#contours of the heart series

[emmieedwards]

Resenha: Easy, de Tammara Webber

Livro: Easy Série: #1 - Contornos do Coração Autora: Tammara Webber Gênero: Romance Contemporâneo, Drama Ano de Publicação: 2013 Editora: Verus Páginas: 305 Classificação: +16

Há livros e »livros«. Com certeza, Easy, não é um »livro« no quesito enredo, em 2012 as coisas eram muito mais…básicas, vamos dizer assim, mas isso não tira o mérito de Tammara Webber de ter um estilo de escrita completamente viciante.

Em "Easy" conhecemos Jacqueline, uma garota que foi para uma faculdade específica para ficar perto do seu namorado de ensino médio e que se vê perdida quando o relacionamento acaba.

E as coisas não poderiam ficar piores: em uma das primeiras festas depois do término, Jacqueline é atacada por uma pessoa próxima que tenta abusá-la sex ualmente.

Desesperada, ela é salva por um misterioso rapaz que estava no lugar certo na hora certa e que parece saber muito mais sobre ela do que o contrário.

Enquanto tenta não dar enfoque no seu trauma recente, Jaqueline começa a perceber que toda a sua vida e carreira foram moldadas em torno de seu ex: a faculdade, seus planos, sua inscrição na matéria de economia, e até mesmo a maioria dos seus amigos eram os amigos de seu ex que depois da separação quase nem olham na cara dela.

De brinde, enquanto se recuperava do pé na bunda, ela se viu incapaz de comparecer na prova do meio do semestre e está prestes a tomar bomba em Economia.

Se esforçando para reparar os estragos, Jacqueline começa a ser mais perceptiva à presença de Lucas, seu salvador misterioso, ao seu redor e começa a contemplar a ideia de colocar a história com seu ex finalmente no passado. O problema é que a conquista com Lucas pode ser um pouco difícil e talvez ela esteja gostando muito mais de trocar alguns e-mails com seu monitor de economia.

"Easy" é um combo de coisas que aparentemente envelheceram mal, mas que surpreendentemente tem um conteúdo cativante. A capa não ajuda nem um pouco, a sinopse é um tanto suspeita e o blurb comparando-o com "Belo Desastre" também não é um bom indicativo.

Mas, contra todas as probabilidades, eu me diverti muito lendo e praticamente não consegui largar a leitura até terminar. O tema sobre o abuso, apesar de não ser extremamente aprofundado foi tratado de uma forma bastante "ok" e lúcida, sem ter aquele tom machista que coloca a culpa nas mulheres. O nosso mocinho emo aparentemente bad boy não é um rebelde sem causa que está pouco se importando para o mundo e ousaria dizer que ele é um dos personagens mais sensatos de todo o livro. A mocinha também não é insuportável e o desenvolvimento de personagem dela não gira apenas em torno do relacionamento.

Além disso, o casal é bem interessante juntos, dialogam bem e tem uma química muito bacana.

Claro, "Easy" não é um livro que vai mudar vidas, nem vai te fazer "cult", mas passa mensagens importantes e, o melhor, vai ser aquele entretenimento que muitos leitores estão procurando.

Recomendo a leitura para aqueles que vão de coração aberto.

Alguém por aí já leu? O que acharam?

NOTA: 🌟🌟🌟🌟 - 4/5

*Apesar de fazer parte de uma série, a maior parte dos livros são de leituras independentes"

Alerta de gatilhos: tentativa e menção de abuso se xu al (não tem descrição explícita), descredibilização da vítima, as sé dio, agressão física, assas si na to, menção de sui cí dio.

[comatosebunny09]

backstage performance | sylus q.

— cw: female!reader, dancer!reader, lap dance, pole dancing, thigh riding, pet names, smutty things, pretend the reader’s wearing an expensive-ass lace front wig, shower sex, explicit language, praise kink, voice kink, aftercare, mdni — wc: ~2k — dividers by: @grabby-smitten — tagging: @world-of-hearts because they always entertain my madness. — now playing: don't worry about it - clara la san

One performance ends, freeing you up for another, more important gig. 

A smile rounds your lips as your audience erupts into a series of whoops and whistles. It’s almost deafening, their praise. 

The stage lights overwhelm your vision as people applaud you, some swiping at the stage to touch you. Everyone wants a chance at you—a taste of Lux’s main attraction. It’s flattering, but this isn’t the attention you seek tonight. It’s merely a preemptive strike for the grand finale.  

You duck backstage after wiping your pole clean. Sweep hair from your face, dabbing at the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand. A member of the backstage crew appears behind you to drape your shoulders in a fur coat. You wave her off, giving her an omniscient look as you shrug away from it. 

Her smile is cute, bashfulness swelling her cheeks. She knows what’s amiss—or about to be—bringing you a bottle of water instead. You gratefully accept, the crisp liquid a welcomed reprieve, cooling your insides. You thank her with a chaste kiss to her cheek. 

You dip into one of the club’s many winding hallways, bathed in the red lighting cast from overhead, skin shining with body glitter. Your heels click against the floor, accompanied by the dull throb of music playing throughout Lux’s halls. 

You reach your destination, your heart racing as you push through the swinging door leading to a quiet, tucked-away room.

Despite how long you’ve done this, you always get the pre-dance jitters, specifically when putting on a show for him. So, you tamp down your inhibitions as he comes into sight, a shock of white hair arresting your vision through the crimson hue of the private room. 

He looks up when you near him to get to your new stage, that customary smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sits back in an easy slouch in the leather armchair, watching you with half-slit eyes and a muted smugness that sets your body alight.

You haul yourself onto the raised platform using the pole, an effortless display of your flexibility and strength. If at all possible, his smirk grows tenfold. He shifts in his seat, the leather squeaking when he grips the arms with long, slender fingers. He’s settled in for the long haul; your private shows never disappoint.

Whatever kind of day he’s had, you want to ease the tense set of his shoulders. Erase the lines forming between his brows despite the mask of nonchalance he dons. His negotiations must’ve gone south.

Music spills from the speakers in the form of soft crooning over a chill beat. It assuages your nerves a little, prompting you to begin your show. 

You grow more confident as the seconds pass. Warm up a little, grinding your ass against the pole, thighs spread wide whilst you simulate grinding on him. 

He watches you with quiet reverence, mouth slightly open. His gaze always drifts back to yours as you entice him with the salacious wind of your body. The attention makes your throat grow dry. You’ve danced for him many times before, yet it always feels like the first when he looks at you like that. Like you’re something to be devoured, bones licked clean.

You pull out all the stops once you mount the pole, sprinkling in your favorite tricks, guided by the music and the hungry wash of scarlet watching in your peripheral. You spin here, flourish your fingers there. Smooth your hands over the contours of your body, playing up your allure. 

At some point, you end up on the floor propped on your elbows, the stage glacial beneath your bum. You cross your ankles and flex your feet. Splay your legs wide and jiggle your thighs. Spin each leg in a rehearsed fashion before clapping your heels together, the sound commanding in the stilled space. 

From there, you maneuver yourself into a split, isolating your cheek muscles to twerk your ass. You couple it with a sultry look at the object of your desires, and he lifts a brow, clearly enjoying the show. 

You ease onto your knees, gyrating your hips whilst combing your fingers through your hair. You flatten against the floor onto your palms, crawling toward him with the finesse of a prowling feline. He sits up to meet you halfway, and his eyes track to your lips when you tug at the collar of his shirt, drawing your chests together. 

“How did your meeting go,” you ask in a vain attempt at small talk. His breath is hot, sifting through your lashes as he slowly exhales. It’s dizzying, being so close. Smelling him, feeling the heat radiating off his skin, studying the pucker of his lips.

His lips graze yours with the tease of a kiss. “Flawlessly.” You taste the double entendre.

“That well, huh?” He helps you dismount the stage with wide palms clasped around your waist, drawing you into his lap. The air is pinched from your lungs when you bounce on his thighs from the motion, his need for you hot and weighted against your inner thigh. 

“Sure,” he says, hands making several expeditions over your sides, stomach, and the small of your back. He doesn’t want to talk business when such a delicious spread is laid out before him. You can’t blame him.

You decide not to pursue the conversation, instead raking your fingers through his hair to massage his scalp. He groans something guttural and appreciative. It’s amusing watching the big, bad Boogeyman fall apart in your hands. Baring a side of himself he reserves only for you.

You try to get up to finish your performance, but he snatches you back onto his lap, a warning brewing in the gleam of his scarlet eyes. 

You chuckle, admiring the scowl-turned-pout that descends on his lips. “Will you ever let me finish a dance?”

“Someday,” he counters, lazily studying your features. Smiles. “For now, why don’t you take five? Or ten? Or perhaps, twenty…”

You roll your eyes, draping your arms around his shoulders to draw him in for a kiss. It’s a brief, sticky union. Quick pecks evolve into something more heated, more possessive whilst he moors you to his lap, pushing his tongue into your mouth. 

It’s a greedy exchange, his tongue seeking out yours, stealing your breath from your lungs sip by sip. It’s enough to make your head spin, the apex of your thighs throbbing with anticipation against the stitching of his trousers. 

Deft fingers tiptoe up your back, grabbing the zipper of your bodysuit. He pulls back momentarily to watch your expression as he sluggishly draws the zipper down. Quietly gives you an out in case you’re not in the mood for this. Always so considerate, even whilst in the throes of passion.

You say nothing, instead gathering his cheeks in your palms once he’s freed you of the tug of your costume. He bunches your bodysuit around your hips, wrapping virile arms around your middle to keep you fastened to him. He peels back to smooth his palms over the sides of your ribs, bottom lip pinched between his teeth. He’s insatiable, like he’ll never see you again, emblazoning the feel of your body into his memories forever.

Reluctantly, he tears away from the hot suction of your mouth to nip at your neck. Your lips part with a sigh-turned-breathy laugh, and you crane your neck back to grant him more access. The worn pads of his thumbs ease over the swell of your tits, find your nipples. He ducks to lick one into his mouth, paying the same homage to the other until they’re ramrod stiff and sensitive.

Unconsciously, you grind against his thigh, the rough material of his slacks bumping against your clit just right, sending delightful shockwaves throughout your body.

“That’s it,” he croons, molding a hand around your ass to encourage you. Sighs hot and open-mouthed against your hinged open mouth. “Ride me. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

The low gravel of his voice spurs you on. You glide your sticky, clothed cunt over his quad, and he squeezes your ass in one hand whilst kneading your breast in the other, drawing your nipple back into his mouth. 

“Fuck me, baby,” he urges on a strained groan. “Take what you want from me. Use me, sweetheart.” 

You do as he pleads, clinging to him whilst you seek your pleasure through the sluggish grind of your hips. You pant in unison, his palms perched on your hips, encouraging you to ride his thigh faster. He sucks on your neck, breathing obscenities and praise against your skin, pushing you further towards that edge of that blissful void.

“Fuck me. Take me. So good. Such a pretty girl. Cum for me. Want you to. So, so badly.”

Your ragged breaths progress into loud, bitten-off moans of his name. Your hips stutter as the world slides into white. Your orgasm spills through you like a warm liquid pooling in the chasm of your belly, your nails scraping over the nape of his neck. He holds you as you shake and whimper. Paints the sweetest words against your slick neck, encouraging you to come down from the clouds.

You curl into him as the last vestiges of your peak ripple through you, willing your breaths to even out. He eases soothing hands over your body, your thighs. Slides gentle fingers under your chin, luring you into a kiss that’s sweet and coaxing.

He’s patient as you finally come down. Chuckles low in his throat, thinking you’re just the sweetest thing. Your cheeks prickle with warmth as realization slams into you. You peer into his eyes when his girth brushes against your swelling sex. His gaze is mirthful, knowing.

Your mouth trembles around words. He didn’t get his. He traps the question in your mouth with another kiss, the loud click of your mouths parting making you heady once more. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to take care of me later,” he rasps. Your belly swoops at the implications. At the tenderness. The fragility in his smile, the affection blooming in his gaze. “In the meantime, we should get you cleaned up.” He is, of course, referencing the sweat and glitter still clinging to your skin from your show before this one.

You nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder when he lifts you into his arms bridal style. Soundless, he walks you out of the room and down the hall toward the elevator. You’re bare from the waist up, your nipples puckering beneath the cool rush of air as he maneuvers you through the hall. But you’re not all ashamed, knowing no one frequents this side of the club as much as you do.

He cradles you to him like you’re made of porcelain. Doesn’t set you down even when the elevator pings at the top floor, emptying the pair of you into his penthouse. 

A bout of exhaustion washes over you. Maybe you were more exhausted than you let on. He chuckles something fond, glancing at you as he carries you to his en suite bathroom.

He takes his time divesting you of your costume after he sets you on the brisk countertop. Slides your heels from your feet, holding your gaze with a predatory gleam whilst he kisses the notches of each ankle bone. The mirror is a welcomed, glacial reprieve against your back when you lean against it, watching him rid himself of his suit. Your mouth waters when you catch sight of him, hard and swollen red in the wake of your teasing.

He scoops you back into his arms when he’s done, carrying you beneath the warm spray of his shower. Only then does he reluctantly set you down, turning away to squirt some body wash onto a towel to clean you. He takes his time scrubbing away the sweat and glitter, touching you with such admiration, like you’re a deity worthy of praise.

Once you’re both thoroughly scrubbed, he’s sure to thank you for such a wonderful performance in the shape of his hot mouth and artful fingers moving between your thighs.

[hunkpossession0]

**Riding a New Life: A Ghost's Journey**

I had been a wandering spirit for what felt like an eternity. Ever since the accident that severed my connection to the living world, I had been drifting through the ether, invisible and forgotten. That is, until today.

I found myself in a dimly lit parking garage, the scent of gasoline and rubber filling the air. The growl of an engine echoed off the walls, and that’s when I saw him—a young biker, effortlessly cool in his black and red leather suit, leaning casually against his sleek Honda. He was everything I had once admired from afar, back when I was alive.

I watched him for a moment, a pang of envy and longing coursing through my spectral form. Then, almost instinctively, I felt myself drawn toward him. There was a sudden pull, a rush of energy, and before I knew it, I was inside his body.

The moment I slipped into his form, it was as if the world exploded in sensation. The first thing I noticed was the heat—the intoxicating warmth of his skin, the snug embrace of the leather suit wrapping around me. It was a second skin, tight and form-fitting, accentuating every contour and muscle. The leather was smooth and supple, a mix of security and allure that was almost overwhelming.

I flexed my fingers, feeling the resistance of the gloves, the reassuring grip they provided. I couldn't help but admire the strength in these hands, the power in this body. My heart raced, not just from the thrill of possession, but from the sheer intensity of feeling alive again. The suit clung to me, a perfect fit, and I relished the way it made me look—strong, confident, and undeniably hot.

Every step I took in the leather suit was a new discovery. The way it accentuated my broad shoulders, the way it hugged my biceps and triceps, making every muscle pop with definition. I could feel the smooth caress of the leather against my skin, the way it moved with me, an extension of my newfound strength.

After an exhilarating ride through the city, I decided to explore more of what this new life had to offer. I had noticed a gym bag in the trunk of his bike, and an idea struck me. I headed to the local gym, eager to test the limits of this new body.

Entering the gym, I felt a wave of excitement. The scent of sweat and metal filled the air, and the rhythmic clanking of weights created a motivating soundtrack. I walked confidently to the locker room, changing into a tank top and workout pants that showed off my muscular physique. The reflection in the mirror was almost surreal—I was now this fit, handsome biker with a body that drew admiration and respect.

I started with some light stretches, feeling every muscle respond with a fluidity and power I had never experienced before. Moving to the weight section, I picked up a dumbbell, the cold metal heavy in my hand. I began a series of bicep curls, watching in awe as the muscles in my arms bulged and flexed.

The intensity of the workout was intoxicating. I pushed myself harder, feeling the burn in my muscles, the rush of endorphins coursing through my veins. I moved from one machine to another, challenging myself with each set, reveling in the strength and endurance of this body.

Between sets, I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror. The way the tank top clung to my chest and shoulders, the way my arms looked pumped and powerful—it was a heady mix of vanity and pride. I couldn't help but snap a quick selfie, capturing the moment of pure, unadulterated strength.

As the workout continued, I felt a growing sense of accomplishment. This body was capable of so much, and I was determined to explore its limits. The sweat poured down my skin, a testament to the hard work and effort I was putting in. And with each rep, each lift, I could feel myself growing more confident, more comfortable in this new skin.

But something was missing. My spectral journey had been long and lonely, and I longed to share this new life with someone who understood. That’s when I remembered my closest ghost friend, another lost soul who had wandered with me through the void. He deserved this chance too.

Later that evening, I returned to the parking garage, where I found another biker—a friend of the man whose body I had claimed. He was tall and lean, with a rugged handsomeness that made my decision easy. I called out to my ghost friend, guiding him to this new vessel.

With a rush of energy, my friend entered the biker’s body. The transformation was immediate. He blinked, adjusting to the new sensations, then looked at me with a mixture of awe and gratitude. We were no longer lost souls. We were alive, and we had each other.

Together, we returned to the gym. It was a surreal experience, seeing my friend in his new form, watching him flex and admire his new physique. We took a moment to capture it—a selfie of the two of us, side by side, strong and proud. The bond we shared as ghosts had transformed into something deeper, something more intimate.

In the gym mirror, we stood close, our bodies radiating strength and confidence. My friend, now in his own muscular form, flexed his bicep while I wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Our tank tops clung to us, revealing every sculpted muscle, every defined line. The pride in our eyes was unmistakable. Here we were, two souls reborn, finding a new life and love in the most unexpected way.

As the days passed, we explored our new lives together. We rode our bikes through the city, feeling the wind on our faces, the thrill of speed and freedom. We worked out side by side, pushing each other to new heights, celebrating every achievement.

Our connection grew stronger, evolving into a romantic bond that felt natural and right. We were a couple now, navigating this new world together. The love we had for each other, forged in the ethereal realm, blossomed in our new, physical forms.

And as we stood together, gazing at our reflections, we knew that this was just the beginning. We had found a new home, a new life, and most importantly, we had found each other. The road ahead was ours to conquer, and we were ready to face it together.

The leather suit, which had started it all, became a symbol of our transformation. Every time I slipped into it, I felt a rush of excitement and power. The way it hugged my body, the way it made me look and feel—it was exhilarating. And as we rode together, side by side, I knew that we were more than just bikers. We were partners, lovers, and together, we were unstoppable.

[fvsm4x]

✧RE(G)RET ; GOJO SATORU . . . . . CHAP 1.

✧SUMMARY: Pregnancy, usually a positive outcome of love between two partners that love each other deeply. But Pregnancy resulting from someone using you for their own pleasure is far from a positive outcome

— C.W: bully Gojo Satoru x female reader , pregnancy , sexual assault & harassment , mentions of abortion , mature themes/MDNI , bullying , angst , gojo is a dick , 18+ , fingering , sucking , nsfw , mature themes , dirty talk , dubcon

— WORD COUNT: 4.7k+

—A/N: I SWEAR GOJO WILL GET A CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT PLEASE DON‘T COME ATTACKING ME IF I WROTE HIM BEING A DICK

— TAGLIST: @watyousayin @zukowantshishonourback @wiqxx @jhutchlover67 @xxemmarldxx @sadmonke @chilichopsticks @neptunieesworld @sodoney @nessielovesfood @polarbvnny @mwtsxri @mynahx3 @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @reader69sviewpoint @emryb @starlightanyaaa @kiramdd @promiseofeywa @xuxieroll @tqd4455 @wateronlyhaha @stillpanicking @starrylibras @latorsgatorz @melancholysanatomy @cherryblossomly @littledemoness15 @thatsopanu @throwmethroughawindow @xkittiecatx @yihona-san06 @aikuoliverswife @mellow-mewow @r0ckst4rjk @virtuapicklequirkreader @heijihattorisgf @meoneee777 @ih8erika @haitanibros0007 @certainduckanchor @alisonyus @nothisispatrick300

NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

"No," you whispered, your voice trembling,"No. No. No."

You stared at the pregnancy test in your hand, your breath catching in your throat.

The room seemed to spin around you as you tried to process the reality of the situation. Your hand began to shake uncontrollably, and tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision.

Your heart pounded in your chest, its rhythm erratic and chaotic. Each beat seemed to echo in your ears, a constant reminder of the profound impact this revelation would have on your life. Slowly, your legs gave way beneath you, and you slid down the cold, tiled walls of the bathroom. The coolness seeped through your clothes, grounding you in the midst of the emotional storm raging within.

You glanced at the test again, desperately hoping that it was all just a mistake. But the reality of the situation sank in, causing your lower lip to quiver and tears to stream down your face. In a fit of frustration and despair, you threw the test across the room, its plastic casing clattering against the tiles. The sound seemed to reverberate through the silence, punctuating the gravity of the moment.

Your hands instinctively flew to your face, covering your mouth as you sobbed into them. This couldn't be happening. You weren't ready to become a parent, not yet. You were still in college, still young, and this felt like a cruel twist of fate. But deep down, you knew it wasn't a mistake.

The constant bouts of nausea, the missed periods, and the frequent trips to the bathroom left no room for doubt. You had suspected for a while now, but seeing the positive test confirmed your fears.

Thoughts raced through your mind, each one more frantic than the last. How would you manage your studies and a baby?

You couldn't afford to bring a child into the world right now. You were just 18, still trying to navigate your way through your studies, and you still lived with your parents.

To make things even more challenging, the baby you're carrying is from Gojo Satoru, your bully who took away your virginity without your permission.

—

The room echoed with the unmistakable sound of spurrrr, followed by a sudden splashh. A cold sensation enveloped you as something was poured over your head, and a sticky white liquid began cascading down your form, saturating your hair, uniform, and face. The wet strands of your hair clung to your face, covering your eyes in a veil of dampness.

The once pristine white dress shirt of your uniform became a translucent canvas, revealing the contours beneath as it absorbed the relentless flow of the liquid. A chill ran down your spine as the dampness seeped through the fabric, making you shiver involuntarily.

The table before you, once holding neatly arranged notes, became a collateral victim as drops of the liquid found their way onto your meticulously written papers. The carton responsible for this unexpected deluge was carelessly tossed into the midst of your notes, creating a chaotic scene as the remaining contents gushed out, further drenching everything in its path.

It was milk, strawberry milk.

Your gaze fixated ahead, a mixture of confusion and disbelief clouding your eyes as you attempted to process the unexpected deluge of strawberry milk.

As you stood there, momentarily lost in the aftermath of the incident, the air around you resonated with the muffled sounds of laughter. The echoes of amusement began to pierce through the disorientation, pulling you back to the stark reality of the situation. Laughter, a mocking symphony, surrounded you from all directions, each chuckle and giggle magnifying the embarrassment of your saturated state.

Laughter, laced with mockery, sliced through the air as a voice from behind you jeered, "Man, a pink bra, seriously?", you shifted your gaze downward, only to be met with the sight of the pink bra that had become inadvertently visible through the now translucent fabric of your wet shirt, courtesy of the strawberry milk shower.

A blush crept up your cheeks, and your immediate response was to instinctively raise your hand, hastily covering the exposed upper part. Fumbling with the wet fabric, you desperately scanned your surroundings, searching for your jacket to shield yourself from the prying eyes.

However, before you could make a move, an unexpected force gripped your wrist, tugging you forward. The sudden pull exposed your bra once again, and your eyes shot up to meet the person responsible for the intrusive gesture. Piercing blue eyes and a shock of white hair revealed the identity – it was Gojo.

His gaze lingered, assessing the situation with a faint smirk. "I think it looks cute," he remarked, his eyes lingering on you,

"Your taste is seriously something else..." The voice behind Gojo murmured with a hint of incredulity before retreating into the background, leaving you alone with the enigmatic figure.

Desperation edged into your voice as you muttered, "Let me go," attempting to free your wrist from Gojo's firm grasp. However, your pleas were met with nothing but Gojo's lingering smirk, his piercing blue eyes still focused on you as if savoring the discomfort he'd stirred.

His response, a nonchalant, "No, I don't want to," only tightened his grip, compelling you to raise your hand even further, inadvertently granting him an unimpeded view. The smirk deepened as Gojo's other hand encircled your waist, drawing you closer until your body was flush against his.

The proximity left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, the lingering scent of strawberry milk and the dampness of your clothes creating an uncomfortable backdrop. Gojo, seemingly indifferent to your discomfort, leaned in, his voice a low murmur against your ear. "I wonder if your panties are also pink," he teased, his words sending a chill down your spine, widening your eyes in disbelief.

"Wait..." you stammered, attempting to push yourself away, but the maneuver only seemed to pull you closer to him.

A low, contemplative hum escaped Gojo's lips as his hand, previously resting on your waist, began to go down. The touch trailed down your back, skimming the curve of your waist before settling on the contours of your ass cheeks, positioned above your skirtt and then slipping beneath the fabric.

A hushed protest escaped your lips as you whispered, "Stop," the warmth of a blush creeping up your face as his hand delved further, finding its way under your panties, intimately resting on your bare skin. The audacity of the intrusion left you breathless.

"C'mon, don't get shy on me now," Gojo chided with an unsettling nonchalance. "No one's here." His words echoed in the room, and you glanced around, realizing with a sinking feeling that everyone who had occupied the space before had dispersed, leaving you alone in the confined space with Gojo.

"I'm busy, please let go," you pleaded, attempting to push Gojo away, the urgency in your voice belying the embarrassment and discomfort that churned within you.

His response, a taunting, "Don't be shy, I know you want it,"

You felt a shiver as Gojo pressed himself against you, his bulge uncomfortably noticeable against your stomach. His hand, previously holding your wrist, ventured under your dress shirt, revealing the pink bra. Instinctively, your hand moved to intercept his advance, wrapping around his invading hand.

"Please stop," you pleaded, hoping he'd respect your discomfort.

A dismissive "Shut up" escaped Gojo's lips, his grip tightening as he continued, "I know you want it, so let me give it to you." His audacious words hung heavy in the air, making your vulnerability more palpable.

With a furrowed brow, you tried to resist, but the unwelcome touch persisted, leaving you feeling trapped and violated.

"I noticed the way you looked at me," Gojo asserted, "Always in those little skirts, clearly trying to grab my attention~. You wanted me to notice you, and now you have it, so don't act like you didn't ask for this."

His hand, previously on your exposed ass cheek, ventured downward, slipping into the delicate crevice between your cheeks, reaching the wetness at your folds. With a deliberate touch, he pressed two fingers between the folds, skillfully massaging the sensitive flesh, coaxing a whimper from your lips.

"So wet~," he murmured into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His fingers traced slow circles around your sensitive bud of nerves, his words a seductive whisper, "Just for me, right?"

A whimper escaped your lips, your hand finding its place on Gojo's arm as you attempted to pull him away. In response, Gojo pressed into your clit, evoking a cry from your lips, the sensations tingling through your body.

"Don't try to stop me, sweetheart," Gojo murmured into your ear, his voice a sultry promise that heightened the intensity of the moment. He continued his relentless touch, coaxing more desperate sounds from you, his lips gently kissing the sensitive skin of your earlobe.

"You love this, don't you?" he teased, his words dripping with confidence. "You can't resist me," he continued, his fingers exploring every sensitive inch,

Your attempts to resist only seemed to fuel Gojo's determination. He increased the pressure on your clit, each touch sending waves of pleasure through your body, making it harder to focus on anything else.

"Don't fight it," Gojo urged, his voice a seductive whisper against your ear. His fingers danced skillfully, exploring your most intimate areas. "You're mine, and I know exactly what you need."

He punctuated his words with teasing strokes, a wicked grin playing on his lips as he reveled in the effect he had on you. The room seemed to spin as your defenses crumbled under the skillful touch, and your hand, once attempting to pull away, clutched onto Gojo's arm, seeking support in the escalating whirlwind of sensations.

"You're so responsive," he commented, his breath hot against your skin. "I can feel you clenching around me." His fingers continued their dance, the rhythm building, pushing you closer to the edge.

As you whimpered in response, "Let go, sweetheart. Embrace the pleasure. You know you want it," Gojo urged.

"I wonder what your brother would think about this," he mused, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Imagine the expression on his face when he discovers his little sister being fingered by his best friend. You truly are a slut..“

A feeble "S-shut up," escaped your lips, the whispered plea laden with a mix of vulnerability and desperation. Your eyes fluttered, slowly rolling back as Gojo inserted a finger, the intimate touch sending a wave of conflicting sensations through your body. A trace of your juices glistened on his hand, a tangible testament to the overwhelming desire that filled the room.

"You're so wet, literally dripping," Gojo observed, his voice a low murmur that echoed the satisfaction in his growing smirk. His free hand went to the cups of your bra, pushing it down and exposing your breasts. Your right breast became the focal point as his hand gripped into its softness. As he descended to an eye level with your exposed breast, his mouth opened, and he latched onto it with an undeniable hunger.

As Gojo's mouth covered your breast, he started sucking on your nipple with evident hunger. His lips sealed tightly around it, and his tongue began teasing circles, sending shivers through your body. The sensations grew more intense as the rhythmic sucking continued, prompting involuntary moans.

In an attempt to resist, you tried to push Gojo away, but he only intensified the suction.

You whimpered as the conflicting sensations of pleasure and resistance enveloped you. Gojo, undeterred by your feeble attempts to resist, continued his relentless assault on your senses. His fingers skillfully worked, dancing over the intimate areas, amplifying the intensity of the encounter.

"Such a good girl, letting yourself feel what you truly desire."

—-

You found yourself seated on the floor, bathed in the dimming sunlight that filtered through the window. The room had taken on a languid hue as the sun descended, marking the culmination of an encounter that seemed to leave more than just physical traces.

Your shirt hung open, showing a pink bra struggling to keep it together after the heated rendezvous. The smeared lipstick and mascara were clear signs of the passionate escapade. As you sat there, your legs trembled, and the lack of panties beneath your skirt hinted at the intimate moments that had unfolded.

The room felt both intimate and lonely as everyone, including Gojo, had left, leaving behind the aftermath of a liaison that blurred the lines between pleasure and regret. The echoes of your recent escapade and the missing panties were the only remnants of Gojo's presence.

At first, you hesitated, reluctant to lose your virginity to someone like Gojo. But eventually, you caved in, and you can't deny it felt good. You shoulder the blame for giving in – you enjoyed it, just like Gojo did.

Gojo is – a jerk, a player, who engages with women, gets what he wants, and then moves on. You unwittingly became one of his victims, transitioning from being bullied by him to being involved intimately with him.

You deeply regret giving in to the situation, feeling an overwhelming sense of remorse. If only you could turn back time and take action to prevent it from happening. But unfortunately, it was too late.

Slowly rising from the cold floor, you hastily grabbed your jacket and tied it around your waist, desperately hoping it would conceal the fact that you were not wearing any underwear at the moment. With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you began to make your way towards the exit, your legs trembling and unsteady.

Every movement you made caused a sharp hiss of pain to escape your lips. Your legs were sore from the intense encounter with Gojo, the person who had taken advantage of you. You couldn't help but wonder if he even realized that you were a virgin.

As you retrieved your phone from your backpack and turned it on, you were met with a flood of missed calls and messages from your brother, who happened to be Gojo's best friend. Glancing at the time displayed on the screen, you realized it was already 6 pm. You were supposed to be home by 3 pm, but Gojo had held you captive, causing you to be late. While you doubted your parents would be concerned about your tardiness, your brother certainly would be.

Just as you were contemplating your next move, your phone began to ring, displaying your brother's caller ID. Despite the pain and emotional turmoil you were experiencing, a weak smile formed on your face as you answered the call. The sound of loud shouting immediately filled your ears, a clear indication of your brother's worry and concern for your well-being.

"Where are you?" he shouted anxiously, causing a mixture of emotions to stir within you.

"Don't worry, I'll be home soon," you reassured him, your voice barely above a whisper. With your free hand, you carefully wiped away the smudged makeup on your face, attempting to regain some semblance of composure.

"I'm asking you where you are!" he yelled once again, his voice filled with frustration and fear.

You couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, a bittersweet response to his genuine concern. "I got held up here, but I'm fine. Please, don't worry about me," you replied,

„Should I come pick you up?“ he asked, his voice calming down.

You thought for a moment before replying with a short,“yes“

You figured it was better to wait for your brother then walk home, with no panties and sore legs.

Your brother replied,“Okay, I‘ll be there soon, wait for me, yeah?“ before hanging up.

After your brother hung up, you stepped out of the building, greeted by the gentle tones of the setting sun casting its warm glow. The wind played with your hair as you settled down by the stairs, patiently waiting for your brother to arrive and pick you up.

The events of the day echoed in your mind, and the weight of both regret and discomfort lingered. The building's facade cast long shadows as the sun continued its descent, creating a tranquil scene that contrasted with the turmoil within.

As the sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears, you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and apprehension. It was your brother, finally arriving to pick you up. His concerned expression softened as he laid eyes on you, and you mustered a smile in response.

"I hope you didn't wait too long," he spoke, his gaze lingering on your figure, perhaps noticing the slight dishevelment.

"Don't worry, Suguru," you replied, trying to sound more composed than you felt. Walking together towards his car, the setting sun cast a warm glow over the world, signaling the end of a tumultuous day.

Just as you reached the car, your brother paused and turned to face you. "Oh, before I forget," he began, opening the door for you to get in. "You wanna come with me and Satoru to the bar today? It's your—"

"No," you cut him off abruptly, causing him to look at you with a questioning eye.

"Are you sure? I mean, it's your favorite place," he asked again, genuinely perplexed by your sudden refusal.

"I'm not feeling well. I just want to stay home," you lied, your voice betraying the mix of fear and shame that consumed you. The truth was, you couldn't bear the thought of seeing Gojo again. The fear of facing him, coupled with the overwhelming shame of what had transpired between you, made the idea of going to the bar unbearable.

"If it's because of Sat—" your brother started, only to be interrupted by you once more.

"No," you replied firmly, cutting off any further discussion. Your brother was aware of the constant bullying you endured from Gojo, how he treated you with cruelty and spite. However, he always brushed it off as his best friend's way of dealing with you, believing it to be harmless banter. Little did he know the true extent of the pain you endured.

The weight of the day's events hung heavily in the air, overshadowed by the looming apprehension of your brother discovering the truth. It was a delicate and complicated situation, as your brother shared a deep bond with Gojo, forged through years of friendship. Their connection was akin to that of siblings, and they had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. Both a year older than you.

This closeness only intensified your anxiety about how your brother might react if he were to uncover the events of the day. It wasn't just the fear of his disappointment or anger towards you, but also the possibility that he might side with Gojo, potentially jeopardizing their friendship. The thought of losing your brother was a heavy burden to bear.

You were scared. Scared of the repercussions, scared of the judgment, and scared of the uncertain path that lay ahead.

As you sat in the car, the soft glow of the streetlights illuminated the night sky, casting a darker hue of blue. The stars twinkled above, creating a mesmerizing backdrop for your thoughts. Lost in your own world, you barely noticed the car coming to a stop until a hand gently rested on your shoulder, bringing you back to reality.

"We're here," your brother muttered, stepping out of the car. You followed suit, opening the door and stepping out into the crisp, chilly air. Suguru closed the car door, and together, you made your way towards the apartment building where your family resided. Each step felt heavy, weighed down by the events of the day.

Entering through the front door, you kicked off your shoes and made your way towards your room. However, before retreating to the solace of your own space, you stopped by the living room where your parents sat, their attention fixated on the television.

"I'm back," you muttered, hoping for some acknowledgment or perhaps even a warm welcome. But your words seemed to fall on deaf ears as your mother barely glanced in your direction.

Feeling a pang of hunger, you mustered the courage to ask for dinner. "Do you have any food for me? I'm kind of hungry," you spoke, placing your backpack by the couch.

"We already ate, and there's nothing left. Go make your own," your mom replied dismissively, her attention still fixated on the television screen.

Desperate and feeling unwell, you pleaded with her. "Could you please make me something? I don't feel well and just want to lay down."

Her response was cold and unsympathetic. "No, we're busy."

Resigned to your fate, you sighed and picked up your backpack, making your way towards your room. The hunger gnawed at your stomach, but the exhaustion from the day's events weighed heavily on you. You threw yourself onto the bed, feeling drained, both physically and emotionally. A throbbing headache pulsed through your temples, and the pain in your lower body served as a constant reminder of what had transpired earlier.

Though your hunger persisted, you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it. The thought of mustering the energy to cook or even eat felt overwhelming. All you wanted was to escape into the solace of sleep, hoping that tomorrow would bring some semblance of peace and healing.

-

"Are you okay?" a concerned voice murmured from behind the closed bathroom door. "You've been in there for a while now. I just want to make sure you're alright."

You glanced up from the positive pregnancy test that lay on the bathroom counter, your eyes meeting the door. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, and you struggled to find the words to respond. Instead, you simply stared at the door in silence.

"Are you okay?" your brother's voice came again, filled with worry.

"I'm okay," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling as you fought back tears. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Alright," your brother replied, his voice filled with understanding. "I'll wait for you in the living room. If you don't feel up to going anywhere, just let me know. I can go alone."

"No, don't worry. I'll come out in a few and get dressed. Then we can go," you replied, wiping away your tears with your sleeve and slowly getting up from the bathroom floor.

"Alright," your brother's voice drifted away as he walked back towards the living room, his footsteps fading into the distance.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, the evidence of your emotional turmoil was apparent – red eyes, swollen cheeks – you looked like a mess. But how could you not, discovering you're pregnant with someone you never wanted to be involved with? Sure, you played a part by giving in three weeks ago, but it was his fault too.

As a university student, you had limited financial resources, relying mostly on the support from your parents. However, they were not particularly generous, and it was Suguru, your brother, who provided the love and financial assistance you needed. Without him, you didn't know how you would have managed. He was the only person who truly cared for you.

You turned on the water tap and cupped your hands, splashing the cool water onto your face in an attempt to calm yourself. It helped, if only momentarily. Drying your face with a towel, you left the bathroom and made your way to your room to get dressed.

What were you supposed to do now? You were barely an adult, and the realization of your pregnancy left you feeling lost and overwhelmed. Without your parents and brother, you had nothing. The thought of them finding out filled you with dread. You couldn't blame them for being disappointed in you. In fact, you were disappointed in yourself too.

What would your brother think? The thought of his disappointment weighed heavily on your heart. You couldn't bear the idea of letting him down. And what if your parents found out? There was no doubt they would be upset. The fear of being kicked out of the house loomed over you, but you pushed those thoughts aside. Dwelling on them would only make them more likely to happen.

And then there was Gojo. How would he react when he found out you were pregnant? Given his track record of casual relationships, it was unlikely he would be thrilled. Would he tell you to get an abortion? Would he offer any help at all? Or would he simply mock you and tell you to deal with it on your own? You knew he wouldn't be happy, and the thought of his potential humiliation and disbelief made you shudder. It was best to keep it a secret, you decided.

As you turned around, ready to face the day, you were met with the stern gaze of your parents. "Explain this to me right now, young lady!" your mother yelled, throwing something at you. You caught it, only to realize it was the forgotten pregnancy test. The room filled with tension as your heart sank,

"I can't believe my daughter is like that. A whore." The accusation hung heavy in the air as your mother's words sliced through the tension. The pregnancy test in your hands became a damning piece of evidence, and you felt the weight of their disappointment.

Your mother's face contorted with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "We've been giving you everything – money, food, and a roof under your head – and this is how you repay us? By getting pregnant?"

You struggled to find words, to explain the complexity of the situation, but the lump in your throat made speech nearly impossible.

"What were you thinking?" your father interjected, his voice a mix of frustration and disappointment. "We trusted you, and you've thrown it all away."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you attempted to form an explanation. "I... I didn't plan for this. It's not like I wanted—"

"Don't give us excuses," your mother interrupted, her anger unabated. "This is a disgrace to this family. How could you bring such shame upon us?"

Your brother, having heard the commotion, entered the room. His eyes widened as he took in the scene. "What's going on?" he asked,

Your mother pointed at the pregnancy test, her anger not subsiding. "Look at what your sister has done. She's pregnant. Pregnant!"

Your brother's eyes flickered between you and the pregnancy test, an unspoken question etched on his face. The air grew thicker with tension as you struggled to find the right words to explain. Your mother, however, seemed past the point of understanding.

"Get out," she declared, her voice cold and unyielding. "You've brought enough shame to this family. I won't have you tarnishing our reputation any further."

Shock and disbelief painted your brother's face as he tried to interject, "Mom, maybe we can talk about this."

But your mother's anger prevailed. "No more talking. She's made her choice, and now she needs to face the consequences."

As the reality of being kicked out settled in, your heart pounded in your chest. You pleaded with your family, "Please, I didn't plan for this. I need your support now more than ever."

Your mother's expression remained unforgiving. "Support? After what you've done? You're on your own now. We won't enable your irresponsible behavior any longer."

Your brother, torn and unable to defy your mother's decision, could only meet your gaze with a pained expression.

With a final, stern look, your mother declared, "Pack your things and leave. You're no longer welcome here."

Numbness spread through your limbs as you realized the irrevocable shift in your life. Your mother's command hung in the air, and the reality of being disowned by your own family was a crushing weight on your chest.

Staring at the pregnancy test still clutched in your hand, you felt a mix of shame, regret, and desperation. The room, once a haven, now seemed like a foreign place ready to expel you.

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 016 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst. infidelity. manipulation. lying. mentions of kidnapping. blackmail. sex tapes.

notes. this chapter is dedicated to the lovely @shhh-anon who drew me a lovely naoya piece for some omi crumbs (but i have no self-control and wrote a whole chapter with the long awaited kiyoomi pov!) thank you again shhh anon for that scrumptious naoya art <3 also, please read carefully as there will be lore drop in this chapter!

wc. 11.3k

series masterlist 

[ SIXTEEN ] feels like we had matching wounds but mine’s still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine now, feels like we buried alive something that never died, so God, it hurt when i found out.

Kiyoomi stood alone in the waiting room of the Yuzuru Estate, surrounded by the fragments and echoes of your past.

The walls were adorned with your childhood photos, each frame capturing the moments of innocence and joy that he now yearned to be a part of. Tracing the contours of your smile in those pictures, his fingers hovered the glass as if he touched the memories themselves. Each image had perfectly captured the bits of your soul, a glimpse into the life you had before he knew you, and he felt your presence in every corner of the room.

The scent of petrichor lingered, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming flowers from the garden outside. The Yuzuru Estate smelled just like you – of innocence, unbridled happiness, and untainted purity of heart.

He could picture it already – you as a little girl, running through these halls with unabashed laughter, your joy as light and delicate as gossamer threads dancing in the breeze.

His heart ached with the knowledge that he had missed those moments, that he had come into your life too late to share those memories. Often, he wondered... if he’d met you as a child like Tooru did Maiko, would the Queen have arranged a marriage between you two?

He figured if he did, then it was a wedding neither parties would be opposed to.

As Kiyoomi waited, the silence of the house seemed to make the voices in his louder, each one a bittersweet reminder of his unspoken affections. Your smiles, so radiant and pure, were the cynosure of his existence, yet they were never meant for him. He wished, with an incendiary intensity, that he could be the one to bring that joy to your face, to be the one you looked at with those pretty, sparkling eyes.

Instead, those eyes were filled with crystalline tears, and your smile was always pulled at the opposite direction.

Kiyoomi studied your photos as he roamed the waiting room, seeing not just the girl you were, but the woman you’d become. The depth of your soul was evident in every image, your very essence woven into the fabric of the house itself. It was as if you’d been molded by graceful hands with the utmost care. Carved to perfection, adorned with elegance, and draped with dignified regality. You would’ve made the perfect Princess if you weren’t tied to their worst Prince.

And so he’d asked himself... what if he’d been yours?

Had you been his wife, his Princess, would you have been happier? It was a silly question, that he knew. Nothing but fleeting musings. Because he knew the Crown never made anyone happy, and the Palace was not a place where childish concepts such as ‘love’ existed.

Yes, he longed to hold your hand, to feel the warmth of your touch, but he knew that such moments were only dreams. You were terribly in love with your husband despite all his wrongdoings. And as much as he hated it, Kiyoomi couldn’t bring himself to convince you otherwise. Even that felt unfair for him. He wanted to be loved because he’d been chosen as the one you loved, not simply because he was the better one. For now, he would remain your steadfast friend, your confidant, and ultimately would find solace in this unspoken connection you shared.

He’d already made a vow to himself to cherish every moment he had with you, even if it meant hiding his true feelings. Being your friend was better than being nobody at all, and he would hold onto that role with all the strength he had. Because his love, a constant and silent force, would be there for you always – even if you never knew the depth of his longing.

“Your Highness!” a feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. Kiyoomi turned away from your framed photographs, greeted by the sight of your parents descending the stairs. “What an unexpected visit. Oh, please do sit down, we’ll have some tea served shortly after.”

Kiyoomi did as he was told.

Your parents, even with their faces lined with crow’s feet and prominent smile lines, were still exactly the same as he’d met them from years ago. Kind, genuine, and compassionate – he briefly recalled how generations ago that there’d been talk spreading about how the Yuzuru Clan would’ve made great country leaders. That if ever the Suna Clan failed and continued with their frivolous endeavours and the Kingdom was plunged into poverty and hunger, your clan would be next to take over.

It had all been nothing but word of the mouth, however. The Suna Clan, if anything, was annoyingly persistent and remained in power for the next years to come. Whilst you, the Yuzuru Clan, remained perfectly content being the Kingdom’s spear.

The tea arrived not long after. The three of them settled into the plush cushions of the settee, the sounds of the teacups clinking against porcelain filling the room.

“Lady Yuzuru, Lord Yuzuru,” smiled Kiyoomi as he gestured to the room, unable to take his eyes off one certain photograph – the one of you and Rintaro, taken during the courtship phase, with his hand wrapped around your waist and you leaning into his chest. He’d placed a white gardenia at the crook of your ear, both your smiles wide and untouched by reality. With a clench of his jaw, Kiyoomi plastered a polite smile on his face and tore his gaze away from it. “You have such a lovely home.”

“Oh, you flatter us too much,” your mother waved her hand, dabbing a handkerchief at her bottom lip before intertwining her hands at her lap. “May I ask what brings you here, my Prince?”

Straight to the point, just as he’d hoped. Setting his tea down, Kiyoomi leant forward. “I’m inclined to say royal duties; Her Majesty has insisted that Her Highness make herself known in the Palace. However... I am here for more personal reasons,” he confessed, his composure finally falling as he dared sneak a glance upstairs, where he hoped your room would be. It’d been three days since you all left the beach house, three days since Rintaro returned to the palace alone.

“I’m very worried for your daughter. How is she?”

Your parents shared a look with each other before your mother sighed, the sound disappointed and crushing him by the core. “So you know about the affair as well.”

Kiyoomi kept his head down. “Yes. It is with a heart heavy with regret that I admit I kept it a secret, too.”

“Pardon me, Sir, if I may be overstepping but... why couldn’t you warn out dear girl? You’ve met her. Your mother knows us and our daughter – you know our girl a sweet, innocent one. She didn’t deserve any of this,” cut in your father, his more-than-salt and pepper hair glinting under the chandeliers. “If you knew, if any of you knew all this time, why didn’t anyone say anything against the Crown Prince’s courtship?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I don’t have any excuse for my behaviour,” Kiyoomi sighed, “But I am hoping that you would give me another chance to repent for what I’ve done. I can no longer stand watching the Princess suffer at the hands of my brother and my wife. And I assure you, I have nothing but pure intentions. I simply... I simply want the best for her, my Lady. That is why I am here today – to offer my sincerest apologies, and to see for myself if Her Highness is doing well.”

Lady Yuzuru stood up and threw her handkerchief on the ground. Tears brimmed her eyes.

“She isn’t. Of course she isn’t. She has been locked up in her room for days, refusing to eat, or-or to speak to us. She is heartbroken and won’t even let us comfort her,” she clutched at her chest as if it ached, and immediately, Lord Yuzuru was beside her. His arms wrapping around her shoulders for comfort. “Your sincerity is flattering, but what can you do for her? You cannot take away her pain. She is married, and divorce is not an option. Tell me, my Prince, what can you do for her?”

Kiyoomi sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He’d already braced himself for this – to have your parents’ fury be directed at him. He told himself he would take it all with stride, but even he knew his honest answer was not the most acceptable.

“I’m afraid this is a battle in which she has to learn the way out for herself. Although I give you my word, I won’t let her face any of this alone. I already promised the Princess I would be by her side at all times, and I don’t intend on backing out anytime soon.”

Your parents exchanged another glance, their brows drawn together in worry. He couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t an easy decision to make – trusting the Crown Prince only for him to break their daughter’s heart, and now having to place that trust on another Prince, the husband of their ‘son’s’ mistress, no less.

“Then we will trust you on this,” they said, and Kiyoomi raised his hands in surprise. It’s enough for him to shoot up in his seat, your mother immediately raising her hand to warn him. “Please, Sir. Don’t make us regret welcoming you into our home.”

Kiyoomi was speechless.

“Thank you, my Lord, my Lady. I promise I won’t waste this opportunity.”

Lord Yuzuru nods, albeit still hesitant. “Can we trust you to look after her for now? I’m afraid duty calls, and we’ve already missed out on a lot because we were too worried over her.”

“She is in safe hands. I promise.”

Your parents left shortly with a quick farewell. Lady Yuzuru needed to attend to the family business as it expanded every day, and Lord Yuzuru spent most of his time in the Palace – always on guard, always prepared for a war that loomed overhead as the surrounding nations turned their backs on Inarizaki. The war never happened, of course. A false sense of security still loomed over the Kingdom thanks to the Queen’s tireless efforts. Still, it was only a matter of time. With the throne losing its power and the Kingdom one scandal away from damnation, one couldn’t be too lax.

Not that any of it was Kiyoomi’s concern. He had more pressing matters in hand. Racing up the stairs, he quickly found your room after being guided by a servant, and softly rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Princess? It’s me, Kiyoomi. May I enter?” No response, not even a stirring groan or a shaky breath. Complete but utter silence. His worry deepened, and Kiyoomi dared to push the door open, his eyes adjusting to the darkness enveloping the room. “Princess?”

You are nothing but a curled-up lump in your bed, your form shivering as you were swathed in heavy blankets. And your face was pale and clammy as the dim lights danced off of your skin. Breaths shallow and labored, your eyes fluttered weakly as you stayed conscious – your head turning in his direction.

Seeing you in such a fragile state when you’d been alit with joy days ago... Kiyoomi’s heart clenched. Something dark pulled and tugged at his very soul.

In quick strides, he’d already crossed his way to your bed, the mattress dipping beneath his knee. He pulled you into his lap without another word, his hands coming to rest at your forehead as you groaned with each movement. As if scalded, he retreats his hand. “Oh, God. You’re burning up.”

Taking care of you does not come as a second thought to him. It is the first, as your safety and well-being was his concern. In the next moment, he’d gently laid you back down on your bed and darted out of the room, searching for water, medicine, and politely asking the resident cooks if he could prepare some soup for you. He didn’t doubt the cooks knew how to, yet he also couldn’t fight off this urge that he had to take care of you. Not the estate staff, not the doctors, not anyone. Quite frankly, he didn’t trust anyone anymore to lay their hands on you. It had to be him, even if it meant running back and forth to dampen towels and changing it every hour to lower your temperature.

Around the third towel, when the sun has begun to set and his phone went off with multiple ignored messages, you finally stirred awake. “Rin? Is that you?” Your voice is weak, throaty and scratched. Your eyes fluttered open as you gazed at the figure beside you, nestling into the warm palm that’s dabbing a damp towel onto your face. “I thought you would never return.”

A sharp of pang pierced his heart. It was a humbling experience – to know that even in your weakest moments, you sought out a man that wasn’t him.

“Rest, Princess,” he muttered, caressing your cheeks as you sighed into his touch – or your husband’s touch – and slowly went back to sleep. I won’t leave you.”

As you drifted back into a peaceful sleep, and your breathing finally began to even out, Kiyoomi told himself to relax.

He stayed vigilantly by your side, his eyes never leaving your pallid face. He feared that if he dared look away for even the briefest of moments, you would wilt before him, and it’d be too late for him to catch you. So he checked your temperature periodically, the gentle press of his hand on your forehead filled with a tender concern. Once reassured your fever was going down little by little, he meticulously arranged the medicine prescribed to you on the beside table – ensuring everything would be within your reach for when you wake. Not that he’d leave your side until you’d woken up. The Palace Guards would have to break down the door to your room and have a fleet of them personally drag him away from you before he even thought to go someplace else.

However, he was only human, and he’d never experienced having this level of worry and anxiety over someone’s health before.

Soon, exhaustion crept up at him, tugging at his eyelids and his muscles aching. He fought against the need to sleep, determined that he would remain awake in case you called out for him. Him, not Rintaro, because he foolishly hoped that you would realize it was never your husband who cared this much for you.

Each time his head dipped forward in weariness, Kiyoomi shook himself awake, unwilling to leave you unguarded for even a moment. Your parents had entrusted you to his care, and he wasn’t going to let them down now.

The hours passed by slowly, the quiet of the night filled with the steady rhythm of your breaths and the occasional rustle of the sheets. In those still, lonely hours, Kiyoomi watched you as he sat across the room – his cheek in his hands, his eyes half-lidded. Much like the flickering candles, his love burned brighter, interweaving with his own fatigue and heartache. His emotions stormed around his soul like a typhoon – his affection for you battling with the hatred he began harbouring towards his brother.

How could one call himself a man when he put his wife into such a weakened state? Your name and the word ‘weak’ shouldn’t even be in the same sentence. Yet Rintaro had a penchant for making the impossible possible, and he’d reduced such a great woman – a great Princess, even – into the battered, bruise-hearted, and shivering person that you were now.

Kiyoomi is nodding off moments later when he heard a slight groan. His eyes shot open, his body lurching forward as if your presence tugged on him like a rope. He’s knee-deep in your bed and cradling your head when you finally turn to him, and realization sinks in.

He waited for it – held his breath and soothed his heart for the hurt to come should disappointment ever cross your face that he hadn’t been Rintaro. It seemed, however, that the Gods decided to grace him tonight, because you never did. Instead, your face lit up, and your chapped lips tugged into a smile as best as it could. And he still found you to be the prettiest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on – even with sleep-crusted eyes and smelling of sickly sweat.

Just the sight of you, so wholly trusting and happy to see him, made him want to engulf you in his arms and never let you go.

Kiyoomi never does. He didn’t have the right, because friends didn’t go around kissing their friend’s foreheads. That wouldn’t be what companionship meant, at least not in his book. He simply holds you, and lets you crawl into his lap as he reaches for the soup he’d made prior. “You’re looking better,” he commends, placing his hand on your forehead one last time as pride fills him with each spoonful you ate. “Is the soup good?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s delicious,” you beamed at him, and placed the bowl back to your bedside table. Kiyoomi had expected you to move away and slide off his lap, yet made no complaints – because why would he? – when you remained on his lap, legs tucked beside his knees and nimble fingers toying with the strings of his shirt. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“Kanami made me learn all sorts of things. She said, uh...” shyly, Kiyoomi scratches the back of his neck and looks away. “...That women like it when a man was a great cook.”

Your giggle was instantaneous, airy. “She would be right about that,” you agreed, the smile on your face softening as you placed your palms on his chest, right above where his heart lay. He prayed desperately to the Gods you wouldn’t notice how fast his heart raced at the contact. Gazing up at him from under your lashes, you tipped your head to the side. The straps of your nightgown slipped on one shoulder at the motion, revealing smooth, bare skin and the lack of anything else underneath. “Were you... the one who nursed me back to health?”

Kiyoomi shifted you on his lap as to not let your knee accidentally graze his groin. “Yes,” he croaked out, finding it hard to speak when you were so... defenceless like this. It makes his throat dry up, and as subtly as he could, uses a finger to hook your strap back to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you pat his chest, completely unaware of your hold on him. “And I’m sorry too, that you had to see me in such a state. I swear I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

His eyes darted to your face, offended that you would even imply such. “You are never a burden.”

You smiled at him like you didn’t believe his words. It strikes the dagger of hurt an inch deeper, a pain which he told himself to not take personally. He reminds himself you’ve trusted, over and over, and have been betrayed, over and over again. It must be a reflexive response by now.

“What brings you here, Kiyoomi?” your voice fills the expanse of the room as dread paints your face. “Did something bad happen?”

Kiyoomi swallowed. He’d been so engrossed in looking after you he’d momentarily forgotten why he was here in the first place. It suddenly weighed on him now – the Queen’s wrath at Rintaro’s sudden announcement to divorce you, her orders to bring you back immediately, and the flashing of the muted calls he’d deliberately ignored.

“I believe we should talk about that somewhere else. You could use some fresh air.”

+

You and Kiyoomi wandered through the sprawling gardens of your family estate under the tender glow of the moonlight, your footsteps whispering softly against the dew-kissed grass. The night air was crisp and invigorating – which you welcomed happily, as it was a great change from the stuffiness of your bedroom.

With each step taken, Kiyoomi’s hand brushed against yours, your fingers occasionally intertwining as he offers his silent gestures of comfort. There was a palpable sense of dread now that reality demanded your full attention, an undercurrent of foreboding that neither of you dared to voice, yet it was tempered – even slightly – by the solace you found in each other’s presence.

You told him everything that transpired at the beach house – the ‘romantic’ dinner date, Rintaro’s odd behaviour of acting like Iris never existed, Iris’ sudden appeal for peace. The entire time, Kiyoomi listened without interruptions.

You moved slowly, as if savouring each moment, knowing very well the fragile peace of the evening was fleeting like everything else.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi spoke after a while, his head ducked down.

“What for?” you grinned, “That my husband, who never loved me, finally decided to leave me after all?” you waved a hand in the air. “It’s nothing. It was bound to happen. If anything, I feel a little relieved, you know? It’s like... I’ve wanted to end everything all this time, but I just wasn’t brave enough to call it quits. I was afraid that if I said goodbye, then I would be admitting that he’d made a fool out of me,” you released a shuddering breath, watching as Kiyoomi lifted his gaze and his piercing eyes looked at your soul, through your soul. You found that his penetrating and intrusive gaze didn’t feel... unwelcomed. It was as if you knew that you could show him your worst and everything that made up your flaws, and he would still find a way to notice what was beautiful instead.

He looked at you the way you wished your husband did.

Just like that, Rintaro’s betrayal returned to you in full force, and your smile wavered. “But now that he’s the one who’s decided it, it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I never knew how difficult it was – deciding when or how it had to end.”

“You’ve been brave and strong. Don’t undermine yourself.”

“Was I strong, though? I thought I’d been nothing but a fool.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened with something unreadable. “You were in love. It happens to the best of us.”

You couldn’t help it – your smile was genuine, affection pouring out of your every pore. “You know, Kiyoomi, that’s one of my favourite things about you,” you softened at his taken-aback expression, mustering up the courage to close the distance as you loop your hand around his bicep, and giving it a firm squeeze. “How you always know what to say, and always at the right time. You’re charming without having to try. And when I’m with you... I feel like everything is going to be okay. Is that weird?”

With nothing but the moonlight to illuminate his face, Kiyoomi’s reddened cheeks were partially hidden. “Not at all. I’m honoured I could be a source of solace to you.”

“I hope you feel that way with me too,” you tell him, “I’ve thought about it the entire time I was here – how Rintaro sounded so determined to divorce me. When I asked him about the pregnancy, he looked... mortified, and I couldn’t fathom if it was because he never wanted me to find out. He didn’t look happy about it, but why wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what he always wanted? To have a future with the one he loves?” your brows furrowed as you said it aloud. Moving forward, you walked with your hand still clutching Kiyoomi’s arm, the both of you content enough to not pull away. “Although it struck me as odd... we’re a royal couple. Divorce is impossible. But he’d been so confident, so sure. Like he knew something could tear us apart and it’d be acceptable in the eyes of the law.”

Kiyoomi hummed in thought.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what he was thinking about either. I never really understood my brother, and I’ve long given up on trying,” he shrugs, “He’s a complicated man. That’s what happens when you’re lost and have no true sense of self.”

“He is lost, isn’t he?” you agreed, lifting your free hand to stare at the wedding ring you found so difficult to take off. “I don’t know what happens next now, but it seems as if I’m getting divorced soon.”

“That is good news, is it not?”

“Perhaps,” you mused, “Perhaps it is.”

You couldn’t ignore the call of your duties. It was often an upsetting reminder, the knowledge that being a Princess meant more than wearing frilly gowns, attending balls, and kissing your Prince Charming as you awaited a happy-ever-after.

If you’d known sooner that being a Princess meant being the Crown’s property as well... a small part of you might have hesitated. Might have.

It felt gruelling having to tear yourself away from the safety of your parents’ embrace. For the past few days, you’d been coddled, kissed over by a hundred soothing words. Something a Princess shouldn’t be doing or wanting, to be precise, especially not when you were expected to lead the country someday. It was a show of weakness, an act of incompetence. The Queen never failed to remind you that you weren’t your parents’ child anymore. You were of the Crown, and therefore had to act as the Crown – with dignity, with poise, and quite frankly – with very little heart.

With much hesitance, you bid farewell to the Yuzuru Estate. You left everything behind – the warmth and safety of your bed where no one could taint it, the reassuring and comforting smiles of your parents, and the unwavering support of your people. You headed straight for the Palace not long after, the feeling akin to a lamb walking into slaughter.

Still, you couldn’t deny – Inarizaki struck you mute with its orphic allure.

The cityscape shimmered under the glow of twilight as the royal convoy wound its way through the bustling streets. People of all kind waved and cheered at your arrival. Their smiles, innocent and genuine, sparked all the way from outside the vehicle. Silently, you waved back, hoping that it seemed real enough and no one would be able to tell the tracks of dried tears behind your makeup. And there, the palace loomed ever closer in the distance.

You watched as the grand edifice grew larger with each passing moment. Its towering spires and intricately carved facades were bathed in a golden hue, showcasing its storied past and enduring presence.

Like heaven on earth, a former devotee had once said, their arms gesturing all throughout the Palace grounds. Here where is the light touched us from the skies above, where the Gods have blessed us with their mercy and gave us their angels in the skins of Kings.

As a child, you’d gazed upon the palace with wide-eyed wonder, picturing the Palace as a bastion of wisdom and power – where the rules of the country made decisions that shaped the lives of the people they ruled upon. It had seemed almost holy, a symbol of reverence and awe. But now, as you approached the gates once more, you felt a deep, unsettling sense of selcouth – a strange, eerie unfamiliarity with the very place you had to call home.

The limousine glided through the ornate iron gates, flanked by guards in crisp uniforms.

The grandeur of the palace grounds, with its meticulously manicured gardens and majestic fountains, should have felt welcoming, but instead, it loomed with an imposing majesty that sent a shiver down your spine. The towering walls and endless corridors, once symbols of security and strength, now seemed to whisper secrets of a bygone era, of lives and stories woven into the very stones that built this palace brick by brick.

Stepping out of the car, you were immediately greeted by a retinue of attendants – their faces polite yet distant.

A lamb walking to its slaughter, indeed.

You knew exactly why you were called to return. The Queen had been insisting to speak with you, a call you ignored as you buried yourself into your sheets at the Yuzuru Estate. To say that you’d made Her Majesty livid would be an understatement. That much was clear from the staff’s expressions, their eyes hollow and lips set into a thin, grim line.

If you looked hard enough, maybe one of them would even look at you with pity.

Carefully, you made your way up the marble steps, each click of your heels on the carpeted floor echoing in the silence of the evening. It was eerily silent, like a predator lurked around the corner – simply waiting for the perfect opportunity to lunge for its kill.

The palace doors opened before you, greeting you with its bright, golden beams. Crystal chandeliers shimmered against the polished floors, the opulent decor speaking of centuries of wealth and power. The floors were too clean, too polished, like even a speck of dirt would be considered offensive.

At the back of your mind, you wondered if that held true for the monarchy as well. If the Queen scrubbed everything clean that is shone hard enough to deceive people into thinking that’s what they were – without fault, without flaw, without sin.

As you walked through the cavernous space, alienation blanketed you. The palace, for all its splendour, remained a mystery to you. You knew its rooms and corridors, its hidden passages and secret gardens that Rintaro revealed, but you didn’t know its heart. It was a place built on power and legacy, all with the might of a single family that had ruled for generations.

Your footsteps led you to the grand staircase leading into the Queen’s hall, its balustrade intricately wrought with gold and marble. You paused, your hand resting on the cool stone, and gazed ahead at the looming double doors of Her Majesty’s office.

How many had walked these steps before you? How many lives had been shaped by the decisions made within these walls? The weight of history pressed down on you, and you couldn’t help but ponder the immense responsibility that came with such power. You understood it a little better now – the Crown was not to be taken lightly. Heavy is the head that held the Crown, but heavier the heart might be for all the sins it concealed.

With a final sharp breath, you rapped your knuckles on the door and pushed open.

Her Majesty did not seem to age. She looked as she did on all the official royal portraits plastered on the tabloids and daily mail – elegant, beautiful, with dark eyes that read your every movement, and blood-red lips that dripped venom from each word.

Once, you’d considered her your second mother.

Now? She was nothing but a lonely figure, a formidable individual who you could barely recognize.

“Princess,” she greeted, her smile perfectly practiced and pristine. “I hope your temporary retreat to the family estate has been well.”

There was no ill behind her words, but neither did it carry sincerity. The Queen spoke like a recorded message, straight to the point and lacking of weight. Curtsying, you returned the gesture. “It was, Your Majesty. Thank you. I missed my parents dearly.”

“Sit down, child,” she spoke after a moment, and gestured before her. “Indulge your queen with a quick round, and then we shall discuss everything.”

The ornate shogi board, with its polished wooden surface and delicately carved pieces, was laid out between you both. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, its golden light filtering through the tall, stained-glass windows, illuminating the intricate patterns it. Timidly, you sat down, pressing your skirts underneath you. You did play shogi, but it’d been a while. You had an inkling that this was one of those times you had to win, as nothing ever was a casual interaction with the Queen.

“...What did you want to talk about, Ma’am?”

“Firstly, your marriage. How is it? On second thought, don’t answer that. It’s written all over your face – you’re unhappy and miserable. Now, we can’t have that can we?” she teased, though her calm composure revealed nothing of her strategies – the tricks she’d hidden under her sleeve. “You are lucky the press has been quiet lately and they didn’t get a photo of your frown. Imagine how that would be interpreted by the people. ‘Princess returns from getaway vacation with her husband and comes back depressed. Could the cheating scandal be true, after all?’”

“It is true.”

“Indeed, but the public doesn’t need to know that,” she quickly retorted, gesturing for you to make your move. “What exactly are your thoughts on marriage?”

You moved your rook forward, aiming to control a vital column.

“Marriage, to me, is about finding a partner who becomes not only your greatest love but also your closest friend, someone who understands your heart and supports your aspirations. I believe marriage is built on a foundation of trust, respect, and unwavering commitment, where two souls come together to create a life filled with joy, love, and endless possibilities. It’s a bond that grows stronger with each passing day, a promise to cherish and nurture each other through all of life's adventures,” you answered, ensuring to meet Her Majesty’s gaze. “That was how my parents’ marriage has been. Beautiful, and enduring. That is how marriages should be.”

The Queen remains unfazed. Responding with a calculated advance of her knight, her move blocked your plans – forcing you to reconsider your strategy. Cornered, you bit your lip, realizing a little too late Her Majesty’s subtle yet effective intentions.

“Your parents married for love. They were both born with a silver spoon in their mouth, a great amount of wealth, and a high-ranking title that granted them the freedom to do anything as they pleased. And I am willing to bet it has never occurred to you that marriages outside your fantasy-like bubble could be different than that.”

You found yourself on the defensive as the game progressed. “There is nothing wrong in hoping and believing that love exists.”

“You are correct,” she nods, her gaze not once leaving the board. “But you are a lot more childish than I expected if you truly thought royal marriages would be the same. You see, child, civil marriages are mostly done out of love, and a commitment to one another. In certain cases, people marry because of unexpected pregnancies, for the need of companionship, or for the combination of assets. It’s easy, straightforward, and like the rest of us in our glorious Kingdom – a commitment. Divorce is not an option for anyone, but do you know what truly separates royal marriages from common ones?”

“That we are bound with more duties?”

The queen’s pieces moved with a graceful precision, each step tightening the net around your poorly drawn defences.

“It is that royal marriages are symbolic. Why is it that the royal family, despite being humans like everyone else, is worshipped and glorified?” she tapped her nail against the board, before leaning back into her seat. The sun’s glow hit her just right, and bathed her with an ethereal gloom. “It is because we offer an ideal, an escape to the bleak, miserable lives of the common folk. We are unlike them. If we lived like everybody else, then these people would have nothing to strive or look up to.”

You gritted your teeth. “But we are just like them. We cry and experience difficulties in marriages like they do. What good does it do the Crown when there is a clear distinction between us and our people? They will find us inscrutable, and out of their reach. How could they trust us to lead them when we live such different lives? How could they believe we would understand their struggles and listen to their cries of help if we do not show our true selves?”

“Because we as people are not perfect, and our true selves are cruel, immoral, and sinful. The Crown is not. The Crown is always flawless, shining like diamonds and standing out amongst the rest,” gesturing to the ornament on her head, the Queen continued. “We represent the Crown. We must mold ourselves into perfection. How could our people find us worthy to lead them if we are just as faulty and miserable as them?”

“So you are telling me to lie about my marriage.”

The Queen snorted. “Oh, I don’t need to tell you to do that, my dear. You’ve done that already by having that journalist write lies about how the scandal is nothing but a hoax,” at your widened, eyes, Her Majesty’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Oh, don’t be surprised. I am the Queen. Nothing you do in my Kingdom will ever be a secret from me.”

“If you knew all this time, why didn’t you stop me from releasing that article?”

She shrugged, turning her attention back to the board and grinning at the pieces – already, the pressure was getting to you. “Simple – because you did all the dirty work for me already. You cleared up the allegations that your husband is innocent, and effortlessly won the people’s trust back. As Queen, I will never stop you from doing things that benefit me, even if you must take a suspicious hand to do so.”

The Queen’s relentless advances pushed you back to desperation. Hoping to create a barrier against the impending threat, you moved your bishop to a defensive position once more. “I didn’t have it written for you, or the Crown. I did it because I couldn’t stand my husband beat himself up after his own people turned against him.”

“And that is exactly why you’d make the perfect Queen for him,” she advanced her gold general, its path clear and purposeful. “I’ll be honest with you. My marriage with the Late King hasn’t been a fairytale.”

Now, it was your turn to snore. “I can figure. He’s done worse than what Rintaro did.”

“Indeed. Eight bastard sons, and a dozen of mistresses he couldn’t even bother to hide from me,” she hummed, and for the first time since meeting with her, the Queen’s mask slowly slipped off.

Gone was the regal woman who everyone worshipped. Sat before you now was an older, more mature reflection of yourself – a woman who’d been torn, ripped apart to pieces, and forced to stay in a marriage she badly wanted an escape from.

“I was useless to His Majesty unless I bore his son, and three miscarriages later, he’d given up and turned to other conquests. With each son born, my title as his wife was threatened, and the Kingdom was slowly growing unstable as his scandals became uncontrollable. Before I knew it, the Crown was falling apart. The people were beginning to hate us. Our allies stopped reaching out, and the whole world thought we were nothing but a joke.”

You were too young to remember everything in detail, but you could recall those days when your parents ran around the estate, their frowns permanent and their voices hushed during dinner. Something about the Crown becoming fragile, no thanks to His Majesty’s endeavours.

“It was a difficult time for Inarizaki. I was growing desperate, and when one was desperate, one would take desperate measures,” mumbled the Queen, “And so Rintaro arrived, and I thought... this was it. This was my salvation. I could restore the glory of the Crown back to the way it was. This boy... he would solve all my problems. So I did, one by one. I arranged the marriage of Maiko and Tooru, feeding a story to the people of childhood friends turned to lovers – the symbol of love. And then came Iris and Kiyoomi’s wedding, to fortify our alliance to Itachiyama by having locals as their representatives. We had to make them feel seen, heard. And then, there was you,” her icy-cold glare met yours, something dark and sinister flashing through them. “When Rintaro told me he wanted to marry you, I couldn’t decide yet if you were going to be a blessing or a curse.”

You moved your knight in a desperate attempt to divert the queen’s attention. “I’ve been your daughter in law for four months now. Have you decided?”

“The decision of whatever you will be is all in your hands,” when the Queen faltered at your movement, you felt a glimmer of hope as she paused, considering the development. “I’m aware Rintaro wishes to divorce you. It’s impossible, but I think you know that already.”

“I don’t know, actually. He sounded pretty convinced we could be separated.”

The Queen’s eye twitched, her free hand gripping the edge of the table. “He is an idiotic child. You cannot divorce him. If you let him do as he pleases, he will marry that whore of his. I cannot risk destroying our already fragile relationship with Itachiyama by hurting their dear, darling Prince.”

“Kiyoomi wouldn’t be hurt. He doesn’t even want Iris.”

“Nobody knows that. All they will see is that his wife was impregnated by our Crown Prince, and chose to leave their Prince for ours. Itachiyama is not to be messed around with, child. They hold a majority of our country’s natural resources. Think of fuel, livestock, and produce. All of that will be withheld from us. Our people will starve. This is why you need to make this marriage work, and let Rintaro take the throne.”

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you gestured for the Queen to make her move. “Ushijima can take the throne. He has proven himself to be reliable.”

“The first Prince cannot be King. I forbid him to.”

“And why is that?”

Just as the hope appeared, the Queen mercilessly crushed it. She’d seen right through your ploy, continuing her methodical advance as she devoured you in one move. “Because he is a good, honourable man. The moment he wears the Crown and finds out the dark secrets of what has made the royal family so powerful, the cruel things we’ve done to ensure we stay in power, he will expose it and push for democracy. I refuse to let my life’s worth of suffering to be wasted over a man with too big a conscience.”

You faltered, your grip on your piece loosening. “Secrets? What are you talking about?”

“The King, my dear. Did you really think a young, healthy man like him died from a heart attack?” throwing her head back in laughter, the Queen clutched at her stomach and wiped away a stray tear. “I killed him. A woman can only endure so much abuse from a man who does not love her.”

Your face fell.

Undaunted, the Queen leant forward to place her hand on yours in what seemed to be an attempt for reassurance. It is anything but, not with the Queen’s cruel smile. “It’s scary. Trust me, I know. I have been in your shoes and experienced far worse. But do not be scared, Princess, because you have me. So let Rintaro become King, and once you have gotten all the power from being Queen, then you can make Inarizaki flourish. And when the time comes that you grow sick of that boy... you can always tell me. It wouldn’t be the first time this Kingdom lost their King at the hands of their Queen.”

Your mind conjured up of the most horrid of images. Of Rintaro perishing at the hands of his own mother, of your husband’s eyes slowly losing its light.

And to think she was someone you’d once thought of as your own family.

“You are insane. Yes, he has hurt me. Yes, he has crushed my pride with his fists, but to kill him? To take the life of my husband? I could never be so cruel. And what makes you think Rintaro would want to be King, anyway? He already plans on divorcing me!”

“He will be King if I tell him to. He has no choice. He is the Crown Prince–”

“You cannot force him–”

“Yes, I can, because I am the Queen and I am all he has! He will do as I say unless he wants to be exiled!”

“Exiled?” you echoed, laughing in disbelief. “Why would he be exiled?”

The Queen suddenly shot up, and slammed her hands on the table. “Because he isn’t my son, or the King’s! He is a nobody. He’s just a random gardener’s boy. I took him from his parents to secure my title. If he refuses to be King... then you leave me no choice but to exile you both.”

The revelation struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Breathless and trembling, your world tilted as the truth unfurled before you – your husband, the man who you believed to be a true Prince, the only and treasured Crown Prince, was nothing more than an imposter.

Your heart pounded in your chest as betrayal and disbelief clouded your thoughts. You sat there frozen, eyes wide with shock, unable to process the enormity of his deception. The lavish room around you began to blur and fade, your once cherished memories of being the chosen, the lucky one for being the Crown Prince’s wife, was now tainted bitterly by his lies.

Could it be... that he knew all along?

It all made sense now. His insistence for divorce, his need to push you away. Divorce, or annulment, would be possible once you’d revealed it was never a royal marriage.

Your throat ran dry. Nevertheless, you remained seated, refusing to give in to the Queen’s baits as you drew out a shaky breath. “Go ahead. Exile us. I don’t care. Ushijima will still be King even if Rintaro refuses–”

“There is one more Prince who could be King, one I am confident I can control, and one I am certain will do well in hiding my secrets,” she smirked with a triumphant and wicked glint in her eye. “All I need to do is have him marry that actress, threaten him with the sex tape, and he will happily be King if it means he could have all that he wants.”

Your stomach dropped. It was impossible – Kuroo had deleted all and any traces of that tape. But truly, what did you know? This was the Queen you were up against. This was her kingdom, her playground. As she’d said, nothing could be hidden from her, but to think Atsumu would and could be King... “No. H-He can’t be...”

“Oh, but he can,” her smile grew sharp, malevolent. “And you have no idea the things Atsumu would do to Rintaro once he learns that your husband is nothing but a no-name lowborn nobody.”

“How could you do this to him? You robbed him of his life!”

Scoffing, the Queen reared back. “It was hardly a life. His parents were both poor and starving to death. I saved him from that fate and offered him the luxuries of a royal,” she spat out, shifting her skirts behind as she plopped down on the seat before you.

As you looked back at the game, the reality of your position became undeniable. The queen’s pieces were everywhere, controlling the board with ease. You could see your end approaching, your king cornered with no escape. The Queen knew this, too, an air of triumph surrounding her as she chuckled.

“You see now, don’t you? Everything was already set in stone. Rintaro will be the King. It’s the only way he can remain alive and breathing. If he dares to go against my will and my word, I will not hesitate to kill him. And when he dies, no one will mourn him. He will be remembered as an adulterer, and a new, better, rightfully deserving King will take his place.”

The queen moved her rook into position, the final piece in her flawless strategy.

You stared at the board, recognizing the inevitability of your defeat. As much as you hated to admit it, you could see the beauty in Her Majesty’s play – the way each move had been part of a larger plan, a dance of strategy and foresight perfected through years of manipulation.

“Make your marriage work,” the Queen warned, leaning back against her seat. She knew she’d already won. “It’s the only way you can stop this Kingdom from being burnt to ashes. And if you wish to make a difference? Well, my dear. The Crown is all you need.”

With a deep breath, you moved your king as you acknowledged your defeat.

The Queen’s face lit up in pure joy. “Checkmate.”

You promptly left the queen’s office, your steps slow and heavy as if each stride carried the weight of the world.

Around you, the palace corridors seemed to close in around you. Your mind churned with the devastating realization that all your foolish hopes of escaping the royal confines and finding freedom now slipped through your fingers.

The conversation with Her Majesty unravelled the last threads of your resolve, revealing a cruel ultimatum that nearly drove you mad – stay and sacrifice your dreams of peace, or abandon the kingdom to ruin.

The queen’s words echoed in your mind with each step, her words like a dagger effortlessly piercing any fragile hope you clung to. It wasn’t an easy decision either – if you stayed, you would be bound to a life of duty and subjugation, your own desires forever stifled beneath the weight of the Crown’s expectations. Yet, the alternative was even more harrowing – to leave would be to condemn the kingdom, your people, to chaos and despair. You couldn’t do that; couldn’t be so cruel to let the Kingdom fall under the rule of the heartless Miya Atsumu.

The gravity of having that decision placed in your hands left you reeling, your heart caught in a vice of impossible choices. It was only a question which was more important now: your freedom, or this country’s downfall? Was the price of your divorce really worth the suffering of millions of innocents?

The palace, with all its grandeur and beauty, was no more than a prison now. The one you would spend a lifetime locked in should you choose the right thing to do.

As you walked back to your chambers, your gaze remained fixed on the floor, where the marble tiles glistened coldly beneath you. How could you notice only now? The Palace had always been this way – cold, unfeeling, and empty. It was impossible to find love within these walls, not when dark secrets lurked at every corner, and blood was spilled to remain in power. But innocent you were not, because regardless of the Queen’s sins, you couldn’t blame her for it.

When one’s humanity was constantly tested, monstrosity would soon break through the skin.

If you truly wish to make a difference, the Crown is all you need.

The Queen was right.

Long before you stepped into her office, she’d already read your mind, known what it is you would say. You would advocate for peace, become a paladin to pave a better way for the people. But to do such would mean to hold power greater than everyone else. And if one did not wield that power properly, territories would be split apart, cities would fall, and your Kingdom would be nothing more than a tragedy that went down in history.

The fate of your people was now all up to you.

With that in mind, the air around you seemed heavy with the weight of impending doom. You moved with a sense of numb resignation, each step a reminder of the bleak future that awaited you.

Before you knew it, you’d arrived at your chambers, emptily staring into the mahogany double doors. Behind these doors... there’d be no more Suna Rintaro. Just Rintaro, you told yourself. The son of a nobody, a man who is a nobody. To think that he’d known all this time, and still dragged you into the belly of the beast that was the Crown... it was difficult to fan the flames of your hatred. You had to remind yourself to keep it down – to not let it consume you. If it did, then you wouldn’t be any better than the Queen. If you hated him more, then you might risk it all and leave Inarizaki to its own damnation.

If I loved him less, you gripped the doorknob, biting the inside of your cheek as memories of your husband flashed in your mind, I could save this Kingdom.

“Princess, you’re back!”

Your eyes shifted to the bumbling figure before you. Airi scuttled towards your way, her eyes wide and nervously fiddling with the way your hands hovered over the doors. The gesture made you frown, and you dropped your hands to soothe her. “Hello, Airi. How have you been?”

“I’m good, but... I should be asking you that, Your Highness.”

“I am well. I just want to rest now,” you told her, brows pinching together when she suddenly stood between you and the door, her gaze planted at her feet. You sighed. “Airi, why are you blocking my way?”

“Uhm, you see...”

You’d been in this situation countless of times before – around wary maids with their gazes bouncing between you and the doors. It didn’t come as a question anymore. Those looks only ever meant Iris. This time, however, the thought no longer squeezed the life out of your heart. You merely sighed and pushed past Airi, her protests falling on deaf ears.

And truly, it shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore that it would involve her, but you couldn’t fathom this happening even in your wildest of dreams.

Your bedrooms had been stripped bare. Gone were all your clothings, your shoes, your perfume and makeup on the vanity table. The heady scent of vanilla cloaked over the room so heavy it felt suffocating. Iris was everywhere – her wristwatch on the table, her folded nightgown on your bed, her fluffy slippers right next to your husband’s. On the coat rack before your bedroom were their coats hung together, his necktie delicately intertwined with her scarf.

It was as if you never existed in the first place.

Your jaw clenched, fists balling at your sides. You deliberately ignored Airi’s desperate pleas after you, and stormed right into the bedroom. Iris was nowhere to be seen, but Rintaro was there. Sleeping on the couch without a care in the world, a book covering his face as his chest fell with his steady breaths.

“Rin. Rintaro,” you poked his chest, your irritation further fuelled when he didn’t budge. Gritting your teeth, you swatted his book to the side, careful to not let the hard-bound edges nick his nose. “Suna Rintaro!”

Your husband’s eyes shot open. Panic flooded his gaze upon the sight of you, until he groaned, falling back into the couch as he went back to slumber. “Oh. You’ve returned.”

You tried to ignore the way he’d sounded so disinterested, like you were nothing but a bother. You crossed your arms against your chest instead, and demanded for an explanation. “Why is Iris’ belongings here in our room?”

“It’s our room now. I had your things moved.”

“Moved where?”

“Belleview Manor.”

Your jaw dropped. “You – you can’t do that! You can’t move my things around without my permission!”

“I just did,” came his bored reply. Then, he sat up, resting his arms on his knees as he lazily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Odd, considering he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Listen, could you... could you stop screaming? It was the doctor’s orders. He said as the father of the child, I needed to be by her side at all times. She might feel sick in the middle of the night. I have to be there for her.”

The weight of the harshness of his words pressed onto you like a physical force.

You detested it – the way he looked at you, or through you. Three days he did not call. Three days he did not bother to even leave a text. Three days since he’d left abandoned you like he did a hundred times before, with not even a trace of guilt present on his face.

“And what about me?”

“What about you?” he raised a brow, challenging you as he stood up to his full height and turned his nose down at you. “I told you already, didn’t I? I don’t want you anymore. So go. Don’t make yourself look even more pathetic by staying around and hoping I’ll change my mind.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rintaro’s cold rejection struck you like a slap. Your heart clenched painfully at the cruel finality of his command, rendering you frozen and unable to grasp reality. Time itself had fractured. The room around you seemed to dim, the deepening shadows darkening the hard features of his face.

Your vision blurred with unshed tears as you felt the ground beneath you sway, the emotional blow rendering you unsteady. With a last, fleeting look at the man you had once adored, you turned away.

“Fine.”

You spun on your heel and ran out of the room. The sting of his rejection propelled you through the grand corridors of the palace. Tears blurred your vision, and you furiously wiped them away, each swipe a desperate attempt to not drown in the flood of sorrow.

You could hear the final pieces of your marriage crumbling, the sound a haunting melody of betrayals that echoed within your soul. This was it. You wouldn’t tolerate anymore of his cruelty. You’d had enough – your chest aching with a numb, all-consuming hurt. You longed to scream, imagining the echo of your agony bouncing off the empty hallways of the palace, but no sound escaped your lips. It was as if your lungs had exhausted its air, just as your heart had lost all its will to beat again for the man you married.

As you burst through the palace doors and into the open air, the sky mirrored your inner turmoil, the dark clouds gathering ominously.

The first raindrops began to fall, mingling with your tears. You couldn’t focus on anything but to run, run as far away from here possible, to keep running until your legs could no longer.

You suddenly stumbled upon the length of your dress, your steps faltering on the slick ground. You tripped over your own feet as your strength failed you, and you fell on your knees, your hands plunging into a cold puddle. It soiled the ends of your pristine dress, with mud caked on your shoes and your knees scratched from the pavement.

The rain poured down harder, a relentless deluge that matched the intensity of your sobs.

You cried so hard it felt impossible to breath, your body wracking with despair. Each thunderclap overhead felt like the heavens themselves roaring in sympathy with your agony.

Your mind whirled with thoughts of broken promises and unfulfilled dreams. The life you’d envisioned with Rintaro – his promises, the beach house, the dogs, the children to be had and loved, the life to have been lived – it was now nothing more than a shattered illusion. And the pain? It cut deep, leaving its mark until it embedded itself into your bones. You could die and be buried and the remnants of your hurt would remain carved up in your carcass, never to be healed, never to be withered, never to vanish even long after your death.

You felt lost in a cosmogyral spiral, the universe spinning with your loneliness as its epicentre – your existence reduced to a solitary point in an endless void.

You wanted to run, to hide from the pain he had caused and inside. To scream and cry until the hurt faded, yet it remained, a stubborn shadow clinging to your soul and refusing to let go. You aimlessly clawed at your chest like you could rip out your broken heart, and throw it to the next clueless person to come across you.

Through the curtain of rain, a dark silhouette approached.

You looked up, and the onslaught of rain suddenly ceased above your head, replaced by the soft patter of raindrops on an umbrella. The dark figure finally bent down his legs, his face illuminated by the gummuservi on the puddles.

Kneeling before you was Kiyoomi, his eyes filled with a sorrowful kindness that pierced through your pain like a cold balm on a cut. The umbrella he held cast a protective halo over you, sheltering you from the storm.

You felt... protected. Shielded from the world with nothing but his umbrella, warmed by the heat of his body. He studied you with an intensity that made you feel seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long while. His eyes traced the contours of your face, absorbing your pain as if it were his own. And when he tenderly said your name, the rain became a mere whisper, the world fading into the background as a silent understanding passed between you.

He didn’t speak anymore, but his actions conveyed what words could not. Gently, he took your hand and guided you to your feet, his grip firm yet tender.

“He made you cry again, didn’t he?”

In that moment, the storm seemed to lose its ferocity. The thunder rolled away in the distance as if giving you a moment of respite.

“It hurts so much, Kiyoomi,” you cried out to him, eyes closing when his thumb reached over to swipe at a fallen tear. “What... what did I wrong? What did I do to deserve this? How could he keep doing this to me? He-he pushes me away, betrays me, and then says he loves me and each time I think that maybe I’ve changed his mind – because I’m nothing but a fool – he reminds me, time and time again, that I hadn’t done a thing at all! I couldn’t... I could never change his mind. He is never going to love me. And it’s entirely too late but I think – I think that I no longer love–”

“–You’re right. He will never love you,” Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened, tentative as he takes two steps to close the distance. “But I do.”

“What?”

Your eyes widened as Kiyoomi’s sudden confession fell upon your ears. The world around you seemed to momentarily freeze, the vibrant colours of the garden blurring into muted hues. Your hand instinctively flew to your mouth, stifling the gasp that escaped you.

The serene beauty of the surroundings, with its delicate flowers and tranquil fountains, froze in the passage of time.

“I love you,” he says, sounding broken and wholly unsure. “I always have.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you loved him, and I had to live with the fact you would never look my way,” just as the moment started, it broke – Kiyoomi took a step back as if needing to distance himself away, but still with his umbrella hovering protectively. “My apologies, Princess. I did not mean to add more on to your burdens–”

You didn’t let him finish speaking.

Without another word, your hand moved with a swift and determined grace as you reached up, grasping Kiyoomi by the collar. The fabric, cool and smooth beneath your fingers, was tugged gently but firmly to draw him closer – needing more of him, wanting more of him. You could breathe him in and consume him whole, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He had to be certain of this, too, and you kept your touch tender and insistent, a silent command that left no room for hesitation and argument.

Kiyoomi’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the heat of your proximity, felt your breasts crushing his chest, the racing of your heart against his. The world was entirely bending to your will as it narrowed to the space between you and him.

In a single, fluid motion, your lips met his.

The kiss was a fierce, passionate declaration – charged with all the emotions that had been restrained and unspoken. It was a melding of fervor and tenderness, every unvoiced feeling poured into this single, electrifying contact that set your nerves alight.

Kissing Kiyoomi was akin to being in a comic explosion.

The kiss ignited a cascade of feelings, a burst of heat that seemed to set the very air around you ablaze. It was as if a thousand fireworks had been set off in the quiet of the night, each spark and burst of light a vidid expression of all the affections you’d held back. Because by the Gods, how long have you thought about this? How many kisses had you played in your mind before it finally took place? The initial contact was electric, a jolt of fervor and longing surging through you, ripples of euphoria cascading through your entire beings.

And when he finally kissed you back, his moan soft and nearly muted like a secret he’d whispered, Kiyoomi unfurls like a blossom in bloom.

It was an ardent embrace of sensation that led to intoxication, a symphony of fireworks that ignited every nerve, flooding your senses with an addicting blend of his heat, sweetness, and the stray drops of rain.

In that fleeting moment, the world around you ceased to exist. The universe only held you and Kiyoomi in this ephemeral moment, his face now cradled in your palms, along with his soft, sweet moans swallowed and kept at the back of your mind. Time stood still, as your hearts and lips intertwined in this dance of longing acknowledged.

The need to breathe caught up eventually, forcing the two of you to slowly draw apart. Gazes locked, reflecting the hungering and unsatiated desire born from that first explosive contact.

Kiyoomi’s arms encircled you not a moment later, drawing you closer as if to hold onto the fragile, precious connection that had been forged. The intensity in his gaze softened, and you smiled up at him, frightened – realizing a little too late at what you’d just done.

You’d kissed Kiyoomi.

You’d kissed a married man.

Frantically, you scrambled away from him, ignoring the dejected look on his face when your actions caused his umbrella to drop. He, too, began to be soaked in the rain. His shirt clung to his skin, his curls now plastered against his face. Yet, he made no move, and remained where he stood – his chest rising and falling with each, staggered breath. And god, he looked ethereal like this – face flushed, lips bruised from your kiss, and his hands twitching by his side with the need to pull you close.

But he never does. He’d let you be the one to decide on that. His submission, his decision to give up and place all the power in your hands, was written all over his face.

If we are to kiss, it would have to be me instigating it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“–It’s not a mistake, and I don’t regret it,” Kiyoomi declared, his gaze hard and firm. Then, he makes a show of slipping of his ring and throwing it to the side – the gold band swallowed up by the puddles. He’s in your space the next moment, his eyes closed yet vulnerable as he takes your palm, and rests his cheek there. “Use me. If you need me to forget him, if that’s what it takes... then use me. I am yours.”

[calif0rnia-lovers]

safe place.

an: ngl, I wanted to hug jude & bukayo through the screen when England lost😔

requested: I remember seeing that Jude said his mom helps him when he gets "too low with the lows or too high with the highs." Can you do a fic where his gf is that way?

pairing: jude bellingham x black!reader

series: lyrically inspired tales.

if my heart aches, you breathe with me at my pace.

song: safe place by ruthanne

warnings: this is most definitely not edited lol.

The stadium lights had dimmed, and the roar of the crowd had faded into a distant memory, replaced by a haunting silence. Jude Bellingham sat in the quiet of his hotel room, the weight of the Euro final's loss pressing heavily on his shoulders. Exhaustion seeped into his bones—physically, mentally, and emotionally he was tapped. The missed shot that could have changed everything replayed in his mind, a tormenting loop of what-ifs and if-onlys.

He felt utterly drained, each breath a reminder of the effort he had poured into the match. The worst part about losing was feeling like he was at his lowest, despite all the hard work and dedication he had poured in for his country. The memory of the silver medal being draped over his shoulder, the relentless flashes of cameras, and the disappointed faces of fans loomed over him like a dark cloud. He had tried to keep his head up, stopping to hug each of his teammates, whispering words of encouragement, but it still hurt like hell. He had forced a brave face, stifling the sting in his eyes, reassuring his family and friends that he was alright. Keeping up the front until he reached his room had been a monumental task, and now, alone in the dim light, the facade crumbled.

He stared blankly at the wall, the ache of disappointment settling deep within his chest. Hours seemed to drag by, each minute stretching into an eternity. His phone was on Do Not Disturb. Although he knew the messages were meant with the best intentions, Jude wasn’t ready to read the encouraging texts sent to him. He hadn't spoken to anyone since the bus doors closed, needing space to process the defeat alone. The team’s efforts, the dreams of a nation, all seemed to hang on that one moment when his shot had veered just slightly off course.

A knock at the door broke through his reverie. Jude ignored it at first, unwilling to face anyone. If he didn’t call out, whoever it was would go away. But then it came again. 

A single knock, followed by three softer knocks, a distinct rhythm that was all too familiar. It was a special knock. Your special knock, a signal that meant more than words ever could. It prompted him to rise from the bed and cross the room.

Your interaction at the stadium was still a blur. A rushed kiss against his lips, nose, and forehead, a whispered “I love you so much,” was all he could receive before he was moving through the line of friends and family. In the few short hours that had passed, you had showered and changed.

When he opened the door, Jude found you standing there with your travel backpack pressed against your chest.

Jude paused to take you in, grounding himself by focusing on your familiar features. It was a routine he had built over the last six months of your relationship, a way to find solace in the midst of chaos. His eyes passed over your smooth, deep brown skin, which seemed to glow softly in the dim light. He traced the contours of your face, from your cheekbones to your lips that carried a gentle, reassuring smile. The sight of it relaxed the furrow of his brow.

Your eyes, warm and filled with understanding, were his favorite feature. They held a depth of emotion and wisdom that made him feel seen and understood. Your lashes framed them perfectly, long and curled, adding to the natural beauty that always took his breath away. His gaze traveled up to the soft curls, pineappled at the top of your head, his hand instinctively reaching forward.

As he studied you, taking in every detail—his touch tracing the curve of your jaw before settling against your cheek—he felt a sense of peace wash over him.

"Hi," you greeted softly, your voice a balm to his battered spirit.

Jude managed a weak smile, the corners of his lips lifting. "Hey," he replied, his voice rough.

You stepped inside, Jude’s hand instinctively settling on your hips as the door closed.

The scent of lavender and chamomile wafted from the bag you carried, filling the room with a calming aroma. It was a scent that lingered on the sheets of each hotel room Jude stayed in, his bedroom at home, and even in his shirts and jerseys. He associated it with you, and only you—a fragrance that instantly brought relaxation and comfort. Whenever you couldn't make it to his games, Jude would find the aromatherapy tucked away in his bag, a thoughtful gesture that made him feel close to you even when apart.

“My flight leaves at 9:30 tomorrow,” you began as you unzipped the bag. Gathering what you needed, you started towards the bathroom. “So, I’ll probably leave here at 7. I’m sure traffic is going to be insane.”

Jude listened to your voice, the calm cadence soothing his frayed nerves. You didn’t expect a response; you knew him well enough to understand that after a loss, he needed time to recover. So, you verbally went through your travel plans. The turnaround was quick, but you needed to report to work. While slightly annoying, the plan was simple: report home, get back to work, and into your routine. Jude would soon follow.

As you focused on starting the bath, Jude began to look through the items you bought. His hand paused on something small and familiar, tucked beneath his favorite snacks—a stuffed lion. He picked it up, a wave of bittersweet memories washing over him. The lion had a soft, golden mane and big, friendly eyes. Stitched into the pad of its right paw was a heart. Jude remembered the day he won it for you at the Ice Palace, the way your face had lit up with joy, your smile so wide and genuine it had made his heart swell.

"My lion," you’d giggled, hugging the plush toy tightly before wrapping your arms around his neck, your laughter ringing in his ears. “I can keep him with me when you’re away.”

You paused in the bathroom doorway, watching him hold the stuffed lion. "That always makes me feel better when we're apart," you said softly, a smile finding your lips as the shared memory hung between the two of you.

You began to take out and explain the things you had brought to cheer him up—a selection of his favorite snacks, your iPad full of movies, and some comforting toiletries. "I brought these because I thought they might help you relax. And I know how much you love Shawshank Redemption. So...being the gracious, loving girlfriend I am, I will sit through it for the hundredth time. But, only if you promise to share your sour st-"

You were mid-sentence when he moved towards you, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind. For a moment, you stayed that way, the warmth of his embrace speaking louder than words. Jude buried his face in your shoulder, his breath hitching as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to escape.

You could feel the tremors in his body, his grip tightening as if you were his anchor in the storm of his emotions.

"It's okay," you whispered, turning to face him, the warmth of your palms against his cheeks lifting his eyes to yours. "You gave it everything you had, and that's all anyone can ask for. I'm so proud of you, Jude. You’ve come so far, and this is just a moment in your journey. It's okay to feel hurt and disappointed, but remember that you are stronger than this. Everything happens exactly when it's meant to."

Finally, the dam broke, and Jude rested against you, the tears he’d managed to keep at bay all night came pouring out. He remained pressed against you until the stress of the past few months drained his eyes dry. He allowed you to lead him to the bathroom, welcoming the warm, fragrant steam filled the room, creating a cocoon of comfort. 

He allowed you to help him undress, your movements tender and deliberate, as if you were peeling away not just his clothes but also the layers of his hurt.

"Let's get you in," you murmured softly, as his lips brushed against yours, guiding him into the tub. Jude eased himself into the warm water, letting out a deep sigh as the heat began to soothe his aching muscles and weary mind.

You stepped back to gather the other things you had brought, but Jude's hand gently traced soothing circles into your thigh as you stood by the tub. The simple touch spoke volumes, a silent plea for your presence, for you to stay close.

Jude leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he let the warmth of the bath wash over him. The exhaustion and frustration that had gripped him began to loosen, replaced by a growing sense of peace. He listened as you moved around the room, lighting a few candles and setting out the items you had brought—a fluffy towel, his favorite shampoo, and a soft robe for when he got out. 

You joined Jude in the tub, settling behind him. He welcomed the loofah against his skin, the gentle, rhythmic motion of your hands soothing his frayed nerves. You massaged his shoulders, careful with the one that had been previously injured, as he rested back against you. His hand found its place on his leg, grounding him as he watched the movie playing on the tablet propped nearby.

Your touch worked magic, and you could feel his body gradually relaxing. The tension that had coiled within him slowly unwound, and he seemed to be coming back to himself. The voice in his head, the one that echoed with doubt and personal criticism, grew quieter with each passing moment. Each gentle kiss you pressed against his skin, each laugh you shared from the film, chipped away at the walls of his frustration.

By the time most of the bubbles had dissipated, Jude was completely relaxed. His gratefulness showed in the way he gently squeezed your thigh and the soft kisses he brushed against your knuckles. The warmth of the water, combined with your presence, created a cocoon of comfort and safety. 

He tilted his head back slightly, letting it rest against your shoulder, eyes half-closed in contentment. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, fingers tracing small circles on his chest. "You don’t have to," you replied softly. "I’m here, always."

Jude sighed, a deep, contented breath that seemed to release the last of his lingering tension. He turned his head slightly to kiss your forehead, a silent thank you for being his anchor in the storm. The doubts that had plagued him earlier were now a distant memory.

The kiss he left against your lips was soft, almost sloppy. The physical and mental strain he's been under from Real Madrid and the Euros suddenly registering. His body begging for sleep.

"Let's get you outta here," you giggled. "I don't think I can carry you to bed if you fall asleep."

You press against the corner of his mouth, the action stopping the closing of his heavy eyelids. "Come on, Jude."

"Mmm...hold up..." Jude mumbled, eyes drifting shut as your lips brushed against his. Brow arching, his smirk prompting your eyes to roll. "...I'm not even tired."

"Uh-huh," stifling your giggle, you watch as Jude nods. His heavy eyes blinking before dropping down to your smile.

"'m not," he mumbled, his kiss missing your lips and settling on your chin.

A series of soft and light kiss lingered against your jaw, drifting to your shoulder. As much as he tried to fight off the comfortable sleeping tugging at him, Jude couldn't resist. By the time he reached your lips, a tired and goofy smile stretched across Jude's lips.

"Alright," he relented. "Let's go, but we gonna finish this in the morning."

"I'm sure we will," you smiled.

You place a final kiss against his lips. The brushing of your nose against his pulling out the smile that left you the victim of constant butterflies and euphoria. Before Jude knew it, the words slipped out.

"I love you," he murmured, the words hanging in the air between you like a delicate promise. "Thanks for this."

The words halted your movement of slipping from beneath him, your eyes widening slightly in surprise. It was the first time he had said it aloud. You had never pressured him for those words, knowing that he showed his love in countless other ways. Just as you did for him.

"I love you too, Jude," you replied as his lips found your forehead.

Letting his lips pass over your nose, Jude pushed himself.

[simjaexy]

JAEXY MASTERLIST

HYUNG LINE

Wanting You (series, smut) - Completed

Synopsis ⇀ In a bustling college campus, Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon—are the ultimate heartthrobs, each excelling in their respective sports and capturing the hearts of many. One day, they come up with a playful challenge to see who can win the heart of the same person, you. A girl that was too kind for her own good, too innocent for her own good. As they each use their unique charms and talents to impress, they soon realize that maybe not everything could be a challenge. They can’t help that they want you.

Husband! Enha Hyung Line! x Fem Reader (fluff, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ Just them being in love with you as a married couple.

Enha Hyung Line! x Fem Reader (smut, little angst, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ Arguments with hyung line leads to steamy moments at the end.

LEE HEESEUNG

Oblivian (smut)

Synopsis ⇀ You had a stressful day at work and topping it all with coming back home to Heeseung getting nothing done around the house. Angry, you ignore him, but he has ways for you to forgive him.

Make You Mine (fluff)

Synopsis ⇀ You knew your neighbor, Heeseung, always liked you more than just a neighbor, but you weren’t the type to be swayed. Heeseung understands, although that doesn’t stop him to try to win your heart

At The End Of The Night (smut)

Synopsis ⇀ After having trouble falling asleep, you decided to roam around in the mist darkness of the night, not knowing you were being followed by someone, or something.

I’m Yours (smut, angst)

Synopsis ⇀ Sometimes Heeseung gets jealous a little too much when you talk to other guys or when they flirt with you, so you have to remind him that you belong to him.

Cross My Heart (smut, angst)

Synopsis ⇀ You were a nerd, always with your nose in a book, acing every test, and keeping a low profile. What comes as a normal life of yours soon takes a turn when your mom finally gets married to a man that you soon found out was Lee Heeseung dad, the school bad boy. Even though Heeseung doesn’t know you, he can’t help but want to corrupt you in every possible way. So what happens when new things start to unfold between you two that he’s never felt before with someone?

PARK JONGSEONG

Morning (smut)

Synopsis ⇀ Jay works from 9 to 5, so it’s not a bad reason for you to have fun with him in the morning.

Laundry Girl (fluff, crack)

Synopsis ⇀ Jay hated the laundry mat. He didn’t like how loud the noises were, the kids that would cry loudly, but what he most of all didn’t like was his clothes getting stolen. That’s was until he met you.

In The Quiet Moments (fluff, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ You find yourself gently tracing the contours of Jay's face as he sleeps peacefully beside you.

Teach Me (smut, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ You stop by jay’s studio to visit him and end up with him teaching you how to play the guitar. What you also end up with is his fingers inside you.

Unscripted Chemistry (smut, angst, fluff)

Synopsis ⇀ You’ve always had a crush on Lee Heeseung ever since he gave you a note, also considering the fact he was one of the most popular boys in school. Considering being popular yourself, you just can’t seem to get his attention no matter what you do. So you decide to fake date Jay, Heeseung's best friend, to get Heeseungs attention. Despite thinking that Jay hates you, you go along with the plan, hoping that Heeseung will finally notice you. As the charade progresses, you found out Heeseung is attracted to people who are experienced. However, you’re a virgin. So why not ask Jay to take your virginity? No feelings will be involved, right?

SIM JAEYUN

EXAMS (smut)

Synopsis ⇀ After finishing an exam that you worked your ass on, you decided to go to a party you and your friends been invited to not knowing the party belongs to the famous fuckboy Sim Jaeyun.

Love Me Like You (fluff, angst)

Synopsis ⇀ After your break up with Jake after thinking he wasn’t enough for you, you find out that he was just the right person that can love you the way you want to be loved.

Todo De Ti (fluff)

Synopsis ⇀ Wanting to get out of the house you decided to go with your friend to a roller skating rink that opened. Upon going there you meet someone that took a liking to you and doesn’t plan on leaving you alone.

The Stupid Bet (fluff, angst)

Synopsis ⇀ After having an embarrassing accident with the schools popular boy, Sim Jaeyun, you two decided to make a bet that will change your lives for the worst or for the better.

Our Little Secret (smut, angst)

Synopsis ⇀ you always knew your professor was attractive, so it wasn’t new when girls would try to gain his attention. what you didn’t know though was that he only had his eyes on you. what comes as a friendly teacher-student relationship takes a turn when you find yourself thinking differently about him with your private lessons together.

PARK SUNGHOON

Black Coffee (fluff, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ While working on your normal shift, you stumble upon a man that you've never seen before order a black coffee. You can't help but be intrigued by the mysterious man because of his looks.

Flexible (smut)

Synopsis ⇀ Sunghoon loved how you are flexible a little too much. He decided to take advantage of it.

The Rain (fluff, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ You and Sunghoon decided to walk in the rain as your date.

Teach Me English (fluff, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ English was not Sunghoon first language so it was understandable that he didn’t like it. So instead, you teach Sunghoon English, and when he gets it right, he gets a kiss.

Hidden Desires (smut, angst)

Synposis ⇀ you knew sunghoon ever since you were little with him being your big brothers best friend. what jay didn’t know though, was that you always had a secret crush on sunghoon. despite your feelings, you believe sunghoon doesn’t like you back and sees you as nothing more than his friends annoying little sister. right?

Boxer Sunghoon (smut, requested, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ You decided to visit Sunghoon at his boxing practice. But upon seeing him practice, you couldn’t help but feel a sexual way watching him practicing so focused and determined. So what happens when you decide to tease him while he’s practicing?

KIM SUNOO

Skincare With Sunoo (fluff, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ You noticed Sunoo been stressing about work, so you decide to make him feel better with a skin care night.

YANG JUNGWON

Sleepy Nights (fluff, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ Jungwon decided to stay the night at your house since your parents were gone for the week. Not only did you guys make delicious cookies, you also had sleepy conversations in your room.

Movie Theater (smut, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ Your best friend, Jungwon, asked you out to go to the movie theaters, not knowing he was going to confess his love for you in different ways other people wouldn’t do.

Where Stars Meet (fluff, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ You and Jungwon decided to have a date at the park.

Where My Words Stand (angst, fluff, drabble)

Synopsis ⇀ Idol life has been getting to Jungwon and he lashes it out on you.

Healing Heart (angst, fluff, smut)

Synopsis ⇀ After a traumatic event leaves you struggling to cope, you get admitted to a mental hospital in hopes of finding peace and healing. Feeling lost and overwhelmed on your arrival, you meet Jungwon, a fellow patient with his own burdens and a mysterious past. Even though Jungwon is a bit hot headed and tend to come off as rude and smart to people, you find solace in Jungwon company. What happens when you and Jungwon go through struggles together? Will he open up to you to his mysterious past? Or will he shut himself out, just like he did with everyone else?

NISHIMURA RIKI

(Un)lucky Days (fluff, crack)

Synopsis ⇀ Already having a rough day, you would assume you would have a calm moment walking along a trail with calm music in your headphones, only to get hit by a basketball, can it get any worse when you see it’s your enemy, Nishimura Ni-Ki.

[astraystayyh]

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33. 

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear. 

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory. 

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse. 

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance. 

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you. 

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago. 

Day 17. 

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade. 

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores. 

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes. 

He knows you better than you know yourself. 

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands. 

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from. 

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you. 

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.” 

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head. 

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again. 

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you. 

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you. 

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19. 

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement. 

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.  

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.  

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.” 

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask. 

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently. 

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?” 

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.” 

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment. 

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé. 

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out. 

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms. 

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope. 

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto. 

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating. 

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in. 

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back. 

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night. 

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you. 

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?” 

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure. 

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles. 

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door. 

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place. 

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up? 

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you. 

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-” 

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.” 

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you. 

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach. 

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls. 

Day 22. 

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart. 

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.” 

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.” 

“I can try.” 

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.  

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles. 

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him. 

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle. 

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago. 

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?” 

“Of course. I promise you.” 

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear. 

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers. 

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm. 

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road. 

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart. 

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light. 

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit. 

“What?” he asks, confused. 

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify. 

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.” 

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words. 

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.  

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face. 

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression. 

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running. 

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again. 

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content. 

“You did.” 

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands. 

“Of course.” 

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to. 

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.” 

Day 26. 

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads. 

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more. 

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin. 

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest. 

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought. 

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.” 

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within. 

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals. 

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door. 

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for. 

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you. 

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.” 

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more? 

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were. 

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.                          

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks. 

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart. 

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words. 

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle. 

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words. 

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side. 

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder. 

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second. 

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing. 

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips. 

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly. 

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends. 

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?” 

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.” 

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out. 

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle. 

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs. 

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks. 

“N-nothing,” you stammer. 

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you. 

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you? 

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out. 

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.  

And he loves you. 

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for? 

How many more days do you have to love him back? 

Day 30. 

Minho is sick. 

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face. 

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind. 

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented. 

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow. 

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on. 

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers. 

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering. 

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you. 

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet. 

“Anything.” 

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly. 

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to. 

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea. 

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm. 

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you. 

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows. 

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted. 

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds. 

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days. 

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again. 

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean? 

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep. 

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name. 

He prayed you’d call his too soon. 

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean? 

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips. 

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of. 

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways. 

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh. 

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?” 

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh. 

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.  

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card. 

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify. 

“Hey, yn!” 

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them. 

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.  

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run. 

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey. 

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat. 

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by? 

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be. 

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both. 

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all. 

Day 33. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” 

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?” 

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him. 

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table. 

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here. 

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines. 

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger. 

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.” 

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you. 

“But how does that make you feel?” 

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.” 

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?” 

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.  

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.” 

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yn, he brought you back to life.” 

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?” 

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.  

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core. 

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table. 

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder. 

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around. 

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it. 

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart. 

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room. 

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind. 

“Minho?” 

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to. 

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.  

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again. 

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho. 

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.  

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one. 

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?” 

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.” 

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Dream - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1k+

Summary: 

"I'm so impatient, self-medicated"

Alternatively, 

You have been so selfish and as a result - you get punished.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Warnings: Again this is very angsty but less than the last one. However, it can be too much to take so please proceed with caution! this chapter is mostly focused on the reader, not really on Yoongi. Hoseok is an angel, btw.

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

Taglist requests are closed for now

A/N: As I promised, this chapter is posted earlier since it's shorter in length. the next chapter will be posted by the end of November.

Read the next chapter

Min Yoongi is a dream himself. You have always considered him a fragment of your imagination that partly came to life whenever your fingertips found the privilege of tracing the contours of his face. 

But the Min Yoongi of your dreams - is even dreamier. 

Now as you dream of him, you see him smiling at you - bright and full - something he did only when he was drunk. You see his gums appearing bit by bit as his eyes spill a thousand positive emotions as he looks down at your lap. 

Your lap though - is empty. 

But two of his fingers are enveloped by a small palm, tightly, protectively. 

Your hair is reaching to your waist, something that you have never had in your real life. Your nails are shining much more than ever. 

You are clearly happy - content. And that’s how you know that this is indeed a dream. 

And then Yoongi looks up, he looks at you, his smile dims … gradually disappears. 

Your skin feels weird now, as if you are wet, as if you are a dirty reptile - tired of crawling on its chest. 

Before you even know you are drowning. 

You are in the middle of a vast ocean, trying your hardest to stay afloat but you can’t see how you will even live because a humongous wave is approaching you. 

You look for Yoongi and the baby or the hand of the baby but there is no one. You are alone, alone, alone! 

The waves come crashing down and drowns you completely. 

You let yourself be immersed in darkness, in nothingness. But in the midst of the dark, of absolute nothing - you promise yourself to be better if you are given a next life. 

Your eyes are heavy, too heavy and bleary to keep them open, but your tears keep falling unbound anyway.

The pain in your body is unexplainable - it’s as if someone is injecting thousands of invisible needles in every single cell your body possesses. But, still, this pain is nothing before what your heart is going through. 

Your blood soaked mattress mocks you - tells you that you have failed once again - that you have lost once again. 

And there is only one question in your mind currently - why? 

Why is it always you? Why don’t you deserve to be loved? Why can’t you hold on to anything - anything? 

Your body shakes vehemently as you try to hug yourself. As you try to comfort your aching body and even more aching heart. 

A loud but choked sob leaves your throat when your eyes fall on the mess once again. And slowly but surely you accept - you have lost the baby. 

For once you feel like you know what you should be doing. For once you know you can reach out to someone and ask for help. So you do what you know you should, you reach for your phone with your weak, shaky hands and dial Jung Hoseok’s number. 

He receives on the second ring and greets you with his usual jovial voice. You don’t greet him back. 

“Doc-doctor, I-I think I lo-lost the baby.” you managed to voice somehow. You have never sounded so broken, so weak, so fucking pathetic. 

The other side of the line goes eerily quiet. 

“Just informing you in advance, I will be accessing your address details and visiting you in an hour. Do you object?” his voice is now firm and it makes you sob again - this time harder. 

“No.” you let him know. 

Your entire bathroom is blood-bathed. 

You have managed to pull yourself out of the bed and change into fresh clothes. The mattress is still red and you are considering throwing it away completely.  

You have put on fresh sheets to protect some of your dignity before Hoseok’s arrival. 

Now as you stand in front of your bed and stare at it, you think of all the things that started here and gradually ended too. 

This bed became the home to drunk Yoongi that night. This bed had borne the weight of your and Yoongi’s body when you slept for the first time. This same bed witnessed your last time as well and the bloom of life in your womb. And now, this same bed found the death of it. 

Your head spins. You can’t stand on your legs anymore. 

Your breaths shorten, your toes and fingertips get numb and you start shaking again. 

You need to be held. You need to be patted on your back. You need someone. You need Yoongi-

The doorbell rings. 

“Your blood pressure is very low, Y/N. When did you last eat?” Hoseok unwraps the equipment from your arm. 

“Before I met you.” you say, but your voice sounds distant to even yourself. As if someone is talking from the next room. 

“And it’s nine thirty at night.” he sighs, “can you tell me what happened today? If there was anything that bothered you? Any physical, mental strain?” 

“I saw something I should have not. And then..” you recall how you climbed down a flight of stairs with a baby in your womb. 

It’s your fault after all. 

“Then?” 

“Then I used the stairs instead of the elevator. I- I didn’t know this would happen, doctor. I- I only wanted to exhaust my body so much so that- that I can’t even think of him. That I don’t remember how-how he rejected me and then went back to- to kiss her. I- I am a fool doctor. I am a fucking fool. You know what? This -” you point at your belly, “this happened for better. I only wanted the baby because it was his. The baby- the baby didn’t deserve that. I- am so selfish, doctor. That’s why I was punished. That’s why-” you start shaking again. Your breaths get ragged and labored making you feel light-headed. 

Hoseok seems to track what’s happening. 

He stands up and envelops you in a hug. He presses one of his palms on your back and pats on your head with another. 

“Calm down, Y/N. It's okay. It’s not your fault. It’s okay.” 

His voice is so soothing. His touch is assuring. You can’t help but cry again. Cry unbound. 

Breaching the sound of your own sob, you hear your door lock chiming. But you are way too weak to detach yourself from Hoseok and take a look at who is pressing the door code in your apartment. 

Anyone hardly knows the code apart from you. But your mental state doesn’t allow you to worry about something so trivial now. 

“Y/N? Who- who is this?” 

And it’s Yoongi’s voice that comes from the doorway. 

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[glittervame]

Your mine

Based off of this fanfic Billy <3

The warmth of the summer had finally given way to the briskness of early autumn as Y/n stepped off the Hogwarts Express, her eyes scanning the platform for her friends. She had returned to the castle, feeling a peculiar blend of excitement and nervousness for her sixth year. It wasn't just the thrill of new classes or the anticipation of the latest Quidditch tournaments that filled her; it was the secret she had been carrying with her all summer long. Her body was a canvas, adorned with fresh ink, each tattoo telling a story of her life or memories with her friends.

Her hair had grown out over the months, cascading in gentle waves down her back, and her skin glowed with a subtle tan from countless hours spent outdoors.

As she made her way through the throngs of students, her heart skipped a beat when she spotted Mattheo. His eyes lit up with recognition and he broke into a wide smile, rushing over to envelop her in a tight embrace. He had grown a bit taller over the summer, his frame more muscular and his features more defined, but it was his kind eyes that held her attention as they searched hers.

"You're back!" he exclaimed, his voice a familiar comfort. "I've missed you so much!"

Y/n blushed, returning his smile. "Missed you too," she murmured, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against hers. They had been together for three years now, and every moment apart felt like an eternity.

Mattheo's eyes began to rove over her, taking in her new look. He noticed the way her robes hung differently, the hint of new ink peeking out from her collar and wrists.

The tattoos have been a part of her body since she was allowed to enter a tattoo shop with a parent's signature. New ones would pop up during their holiday breaks and they quickly became a defining feature alongside her beauty.

Mattheo's dorm room is a cozy and slightly messy haven filled with the scent of old books, faint notes of incense, and the occasional waft of takeout. The walls are adorned with posters of his favorite bands and artists, while the floor is scattered with clothes, empty soda cans, and textbooks fighting for space. The bed, a lofted wonder, hovers over a desk that is cluttered with wires, a laptop, and a half-finished sculpture. The room is dimly lit, with only a desk lamp and the glow of a lava lamp providing the ambiance.

Mattheo and Y/n are in the middle of a make-out session playing catch up because they haven't see each other all summer break due to her spending it in France with her grandmother. His arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her closer as their kisses deepen. Y/n's hands trace the contours of his face, her thumbs brushing over the stubble that has formed since his last shave. His hands wander, too, slipping under her shirt to feel the warmth of her skin. They're both lost in the moment, the world outside their little bubble fading into oblivion.

The sound of their laughter pierces the silence as they break apart, both slightly out of breath. "God, I've missed you," Mattheo whispers, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n smiles, her cheeks flushed. "Me too," she says, before leaning in to kiss him again.

Mattheo playfully nudges her, pushing her backward onto the bed. They giggle as they collapse onto the mattress, which protests with a series of squeaks. He straddles her, his hands interlocking with hers, and raises their arms above her head. "Gotcha!" he declares, grinning.

Y/n tries to wriggle free, but his grip is firm. "No, no, you don't!" she squeals, her laughter bubbling up as she kicks her legs.

Mattheo leans down, his smile turning into a playful scowl. "You're not going anywhere," he says, before letting her go.

Y/n takes the opportunity to flip him over, now on top of him. "Now who's got who?" she asks, her eyes gleaming.

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around her to keep her close. "Alright, alright," he surrenders. "But only because I like this view better."

They lay there, tangled in each other's embrace, sharing whispers and secrets from their summer apart. Y/n tells him about her adventures in Paris, the art she saw, and the food she ate. Mattheo tells her about his internship at the local music magazine, the bands he discovered, and the concerts he went to.

The conversation eventually shifts to more intimate topics, their whispers becoming softer, their touches more tender. They explore each other's bodies, reacquainting themselves with the familiar contours and curves. It's a dance they know well, yet it feels new and exciting with every encounter.

Their kisses grow urgent, their breathing heavy as they let their desires guide them. Clothes are peeled away, revealing skin that's warm and eager for contact. Their hands roam, caressing, teasing, setting each other on fire.

Y/n's heart raced as she straddled Mattheo, feeling his strong thighs tense beneath her. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow across his sculpted abs, making his skin seem almost golden. His eyes, dark with desire, searched hers, seeking confirmation. She nodded, her cheeks flushing, and he took that as his cue to lean in, capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss that sent waves of heat coursing through her body.

Their tongues danced together, a delicate tango filled with the sweet promise of what was to come. His hands roamed up her back, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. She could feel his arousal pressing against her, and it only served to make her more eager. Gently, she began to grind her hips against him, feeling his grip tighten as he moaned into her mouth.

Breaking the kiss, she whispered his name, her breath hot against his neck. He responded by nibbling her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine. She leaned back, giving him access to her neck, which he kissed tenderly, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His hands found their way to the hem of her shirt, and he began to lift it up, revealing her naked torso.

The coolness of the room contrasted with the warmth of his touch as he cupped her breasts, his thumbs flicking over her sensitive nipples. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she arched her back, encouraging him. He took the hint, his mouth following the path his hands had made, kissing and suckling each peak until she was squirming with pleasure.

Mattheo sat up, his own shirt joining hers on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, his bare chest pressing against her as he kissed her again. Their bodies were now one, skin to skin, and the sensation was electrifying. Y/n's hands found the buckle of his belt, and with trembling fingers, she undid it, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

Mattheo stood up, gently lifting her with him. He laid her down on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he removed the rest of their clothing. The sight of him, standing over her, completely naked, was almost too much to handle. She reached up, her hand tracing the line of his chest, down to his waist, and back up again. He took her hand and placed it over his heart, feeling it thump wildly against her palm.

He climbed onto the bed, his body aligning with hers, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He took a moment to appreciate her beauty, her eyes wide with anticipation, her skin flushed with desire. He positioned himself at her entrance, and with a deep, shaky breath, he pushed inside her.

The feeling was indescribable, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that had her eyes rolling back in her head. He stilled when he found a tattoo of his name in swirling black ink on the inside of her thigh. It was a secret she had been keeping from him, a declaration of her love etched into her very skin.

"S-shit," His hips stutter at the sight, and his eyes meet hers, wide with shock and arousal. "You're so fucking perfect."

He began to move, a slow, steady rhythm that had her nails digging into his back. She matched his pace, arching her hips to meet each of his powerful thrusts. The friction between them grew, igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.

Their moans filled the room, a symphony of need and want. He kissed her again, hard and possessive, as if he could brand her with his passion. She responded in kind, her tongue fighting his for dominance as their bodies moved together in a dance of pure lust.

The tension grew, coiling tighter with every stroke. Y/n could feel it building deep within her, an unstoppable force that threatened to shatter her into a million pieces. She clung to him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to hold on.

One of Mattheo's hands had found itself around her neck, "Mine," he growled, his teeth scraping along her jawline. "You're always going to be mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver up her spine, and she couldn't help but moan in agreement. It was true; she belonged to him, heart and soul.

The climax hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with the force of a thousand suns. She cried out, her body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. Mattheo's own release followed, his body tensing as he spilled himself inside her.

He lays her on the bed and starts kissing up her thighs to the tattoo of his name, and she giggles. "Always," she whispers, her voice a little hoarse.

[sinsolstice]

★ 彡 SEVEN DAYS A WEEK. ✧ MIGUEL O'HARA [ 1 ]

series ✮ it started with a crazy idea from miguel proposing to start the day of the week with a bang.

tags ✮  modern + roommates au. situationship with miguel and unspoken mutual pining. divider creds: cafekitsune. content warning ✮ explicit content, sexual intercourse, mutual masturbation, missionary, mating press unprotected sex. minors do not interact. wc ✮ 2,100

Miguel: Could you meet me in the living room when you return for a few minutes? There’s something I want to talk to you about.

That was the text message you received from Miguel in the car park whilst you were loading groceries in your car. 

He doesn’t elaborate anything further and it makes you curious all the way driving back, wondering what Miguel possibly wants to talk to you about. The two of you are housemates, sharing the same house for a good two years and a half. When you agree to occupy the empty he advertised for renting and sign a lease agreement, you sort of know what you’re getting yourself into. 

Miguel O’Hara is an attractive man and there are times when the attraction builds into temptation of lust. The side glances across the room, the proximity of skin brushing onto one another leaves a heated message. It was difficult to ignore the elephant in the room—the attraction and urge to have your hands exploring the contours of his body. And then it happened; hands hurriedly tried to strip and tear clothes to explore skin and warmth beneath it, as you and Miguel fumble the way into his bedroom for a long, pleasurable night. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out that you’re addicted to the way Miguel fucks you. But gods, no one does it like he does. You would feel empty unless he fills you up again to the brim. Your body has adjusted to him and only him, addicted to the way he knows how to make you scream and shake, leaving you breathless and alive. In the end, you and Miguel come to a mutual agreement together; stay housemates with benefits. Friends with benefits. It’s both your dirty little secret. 

When you drive up to the residential car park, you unload your things from the car into the shared house. As you suspected, you don’t expect Miguel to be in the house when you walk in, greeted by the quietness and sight of the open-floor living room and kitchen. You organise your groceries in the kitchen, putting them in places where they're supposed to be. Seeing that you have spare time until Miguel gets back, you take a shower in your en-suite bathroom to freshen up. 

You walk downstairs thirty minutes later and think of settling in the living room and putting on the TV when you hear the front door unlock. “Welcome, home.” 

Miguel looks at the staircase and sees you, a look of relief and weariness from work makes his shoulders slump a little. “Hey, hermosa.” 

“How was work?” You ask, following him into the kitchen. He unpacks his lunch box, cleans it up and immediately puts it on the drying rack. You’ve seen what he does many times but it never fails to make you feel domesticated by the routine. A man who tidies after himself is quite sexy. 

“It was a pretty good day, surprisingly,” Miguel responds. 

“I got your message,” you begin. “You said that there’s something you want to talk to me about?” 

He turns to look at you and you can see Miguel’s lips curve into a smirk. “Si, hermosa,” he replies. “It’s about our arrangement. Come, let’s talk in the living room.” 

His tone is serious and it makes you worry a little. A part of you fears that he wants to stop the housemates with benefits. The fear that he might have found someone else—someone better. Or a possible scenario that he’s planning to settle in a committed relationship and wants to end the housemates with benefits agreement. Your heart drums in your chest uncomfortably, feeling a sense of dread and you’re not ready to hear the news of spending less time with him. “What about our arrangement?” 

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” Miguel says. When his eyes meet yours, he chuckles softly. “It’s a good discussion, depending on how you see it.” 

You feel your shoulders relax as they slump down in relief, but his words puzzle you. The relief is short-lived as soon as you hear his next words.  

“What do you think of us having sex together for a whole week?” 

It takes you a whole minute of silence to process his words. And when you do, there’s a look of disbelief on your face. “You want us to do it for seven days straight?” You repeat in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind, Miguel?” 

“No,” Miguel smirks. He repeats his words with every pronunciation. “For seven days straight.” 

A contemptuous laugh escapes out of you and you shake your head. “In what world do you think that’s a good idea?” You ask. “Do we even have time to do that?” 

The coy smirk on Miguel’s face grows bigger because you know what he’s thinking; the two of you can figure out a way. You both always do. “We’ll make time, chica,” Miguel responds. “Come on, it’ll be a lot of fun.” 

You shake your head, still in disbelief. “Not so sure about that.” 

Miguel moves closer, his hand propped on the cushion behind you. His tone is cocky and sly. “You don’t think I can pull it off?”

“I think you’re insane,”  

His chest rumbles when he laughs. “It would only be just for a week,” Miguel says, then raises a brow. “You think that you wouldn’t enjoy having sex with me for a week?” 

You looked straight into his eyes, and a glint of challenge flashed as you both stared at each other. The words come out of your mouth faster than you can process. “Bet.” 

Miguel smirks and he doesn’t hesitate, pulling you by the waist with one hand, and another on the back of your head. His lips crash onto yours in a passionate kiss, a little rushed and rough. Miguel’s mouth moves in a slow yet deep and capturing tug whilst his hands roam your body, pulling and grabbing. It takes one kiss— a taste of his lips— and your head is spinning in a whirlwind. 

You lean back and lay down on the couch with Miguel on top of you. He deepens the kiss for a brief moment, his tongue tracing your parted lips when he pulls away, and you find yourself chasing after him as Miguel hovers right in front of you. “I’ll go easy on you, hermosa,” he whispers. 

“Easy on me?” You chuckle. “I doubt that.” 

He only smirks in response and looks at you. “It’s Monday today,” he begins. “So let’s start with something easy first.” 

When he purses his lips in a pretence pondering, you know that it’s a lot to get a lot more interesting. “Masturbation rhymes with Monday, hm?” Miguel brushes his nose on yours. “Then, missionary and mating…” 

“You’re unbelievable,” you shake your head but it doesn’t stop you from smiling. 

“Is that a yes?” Miguel asks. He drags his hands from your sides down to your hips, moving his hand across your lower belly down between your legs. It makes your breath hitch when his hand touches over your shorts. His fingers tracing your clothed cunt. “To our first challenge?” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, pulling him into a needy kiss. Miguel takes this as a yes and his fingers curl onto the band of your shorts, while your hand does the same to his pants. You return the favour by groping him gently, rubbing your palm on his semi-hard bulge, and you hear Miguel groan against your lips. Both your shorts and his pants are taken off and left discarded somewhere in the room, followed by the rest of your attire of shirts, undies and briefs. 

“Dios mío, would you look at that?” Miguel says with a smirk on his face. 

“Shut up.” You mumble. You don’t need to look at yourself to know what he’s talking about—you know that you’re already wet. When Miguel glides his fingers between your folds—all aroused and slippery–you groan softly at the feeling. One of your hands goes to his cock, thumb toying with the tip of its head as you begin to jerk him off. The other begins to start stroking his girth. 

“Fuck.” Miguel nips on your neck at the area below your ear. With his fingers rubbing your cunt and you stroking his cock, you’re both in a mess. Pleasuring each other in sync. The more Miguel rubs down your clit, the more you moan and the faster you move your hand up and down his length. The neediness grows in the room and every touch feels so good. Your body responds to his touch, making your toes curl and thighs tremble. 

“Mierda, that’s it, baby. Shit.” Miguel groans. He rubs your cunt faster as you get wetter that it squelches. You try to keep up with the pace and give as much pleasure with every stroke as he touches your clit and labia. The build-up pleasure creeps him out when you clutch one of your hands on his forearms. 

It becomes too much, both of you moaning and gasping against each other’s lips. The neediness shows when you feel close to orgasm and Miguel’s cock throbbing in your hand. You feel your lips brush against his lips in a heated kiss, his hand which was playing with your cunt, is pulled away and now holding your hips. He pulls away and stares at you before grabbing his cock and rubbing it against your slit, letting you feel the tip that sends the urge of needing him inside of you. 

“Don’t move,” Miguel tells you. He holds onto your legs by your calves, opening yourself up to him a bit more. Miguel almost loses his composure when he feels you engulf him with your warm heat because of how wet you’re already from the masturbation. All wet and perfect for him, making him groan when he bottoms out, and gasp from you. 

The two of you are still for a moment before Miguel starts thrusting. His cock fills you up so nicely and it hits your G-spot and rubs your clit with every stroke. You always clench around him with each thrust and Miguel loves it, seeing you writhing and moaning because of him. You’re clutching your nails on his back as his hips move continuously. Moaning and whining his name at how deep he thrusts into you. The way Miguel raises your hips and settles your lower body on his thighs angles him to fuck deeper into you. Making your back arch in pleasure and your body writhe. 

“Fuck, fuck, nena,” Miguel moans above you. Gripping onto the sofa cushion he feels himself over to the edge of orgasm. “Doing this with you for a whole week is going to be the best thing in my life.” 

“Miguel,” you whine. His stamina is greater than yours so you’re not surprised that he can keep up thrusting into you. You tighten with each movement, the room grows hotter as both you and Miguel move in a pleasant, constant wave. 

Both your legs are propped up in the air and placed on his shoulders. Miguel angles you a little higher as he holds onto your legs by your thighs. Feeling your ass cheeks on his hips. Your body tenses and back arches when Miguel doesn’t slow down his thrusts. Grunting as he speeds up and repeatedly hits your sweet spot. “You’re going to come so much like this,” Miguel pants. 

And he’s right. Because your body twitches the moment you feel a strong wave of orgasm coursing through you. Miguel doesn’t slow down when you release and his thrusts feel urgent. Slapping himself onto you and ramming in your cunt until his cock twitches, soon spilling his come inside you with a loud moan. 

The two of you are out of breath. Miguel gently puts down your legs onto the sofa though his cock is still nestled inside you. You’re both looking at each other, still feeling the effects of the climaxes. “Same time again for tomorrow?” He asks. 

You sigh and lean back against the armrest, feeling out of breath. Even then, you still manage to make a joke regarding the situation. “Same position tomorrow?” 

“A different one every day.” Miguel chuckles. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

He smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead and it sends a rush of warmth to your core. It’s not meant to be a tender display of affection, but it doesn’t help that it still makes your heart skip a beat. “Now, are you hungry for dinner tonight?”

keep track of more updates with #𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 (miguel o'hara).

all of my links.

[jonathansthickthighs]

My Sweetest Heart 4: Yandere! Fushiguro Toji x Reader

Description: You have a one night stand with Toji and now he won’t leave you alone.

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Part 5 here

Trigger Warnings: nsfw, yandere, obsessive behavior, female reader, AFAB reader, toxic behavior, threats, jealousy, possessive behavior, desperate toji, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up), daddy kink, alternative universe (no curses), age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, toji is in his mid 30’s), soft toji, toji has feelings, slight sub toji?

A/N: part five will the last one of this mini series. enjoy! :)

Not edited!

You sat by the window, as a deluge of thoughts flooded your mind. Absently, your fingers traced the delicate contours of the pearl necklace gifted to you by your boyfriend the evening before.

You had been dating for two months now and you couldn’t deny this was the pinnacle of emotional fulfillment you had ever experienced with a man. He treated you like no other, he was so soft and gentle with you, you never imagined a man being this good to you. His gestures of affection unfailingly making you swoon, gifting you flowers weekly, getting you whichever snacks you were craving, taking you new places, even buying expensive gifts like the one you had around your neck. You weren’t aware he could even afford such artifacts, ignorant to the fact that bounty hunters were so well off.

It had been a great couple of months, but you had to admit to yourself that you were terrified. You were scared of how things might turn out in the future. The subject of marriage and children has arisen in discussion with Toji several times, leaving you unsure of where you stood on your own desires. You hadn’t known each other long enough and up until now, your relationship may be all flowers and rainbows, but that didn’t guarantee your expectations would still be met in the future. After all, only two months have passed since you met Toji.

You weren’t against marriage at your age, but children, on the other hand, were a touchy subject to you. You wanted to enjoy your 20s to their fullest and you were aware that a child, while being a blessing, would also intake an enormous sense of responsibility that you weren’t ready for at this age. Toji had quite a few years on you and his desire for a family was evident. He had expressed his desire to having children before turning forty, leaving you around four more years to enjoy your stress free, youthful life.

You were broken out of your mental battle when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“You’ve been lost in thought an awful lot today, sweetheart. You’re not thinking about leaving me are you?” Toji joked as he nuzzled his face into your sensitive neck, eliciting a cascade of giggles from your lips.

“Of course not, Toji. I’d be a fool to throw away a cock like yours.” You quipped back, pivoting to encircle your arm around his shoulders in a tender embrace.

“Oh, so you’re just using me for my body? I’m hurt, baby.” Toji chuckled, closing the space between you as he pressed his lips to yours. He moved his lips against yours vigorously, squeezing your waist against his, rutting his hardening, clothed cock against your stomach. You immediately responded, kissing him with the same enthusiasm. You ran your hands through his narrow waist down to his bottom, giving him a playful squeeze, forcing a giggle out of him.

You cracked your eyes open, peaking at the clock on the wall behind Toji. As realization dawned, your eyes widened as you noticed the time, prompting you to swiftly detangle yourself from Toji’s embrace. “Shit, babe. I promised the girls I would meet them half an hour ago. I gotta go!” You exclaimed, making Toji tense up. As you began to depart, you were stopped by his firm grip on your arm, drawing you back against his chest.

“Come on, doll. Just a quicky, you’re already late anyways.” He insisted, trying to seem nonchalant about the situation. In reality, Toji fucking detested when you went out with your friends. The thought of men approaching you, trying to flirt with you, offering to pay for your drinks made him lose his mind. Hell, the mere thought of other men looking at you was enough to drive him over the edge. His darkest thoughts were screaming to lock you up in a place were he could be the only one to look at you; the only way those thoughts dissipated was with the image of you recoiling in horror at him. The thought made his chest tighten, your hatred was something he would never be able to live with.

Despite the infrequency of your meetups with your friends, his desire to wanting you all to himself was insatiable. Never had he imagined himself yearning so fervently for a woman’s attention; it had always been the other way around, but for you, he was willing to beg on his knees for an ounce of your attention.

“As much as I want to, I’ve already ditched my friends too many times to be with you. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” You answered apologetically pressing a kiss on his cheek. Toji tried to mask his disappointment, but this time he wasn’t as good at hiding his expression.

“Please, sweetheart. I want you so bad, can’t you feel it?” Toji begged with frustration evident in his voice, grabbing your hand to place it on top of his raging bulge. He began using your hand to rub himself, grunting at the pleasurable sensations you were bringing him with just your hand. “Please…” He pleaded weakly, desperation lacing his voice.

You groaned, feeling defeated as your panties started to dampened at the sight. You were quick to attach your lips into his parted ones, tongues fighting each other as you continued teasing his cock over his sweatpants. You separated your lips from his causing him to whine at the loss of your soft lips.

Once you decided you had teased his cock enough, you tugged his waistband down, freeing his aching cock. You bit your lip as you tentatively stroked his cock in slow motions, gaining a hiss from him. Running you thumb over the reddened tip, you gathered the oozing precum, spreading it over the rest of his shaft. You wanted him, badly.

“Tell me what you want, Toji.” You whispered, peppering open mouthed kissed all over his neck. He couldn’t bring himself to respond as he started thrusting his hips into your hand. Having you jerk him off with your hands was something else, he couldn’t have done it better himself. Your hands were so much softer than his, the velvety skin of your hand wrapping around him could almost make him finish then and there. “Answer me, Toji.” You demanded, squeezing his cock enough to catch his attention.

“I n-need to f-fuck you, sweetheart.” Toji managed to utter out.

Smirking, you responded. “Then beg for it.”

Toji groaned, throwing his head back as your painfully slow stroking continued. He would never admit it, but having you be this demanding was a huge turn on to him. Believing submission was characteristic of women only, he never let himself experience anything remotely close. All his life he had been the one in control, never letting his guard down for any woman. You unveiled facets of him he never imagined existed.

“Please. I n-need to feel your pussy!” Toji beseeched impatiently and you rewarded him with a radiant smile. You released his cock from your grip, guiding him towards the bed. Pushing him on the bed, you began to undress slowly, pulling the straps from you dress down to reveal your tits to him.

You grabbed your breasts, massaging them and playing with your nipples, putting on a show for Toji. He gawked at you lustfully as he reached for his cock to stroke himself as he watched you. Playfully, you slapped his hand away. “I didn’t give you permission to do that, you pervert.” You retorted, giving him a sly smile.

Toji’s mouth was agape in disbelief, bewildered at this side of you. “I am not a pervert, sweetheart!” He exclaimed, failing to suppress his laugh.

You giggled before responding. “Oh yeah? You’re stroking your cock to this defenseless girl standing in front of you. Does that not make you a pervert?”

“Well that defenseless girl is touching herself like a slut in front of me. I’m pretty sure she wants me to jerk off to her.” He replied, starting to tug on his cock once again.

You bit your lip, enjoying the way his gaze felt on you. “I think you might be right this time.” You admitted as you decided to finish undressing for him. It was impossible for Toji to get tired of looking at your delectable body. He could easily make himself come by merely admiring your nudity.

Once all your clothes were discarded, you climbed on top of him. Settling yourself on top of his shaft, you moaned at the contact your sensitive clit made with his cock. You began grinding your heat on his cock, making him groan. You were so wet for him, you couldn’t wait any longer to have him inside you.

“You want me to ride your cock, daddy?” You suggested seductively as you continued teasing the both of you.

“Fuck. Yes, baby, please.” He nodded, eager to feel your tight, warm snatch engulf him in its delightful glory.

You wasted no time grabbing his cock, pressing him against your wet entrance before lowering yourself carefully onto him, making the two of you moan. You still weren’t accustomed to his size, so you needed some time before you could move comfortably. Continuing to lower yourself until he was fully sheathed inside your heat, you placed your hands on his chest for support. Toji grabbed the fat your ass as he threw his head back onto the bed. He was certain he would never tire of this feeling, your pussy was simply made for him.

“Pussy’s s’good, baby.” Toji slurred, relishing how tightly your cunt wrapped around him. The sight of you riding his hard cock was breathtaking. He noticed you it had gotten comfortable once you started slowly moving. You rose your hips until only his tip was remaining before lowering yourself onto him to a halt, making him grunt at the sudden piquancy he felt. After that you proceeded to ride his cock in swift, steady motions, stroking his cock with your dripping pussy. He couldn’t help himself from feeling hypnotized by your stunning form as you rode him. Your eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape as your tits bounced with each stroke. The sight was was orgasmic.

“Your cock is so deep inside me, Toji!” The sweet moans and screams leaving your lips were like music to his ears. The way you said his name turned him on to the extent he would do absolutely anything to hear it come out of your mouth.

He groaned as you worked his cock, sliding his hands up from your bum, making his way through your waist until he finally reached your breasts. He kneaded them thoroughly, making you let out a moan. You sped up your pace, the squelching noise of your thrusts meeting, filling the room. Toji leaned forward taking one of your perky nipple into his warm mouth, suckling like he was starved.

You whimpered at the stimulation you were feeling, as Toji gave your other nipple the same treatment. Continuing to jump on his cock like a madwoman, you could feel your orgasm approaching. When Toji felt your walls starting to tighten around him he grabbed a hold of your waist, holding you still before he started thrusting his generous cock into your sopping heat.

“Oh my— fuck! I’m gonna come all over your cock, Toji!” You cried out, feeling your pussy clench around his pulsing cock.

“T-that’s it, sweetheart. Use me. M-make yourself come with my cock. Let me hear you.” Toji uttered out shakily as he continued to stimulate your sensitive nipples, grunting into them. The prominent noise in the room being the sound of the slapping of your skins and your moans and pants of satisfaction.

You moaned loudly when you felt your orgasm arrive. “Yes. Yes. Yes! Toji!” With that, you let it all out, throwing your head back, your dripping pussy clenching deliciously around his cock. His thrusts didn’t seize, continuing to drill your pussy with the need to reach his own release.

He called out your name as he felt his orgasm approaching. “I’m gonna fuckin’ come, sweetheart. Are you gonna take it, baby?” Toji announced as he watched your beautiful face, you were in a daze, your eyes half lidded looking at the man that was causing you such pleasure.

“I want all of it, gimme your cum, T-Toji.” You managed to slur out, using the last of your strength to hold yourself up on his chest. That was all it took for Toji to start thrusting up into your pussy erratically, your clenching pussy making him quiver out his orgasm.

“You’re fucking mine!” Toji growled, throwing his head back as your wet cunt milked his semen out of him, sending it deep into your womb. Get fucking pregnant! His intrusive thoughts made themselves present as his thrust began getting sloppy, his legs trembling in ecstasy.

“A-ah, I love you so much, sweetheart.” Toji stuttered out as he finished releasing inside of you.

Shocked, you looked at a drowsy looking Toji. “Did you just—?”

Toji parted his lips to speak, only to close them once more. Those words escaped him unwittingly, unleashing them from the depths of his pent up emotions, before he could muster the restraint to withhold them. Internally, he was having a battle with himself, trying to make it seem like an accident. He harbored uncertainty about how you would feel about him after only knowing him for two months. He had loved you since before you even knew of his existence and these feelings kept accumulating over time inside him; he couldn’t stand it any longer, so his body reacted for him.

“I love you.” He repeated without breaking eye contact with you. The shock on your face was evident, sending a tremor of apprehension through him. He was terrified of you never loving him back, he dreaded the prospect of your affection remaining beyond his grasp forever.

“I-I love you too, Toji.” Toji’s gaze widened in surprise, his eyes dilated at the unexpected revelation from you. His heart felt like it was going to burst and his cheeks were tinted pink. The happiness he felt surpassed anything he had ever deemed attainable. His mind was on a frenzy, he finally achieved what he wanted most in life. Incredulity washed over him, this must surely be a dream. She loves me back. She loves me back. She loves me back. She loves me.

Toji couldn’t suppress the smile creeping to his face. He didn’t thinking his heart could beat any faster until he watched you smile right back at him before breaking eye contact with him. You could even look at him straight in the eye and your face had gotten an angry shade of red from the mixture of the sex and the confession. Such a shy little thing. Even after two months of knowing each other you were still shy around him. He thought it was lovely.

“You have no idea how happy you make me, sweetheart. I was scared you wouldn’t love me back.” Toji admitted, reaching out to caress your soft cheek. His cock had been inside you through all of this, so he decided to slowly pull it out, making the two of you hiss from the overstimulation.

“I do, Toji. I’m deeply in love with you.” You revealed, leaving Toji astonished and with his heart dancing chaotically in his chest. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes, enjoying the intimate moment. You never anticipated falling in love agains so soon, yet it unfolded before you as if ordained by faith. You thought meeting Toji was destiny. Climbing off of him, you snuggled to his side.

“Alright, alright, Toji. You’ve once again, managed convinced me to stay home with you.” Home. Toji loved the sound of that. He couldn’t wait to have his own little house with you, he had been taking up extra bounties to be able to afford one. As soon as you accepted his marriage proposal, he would buy a home for just the two of you. Although he was ready to have children with you right now, he knew you weren’t keen on the idea having children at your age. Toji’s not sure if he can honor your wishes, but he would try. Unless the situation called for other means.

Toji looked smug at your comment, fully aware that if you had decided to still go out, he would try to convince you to stay any other way. “You know you love staying in with me.” Toji replied, pulling you tighter into his chest causing you to let out a giggle.

You tried to detangle yourself from him, but his grip on you impeded it.

“I need to use the restroom, stop being clingy.” You quipped with a laugh, making him loosen his grip on you. Toji felt a little hurt. Were you really joking or did you truly think he was clingy? Insecurity flooded his mind as he watched you head to the restroom.

His thoughts were interrupted by some distant vibrations. Toji sat up from the bed to see your phone vibrating in the nightstand. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the caller ID. It was one of your friends, these were the people trying to steal you from him.

“Hey.” He answered coldly, the other line was silent for a second.

“Um, Toji?” The girl asked confused at not being greeted by her best friend as per usual.

“What do you want?” Toji questioned discourteously, not caring about feigning kindness with her this time. He was going to take any means necessary to drive you away from your friends. Your friends were but vermin, unworthy of the mere touch if your presence. Not an ounce of trust did he have for them. The thought of them trying to cloud your mind with doubts about your relationship ignited an indescribable fury within him. These women were going to taint your perception of him and he would not stand for that. Not to mention, most of them were single and he hated the image of them manipulating you into acting like you are as well.

He could tell your friend was taken a back by his bluntness, bewildered by his change in charisma. Every time they had met he always appeared so courteous and seemingly genuine, she did not expect this attitude from your boyfriend. “I-It’s just— we’ve been waiting for over an hour and a half and we got worried. Is she going to make it?”

Toji chuckled darkly before lowering his voice, assuring you didn’t hear him. “Listen here, you stupid bitch. Haven’t you gotten the clue she doesn’t want to see you anymore? She’s always cancelling your little outings and making up excuses to not see you. It’s been two months since you last saw her, get a fucking grip and accept it. She’s not your friend anymore.” He spat out harshly, earning a audible gasp from your friend.

“D-did she really tell you that?” Your friend stuttered in disbelief. It was unbeknownst to her you felt this way. Were you really truly willing to cast aside all these years of friendship? She had known you for so many years, it was hard to believe you felt this way.

Toji hummed in response. “Are you fucking dumb? I’m her boyfriend, she’s obviously going to confide everything in me. I’m just doing her a favor by letting you know, so stop waisting our time and stay out of our lives.” Toji replied, a threatening tone in his voice. Should this endeavor fail, he would be forced to resort to drastic measures, but hopefully the message was unequivocally conveyed. He could hear your friend sniffle on the other line, making him smirk maliciously.

“You asshole! Tell that bitch to never talk to me again!” Your friend sobbed hysterically before hanging up, making Toji chuckle in amusement. He didn’t appreciate the name-calling, but he opted to overlook it, comforted by the knowledge that he would never have to endure her presence ever again.

Toji returned your phone to its originally resting place before reclining back into the bed, allowing the comfort of the mattress to envelop him. He pondered to himself as he heard you starting to run a shower. He bore the weight of knowing that this would impact you deeply and he despised himself for causing you pain in this manner. Yet, he remained resolute, convincing himself it was necessary for the wellbeing of your relationship. How else were you supposed to tend for him and your children if your friends were always stealing your attention?

He observed you emerge from the bathroom, reaching to grab your phone. “I should call them to tell them I’m not going to make it again.” You spoke as you started to unlock you phone. Toji placed his hand on top of your screen and you stood there taken aback.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your friend called while you were in the bathroom and I let them know.” Toji responded with a smile, his gaze tender and affectionate as you reciprocated his smile.

“Thanks, Toji. You’re the sweetest.” You showed your gratitude by pressing a kiss to his cheek. He couldn’t help the guilt that took over him, he knew how much your friends meant to you.

“Shall we shower together?” Toji suggested playfully —attempting to keep his mind off what he had just done— grabbing your phone from your hand and placing it back on the nightstand. His eyes ranked through your still nude form, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue, his cock rising back to life. Yeah, your pretty little body would make him forget in no time. You bit your lip, agreeing as he closed the gap between you, bestowing upon you a fervent kiss filled with longing.

Now that you had Toji you wouldn’t need anybody else.

[luvzpagie]

DEAD TO ME!

series masterlist

may 15, 2019

“are you serious paige, you want to reschedule again?” your face was contoured with confusion and irritation, your girlfriend had been putting you off for a couple weeks now.

“i’m sorry baby, i just been busy with basketball and shit” paige sighs, leaning back into the gym wall behind her.

“but i’ve been planning this for so long” you cross your arms, you were beyond fed up with the excuses paige gave you.

“and plus you know i move in a week, i wanna spend as much time as you.” you whined.

paige looks down at her phone, smiling at whatever was the screen.

everyone had her attention but you, and it hurt. you were obviously the last thing on her mind, you just didn’t understand it.

“i’m so sick of being your last priority!” your voice slightly raised, catching the few people around you attention.

paige scratches at the her neck awkwardly, looking up from her phone. “can you not yell? people are staring” she talks in a low tone.

“the fuck? so me yelling is what you care about right now?” your voice cracking, as tears begin to well up in your eyes. you quickly pack up your things.

“y/n- baby please” paige grabs at ur hand trying to stop you.

“no i’m done with you, fuck you paige.” you spat at her, your voice filled with anger and hurt. you snatch you hand away from her storming out of the gymnasium.

leaving her there to soak in what just happened.

august 6 2020

it’s been a year since you broken up with paige. you almost forget her, enjoying your “new” life in cali. but the way things ended wonders in your head, you cringe at it.

“hellooo, earth to y/n”

you were quickly snapped out of your thoughts as your best friend evelyn called out for you, swatting her hand in your face.

“did you even hear what i said” she sassed while passing you a box of your belongings.

“yes ev.” you sigh.

“jeez, no need for the sass” you roll your eyes as you walk her past her to the elevator.

it dings as the doors, a few seconds past waiting for it to get you the level your dorm was on.

as you leave the elevator, you walk to your room.

“ev where’s the room keys?” you watch the girl pat herself down, searching for them.

“shit! i left downstairs!” she yelp, she quickly rushed down to get them.

you put the last bit of clothes away in the mini dresser, you fall back onto your bed sighing from exhaustion.

“finally”

“i’m so glad we getting to share a dorm!” ev clapped, you smiled, it was so long since you had seen her. you felt a sense of peace knowing you guys were together again.

the dorm goes quiet for a while, leaving you in your thoughts again.

“you hungry?” you squint your eyes at ev.

“how’d you know?” the curly head girl looks almost as if your dumb. “im your best friend duhh! i know everything”

“okay weirdo”

“cmon!” she said grabbing her keys off the desk.

august 8 2020

it’s been two days since you’ve moved in, it was the first meeting of your cheer team. you nervous yet excited, hoping to make good friends.

one problem— you were lost, completely unaware of this new place. you try to look around searching for where dance room was.

“where the hell is it” you mumble to yourself. you flatten out the clothes you were wearing, trying to make you look less pathetic.

“yo, are you supposed to over here?” a kinda raspy voice spoke, it sounded familiar yet you couldn’t make out who.

“i’m not even sure, i’m looking for the dance room” you chuckled. “you apart of the cheer team or somethin?” the unknown person said.

“yeah, do you know where that is-” your eyes widened as you turn around, heart dropping at the tall figure in front of you. you were stunned, no words could come out of your mouth.

you were not prepared to see her.

“y/n?”

[arcielee]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Summary: “...perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 2700+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, kissing, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity, slight overstimulation, creampie. Author’s Note: This was the poll winner! 💜 Thank you to my lovelies @aemondsbabe and @valeskafics for helping me brainstorm the title. No beta, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. This will be a series of one-shots of the moments between Prince Aemond Targaryen and his Northern bride-to-be (which I pulled from my OC!Stark x Aemond Targaryen story, but whatever). There will be fluff and there will be smut. Enjoy!

You could feel the panicked gaze from your handmaiden, her visceral exasperation spilling as she watched you pace the room, but you could not hold still. 

Not tonight, not after that kiss.

She begged until you finally allowed her to help you change into your nightgown, despite how your skin felt aflame. She then took your hand to lead you to the vanity to sit, to hold still, to allow her to brush and braid your hair for bed, just as she had every night since you first arrived to the Red Keep months ago.

You had traveled from Winterfell at the behest of your brother, a promise to see through what the late King Jaehaerys failed to accomplish: to solidify the bond between the North and South kingdoms. Cregan saw no harm with the capital’s proposal, as you had already scorned all of the Northern lords who called for your hand. 

“Who knows, sister,” his eyes twinkled just as your father’s had when he was still alive, “perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” 

You had scoffed, but soon realized how right Cregan had been, that you were enamored from the moment you met Aemond. The rest of the Keep seemed to fade away as you watched him, his imposing severity that settled into the sharp contours of his face and in the way he held himself. He towered you; he watched you with his one eye, a lovely lavender that flitted over you, while the other was hidden beneath a leather patch with the wrathful scar that curled above and below. 

You remembered the touch of his hand–his palm calloused and warm and gentle–when he took your own; you recalled the spill of silver as he leaned forward and the softness of his lips against your knuckles with his kiss. Even his low timbre soothed you as he repeated your name; the introduction left you blood rising to the surface. 

Your courtship with the prince was something to be displayed–an ailing king’s desperate grasp at legacy. Aemond played the role of the perfect, regal gentlemen, but you wished to pull him away from the prying eyes of the court, to learn everything about the infamous one-eyed Targaryen prince.

There were stolen moments scattered with Aemond and you collected them piece by piece, but still you were rarely, if ever, allowed a moment to be truly alone with him. 

It was not until the crowned princess returned to the capital, and the chaos that followed and ruined the family supper, that you were able to follow after Aemond, out into the gardens of the Red Keep. 

You recognized his silhouette at once, and moved closer until you saw his ethereal glow from how the moon poured over him. Your tone was soft at first, a teasing kindness until you saw the upwards curl of his lips, and you dared giggle with your encouragement that he should teach you swear words that would best describe his nephews in High Valyrian. 

And then something changed, something shifted. Aemond stepped closer and you felt the cool night air pull away, enveloped by his warmth, the scent of smoke and leather and sandalwood. His palm moved to cup the side of your face and then he kissed you. 

This was your first truly intimate moment you shared with your betrothed. And it was also your first kiss. 

You sighed sweetly in his mouth, a kindled passion that thrummed from where his hands touched your hips, his hold to pull you closer only to quickly recoil once one of the Cargyll knights finally found you both. 

The White Cloak then escorted you back to your quarters, your steps lead-filled, and here you were expected to sit still as your handmaiden fret over your hair. 

But you could not sit still, hence why your slippered foot tapped the stone floor, your heart pounding violent against your chest as that kiss in the garden replayed in your mind…

“Please, my lady,” your handmaiden squeaked, the ivory comb tangling in your hair.

Your hands flared out to ward off her touch, your tone cutting. “Thank you, but that is enough. You are relieved from your duties for the rest of the night,” you stood up, pushing the poor girl and sending her stumbling towards the door. 

Her eyes were wide. “I–I have not finished with–” 

“I have hands of my own,” you grabbed the silk robe to cover yourself, “I shall manage,” and when you turned to step towards the girl once more, she squeaked again. She moved to open the door and paused to see Prince Aemond already poise, his one arm tucked behind his back and the other lifted as if he meant to knock. 

It was an eternal silence; Aemond looked startled, but his gaze eventually found yours, and you stared back, unabashed, burning from the sight of him. 

Meanwhile your handmaiden, mortified, shrank to slip past the prince and leave.

Only when you heard the soft sound of the door closing behind did you find the courage to move towards Aemond, reaching for his tunic and pulling him close. You fell into him, your lips hungry for his own and he returned your passion before slowing to savor, his tongue running your bottom lip and then curling into your mouth. 

It continued until your breath was an exchange between, his exhale becoming your inhale and trilling through your veins, pumping your heart. Your mind was clouded with his proximity–you felt giddy and your hands twisted into his tunic to hold yourself upright. 

He hummed, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flushed against his chest. A shy sigh spilled when you felt his length pressing through the fabric and against your stomach, a bolt of warmth and want curling together. But your passion was replaced with a trepidation, something that now curdled instead. 

You broke the kiss, a rosiness spilling from your lips to your cheeks, to the tip of your nose: “I lost my maidenhead on horseback.” You felt your blood thicken with your confession. “But I have never been…” 

The words would not come, but Aemond did not need them. Instead he closed the little space you created, his warm palms moving to cup your face and bring you back to capture your lips with a tender kiss. 

“I will be gentle,” his low timbre promised. “I do not wish to hurt you.” 

You believed him, as you had seen his actions that spoke far louder during your time at the capital. He had always shown you a careful consideration since the courtship began, but now you found that you could not wait another moment. 

Your fingers pulled at the silk robe you had thrown on, allowing it to slip from your shoulders and puddle onto the floor. Your hands moved to the lacing that lined the front of your nightgown, but you paused, pinned under the lavender of his eye. 

His chest rose and fell with his steadied breath a moment before he offered his hands, his slender fingers gentle to loosen the ties. Aemond stopped to place kisses on the slope of your shoulder, your chest, a soft tickle of his lips as more of your skin was bared to him. 

You felt vibrant, ignited by his touch, and you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, admiring the flush of rose that now stained his skin. You pulled at your skirts, grabbing the bottom hem and peeling it over, dropping it into the silk puddle already at your feet. 

Lust now swallowed the lavender, but Aemond only hummed his admiration as his gaze slowly dragged from your face, following your curves and then returning to meet with your eyes again. 

“Gevie,” he mused with a slight curl to his lips. 

You burned, cursing your Septa for the little Valyrian she indulged to teach you, too shy to ask now for a translation, but bold enough to reach for him. Your fingers touched the buckles of his tunic. Aemond hummed again as you began to undress him, until he was bare from the waist up, and the heat that pooled from him now seeped and curled into your core. 

His form was lean, taut, with a muscular definition and its decoration of silver scars scattered across his chest and his abdomen. Your fingers trailed the lines that cut into his trimmed waist, and then you stepped closer to press a soft kiss to the right side of his jaw. 

Aemond caught your chin, bringing your lips to meet with his own again. His kiss was drawn out, wringing the air from your lungs but still so gentle that you could not help but melt into his chest, into the warmth that he embodied. 

Your fingers reached to touch his jaw but paused, a hovering hesitation. He took your hand and brought it back to cradle against his chest, watching you. You swallowed. “Aemond, please,” you began slowly, your voice careful, “I wish to see all of you.”

His jaw steeled with your request, tense for that moment but then he reached with his other hand to remove the eyepatch. The crimson seemed bolder, brighter, cutting through from his brow and into his cheek, and you also saw that placed in his scarred socket was a sapphire stone that glittered in the amber light of the room. 

You pressed to your tiptoes, your fingertips touching to tilt his jaw down and you pressed a kiss beneath, your lips careful to trail his maim before placing another against his cheek. “Ñuha zaldrīzes,” but you were slow with the only Valyrian you knew, and finished with another kiss to his lips. 

My dragon. 

His expression was unreadable, and for a moment you believed that you had ruined the practiced pronunciation. But then Aemond moved to wrap his arms back around your waist, his face burying into the softness of your neck and his hands grabbing into the curves of your hips. Your laughter spilled as you felt him lift you enough for your feet to not touch the stone floors, your arms wrapping around his neck, and Aemond moved with wide steps, bringing you back towards your bedside. 

You fell back onto the mattress, looking up at him. His neck bobbed as his eye followed the pink hues that now spilled from your cheeks to your neck and onto your chest. Your nipples were peaked and your eyes shone bright as he stepped closer, climbing onto the bed and moving on top of you.

He tucked his head to trace the slope of your neck with his lips and your back arched with the desire to feel his chest against your bare skin, a fluttered moan spilling from you. Aemond moved lower, placing warm, open mouthed kisses that scorched your skin, with a warmth that was pouring into your core. 

Aemond continued lower, his silver tresses spilling and tickling your skin as he moved between your plush thighs. You mewled with the touch of his lips to the inside, and your thighs squeezed to stop him. 

You are breathless. “It tickles.” 

He only hummed, reaching to press his hand onto your stomach, a comforting touch as his fingers traced abstract lines on your skin. “Let me,” and his exhale was titillating as he nestled back between. 

Aemond was careful with his touch, just as he always showed himself to be. He was aware of your every sound and sigh, pacing himself with a slow rhythm that began to build until his clever tongue had you pinned to the mattress. 

You blossomed with bated breath, grabbing fistfuls of the bed linen to ground yourself from falling into the trance of his ministrations. You felt a prod at your entrance, his finger curling within, and your pleasure fluttered up your spine. It was too much and you writhed from his mouth, but his other hand moved underneath your thigh, gripping into your soft flesh, halting you. 

Let me.

Aemond quickened his pace, encouraged by your quiet pants, from how your heartbeat now pulsed around the digits that were knuckle deep in you. You felt Aemond pulling you towards a precipice that was consuming, a warmth that crashed against and spilled throughout. Your heart still bruised against your ribs from the cresting tremors of your fading pleasure, and only then did you notice it. 

How Aemond grinned smugly against your wet cent. 

You reached with boneless fingers that tangled into his silver hair, pulling him back so you could capture his mouth that now glistened with you. It was your own bittersweet taste on his lips and you felt emboldened to grab his waistband. When your fingers brushed against his heavy bulge that pressed the crotch of his slacks, a sweeping shyness returned. 

He pulled back with a sly smile, removing them before he moved back on top. His arms cage you to the bed and your skin rose with how his breath fanned against your cheeks. “I do not wish to hurt you,” he repeated after a moment, but his heavy hesitation lifted as you pulled him into the cradle of your hips.  

You sighed from how he molded into the softness of your body, and Aemond gave another savoring kiss. “Please, Aemond,” your eyes wet from your want, and his head dipped to watch as he grabbed the base, careful to line himself with your entrance. 

Aemond paused with a new trepidation that settled along the rose hues that dusted his sharp features. You squirmed beneath him, searching for friction, to feel the blunt press of his cockhead against your silken folds. 

“Aemond,” you now plead, a honeyed whisper, another kiss to encourage him, “I want you.” 

He watched you as he pressed forward, and you felt a stretch, a fullness as his hips moved against yours. You tensed from the new sensation, your nails biting and leaving red crescent marks that startled against the white of his skin. 

Aemond stilled at once, allowing you a moment to adjust, his brow furrowed with his concern. You then let out a soft exhale before tilting your chin to give him a kiss, a promise that you were fine. 

And only then did Aemond move, slowly, carefully, with each gentle thrust that split you further as he sheathed himself fully within you. It rekindled a deeper passion, and your eyes widened with a small gasp; he dipped his head to press his lips to your neck, decorating the column with his kisses, your pulse thrumming beneath. It began to ripple through you and your thighs tightened around his slender waist, beckoning him closer still. 

“Aemond,” you gasped.

He hummed his acknowledgement, pushing himself up. He used one arm for balance while his other hand moved to press onto your hip, his palm trailing closer to your bloom above, his thumb moving in circles. 

You felt raw, sensitive still from before, and something sparked with his touch. The air was thick and caught in your throat; a passion spilled from you without the same tensity from the first time, though still with a melody that played sweetly throughout your veins. 

Your velvet walls clenched with your climax and it pulled Aemond after. He groaned his own release, melting against you and burying his face back into the curve of your neck. You gasped again from how he pulsed between your legs, his heart rattling through to your bones. 

After a moment,  Aemond rolled to the side, his chest expanding to catch his breath before he reached to pull you to curl against him, equally breathless and aglow. Your arm was thrown across, your face pressed against to feel the rhythm of his heart, his seed spilling onto your thigh; his fingers began to trace patterns on your skin. 

He leaned to press another kiss to your hairline, and he whispered the same word from before. “Gevie.” 

“What does that mean?” You cannot help your grin, tilting your head back to look at him. 

His other hand came round, a finger pressed to your cheek to look at you. “Beautiful,” he said and then he gave you another kiss. 

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @hb8301 @namelesslosers

arcie's masterlist

[alwaysmicado]

keep you warm

1.3k | Joel Miller x f!reader

post-outbreak, established relationship, pregnancy Summary: You reveal to Joel that you are carrying his child. He vows to keep you both safe and warm, always. A/N: This fic is a bit different from the things I've posted so far and it was so much fun to write. I put my heart (and tears) in it and I hope it will bring you as much comfort as it did me. 🤍 series masterlist

There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights. - Bram Stoker, Dracula

The car engine growls softly as it cruises down the winding road, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of autumnal hues.

Joel has his hands placed firmly on the wheel as he glances over at your sleeping form, your silhouette painted in the warm glow of the sunset. The air inside the car is filled with a comfortable silence, the weight of your continued journey hanging in the atmosphere.

As you navigate through the autumn landscape, daylight begins to fade, casting long shadows that sway with the curves of the road. Joel steals a glance in the rearview mirror, squinting against the diminishing light. The forest on either side of the road stands like a wall of rust and amber, a silent observer to your passage.

You stir in your sleep, a soft moan escaping your lips. Joel reaches, caressing your cheek gently, tracing a promise with tenderness he thought long gone. 

Until he met you.

A few miles ahead, Joel spots a fitting spot by the edge of the forest. He eases the car to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The engine hums into silence, leaving only the rustling of leaves and the fading whispers of the day.

“We’re here, darlin’.” 

Your eyes flutter open to Joel’s soft touch, his hand brushing away the remnants of sleep. You both step out, the cool evening air enveloping you like a gentle embrace.

Setting up camp unfolds as a familiar routine. Joel sparks a small fire, the flames dancing in the encroaching darkness. The scent of burning wood mixes with the crisp fall air, creating an ambiance that is both comforting and hauntingly beautiful. You arrange your sleeping bags near the fire, a makeshift sanctuary in the wilderness.

As you sit by the fire, the warmth casting a soft glow on your faces, Joel pulls out two cans of beans and some beef sticks. You eat in companionable silence, the crackling of the fire punctuating the stillness.

Yet, Joel can’t help but notice the subtle changes in you—grimaces and absent-minded belly rubs.

He sets his half-eaten bowl down, a subtle tension settling into the contours of his expression as he watches you closely. “You ain’t lookin’ too good, honey,” he notes, his voice laced with concern, slicing through the ambient crackling that reverberates in the air. “Somethin’ not sittin’ right?”

Gazing at Joel across the fire-lit expanse, his weathered face bathed in the flickering glow of the dancing flames, your heart swells with love—and dread.

You clutch your belly as you double over, a sudden, strong wave of nausea overcoming you. Startled, Joel’s eyes widen, but he reacts instinctively, abandoning all else to rush to your side.

With a tender urgency, he crouches beside you as you vomit, his hands moving intuitively to cradle your back. His voice, usually rugged and steady, softens into a soothing cadence. “Easy now, darlin’,” he murmurs, rubbing comforting circles on your back. “I’m right here.”

Your body tenses with each convulsion, tears mingling with the involuntary heaves, but Joel’s steady hands and reassuring words calm you.

As the waves of nausea subside, he eases you back, offering a makeshift cloth to wipe your mouth. His gaze holds a blend of worry and tenderness, the firelight flickering in the depths of his eyes.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice still shaky.

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies, a crooked half-smile playing on his lips. “We look out for each other, remember?”

Nestling closer to the warmth of the fire, Joel wraps a comforting arm around you. The quiet forest listens, an unspoken witness to the vulnerability shared beneath the starlit sky.

“You gonna tell me what’s been goin’ on?” Joel asks, his voice a gentle yet firm prompt.

You swallow hard and nod weakly, lifting your head up from his shoulder to meet his gaze. His brow is furrowed as he searches your watery eyes for answers. “What happened, darlin’?” he asks, wiping away the lone tear that is tracing a delicate path down your cheek.

The unspoken secret sits heavy within you, a silent burden that has been shaping every whispered conversation and stolen glance over the past few weeks. Each passing day deepens the weight, a constant companion in your shared journey.

The fear of Joel’s reaction, the uncertainty of the world you are living in, and the vulnerability of bringing innocence into chaos weave a complex tapestry of emotions, a heavy cloak draped over the anticipation of a new life.

You have never been more terrified. 

“Joel, I–” your voice is shaky and you need to gather all your strength to not break down into a million pieces. “I think I might be pregnant.”

The revelation hangs in the air, momentarily freezing time. Joel’s eyes widen, a mosaic of emotions crossing his face—shock, concern, disbelief, and then a surprising warmth.

He reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Pregnant?” he repeats, his voice softer now, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Mhm,” you sniffle, your vulnerability echoing in the quiet night. “I swear I wanted to tell you before, I just–” you hiccup and wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your jacket. “I’m so fucking scared, Joel.” You look into his warm eyes for reassurance, your lip quivering, your whole body trembling with anxiety.  

Joel’s expression softens further, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he puts his hands on your arms, his eyes boring into you. “It’s gonna be alright, darlin’.” He pulls you into a gentle embrace, the firelight casting a comforting glow around you.

“We’ll figure it out together.”

As Joel’s reassuring words wash over you, a tangible weight lifts from your shoulders, carried away by the currents of relief. You allow yourself to breathe out a heavy sigh and let your tears run freely as you cling to the man who has saved you in more ways than he will ever know.

In this moment, beneath the vast canvas of the starlit sky, you find solace in each other—a fragile yet resilient hope kindling in the midst of your endless journey. 

Later, as you settle into your sleeping bags, Joel’s arm draped protectively over you, you feel a surge of gratitude. The warmth of Joel’s body pressed against yours creates a safe haven, momentarily replacing your fears with the undeniable comfort you both find in each other’s arms. 

“Sarah always wanted a little brother or sister,” Joel breaks the silence with a murmur, his warm breath ghosting your neck. “I wish she could be here to experience it.”

“I’m sure she’s going to look after her little sibling,” you whisper with a soft smile on your lips, tears silently pooling in the fabric of your sleeping bag. “Just like she’s been looking after you all this time.”

“I’ll do everything to keep you and our child safe and warm, my love. I promise.”

In the quiet cradle of the night, you drift into sleep, the rustling leaves and the forest’s whispers weaving a lullaby for your dreams.

Joel tenderly places his hand on your small bump, whispering promises to the precious life growing within, his words a secret shared with the quietude of the night. 

He lifts his head to look at your face, a soft smile gracing his lips as he cherishes the serenity painted across your features.

“You are the light of my life.”

-----

Series Masterlist | Joel Masterlist

[lxndonorris]

the racing bull - Daniel Ricciardo (SFS24)

Y/N x Daniel Ricciardo Theme: Smut, Teasing, Touching Daniel returns from his suit fitting with a surprise x word count: 1930+ taglist: @game-set-canet first installment of the suit fitting saga 2024, if you have any requests let me know!

The anticipation built steadily throughout the day as you waited for your boyfriend, Daniel, to return from his suit fitting. The thought of him in his new racing gear, sleek and confident, made your heart race almost as fast as his car on the track. Unfortunately, work commitments kept you from joining him, but he promised to flood your phone with pictures once he got home.

It's late at night when you hear the door swinging open. Still sitting at your desk, face buried in a dozen books, adrenaline pumps through your veins as everything is now forgotten. Daniel is back home. 

Your heart races upon hearing footsteps echoing through the hallway, but then they stop. 

"You didn't send me any pictures, Daniel." A bit disappointed, you turn around to find Daniel casually leaning against the doorframe. But to your surprise, instead of pulling out his phone to show you pictures, he is wearing his new racing suit. 

"Surprise," he says, his voice low and husky with excitement. Daniel runs a hand down his own chest, just along the zipper of the crisp white fabric with vibrant blue accents.

Your jaw drops as you take in the sight before you. Daniel, the love of your life, stands there looking like a god among men, his muscles defined beneath the fabric, his eyes sparkling with mischief. You can't help but gasp with appreciation.

"You..... you're wearing it now?" You stammer, unable to tear your eyes away from him. 

He nods, taking a step closer until you feel the warmth of his body radiating toward you. 

"I wanted you to see it in the flesh." Daniel runs both hands down his chest, feeling himself grow tenser with every second. "And besides, I couldn't wait to show it off to you." He smiles before licking his lips in anticipation.

You reach out tentatively, getting up from the chair to run your fingers over the smooth fabric of his suit, marveling at how perfectly it fits him. Every contour of his athletic form is accentuated, making him look even more irresistible than usual.

Daniel enjoys your hands all over his chest, and he starts purring like a happy cat. He leans into you, his face just inches away from yours, yet your eyes are stuck at his suit, his chest, his entire body.

"You look incredible." You urmur, feeling your cheeks flush with heat.

His body is thick and huge, growing tenser with every little stroke of your hand. You know he is so excited, maybe even more than you are. The weeks before the season starts are always filled with moments like these, and sharing them with Daniel makes them even more precious.

Daniel grins, a mischievous glint in his beautifully shining eyes. 

"Wanna see me strike a few poses?" He asks, already starting to flex his arms and show off his muscles through the tight suit.

You giggle, feeling a rush of affection for this man, who never fails to surprise you. "Of course," you say, stepping back to admire the view.

As he moves through a series of poses, you can't help but feel a surge of pride and arousal swell within you. Here was your boyfriend, confident and strong, ready to take on the new season. And he is all yours.

His body is ready for the upcoming trials. As he lifts his arms, you can tell he's been working out like crazy; his muscles are bulging through the suit, and he is pushing himself, knowing how much you love seeing him in his new gear. 

His thick pecs are on display as well as his pretty asses; he knows his audience, giving you a good look at all of him. 

As he strikes another pose, Daniel smirks, biting his lower lip, something he would do when he was getting more and more into it. 

After a few more minutes of admiring his display, Daniel finally relaxes, his breath coming out in soft puffs. He takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close until you feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest.

You lean into him, kissing him lovingly. He, however, goes a step further. His tongue slips into your mouth, exploring every corner of it while leaving drops of his precious taste behind. This, mixed with his familiar scent swirling around your nose, sends shivers down your spine.

"Daniel." You moan breathlessly right into his mouth, but then he pulls away just enough for his taste to linger on your lips.

"You wanna see what's underneath?" He grolws deeply, one hand already at the collar of his suit, playing with its button.

Nodding slowly, you take a deep breath.

Carefully, he unbuttons his suit and pulls the zipper down to reveal his bare chest.

Swallowing hard, you can't help but steady yourself against his strong frame, and he gladly holds you close.

Firmly, you run both hands up and down his rock-hard chest. All of that teasing, posing, and overall tension hovering all around you is showing its effect on him.

Daniel takes several deep breaths, his eyes following your hands every move.

"I know you love the fireproofs." He breathes deeply, his eyes meeting yours again, pulling you into him even more. "But I couldn't resist."

A coy smile spreads across your lips as his burning gaze ignites a fire inside your belly.

This is good." You say, enjoying running your hands all over his chest, that his bare skin is warm yet so soft.

As you feel him and touch him firmly, he starts to purr again, but this time his voice is huskier and rougher than usual. 

At the same time, his hands wander down your back, right to your arse, cupping your cheeks to hold you close to him.

"I love this." You murmur again, playing with his nipples, knowing very well that this makes him happy. "Thank you." 

Daniel lifts his head slightly, trying to hold back a low groan but failing. 

"I'm glad you like it." He leans in to kiss you again; this time, it's much more gentle, yet there is an undeniable desire building up in both of your bodies.

To tease him, you run a hand even further down his body, right to his crotch, feeling the excitement that's been building up inside Daniel, presumably for the entire day.

Right away, he moans into your mouth before leaning his head back and embracing your hand, tracing the tangible outlines of his member tenting inside his new suit.

"Fuck, this feels gooood." He mumbles, closing his eyes for a second.

You let your eyes wander down his firm chest before tracing the letters written across his waistline. 

'Ricciardo'

You follow each letter with your index finger, one at a time, while you keep on findling with his length through his suit, causing him to let out multiple low groans, giving you goosebumps.

His entire body reacts to your touch, growing harder and harder, and Daniel slowly regains his composure, resting his head against yours.

"This is even better than expected." He breathes down your neck before he starts to grind his hips against your hand. "I was thinking about this for the entire day." 

Smirking, you grab his member firmly, causing him to whimper.

"Me too." You embrace his body against yours, giving in to him completely.

You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity before he kisses you again; this time, it's a much more passionate kiss.

Together, you make your way toward the sofa, kissing and touching each other.

You lay down on your back while watching him slip out of the upper part of his suit, revealing his well-formed chest. Daniel is breathing deeply as well, running a hand through his curly hair and across his chest, right to the visible bulge inside his trousers.

"See what you're doing to me?" He growls, and his lips form a coy smile.

Biting your lips and holding back a million things you could say to him in response, you just motion for him to join you on the sofa.

Effortlessly, but with a sly smirk, Daniel climbs on top of you, one hand steadying himself against the cushions, the other now firmly on your chest, touching your boobs.

"Mhmm." You moan into his mouth, one hand still on his member, the other now back on his bare chest.

While you're grinding on each other, his crotch against your thighs, you turn your head to the side to catch some much-needed air.

Daniel doesn't mind; instead, he places kisses all over your neck, and his hot breath tingles on your skin.

"Do you want me?" You run a hand along his spine, toward the back of his head, and through his slightly messy hair.

Daniel takes a deep breath, separating himself from your neck for just a moment to look into your eyes.

"So much." His words barely come out as his voice breaks.

"I'm all yours." You lean in and kiss him again while running your hand all over him, his chest, shoulders, neck, and further down to his length towering inside his pants.

Lovingly, he unbuttons your pants, and as he pulls them down, he places kisses all over your waist and your thighs. His beard tickles your skin, but you love this even more.

Easily, he then pulls his member out of the suit and climbs back on you. 

You feel him grinding on your thighs before he bends down, his chest just inches away from yours.

Once his lips meet your own, you feel him entering your body. Both of you get stiff and rigid, letting out low moans and groans in unison.

Unable to keep your eyes open, you give in to him again, letting him guide you with kisses and gentle thrusts.

Daniel moves deliberately, slowly yet steadily increasing the pace and strength, while you wrap your arms around his back and neck, stroking him firmly.

"Mhmm." He moans deep into your throat.

In this moment of pure blissful harmony, you let go of all of your thoughts, embracing Daniel with all your body. 

It feels like an eternity has passed when the built-up tension inside your body gets nearly unbearable. You can tell he is feeling the same by the way he's moving, growling, and grunting.

After a heavy thrust, both of you stop and scream out together in ecstasy.

Exhausted but satisfied, he steadies himself against the sofa, so his face hovers over yours.

"I love you so much." Daniel smiles and kisses you again.

"I love you too." You say, and cuddle for a little while longer before he separates himself, gets off the sofa, and fixes his suit.

You get dressed again as well, and lean back against the soft cushions behind you, watching him put his suit back on, one sleeve at a time.

"You look so good, Daniel." You admire his strong physique, and with his back turned to you, you get a good look at his pretty arse.

Daniel looks at you above his shoulder, a shy smile playing on his lips. 

"Thank you." He runs a hand through his hair and then across his chest once more. "I like this suit so much."

You get up as well and hug him from behind, resting your head against his back.

"I know you'll do great this year." Stroking his chest, you close your eyes.

Daniel cups your hand with his own before turning around and hugging you tightly.