovering above you. His talons are buried in the sand on either side of your head, and the full moon behind him sparks a feeling of trepidation in your belly.

He smiles, razor sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Do you trust me?”

You try to answer and he laughs, his sharp claws scraping against your nose as he boops it. John B knows you can’t actually form the words, but lucky for you he has a knack for knowing exactly how you’re feeling. And pushing you to feel however they’d need you to, but he digresses, it’s the cusp of mating season after all. He’s not going to pump you full of his eggs, but those first glimpses of your thighs in your swimsuit has his cocks itching to come out.

JJ is probably back moping with the others anyway, they’ll have found some other poor unsuspecting humans for dinner and settled in for the night. He can be a little late to catch up with his pod, just this once.

Your mouth drops open as John B grinds his lower half against yours, having ripped off your swimsuit bottoms in the blink of an eye like it was nothing.

His scales give you little cuts here and there, but their smooth texture and the way their coolness soothes the heat licking at your body has you trying to gasp.

You feel an opening push against your pussy, semi-hard folds with the hint of a deeper recess. You’d have no serious problem if you spent your night bumping pussies with what some would say is a freak of nature, but then you feel a couple slight bumps in the middle of his folds.

John B grins, bloodthirsty.

“Gotta coax ‘em out of their sheath, give ‘em something to fuck into.” He grits, pressing your hand to the outer sheath and guiding your coaxing movements, little rubs and pats. “And lucky for me, I've found the perfect thing. I’m sorry, I normally don’t play with my food. That’s JJ’s thing.”

He tsks, and half out of fear and half out of crazed desire your rubbing becomes more focused and your pats turn into love taps. Sure enough, two long cocks begin to jut out from his opening. They’re the same fiery color as his tail, each as thick as your forearm, with more of a tapered tip than a human cock and sort of squishy even when they’re hard. You don’t want to even try to guess how big they are, definitely larger than any human’s dick could be.

You hear a woosh go through your ears and you find that you can little sounds into his salty lips now, whining as they brush against yours. John B hums what sounds like a lullaby and you feel your pussy release a gush of slick, loosening up to prepare itself to be torn apart.

You whimper into his mouth as he teases the tips of his cocks against both of your entrances, and he kisses you quiet as he starts to push in without warning. His teeth cut your lip open, and the taste and scent of your blood only spurs him on more.

“Oh, that’s it, human. Work that pretty ass back on me.” He trills hypnotically, his scales scratching against your flesh as he slams both of his cocks to the hilt inside of your holes. “Look at you, pounded all sloppy by monster cocks you can’t even see.”

You can’t really scream, when you try it just sounds like the last weak sound someone would make before they die. But… you don’t feel any pain, and you look to confirm that you’ve indeed taken every inch of the merman’s dicks. A plus to fucking a monster with powers, you guess, you know he could’ve made you feel, could’ve ripped your walls open and used your blood as lube to work up an appetite.

His teeth keep cutting you as he kisses you, graciously letting you adjust before flicking his tail fin in the air and fucking you into the sand back. His talons slide all over your body, playing pat-a-cake with the skin on your tummy and groping your tits when one of his thrusts has his cocks feeling particularly good. You moan when he pinches your nipples, his claws scratching your pert buds just right as his cocks split you in what seems like four different directions.

You reach up to shakily grab onto his wet shoulders, closing your eyes as the summer night breeze wafts over you. Till a sharp poke to your cheek makes you open them again. Ah, he wants you to see what kind of “man” you’re really fucking. Once again, men will be men even when they live underwater.

The cock in your pussy hits a spot deep inside you that has you gasping for air, a useless effort since John B does it again and again and again. Your hands fall to brush along his gills, divots in his torso with smaller fins extending outwards, wanting to firmly grab that part of his torso but also not wanting to incite a frenzy in the merman.

If only you’d known that a mer’s gills are even more sensitive than their genitalia. The second your finger tips touch the small flaps, John B hisses and digs his talons into your love handles, drawing blood as he picks up his thrusts. His tail thumps against the sand, how he has the strength to life all 200+ pounds of his body and tail to fuck you in a missionary sort of position is beyond you.

Your voice is gone at this point, carried away by the wind into the night. You wrap your arms around John B’s neck and hold on, smelling the salt water and something sweet like coconut, letting the motions of his cocks molding your insides around them move through you. The one in your ass rebels against the tightness of your asshole, bullying it with every stroke with what little slick trickled down into the rim from your pussy.

He wraps his strong arms around your waist and lifts your hips up, forcing you to take him at a deeper angle. John B grounds him by gripping your ass cheeks, his talons pushing into the thick globes, drawing blood there too. He doesn’t have the leverage or means to properly smack them, but that’s something for next time, seeing how the water would ripple around them with every slap.

You’re dazed, lying there and taking it. You hear music, drums and rumbling vocals, but there’s no one around and no one’s singing. You’re bleeding from a few different places, so maybe it’s dizziness brought on by blood loss that emboldens you to pull the merman into another kiss. Even as his cock in your pussy pummels your g spot and the one in your ass abuses the puckered hole, John B is strangely mindful of his teeth this time.

Your tongues shyly flick against each other, he clicks and slaps his tail fin on the sand bank in quick succession. Instead of quickening his thrusts as he swims towards release, the merman slows down, shimmying his hips and jostling his cocks inside you. The moonlight combined with your blood and the joining of your bodies means you’ve signed up for something you can’t even comprehend.

John B tentatively skirts a talon down your stomach, deep in thought as well as deep in your guts.

“You know what? I think this needs to be round anyway, be a shame for you to be another skeleton decorating our cave.” Are the last words you hear before a wet hand closes around your throat and a louder lullaby reaches your ears. “We’ll figure out the whole “human” thing later, I could kiss JJ for wanting to waste his time on finding shells for Pope.”

Distant whoops and cheers follow you into unconsciousness.

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custom-fic-studio · 7 days ago

Text

Satoru Gojo x Female reader

Low-Grade, High Heat

The walk to the mission site is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Satoru beside you — long legs leisurely keeping pace with yours — hands tucked in his pockets like he’s got all the time in the world. The air between you hums with something gentle and giddy, like the leftover spark of laughter from a shared secret.

“Can you believe it?” he grins, tilting his head down to meet your gaze from behind those ridiculous sunglasses. “Out of all the missions, they paired us. Pure coincidence.”

You hum, shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Or maybe you pestered the higher-ups.”

He gasps, dramatic. “I would never, princess.”

You try not to laugh, but he sees it in your eyes anyway — the soft flicker of amusement, the affection that’s been quietly blooming since the day he cornered you after training. That day is still vivid in your memory.

“You keep running from me,” he’d said, chest rising with the aftermath of exertion — sweat glistening along his neck, his white hair tousled and clinging to his forehead.

You stood frozen, heart pounding, his shadow stretching long beside yours under the fading orange light of the training yard.

“Because you’re… overwhelming,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Your gaze dropped as you turned your head to the side, a deep blush coloring your cheeks. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him — not when he stood there so effortlessly handsome, so sure of himself. He was too much. Too loud. Too bright.

Too good-looking for your poor heart to handle.

But then his expression shifted.

He smiled — softly, gently — a tenderness behind it that stole your breath and made something tight in your chest begin to unravel.

“I know I joke around a lot, but I’m serious about you,” he said, voice low, steady. “I want to be the kind of man who actually makes you feel safe, seen, and… loved. Not just someone who takes up space in your life — someone who adds to it.”

Your breath hitched.

That wasn’t flirtation. That wasn’t a passing whim or one of his dramatic one-liners.

That was real.

And maybe you were still confused. Still unsure of where this would go. But that part of him — the sweet, hidden part that no one else really saw — it wrapped around your heart like silk.

So you nodded.

And stayed

Even now, it still doesn’t feel real.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I keep waiting to wake up — like this is all just some fever dream I’m too afraid to believe in fully. Being with him… letting someone like Satoru that close? It feels like trying to hold sunlight in my hands.

He’s loud, impossible, larger than life… and yet, somehow, when it’s just us — he’s soft. Gentle. Real.

And he’s mine.

…

The mission site is quiet. Barely any cursed energy lingers — faint and flickering like candle smoke.

“I’ll grab us drinks,” Satoru announces, already turning toward a nearby vending machine. He waves lazily over his shoulder. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

You smile faintly, the corners of your lips tugging up.

He’s so dramatic.

But you don’t answer — just lift a hand in a silent wave as you step forward. You’ve already slipped into work mode — focused, quiet, efficient. It’s how you operate best.

Let him flirt with the vending machine. You’ve got curses to handle.

…

And it’s over in ten minutes.

When Satoru strolls back in with two bottles — one water, one strawberry soda — he pauses in the doorway, blinking.

You’re flat on your back, arms spread, eyes closed with a tiny smile on your lips.

“…I was gonna help you,” he chuckles, walking over and kneeling beside you. “But it seems you’ve taken care of that.”

You open one eye, blinking up at him — and at the cold bottle he’s holding just inches from your face.

With a small huff, you push yourself up and accept the drink with a quiet “thanks,” twisting the cap off and taking a sip. The cool liquid is a relief, especially after moving nonstop.

“I’m not sure why they sent both of us,” you murmur between sips. “It was… really simple.”

“Low-grade,” he agrees, popping his drink open. “I’m not sure why they sent us either…” He leans closer, lips ghosting your ear, voice dropping into that dangerous, playful whisper. “But it’s not like I’m complaining.”

His smirk is lazy. Knowing. And when you turn your head toward him, your blush rising, he sees that flicker in your eyes — a spark of heat behind the shy exterior.

“What?” you ask softly, throat a little dry.

Satoru’s grin grows.

“You know what.”

Then, before you can respond again, he shifts forward — one hand bracing beside your thigh, then the other, palms pressing into the floor with quiet purpose. His knee brushes against yours as he moves, the warmth of him bleeding into your skin with every inch he closes.

Your breath catches.

And then he’s straddling your hips, smooth and unhurried — like this wasn’t a decision, but the most natural next step. Like his place was always right here, over you, close enough for his presence to eclipse everything else.

You gasp softly, your hand still clutching the bottle as his knees settle on either side of your thighs. His body is warm — overwhelmingly so — and he’s leaning in close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his chest, his scent a mix of faint cologne, sweat, and something that’s just him.

Your heart skips. He’s looking down at you now, head tilted, a sly smile playing at the corner of his lips like he already knows what you’re about to say — or what you want to say but won’t.

The weight of him isn’t heavy, but it’s enough to make you feel pinned — grounded. Claimed.

He gently plucks the drink from your fingers and sets it aside, his hands brushing against yours with deliberate slowness.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with amusement.

“Like what?” you manage, barely above a whisper.

He leans in, nose nearly brushing yours.

“Like you’re about to melt for me.”

“Gojo—”

“Mm-mm,” he hushes, his glasses slipping off and tossed gently to the side. His eyes — uncovered — are piercing, celestial, and locked only on you. “You know I like it when you call me Satoru.”

Your lips part, breath caught in your chest.

And then his mouth is on yours.

Hot. Desperate. Sweet at first, but quickly escalating.

His hands slide under your shirt, fingers cool and curious, tracing the curve of your waist and the softness of your inner thigh. You arch instinctively into his touch, your voice already shaky.

“Satoru…”

“That’s better,” he purrs against your lips. “So good when you listen.”

Your shirt’s off before you can blink, his jacket and blindfold discarded in a heartbeat. His hands are everywhere — firm but tender — worshipping you like you’re made of moonlight and sugar. When his mouth finds your collarbone, you whimper softly, and his grin returns, devilish and loving.

You don’t remember when your pants came off.

But you remember the way his hands guided your legs open.

The way he looked up at you, hair falling into his eyes, voice heavy with want.

“You okay?”

You nod.

“You sure?”

You swallow, then whisper, “Please…”

That word unravels him.

The floor is cool beneath your back, a stark contrast to the heat of his body hovering over you — all lean muscle and coiled tension. His breath fans across your skin before his mouth follows, lips brushing your jaw, your throat, the curve of your collarbone like he’s memorizing you one kiss at a time.

Each press is unhurried, deliberate — a silent promise spoken through touch. His fingers trail down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake, teasing the sensitive skin.

You shiver — not from the cold, but from the way he touches you like you’re something precious. Something his.

He groans softly against your neck, the sound low and reverent, and then—

His hands slide lower — no fabric in the way now, just warm skin beneath his palms. The contact is electric, and he moves like he already knows every inch of you — like he’s been waiting for this, memorizing the shape of you in dreams.

His fingers skim your thighs, then trace up the dip of your waist, following the soft curve of your body like a map he’s vowed to learn by heart. Every touch is deliberate — coaxing, reverent, almost worshipful.

Then his lips find a new place to claim — the slope of your chest, then lower, his mouth hot and open as he trails kisses across your bare skin, marking a path down your body. He lingers just long enough to make you writhe beneath him, sucking softly until he leaves a red marks behind — proof that he was there.

You gasp — sharp, desperate, your back arching instinctively as your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails dragging across flushed skin.

He groans at the sound, the feel of you under him — bare and trembling.

“There it is,” he murmurs against your skin, voice husky and reverent. “That sound. You have no idea what it does to me.”

Then he lifts his head, eyes meeting yours — clear, star-bright, intense.

And in that moment, with nothing between you but breath and heat, his gaze says it all:

You’re his.

…

He doesn’t rush. He savors.

And it’s almost unbearable — the way he takes his time, how his lips explore you like you’re fragile and sacred all at once.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he whispers against your skin, his voice thick with restraint and awe. “Completely mine.”

That word — mine — sends a ripple through you, tightening something low in your belly, pulling a breath from your lungs that’s more like a cry than a sigh.

Then he pushes deeper against you, chest to chest, skin to skin, and you can feel just how much he wants you — not just physically, but completely. Every touch says so. Every kiss confirms it.

And then—

You gasp — sharp and trembling — as he sinks into you, and your entire body arches like a live wire under his touch. One hand grips his shoulder desperately, nails digging into bare skin, while the other clutches the nape of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

Your breath stutters, caught somewhere between a cry and a moan, and his own comes out ragged against your ear.

You’re so full — stretched, surrounded by him — and the sensation steals every coherent thought. All you know is him. The weight of his body over yours. The way he breathes your name like a prayer. The way your bodies fit like they were always meant to find each other here.

He moves slow at first. Deep. Deliberate. Every roll of his hips is unhurried, dragging against every sensitive place inside you, making your thighs tremble where they cradle his waist.

It’s worship. Plain and raw and overwhelming.

He keeps his eyes on your face — watching you fall apart for him, just for him.

But that restraint doesn’t last.

Because the moment your legs tighten around him — holding him there, gasping his name with a broken, pleading edge — he groans into your mouth, something primal ripping through his chest.

And then his hips snap forward harder. Deeper. Faster.

The rhythm becomes messy, desperate — his mouth crashing into yours between each thrust, swallowing the whimpers you can’t control.

Your hands claw at his back, nails dragging over sweat-slick skin, and he shudders with every scratch, every gasp.

“You’re so beautiful,” he pants, lips brushing your cheek, your temple, your throat. “So fucking sweet… the way you sound when I’m inside you—”

Another moan rips from your lips, and he curses under his breath.

“I love it,” he whispers. “I love when you fall apart for me like this.”

And you do.

Again. And again.

Every thrust pulls another cry from your throat, and every cry only makes him move harder — as if proving he knows your body, your rhythm, your breaking points. His name is the only thing you can say anymore, spilling from your lips like devotion.

And he takes it — takes all of you — like he was made for it.

Like you were made for him.

…

By the time the second round hits, you barely register how he got you to the wall.

One second, you were gasping his name through the aftershocks of the first high — trembling, lips swollen, legs weak.

The next, your bare back meets the cool surface with a soft thud, and Gojo is lifting you effortlessly, hands gripping beneath your thighs like you weigh nothing — like holding you up like this is second nature.

He’s already inside you again before you can fully catch your breath.

The angle is different — deeper, sharper — and the moment he thrusts up into you, your head snaps back against the wall with a cry you don’t even try to muffle. Your fingers tangle in his hair, clutching tight, while your legs lock around him in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

You’re seeing stars behind your eyelids — breath catching in your throat as the rhythm builds fast, relentless, every motion sending sparks down your spine.

Your moans are shameless now, raw and ruined, echoing through the empty mission site like a confession neither of you can take back.

“You’re killing me,” he groans, forehead pressing against yours, his breath coming in short, burning gasps. “You feel too fucking good.”

You try to answer, but it’s impossible — your voice breaks around his name, a sob, a breathless curse tangled together into one sound that barely escapes your lips.

He groans again, deeper this time, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. He pulls you tighter against him — impossibly close — until there’s nothing between you but heat and hunger and the ache of wanting more even when you’re already drowning in it.

Your nails rake down his back as your head falls forward onto his shoulder, forehead resting against the crook of his neck. You’re whispering something — his name, maybe, or just please — you’re not sure. You’re not thinking anymore. Just feeling.

And he keeps giving.

Thrust after thrust, his grip bruising in the best way, his mouth open and panting against your skin. He’s unraveling too, you can feel it — every shaky breath, every faltering motion that grows more ragged, more desperate.

But even as he chases his own release, his voice stays near your ear.

“Let go for me again,” he rasps. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

And when you do — broken and clinging to him like he’s all that’s holding you together — he curses low and presses his mouth to yours, swallowing your cries as he follows you over the edge.

…

The third time starts slower.

Not because either of you has calmed down — far from it — but because everything feels heavy now: the shared heat, the breathless confessions, the way your name trembles from his mouth like it’s something sacred.

Your back is on the floor again — flushed, sweaty skin sticking faintly to the cold surface — and he’s above you, chest heaving, silver lashes damp with exertion. His eyes flick over your face like he’s trying to memorize it all: the tear tracks on your cheeks, the dazed shine in your eyes, the parted lips still quivering from the last release.

He leans down, mouth brushing yours, and you lift your arms slowly — weak but willing — wrapping them around his neck, pulling him close until your foreheads touch. He slides back into you with a low, broken groan, the stretch so familiar now but still so overwhelming that your whole body tenses under his.

This time, he doesn’t slam into you like before.

He sinks.

Deep and slow — grinding with a rhythm so devastatingly steady, it forces every sound out of you in soft, wrecked gasps. You hold onto him like he’s the last thing keeping you tethered to the earth, fingernails grazing the nape of his neck, legs falling open for him again without hesitation.

Your tears return, unbidden — from pleasure, from exhaustion, from the sheer intensity of it all.

He notices.

His mouth finds your cheeks, kissing each wet trail gently. Reverently. Like it hurts him to see them but he cherishes the proof that you feel this deeply with him.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, voice rough and almost trembling. “You know that, right?”

You nod, too far gone to speak — too full, too overwhelmed, too wrecked by how good he feels and how loved you feel under his touch.

He cups your face as he moves inside you, rolling his hips in slow, devastating waves. “Say it.”

Your lips part — not to form words, just to breathe — but he kisses you before you can try. His lips are gentle. Soothing. But his hips never stop.

“Mine,” he says again, quieter this time, lips brushing your temple. “All of you.”

You cry out again, arching, arms trembling around his shoulders.

And when you fall apart for him — soft, breathless, clinging to him like salvation — he follows, groaning your name like a vow, burying his face into the curve of your neck as he comes undone.

Afterwards, you collapse onto him — or maybe he collapses with you — your limbs trembling, utterly boneless, your body too worn out to even shiver properly.

Neither of you speaks for a while. There’s only the sound of your combined breaths, erratic and shaky, slowly syncing as he holds you close.

“Can’t… move,” you whisper, voice barely audible, breath still shallow against his chest.

Every muscle in your body feels like melted sugar — soft, heavy, useless. Your legs are numb, your arms too tired to lift, and your skin is still tingling from the way he touched you like you were something sacred.

He laughs — low, warm, and smug — the sound vibrating softly against your cheek where your head rests.

“I’d apologize,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles gently down your spine, “but I’m not sorry. Not even a little.”

You manage a weak glare, though it lacks any bite, and smack his chest with the strength of a sleepy kitten. “You’re the worst…”

He catches your wrist easily, brings it to his lips, and presses a kiss to your knuckles before guiding your hand back to his chest, right over his heart.

“Maybe,” he says, grinning. “But you still let me ruin you.”

You huff, too tired to argue, and close your eyes again — only for them to flutter open when you feel his lips press against your forehead, soft and slow.

His voice is quieter now. Sincere.

“And you…” he breathes, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your heart skips.

No teasing. No flirtation behind his words. Just that quiet truth, offered without expectation, dropped gently between your worn-out breaths like a gift.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just snuggle closer, let your fingers slip into his hair, and sigh against his skin like you belong there.

Because you do.

…

Later at Jujutsu High…

You should have known he’d carry you all the way back like this.

Bridal-style. Shirtless. Smirking.

His arms are steady beneath you, annoyingly gentle, and he walks through the main gates like he owns the whole damn school — which, in his head, he probably does. You’re pressed against his chest, warm skin to warm skin, legs completely dead, and wrapped in the only thing he left you to wear — his jacket, loosely thrown over your shoulders and barely zipped.

You, however?

Absolutely mortified.

Your face is tucked into the crook of his neck, burning hot as you try to pretend you’re invisible. But the moment the others spot you, you know it’s over.

Shoko’s the first to speak, leaning casually against the wall near the admin wing, coffee in hand and smirk already forming.

“Well, that took longer than it should’ve,” she drawls, taking a slow sip as her eyes scan your flushed face and the obvious love bite blooming across your collarbone. “Rough mission?”

“Low-grade curses,” Gojo replies far too cheerfully, like he wasn’t just bending you in half on a concrete floor an hour ago.

Nanami passes by without breaking stride, adjusting his tie with one glance at your state. “Low-grade my ass,” he mutters, under his breath but just loud enough for you to hear.

Utahime actually freezes in place when she notices the very clear pattern of bruises and teeth marks on your neck. Her face twists between horror and exasperation. “Oh my god, is that—?”

“Don’t ask,” you mumble into Gojo’s chest.

And then there’s Geto, strolling in like he’s been waiting for this moment all day.

He whistles low, smirking. “Well damn, I thought I was smooth.” His eyes flick to Gojo. “Guess that’s what ‘team bonding’ looks like, huh?”

You make a noise halfway between a groan and a whimper and bury your face deeper into Gojo’s shoulder, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

“I hate you,” you whisper fiercely, voice muffled against his skin.

He laughs — loud and unbothered — then leans down to murmur in your ear, his lips brushing your temple.

“No you don’t.”

And the worst part?

He’s right.

You don’t.

Not even a little bit.

In fact, when you feel his arms tighten around you just a little — protective, proud — you smile faintly, cheeks still burning, but your heart aching in the sweetest way.

Because somewhere between the embarrassment, the teasing, and the chaos that is Gojo Satoru…

You realize you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

#gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader

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callmebrycelee · 11 months ago

Text

I've been mulling this over for the last few days and I figured I'd just put what I'm thinking out there in hopes that someone will understand what I'm coming from. I'm reading a wonderful fanfic where Buck leaves the 118 and goes to work at Air Operations. He is paired with Tommy and the two of them strike up a friendship and an eventual romance. I'm only a few chapters into the story and there's a conversation where Buck and Tommy are relaying their backstories to each other. Buck talks about getting crushed by the fire engine, the subsequent surgery and setback, and him suing the LAFD. Tommy talks about his time in the Army and ultimately joining the 118. He goes into vivid detail about every single awful thing he did to Chimney and Hen. He ends the story by telling Buck that even though the Chimney and Hen chose to forgave him, he can't quite move past his guilt and works hard daily to become a better person. The thing I've been mulling over is the concept of white guilt and how it often triumphs over forgiveness extended by people of color. I find this so funny because even when people of color, esepcially Black people, are at their most vulnerable and open, whiteness still finds a way to be greater than.

Now I'm not here to excuse any of what Tommy did during his time at the 118, but I have to admit that the majority of the people I have seen taking umbrage with Tommy and his behavior, even after he has been forgiven by those whom he offended, and even after he has taken strides to change, are white, non-queer individuals. And before we making this a B*ddie versus BuckTommy situation, I have seen individuals from both sides of the fence taking Tommy to task.

Before I jump into my thoughts on this, let me just say that I'm a Black man. I'm also a queer man. Most importantly I'm a Black queer man and let me tell you a little something about poor behavior from white people. It happens so much and so frequent that oftentimes I don't even see it happening until I am allowed to have a moment to process and reflect. With that said, quite a few of my close friends and acquaintances are white and all of them at some point have said or done something deliberately or accidentally offensive to me. Now not all Black and/or queer people are a monolift so let me make this very clear right now. I am speaking on behalf of myself and myself only.

Now that I've gotten out of the way, I will say that in any and all cases where I have been offended, my forgiveness is more for myself than the other person. Forgiveness is something I do to protect my peace. I fundamentally understand how whiteness works here in America and I understand how it operates. You don't get to half 39 years as a Black queer person without learning this. Especialy living in the the south. I also realize that at the apex of whiteness is the white, straight male and whether we realize it or not, we all, for the most part, at some point, seek proximity to him. You see this happen with white women, with Black men, and evenwith gay white men. In fact, the only group you don't tend to see this with is Black queer women and I believe this is because they are truly the antithesis of the white apex.

With that said, any time my friends or acquaintances have behaved badly, especially towards me, especially regarding my race and/or sexuality, I understand where that energy comes from. I really do. And, if we are being truly transparent here, there have been moments in my younger existence where I actively participated in the oppression of Black women and queer people. I, too, was a Tommy who hid myself by participating in the toxicity directed towards queer people. And yes, I felt tremendous guilt for my actions when I had time to reflect.

Here is the thing people forget about guilt. Much like grief, guilt ebbs and flows, and it doesn't really go away. What happens, or what should happen, is that your world gets bigger and bigger to the point where that grief or that guilt doesn't occupy as much space. That's exactly what I believe has happened to Tommy Kinard. Yes, he still feels bad about what he did to his friends back then (and he should) but his world has gotten so much bigger since then. That guilt that was once a loud roar is hopefully only a whisper now because he has done the work to understand why he behaved the way he did and has taken strides to be a better version of himself.

So, to all the white, non-queer individuals out there who have been taking Tommy to task for things he did a long time ago, things he's been forgiven of a long time ago, parts of himself that he has made better, ask yourself this one simple question. Why should my guilt (white guilt) be bigger than the forgiveness provided to him by those he offended? Second question I would ask you to ask yourself. Why am I demanding that Tommy actively punish himself and be punished for something he has already been forgiven of? When you answer that question, there is one last question I want you to ask yourself. Why am I feeling guilty and projecting that guilt onto someone else?

Again, I am not excusing any of what Tommy Kinard said or did during that time of his life. I just find it strange that so many of you are condemining him of something he once did when you should be asking yourself, am I actively participating in the oppression of those around me. There's a 99.9% chance you are so maybe focus on your own garden before you start asking others to clean up theirs. Also, for those of you coming at this from the angle of, well we didn't see Hen and Chimney forgive him. So what! Unless you have a camera following you around 24/7, no one will ever get to see you be forgiven of the fucked up stuff you've been doing. Most of all, stop projecting onto fictional characters. It's weird. Okay, those are my thoughts. Do what with them what you wish. As always, these are my opinions.

#bucktommy #tevan #kinley #tommy kinard #howard chimney han #hen wilson #evan buckley

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22ayla21 · 2 months ago

Note

can i request a doomed anaxa x fem reader like reader dosent want him to constantly use his own body for his alchemy research stuff , he understands her but does it anyway

uhh angst with comfort or angst with no comfort u can decidee

and also thank you for the amazing fics u writee ❤❤❤

Shards of Gold

He understood that he was hurting not only himself but her too, yet he could no longer stop himself.

Anaxa burned with alchemy. Not just interested – he lived it, ready to give everything down to the last drop for an answer. A mind as sharp as a razor, focused on knowledge. His body was merely a vessel, which he unhesitatingly laid on the altar of science.

You always knew what you were getting into. From the very beginning, from that dreadful moment when you saw him inject a murky reagent into his vein, testing how quickly the wounds would heal. You understood: it wouldn't be easy. But you naively believed you could handle it.

Anaxa was neither evil nor cruel. He always listened to you, took your trembling hands in his, kissed your temple when you cried from helplessness. He smiled guiltily when you found him in the laboratory, drowning in shards of test tubes and bloodied bandages.

"You understand why I need this, don't you?" he once whispered, lying in bed with a bandage on his chest, where just recently he had been tinkering, implanting some glowing crystal. "If not me, then who?"

You understood. But that didn't make it any easier.

You saw his skin lose its vibrant color, how a strange golden sheen showed through beneath it, pulsing under his veins. His eyes became deeper, heavier, as if someone were slowly dripping light into them from another world.

You whispered: "Stop. Please."

He hugged you tightly. He was silent, stubbornly pressing his lips together. And he continued his mad experiments.

Sometimes you were overwhelmed by the desire to smash all those cursed flasks to smithereens, lock his laboratory with a rusty padlock, tear the blueprints to shreds. You wanted to scream, to sob. But you knew: he would simply start all over again. On the cold floor, on his knees, writing formulas in his own blood.

You sat beside him when he lost consciousness after another experiment. You held his lifeless hand, listened to the erratic beat of his heart. Silently swallowed tears until he opened his eyes and looked at you with that same guilty smile.

"Forgive me... I shouldn't have... But I was so close..."

Sometimes you dreamed that one day he would wake up and say: "That's it. Enough. I choose you."

But he chose his formulas, theorems, mad experiments again. And his sacrifice – himself.

You didn't leave. Ever.

But every new scar on his strange, changing body left a painful crack in your heart.

And with each passing day, the light within you faded. Not because the love was gone, but because love is not always capable of conquering obsession.

One day you sat in the dim light, watching as the light passed through his almost transparent figure, as if through a cloudy glass covered with a network of fine cracks. He was no longer the young man you had once loved. He had become something else. He had become alchemy itself.

You loved him. And that love caused unbearable pain.

Because he would never stop.

And because you would still stay by his side. Even when he crumbled into golden dust and ashes.

And you would remain the last one to remember what he was like before he became obsessed with his mad dream.

How does this version sound to you? I think it has become a bit more vivid, with more emphasis on the heroine's feelings and inner experiences. We tried to avoid repetitions and make the descriptions more figurative.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #anaxa x reader #anaxagoras #honkai star rail anaxa

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ms-snape · 9 months ago

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Hi, i see that request are open.

What if Severus survived the war but didn't tell anyone. He moved far away, to another country (maybe Italy). But at home, his wife was waiting for him and she was his biggest support during the war. She refused to believe he is dead. And a few years later she would find out by accident when she bumped into him on the street hand in hand with someone else. Lots of angst. I mean….. lots of angst. 🙂

Title: Moving On

Request: Finally a request I've been waiting for one for like days.... REQUESTS ARE OPENED

Summary: I don't think I can give a better summary than the request so...

Warning: angst.... sad ending...

Word Count: 2305

Masterlist

---

In the heart of Italy, where the sun-drenched landscapes mingled with the whisper of ancient cobblestone streets, YN felt a certain heaviness. It was a weight she carried not just in her suitcase, filled with clothes and hopes for a brighter future, but in her heart, where the memory of Severus Snape lingered like a ghost. The world believed him dead, a casualty of a war that had torn apart the very fabric of their lives, but YN had never accepted that finality. She could not bring herself to mourn him as everyone else had; instead, she clung to the thread of hope that wove through her despair.

YN had been broken when the news of his death reached her—a jagged dagger that pierced her soul and left her hollow. The days that followed were a blur of grief and longing. She had wandered through her life like a specter, lost in the memories of their time together, each moment spent with Severus replaying in her mind like a shattered record. She remembered his quiet intensity, the way his dark eyes would soften when he looked at her, the sound of his voice as he spoke of potions and spells, of love and loss. It was as if he had taken a part of her with him when he vanished from the world.

Ella, her best friend, had insisted on this trip—an attempt to pull YN from the depths of her sorrow. They ventured to the quaint coastal town of Positano, with its colorful cliffside houses and azure waters, where laughter echoed around them like a distant memory. But even in the midst of beauty, YN felt numb. The sun could not warm the chill that resided in her heart. Every breathtaking view of the Italian coast felt tainted by the absence of the one person she could not forget.

As Ella tried to engage YN in conversation, pointing out the charm of the local markets and the deliciousness of the gelato, YN’s mind drifted elsewhere. She found herself staring out at the sea, imagining it was Severus standing there, his silhouette framed against the horizon, waiting for her to join him. The thought was both comforting and torturous, a bittersweet reminder of love that once was.

“YN, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Ella said one evening as they sat on a balcony overlooking the sunset. “You need to let him go. It’s been years.He's gone and you need to accept it”

But how could she? How could she dismiss the love they had shared, the promises whispered in the dark? Each time YN closed her eyes, she could see Severus—his furrowed brow, the way his lips curled into a half-smile when she teased him. The memories were too vivid, too real. They were the only thing that anchored her to the world, the only thing that kept the shadows at bay.

The days passed, and YN felt the ache in her heart deepen. She wandered through the streets of Positano, searching for something she could not name. Perhaps it was closure, or maybe just a sign that Severus was still alive. She explored the narrow alleys, the vibrant shops, and the azure beaches, all while carrying the weight of her unyielding hope.

Then, on a seemingly ordinary afternoon, everything changed. YN had taken to wandering alone, her heart heavy with the memories that haunted her. She meandered through the bustling market square, the colors and sounds swirling around her like a kaleidoscope of life. She paused by a stall selling handmade jewelry, absentmindedly running her fingers over the delicate pieces. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over everything, and for a moment, she allowed herself to breathe.

But then, as she turned to leave the stall, she collided with someone. The force of the impact sent her stumbling back, and she looked up, ready to apologize to the stranger. But then time seemed to freeze. There, standing before her, was Severus Snape—alive, breathing, and somehow more real than the memories she had clung to for so long.

Her heart raced, a wild tempest of disbelief and hope. But as her eyes traveled down to his hand, the world shattered around her. He was holding the hand of another woman—a stunning brunette with an easy smile and laughter that danced in the air between them. YN felt her heart plummet, the fragile thread of hope she had carried for years snapping in an instant.

Severus looked at her, confusion etched across his features. The moment stretched, the bustling market fading into silence. YN’s breath hitched in her throat, a mix of joy and agony tearing her apart. She wanted to rush into his arms, to feel his warmth envelop her again, but the sight of the other woman kept her rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the pain of betrayal.

“Severus?” The word slipped from her lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for him to explain, to make sense of the scene before her.

The smile faded from his face, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “YN… I—”

But she couldn’t hear him. The world felt as if it were collapsing around her. She had spent years believing he was dead, clinging to the hope that he would one day return to her, and now here he was, a living ghost of her past, with another woman at his side. The anger bubbled within her, mingling with the heartbreak that consumed her.

“Is this why you never came back?” YN’s voice trembled, laced with a hurt that cut deeper than any spell. “You were alive all this time and didn't even come back to me, you wife? Did you choose to leave me behind?”

Severus’s eyes darkened with regret, but YN couldn’t bear to see it. The anguish she felt was all-consuming, a tidal wave of emotions crashing against the fragile dam she had built around her heart. “I waited for you, Severus. I never stopped believing you were out there, that you would come back to me. And now… this?”

“YN, please, it’s not what you think,” he said, stepping toward her, but she recoiled, the distance between them stretching like an unbridgeable chasm.

“Not what I think?” The bitterness in her voice cut through the air, sharp and biting. “You were supposed to be dead! I mourned you! I grieved for the life we could have had, for the love we shared. And now you’re here, holding her hand like I never existed?”

The woman beside him looked between them, confusion evident in her eyes, but YN couldn’t spare her a glance. Her world had narrowed to just Severus, the man she had loved with every fiber of her being, the man who had shattered her heart without a word.

“YN, I had my reasons—”

“Reasons?” She interrupted, her anger boiling over. “Was it worth it? Was it worth leaving me in the dark while you built a new life without me? I thought you loved me.”

“I did love you!” Severus’s voice rose, desperation lacing his words. “And I never stopped loving you or thinking about you, but I had to survive. The war… it changed everything. I thought you were safe, that you could move on without me.”

“Move on?” YN’s laugh was hollow, devoid of humor. “You think I could just forget? You think I could just pretend that you didn’t mean the world to me? You left me with nothing but the ghosts of what we could have been, and now you stand here, alive, with someone else?”

The bitterness spilled from her lips, a torrent of pain that had been building for years. She felt raw and exposed, like a wound that had never healed, and now it was laid bare for him to see. The anguish in her heart felt like a physical weight, pressing down on her chest, suffocating her.

Severus’s expression twisted with regret, his dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought you’d be better off without me. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” YN’s voice cracked, the pain evident in every syllable. “You didn’t protect me; you abandoned me. I was left to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart while you… you moved on.You found someone else...”

The silence that followed was deafening. Around them, the world continued to buzz with life—laughter, music, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore—but for YN, everything had come to a standstill. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into an abyss of despair.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the noise. “I thought I had lost you forever.”

“And I thought you moved on,” Severus replied, his voice heavy with regret. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“But it did happen, Severus.” The tears she had held back for so long began to spill over, a torrent of grief and rage. “You’re here, with.... her, while I was left to drown in my sorrow. You can’t just waltz back into my life and expect me to forget the pain you caused.”

Severus’s expression faltered, a mixture of guilt and longing etched across his features. The woman beside him shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. YN felt the heat of anger mixing with the chill of betrayal, a volatile concoction that threatened to consume her.

“I can’t change the past,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “But please, YN, don’t push me away. I still care for you. I always have.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and memories that felt like a lifetime ago. YN looked at him, at the man she had loved fiercely, and felt the ache in her heart deepen. She wanted to believe him, to reach out and bridge the gap that had grown between them. But the reality was too painful, too raw.

“And what about her?” YN’s voice trembled, the bitterness creeping back in. “What am I supposed to do with that? You’ve built a life without me, Severus. It feels impossible to reconcile that with the love we once shared.”

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” he said, anguish etched in every line of his face. “I was lost, and I thought I was doing what was best for you and me.”

YN shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You think abandoning me was what was best? You think I wanted to live in a world where you weren’t there? I was lost too, Severus. I was lost without you.We made a vow, we promised to laways be there for each other, but apparently it meant nothing to you”

The hurt between them was palpable, a chasm that felt insurmountable. YN’s heart ached with the weight of memories that threatened to drown her. She wanted to scream, to rage against the universe that had torn them apart, but all she could do was stand there, feeling the walls close in around her.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the cobblestones, YN felt the flicker of hope extinguish. The world around her was beautiful, but in that moment, it felt like a cruel joke. She had come to Italy seeking solace, but instead, she found herself face-to-face with the man who had become both her salvation and her tormentor.

“I can’t do this,” YN whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t pretend that everything’s okay when it’s not. I loved you more than anything, but I have to let you go. I have to move on, even if it breaks me... I wish you a really happy life... perhaps better than the one you once had with me....”

With that, she turned away, an instinctive reaction to shield herself from the pain. She couldn’t bear to see him with her, the woman who had become the embodiment of all her fears. It felt like a betrayal—a cruel twist of fate that had stolen her love and replaced it with a bitter reminder of what she had lost.

As she walked away, the tears streamed down her face, each step feeling heavier than the last. The streets of Positano, once vibrant and full of life, felt suffocating, closing in around her as she retreated from the scene that had shattered her world anew.

Behind her, Severus called her name, desperation lacing his voice, but YN didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She had given him everything, only to be left with nothing but the echoes of what once was. The colors of Italy faded into a blur, and as she walked away from the man she had loved, she felt the weight of her heart breaking all over again.

As she reached the edge of the market, the sounds of laughter and joy faded away, replaced by the haunting silence that had become her constant companion. YN had come to Italy to escape her pain, to find a semblance of peace, but instead, she was reminded of the love she had lost and the life that would never be.

In that moment, as she stood alone in a foreign land, she realized that some shadows lingered long after the light had faded. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world into darkness, YN felt the weight of her despair settle heavily upon her shoulders, an unshakeable burden that would follow her wherever she went. She was lost, and the echoes of Severus Snape would forever haunt her heart, a bittersweet reminder of a love that had been both her greatest joy and her deepest sorrow.

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nightangle9 · 2 months ago

Text

~Foreordain~ (Part-2)

Johan Liebert x Inexperienced!reader

Genre: Oneshot series & Smut Warning: Heavy violence, trauma, NSFW, cunnilingus, OG characters, F/F sex, fingering.

Word Count: 3k

The dipping hot taste of coffee touched my lips as I leaned back against the chair. It had become a routine.

"So, did you have any nightmares since I changed your prescriptions?" said my therapist, her voice monotone as always. I closed my eyes, a soft sigh filling the calm silence of the room. I tried to remember last night's dream but it wasn't that difficult. I don't recall a load from my childhood but the memories I do are too vivid of an ephialte. "It's the same, a deep voice filled with underlying hatred masked by the love for his child. You should've been careful, he says trying to sound calm but his furrowed brows easily gave away his anger. I wish you were never born, he whispered. Again and again, this sentence keeps repeating." I spoke, not being able to meet her eyes as I faced the window of her office.

"I believe you have a profound issue of abandonment trauma from your childhood. If not healed completely it will cause hindrances in your present relationships. It would be best for you to attend therapy sessions regularly every weekend. It would take at least a year for me to completely cure your trauma but I also expect cooperation from your side. Are you ready to begin this journey of letting go, Miss Y/N?" I looked back into her light blue eyes finally, the color still causing me impediment. "Yes, I am."

It had been a year since I last saw Johan that day, my life has changed a lot from then but the mystery behind him still lingers a tingling sensation in my body. Today was my graduation and the day I will finally get to experience the adult world. Of course, I had been of age for a few years now but I never earned money for myself, my aunt was the one looking after me financially. But now as I leave university I would have to earn for myself, take care of myself, and experience true independence. I'm excited yet sad to leave this old version of me behind as I enter upon a new journey. But every soul knows time doesn't stop for anyone and I was never born as an exception.

My feet slow down as I look at the crowd of students gathered inside the hall after the graduation ceremony. My academic tam was seated upon my head and the convocation gown graced the clothes I wore inside, I fit in for the first time. In this place, within these people. I made friends during my time at university but often I never felt resided among them. Maybe it was the way I stood out during parties when people used the opportunity to befriend others while I stuck close to the people I already knew like a child under the shadow of their parents as I sipped my drink awkwardly, always looking down; never being able to meet eyes. Or was it during the times, when we hung out, having a boy approach my three beautiful friends; never once I felt that someone was looking for me. They tried to console me at first but after a while, I noticed they were irritated and annoyed at my insecure behaviour. I never asked them to comfort me in the first place. But it's better than being alone, after all, they were friends before me and they would still be friends after me. I make no difference.

"Y/N!" Romy embraced me in a hug, her dirty blonde hair tickling my face as I wrapped my hands around her. A small smile on my face after a long while, maybe I can try to enjoy this. Her body immediately left my embrace as she heard the voice of 'her' best friend, Zelda. My smile dimmed as they began talking, walking at a pace I was never able to catch up. My eyes looked down as my fingers fidgeted with the strings of my graduation chord. "Hey." The hand reached over my shoulder before the voice could and I knew exactly who it was, Liesel. Liesel Nachtnebel. One of the most beautiful girls at our University, with amber-brown hair and eyes caressing a smile that could seemingly melt away your problems. She was extremely popular on our campus and with that, I still didn't understand why the girl who could get any guy she wanted was in a friends-with-benefits relationship with me.

Her fingertips grazed over my neck, the subtle touch causing my body to tense. "Shh, now this looks exactly indifferent, a friend congratulating another friend as they both graduate. How very innocent and sweet." Her breath tickled on my ear as she spoke. "Come on, hug me just like you did with Romy," she whispered before embracing my body, her lips tracing the side of my neck with her hand trailing inside my robe to squeeze my rear. But she quickly pulled away before purring in my ear with a smile one last time, leaving me with a faint flush. "See you in my bed."

Liesel was the one I was closest to in my little friend group. She was the first to befriend Romy & Zelda who had already become friends at that point. And I was the last to join. It was thankfully to her that I didn't spend my entire Uni-life alone. I remember her approaching me, while I sat under the tree of our campus garden reading some stupid romance novel that she had no idea of but still, she pretended to like romance for my sake. Majority of the period, it was Romy and Zelda who left me out but Liesel, Liesel always took care of me. Just sometimes in unexpected ways.

During the last year of Uni, I begged my aunt to allow me to live in one of the dorm rooms. Feeling left out since I lived away from all of them. To my surprise, the room I was designated to was Liesel's. From then onwards, we developed a sort of closeness that I had with none. But oftentimes, she was not at home. Frequently attending parties, dates, and gatherings. She was popular, of course, so that was expected. Still, after a long day, as I knocked my shoes off at the entrance; the silence of the dorm poked my ears. I had become attached and that attachment led to attraction.

She was beautiful for sure, with her looks, I would consider her one of the most breathtaking humans I've seen...after him. Solemn times I would look at her as she cooked me dinner, my eyes automatically lingering towards her lips. I had never been particularly attracted to women before I saw her, but she cherished me so deeply, I couldn't have helped myself.

The way her soft hands combed my hair so gently after a bath, or when I had accidentally knocked over her favourite vase and hurt my hand trying to clean it. "It's okay. I could never be angry at you." she had assured me, ruffling my hair as she kissed the top of my head. "I love you." she often said that to me in her playful voice and I never understood if she meant it. Although I never said it back.

The day we became intimate for the first time was like any other weekend. She was busy munching on chips, watching her favorite anime that recently got a new season while I was trying to bathe. It was on that day when I had fallen off a chair trying to pick out cereals from the highest cabinet and fractured the bone of my hand. The night was cold and I had filled the tub with warm water to soothe the tension of my ache but washing myself with soap was giving me a hard time as my dominant hand was taped in bandages. Liesel who I believe remembered the incident from the morning, rushed to the bathroom which I had purposely kept unlocked in case of an accident, to my aid.

"Are you crazy?! Why are you trying to bathe by yourself?" she spoke in an almost panicked tone. "Here let me-" she tried to lift my arm towards herself but even the slightest touch resulted in a painful hiss from my lips. "Oh..Y/N I'm so so sorry! Does that hurt? I'm sure it does. Please can I..can I help you? Please. I don't want you to hurt yourself." She said with hesitance in her voice. The girl who typically was stubborn and steadfast suddenly turned so cute when I felt a little pain, I felt so special in that moment. I wanted to have that sight all to myself.

She curled behind me in the bathtub, her soft hands washing my back. Her touch was gentle yet my skin remembered every detail. The way she had taken off her clothes to soak inside the water. The feel of her breasts as they occasionally pressed on my back. It felt too vulnerable, too intimate. Almost like back then...with him. "Liesel." I sighed as her hands rubbed off the soap on my stomach, the touch trailing upwards. "Yes?" she whispered, her lips pressed against my shoulder, almost leaving a subtle kiss that I took notice of. "It feels ticklish." I close my eyes as I lean back against her. "Yeah? Don't worry I'll take care of you. For sure." Her hands had found their way to my chest, her hands groping my breasts and nipping my nipples with her fingers. A soft whimper had left my body at that moment as I looked towards her, her amber eyes dimmed with what seemed to me a reminiscence emotion, Lust. "Get a room." I had whispered.

My hand gripped her brown hair as she dipped her face between my thighs, spreading apart my legs. My broken hand laid on my side as she had helped me out of the tub, doing so all while kissing me. I covered my flushed face with my arm, "Shy?" her finger gazed upon my clit with a feather-like touch. My brows furrow as I plead, "Please." All while maintaining eye contact, her thumb started drawing circles on my clit with a pressure that was a little too hard for my taste, my legs quickly threatened to close. She grabbed the back of my knees and bent down my legs towards me so my knees were almost touching my ears. Her mouth sank down to suck my pussy, her fiery gaze looking at my disheveled surprised one. I whimpered her name in a voice almost too loud. "Pretty girl, is your arm okay?" she looked upon the limb lying on the side. "Y-yeah," I said breathlessly, as she returned to her work. "W-wait! oh my god.." I moaned, biting my lip to control the noise that might alert the neighborhood students. Her tongue entered inside me, and I felt like I was floating in a whole new dimension. My hand quickly came for deference as I covered my mouth, tears urging to run down my cheeks. She guided my legs to wrap around her head as she freed her hand to rub my clit, with my eyes rolling so far back in my head that I thought I would never see daylight again, and my legs shaking and gripping her with such strength that I thought I would choke her. I came down my high. Her beautiful face was covered in my cum and wetness, as she helped me ride down my euphoria. Before sitting straight up and looking at me with the sweetest smile. "Was it good?"

Yeah, it was good for sure...and so was Liesel. She looked at me like an angel with such purity and innocence while her actions told a different story. From the past year, with every chance she had gotten Liesel had never once missed the opportunity to make a mess of me and I am not scared to admit that I enjoy it just as much as her. It made us even closer, like a little secret of just us. With this, I had become even more attached to her. It was not just the fact that she was this good, I had someone at her level. But it was how tenderly she treated me, even though I never felt deserving of her but I couldn't help myself and be selfish, never telling her to stop.

The first time she told me I love you. I was over the moon, my heart beating so fast in my chest like it was about to burst, goosebumps forming over my skin not from the cold but from her sheer words. It was a cold eventful evening as we both stood over a small bridge in some garden of the city. That day she had forcefully made me explore our city with her, and although I was annoyed at first from being woken up early, spending time with her made warmth seed into my heart. She had looked at me playfully after she spoke the words, and I had remembered not understanding the meaning of such simplicity. She had embraced me into a hug, arms wrapped around my neck as she nuzzled her head to my side, a habit of hers she often did. "You mean so much to me, Y/N. My best friend, my partner."

She had called me her best friend, but I only remembered my partner. Hoping that one day I will truly be hers.

In my entire life, I had always pushed people away even when they forcefully tried to enter inside but with her, I felt safe. She felt like the comfort of the home I never had. The one to make me calm, enveloping the butterflies had become his job but he was never found, never seen. Yet, she stayed with me. During the waves of laughter where my stomach hurt, during the tears when my chest hurt, and during the awkwardness of feeling unwanted. I was scared of being left behind, so I never loved anyone but for once can I truly let go of that fear?

I was tired, my feet hurt from the ache of my heels but I couldn't wait to reach home. Liesel, she had planned something for me. My heart thumped in my chest at the thought, could it be? No, I should never get my hopes up. Too much happiness always leads to misery.

I took a deep breath as I reached the front door of the apartment I had recently moved in. And of course, I had given her my password she was welcome at any moment.

I pushed open the front door and saw her dressed in a long beige skirt and a loose black full-sleeved top. She looked beautiful, as always. Standing beside the countertop of the kitchen, making something in a bowl. Her in my house, with my stuff.

"Oh! Y/N oh my god you're finally here. I can't wait to reveal to you what I was planning." She spoke, her voice laced with sweet excitement that made my body tremble from the same. "Look! I was even making cookie dough, chocolate cookies? Your favourite right? I remember." She giggled, her voice filling my body with adoration. "What..is it?" I spoke, my voice was soft and quiet.

"Michael! Come on she is here!" she called out. As my head turned towards the entrance of my room. Michael? Who is Michael?

My mouth was dry, my lips pressed together firmly, my hands clutching my side tightly as I looked upon Michael. Or should I say, Johan?

Light blonde hair, porcelain skin, and light blue eyes that captures your soul like a void. Johan walked out of my room clutching a photoframe in his hand. The same hands that once played with my body.

"You both are quite close, I see." He spoke in that serene voice and I didn't know if to be astounded or longing to hear it after so long. "We both are right, Y/N even he approves of us." she smiled as she walked towards him, one of her hands caressing his face as she pulled him for a kiss.

I-I. I had no idea. Not a single thought at that moment about what was happening in front of me. Why was Johan, the man I had once slept with kissing the girl, I liked? And why was he looking at me as he did so?

She pulled away from the kiss, with a flush on her face that I only saw occasionally and he was able to have such an effect on her from a simple kiss. She took the portrait from his hands, clutching it to her chest, her heart. It was of us. "Yes, Y/N, I'm dating someone. I have..boyfriend. Michael is my boyfriend. I'm sorry about everything that happened between us but I'm in love with Michael and he is in love with me. I wanted to gather here to introduce him to you, in your home, since you have..you know, difficulty in public places. I just want to say goodbye to you and for you to leave me and us alone. I know you have feelings for me but that's your problem and I'm sure you would be able to take of it-"

I was on the verge of having the tears seep out of my eyes before my face was splashed with red. Liesel?

Her body lay numb on the floor, parts of her flesh sprawled on the wooden floor. The photo frame was broken into pieces, and pieces of glass shattered everywhere. My vision was blurry from the previous tears as I looked at my hands, small dots of red tinting them and my face feeling the wetness and smell of what it was. Blood. Liesel's blood.

Johan stood beside her body with a gun in his hand, as he looked at me with a small smile.

"Miss me?"

TAGs: @cloudyspace666 @jkdaddy01 @bucciaratizippers @7urriya @louisamayallcot @ananya21i4 @estrangedlovergonemad

#monster imagine #johan liebert x reader smut #johan liebert x reader #johan liebert #monster manga #monster smut #monster #anime smut #manga and stuff #kenzo tenma #naoki urasawa's monster #the liebert twins #anna liebert #nina fortner #wolfgang grimmer #nina #nina the killer

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squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame · 2 months ago

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Dragon Slaying

Character: Kim Seo-Wan X Fem!reader

summary: You go dragon fighting with Seo-Wan!

Warnings: none

Kim Seo-Wan stood in the center of an enchanted forest, the thick trees towering above him like ancient guardians. His gaze, intense and unwavering, fixed on the clearing ahead. In this world—his world—he was not the quiet, reserved psychiatric patient in the hospital; he was a fearless dragon slayer. His armor, crafted from the scales of past victories, glinted in the soft light filtering through the canopy.

His heart raced with excitement, the thrill of battle coursing through his veins. He’d been fighting dragons for what felt like hours, the satisfaction of each victory never quite enough to quell the desire for more.

He turned, his eyes softening as they fell on you, standing behind him. You wore no armor, but your presence was no less powerful. In this world, you were by his side, though you didn’t know what to make of his fervent belief that dragons roamed the world. Still, you stood beside him, your own heart conflicted. You, too, were lost in your own way—fighting a battle of your own, one that felt like an endless struggle with depression, much like his battle with his delusions.

But here, in the wilds of his delusional world, you were not just a patient. You were his companion, a fellow warrior, ready to face whatever threats this realm had to offer.

"Are you ready?" Seo-Wan asked, his voice full of conviction.

"Ready for what?" you asked, half-amused, half-nervous.

"To fight dragons," he said, grinning as he strapped a leather gauntlet onto his arm, the metal plates clinking together. "I can’t do it alone. I need you."

Your chest tightened. There was something so innocent in his plea, so sincere. In his mind, you weren’t a woman struggling with depression. You weren’t a psychiatric patient who felt like she was floating in a fog. In this world, you were his equal. A warrior by his side.

"You… want me to fight dragons?" you asked, a faint smile pulling at your lips despite the gravity of the situation. "You really think I can handle that?"

Seo-Wan’s eyes softened, the excitement still present but tinged with something gentler. "I know you can. Together, we’ll defeat them all. Just like we’re supposed to."

Your heart squeezed, a strange sense of warmth filling you. For a moment, the hospital walls, the therapy sessions, the endless routines—all of it faded away. There was only this fantasy world, with its wild battles and ancient creatures. There was only Seo-Wan, your unlikely companion, believing in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself.

You took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright. I’ll go dragon fighting with you."

Seo-Wan’s grin was immediate and dazzling, his face lighting up with joy. He raised his sword high, the blade catching the sunlight like a beacon of hope. "Yes! Let’s go, then. We have dragons to slay!"

You followed him through the dense forest, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the distant roars of dragons echoing through the trees. The world seemed surreal, the colors more vivid, the air richer with possibility. For once, you didn’t feel like a mere bystander in your own life. Here, in this delusional realm, you had purpose.A roar shattered the air ahead of you, and Seo-Wan’s face lit up with a mix of thrill and determination. "There! We’ve found one!"

He charged forward, his sword raised in anticipation. You hesitated only for a moment before following suit, your heart pounding with both fear and excitement. You were in this together now, after all.

The dragon appeared in a burst of flames, its scales shimmering in the sun. It was massive, a creature of legend, with eyes like molten lava and wings that cast shadows over the forest floor. Seo-Wan moved with the grace of someone who had fought this battle a thousand times, but you… you were new to this world, new to this fight.

But Seo-Wan didn’t hesitate. He swung his sword, narrowly missing the dragon’s flank as it whipped around. The fire from its nostrils lit the air, but Seo-Wan’s focus was unwavering. He turned to you, his eyes glinting. "We do this together."

Something inside you shifted. Maybe it was his belief in you. Maybe it was the pull of this strange world. Whatever it was, you found yourself moving beside him, sword raised high, ready to face the dragon at his side.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel alone.

---Hours later, when the dragon was finally defeated, Seo-Wan stood tall, his face flushed with excitement. He turned to you, his smile wide and proud.

"You did it," he said, breathless but overjoyed. "We did it."

You could feel the rush of victory, the thrill of the battle, but beneath it all was a quiet, overwhelming feeling of connection. For all the chaos and confusion of this world, you had shared something with him—a moment of strength that was all your own.

And in that strange, delusional world, maybe that was enough.

---Back in the hospital, the sterile walls, the soft ticking of the clock, and the flicker of fluorescent lights would return. But in that moment, as Seo-Wan sat by your side, quietly content, you realized something you hadn’t before.

Even in his delusions, Seo-Wan had given you something precious. He had reminded you that you weren’t defined by your depression. You weren’t just a patient, and you weren’t just a survivor of your own struggles. You were, in that fleeting moment, a warrior.

And maybe that was enough.

#daily dose of sunshine #roh jae won #jae won roh #jaewon roh #roh jaewon #thanos x namgyu #namgyu squid game #namgyu headcanons #namgyu x reader #namgyu headcanon #nam gyu #player 230 #nam gyu squid game #player 124

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grapejuicestyless · 1 year ago

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I’ll Crawl Home To Her

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: There was no distance that could keep Harry from you. Not even the vastest oceans would slow him down. As the holidays near closer and closer, all he really wants is you.

PURE FLUFF

He thinks of her always. A plaguing memory of the last time they spoke, a vivid painting of the way her eyes would crinkle when she smiled. He carried her honey-sweet laughter within him. Her voice the ground beneath his very feet.

He thinks of how lucky he is. To be blessed with someone so soft, so sweet. When he was with her, Harry didn’t seem to ever worry about heaven or hell. All he wished for was to be gently placed beneath the soil. He wished for him to be able to stay there, somewhere he could pull himself from, even in death to find her. Trace the dimples in her back just one last time, feel her lips pressed to his temple just one last time.

He could write all the songs for her, tell everyone just how much his heart yearned for the girl, but no words could describe her fully. Her honest smile and wild hair. If he were to sing it, he was sure nobody would ever be able to picture her right.

She had an aura that could never be captured. A rare beauty no person could ever really swallow fully. The more Harry thinks about it, the more starved he becomes.

He tortures himself with the image of her eyes twinkling in the fairy lights. The tree behind her littered with ornaments they collected from all their adventures together. At first he had wanted a theme for their tree. A color scheme. She insisted it would feel more like home to have it that way. She was always right. No gold and white color coordination could fill him with as much pride as the small plastic figures on the branches would.

He sees her wrapping presents. The thought of her doing it all alone, without the specially curated playlists he made drives him mad. How the kitchen floors are untouched because she’d sworn dancing just wasn’t dancing if it wasn’t with him.

He knows the oven is cold. There are no treats on the counter or glasses of milk on the counter like when he was there. He wishes he could live a life with a job that wasn’t so demanding.

He thinks about the thousands of people begging for his attention. And even in all of their praise and love for him, it’s nothing but a fraction compared to what she provides. Harry decides he can’t take it. He has all the heart to speak of her like she’s all he could ever need, but here he is half the world away, sitting alone in a hotel room with a bottle of wine and Tylenol. She would laugh at him for sure. The thought only motivates him further.

So when he calls her that night, it’s from the airport. He claims it’s the stadium buzz, the usual sound of his team and their own team too. She buys it because he would never lie to her.

When he walks through the door that same night, she doesn’t believe it. How someone so distant could be so close now. And she can’t trust herself until her hands are gripping at his shirt snd her nose is in his neck. Her tears wet his collar and she swears she can feel his running down her shoulder. When she asks him how he’s done it, he answers by telling her how much he loves her. And when she laughs he takes her face in his hands, cradling it delicately and rubbing his thumb to dry her tears.

“Not even death could part me from you. No grave can hold my body down. I’ll crawl home to you.” It’s honest and raw. It’s something that Harry could never have said before. Words he never knew how to say before. He thinks she’ll take his words as crazy, back off and laugh. But she places her hands on his and massages his fingers between hers.

And when she presses a kiss to his palm, he swears he feels more alive than ever.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #yn x harrystyles #harry styles

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ren-cerati · 1 month ago

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This is all @astro-nomaly 's fault I can never follow through with my evil plans of withholding information because im a chronic yapper 💔

This is an original book im writing, it's called Memento Mori (The first book in the Dethéian Chronicles)

@highbookwormofthecentury @mother-spore-missa @flirty-anon and please tag anyone else who might be interested! I consider this some of my top tier work despite being old and needing edits and it would be so cool to have a little community of people who are as ill about my ocs as I am :3

|~◇~◇~|

0. After Death

Eliott

It all began when I died.

One is often inclined to believe that death, in and of itself, is the end. I, speaking from personal experience, can confirm confidently that it most certainly is not.

Before we continue, you should know of a few things.

For one, my name is Elliott. Since this tale is mostly about me, you should have something to call me by.

Second, I am technically deceased. Quite unfortunate, really. Actually for that matter, it sucks.

Third, The story you are about to read is like a disjointed symphony. Made of shattered vials of ink spilling on tattered and torn pages lost in a world of imagination and darkness.

Fourth- Do not trust Cerati. Or perhaps do, I have no place to tell you not to.

I’ll tell you the story of my life. It is one made up of curious things- things often found unfathomable to even the ones holding the script that recounts the story of mine and this world.

A little info on how exactly I met my demise.

When I died, it wasn’t a climatic war-torn scene with gore on the ground and screams in the whirling chaos of battle.

It wasn’t an epic sacrifice, taking a blade for someone I loved.

I died in a damn hospital coughing up blood.

(A/N: this is a fucking page break.)

1. The Awakening

Elliott

Someone screams out a name. Voices whisper in my head. I cannot breathe. I am drowning in an endless abyss, the waters closing over my head.

Who am I?

Inky darkness invades my lungs. I struggle, trying to claw to the surface. The voices whisper more urgently, and I feel a relentless pounding in my head.

Who am I?

I must be dying.

I don’t want to die.

Who am I?

I kick and thrash and fight.

Until I feel something shift, and everything spirals, and I am unable to tell up from down. Something breaks, something opens.

And suddenly, I know it. It rushes to my mind; a reclaimed memory.

Elliott.

I sit up. I’m not drowning anymore; and sweet air rushes into my lungs.

Panting, I drink it in greedily. I rub at my eyes, vision blurry.

I’m sitting in a field. A field of flowers. Swarms of vivid colors everywhere I look. My vision clears, and names start to flood my mind. Daisies. Tulips. Poppies. Snapdragons. Marigolds. The plantlife in front of me is named, in a sudden whirl.

I look at my hands. Pale. Shaking. I curl my fingers into a fist, fingernails digging into my palm.

I’m alive.

“Eugh. Where…Am I?” I can hardly hear what must be my voice. My ears are ringing.

The sun beats down on me gently, warm and pleasant. I look up.

My eyes narrow. Something feels wrong.

The three suns in the sky hang high above me. I push down the feeling of wrongness in my gut and try to think.

Should there be three suns?

Nothing comes to mind except for my own name. It’s my name, Elliott. I hold onto it. I don’t want it to slip my mind, so I chant a mantra in my head.

Elliott. Eliott. Eliott.

My name.

I look around. The flowers sprawl for miles in every direction, the blue sky stretching on the horizon. It’s eerily silent, no sound but the feather-light breeze brushing past my ears.

I stand up. My arms and legs feel tingly and weak, and I nearly trip over my own feet.

Something in my throat tastes vile. Vertigo suddenly hits, and I fall. I cough, dry heaving as something tries to force itself from my throat.

I finally hack something out, and watch as blood drips from my mouth to the daisies below.

Ah. That probably isn't good. I wipe the blood from my mouth and grimace.

I push myself up, and when I don't feel as if I'm about to keel over on the spot, I start to walk. I don't know why, but I don't want to sit in the flowers and cough my blood and guts onto the ground. So I may as well do something, right?

I don't know where I'm going. I don't know if this strange field ever ends.

I try to recall something. Anything. Elliott. My name. But who am I? Where am I? Where did I come from, what happened?

What's going on?

Information slips through my mind, blurry and untouchable. Places without names and people without faces. When I think of the last thing I can recall after…waking up? I can only picture the blank whiteness of fluorescent lights and pale walls.

There are things I know. Cars, roads, people, animals. There's no date or time or location or anything defining I can find but my name.

There is no sense of being. Nothing.

I keep walking. The flowers come up to my knees, sometimes wrapping themselves around my ankles and making me stumble and fall.

I curse, the words leaving my lips easily. My voice is unfamiliar to my own ears. I nearly startle at the sound.

I look to the horizon. Perhaps if I walk far enough, I'll find something that will help me make sense of whatever is going on. I continue my walk.

Eventually, I find a stream. My throat is parched, so without really thinking, I drop to my knees and cup the water in my palms. It's clear, bright, and cold. I think somewhere in the back of my mind that I just have to hope that the water is safe to drink. The bed of the stream is white sand and small, multicolored rocks. No fish dance in the shallows, no bugs swarm the water.

This place feels similar to a dream. It feels too perfect. It's not familiar, nothing in my mind clicks with recognition except the names of some of the flowers.

When I'm done drinking, I look below me. A wavering reflection floats on top of the water, indistinct and blurry. I peer closer, making out maroon eyes, a pale face, and short brown hair, a mess of cowlicks and curls. Something on my cheek, dark and spiraling. I peer closer.

And promptly faceplant into the stream.

The swears that escape my mouth seem instinctual, the obscenities forming in my head and being spat out bitterly. I push myself up, soaked. I shake like a dog, and sigh.

I continue my wandering, wading through the stream and hoping that the suns will warm me before nightfall. The breeze seems to grow stronger, and I shiver as I walk resolutely into the distance.

At dusk, I see the blurry shape of mountains and trees in the distance. My muscles scream exhaustion, and my mind is no less fuzzy than it was earlier, but when I draw nearer, I can even see a line of smoke rising into the sky, dark against the oranges and reds and pinks and yellows of the setting suns.

Smoke means a fire. A fire means people. And, as my stomach decides to add, people means food.

I pause at my wording. People need food to survive, so they likely have it on hand.

I phrased my thought as if I was about to eat people. That's weird.

I wouldn't do that?

But then again, I don't know myself. Perhaps I was a cannibal and forgot about it.

I push away these thoughts, trying not to question why they now seem to come quickly into my mind, insistent and probing.

While there could be people at the source of the smoke, what's saying that they'll be friendly?

I should be more wary. I don't know who I am, where I am, or anything else. An age-old saying flits into my mind briefly, ‘Stranger Danger’ , the phrase that is used to warn children of those they meet in unsavory places.

My head pounds. Thinking too hard about what I half know makes vicious and sharp pangs stab into my head from all directions, killing my train of thought.

Whatever. Whatever.

I take a moment to breathe. If there are people at the source of the fire, maybe they can help me. I think I need help. I probably need help. Help sounds like a great idea.

Waking up alone in a field without your memory qualifies as needing help, right?

Something cracks under my foot. I startle, and jump back.

Dry. Old. Ancient.

I look down.

At my feet rest a broken ribcage, bones cracked and crumbling. The bones are pitch black, and soot rests around them. I catch my breath. Okay, creepy. But everything's okay.

At least, that's what I think.

Until the bones start to crackle and move on their own.

That definitely is not great.

Fucking screw that actually, what the fuck is going on-

I step further back. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can hear each desperate beat.

The bones crackle and twist as by some dark magic they start to connect to one another. Being pulled from the ground itself.

Crick. Crack. Crackle.

And the skeleton pulls itself up,flowers still entwined around its creaking joints. It stands, and I can't move. I am frozen in place, unable to even blink.

It turns to me. Its eyes are blank, empty, white. Blood and black sludge leaks from its bones, plopping gently against the flowers. I watch, transfixed.

It opens its mouth. It's jaw opens slowly, revealing white and gray crumbling teeth. The blood-sludge leaks from its mouth like a fountain, and I feel my stomach constrict.

It starts to shamble towards me, and I can finally move. My heart thunders in my ears, thump, thump, thump.

And it's like the temperature has dropped to zero, and I can't think. A shiver runs through my body, and it's as if the world has stopped turning.

Step back.

Watch as it takes a step in turn.

Step back.

It's getting too close.

I need to run.

Step back.

It's right there.

Step back.

I stand eye to eye with the creature, and I can see myself reflected all too clearly in the white emptiness. A blurry red figure with brightly gleaming maroon eyes. Shaking, trembling, scared. A small animal standing face to face with a deadly carnivore. It looks at me as if I’m its dinner for tonight. A cracked hand moves slowly closer.

I must run.

And I'm only just then gathering the feeling back into my legs to sprint away, when the creature lunges forward and swipes at me. I raise my arms to protect myself on instinct.

I shriek when I feel my skin being torn, the flesh being stripped from my wrist. I see blood fly through the air, and I finally decide to stop standing here , and run.

As I tear through the field, I can hear more things unearthing themselves from underneath the flowers. One breaks through the earth and latches on to my ankle, and I kick and stomp and struggle until I can tear my ankle from its grasp. I can feel blood trickle down my heel, and wince in pain and disgust.

And I run. I run as fast as I can, a breakneck sprint. My breath is too short, my lungs try desperately to drink in cool night air. I feel sweat trickle down my skin, and when thunder booms and lightning flashes across the sky, I feel the rain as well.

I manage to evade the creatures until I trip over something sticking out from the soil. It's another skeleton, crouched on the ground. It turns to me, neck rotating three hundred and sixty degrees. I want to throw up. I try to get up, but the mud is slick, and I take far too much time to even get my feet under me.

Run.

And I see more creatures close in from each side, mouths twisted into a leering grin, and I watch blood drip onto the ground. I watch them lurch forward, bones twisting and hoisting themselves together to move towards me. I stare at the blood as it pools at their feet. I can finally get a good look at them, and if it's possible, my fear only intensifies when I see the still desperately beating hearts skewered on their exposed ribs.

I suppose more of that will come from me in a moment. That isn't really cool.

The rain pours down. I'm standing, but I'm shivering, I'm cold, and I can't run anymore, my ankle erupting into furious, red hot pain. My wrist feels numb, but I check. And, yeah. That amount of blood probably isn't good for me. The wound seems to be scabbing over already, though. Is that good? Or bad?

I glare at the creatures.

“What do you want, eh?”

I bite out furiously. One of the creatures nearest to me tilts its head, and clicks its teeth together. I grit my teeth.

“Leave me alone! Get away, shoo, you stupid bone sacks!”

The creature must decide it's tired of hearing me yap, and I do sound pathetic anyway. Hmm, maybe I should be screaming. Such a thing would be reasonable in a situation such as this. Before I can decide on my next course of action, it jumps forward and tries to clamp its jaws down on my leg. I jump back, and I hear the clack of teeth behind me as well. I swear, and panic makes me tremble, and I can't maneuver myself away-

Bang.

The creatures turn. One looks dumbstruck, mouth opening and closing in confusion. Its head rests on the ground, while the body waves its arms around, trying to find the head.

Bang.

Bang bang bang.

I see bullets whistle through the air, taking down a creature at a time quickly and effectively. In mere seconds, each one searches for its own head.

I search for the source of the bullets. And there, a little ways off, a shadowy figure fights three of the still standing skeletons, kicking and twirling and dodging. I watch as the figure jumps up and flips through the air, landing smoothly on their feet as they swipe the feet of one of the creatures out from underneath it.

And then I'm looking up into harsh eyes, flickering between a beige yellow and hazel green.

I blink. The first thing that hits me is how severe they are, sharper than broken glass.

#Memento Mori: Dethéian Chronicles #MMDC #original work #original character #writers on tumblr #chapter one #MM Elliott #oc #do not repost ill hunt you down and rip out your organs #memento mori #wip #not exactly but to be edited #fun fact this story has had three rewrites of the (i wasnt happy with the last two and could never get past meeting a certain character)

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mysteryshoptls · 2 years ago

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SR Vil Schoenheit - Playful Dress Vignette

"I was able to witness such a rare sight"

[Playful Land – Bazaar]

Puppet: Come By, Come And See! Would You Like A Playful Land Souvenir!?

Vil: …...

Vil: Well, I thought I would get some souvenirs for those back at school, but…

Vil: These accessories, medals, and mugs… aren't really gifts I would give others.

Vil: Oh, is this… a badge? It's small, I do like how prettily the gold shines.

Vil: This may be a perfect find. Could you wrap this up for me?

Puppet: Of Course!

Jade: Oh my, Vil-san. I thought you would be exploring the park, but have you turned to souvenir shopping already?

Vil: That's right. I spotted some lockers earlier, so I thought I would use those until we leave.

Jade: I hadn't noticed there were lockers available.

Jade: I planned on leaving souvenir shopping for later, but if that is the case, then I suppose it won't be a bother to shop for some now.

Vil: Well, if you weren't over here for souvenirs in the first place, why did you come this way?

Jade: Me? Something rather fascinating happened to have caught my eye…

Vil: Something fascinating?

Jade: Indeed, take a look at these.

Vil: These are… fashion accessories?

Jade: Yes. These are character hats, character headbands, and other various accessories that can be worn around the park.

Vil: A hat with fox ears, a scrunchie with a small cat figure attached to it…

Vil: There are even sunglasses with frames that look like a silhouette of a fox.

Vil: So, you like these kinds of character merchandise? That's actually rather surprising.

Jade: WELL, YES, ABSOLUTELY! Although, I haven't had much luck purchasing any since I left the Coral Sea.

Jade: Unfortunately, it's quite difficult to coordinate outfits with these kinds of poppy and cutesy merch…

Jade: I wonder if there is anyone out there who could suit such specialized character accessories.

Jade: If they did exist, I would love for them to show me how they'd wear it, but I'm sure that's easier said than done.

Jade: …That would be much too convenient, right?

Vil: You... I'm more than certain you are lying through your teeth when you say you like such cute merch.

Vil: Does this mean you've come all the way to this shop to try to get a rise out of me? What a charming personality you have.

Jade: Oh, my. A lie…? Nonsense. Please believe me, Vil-san.

Vil: I assume you're only here to try to see me struggle matching those accessories to my outfit.

Vil: Allow me to show you just how fundamentally flawed your scheme is.

Vil: After all, our knowledge and experience are nowhere near the same.

Vil: Well then, first… Ah, I'll start with the sunglasses.

Vil: My current outfit has a base black color, with a purple focus and red accents.

Vil: I do not want to upset the balance of these colors. With that in mind, I would choose this one.

Jade: Those sunglasses have such a vivid red frame… So you chose it based off your accent color instead of the base color.

Vil: Yes, of course. The face is the most prominent part of your body, so it would be a waste to frame it with a color as muted as my base color.

Vil: Next are the earrings. Since we don’t want it to clash with the sunglasses, here we would choose a subtle gold or white gold shimmer.

Vil: The scrunchie should be an eye-catching pink that doesn't take too much attention away from the sleeves.

Vil: I'd match the backpack to purple, and attach plenty of charms to it, within reason.

Jade: …Wonderful. Although you are decorated in character goods from head to toe, your refined presence still shines strong.

Vil: Naturally. Character goods like this are just another facet of fashion, so as long as you keep to the fundamentals, you can't go wrong.

Vil: Specifically, one must always be aware of the color balance. You cannot simply throw everything on without any thought.

Jade: I see, this has been a wonderful learning experience. I shouldn't expect anything less from someone like you.

Vil: Obviously. There isn't a fashion item in the world that I would not be able to put to good use.

Vil: …Or is that too much of a boast? Fufu.

Jade: This was astounding. By the way, may I…

Vil: No photos.

Jade: Ah, I see. That is a shame.

Vil: Well, I've finished choosing my souvenirs, so I'll be off. Goodbye, then.

Jade: …Yes, I'll see you later.

[Playful Land – Gentle Square]

Vil: Playful Land truly is large.

Vil: There's the Catch the Star wheel, an Undersea Walk… As well as a Brawl Bungalow.

Vil: I would love to visit every attraction I haven't been able to check out yet, but there may not be enough time.

Jade: Indeed. Taking into account what free time we have remaining, I would think we could perhaps look into 2 or 3 attractions.

Vil: I concur. That may be the case, especially considering the crowds.

Vil: …Also, Jade, I thought we sent our separate ways back at the bazaar. Why are you still following me?

Jade: I simply thought it would be more exciting to stick with you, Vil-san, than look around on my own. I have no ulterior motives.

Vil: …Honestly, I absolutely cannot believe that. Especially with how much of an innocent front you're displaying.

Vil: Well, no matter. I was just thinking about actually finding some activities to enjoy here at Playful Land.

Vil: And, well, you've an abundance in forethought, so you may not be a terrible companion.

Vil: If you absolutely must, you may join me.

Jade: Thank you very much.

Vil: There is a certain place I would like to go. Let's head there.

[Playful Land – Expedition Whale]

Vil: We've arrived.

Jade: This is…

Vil: Expedition Whale, the largest roller coaster in this amusement park.

Vil: Obviously, we cannot pass up the main attraction. Come, the line is over here.

Jade: Wait a moment, Vil-san. Why don't we visit the Brawl Bungalow first?

Vil: …Huh? Why? The roller coaster is right in front of us.

Vil: You want us to head towards the Brawl Bungalow from here, and then turn all the way around to come back here? I think that is a complete waste of time.

Jade: No, I… The line for the roller coaster is rather long, so I thought perhaps waiting for our turn may be a waste of our time.

Jade: If we use that potential waiting time to visit another attraction, perhaps we could be able to enjoy an additional one…

Vil: …Sigh.

Vil: You know, Jade. I'll only say this once. I gave you permission to "follow me if you must."

Vil: I never said you could direct me anywhere. I don't want there to be any misunderstandings.

Jade: Right, my apologies. Only, if we consider our limited time remaining…

Vil: Oh… And here I thought you would back off because I was a little sterner there. How odd.

Vil: I don't think you rather look to be that interested in the Brawl Bungalow, either. It's as if you are trying to avoid the roller coaster entirely.

Vil: I'm sure it absolutely isn't the case, but… Could it be that you're attempting to avoid the roller coaster because you're scared…?

Vil: That couldn't possibly be the case, right, Jade?

Jade: Of course not. To tell you the truth, I am simply worried for you, Vil-san.

Jade: It seems as though the roller coaster will splash us with water in the end…

Jade: I couldn't help but be concerned for your beautiful makeup. We wouldn't want it to run.

Vil: Mmhmm. If you say so. Uh-huh…

Vil: If my makeup runs, I just have to fix it.

Vil: Is that all you have? Come on, let's go.

Vil: Well, now… The coaster is about to move. Are you ready, Jade?

Jade: Ready? I'm not entirely sure what you mean… I am still fraught with worry for you, Vil-san.

Jade: I must at least be prepared to shield you, after all, in case your makeup runs.

Vil: You truly don't ever stop speaking. …But I wonder, how long will you be able to keep it up?

[clank, clank, clank…]

Vil: Look Jade, the view is breathtaking. We can see the whole of Playful Land.

Jade: Yes, truly… It is very high… And from this height, I assume we're about to…

[clank!!]

Jade: URK…!?

Vil: …Heh.

[RRRRRGGGGGGOOOOORRR!!]

[SPLASSSH!!]

Vil: Ahh, that was a superb thrill…!

Vil: Rollercoasters this long and thrilling are completely out of the ordinary.

Vil: But, I'm quite elated to have been able to experience such a one-of-a-kind attraction. On top of that…

Vil: I was able to witness such a rare sight: Jade, speechless.

Vil: I'm sure you tagged along, hoping to find some reason to rib me… I'm sorry it didn't work out for you.

Jade: …...

Jade: …Oh no, I am just the same as ever. That was a enjoyable coaster.

Jade: However, perhaps I would like to refrain from riding it for a little while…

Vil: Oh, have you recovered already? I guess I should at least commend your moxie.

Vil: We're moving on to the next attraction, Jade. I'm nowhere near satisfied yet.

Requested by @farfalla049.

#twisted wonderland #twst #vil schoenheit #jade leech #twst vil #twst jade #twst translation #twst stage in playful land

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transgenderer · 6 months ago

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i really like the "mimesis as make-believe" take on myth, that thinking of them as like "true" or "false" is missing the point. like, yes, they're not true, but they arent really intended as truth claims, they're intended as imagination devices, for imagining a story with particular vividness. but they predate the notion of fiction as like, a discrete section in the bookstore. their use and function is perpendicular to the "true story based on evidence"/"false story somebody made up" divide. their truth value is, for their purpose, simply not important! its like asking about the color of a hammer! sure, theres reasons to care about what color your hammer is. but if you ask someone what color their hammer's handle is, theres a good chance they dont remember, because it doesn't

and imagining is valuable not just because it's fun, but because it can allow you to understand something better! the mechanism here is somewhat unclear but also kind of undeniable. reading a story about some concept often makes you feel you understand it better afterwards, without the story making any truth claims on that topic. because imagining requires you to...draw in, marshal up, organize and direct your knowledge of the world, to construct the imagining, and that process lets you form new connections between things

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icecreamandpizzawrites · 2 months ago

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For The Love Of Kasumi

Dressed in her favorite pajamas, Rosie snuggled against her aunt's side. Bedtime stories were a nightly ritual for the young girl, especially when her Aunt Misty was babysitting her. Her eyes locked on the open book in her aunt's lap, she took in the vivid illustrations and colors depicted in an ancient block-print style, detailing the story of a young woman named Kasumi waiting for her love to return. It had started as an old Cerulean City legend told by sailors, but it had become one of her favorite storybooks.

Rosie had always believed Kasumi to be as beautiful as a princess with her sun-kissed skin, dark brown hair, and eyes as blue as the ocean she loved. Her love, Toshi, was tan from days spent in the sun with hair as black as night and eyes as brown as chocolate.

Her aunt's voice soothed her as she recalled the tale of Kasumi, who'd fallen in love with Toshi when they were young. The two dreamed of traveling the world together and training pokémon, but Kasumi's family obligations kept her home, so the Toshi journeyed on without her.

As the Toshi grew older, the distance he traveled grew further, and his time away grew longer. The villagers whispered behind Kasumi's back, scoffing when she turned down suitors of equal or higher status. Her family tried to marry her off to another young man in the village, but she refused. Her heart belonged to someone else, and she stuck up her nose, claiming that her love would one day return to her for good.

"When will you return?" Her aunt read, her voice warm and comforting to match that of Kasumi's. After months of being gone, Toshi finally returned home for a visit, but no sooner than he arrived did he have to leave again. Kasumi was always grateful when he visited, but she longed for the day when he came home for good.

"Soon, but never too long," Toshi replied, his smile as warm as the sun beating down on them. "I am a ship traveling the seas, and you are my harbor. Your love is the light always guiding me back home. I am so close to finding the legendary Zacian, and when I do, I promise to return home to you."

The two embraced one last time before Toshi set off, promising to return home soon.

Years passed and Kasumi's faith grew shaky as she waited for her love to return, her doubt coiling like an ekans around her heart.

The night was cool and the sky clear when she traveled to the cape overlooking the ocean. Light shining from the lighthouse illuminated the sea below, capturing a lone boat in the distance. Recognizing the boat, she rushed down the hill and to where the ocean met the land. As the boat crashed onto the shore, Toshi rushed to meet her. He scooped her up in his arms and spun her around, her feet gliding across the sand. When he put her down, he rested his forehead against hers, pressed a pokéball into her hand, and whispered the words she'd longed to hear.

"I'm home."

Rosie sighed as her aunt closed the book and set it aside. "That's my favorite story."

Misty giggled, pulling her closer. "That's what I've heard. It's a beautiful story. It was one of my favorites when I was your age."

Rosie's eyes lit up. "Really?" Misty nodded, and Rosie smiled back. She'd always known there was a reason Misty was her favorite aunt. Slumping down, Rosie nestled her head onto Misty's lap and closed her eyes, letting the feeling of her aunt gliding her fingers through her hair lull her to sleep. Her breathing slowly evened out, and she felt herself falling asleep before a sudden thought crossed her mind.

"I hope I meet a boy like that one day."

Misty held back a snort of laughter. "I think you're a little young for that, Rosie," she replied as she ruffled the girl's hair. "But one day, when you're older, maybe you will."

"Just like you, right?" Rosie bobbed her head, satisfied with Misty's answer. "Mommy said that you were like the lady in the story."

Misty furrowed her eyebrows. "What?"

Rosie leaned forward and grabbed the book from the nightstand. She placed it on Misty's lap and opened it to her favorite page, the one with the illustration of when Toshi and Kasumi reunite. Pointing at the picture, she explained, "Mommy said you're waiting for a boy you love to come back so you can be together. Just like Kastumi."

"Oh."

Rosie turned and looked at her expectantly. "Do you think he'll come back, Aunt Misty?"

"I don't know," she whispered.

Misty sat at the kitchen counter, burying her feelings in ice cream while trying not to think about what Daisy's seven-year-old daughter had said.

Was she really like the woman in the story? Had she really become those women she used to scoff at for wasting away their lives for a man? Sure, she was still a romantic, but she was also realistic. But what about guys like Georgio who had asked her out? Hadn't she rejected them, claiming she just wasn't ready to date yet? Had that just been an excuse to justify what she'd really been doing the whole time?

Misty shook her head.

No.

She was not going to let herself believe that. And she certainly wasn't going to let Daisy's thoughts get to her. She'd gotten over her feelings for him, and not once had he given any indication that he felt the same way. This was just some fable her niece had come up with based on one misguided comment Daisy had made. There was absolutely no truth to it.

Misty sighed. She could try to fight it, but...

The front door opened, followed by the tapping of Daisy's heels and the low whisper of her and Tracey's voices as they talked. When they walked into the kitchen and saw Misty seated at the counter, their conversation came to a stop.

"Hey, Misty," Daisy greeted her as she walked toward the cabinets to grab a drink. "Thanks again for watching Rosie. It's been so long since we've been on a date, so Trace and I owe you big time."

Misty nodded. "Sure, no problem."

While Tracey went to check on Rosie, Daisy poured herself a glass of wine and sat across from Misty. "Is she asleep? She didn't cause you too much trouble, did she?"

"No, she was perfect," Misty replied. She'd babysat Rosie a few times before, and every time the little girl was a little angel. "But she did tell me something very interesting."

Daisy raised her eyebrows. "Oh yeah? Was it about pokémon? She's been really into Trace's old watcher books."

I wish, Misty sighed internally. "No. We were reading that story she loves, Kasumi's Love. The one about the woman who waits for that guy she loves to come back?" Daisy nodded, taking a sip of her drink. "Anyways, when we were done reading, she told me this crazy story about how you told her that I'm like the woman in the story."

"Well, yeah," Daisy stated matter-of-factly. "You kind of are."

Misty furrowed her eyebrows and gripped her bowl tighter. "What? You're kidding, right? It's a story, Daisy. It's not real. Where did you even come up with that crazy idea?"

Daisy frowned, looking slightly offended. "Uh, news flash, Baby Sis, it may be a story, but you're living it. Can you honestly sit there and tell me you haven't dropped everything to go to Pallet Town the second you hear your little boyfriend's coming home?"

"He's not my boyfriend!" Misty hissed. "He's my friend"-probably her best friend if she was honest- "who I happen to miss when he's gone, so sue me!"

Daisy waved her off, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You know I love you, right?" Daisy waited for Misty to reply, but she refused to say anything. Whenever Daisy started a sentence like that, it was usually followed by some unsolicited advice. "I remember when you left home, shouting about how you wouldn't come back until you were a water pokémon master. Well, it's been eleven years, and you're nowhere close."

Misty glared, her teeth clenched. "Are you trying to make me feel bad? I run a gym, Daisy, remember? One that you guys dumped on me! It's a full-time job. I don't exactly have time to chase my dreams, but if I could, trust me, I'd be out of here in a second."

Daisy was undeterred by her anger. She took another sip of her drink before placing it on the counter. "Okay, then go."

"But - "

Daisy cut her off. "No, no excuses. I've offered to take over for you hundreds of times. So why are you still here?"

"Because I single-handedly rebuilt this gym's reputation, and I refuse to let you, Lily, and Violet destroy it."

"Blah, blah, blah, move on already. That excuse is getting old. You should really try to come up with something new."

Misty went wide-eyed. "What?"

"You heard me. Blah, blah, blah. Old excuse...Just sitting here, waiting for your li-"

Misty clenched her fists, wanting nothing more than to throttle Daisy. If her sister had just kept her mouth shut, none of this would have happened. "I was really happy, and then you guys had to go and ruin everything with your stupid trip around the world. And now you're giving me crap for taking responsibility?"

"No," Daisy firmly replied. "I will never forget the sacrifice you made. I'm giving you crap for sitting around here waiting. My baby sister doesn't sit around and wait for people to tell her if it's okay to do something or when she can do it. She just does it. It's okay to be scared, Misty, but sitting around and waiting here? You're not going to find any answers."

Misty sighed. For a few minutes, she let herself really think about what Daisy said.

Why was she still here?

She wasn't lying when she said that she didn't trust her sisters to run the gym, but Daisy had grown-with her assistance-into a decent battler, and she had Tracey to help her. If allowed to go after the dreams she'd put aside, she could part ways with the gym. It would be scary to leave behind her life for the last seven years, but she really missed traveling. For once, she could be the one who did the leaving.

But she couldn't leave. If she left, he wouldn't know where to find her.

Daisy watched her as she opened her mouth to say something but quickly closed it when the words got stuck in her throat. She could admit the truth to herself, but could she really say it out loud? Once it was out there, she couldn't take it back; she'd be using the last excuse she had for staying at the gym so long.

Before she could protest, Daisy filled another glass with wine and pushed it over to Misty. Wordlessly, Misty took a swing of the glass before setting it to the side. With her head resting in the cradle of her arms, she groaned in annoyance.

Damn it.

Just call her Kasumi because Daisy was right.

#pokeshipping #ash and misty #fanfiction #icecreamandpizzawrites #changes made to original posted story #maiden's peak inspo

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