#i hope someone sees this and feels inspired

[hayatoseyepatch]

Ｄｅｓｃｒｉｐｔｉｏｎ: Assigning positions I think the Love & Deepspace men would fuck you in. With twitter links! Mostly Inspired by Juno — Sabrina Carpenter.

Ｃｈａｒａｃｔｅｒｓ: Zayne|Rafayel|Xavier|Caleb|Sylus

Ｗｏｒｄ Ｃｏｕｎｔ: 3.5 k

Ｃｏｎｔａｉｎｓ: Multiple Characters x Fem!Reader

Ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ Ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ: NSFW visuals (videos) in the links, penetrative sex (duh), unprotected sex, praise, degradation, mentions of breeding, use of pet names, manhandling, somnophilia (Xavier’s), cock warming (Rafayel’s), spanking, choking, marking, semi-public sex (Zayne’s).

Ａｕｔｈｏｒ’ｓ Ｎｏｔｅ: Happy New Year everyone! (੭ˊᵕˋ)੭♡ I feel like it has been an absolute MINUTE since I’ve written anything, and even longer since I’ve done headcannons. But with this most recent quad I’m feeling inspired. My writer's block has been absolutely insane someone please save me. I’ve never done this type of post just wanted to test the waters with something different. We also have so little on Caleb so his may not stand the test of time, but we shall see LMAO. Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy! (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

Ｘａｖｉｅｒ － Ｓｐｏｏｎｉｎｇ

Xavier wasn’t sure how he slept at night before having you in his arms again. Rousing from sleep he couldn’t help but smile into the back of your neck, nose burying itself in the hair that rested at the base of your neck, taking a deep inhale of your scent. He never knew a smell could make him feel so at ease, but also stir up such heat in the pit of his stomach. His hands wandered your sleeping from, seeking out the warmth radiating from your skin. Nimble fingers slipping beneath the them of your sleep shirt, mind fuzzy and still glazed over with sleep. He was acting purely on instinct, and by the way you subtly arched your back into his touch as a large hand slipped beneath the swell of your breast — you were too.

The plush of your skin was so malleable beneath his fingers, thumb swiping the stiff peak of your hardened nipple as his lips kiss a trail up and down the side your neck. Swallowing a groan when his hips roll into the swell of your ass, not wanting to rouse you from your slumber just yet. His tongue slips past his lips to lick a fat stripe up the side of your neck before attaching his lips to the juncture where your shoulder met your neck. Desperation growing, the kiss was a mess of teeth and tongue, marking your skin as his hips continued to grind against you from behind. Xavier was so lost in the feel of you he nearly missed the groan that slipped from your lips and the way you began to grind back against him. Almost. Moving his lips to press against your ear, his voice is breathy and laced with yearning.

“Please bunny, need to be inside you, cant take it anymore.”

You were too groggy, still half asleep, so all you're able to muster is rolling your hips back on his own as your sign of approval. And that was all Xavier needed. Deft fingers pull your panties to the side, quick to also push down the waistband of his sleep pants, freeing his throbbing cock from their confines. He grips the base of himself with a shaky hand, using the head of his cock to part your folds. He allows himself a moment to swipe himself up your slit, collecting your wetness to use as lube. The head of his cock brushing your clit with every pass. Before long you finally felt the glorious stretch of him pushing past your entrance, sinking slowly inch by inch into your awaiting cunt. The both of you let out sighs of matched contentment as you take him to the base.

Xavier stays there for a moment, relishing the feel of your warmth engulfing him. However, his patience has its limits, and this yarning for you wins out as he begins to move. Xavier sets a steady pace from the start, using his grip on your breast and another on your hip as leverage to guide his thrusts, deep and shallow as his mouth continues it’s attention to the sensitive skin of your neck. Rocking his hips, angling them to hit that spot nestled deep inside you that has your vision blurring more with every pass. You knew neither of you would last long, not like this.

It seemed as if Xavier slept so much to simply replenish the energy needed to fuck you more. It was rare for you both to have a day off, and he didn’t intend on letting you leave this bed anytime soon. Not when your voice, airy and rasp from sleep, called his name so sweetly. Not when he could feel your walls spasming around him in an attempt to milk his cock for all he was worth. And especially not when you abruptly turn your head, lips slotting over his own in a desperate kiss, forcing him to swallow your moans as you came around his cock for the first of many times that day.

Ｚａｙｎｅ － Ｄｏｇｇｙ Ｓｔｙｌｅ

Zayne liked to consider himself a patient man, not one to lose his cool or one to give in when that patience is tested. But he is also a man, and everyone has their limits. Those limits being you coming into his place of work for your checkup lacking panties. He was suspicious from the moment you came in, wearing that smile that always alerted him to you being up to something. The small upward turn of your lips and poorly concealed anticipation lighting your features. He knew you better than anyone and always knew even the slightest change in you behavior. So as you sat on the examination table, he scrutinized you.

“What’s the matter? Is something wrong, doctor?”

That was his second inclination, the way you purred his profession title, as if the both of you did not share the same bed at night. With a lifted eyebrow he sanitizes his hands before sliding his gloves over deft fingers, scrutinizing eyes overlooking your frame. Taking this opportunity, you cross one leg over the under, the short length of your skirt revealing just whet you weren’t wearing underneath. Today had been a long day for Zayne, several surgeries and a booked schedule causing hm to miss his lunch. Hoping to get some reprieve with your presence he supposes at least it was thoughtful of you to bring him that lunch he missed out on.

 He wasted no time in locking the door to the examination room, coming to you in long strides before dropping to his knees. Strong, gloved, hands parting your thighs as he delves into your folds like a man starved. Zayne was usually a patient lover, taking his time to savor every part of you, making sure you’ve been thoroughly satisfied before indulging in his own pleasure. That was not the case today, eating your cunt until it was dripping with a combination of your arousal and his saliva, he stands to his feet. Not so much as bothering to remove his lab coat as he undoes his buckle. You only get a momentary glance of his cock before the world shifts. Using his strength to easily flip you over on the examination table. Bunching your skirt past your hips to expose your ass to his hungry gaze. A latex covered hand comes down on your ass in a harsh smack, fingers grasping the plump skin of your ass, using his grip to expose your dripping cunt to him. He sinks himself to the hilt with one harsh thrust. Leaning over to press his lips against your ear.

“You want to act like a slut, darling? Then I’ll fuck you like a slut.”

Zayne sets a steady pace from the start, relishing in the sounds he not only pulls from your lips but from your cunt as well. Loud squelching and the sounds of skin slapping against skin echo against the walls of the room. His fingers curling against the column of your throat, feeling your racing pulse beneath his fingers, as he uses his grip to aid in bouncing you back on his cock. He could feel the way your walls were fluttering around him, knowing the cut to your airflow with his earlier actions were sending you spiraling toward your release. Effortlessly he slides his free hand beneath you, fingers rubbing tight circles against your clit. Feeling you tighten around him coupled with hearing the begs and pleas that spill from your lips is all the encouragement Zayne needed. His hips lose the steady pace he had set opting instead to slap harshly and erratically against your own, chasing his high.

The sheer pleasure running through his veins is nearly overwhelming, spilling inside you with a groan. He was sure his sheer volume would be enough to rival your own, however he couldn't find it within himself to care too lost in the way you were making him feel. His hips continually rolling against yours even after he has spilled every last drop he had to offer deep within your walls, before the overstimulation he was giving himself becomes painful. He pulls from you, resting back on his heels, using a thumb to part you folds as he hungrily watches your cunt contract around nothing, his come starting to drip from your abused pussy, letting out a groan at the sight.

“How sweet of you to bring me lunch, darling. Now lets get you home for some rest, doctor’s orders.”

Ｓｙｌｕｓ － Ｍａｔｉｎｇ Ｐｒｅｓｓ

Sylus hated being away from you, between your job and Onychinus the both of you hadn’t been afforded the opportunity of spending too much time together as of late. Your opposing sleep schedules only aided in your recent separation, you coming home to him still asleep and just coming home as you opened your eyes. It was driving him mad. Pent-up frustration had his temper short and his trigger finger happy. So after an insistence from Luke and Kieran to return to your shared home early for the day, he would make no complaints. He hammed as he entered the home, seeing you just getting ready to tuck into bed. Eyes taking in the sight of you in nothing but one of his shirts, he was on you in an instant. Eyes rolling back at your scent, mixing with his own on your skin. Only to have you laid bare split open on his cock as quickly as he would allow himself to.

His hips don't falter, he keeps up his speed. Though each snap of his hips hitting deeper with each pass, angling his hips just right to find that sensitive spot deep inside your walls, grinning maliciously when he does so. His grip stays firm on the backs of your thighs keeping them pressed to your chest to reach the deepest parts of you. Loving the way your eyes roll back as you struggle to form even a coherent sentence from the way he used your body. His chuckle is deep, cruel, against your neck as you struggle to get out the syllables of his name. Coming broken between thrusts of his hips.

“Awh my poor little kitten, she’s getting her cunt fucked so good she can't even finish my name. Poor thing, here let daddy take care of you sweetie.”

He grins, reattaching his lips to your neck. Tongue, teeth, and lips marking the sensitive skin. He removes one hand from your knee. Eyes flickering with unbridled lust when our grip replaces his own, keeping your leg pressed where it was before he cold even obey you to do so. The thumb of his free hand slotting itself between your lips, eyes rolling back when your tongue circles the digit. Popping it from your mouth he used the coated wetness as lubrication to rub tight circles on your clit. Hips picking up pace in time with the kneading. His lips leave your throat capturing a sensitive nipple into his mouth, sucking on it harshly, aiming to overstimulate all of your sensitive spots in tandem. A loud cry falls from your lips, your unoccupied hand flying to your lips in an attempt to muffle the sound, lest Luke and Kieran hear your cries for their boss within their rooms. Noticing the hand you attempt to use to cover your mouth he grabs your wrist pinning it to the mattress next to your ear with the hand that was just overstimulating your clit.

“Sorry sweetie, I want to hear every cry, curse and whimper that falls from those lips, let me hear you kitten.”

He wastes no time returning the pace he had set, loud squelching and your moans filling the room like the sweetest symphony. The coil had been tight in his abdomen, but he would hold out, he wouldn’t allow himself to fall over the edge before you had. He picks up the pace once more, thrusts growing sloppy under the pleasure. His thumb quickens its pace pressing harder against the bundle of nerves. He groans loud and deep feeling your walls slam down on his cock eyes rolling back as whines and whimpers fall from his lips as your own release triggers his own. His body trembles violently as he topples over the edge painting your walls white. He slows his thrusts, body shaking as he overstimulates you both just a little bit before his hips are finally still. He releases your legs, quick to readjust your form wrapping you around him and pressing a long loving kiss to your lips.

Ｒａｆａｙｅｌ － Ｃｏｗｇｉｒｌ

You weren’t sure how long you had been sat here, when your boyfriend had asked if you wanted to sit with him while he finished his painting, you hadn’t envisioned that you would be doing that sat on his lap with his cock nestled deep inside you. Cock warming with Rafayel never ended in just that, his pleading excuse of “It helps me concentrate, cutie, please?” had you falling for it every time. Every shift in his seat, every time he reached over to dip his brush in the paint on his pallet, sent his cock deeper inside your drooling cunt. You were sure he knew it too, felt the way that even plugged with his cock, your arousal still leaked around you both. That he felt it dripping down his skin. You could only hope this was nearly as torturous for him as it was for you. By the sweat forming on his brow, and the way his paintbrush trembled in his grasp, you were sure it was.

And you would be correct.

It wasn’t long until the painting was long forgotten, Rafayel’s lips consuming your own, as if on a mission to lose himself in the embrace. Skilled hands removed your dress with ease, the lingering paint on his skin, staining your own as you hastily removed his shirt. His eyes zeroed in on the colors adorning your skin, a tangible reminder of his touch, he places a hand on your back to steady you, reaching over to coat his hand in the paint that was on his easel. He grips your wrist as he rolls his hips up into your waiting cunt, lips attaching themselves to the delicate skin of your collarbone, kissing a trail up to the shell of your ear. His hot breaths against the sensitive skin has a shiver raking up your spine in his grasp.

“Go on cutie, put your hand in the paint, want you to make a masterpiece on my skin, my muse.”

Grabbing your wrist, he dips your hand in the paint, just as he had done. A desperate whine slips past your lips when he thrusts sharply upward, hands gripping his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin in their grip. Using your hold on him as leverage to keep bouncing on his cock, the paint marking him, the sight of it on his skin makes your head fuzzy. Seeing the remnants of you on him has you touching him more, smearing the paint on his skin. You continue your movements, bouncing on his cock in time with his upward thrusts. Head dipping downward to capture a pebbled nipple between his lips, tongue laving over the bud as the sound of skin against skin fills the studio.

Your thighs tremble from the burn of exertion of your repeated movements. Sensing you were coming to your end, Rafayel comes to your aid. Hands gripping the plush of your hips as he fucks up into you, heels digging into the bar at the bottom of his stool to ground himself as he meets each one of your thrusts with one of his own. He knew your body like the back of his hand, every tremble, every quiver of your cunt, every desperate sound that fell from your lips he could identify as you nearing your end. His mouth switches to pay attention to your opposite nub teeth and tongue giving it the same treatment in time with the push of his hips. Pulling from you with a 'pop' to grit his teeth, baring down to keep his composure before you were able to release before him. He lets you pull him close hips snapping relentlessly thrusts growing sloppy as he feels your walls clamp down on his cock in your release. It sends him hurtling to his own release hips slapping violently against your own as he paints your insides with a loud scream of your name. His thrusts slow making sure he had filled you with every drop he had to offer. Heart racing, as his arms wrap around you and he pulls your trembling form to his chest pressing tender kisses everywhere his lips could reach.

“Such a good girl for me, cutie. Look at you, I think this might just be the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

Ｃａｌｅｂ － Ｍｉｓｓｉｏｎａｒｙ

Caleb had always thought himself lucky to have spent so much time with you. He had the privilege of watching you grow, being by your side through so many monumental moments in your life. Birthdays, graduations, holidays — he got to spend every last one of them by your side. But the more you both grew older the more he realized you hadn’t seen him the way he had seen you, at least he hadn’t thought so. The way you had always treated him had felt so platonic, with no hope for you to ever see the way he had felt for you For him it was never platonic, being in love with you for longer than he could remember. And now, even as you both hastily pulled your lips from each other only long enough to rid each other’s clothes from your trembling bodies, he couldn’t believe you were finally his.

Caleb had dreamed of this for years. Having you like this, being able to touch you like this, seeing the way your face contorted in pleasure as you trembled beneath him. For once seeing him differently, not the sweet boy from your childhood, but as a man. Could only imagine the delicious way his name would sound not in the way he had always heard it but practically purred when laced with lust-fueled ecstasy. He was basking in it. The way you felt beneath his fingers as you trembled from his touch. Had fisted his cock on lonely nights to the mere thought of ever having you like this. Had spilled into his palm as he finished with your name on his lips.

But now he had you, and he had no plans on letting you go any time soon. He lets out a groan into your neck as he sinks into you, inch by agonizing inch until he was buried balls deep in your awaiting cunt. His eyes roll back at the way you greedily pull him in deeper, the fluttering walls of your cunt urging him to begin to move. He starts with deep shallow thrusts, wanting to savor the feeling of your welcoming walls after so many years of yearning. Needing to feel your deepest parts and enjoy every moment of being connected with you. However, he had his limits and the sweet way you cooed his name as you urged him on has him picking up the pace. His hips setting a steadfast pace, going deeper with each pass, gripping your hips as you call out his name.

He can't help it, the feeling of your velvety walls surrounding him, sucking him in for all he was worth, he throws his head back with another loud groan as he slowly withdraws his hips, pulling back until just the mushroom tip of his cock remains inside. With a perfect snap of his hips, aided by the sheer amount of wetness that had gathered to this point he enters back in with ease before picking up the pace again. His gaze returned to you, only to see how your arm was thrown over your face shielding you from him and muffling the sweet sounds spilling from your lips. Grabbing your wrist, he pins it firmly against the mattress beneath you, striking eyes boring into your own.

“Look at me, pipsqueak. I want you to keep your eyes on me.”

Caleb's voice came out gruff, desperate, as the pads of his fingers sank into the plush of your cheeks — forcing your gaze to remain locked on his own. The nickname you had heard your whole life now took on a different edge, sounding almost foreign to our ears.

“Need to see the look in your eyes as you lose yourself on my cock baby.”

Dividers, character banners, & writing by me. ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

Network tags: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Part 2! A little shorter, but felt inspired to continue a little further!

___________________________________________

“This story is awful.”

Iris sipped her coffee, making a face at the overly sweet taste, flipping through the script in her hand. “This character makes no sense!”

Allison, Iris’s assistant, raised an eyebrow. “What a shock, you have a complaint about a script’s writing. So are you turning down this project as well? That would be the fifth in a row that we’ve turned down. People are starting to start rumors that you’re retiring.”

“I’m not saying no… not just yet. But this character…” Iris sighed. “I just don’t get it. She is a princess. The real princess… But she got replaced, and when she returns, somehow everyone favors the fake princess instead. Why didn’t she just stay firm to the truth? She was the one with the right to be there. Instead, she cowered away and attacked her replacement from the shadows.”

Allison took the script from her hands, looking at the scene that was underlined. “So, this girl grew up in the slums, and got brought back right? She feels out of place. And even worse, she has no confidence in her family. They have years of memories with someone else. That replacement… she can be gracious and calm. She’s been spoiled and loved by the royal family for years. And the favored are the confident. There is no one more timid than someone who is hoping to be loved.”

“Wants to be loved, huh… “ Iris murmured, thinking it over. “Why did they ask me to play this part?”

She was not speaking out of false confidence. She was a A list star. To be offered a side character part was not a typical event.

“Apparently the script writer insisted it had to be you.” Allison shrugged with a laugh. “He said you were born to play this part.”

“Is that so? Hmm… I’d like to meet him.”

“I’ll ask, but apparently he’s a hard person to meet.”

Iris took back the script, studying it once more. “Try. I want to meet the man who wrote this poor girl…and her terrible end.”

___________________________________________

“Wake up!”

A rude voice startled Iris awake, almost causing her to fall out of bed. Catching her balance, she sighed, trying to wake up. For a brief moment she wasn’t sure where she was. Iris rubbed her eyes, looking around, recognizing her surroundings as the rooms in the castle.

Back to my life as the replaced princess.  Her dreams of the other world were so detailed, so real, that Iris often found herself confused as to what was reality and what was the dream. It didn’t help that the time and events in her dreams often happened out of order, confusing her all the more when she woke up.

The dream me never did get to meet the script writer. She thought tiredly. I wish I had. It might have provided some answers.

Before she could focus on that too long, the voice spoke up once more.

“Are you getting up, Princess?” The tone was sarcastic, breaking Iris from her reverie. Looking over, Iris spotted the source: An angry looking maid, a blond woman in her young twenties, a scowl distorting her otherwise unremarkable features.

“I’m still considering it.” Iris muttered.

“Some of us don’t have time to waste, Your Highness. Breakfast started a half hour ago.” She smirked at the statement, as if Iris being late was amusing.

Ah. I’m being bullied. Smiling to herself, Iris sat up, making prolonged eye contact with the maid.

“Name?”

“Elise.” The woman gave an arrogant look. “I’m the lead maid of the living quarters.”

“Wow. I’m sure your parents are very proud.”

Elise gave her a strange look. “They are.”

“I see…” Iris smiled broadly and tapped her cheek. “Imagine how excited they will be to hear you’ve been imprisoned for disrespecting royalty! Maybe they can come visit you on your birthdays?”

A confused silence fell over the room. Finally, realization dawned on her face, and she protested loudly. “You WOULDN’T DARE! I’m the princess’ favorite maid!”

Iris stood up, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet.  Step by step she moved closer. A polite smile remained in place, but her eyes were cold and unsettling.

In her dreams, she was an actress. And not just any actress, one with a very specific reputation:

A woman known for her business acumen and ruthlessness in negotiation. No one ever expected to come out on top when talking contracts, but her acting prowess kept them coming back for the abuse. It was a well-known fact in her dreams:

Anyone who crossed her would regret it.

The maid Elise began to cower as Iris moved within arm’s reach. She technically was taller than then the undernourished princess, but for some reason, she felt small in the face of the aura of power and control that radiated from the young woman in front of her. Her sense of danger heightened, until she panicked, breaking out in apologies.

“I- I’m sorry. I'm sorry!”

Iris’ smile widened. “Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for disrespecting you… Your Highness.”

“You aren’t sorry… not yet anyways.” She leaned forward, whispering a few words quietly in the maid’s ear. The woman turned pale, shaking with fear and shock, stammering non-stop apologies. Finally, Iris raised a hand, bringing her words to a halt.

“I’ll dress myself, Elise. Why don’t you let my father, brothers… and my lovely adopted sister… that I will be down to breakfast shortly.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Elise curtseyed, cold sweat dripping down her back. Quickly she turned and headed to the door, only stopping when Iris called out again.

“What will you say if my family asks why I am late?”

Their eyes met again, similar to when she had woken up, but with a completely different atmosphere.

Finally, the maid looked away first and broke the silence. “I will tell them it was due to my error, Your Highness.”

“Good girl.” Iris waved her hand dismissively. “Head along now.”

As if released by a slingshot, Elise ran out, nearly falling to the ground in her hurry to get away. Iris chuckled, putting aside the dress that was laid out for her and searching her wardrobe. The dress selected was clearly a ballgown, something overly fancy and completely unsuited for a breakfast, even a royal one. Wearing that would have made her seem awkward and out of place, a country bumpkin who coveted beautiful and shiny things.

After searching for a while, she found a simpler light blue gown with minimal trim and flared sleeves, clearly a more casual daytime dress. It was difficult to put on by herself, but fortunately, she had a lot of practice getting quickly in and out of intricate clothing…

In her dreams at least.

___________________________________________

Once she was fully dressed, she headed downstairs.

Again, she found herself surrounded by luxury. Intricate fixtures, beautiful paintings, even the door handles looked expensive. Iris sighed quietly, realizing that without her advantage she would have very much felt out of her depth.

I do miss modern amenities though. Even the most expensive toilet in a fantasy world like this can’t match a good reliable modern one.

Iris walked towards the dining room, remembering the path she took yesterday. As she passed by, she heard the servants in the corners whispering. Her hearing was excellent, she only picked up a few pieces, but she was able to understand what the sentiment was.”

“Who is…?”

“Came from… slums.”

‘Really? Doesn’t look…”

“Looks like the Queen.”

At the last sentence Iris turned for a moment, glancing at an enormous portrait of a young woman that was displayed in the sitting room adjacent to her destination. She looked a lot like Iris herself. She had similar red hair and gold rimmed irises in a delicate face. Iris stared silently for a few moments, a small pain in her heart for the woman who gave birth to her, but who she had never met.

I wonder how she would feel about this switch? Would she be excited to see me? Or more worried about how my arrival could hurt her raised daughter instead?

Not wanting to dwell on those depressing thoughts too long, she entered the dining room.

“You’re late.” Her father’s grim voice greeted her arrival. He radiated disapproval, with an intimidating atmosphere… to most people at least.

“Good morning!” Iris smiled at her father, unbothered. She sat down at the empty place setting, her posture upright and confident. “I apologize for my tardiness.” She locked eyes with her maid, Elise, who face paled. She stepped forward with a deep gesture.

“I’m so sorry, I woke up the princess late this morning!”

Anthony frowned. “Is this how you serve your new mistress?” The maid shook her head in response, looking even more distraught. The tense atmosphere thickened, before being shattered by a new speaker.

“Elise has always been my maid before this and served me perfectly! It must be some sort of misunderstanding.” Theodora frowned, before looking uneasily at Iris. “Maybe my sister is… just not used to being around servants?”

They were pretty words, and Iris had to appreciate the barbs hidden within them. Especially nice was the subtle implication that it was Iris who had behaved inappropriately.

Iris laughed quietly. “I fail to understand how me not being used to servants would cause the maid to not attempt to wake me up until 30 minutes after breakfast had started.” She paused, looking over the rich clothes of the other girl carefully. “A more likely answer is that she does not view me as a true princess… and why would that be?”

Theodora looked shocked, and her eyes filled with tears. “It’s my fault! If we hadn’t been switched…”

“How dare you blame Theodora!” Dominic slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the plates and cutlery. “She is an innocent…”

“She is an innocent victim, brother, I know.” Iris faced him calmly. “I’m very confused about why Theodora is taking this to heart. It’s not like she as a baby could have engineered the switch… although the person who switched us may have been her relative… who wanted their child to live a life of royalty while the real princess suffered or died…But obviously that is not her fault! So, please don’t blame yourself… Sister.”

A long silence fell over the room as the three men processed her words. Iris wanted to roll her eyes but kept her expression blank. Did they really never consider that it could be someone related to her who did the switch? Do they think they just grabbed a random baby somewhere? She turned her attention to the food. It was multiple tiny plates of intricate food, all things she had never eaten before… while awake. There was multiple odd appearing cutlery, and for a moment, she felt a slight panic deep within her.

 I don’t belong here.

She banished the thought immediately. She was the real princess. Where did she belong, if not here? Drawing on her dream knowledge, she started on the outside, and worked her way carefully through the food. She progressed quietly and smoothly, only glancing up once she felt less hungry… Only to see a hate filled glare on Theodora’s face.

Shocked, Iris glanced down, and when she looked back the look was gone, so quickly that she wondered if she imagined it. But it was real, she knew it deep down. Was it what I said? She glanced down at her hands and smiled. Or the fact that despite them preparing an overly complicated breakfast, I‘ve had no issues? One of the scenes she had acted out in had involved the real princess being humiliated during a meal with her poor table manners. Another improvement in her favor.

One at a time, Iris. Just one small change at a time.

___________________________________________

After breakfast Iris excused herself quickly, not wanting to stay in the tense environment of her smiling “sister” and her father and older brother who were so quick to defend her. Anthony followed her closely, and she found herself smiling up at him. He was the most different from the story she knew. He seemed to care, at least.

“Did you have a good night’s sleep?” He asked as they turned towards the gardens.

Filled with dreams of another world. “Well enough.” She paused. “If not longer than hoped for.”

Anthony winced. “I talk with the head servants. There should be no confusion in how you are to be treated.”

“Don’t waste breath on useless explanations. Words mean little against action. And unfortunately, there’s already confusion, brother. It’s coming from the King and Crown Prince.” She smiled calmly, as if the words didn’t mean anything to her. “Why should the servants see me as something their king doesn’t.”

“Iris… he…”

“Doesn’t look at me like a father who regained his daughter. More like a possible enemy who could threaten his family.” In a way, he’s correct. If he views Theodora as his family, my arrival does make her situation and status complicated.

“…”

Anthony didn’t seem to know how to respond. Ignoring his silent dismay, Iris let out a small cry of delight, swooping down to gently touch a few flowers along the path. The fragile purple petals felt like satin under her fingers. She cupped a few, smiling brightly.

“They are so lovely.” In her joy she accidentally released a small amount of power, leading to the small buds around to bloom beautifully in a few seconds. The rest of the flowers seemed to lean towards her, as if she was their personal sun. In moments a few bright colors became an overwhelming blush of purple, pinks and green.

“Iris?” Anthony spoke up uncertainly.

“Yes, these here are Irises! So lovely and brave of them to bloom so nicely despite the cold.” The castle gardens were much more temperate than the outer city, likely the result of the royal magicians, but it was still not warm enough yet for the flowers to bloom fully. She regretted the accidental release of power, which had attracted them to open up too soon. They would not last long. Silently she stretched out her hands and fed them more power, which would let them last until the weather warmed up some.

“No… Iris… do you have magic?”

She froze at her brother’s question. “… Would it mean much if I said ‘no’?”

“Not much, no.” Anthony laughed. “How long have you had magic? It’s amazing, really… most royalty need guidance to discover it, and usually don’t until adulthood!”

“…”   A long silence fell between them. The smile slowly faded from Anthony’s face, to be replaced by a look of uncertainty.

Iris stared at the flowers, her face cold. “I suppose many royalty haven’t faced starvation.” She stood up, brushing her hands off, the movements stiff. “The old woman who took me in died shortly after I turned ten. She had run a small shop, but after she was gone, some men came and grabbed it. I was too small to hold onto anything valuable… They tried to grab me too. I would have sold for some gold, after all.”

“Iris…”

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to think of the horrible night, but unable to stop. Her heart started beating faster with remembered fear. “I stabbed one of their men in the thigh when he tried to grab me. Almost castrated the bastard. Scared them enough for me to get away. But I was too young. I was desperate, alone with no skills to survive. It was spring, and I discovered I had a knack for selling flowers.”

 I started having the dreams that night, and good thing too. “When it got cold, I couldn’t find enough flowers to sell… until I awakened my power.”

She was lost in her memories, when suddenly she was crushed by an overwhelming hug. Her fight or flight response activated and she tried to swing her arms, only to freeze at the sound of her brother’s tearful voice.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Iris. You never should have gotten lost, never should have suffered. I should have found you earlier.”

Iris reached out uncertainly, and patted his back. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. And either way, I’m here, right?”

Anthony’s voice was muffled, his taller frame hanging down as he buried his head on her shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I need to. Trust me.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting.” Thinking of the ending of her story, Iris added. “You’ve got some time, anyways, until I get married off somewhere.”

“Who is marrying you off!” Anthony raised his head, his eyes angry. “That’s too risky, what if he doesn’t treat you well?! You’ve already suffered so much…. No! Better to marry you close… preferably to someone scared of royalty so you can run home if he makes you angry.”

Hearing his description of his ideal for her husband, Iris couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Okay, brother. I’ll marry someone close by who you can bully, so I’ll never suffer again.”

“You’re making fun of me.” Anthony accused her.

“Yes.”

They both laughed at that, Anthony reached out and rubbed her head affectionately, messing up her hair. As Iris frowned and tried to fix it, he shook his head. “Well we’ve got plenty of time. It’s not like there’s a long list of candidates worthy of marrying a princess…”

“Your Highnesses!” A robed young man entered the garden. “What a coincidence!”

Iris recognized him quickly. “Mage Vicente” She smiled in greeting.

“You look much better rested.” He commented in return.

Anthony looked a bit uneasy, stepping in between the two of them. “What brings you here?”

“I sensed some unusual magic in the garden, so I came to investigate.”

“Well, nothing unusual is happening here, so you should probably keep looking.”

Mage Vicente looked at them both, and gave an amused smile. “Of course. Sorry to disturb you.” He made brief eye contact with Iris again, who felt a distinct familiarity in his gaze. But where would I know him from?

Anthony kept his protective posture, not relaxing until the mage had excused himself and walked away. “Don’t tell anyone of your powers just yet, Iris.”

“Why not?” She hadn’t really planned to. In the story she knew, her father had used her for her powers before abandoning her. She hadn’t meant to display them here, but she supposed she had felt comfortable and safe around Anthony. She was curious as to why he thought she shouldn’t, though.

“We don’t know who meant you harm eighteen years ago. What if they are still around, and mean to finish the job?” He shook his head. “I know father and Dominic don’t want to investigate the switch, as it could lead to public speculation about Theodora, but…” he paused. “I can’t let whoever hurt you try again. I'm looking into it, Iris. I'll find out who did this, and I will protect you in the future.”

“I…” Iris choked on her words, feeling tears fill her eyes. She had been mentally prepared to be alone on this battlefield. To fight an unknown enemy with no one, not even her family on her side. But things were different than she expected. She had an ally, a friend.

A brother.

Unable to articulate her thoughts, she settled for simply hugging him again. He seemed happy with that though, rubbing her head and messing up her hair once more.

“Let’s head back.”

You are a poor girl selling flowers. Today is your birthday but no one knows. When you return home you find the prince of the kingdom waiting for you with a birthday cake. "Are you sure this is the one?" He whispers to his advisor.

[gravedwe11er]

Got hit by a Mecha AU Swerve angst idea in the middle of the night, and I had to put it down on a page. Based on the @keferon Mecha AU and inspired by all the amazing Swerve/Blurr art I see around (seriously, yall are giving me so many ideas and I love it).

More often than not, nowadays, Swerve feels like an imposter in his own frame. His time spent as a human was so short, just an insignificant speck compared to the eons of his real life, his real lifespan, and yet...

Those few scant human years are the realest he can remember feeling.

The medics said it took fifteen cycles for anyone to knock on his door, to even notice his absence. And when someone eventually did, it was just- his boss. One of the engines was giving them trouble, and they needed all servos on deck. That's all.

None of the bots who he talked to every day, the ones he’d worked side by side with for years noticed he was gone. None of the people who would laugh at his jokes and drink with him at the bar had a single thought to spare for him. Nobody missed him, until they needed him for something.

Glum thoughts in the dead of night are one thing. It’s another thing entirely to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s all true.

So of course Swerve figured out the holoform thing again. Sure, it’s still kind of risky, but now that he’s actually doing it on purpose, he’s been taking a few precautions – a good recharge, a full fuel tank, and an automated message to be sent off to the medics after a set period of time, in case he knocks himself out again. Actually, he nearly managed just that, the first time he tried it, overtaxing himself almost to the point of shutdown. The keyword being nearly, though! It did little to weaken his resolve, and after a few more tries, he now has a whole system figured out, one that won’t damage his processor.

Or, it probably won’t, anyway. He’s not about to go ask; someone higher up might order him to stop, which-

Yeah, he’s not doing that.

On this ship, Swerve’s got nothing. He might as well be nothing - he’s a trained metallurgist working as a common mechanic, amongst people who barely even know he exists. On Earth, he’s- well. It’s not like he was exactly a social butterfly, but people invited him for shitty cafeteria coffee, a few pilots liked to stop by for a chat sometimes, and if he fell asleep at his desk, someone would come shake him awake within an hour or two.

On Earth, he has Blurr. And that’s not something he’s willing to give up.

Swerve shutters his optics in his tiny room on the ship, and surrenders gladly to the pulling sensation overtaking his processor as his holomatter generator struggles to cross such a vast distance. Then, with a crackle and a fizz of static across his neural net, he’s gone.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Blurr’s expansive private hospital suite, with the man nowhere to be seen. He’s been hoping for that, though- as a general rule, he tries to catch the pilot between press conferences and physical therapy sessions, so nobody starts asking questions about the dead man loitering around a celebrity’s rooms. Blurr has enough problems as it is.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait for long. Soon enough, Swerve hears several pairs of footsteps approaching the door, and he ducks into the bedroom, keeping out of sight. “Again, thank you so much for the well-wishes,” carries through the walls, barely loud enough to be audible – Blurr’s voice, he thinks. The ‘business’ voice. “But I really have to go now. The doctor will be visiting soon, you understand.”

There are polite sounds of assent, an exchange of a few more pleasantries before the steps retreat back down the hallway, followed by the quiet whoosh of the front door opening. Cautiously, Swerve peeks out of the bedroom.

Blurr stands in the doorway, back straight, with a bright, practiced smile on the visible half of his face. The other, the one with scars and still healing skin grafts, is covered by an elaborate mask, shaped to look like his mech’s helm. He gives the people outside one final wave, and clicks the door shut.

Then he turns around, notices Swerve and slumps.

Now wobbling slightly, the injured pilot leans his back against a wall, gingerly peeling the mask off of his face to revealed reddened, irritated skin. The smile he turns on Swerve is completely different from before, small and tired and slightly pained.

To anyone else, it would look like an insult. To Swerve, it’s a precious thing, a gift the star shares with very few people in his life - honesty.

“Swerve, hello!” Blurr greets him, sounding slightly out of breath. He’s getting the best care money can buy, but even that only goes so far- recovery will slow and painful, and not everything will go back to how it was. There are some scars the pilot will carry for the rest of his life, and just the thought makes Swerve’s holographic heart ache.

“Hi,” he answers enthusiastically, crossing the room to go help the injured man, only to get waved off.

“Thanks, but I’m good. I need to build up my stamina again.”

Swerve frowns a little, but steps away again. “Alright, if you’re sure. Just be careful! You can lean on me if you need to, yeah? I don’t want you to hurt yourself, so if-“

“Swerve!”, Blurr laughs, interrupting his awkward rambling, and he can feel his holoform’s cheeks going red. “It’s fine, really. I’ll ask you if I need help, alright?”

“Alright,” he mutters into the collar of his shirt and follows after the man, ready to support him if he stumbles. Blurr leads them to his bedroom, laying down on the mattress with a pained grimace, once again waving off any of Swerve’s offers to help. Instead, the man pats one side of the bed in clear invitation, and Swerve does his best to pretend his face isn’t looking like an overripe tomato as he sits, their hands almost touching. Judging by Blurr’s teasing little grin, he fails miserably, but- it made Blurr smile. He’d say that more than makes up for it.

They talk, for as long as Swerve’s holoform generator allows and perhaps a little bit beyond that. He asks after Blurr’s recovery, listens to the pilot bemoan the weakness of his atrophied muscles and endless physical therapy sessions. Learns more about the constant press releases, the pressure from command to return back to duty and perform his star pilot act once again.  They talk about anything and everything the man wants to share, from the important to the mundane.

In turn, Blurr asks him about his life, his day, his work on the ship. Which, here’s the thing- he didn’t really notice much it before his coma, but nobody else actually asks about him. Swerve talks a lot, and sometimes, other bots will even listen, but they never ask.

Except for Blurr. Blurr always asks now, and Swerve always talks and talks and talks, and the pilot never seems to mind. Sometimes, he wishes he knew how to express it, to show the man just how much it means to him, but- in a rare twist of events, the words never manage to leave his mouth.

Doesn’t make it any less true, though.

Every small, honest smile, every real, slightly ugly laugh he gets out of the man makes Swerve’s holographic heart beat overtime. He feels so happy, so at peace when by the man’s side, and he never wants to leave.

But he has to. Eventually, it’s always time to go, his systems warning him of impending shutdown and he hates it, he hates it so much, but he says his goodbyes. Blurr’s understanding about it, of course, and the pilot’s cheeky little wave is the last thing Swerve sees before he closes his eyes and disappears.

When he unshutters his optics, it’s to the sight of his empty, windowless habsuite.  Getting up from his berth, he feels a fleeting stab of vertigo – some echo of his human self’s instinct, warning him of a dangerous height, which, huh. That’s been happening more and more often. Something to ask the medics about, perhaps.

Then again, why bother. It’s not like he doesn’t know what the answer would be.

He misses Blurr already. Misses the warmth of Earth’s sun and the warmth of companionship, the warmth of a soft human touch. Misses his false life and false body, and the very real joy it brings him.

Sometimes, he wishes he never woke up, instead living out his fake human existence in blissful ignorance until his spark eventually guttered from the strain. Occasionally, he wishes he was human. Actually human, not just the holoform- muscle and bone and sinew, just like the rest of them, just like Blurr. It’s clear he doesn’t belong amongst his own kind, so… maybe it’d be better that way.

Most of the time though, he just wants to be on Earth; true frame, fake body, it doesn’t matter. He wants to hold Blurr in his servos, wants to feel like he matters to somebody, wants to-

He’s not really sure what he wants, exactly. He just knows it’s not this.

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (final + epilogue); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, smut

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 9.7k+

Chapter Warnings: your mother, talks about culture, roots etc, cultural jabs (??), some dialogues taken straight from the movie.

A/N: AHHHH, I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS SERIES IS FINALLY OVERRRRRR 🥺 i still remember debating whether writing this series was a good idea or not, and i’m so incredibly glad i decided to go for it. seeing it through to the end has been such a rewarding journey. a quick reminder (as always) to those who haven’t watched the movie, PLEASE DOOOO. it’ll help you truly capture the essence of this series and catch all the little references sprinkled throughout the story. thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you who stuck around and read through the entire story. your unwavering support means the absolute world to me, and i hope the ending left you feeling as fulfilled and happy as i feel right now. thank you again, endlessly, for being a part of this journey. love you guys <333

final

Jungkook's eyes roam around the serene interiors of the photography museum. The space is dimly lit, with soft spotlights highlighting the carefully curated photographs mounted on minimalist white walls.

The polished wooden floors gleam under the subdued lighting, their faint reflections adding warmth to the otherwise cool and modern design.

Large floor-to-ceiling windows on one side let in streaks of natural light that mix with the artificial glow, casting gentle shadows across the room.

A faint hum of classical music plays in the background, blending with the quiet murmurs of a few visitors who walk slowly, lost in thought as they admire the exhibits.

Each photograph is encased in sleek black frames, their details brought to life by the perfect interplay of light and shadow.

Jungkook’s gaze shifts towards the entrance. His eyes narrow slightly as he spots a familiar figure entering. Her presence commanding, with large, oversized sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose and a crisp sky blue suit that speaks of meticulous tailoring.

Her posture is poised but guarded, exuding both authority and apprehension. She glances around, as though searching for something... or someone.

When her eyes finally land on him, she stiffens slightly, her polished demeanor faltering for the briefest moment.

There’s a pause, a moment heavy with wordless tension, as their gazes lock. Then, as if deciding to confront the inevitable, she begins walking towards him. Her heels click rhythmically on the gleaming wooden floor, each step echoing faintly in the otherwise hushed space.

Jungkook exhales slowly, his fingers fidgeting in his pockets of his jecket, and forces a small, polite smile. “Thank you for meeting me here.” he says softly as he bows when she reaches him, his tone tinged with restraint.

Your mother lowers her gaze, the sharp lines of her expression softening slightly as she removes the oversized shades that had shielded her face. Her hands fold the glasses and tuck them into her blazer's pocket.

Her eyes flicker briefly to Jungkook before shifting to the museum’s visitors, who linger quietly in their own worlds. She crosses her arms, her movements calculated, and slowly begins walking further into the gallery, her gaze wandering over the photographs lining the walls.

Jungkook follows closely behind her, the faint echo of his boots blending into the quiet hum of the museum. His gaze flits from one photograph to the next and the air between them is heavy with the kind of silence that feels almost alive.

After a few moments, she halts abruptly in front of a large photograph, the sharp sound of her heels ceasing like the punctuation to an invisible sentence. Jungkook stops a few paces behind, watching as her eyes narrow, drawn to the image before her.

The picture is striking... a serene lakeside scene where the water glimmers under a golden sunset. At the heart of the image are a mother and her daughter, waist-deep in the water. The little girl throws her head back in carefree laughter, her hands splashing water toward the sky, droplets catching the light like tiny jewels.

The mother, her arms outstretched to steady the child, wears a wide, radiant smile... one that speaks of pure, unfiltered joy. The intimacy of the picture is palpable, the bond between them immortalized in the frame.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jungkook’s voice cuts softly through the silence, his eyes also fixed on the photograph. His tone holds a quiet reverence, as though he understands the story behind the image without needing to be told.

Your mother remains silent for a long moment, her arms still crossed. Her sharp eyes scan the photograph, lingering on the mother’s expression, as if she’s trying to decipher something beyond the surface. Finally, she breathes out, her voice low. “It is.”

As they walk side by side through the museum, Jungkook’s eyes linger on the photographs, each one a silent universe frozen in a frame.

His gaze stops at a photograph of a weathered lighthouse against a stormy sky, its beam cutting through the chaos.

“You know...” he begins, his voice low but steady. “Photography has this way of teaching you about life." he says, crossing his arms.

"Every shot is a lesson of patience, perspective, and timing. Sometimes, you’re staring through the lens, thinking you’ve got the perfect frame, but then you realize… it’s not right. The light’s too harsh, the angle's too narrow. That’s when you step back, adjust, and try again.” He pauses, his hand brushing lightly against the edge of a nearby frame.

“Life is a lot like that. The things we don’t understand... the moments that hurt us or confuse us, they start to make sense when you’re willing to shift your perspective, even just a little.”

Your mother remains quiet, her gaze briefly shifting to him before returning to the photographs, her expression unreadable.

“You called me here..." she says eventually, her voice sharp and direct, breaking the delicate quiet. “I assume it’s not for a photography lesson.” She glances at him over her shoulder, her tone laced with a challenge.

Jungkook looks down, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Well then…” His voice trails off as he walks past her taking a few steps ahead, his hands slipping back into his pockets. His eyes move over the walls, scanning each frame with a focus that seems both casual and intentional.

“I know the truth about my mother bothers you...” he says, his voice steady but quiet, his words carried by the subdued hum of the museum’s ambiance.

Your mother doesn’t respond immediately, but she follows him as her eyes settle on the photographs alongside his. Each image seems to hold its own gravity... a bustling street in monochrome, a child peering through a cracked window, a lone bird perched on a barren tree.

“But you didn’t like me the second I got here.” Jungkook continues, his steps slowing until he halts entirely. He turns to face her, his dark eyes meeting hers with an intensity that demands answers. “Why is that?” he asks, his tone calm but weighted, the kind of calm that conceals gallons of restrained hurt and confusion.

Your mother stops a few feet away as she looks at him for a long moment, her expression impenetrable. "You know..." she begins, her voice firm yet laced with an undercurrent of contemplation.

"As a photographer, I’m sure you've experienced those moments... when you’re behind the lens, capturing a scene so carefully, so purposefully, and yet, there’s just something... a detail, a shadow, or perhaps an element that doesn’t quite belong." She pauses, letting her words settle between them.

Jungkook furrows his brows, listening intently, trying to grasp the weight of her meaning, the cryptic nature of her expression.

"It disrupts the rhythm of the image... the frame." she continues, her voice almost detached now, as if the words have found their own path.

"No matter how perfectly you’ve set everything up, no matter how much you try to step back and adjust, it pulls your attention, ruins the flow, and shatters the harmony you so carefully crafted. It doesn’t blend in the way it should... it stands out, but not in a way that completes the image. It’s a blemish, an imperfection in an otherwise perfect picture."

She steps closer now, the silence between them dense, her gaze unwavering as she delivers her final words, her tone colder, yet still rich with intensity.

"You’re like that to me." she says, her eyes locking with his, the words biting with an unspoken finality. "You don’t belong in the frame."

Though the sting of her words cuts deep into Jungkook’s core, he forces a chuckle, his gaze dropping to the floor as if to shield the emotions threatening to surface. "Why?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm, as though he’s not unraveling inside.

"Because I’m not rich? Because I didn’t grow up with extravagant tea ceremonies or grandiose parties? Because I wasn’t born into a family with old money?" His head tilts slightly, eyes lifting to meet hers with a quiet defiance.

Your mother’s lips curl into a thin, airy grin, shaking her head slowly as if dismissing him before he’s even begun to understand. "You’re a foreigner." she says with finality. "American." she adds.

Jungkook’s expression falters, confusion clouding his features as he tries to digest the weight of her statement.

She gazes at him, eyes sharp, as if everything is already clear to her. "You were raised in a world where detachment is a virtue. Detached from your culture, your traditions, from the things that truly matter. All you care about is your own happiness." Her words hang heavy between them, like a wall that she’s built with her own hands, each syllable an obstacle too high to climb.

Jungkook’s brow furrows in bewilderment as he tries to reconcile the disconnect. "But... don’t you want Y/n to be happy?" he asks, his voice tinged with desperation, as if the question could bridge the vast divide she’s creating.

She laughs softly, a hollow sound, and begins walking again. "It's an illusion." she murmurs, almost as if speaking to herself. Jungkook follows, each step heavy with the weight of her words, yet unwilling to retreat.

"We understand..." she continues. "... how to build things that last. Things that matter. Things with roots, with purpose... not just fleeting, ephemeral happiness.... Something... you know nothing about." She glances back at him, her eyes sharp.

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, a storm of frustration rising within him. "You don’t know me." he says, his voice low but firm, a quiet challenge hanging in the air between them.

She stops in her tracks, eyes flickering to a large photograph on the wall. The image captures a fading sunset, its colors blurred and intertwined... beautiful but transient, as though it were about to disappear entirely. "I know you’re not what Y/n needs." she says quietly.

Jungkook stands there, a silent fury building in him, but her words cut deeper than he expected. He meets her gaze once more, eyes resolute. "Well, she asked me to elope with her yesterday." he says, his words sharp, almost defiant.

At this, your mother’s composed exterior falters, visibly cracking for the first time. Her eyes widen in shock, as though she had never expected such a revelation.

Jungkook watches her carefully, a quiet understanding crossing his mind that she had definitely not seen this coming. "She said she’d walk away from her family and you... for good." he presses on, his voice firm.

He watches her closely, observing how her shoulders tense, how her breathing catches, and how her eyes fall to the floor as she tries to process the weight of what he’s said.

A quiet chuckle escapes Jungkook’s lips, catching her attention. "Don’t worry..." he says, voice soft but tinged with something darker. "I turned her down."

At this, your mother exhales deeply, a sound of relief that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She takes a moment to regain her composure, trying to steady herself with a practiced sigh.

"Only fools fold a winning hand." she mutters, the words a hollow attempt to mask the vulnerability seeping through.

Jungkook shakes his head, a quiet frustration brewing within him. He glances at a photograph on the wall, a few feet away, its stillness contrasting sharply with the tension in the air.

"There’s no winning. You made sure of that." he replies with a nonchalant grin, though the words are heavy, laden with truth.

"Because if Y/n chose me, she would lose her family." he continues, taking a step closer to her. "And if she chose her family, she might spend the rest of her life resenting you."

She looks at him, her throat visibly tightening as the gravity of his words slowly settles in. It’s as if each syllable he speaks punctures the layers of her reality, sending ripples through her calm facade.

"So... you chose for her." she murmurs quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, almost like she’s testing the truth for herself.

Jungkook smiles softly, a tender yet sad curve of his lips. He purses them, his voice carrying the weight of something deeper. "I'm not leaving because I'm scared... or because I think I’m not enough." he says, his words slow, as though he’s carefully peeling back the layers of his own vulnerability.

Your mother tilts her head, and in the soft glow of the museum's lighting, her eyes shimmer slightly, betraying a crack in her usual strength.

"Because maybe for the first time in my life..." he pauses, his breath hitching ever so slightly. "I know I am." he continues, his voice a fragile admission of self worth.

Your mother looks at him, her expression hardened with forced composure, her gaze flickering between the raw honesty in his eyes and the vulnerability in his voice. She��s trying to hold herself together, trying to remain unshaken.

Jungkook’s voice falters, a soft sigh escaping him as he shrugs. "I just... love Y/n so much." he says, his tone thick with sincerity, tinged with sadness as his eyes glisten.

"I don’t want her to lose her family... her brother, her father, her grandmother. I don’t want her to lose you." he adds, his words dripping with the painful understanding of what it would cost you to choose him over them.

He shakes his head slightly, the words painful on his lips, each one a reminder of the battle between love and sacrifice.

"These past few weeks have shown me how much she cherishes everything she’s grown up with, and I would feel horrible if she walked away from all of that... for me." he says, his voice low but heavy with the weight of his own realization.

"I don’t want to snatch her away from her family..." he continues, his gaze locked with hers now, steady and unflinching. "I want to be accepted by her family instead." he says, his voice laced with an earnest desire to belong, not just to you, but to the life you've already built.

"So I just wanted you to know..." His voice trails off, thick with emotion, as he turns away, his gaze shifting towards the far end of the museum.

"That one day... when she marries another lucky guy... someone who’s enough... for you." he says softly, turning back to her, his eyes red-rimmed but steady.

"And you’re playing with your grandkids... when the orchids are blooming and the birds are chirping, that it was because... of me." A bittersweet smile curves on his lips, though there’s a sadness that lingers in his gaze, one that speaks of a future he knows he won’t be a part of.

"A poor, raised by a single mother, low-class, immigrant nobody." he adds quietly, the words cutting through the air with a finality that resonates deeper than anything spoken before.

Your mother stares at him, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear the fog that has settled over her mind. The weight of his words lands on her like an ice-cold splash of reality, each syllable reverberating through her, leaving her momentarily paralyzed.

She watches as Jungkook doesn’t give her the chance to respond. He turns on his heels, his back retreating from her, and walks away.

Her gaze follows him, eyes fixed on his retreating figure as he crosses the museum floor towards the exit, each movement seeming to echo the finality of their conversation.

//

Jungkook stands by the trunk of the car, his hands steady but his heart in disarray as he carefully places his luggage inside.

The conversation with your mother replays in his mind and despite the ache that seems to weigh down every fiber of his being, he knows he’s made the right decision... at least, that’s what he tells himself.

When you asked him to elope, Jungkook had nearly given in. The mere thought of a future with you was intoxicating, the idea of having you by his side every day, every night, a dream he had long held close.

For a brief moment, he was ready to throw everything else aside just to make it happen.

But the thought of you walking away from everything you’ve ever known... cut deeper than he could admit. It was unbearable.

He loves you too much, so much that the idea of snatching you away felt selfish, almost cruel. And so, despite the way it shattered him to his core, he had to turn you down, even as it tore him apart.

He remembers the way your face fell, the way tears streamed down your cheeks as you begged him to reconsider. The way your voice broke when you pleaded with him to choose you.

But deep down, he knew he couldn’t. Loving you meant protecting you, even from himself. It felt wrong... wrong to ask you to sacrifice so much, to leave behind the people and the life that shaped you.

Now, as he prepares to return to New York with his mother, the reality of his choice weighs on him. He feels the emptiness like a missing piece of himself, as if a part of his soul had been carved out and left behind with you.

But sometimes, he thinks, that missing piece is necessary. It’s a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of love, even if it feels like a gaping, unhealable wound. This pain... it’s the price of doing what’s right, even when every part of him wishes he hadn’t.

Jungkook hears the faint rolling of suitcase wheels as Yoongi emerges from the house, pushing his second piece of luggage with an exaggerated nonchalance.

Behind Yoongi, his family stands in a quiet semicircle, their expressions a blend of sadness and pride as they watch Jungkook prepare to leave.

"Good for youuu..." Yoongi drawls, his voice laced with his trademark sarcasm as he nudges the suitcase towards the car. A guard promptly steps forward to load it into the trunk, but Yoongi keeps his gaze fixed on Jungkook.

"Walking away from Y/n and her family's fat-ass property portfolio." he jokes, shaking his head dramatically. Despite the ache in his chest, Jungkook manages a soft laugh, his lips twitching upward for the first time in what feels like days.

"You’ve got no one, no net worth..." Yoongi continues, his voice quieter now, tinged with sincerity. He steps closer, his usual smirk softening into something more genuine. "But you’ve got integrity. And that’s why I respect you."

The words hit Jungkook harder than he expects, and he blinks rapidly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. "Thank you for everything, hyung." he says, his voice low but steady as he steps forward, his arms extending towards Yoongi.

Without hesitation, Yoongi pulls him into a firm hug, patting his back once with a quiet kind of solidarity. "You’ll be fine, kid." Yoongi murmurs, his words almost inaudible but carrying a weight of belief that Jungkook hadn’t realized he needed to hear.

//

Your gaze is fixed on nothing in particular as you stand in your room's balcony, the evening sky painted in muted hues of twilight. The breeze brushes against your skin, teasing the hem of your nightgown, but you hardly notice. Your eyes, dry from crying, remain blank, and your cheeks still bear the streaks of tears long dried.

You feel hollow, like a shell of yourself, standing motionless as you think about how Jungkook's probably headed to the airport right now. The ache in your chest is so consuming that even the idea of moving feels insurmountable.

When you asked him to elope with you, you saw it... the flicker in his eyes that told you he was ready to say yes. In that moment, you felt hope surge through you, as if for the first time, the impossible was within reach.

But just as quickly, the hesitation crept in, dimming the light in his gaze. He told you he couldn’t do it, that he couldn’t take you away from your family, your roots, no matter how much he loved you.

He said he would feel wretched knowing you had severed ties with your mother, your brother, and everyone you held dear... all because of him.

And you understood.

Of course, you understood. That was the kind of person Jungkook was... selfless to a fault, someone who carried the weight of his decisions like stones in his heart. But understanding didn’t make it any easier.

You were desperate... desperate to keep him in your life, to promise him forever. After what your mother had done to him, after everything he endured, you were ready to walk away from her.

Was it a rash decision? Maybe. Impulsive? Certainly. But at the time, it felt like the only choice, the only way to salvage the pieces of your heart.

Until he said no.

Until he told you he couldn’t do it. That he was leaving. That he was going back to New York.

Suddenly, your sorrowful thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock on your bedroom door. The sound feels like an unwelcome intrusion, pulling you out of the haze of your grief. You sigh heavily, already guessing who it might be.

“Tae, I don’t want to eat.” you call out, your voice hoarse and quiet. Turning away from the balcony, you walk back into your dimly lit room, expecting the footsteps to retreat.

But the knock comes again, a little firmer this time.

You click your tongue, frustration bubbling beneath your despair. “Tae—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as the door creaks open slightly, revealing a figure you weren’t expecting.

It’s not Taehyung.

It’s the person responsible for the ache in your chest, the reason your world feels like it’s crumbling.

It’s your mother.

Your eyes widen as the door opens further, revealing her figure standing there, clutching a box in her hands. You barely register what it is but whatever she’s holding doesn’t matter, because she's literally the last person you want to see right now.

Before she can speak, you turn away, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave. You retreat to the balcony, arms crossed tightly over your chest as if to shield yourself from the storm brewing within.

Your gaze locks on the horizon, though, once again, it lands on nothing in particular... just the empty expanse that mirrors the void in your heart.

“Y/n-ah...” she calls softly, her voice careful, like she’s treading on glass. You don’t answer. Instead, you shift your weight, maintaining your focus on the skyline.

You sense her hesitating, but she doesn’t leave. A few seconds pass, and then you hear her footsteps approaching. She stops at the edge of the balcony, leaving a deliberate gap between you. It’s as if she’s giving you space while still insisting on being near.

“Y/n.” she says again, her tone gentle yet resolute as she steps just a bit closer. You don’t turn, biting down on your lower lip to hold back the urge to ask her to leave.

She exhales softly, the sigh heavy with something unspoken. From the corner of your eye, you see her glance at you... at your tense posture, your clenched jaw. She knows you won’t meet her gaze, but she stands firm, determined.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me...” she begins, her voice wavering slightly. “But just hear me out. Let me say my piece, and if you still want me to leave, I will.”

You stay silent, your resolve teetering. When she continues, her voice carries a vulnerability you’re unaccustomed to.

“When you left for New York to chase your dream… I was terrified.” she admits, her words unsteady. “My little girl was going so so far away from home... from me and the thought of you forgetting everything... your roots, your family, it scared me.”

She hugs the box she's holding a little tighter to her chest, her gaze shifting to the same skyline you’re fixated on. “I thought if you followed your happiness, you’d become… selfish. That you’d waste your potential, drift away from everything we worked so hard to build for you.”

Your jaw softens ever so slightly, though you remain silent.

“But your father and your brother... they consoled me every day.” she continues. “They told me about all the wonderful things you were doing, and I was grateful you were thriving, even though it hurt to be apart. And when you called off the engagement with Wooyoung…” She pauses, sighing deeply.

“I didn’t understand it then, but I see now that you just wanted something different... something that made you happy.”

Her lips curve into a small, bittersweet smile. “However, I thought once you came back after doing everything you dreamed of, we’d settle everything. I’d find you an eligible man, someone who was on your level. I wanted to make sure your life was perfect.”

At that, your posture stiffens.

“I wanted you to be the perfect daughter-in-law...” she adds, her voice cracking slightly. “Not like me… because, you know, I was never your grandmother’s first choice for your father.”

Your chest tightens at her words, the weight of her confession settling heavily in the room. Growing up, you’d heard fragments of the story... the disapproval your grandmother had shown, the rejection your mother had quietly endured.

Though she rarely spoke of it, the shadow of those memories lingered, unspoken but ever-present. You’d always wondered if it still haunted her, if the echoes of that rejection had ever truly faded.

“And then you came back home...” she says, her voice softening further. “But not alone. You brought Jungkook.”

Her eyes glisten as she looks down at the box in her arms. “He wasn’t what I expected. He grew up in the States, he was raised by a single mother… He didn’t fit the mold I’d envisioned for you. And it scared me. It felt like you were slipping away, choosing someone who couldn’t possibly measure up to what I thought you deserved.”

“Jungkook deserves me.” you interject sharply, finally turning to face her. Your voice is cold, your gaze piercing. “He deserves every bit of me.”

Your mother doesn’t flinch at your tone. Instead, she smiles faintly, almost wistfully, before continuing. “I see that now.” she says, her voice steady but laced with emotion.

“But at the time… I didn’t. Somewhere along the line, I started projecting all of my own insecurities onto him. My disapproval, my disdain... it wasn’t about him. It was about me.” Her voice cracks slightly, and she pauses to steady herself.

“I realize now that I was projecting the rejection I faced all those years ago. The way your grandmother looked at me, the way she thought I wasn’t good enough for your father… I passed that burden onto Jungkook.” she explains.

"I know it doesn't justify my actions..." she adds quickly, her voice trembling as she struggles to hold onto the last threads of composure. A bitter smile curls at her lips, but it falters almost immediately.

"But... I was worried about you, Y/n. And..." She hesitates, the words catching in her throat. "A part of me was dealing with my own ego... the part that never healed."

Her confession hangs in the air, heavy and raw, and you can feel your chest tighten as you process the vulnerability in her voice.

Slowly, you blink, your eyes fixed on her face. For the first time, you notice the fine lines around her eyes, the weariness etched into her features, and the way her usually composed expression is now a fragile mask threatening to crack.

"I know what Grandma did hurt you..." you begin softly, your voice carrying an edge of gentleness you didn’t know you could summon. "But, Mama..." You step closer, just enough for her to notice but not enough to touch.

Her eyes dart to yours, unsure but yearning for something... acceptance, forgiveness, or maybe just the chance to be heard.

"Dad loved you..." you continue, your voice steady now, though the emotion behind it swells with every word. "He loved you so much that he went against everything Grandma wanted. He fought for you. He chose you."

The faintest glimmer of a tear shines in her eye, and her lips part, as if to say something, but she stays silent.

"And just like Dad loves you..." you say, your voice softening, "I love Jungkook. I love him with everything I have."

Her breath catches audibly, and you can see the weight of your words settle deeply within her. The truth you’ve spoken reverberates through her, leaving her visibly shaken, even though she had always known it in her heart.

"But what you did to him... how you treated him..." Your voice falters, your throat tightening as you remember the pain, the humiliation he had to endure and a tear slips down your cheek. "It didn't only hurt him... It hurt me too, Mama. It hurt me more than I ever thought possible."

The sight of your tear breaks something in her. Her face crumbles, and she reaches out instinctively, her trembling hand brushing your cheek as she wipes it away.

Her touch is hesitant, as though she fears she no longer has the right. "I know, my sweetheart." she whispers, her voice quivering as her own tears begin to fall, mirroring yours. "I know..." she repeats. She exhales shakily, her tears now streaming freely. "And I’m so, so sorry. To you. To Jungkook. To both of you."

Her hand falls away as she takes a step back, clutching the box in her hands like it’s the only thing holding her together. She inhales deeply, her shoulders trembling under the weight of her confession.

"I met him earlier today." she says a few seconds later, her voice breaking as she glances at you with tear-streaked cheeks.

Your eyes widen in shock, but before you can process her words or form a response, she continues. "I spoke to him, and it was like seeing everything I had refused to see all this time." Her voice cracks, and she presses a hand over her mouth as if to hold back a sob.

"Speaking to him made me realize just how blind I’ve been. How cruel. How selfish." She sniffs, lowering her hand as her gaze drops to the floor.

"I was ruining something beautiful, something so pure. And I let my own pain, my own insecurities, take control. I was so afraid of losing you that I never stopped to see I was actually driving you away myself."

Her words, raw and trembling, cut through you like a knife.

"You and Jungkook..." she continues, looking back at you, her eyes brimming with remorse. "What you have is rare. It’s the kind of love people search for their entire lives. And I almost destroyed it because I couldn’t let go of my own scars."

Her voice cracks again, and this time, a sob escapes her lips while her shoulders shake as she cries openly in front of you, a sight you never thought you’d witness.

You stand there, tears streaming down your own face, as you watch your mother unravel under the crushing weight of her own guilt. It’s as if the full gravity of her actions is only now sinking in, as if she’s just beginning to grasp the depth of the pain she’s inflicted on her own daughter.

Several seconds pass and then her voice wavers, but there’s a quiet urgency as she interrupts your thoughts. "You should go to him."

Your breath catches, your teary eyes snapping up to meet hers. "Mama—"

"I won’t stop you anymore." she interjects, but there’s a newfound resolve in her tone, her trembling lips curving into the softest, most bittersweet smile, though tears continue to spill down her cheeks.

"I see it now... the depth of the pain I’ve caused you." she confesses, her voice quivering with regret. "I can’t keep standing in the way of my own daughter’s happiness. I can’t be the one to destroy something so real, so pure, and so beautiful."

Her words shake you to your core, and you feel something inside you shatter... walls you hadn’t realized you’d built around your heart crumble under the weight of her sincerity.

"Go to the airport, Y/n." she whispers, your name breaking on her lips. "Go to him, right now."

Her words are a lifeline, pulling you out of the despair you’d been drowning in for so long. Relief floods your chest, overwhelming and liberating, as tears continue to stream down your face.

You nod frantically, your breath hitching as emotions surge through you like a tidal wave.

You don’t bother to change out of your nightgown or worry about your disheveled appearance. You turn towards the door, ready to bolt out and make your way to the man who holds your heart.

But then, just as your fingers graze the doorknob, her voice calls out again. "Wait!"

You freeze mid-step, turning back to her with wide, glistening eyes. She strides towards you, holding the box she’d been clutching tightly to her chest all this time.

"Take this..." she says, her voice soft yet trembling as she extends it to you. Confused, you glance down at the box, then back at her. "What… what's this?"

Her gaze softens, her expression a poignant blend of pain and tenderness. "It’s something he needs to see..." she murmurs, her voice trembling yet resolute. "Just give it to him, sweetheart. He’ll understand."

You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the box as uncertainty flickers in your chest. But the quiet urgency in her voice, coupled with the way her hands linger on the box as though letting go is both a release and a plea, pushes you to act.

Nodding, you take the box from her, its weight pressing against your chest as if carrying not just its contents but her unspoken regrets and hopes.

Without wasting another moment, you turn and run... your feet carrying you down the hallway, your heart pounding as you descend the staircase in a blur. The house feels suffocating, every second urging you to escape its confines and race towards the love of your life.

The moment you spot the guard outside, you request him to call the driver and within minutes that feel like eternity, your car pulls up. The headlights slice through the darkness, illuminating your urgency as you slide into the back seat, clutching the box tightly.

The car hums to life, gliding down the long driveway that stretches like an endless thread leading out into the world beyond your home. The city looms ahead and you press your forehead against the cool glass of the window.

Your tears continue to fall, but this time they carry a different weight. They’re not born of despair but of something else entirely... a release, a hope, a fragile kind of determination.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you dare to believe that maybe, just maybe, this road will lead you home. To him. To a love worth everything.

//

The hum of activity in the airport lobby surrounds Jungkook, the soft murmur of voices blending with the gentle tapping of suitcase wheels on the polished floor.

The bright fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow across the vast, open space, while the large windows showcase the sprawling tarmac outside.

The quiet rush of people moving in all directions adds to the atmosphere... passengers checking in, families hugging goodbye, and the occasional call over the loudspeaker announcing boarding times.

It’s a place filled with anticipation, yet for Jungkook, the air feels heavy, weighed down by a deep ache that refuses to be soothed.

The large screens hanging from the ceiling flicker with departure times, the destinations glowing in bold text. His flight is soon, but the seconds seem to stretch endlessly as he watches the planes taxi down the runway in the distance.

Each passing minute only deepens the knot in his stomach, the looming uncertainty of what’s to come gnawing at him.

Sitting beside him, his mother watches him closely. Her gaze is gentle, understanding the turbulence within him even if she can’t fully share it.

She leans forward slightly, her voice soft and filled with concern, "Kook..." she calls, her words breaking the silence around them. "You're sure you want to leave?"

His heart aches at the question, the temptation to stay and resolve everything with you pulling at him, but he knows deep down, that this is something he must do.

He exhales deeply, glancing at his mother, forcing a small smile. "Yes, Ma." he says, the words coming out slower than he intends. "It’s the only right thing to do."

But even as the smile touches his lips, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. They’re distant, clouded by the pain of knowing he’s about to walk away from something that means more than just the world to him.

The silence settles back around him, a heavy weight pressing on his chest as his thoughts inevitably drift back to you. He can't help but wonder if he’s making the right choice, if walking away from the love he's known for so long is really the only answer.

But before he can sink deeper into the spiral of doubt, a sudden commotion at a distance pulls him from his thoughts. Loud footsteps echo through the terminal, and the sound of frantic running cuts through the usual hum of voices.

Without thinking, his head swivels to the source of the noise, his eyes narrowing as he instinctively watches the movement. What he doesn’t expect, however, is the sight of you... familiar, yet out of place, desperately scanning the crowd, your gaze flickering from face to face, frantic and lost.

His heart skips a beat. Confusion floods his senses as he watches you weave through the standing passengers, your steps quick. You’re clutching something tightly in your hands, a box, perhaps.

His feet move before he can stop them, standing up from his seat, his eyes not leaving you for even a second.

His mother, sensing the shift in his demeanor, stands up as well, her eyes following his gaze. “Kook, what happ—” she starts to ask, but her voice trails off when she sees you too. A small, knowing smile tugs at her lips, though Jungkook doesn’t notice it. He’s too lost in the storm of emotions as he watches you... his heart racing now.

You’re moving erratically, your gaze darting around as you stop by random chairs, still searching, still looking. The urgency in your movements is unmistakable, and Jungkook’s confusion only deepens.

But then, your eyes lock with his. The moment freezes in time.

“Kook!!” Your voice shatters the stillness of the moment, cutting through the noise of the airport like a beacon in the chaos, a lifeline thrown with every ounce of desperation and hope.

The urgency in your cry tugs at his heartstrings, and in that instant, Jungkook feels everything... the hurt, the longing, all rushing toward him, sweeping him into a wave of raw emotion. It’s in the tremble of your voice, the frantic search in your eyes, the way you seem to need him like air itself.

He instinctively steps forward, reaching out, but you’re already running, your feet light and swift, propelled by a determination that can only come from a heart that knows exactly what it wants.

When you stop just a few feet away, everything hits him... the disheveled state of you, the tears streaking down your face, the nightgown you haven’t changed out of, as if you’ve left everything behind, every comfort, just to be here.

His heart aches at the sight, his need to protect you overwhelming him. But before he can speak, you beat him to it.

"Kook, I'm flying back to New York with you." The words burst from you, each one carrying the weight of everything you’ve held inside, every thought, every feeling, every breath you’ve taken since he left. You’re breathless, your chest heaving with the strain of the words, and your eyes never leave his... desperate, yet filled with a certainty that makes his heart ache deeper than it already does.

Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat. This is the last thing he expected to hear. This is the last thing he ever imagined he would face at this moment, but the emotion behind your words... the sheer depth of it, strikes him like a tidal wave.

His eyes flicker to his mom, standing just behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder, as if silently telling him to breathe.

"I'll be in the washroom, okay?" His mom’s voice is soft, distant, but Jungkook barely registers it. His mind, his heart, is consumed by you. He doesn’t even notice when she slips away, leaving the two of you in this fragile, raw moment, suspended in time.

His heart races, torn between the pull to stay with you and the reality of the life he's supposed tp have without you. "Y/N... please..." he whispers, his voice thick with the weight of everything he’s trying to say and everything he can’t.

"Please, don’t make this harder than it already is." His voice cracks, betraying the vulnerability he’s trying to hide. The truth is, deep down, he knows he can’t keep you away anymore.

He knows you’ve made your choice, just as he’s made his.

But you shake your head slowly, tears glistening in your eyes, and the steady resolve in your voice pierces through the pain that’s been festering between you both.

"Kook, ever since we started dating, not a single day has passed where I haven’t imagined a future with you. Not a single day where I didn’t wonder what our lives could be like, what we could build together."

You take a step closer, and he can feel the gravity of your words pulling him in, the sincerity behind every syllable. "Since day one, you’ve been the only thing on my mind, Kook. Every single day, you’re the first thought when I wake up, the last one before I fall asleep." You let out a soft laugh, though it’s laced with a sob, and his heart breaks all over again.

"You’re all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever dreamed of. You’re the one I’ve imagined growing old with, the one I’ve pictured beside me through every storm, every moment, every day. You’re the only one I see... now, tomorrow, and forever."

His breath hitches, and he feels as though the ground beneath him could collapse at any moment. You reach out, your hand trembling, and he steps forward instinctively, his hand brushing against yours in the most delicate touch.

"I want everything with you, Kook. I want the quiet mornings in our cozy little apartment, the smell of coffee filling the air, the sound of our laughter echoing through the walls. I want our own little family... maybe even a dog... a Doberman, just like you’ve always wanted." You smile, and the tenderness of it catches him off guard, but the tears that shimmer in your eyes tell him everything.

He smiles back, though he can’t hide the way his eyes glisten.

"I want the mundane moments, the everyday life, because those are the moments that make everything else worth it. And I want it all with you." You pause, your voice breaking, but your eyes never waver, never falter in their devotion.

"Because to me, Kook, you are my future. You are everything I’ve ever needed. And wherever you are in the world, that’s where I belong." You smile, caressing his cheek, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Jungkook feels like he’s home.

"And no matter who wants to get in the way, no matter who tries to break us apart, I’m not going to let that happen." You whisper, your voice low and fierce with the love that burns between you.

And as the words hit him, Jungkook feels every bit of his own resolve crumble. The only thing he’s certain of now is that you are his heart, his everything. And nothing, no one, could ever change that.

"Really?" he asks, his voice low, almost a whisper, yet filled with a fragile kind of hope. It’s as if he’s afraid the moment might shatter if he speaks too loudly. He takes a cautious step closer, his eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt.

But there isn’t any. None at all.

You nod, the certainty in your small gesture lighting a spark in his chest. His lips curve into an airy, disbelieving chuckle, the sound tinged with a kind of relief he hadn’t known he needed.

"Really." you affirm softly, a small laugh escaping you... a laugh so full of love and promise that it unravels him completely.

That’s all it takes.

Before he even realizes it, his hands are cradling your face, his palms warm against your skin, his touch reverent, as though you’re something fragile, something precious. And in truth, you are.

When his lips meet yours, it’s as though the world around him disappears... the hum of the airport fades, the distant announcements and the shuffle of hurried footsteps dissolve into nothing.

In this moment, there is only you.

He kisses you with everything he has, everything he’s held back, and everything he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. It’s not just a kiss... it’s an unspoken promise, a confession of the depths of his love, a bridge over the years of pain and longing.

Every part of him, every fiber of his being, is poured into this moment, because now, nothing else matters.

Because at this point, Jungkook knows... he wants everything with you, too. He’s always wanted it. A future where your laughter fills the air, where your shared dreams come to life.

A home that feels alive because you’re in it, your warmth lighting every corner. A family that grows in love and chaos, where his mornings start with you by his side and his nights end the same way.

It’s you... only you. The only constant in every vision he’s ever had of his future. The one person who makes him feel like he’s enough, like he’s whole.

As the kiss deepens, Jungkook’s hands slide to the nape of your neck, his fingers threading gently through your hair. It’s as though he’s anchoring himself in this moment, desperate to make it last forever, to ground himself in the reality that you’re here, with him, choosing him.

But then, you pull back, your hands pressing lightly against his chest, breaking the moment. “Wait…” you breathe out, your voice trembling slightly. The sudden shift leaves Jungkook momentarily dazed, confusion flickering in his eyes as his hands hover near you, reluctant to let you go entirely.

You bring up the box in your hand, holding it out to him. “Mama…” you start, swallowing hard as if the weight of the moment is catching up to you. “Mama told me to give this to you.” you say, your voice soft.

Jungkook’s brows knit together as he glances at the box, his confusion deepening. The mention of your mother makes his posture stiffen. “What is it?” he asks softly, his voice cautious as he hesitantly takes the box from you.

“I don’t know.” you admit, shaking your head. “But she said… it’s something you need to see.”

Jungkook lets out a shaky breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stares at the box in his hands. A storm of emotions brews inside him... apprehension, curiosity, even a flicker of hope but mostly, there’s a gnawing sense of dread.

He doesn’t know what to expect, but his mind is already spiraling. Is this going to be another sign of disapproval? Another way to remind him he’ll never measure up, never truly belong?

He forces himself to stop, shaking off the intrusive thoughts as he carefully lifts the lid. His heart pounds in his chest, his breathing shallow as he peers inside. And then his breath hitches.

Inside the box is a photo frame. The wooden edges are simple but elegant, smooth beneath his fingertips as he picks it up. His eyes fall on the picture encased within, and his lips part in quiet disbelief.

It’s a photograph... a snapshot from the day of the tea ceremony, the first time Jungkook met your family.

In the picture, he stands slightly stiff beside you, surrounded by your family. At the center sits your grandmother, her expression serene yet proud, flanked by your parents on either side. Beside your mother stand Taehyung and Miyeon, their bright smiles radiating warmth.

On the opposite side, next to your father, it’s you and Jungkook. You’re beaming at the camera, your joy evident and infectious, while Jungkook offers a softer smile, his hand resting securely in yours.

Jungkook remembers that day vividly. How awkward he’d felt, how he’d hesitated when you asked him to join the family photo. He’d insisted it wasn’t his place, that he didn’t belong.

But you had convinced him, tugging him to your side with a reassuring smile that melted his defenses. Even then, he had been aware of your mother’s watchful gaze, uncertain if his presence in the frame would be seen as an intrusion.

His gaze lingers on the photo now, taking in every detail. But it’s not just the image that strikes him... it’s the frame. The way it borders the picture, enclosing the memory within its sturdy embrace.

The frame, with its polished wooden edges, doesn’t trap the image but preserves it, making it whole. In this small, simple structure, he sees the way this memory is safeguarded, cherished, and elevated.

And in that same breath, it strikes him... this is what belonging feels like. This frame doesn’t exclude him… it includes him. It holds him within its bounds, just as you do, just as your family does, and now, even your mother.

And it hits him all at once.

He belongs. He belongs inside the frame.

The realization washes over him like a tidal wave, a flood of warmth and emotion that he can’t contain. The photograph isn’t just a picture... it’s a symbol. A message from your mother.

It’s her unmistakable way of telling him that she no longer sees him as a blemish or an imperfection in an otherwise perfect picture... that he’s no longer an outsider.

This was her approval, her apology, her final affirmation that he belongs... to you, to your family, and to everything that makes you who you are.

His throat tightens, his chest swelling with an overwhelming mix of emotions... relief, gratitude, love. His eyes, brimming with unshed tears, flicker to yours. You’re watching him intently, your own emotions mirrored in your gaze.

“I belong…” he whispers, the words trembling on his lips, as though uttering them aloud might shatter the delicate truth he’s only just beginning to grasp. His gaze meets yours, and his soft, incredulous smile carries the weight of disbelief, hope, and a longing he can finally put to rest. “I… I belong.”

You nod, stepping closer until your hand gently covers his. “You always have, Kook. You’ve always belonged.” you whisper, your voice tender but certain, as though sealing a promise he hadn’t realized you’d made long ago.

In an instant, he shifts the frame and box into one hand, his other arm pulling you tightly into his chest. The embrace feels like a shield, a cocoon against the noise and chaos of the world around you.

You wrap your arms around him in return, holding on as though you might never let go. The distant hum of airport announcements fades, muffled and irrelevant, as the two of you become the center of each other’s universe.

“I love you, Kook.” you say softly, your voice barely audible against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He nods, pressing his cheek against the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair.

“I love you too.” he whispers and when he pulls back, it’s just enough to look into your eyes. Without hesitation, he leans down, his lips capturing yours in another kiss.

But this kiss is different. It’s not just a declaration of love... it’s everything. It’s the apology he never got to fully say, the gratitude he feels for your unwavering faith in him, and the silent vow that he’s yours, now and forever.

When you finally part, your cheeks are damp, and so are his, but neither of you care. You smile up at him, teary-eyed but radiant, and he mirrors your expression, his face soft with wonder and relief, as though the final piece of the puzzle has clicked into place.

“God...” you laugh suddenly, breaking the moment with a sheepish grin. “I just realized…I’m still in my nightgown. I probably gave everyone a show running like a maniac through the airport.”

Jungkook blinks, suddenly becoming aware of your surroundings. “Shit, baby, you should’ve changed! Aren’t you cold?” His hands instinctively move away from you and within seconds, he’s shrugging off his coat.

“Kook, I’m fine.” you protest lightly, but he’s already draping the thick fabric over you with careful precision, his brows furrowed in concern. “Still...” he mutters, stepping back to adjust the coat around you. “You could’ve caught a cold. What were you thinking?”

You slip your arms into the sleeves and laugh. “I wasn’t thinking. I just had to get to you.”

From a short distance away, Jungkook’s mother watches the two of you in silence, her luggage resting by her side. Her lips curve into a faint smile as she observes her son, who had been so weighed down by sorrow just days ago, now standing tall and glowing in your presence.

Relief floods her heart, seeing him laugh, seeing him love, and most of all, seeing him be loved in return.

The sharp crackle of the intercom shatters the stillness, the announcement of your flight echoing through the terminal. “Wow...” he murmurs, exhaling deeply. The reality of it all is finally settling in. “This is it, huh?”

“We’re going back to New York together.” you remind him with a smile, and he nods, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Wait, though...” he says, his brows knitting together in sudden confusion. “Where’s your luggage?”

You grin, a mischievous twinkle lighting your eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have it arranged.” you say. He laughs, shaking his head in affectionate disbelief because he had momentarily forgotten who is girlfriend really was. “Of course, you will.” he says.

As the two of you turn to walk towards the gate, your hand in his, you spot his mother by the seats. She holds her luggage now in one hand, her posture relaxed, her expression warm. You offer her a shy, almost apologetic smile, and she returns it with one of quiet approval.

Just before Jungkook can lift his bag, you pause, tilting your head towards him with a playful smirk. “Kook...” you begin. “You know my family has ties with the airline, right?”

“Yeah…?” He narrows his eyes, already sensing where this is going. “So…” you drawl, dragging out the moment. “I might have upgraded our seats to business class again.”

epilogue

7 months later;

"And you may now kiss the bri—"

The words barely leave the officiant's lips before the room erupts into cheers and applause as Jungkook steps forward with a wide, boyish grin, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you into a kiss that’s nothing short of passionate.

The world around you blurs as he leans you back ever so slightly, his lips molding perfectly to yours, and the crowd’s whoops and claps grow louder, egging him on.

You can’t help but giggle against his lips, your bouquet clutched tightly in one hand while your other arm winds its way around his shoulders.

“Woohoooo! My baby sister is finally married!” Taehyung’s voice booms above the commotion, his excitement cutting through the noise like a firecracker. His dramatic declaration sends a ripple of laughter through the room, the joyful energy bouncing off every corner of the hall.

Jungkook pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughs softly, clearly enjoying the infectious joy of the moment.

You smile radiantly at Jungkook before intertwining your fingers with his and walking down the aisle together. The flower petals fall gently from above, catching the golden light like tiny, delicate whispers of a blessing, creating a dreamy haze that feels almost surreal.

The crowd's cheers and laughter are like a harmonious melody, and you can’t help but laugh softly as you wave to your friends and cousins, who coo and awe over the two of you.

Playfully, you lift your hand, wiggling your fingers to show off your ring, earning exaggerated gasps and more cheers. Jungkook chuckles beside you, squeezing your hand affectionately as his eyes scan the sea of familiar faces.

His gaze lands first on his mother, seated near the aisle, her hands clasped tightly together as she watches her son with pride. She’s smiling... a smile so genuine and full of love that it makes his heart ache in the best way. He smiles back, his lips curving into something soft, something grateful, and then his attention shifts.

He spots Yoongi next, standing amidst the crowd, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a grin. Yoongi raises his hand, offering Jungkook a thumbs-up with a playful holler that has the people around him laughing. Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head slightly but appreciating the support from his closest friend.

Then, his eyes drift to the other side of the room, and they find your mother. She’s radiant, as always, with an elegance that commands attention without effort. But what truly catches him off guard is her expression.

When their eyes meet, it’s not the cold, scrutinizing gaze he once feared... it’s warm. Her smile is soft, genuine, and holds something he never thought he’d see... acceptance.

The world seems to slow for a moment as she dips her head slightly, a silent gesture of approval, a mother’s quiet way of saying... Take care of my daughter. Always keep her happy.

Jungkook feels his throat tighten, emotions bubbling to the surface as he nods subtly in return with his own silent promise... I will. Always.

<-part 7

—fin. ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

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[sizzlingcloudmentality]

fuckboy

unnamed ppu character x f!reader | wc: 3.5 k | explicit, mdni

summary: you meet this guy at a bar, drink too much and he shows you his questionable definition of making out aka storage room sex. spoiler: it's never just the tip.

warnings: filth, very dubious dub-con, drunk reader, her consent is questionable, gaslighting, manipulating, he's an insufferable fuckboy and needs to go to hell actually, he's a bad lay, unspecified but legal age gap, fingering, rough-ish unprotected PinV, creampie, petnames (baby, cockslut), dick+pussy pronouns, two ass smacks, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied

a/n: this bitch was supposed to be a tiny drabble. oops. inspired by this post. @iamasaddie, you wanted me to elaborate, here you go, i hope this tingles in adult ways, at least a little bit. thank you for your help with the header <3 and thank you @guiltyasdave for the same as always: everything (aka beta and unlimited support and love 💕)

The bar is brimming, buzzing, the bass vibrates through every single person in the room, raw dogging each one of them, one after another and all at the same time.

He looks ridiculous. Too old for a place like this, hideous but somehow sexy Hawaiian shirt, of course only buttoned up halfway to show off his toned chest and a gold chain necklace, and he wears sunglasses, indoors. Big violet mirrors, aviator shaped, hiding behind them. Hiding his intentions but they are oh so clear.

The guy purses his lips, eyebrows dancing, hips moving side to side and back to front, obviously a preview of what’s to be expected if someone hooks up with him.

It was the blondish-white strand in the otherwise dark hair that made you weak for him. You don't even know why. While the rest of the man screams ‘fuckboy’ the blonde strand purrs ‘baby boy’.

The strand looks so pretty, whenever the color of the lights changes, always tinted in red or orange or blue. The strand looks really pretty in the storage room, too. It begs to be touched and tugged.

So you do. You touch it and gently tug it while he touches your thighs and tugs on your panties. Then he tugs them aside and you whimper when he runs his thumb through your slit without a warning.

“How old are you exactly?” he rasps against your neck, licking your skin while his thumb searches for something. Your clit probably, you think and moan when he finds it for a moment.

“Old enough to drink alcohol,” you mutter and let your head fall back against the tiled wall. The turned over crates bite into the flesh of your ass, empty bottles rattle when he pulls you closer towards him.

“So you're old enough for this bad boy.” He grins at you, a stupid proud grin, and takes your hand away from his hair and guides it to the bulge in his jeans. When you don't start moving your hand, he does it for you, over the whole length and back. “You want him? Wanna see him? You do, right?”

His damp breath brushing your ear adds to the dizziness in your head. Your head is spinning a little from the music and the drinks. Spinning, just like his thumb, that is now circling close enough around your clit to finally feel good.

“I dunno,” you murmur and try to get your swimming mind to focus.

“That's not a no, baby. So you want him. I knew it.” His free hand fumbles with his zipper. The crates you're sitting on quake when he pulls down his jeans. And before you know it, you feel something in your palm. Smooth and hard and hot, heavy, jumping in your hand.

It’s not exactly what you signed up for earlier, when he paid for two of your drinks and sucked on your earlobe. When he said something about you being so cute and making out with him. Just kissing. I promise, baby. I know a place. And then he dragged you along with him into this crammed storage room that smells like booze and sweat.

You kissed, for a minute or so. But now you have his cock in your hand. You look down and his thumb swipes over your clit, making you moan and him twitch. Why do you have his cock in your hand? He feels so heavy and warm. He feels a bit good, actually.

His hand moves to cup your cunt, the ball of his thumb pressing against your sensitive nub and a nimble finger -or two?- is slipping into you and immediately back out. At least that's what it felt like, you're not sure. But you feel yourself clamp down on nothing, chasing what was there just a second ago. His tongue moves over your pulse and a whine escapes you.

“Oh, I know, baby, you like him, right?” He moves closer, trapping you between the cold wall and his warm body, between the plastic crate and his dick. A finger dips into your heat again, deeper now, deep enough for you to be sure about feeling him inside of you. This is definitely not just kissing, but it somehow feels good.

“Baby, she wants me. You feel it, too, right?” His tongue runs along your neck and to your ear, his hips buck and your fingers tighten around his cock. He’s so hard beneath all the hot smoothness.

His fingers are pushing in deeper now and you clench around him. “See? You want me. You're so wet, baby. You know that it means you want me.” He pulls his fingers out and presses them back in, matching his thrusts in your palm with the rhythm of fingering you.

You groan out a curse and start accepting your fate. Fine, then you're getting fingered in exchange for a few drinks. That's okay, he's not too bad at it. The thickness of his fingers is half the battle.

The small blonde strand is catching your attention and lures your hazy mind in. Baby boy. Your body already surrenders to his ministrations and you roll your hips, moaning when he slips in another fraction of an inch.

“Mhmm, jus' what I thought. Desperate, that's what you are. You want more? You feel good?”

You dumbly nod your head because all you're able to think about is the throbbing ache in your pussy and the smooth movement of his cock in your hand. Yeah, he makes you feel good. With a wet sound he pulls his fingers out again.

“I'll give you more then, if that's what you want.” He nudges your hand off his dick and grips himself at the base. “Baby, look. He's excited for you.”

You look between your bodies again and squint to get a clearer vision. Precum. He's leaking. There's a clear drop forming over his slit. No, this definitely is not just kissing. Your eyes meet his again and when you open your mouth to speak he shifts forward and wedges the fat head of his cock between your folds.

You're whining again, your hips bucking into the sensation. A moment of clarity forms between your dazed mind and your nudged clit: Fuck. Shit. No. You don't even know his name.

When you start squirming he grabs you by your waist, firmly but not painfully. He hums, sounding a bit strained now. Slowly, slowly his dick glides back and forth through your slit, pushing at your nub whenever he reaches it.

“Baby, what's the problem? It feels good, doesn't it?” His eyebrows dance and he looks at you like a kicked puppy. “God, you're so messy, listen.”

It's true, you can hear the squelching over the soft clinking of bottles in the crate whenever he guides himself all the way to your entrance, rubbing his shaft against you.

“Yeah, but…” You groan quietly when he moves his hips back and drag himself along your clit. “A condom. You have one?”

He just laughs and continues his movements through your slick folds.

“What would we need a condom for, hm, silly girl? They're just cuddling. She hugs him, baby, hugs him real tight.” He pushes his cock forward to your clenching hole, but never makes the final move, never dips in. Your mind tells you no, yet your body clearly wants it, to be fucked.

“And he likes her. Look, they're kissing.” He draws his hips back, cock in hand, and starts dabbing and tapping and burrowing the thick, plush tip against you. “Just making out, like us. That's okay, right? Kissing?”

He pushes deeper again, only to move back immediately. Back and forth, just his tip rubbing you, just the fat rim teasing and teasing and teasing your aching clit. It looks good, the way he appears and disappears again, all glistening.

“That's okay, yes,” you mutter breathily, trying to suppress another moan. He doesn't let up, keeps the slow rhythm of back and forth. God, you need his fingers again, he needs to numb the pulse inside of you.

“I know it's okay. Feels good, hm?” he whispers sweetly against your lips before flicking his tongue against your top lip. “She feels so good, baby… You like how he feels? Like how my cock feels?”

You nod your head again and meet his movements halfway, tilting your hips so you can feel him prod your entrance a little more. The emptiness inside starts hurting and you whimper with his lips ghosting yours. He smells of beer and body spray, all mixing together with a whiff of arousal.

“I need… I need…” you gasp out and try to grind against him as good as you can.

“You want me to stop? Is it too much?” His movements come to a halt and he pulls away slightly, grinning and hiding it behind a sweet little peck.

You squirm again, this time closer instead of away. One hand clutches his, the one he pumps himself with. You swallow, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. They taste like booze and beer.

“No, no, god, please. I need a lil' more?” You tug on him, trying to guide his hand back right up against your core.

“Oh, I'm not sure, baby…” He gives in a little bit and lets his leaking cock rest against your sensitive nub again. “You really want more of me? Of him?”

You tug more on his hand, frustrated with his hesitation. “Need you inside,” you groan and pull on his fingers, wanting them back in your aching cunt.

“Inside? Are you sure?” He lets you squeeze his fingers into the wetness of your slit, carefully letting his dick follow.

“Yes! Please,” you whine and let go of his hand when he prods you with a single digit. Thank fuck, you think.

“But jus’ the tip,” he murmurs almost apologetically.

Your question about what the hell he is talking about is knocked out of your brain the moment you feel a stretch that’s not coming from his fingers. He presses inside of you. Just the tip, like he said. Like you never meant it. But he stretches you so perfectly on the first inches that you can’t even protest. Until he withdraws himself again.

“That good, baby? That what you want? Say yes,” he pleas, his breath hot against your ear and you feel him shift again. His dick slides all the way through your slit to your clit and back, slowly pressing back into you again.

“Fuck, yes.” It feels good. Better than the aching. You just want to feel stuffed. Your forehead drops onto his shoulder and you whimper when he continues to sluggishly fuck you with his fat tip. “But… a condom?”

He sighs and when he pulls out he stops moving again, leaving you hanging and you pussy clenching desperately.

“This isn't even sex, baby. It's just. The. Tip.” He tilts your head up and looks at you over his stupid aviators. “Listen, we can stop if you don't want this. I'm doing this just for you. Because you asked me to. You wanted more, right? Wanted to feel good?”

Your head nods, maybe a little prompted by his fingers under your chin.

“See, there we have it. You want this and they're just making out. Tongue kissing.” He pushes back in and it feels better than before. But you can't really say if he’s in deeper? You don't care too much. Tongue kissing. It makes sense. “I'm just doing this for you, baby. Because you seem to need it so badly.”

He smiles a friendly and seemingly sincere smile while pulling out and pushing back into you, painfully slow. Like scratching an itch with nothing but a tickle.

“I really care about you, hm?” His whisper fleets to your ear when he drops your face back to his shoulder. The next shallow thrust makes him grunt and your pussy clamps down on him. He slips past the tight spot -accidentally probably?- and you feel full for a second. Filled and good and you want it again.

But he draws back again, moaning into the crook of your neck. “Sorry ‘bout that, baby. But you're so wet. Got a slip and slide pussy there.”

His hips roll and his tip nudges back into you. Again and again, until your fingers are clutching him and your body writhes towards him, desperate for more depth. The edge of the crate cuts into the meat of your ass, the bottles rattling with every small thrust.

There isn't much to it. In your hazy mind this thought appears like a beacon. He's been inside already. The damage is already done, nothing you could take back now. He could fuck you stupid instead of feeding you this sample sized version of sex.

He wedges his hard cock back into your hole and slips out again, leaving your cunt sopping and clenching and empty. You can feel your slick slowly running down your thighs. You rarely ever felt this horny, this desperate for a dick. It’s almost like he teases you on purpose.

“Fuck me,” you whine and command at the same time. “God, just fuck me.”

“You sure? I don't have a condom. Are you clean?”

You manage to scoff at his audacity but… maybe he wouldn't ask this if he wasn't clean himself? That's good. It's safe, somewhat safe.

“Of course I'm clean.” You want to sound confident and pissed off but your voice is whiny and morphs into a moan when he thrusts into you halfway.

“I'm trusting you then. Don't lead me on.” He sounds strained now, strangled, with your snug cunt squeezing him.

A handful more slow strokes and he's buried balls deep. Both of you pant, you because your aching gets soothed and he because you pulse around him. Your body tries to egg him on to fucking move, but he just stays still.

“Shit. She tight.” He lets out a single hoarse laughter before his hips buck just a little deeper into you and you swear he must be somewhere in your guts. “Christ, she’s gripping him.”

He pulls out, almost completely, and fills you back up with one harsh thrust.

“Fuck,” you moan and hook your legs behind his ass when the tower of crates beneath you starts shaking from the impact. And then he starts fucking you, hard. Fast. The bottles rattle rhythmically in time with his thrusts.

His hands dig into your hips when he grabs hard enough to feel your bones. He pulls you onto him, fucking himself with you.

He's not good per se, just slamming into you over and over again, his balls slapping against your ass with every harsh pump. But he has a good sized cock, just an inch too long and a little too girthy. The stretching is never ending, the slight sting hurts just right, and his pelvis hitting your poor, swollen, teased clit is going to finish you sooner or later. You just feel so full. The way he stretches you out on his cock makes you dumb.

“You always do this?” He snarls, using the wobbling crate tower for more leverage. “Getting a guy to fuck you in the backrooms? You just need it that bad?” His thumb somehow finds your pulsing nub and he starts to rub it roughly until your legs quake around his waist from the stimulation.

“Oh… oh fuck…” Your nerve endings are on fire and your muscles twitch and clench. You clutch his arm, nails digging into his bicep when he won’t stop to harshly flick and rasp over your clit. Despite it all, you feel the familiar tug behind your navel. The heat is not building slowly, it’s approaching you violently.

“Don’t tell me you're close already, baby?” You see him grin before your eyes roll back, your vision turning black. “I thought I would be special. But you're just using me. Just want my cock.” He lets his hips snap into you, thrusting in too deep but in a good way. “Little cockslut.”

You whine, wanting to protest but you’re pinned down on the tilting crates, spread over this guy’s girth with your toes curling in your shoes. Complaining is the last thing on your mind.

“You gotta pull out.” Probably the only coherent thought you have left. You’re on birth control, but having this stranger’s cum dripping down your legs later when you're back with your friend?

“For real? A cockslut but not a cum dump? Such a rare breed, aren’t you?” His laughter sounds choked, breathless, the wet slapping of his slicked balls against your ass just as loud as his words. “I’ll pull out, don't worry, baby.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and plucks your leg off of his waist. Even though your muscles are already tense and twitching he straightens it out over his chest. “But first I’ll make you come on him.” Another hard hip snap and the changed angle makes you see twinkling stars on your retina when he hits you deeper. He grins down at you when you cry out your pleasure. “That's right, baby, let me hear you. Let the people hear that you're my little cockslut.”

His lips latch to your ankle that's resting on his shoulder and sucks on your skin as if he wants to brand you. And while he somehow manages to fuck you harder you wonder how many women in this bar have a hickey on their ankles.

And then you stop thinking. His thrusts turn sloppy, sweat forms on his forehead and runs down your leg and adds to your slick. “I’ll make you come so hard. You can feel it, right? Make you gonna black out on my cock, baby.” A nip to your ankle and then a smack on the side of your ass and your pussy starts clenching and choking on his girth. Still he keeps on fucking into you, struggling with how hard your muscles tighten around him.

“I’m… I’m gonna…”

Your yelp makes him grip you tighter and with a last thrust you fall right over the edge. His moans ring in your ears when his hips stutter, but he keeps fucking you through it. Your spasming body is held securely in his arms, preventing you to hurt yourself on the wobbly crates.

“Fuck, that's it, baby. Best pussy I ever fucked, I swear,” he hisses when his hips start stuttering. “Gonna make me fucking come. Gonna come for you. You want that?” He slams into you and somehow prolongs your orgasm with how he spreads your quaking cunt open over and over again. More of that, you want more of this orgasm.

So you nod your head and moan, trembling like the stacked bottles beneath your body. “Yes, I want that, please. Jus’ don’t stop.”

Another smack lands on your ass and he gives you a few last pumps before he pushes into and against you so hard that it makes you wince. Through the pulsing of your walls you feel him throbs and twitch, spitting out his cum so deep into you that you feel stuffed, really fucking stuffed. And it feels so good.

After a second he starts rolling his hips, letting himself be milked by your pussy until he finally and unceremoniously pulls out. He tilts his head, looking at his handiwork over the rim of his aviators. “Fuck yes. She’s so pretty like that, all wrecked.” The tip of his cock squeezes through your swollen and ruined slit once more, slipping into your gaping hole to draw another moan out of you. When he pulls out again some of his cum gets pushed out and starts running down to your ass.

“You… you didn’t pull out?” Despite your anger your body still vibrates and twitches.

“Couldn't. She gripped me too tight. It’s her fault,” he smirks and pets your mound. “But don't worry, I'm snipped, baby.”

He wipes himself dry with his hand, doing a poor job but he doesn't seem to care. Still half hard and sticky he stuffs his dick back into his boxers. “You want my number, baby?”

“Fuck you,” you hiss and search the storage room for some tissues.

“I knew you'd break my heart, baby,” he chuckles and watches you clean yourself. “But I really like you. You're special. Got a perfect pussy, too. Here, if you wanna use me again, I'm all yours.”

He pulls out something off his pocket, like a business card. No name or number printed on it. He puts it on a crate next to you before kissing your forehead. “God, baby, I think I’m in love with you,” he croons with a shit eating grin.

“Sure you are, fuck off.”

He lifts his hands and walks backwards until he reaches the door. “Gonna miss you.” He purses his lips, making a little kiss noise and disappears back into the bar.

You look over your own appearance and see the blank business card. When you turn it around you see it. A fucking QR code. A fuckboy with a QR code. Some more cum leaks into your pulled back panties and you bite the inside of your cheeks.

“Fuck it.” You put his card into your bra. Stupid cockslut.

you liked this? that's alright, we are all filthy little animals here. commenting or reblogging is appreciated, thank you! <3

want more dub-con? maybe you like this short Dave York fic: tainted heart

find my general masterlist here

dividers: as always @/saradika-graphics

[lev1berry]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲▶ discharged リヴァイ

( 𝓢 ) ﹕ he finds himself unexpectedly falling for you

in which levi ackerman, accustomed to a life of duty and emotional detachment, starts to change when he's injured and cared for by a nurse. initially indifferent, he gradually grows fond of her quiet kindness and begins to desire more. as his walls break down, he struggles with the fear of revealing his inner scars, uncertain about this unexpected connection.

──── levi ackerman x nurse! r ╱ ⌕ acquaintance2friends, fluff ∿ w. unethical relationship (nurse x patient) , romantic relationship , unestablished relationship , mutual pinning , feminine terms used , levi having a crush , brief mention of despersion , not proofread wc. 8.6k (8,611) ｡ ｡ inspired by this post by @levisrations the amount of times I rewrote this should be illegal

☆ 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 resigned himself to a life devoid of love. His world was one of duty and survival, where attachments were liabilities and emotions were weaknesses. But life, unpredictable as always, decided to challenge that belief in the most unexpected way. When he was confined to a hospital bed, broken and weary, you entered his life—not as a savior, but as a nurse assigned to care for him.

At first, Levi regarded you with indifference. You were efficient, professional, and kind, but he kept his walls firmly in place. He convinced himself that you were just doing your job, and he was just another patient in your care. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, something began to change.

It wasn’t a grand, dramatic moment that shifted his perspective. It was the quiet moments: the way you patiently listened to his curt remarks without taking offense, the soft smile you gave him when you thought he wasn’t looking, the way you treated him not as a soldier or a broken man but simply as Levi. Piece by piece, you slipped past his defenses, and he didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

For the first time in years, Levi found himself wanting something more. He looked forward to your presence in a way that unsettled him, and the thought of you not being there filled him with a strange, unfamiliar ache. But with that longing came fear—fear of letting you see the scars he had buried deep within. Not just the ones on his body, but the ones etched into his very soul.

Levi tried to suppress his feelings, convincing himself that you deserved better. Someone whole, someone unburdened by the weight of the past. He told himself he was protecting you, sparing you from the pain of being tethered to a man like him. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t deny the truth: you had become more than just a nurse to him.

Anyway, that plan didn’t work out. He wasn’t surprised; after all, things rarely went his way. Life had taught him that expecting anything more was a fool’s game. Still, he had hoped—foolishly, it seemed—that distancing himself from you would be enough to smother the feelings blooming in his chest. But it didn’t. If anything, his emotions only grew stronger with each passing day.

Hurray… What a cruel irony. Every time you walked into the room, every time your voice filled the air, it was like pouring gasoline on a fire he couldn’t extinguish. He wanted to hate it, to hate himself for feeling this way, but he couldn’t. You had become the one thing he couldn’t push away, no matter how hard he tried.

And it wasn’t just your kindness or your beauty that had undone him—it was the way you carried yourself, the way you looked at the world with such hope and grace. It was the way you treated him like he was something more than his scars, his past, or his title. You were so effortlessly… you. Bright, compassionate, full of life. You were everything he wasn’t—caring, gentle, and full of a light that seemed almost otherworldly. To him, you were the most gorgeous person he had ever met, not just in appearance but in spirit. And the more he dwelled on that, the more his hope diminished.

And he? He was just… him. A man burdened by too many failures, too many regrets, and too many scars to count. He felt like a shadow standing in the glow of your light. How could someone like you ever harbor love for someone like him? The thought was laughable, absurd even.

Levi clenched his fists, his jaw tightening at the ache blooming in his chest. This would hurt him, he was certain it would. There was no scenario where this ended with you looking at him the way he looked at you. No world where someone as extraordinary as you could ever fall for a man as broken as him.

And yet, despite the certainty of his own heartbreak, he couldn’t stop himself from caring. From wanting. From dreaming of the impossible, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. You were a flame, and he was a moth doomed to burn. And somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to turn away.

In the quiet of his heart, a small, fragile hope begins to grow. Perhaps, just perhaps, you are the one person who can show him that even the most shattered souls are capable of love.

He sighed deeply, the sound barely audible in the quiet of his room, as he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Once again, his mind was plagued with thoughts of you. This had been happening more frequently than he cared to admit, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, you always found your way into his thoughts.

Levi rubbed a hand over his face, as if the motion could wipe away the image of you that lingered in his mind. It was impossible, though. The memory of your kindness was seared into him. The way you spoke to him—not with pity, but with genuine care—was something he wasn’t used to. And that smile of yours… God, that smile. It was radiant, warm, and so effortlessly beautiful that it made his chest ache.

And your eyes. Those breathtaking eyes. They held a light he couldn’t quite describe, a spark that seemed to draw him in every time he was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse. He swore the world felt quieter when you looked at him, as if for that brief moment, nothing else existed but you. It was maddening how much power those fleeting glances had over him.

The more he thought about you, the deeper the ache in his chest grew. Because with every second spent imagining your laughter, your touch, your presence, he was also reminded of the harsh truth: someone like you could never feel the same way about someone like him. Levi wasn’t the type of man who inspired affection or love. He was stoic, scarred, and far too broken to be worthy of someone as extraordinary as you.

Levi closed his eyes, the weight of his unspoken feelings pressing down on him like a lead blanket. It was a cruel torment, to be so utterly captivated by you while knowing his chances were as slim as the stars aligning. Yet, no matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you. You had become his solace and his torment all at once—a beautiful dream that he could never truly hold.

It's not like it's impossible for you to feel the same…it's just that it's unlikely.

As if on cue, the door creaked open slowly, the sound breaking the silence and drawing his attention. His eyes shifted toward the doorway, where he caught sight of you peeking inside, your hand resting lightly on the frame. And then, with a smile that could rival the sun, you stepped fully into the room, your presence instantly filling the once-empty space with warmth.

Well, speak of the angel. His breath hitched slightly, though he masked it with a quiet exhale. “Y/n…” The name slipped from his lips in a hushed whisper, barely audible, almost as if it wasn’t meant to be heard. It was a reflex, really—an involuntary reaction to the sight of you. He would never admit it out loud, but seeing you again felt like the highlight of his day.

No, it was the highlight of his day. The hours leading up to this moment had been nothing short of agonizing. He knew you were busy tending to other patients, carrying out your duties, being your usual diligent self, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every second without you had dragged on painfully, each minute feeling like an eternity. He had spent the entire day counting down the time, his gaze flickering to the clock more often than he’d care to admit.

And now you were here, standing in front of him, your eyes bright and full of that familiar kindness that always seemed to soften the edges of his otherwise harsh reality. He tried to keep his expression neutral, to maintain the stoic facade he always wore, but deep down, he felt something stir—a quiet relief, a sense of peace that only your presence seemed to bring.

If he were honest with himself, painfully, brutally honest, he’d admit that he wished you didn’t have to divide your attention among others. The selfish part of him (one he didn’t even know existed until you came along) wanted you all to himself. He wanted your care, your time, your smile to be for him and him alone. The thought was absurd, he knew that. But it lingered all the same, persistent and unshakable.

Still, Levi kept those thoughts buried, tucked away where they couldn’t betray him. Instead, he simply watched you, his gray eyes following your every movement as you approached him. The day had been long, but now that you were here, he could finally breathe a little easier—even if he’d never tell you just how much your presence meant to him.

His gaze instinctively roamed over you, taking in every detail as if committing you to memory. From the way your hair frames your face to the way you carried yourself, everything about you seemed to radiate a kind of effortless charm that left him momentarily breathless. Before he realized it, a faint smile crept onto his lips, one so small it was almost imperceptible. It was rare for him to smile at all, but with you, it felt… natural.

Of course, his fleeting expression went unnoticed. You were too busy looking at him with that warm, familiar gaze of yours, the one that seemed to reach straight into his chest and wrap around his heart. Your smile, soft yet dazzling, pulled him in further, like a tether he couldn’t escape—and didn’t want to.

His steel-gray eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, unconsciously softened as they locked onto you. The tension he carried in his shoulders eased, his hardened exterior melting away, if only for a moment. It wasn’t something he could control; it was simply the effect you had on him.

What a sight for sore eyes… The thought drifted through his mind unbidden, and for once, he didn’t try to push it away. It was true, after all. You were a breath of fresh air in the otherwise suffocating monotony of his days. Your presence was a balm, soothing the edges of his often jagged world. He realized that he could spend an eternity in your presence and still not grow tired of the sight.

“I got some good news,” you started excitedly as you made your way closer to his bed, the sound of your voice full of joy. You leaned even closer, your face now so near his that you could almost feel the warmth of his breath. His cheeks flushed ever so slightly, a subtle but telling reaction to your proximity.

“Go on,” Levi encouraged, his voice low and calm, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes as he awaited the news.

You beamed, unable to hold back your excitement. “You're getting discharged tomorrow! Isn't that great?”

At first, Levi’s expression softened into what seemed to be a small, content smile, but it faded almost instantly, replaced by a frown that tugged at his features. His gaze dropped to his lap, his fingers nervously twitching against the bedsheet. Great? How is this great? The word felt almost alien in his mind, a stark contrast to the wave of uncertainty that washed over him. Tomorrow, he would be free to leave the sterile walls of the hospital, but that meant he'd have to say goodbye. He wouldn’t be able to see you every day, to hear your voice or feel the warmth of your presence beside him.

The thought gnawed at him. Even though he was supposed to feel relief, there was a knot of unease tightening in his chest. “I… guess it’s good,” Levi muttered, his tone laced with a complexity that didn’t quite match the excitement you had shown.

You noticed the sudden shift in his demeanor. Your heart sank, but you quickly masked the concern on your face with a smile, trying to cheer him up. “Hey, you’re finally getting out of here. It’s something to be happy about, right?”

As much as Levi wouldn’t admit it, he didn’t want to leave just yet. Not until he found the courage to tell you how he truly felt, a confession he’d buried deep down for far too long. He’d been planning to speak up for ages, but the right moment never seemed to come. And now, here it was: he was being discharged tomorrow, and it felt like his world was about to shift in a way he wasn’t ready for. The truth was, he wasn’t ready to leave you behind, not without at least saying something.

In a panic, his mind scrambled for a reason, any reason, to delay his release. He didn’t care if it was silly or unreasonable. All he knew was that he couldn’t leave yet. Maybe he could convince them to keep him here for a little longer, maybe even longer than that. Anything to stall for time.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said, his voice wavering for the first time in a long while. He paused, struggling to come up with the right words, but the silence only amplified the urgency in his mind. “I can’t walk with this…” His gaze fell heavily on his leg, his eyes momentarily losing focus as if the sight of it somehow made him feel even more trapped by his own hesitation. His leg was still wrapped in bandages, the healing process a reminder of the physical limitations that had left him stuck in the hospital for what felt like forever.

You stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you, before something inside you clicked. And then, it hit you: you knew exactly what he was trying to do. You couldn’t help it; a burst of laughter escaped your lips, light and carefree, as the absurdity of the moment struck you. The tension that had been building inside you melted away as you giggled, shaking your head in disbelief.

Levi’s eyes widened, a mix of confusion and annoyance flashing across his face. He hadn’t expected you to laugh, especially not at a time like this. “What?” he muttered, clearly not understanding why you were laughing at his predicament.

You managed to calm yourself down, though a few soft chuckles still slipped out. Wiping your eyes, you met his gaze again, your words carrying the remnants of your amusement. “Don’t worry about that,” you said, your voice light with affection, “we have a wheelchair for that.”

The realization hit him with a jolt, and he cursed inwardly. He had almost forgotten about the advances in Marley’s medical technology. In this world, they had more than just crutches or walkers—they had efficient, well-designed wheelchairs that would make his current condition nothing more than a slight inconvenience. That was his whole excuse, shattered in an instant.

Levi’s head dropped, and he exhaled a heavy sigh, trying to think of something else that could give him a little more time. But the truth was, there wasn’t much he could do to hold on any longer. He was trapped by his own thoughts, by the ticking clock and the weight of his unspoken feelings.

"I'll leave you to get some rest."

Your voice sliced through the haze of his thoughts like a soft breeze, stirring him from the swirling confusion in his mind. Levi’s heart skipped a beat at your words, his mouth opening slightly as if he had something important to say. He was about to call out to you, to ask you to stay just a little longer, to hold on to this fragile moment before you disappeared from his reach. But the words caught in his throat, and by the time he managed to look up, the door was already closing behind you. The soft click of it sealing shut was like the final nail in the coffin, the sound marking the moment when he knew he had missed his chance.

Damn it.

He let out a frustrated sigh, his shoulders slumping as he turned his head to rest against the pillow. His mind raced with all the things he should have said, all the things he had wanted to say, but now it was too late. He was left with nothing but the bitter taste of regret. Why had he hesitated? Why hadn’t he just told you?

As he closed his eyes, the thoughts continued to spiral through his mind like a never-ending storm. What would have happened if he had confessed how he truly felt? Would you have looked at him with surprise, maybe even a smile, and confessed that you felt the same way? Or would you have rejected him outright, laughed at the idea that someone like him could ever be worthy of your affection?

The thought stung, but as he considered it, Levi found himself dismissing it almost immediately. You were too kind, too understanding, to ever treat him that way. You wouldn’t laugh at him. You wouldn’t ridicule him. He couldn’t see you doing that. Yet still, doubt gnawed at him, eating away at the edges of his resolve. The uncertainty lingered in the air, the question unanswered, and it left a hollow feeling deep in his chest.

Levi tried to push the storm of thoughts away, as if somehow doing so would help him sleep. He shut his eyes tightly, willing himself to relax, to let go of the tension that had built up inside of him over the course of the day. But even as he breathed in, exhaling slowly, his mind refused to settle. The image of your smile, the sound of your laughter, and the unspoken words between you lingered in the quiet room.

What would have happened if he had taken the chance? Would everything be different now?

Before Levi knew it, the sun had risen, its golden rays filtering through the curtains and casting a soft glow across the room. He turned his head, squinting as the light hit his eyes. The warmth of it was almost too much, so he closed his eyes tightly and turned away, burying his face into the cool pillow. The light of the new day seemed to mock him, reminding him that time was slipping away. He hadn't slept a wink all night, the relentless swirl of thoughts keeping him awake as they so often did. But this time, the thoughts were different. This time, they were filled with the image of you—the pretty nurse who had become far too important to him over the past few months.

Today was likely the last time he’d see you.

The realization hit him like a weight, and it sunk deep into his chest. He hadn’t thought it would be so hard to say goodbye, but now that it was happening, the thought was almost unbearable. How many more times could he frown today? How many more times could he allow himself to be disappointed by his own inability to act? Levi felt a dull ache form in his heart as he turned away from the sun's light. There was nothing he could do about it now. You’d be gone from his life soon enough, and he would be left with nothing but memories and regret.

The soft sound of the door opening broke him from his spiral, and he didn’t even bother to turn his head. It was strange, really—this was probably the first time in a long while that he didn’t want to see you. He had grown accustomed to your presence, to the way your voice would brighten the sterile, dull atmosphere of the hospital. But now? Now, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts, even if they were nothing but a tangle of regret and longing.

"Mr. Ackerman? Are you awake?"

Your voice was quiet, tentative, like you were trying not to disturb him, but it was impossible to ignore. Despite himself, he turned over in bed to face you, his eyes settling on your figure standing in the doorway. He let out a small, frustrated sigh, his gaze fixed on you. Might as well burn your image into his brain, because it seemed like that was the only way he’d be able to remember you after today.

Damn you. Damn you for worming your way so deeply into his life, making him feel things he never wanted to feel. For making him care. For making him think, even for a moment, that he could have something real.

Yet, even as the frustration swirled inside of him, Levi had to admit—he couldn't deny the truth. These past few months, with you by his side, had been strangely peaceful. The quiet moments spent together, the way you always seemed to understand what he needed without him ever having to say a word. Those months had given him a kind of comfort he didn’t know he could have, a sense of calm that had been sorely missing from his life for far too long.

But now, it is all about to end. And he hated it.

"We're nearly done," you said, your voice carrying the usual warmth, but to Levi, it felt like a distant echo. What a shame, he thought, the words almost tasting bitter on his tongue. You were finishing up, preparing him for the inevitable departure, and all he could do was watch you speak.

“Make sure to properly…” you continued, but his mind had already wandered. His eyes were fixed on your lips as you spoke, and despite himself, Levi couldn't help but wish that you’d kiss him. The thought of your lips against his, even just for a fleeting moment, consumed him, but he quickly pushed the longing away. It was pointless. You were leaving, and nothing could change that.

“...You understand?” You finished with a soft smile, your gaze expectant, waiting for his response.

“Of course.” The words slipped from his mouth, sharper than he intended, a little too cold, a little too distant. It didn’t matter, though. You didn’t seem to notice or, at least, didn’t seem to mind.

You gave a small nod before heading out of the room, leaving him to his thoughts. Levi barely registered the sound of your footsteps retreating, already lost in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. He didn’t have enough time to miss you, though. You were back before he knew it, a wheelchair and some papers in hand, the small routine task pulling him out of his stupor.

He didn’t say a word when it was time to sign the papers, nor when you helped him into the wheelchair, the movements were automatic. His mind was elsewhere, still tangled in the mess of words he never said and feelings he couldn’t express. You noticed his silence but chose not to say anything. You had always seen Levi as someone who didn’t like talking about his feelings. It wasn’t in his nature to share, to be open, and you knew better than to push him.

You signed the papers without hesitation, before gently pushing the wheelchair out of the room. “A man named ‘Onyankopon’ is waiting for you. He’ll take you home,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

Levi didn’t respond with anything more than a dismissive “Tch.” He didn’t want to deal with this, didn’t want to think about the fact that you were finally leaving him behind. But you didn’t press him, and you didn’t try to pull more out of him. You simply continued on, guiding him through the sterile halls, knowing this would be the last time you’d see him like this.

The journey felt too short to Levi. Soon, he found himself at the entrance of his new house in Marley, the place that now felt both unfamiliar and too familiar all at once. The wheelchair came to a stop, and for a moment, he just stared at the door, almost as if he couldn’t believe he was really here. He didn’t have the words for the swell of emotions rising in his chest, nor did he know how to face the world outside, the world that seemed so different from the one you had made him feel safe in, even if just for a little while.

And as the door of his new home loomed before him, Levi couldn’t shake the thought of you, how you had been so close, yet so far away.

Ever since leaving the hospital, Levi’s life felt dull and monotonous. The days bled into each other in a haze of silence, and the once driven and disciplined man seemed to have lost all will to move forward. He barely spoke to anyone, his communication limited to the barest essentials. Meals went untouched, the food left to spoil as he stared at it, unable to summon the energy or the motivation to eat. The bed had become his sanctuary and his prison, a place where he could escape, even if only momentarily, from the weight of his own thoughts.

He didn’t care to leave the confines of the room, his gaze fixed on the dull walls as if they could somehow provide the comfort he desperately sought. Even the mess around him, a stark contrast to the spotless surroundings he had once prided himself on, went unnoticed. Clothes were scattered around the room, some half-folded, others in crumpled piles. Dirty dishes sat abandoned on the side table. The place was a wreck, but Levi didn’t bat an eye at it. The clean freak who once took pride in maintaining order now found himself indifferent, the mess reflecting just how much this entire situation was weighing on him.

It was clear to anyone who knew him that this wasn’t just a temporary slump. This was something deeper, something more profound. His usual sharp edge, his resolve—everything that made Levi Ackerman the person he was—seemed to have faded. Instead, a hollow version of him lingered in the dim room, trapped in his own head.

Onyankopon, of course, had noticed the drastic change in Levi. The man was not one to ignore such things, and it had weighed heavily on his mind. He knew the raven-haired soldier well enough to see that something was off, and his concern only deepened with each passing day. The dark-skinned man had tried to engage Levi, tried to reach out, but the silence was always the same. He knocked on Levi’s door one more time, his fist gently tapping against the wood.

“Levi?” he called out, his voice soft but laced with concern. He waited for a response, but there was nothing—no movement, no sound. Just the heavy silence that seemed to have swallowed everything around the man.

Onyankopon let out a sigh, his worry growing. He stepped back and turned toward the living room, feeling the weight of the situation press down on him. He couldn’t just sit back and watch this happen. He had to do something. He thought for a moment, pondering what could be done to help the man who had once been so determined, so unyielding in his approach to everything.

And then, an idea hit him, almost like a flash of inspiration. He’d call you.

It wasn’t an easy decision. Onyankopon wasn’t sure how this would play out, but the more he thought about it, the clearer it became that you were the key to reaching Levi. Somehow, someway, he had come to understand that Levi must have liked you more than he let on. The day Levi was discharged from the hospital, the way he had stared at you with that look—an indescribable expression that conveyed longing, perhaps regret, and a silent plea. It had been a subtle thing, something most people might have missed, but Onyankopon had caught it. It wasn’t just that Levi was leaving the hospital; it was that he didn’t want to leave you.

He had never seen Levi like that before, and it troubled him. That quiet ache in the man's eyes, the yearning for something more, something he could no longer have. Maybe that was what was gnawing at him, pulling him into this abyss of isolation. Maybe that was what made him shut down completely.

Onyankopon couldn’t ignore it anymore. He needed to call you. If there was anyone who could help pull Levi out of this, it was you. And maybe, just maybe, you had a chance at healing the part of him that had been broken all along.

Onyankopon walked over to the phone with determination, his fingers hesitating only for a brief moment before he dialed your number. He had no time to waste; Levi needed help, and he knew you were the one person who might be able to reach him. The phone rang a few times before you picked up, your voice sounding a little surprised.

"Hello? How can I help you?"

Onyankopon took a deep breath, his voice serious as he spoke. "It’s about Levi. He’s not doing well—hasn’t been eating, barely talking, and he’s practically shut himself in. I’m worried about him, and I think you should come check on him. He might listen to you."

You paused for a moment, the concern clear in your voice as you processed his words. Levi. The usually strong and composed man who had, in the blink of an eye, become a shadow of his former self. It tugged at your heart to hear that he was struggling, but at the same time, you were cautious. You knew how grumpy and closed-off Levi could be, and you didn’t want to intrude on his personal space, especially when he had been so distant lately.

“I understand,” you replied carefully, a slight hesitation lingering in your tone. "But... are you sure he’ll be okay with me coming over? I don’t want to push him if he’s not ready to talk."

Onyankopon’s voice softened, understanding your apprehension. "I think it’s worth a try. He might need someone who knows him—someone who can get through to him. I think you’re that person."

You couldn’t deny the worry creeping up inside you, but there was something else too—a sense of duty. For the short time you’d known Levi, you had grown a soft spot for him. You had seen beyond his gruff exterior, glimpsing the man who, despite his stoic nature, had a quiet strength and a vulnerability that you found hard to ignore. You couldn’t let him continue like this, not if there was a chance you could help.

After a moment of silence, you made your decision. "Alright. I’ll come over."

The walk to his house was longer than you expected, each step carrying a mix of urgency and unease. The weight of the situation pressed on you with every passing minute. What would you find when you got there? Would he be angry? Would he shut you out completely? Or, perhaps, would he let you in, if only for a moment?

When you finally arrived at Levi’s house, you could see Onyankopon waiting outside, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. The moment he saw you, his face softened, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“You made it,” he said, his voice quiet but grateful. "I’m glad you’re here. He’s not in a good state… I just don’t know how much longer he can keep this up."

You nodded in understanding, your heart aching at the thought of Levi’s isolation. You could feel the tension in the air around his house—it was thick, almost oppressive. Steeling yourself, you followed Onyankopon inside, knowing that whatever happened next, you had to be there for him. You just hoped Levi would let you in.

“He’s in his room,” Onyankopon said quietly, his tone heavy with concern. He gave you a small, knowing nod before retreating, leaving you alone with the task of approaching Levi. You couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as you made your way down the hallway. The weight of the situation lingered in the air like an invisible pressure, and with each step closer to his room, your heart began to beat a little faster. You didn’t know what you’d find on the other side of that door, but you hoped, somehow, that you could make a difference.

When you reached the door to his bedroom, you paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You raised your hand and knocked softly, not wanting to startle him but hoping to get his attention.

“Mr. Ackerman?” You called out gently, your voice careful but filled with concern.

The silence that followed was deafening. You stood there for a moment, waiting for any kind of response, but there was nothing. Only the faint sound of bed sheets rustling from the other side of the door. It made your stomach tighten with uncertainty. Had he heard you? Was he ignoring you? Or had he simply chosen to stay in his isolation, shutting everyone out?

On the other side of the door, Levi was laying in bed, his mind lost in a haze of exhaustion and tangled thoughts. He hadn’t expected anyone to come today. After all, why would anyone want to visit him? He didn’t even want to deal with anyone, especially not now. The days had blurred together, each one indistinguishable from the last, and he had retreated even further into himself, away from the world that no longer seemed to make sense.

But then he heard your voice.

It was soft, tentative, but undeniably real. For a split second, he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or if you were actually there. His mind raced as he lay still in his bed, his body frozen in place as he tried to process what he had just heard. He blinked a few times, trying to shake off the fog in his head. It had been days since anyone had spoken to him with such gentle care, and hearing you call his name caught him off guard.

Slowly, Levi sat up in bed, his movements stiff and sluggish, as if the weight of his own thoughts was pulling him back down. His gaze flickered toward the door, and he stared at it for a long moment, unsure whether to open it, to acknowledge you, or to remain hidden within the safety of his room.

He wasn’t sure if you were really there. He wasn’t sure if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He had spent so much time in solitude that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone show concern for him, to have someone reach out.

But the rustling sound of your footsteps on the other side of the door, the softness in your voice when you said his name—it all felt too real to ignore. Still, he hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to open up, to let someone in. But for some reason, he found himself wondering, just for a moment, what it would feel like if he did.

"Can I come in?" you asked gently, your voice filled with hope. The silence on the other side of the door seemed to stretch on, but after what felt like an eternity, Levi's voice broke through, low and quiet.

"Yeah... come in," he murmured, almost as if it took all his energy to give you that permission.

You slowly pushed the door open, stepping inside with careful steps, your heart heavy with concern. The moment you entered the room, your eyes widened at the sight before you. The usually meticulous and clean Levi had let his room fall into disarray. Clothes were strewn about, some piled up in corners, others half-removed from the hangers, as if he’d lost the will to care. The bed was unmade, with blankets thrown haphazardly across it. The room felt stifling, a reflection of the mess inside Levi's own mind.

“Oh dear…” you murmured, your voice soft, but the surprise was clear.

Levi, sitting on the edge of his bed, shifted his gaze away from you, a subtle flush creeping up his neck. His embarrassment was palpable.

"Sorry about the mess," he muttered, his voice weak and hoarse from the silence he had been surrounded by for days.

You shook your head, offering him a warm smile despite the mess. "It’s okay, we’ll take care of that." Your words were light and reassuring, meant to ease his mind, but you could see how much it affected him. Levi wasn’t used to letting things slide, not like this. It was clear that something deep inside him had been shaken, and as you looked around the room, you could feel the weight of it all pressing down on him.

In that moment, as you stood there, so gentle and understanding despite the chaos, Levi could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. The softness in your gaze, the way you didn’t judge him, made him feel vulnerable in a way he wasn’t prepared for. It was almost like he was falling in love all over again, despite himself. He had never realized how much he had come to rely on your kindness until now.

You didn't let the silence drag on, your thoughts already drifting back to what Onyankopon had told you. He’d mentioned that Levi hadn’t had a proper meal in days—maybe even longer. Right now, he was a broken man, too tired to even care about basic things like eating.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” you said, your tone more resolute now, as if you had made it your mission to make sure he didn’t continue to suffer in silence.

Levi didn’t respond at first. He just nodded weakly, his exhaustion and emotional turmoil evident in the slight droop of his shoulders. A simple nod was all he could muster, but it was enough for you to understand that he needed help.

You left him alone in his room and made your way to the kitchen. The sound of the kettle whistling, the gentle stirring of ingredients, and the soft hum of the kitchen as you prepared his meal brought a sense of purpose back to you. You focused on the task at hand, but your mind kept drifting back to him—wondering if he’d be okay.

You made a small, simple meal—nothing too fancy, but hearty enough to give him some strength. Along with it, you brewed a pot of tea, knowing exactly how he liked it. Strong, just the right amount of bitterness, and a touch of honey.

With the meal and tea prepared, you walked back into his room, the soft clink of the tray in your hands filling the space as you approached him. Levi was sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze distant, but when you entered, he turned toward you, his eyes softening just slightly at the sight of the food and drink you brought him. You set the tray down on the small table next to his bed and handed him the tea first.

"Thank you," he muttered, his voice still quiet but carrying a note of gratitude that warmed your heart. It was the first time you had heard any emotion in his words for days.

"You're welcome," you replied, your smile small but sincere as you watched him take the tea from your hands.

Levi took a long sip, the warmth of the tea seeping into his tired body. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the familiar taste. “No one makes tea like you,” he said softly between sips. The words felt heavy with more than just appreciation.

You smiled at that, a chuckle escaping your lips. “Glad you missed me. I was lonely without your grumpiness.” Your words were light, teasing, but the undercurrent of affection was there, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you saw the faintest of smiles tug at the corners of Levi’s lips.

He took another sip of the tea, then picked at the food, eating in small bites, almost as if he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of him eating and the occasional sip of tea, but it was a peaceful silence. The tension that had once filled the room, the heaviness in his posture, seemed to ease just a little with each bite and each sip.

You stood nearby, watching him carefully as he finally ate the meal you prepared for him, his movements slow but deliberate. It was a small victory, but it felt significant.

As Levi slowly finished the meal you had prepared, you took the opportunity to begin tidying up his room. The dishes were simple enough to clean, but it gave you a moment to organize the rest of the room as well. During your time with him, you had come to understand just how much Levi appreciated a clean, organized space. It was something that had become second nature to him over the years, and yet, now, he seemed almost incapable of maintaining it on his own, weighed down by his emotions and exhaustion.

You moved silently through the room, picking up clothes that were left in disarray and making the bed with careful precision. All the while, you could feel Levi's gaze on you. His dark eyes followed your every movement, tracing your figure as you worked. Though he didn't say anything, the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. It was hard to ignore the warmth in his eyes, the unspoken gratitude there, even as he stayed quiet.

Once the room was cleaned and everything was in its place, you returned to his side, helping him sit up in bed, your hands gentle and steady as you supported him. “Do you want help bathing?” you asked softly, your voice tentative. You knew how fiercely independent Levi could be, and if it had been anyone else, he likely would have dismissed the offer immediately. But this time, there was something in his eyes, a silent longing for care that made him hesitate.

He didn’t trust his voice, the words stuck in his throat, so he simply nodded. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. He trusted you, even in this vulnerable moment, and it meant more to you than you could express.

You helped him stand up carefully, supporting him as you led him to the bathroom. As you set to work drawing a warm bath for him, Levi stood in the corner, peeling off his clothes slowly. There was an awkwardness to his movements, but you could tell he wasn’t trying to be distant. He just didn’t know how to navigate this situation, and you couldn’t blame him for that. He was used to being strong, self-sufficient, and here you were, taking care of him in ways he hadn't allowed anyone to before.

Once the tub was full, you adjusted the water’s temperature, testing it with your hand before turning to him. Levi slowly lowered himself in the water. You could see that he was already relaxed, his shoulders less tense as the warmth of the bath surrounded him. You grabbed a rag and soap, pausing for a moment to make sure everything was ready before beginning. "You don't mind, right? Tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable," you reassured him, your voice soft and gentle, ensuring he knew he had control over the situation.

Levi closed his eyes, leaning back slightly against the edge of the tub as he sank into the warm water. He let out a small sigh of relief as the heat melted some of the tension in his muscles. For a moment, he just allowed himself to relax, and he realized that he didn’t feel uncomfortable with you at all. Embarrassed, yes—his pride as a soldier was a difficult thing to overcome—but uncomfortable? No. Not with you.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability that washed over him as you moved closer, the soft lather of the soap in your hands. You had been taking care of him in so many ways already, and now this—washing him, helping him like this—was something he never would have imagined himself allowing anyone to do. But with you, it felt different. The embarrassment was there, lingering in the back of his mind, but it didn’t matter. He didn't want you to stop. He couldn’t bring himself to ask you to, even if a small part of him wished that he could keep his distance.

When you confirmed that he was fine, you began to wash him. Your touch was careful and thorough, the rag gentle as it scrubbed across his skin. You focused on his upper body, being mindful not to invade his personal space too much, but your touch was soothing nonetheless. You could feel the tension in his body start to melt away as you moved, your presence a quiet reassurance that made him feel safe. You made sure to clean every inch of his upper body, your movements slow and deliberate, giving him time to adjust to each step. You didn't rush, knowing that this act of care was something he wasn’t used to, and you wanted him to feel comfortable.

Once you had finished, you carefully patted him down with a soft towel, drying his skin as gently as you could. Then you wrapped the towel around him, securing it around his waist, and helped him out of the bath. His movements were slow, but with your support, he was steady. You led him back to his bedroom, where you sat him on the edge of his bed.

Levi didn’t speak as you helped him dress, but you could see the faint appreciation in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment that he trusted you, that he was grateful. You dressed him carefully, making sure everything was in place, then moved to dry his hair. You ran a towel through his dark hair, the damp strands slipping between your fingers as you gently worked to remove the moisture.

When you finished, you stepped back and looked at him for a moment. He looked different, more like himself, and though there was still a sadness in his eyes, there was also a hint of something more. Maybe it was hope, or maybe it was just the relief of being cared for after so long. Either way, it felt like a small step forward.

Levi finally looked up at you, his voice low but sincere. "Thank you," he said, his words carrying more weight than usual. It wasn’t just for the bath or the food—it was for everything you had done, for everything you had been for him in this moment of weakness. And despite the overwhelming emotions swirling inside him, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything more. But his eyes spoke volumes, and you understood.

Levi looked more alive now, his posture a little straighter, his expression less burdened than when you first arrived. The peacefulness that seemed to have eluded him for days was finally settling into his features, and it brought a small sense of relief to you. You stood by his side, your arms crossed in a playful but firm manner, watching him as he sat up in bed, his dark eyes now clearer, his fatigue somewhat lifted.

“You should really take better care of yourself, Mr. Ackerman,” you chided him gently, a hint of concern still lingering in your voice. He needed to hear it—needed someone to remind him that he mattered, that his well-being mattered.

Levi simply sighed, tilting his head back against the pillow. "Levi," he corrected you, his tone almost too casual, though you could sense the irritation beneath the surface. He wasn't one for too much care or attention, preferring to handle things on his own.

“Huh?” You blinked, surprised at his sudden insistence.

“Tch… calling me Levi," he repeated with a quiet growl, though there was no true malice in his words, just a touch of annoyance. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to be treated like some fragile thing, or perhaps it was his stubborn nature refusing to show too much vulnerability.

You couldn’t help but smile at his tone. It was the familiar, grumpy Levi you knew and had grown to care for. “Okay, Levi,” you said, your voice light and teasing as his name rolled off your tongue with an ease that felt more natural than it should have.

Levi’s eyes flickered slightly, an unspoken reaction at the way you said his name. It was something about the way it sounded when it came from your lips, like it held more weight, more warmth than anyone else’s. He felt a small flutter in his chest, but he quickly brushed it aside, annoyed at himself for letting something so insignificant affect him.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, a soft conversation flowing between you, easy and natural. Time seemed to slip by unnoticed as you talked, the rhythm of your words settling a peaceful air in the room. For the first time in a long time, Levi felt like he could breathe, like there was no urgency, no pressing battle to face—just the quiet presence of someone who cared for him.

But as the night wore on, you glanced at the clock, and your heart sank just a little. It was time to leave. You stood up slowly, gathering your things, and the moment you began moving toward the door, Levi’s gaze followed you, his expression softening. He didn’t want you to leave, and he wasn’t sure why. He wanted to spend more time with you, but he didn’t know how to ask for it.

You paused at the door, your hand resting on the knob, and before you could say anything, there was a brief, unexpected sensation—a light kiss pressed to his cheek. It was gentle, sweet, and fleeting, but it lingered in the air, making Levi’s heart skip a beat. His face immediately flushed, his breath catching in his throat. He turned his face away, hoping you wouldn’t notice the heat on his cheeks.

“Goodnight, Levi,” you said softly, your voice full of warmth. “I’ll check on you soon.” Your words were a promise, a reassurance that you would be there again.

Levi mumbled a quiet, almost embarrassed, “Goodnight,” his voice tinged with something he couldn’t quite name. He watched as you left the room, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that left him feeling a bit emptier than before.

But as he sat there, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t big or dramatic, just a soft curve that made his eyes brighten, albeit slightly. A feeling lingered in his chest—something warm, something he hadn’t quite allowed himself to feel in a long time. He couldn’t wait for the next time.

© 𝗹𝗲𝘃𝟭𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆 — 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽. 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌.

[itsnesss]

Request where fem!reader was a winner of the games and helps Jun-ho’s search in season two. He’s very respectful/cautious with her because of her trauma. After a certain point they both like each other but he’s still trying to be professional (?)/and a gentleman until the reader gets so fed up and is just like bro?? Kiss me 🤨 I’ll even throw in a snickers bar if there’s smut

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | post trauma themes, smut, explicit content, fingering (reader!receives), oral sex (jun-ho!receives), p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 3.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The sea breeze blows gently as you walk alongside Jun-ho. The tension between you is palpable, though the silence remains. The ocean seems endless, just like the memories you carry since you survived the Games. Here, in this unfamiliar place, the answers you seek feel increasingly distant. But you can’t stop. You won’t.

"Are you ready?" Jun-ho’s voice is deep, almost as if he’s hoping you’ll say no.

You glance at him sideways. Always so serious, so controlled. If there’s one thing you’ve learned since surviving the Games, it’s that you can’t fully trust anyone—not yet. But Jun-ho, he’s different. His respect for you is clear, and though his professional demeanor keeps him distant, you know that, somehow, he cares.

"Yes," you reply firmly, though deep down, an unease grows. It’s not just the island that frightens you, but everything that might have been left behind. Everything you’ll never know.

Jun-ho approaches but keeps his distance, as he always does. He’s not one to touch you or show affection, and though you appreciate it, something inside you yearns for him to break that barrier. To see you as more than just a survivor, as someone with feelings.

The boat ride feels long, but the worst is yet to come. The island remains out of reach, a shadow on the horizon that seems to shift with the wind. Each time you look at it, anxiety grows within you.

Once on solid ground, you head into the island’s interior. The dense vegetation and towering trees seem to swallow every step you take. The air is heavy, and every sound, every crack, feels threatening. The tension rises as you navigate the terrain, but there’s no sign of what you’re looking for.

Time passes, and though you don’t want to admit it, discouragement begins to seep into your bones. Jun-ho says nothing. He knows you won’t find anything here—he knows it as well as you do. But he keeps searching, as if his footsteps could force the island to reveal its darkest secret.

You stop, staring at the horizon. The island is empty. The memory of what happened here drowns in the stillness of the landscape, but that doesn’t change how you feel: a sense of emptiness, of something missing, something you’ll never complete.

Jun-ho stops beside you, his breathing steady, though his posture is tense. He doesn’t look at you directly, as if waiting for a signal that it’s over, that you can both leave.

"We tried," he says finally, his voice calm yet slightly broken. As if he already knew but needed you to accept it. "But it’s not here."

Silence settles between you. Frustration consumes you, but there’s something else, something you can’t name. The way his voice falters, how he shows vulnerability in front of you, is something you’ve never seen before.

"And now what?" you ask, your tone laced with frustration. "Is that it? We just leave and forget what happened?"

Jun-ho takes a moment before answering, looking into the distance as if hoping the scenery might inspire some kind of answer.

"No, this isn’t everything. But maybe the answers aren’t here," he says, and at the end of his words, his tone changes—something more personal. He steps closer to you, and though he doesn’t touch you, you feel the space between you shrink.

His presence feels more tangible, and for a moment, forgetting everything else, you wonder if you can truly trust him. Not just as an ally, but as someone who might understand you beyond the Games, beyond survival.

"What will you do now?" you ask, this time your voice tinged with uncertainty, with an emotion you don’t know how to handle.

Jun-ho watches you closely. The way he does, as if measuring every word, unsettles you. You can’t read what’s going on in his head, but there’s something in his eyes that seems to say more than his voice could. As if he’s inviting you to step closer, to seek something between you both that neither of you has dared to name.

The tension between you is undeniable. The silence, though heavy, is a witness to the unspoken emotions. For a moment, the distance between you feels like an abyss, but in his gaze, there’s something inviting you to bridge it.

You don’t know what to do. Confusion, exhaustion, and anxiety swirl within you, and the desire for him to make a decision consumes you. But Jun-ho doesn’t take the step, doesn’t touch you, doesn’t say anything more.

Finally, frustration takes over. You’ve stayed strong for so long, but this… this is breaking you. You need something more, something to make you feel whole again. And for some reason, you seek it in him, in someone you’ve come to respect deeply.

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss him. A quick, impulsive kiss, but filled with everything you’ve kept inside: the pain, the fear, the need for something more. You don’t know why you do it, but in that instant, everything seems to overflow.

Jun-ho freezes at first, surprised by your action, but he quickly responds. His hands settle on your waist, and the contact, though unexpected, sparks something between you both. The tension that had built for so long finally erupts in a single gesture.

When you pull away, both of you are breathing heavily. His expression is hard to read, but he doesn’t look upset—not at all. There’s a mix of astonishment and something else, something that makes you wonder if this tension has been there all along.

"Why didn’t we say anything before?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

Jun-ho doesn’t answer immediately. He takes a moment, as if carefully choosing his words. Finally, he leans closer, his face so near to yours that you can feel his breath.

"Because I don’t want you to regret it," he replies softly.

...

The boat ride back is marked by a heavy silence, but not for lack of words. Everything has changed since you kissed him on the island. Jun-ho sits across from you, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours. You can see how his hands rest on his knees, tense, as if he’s making a monumental effort to keep his composure.

You’re not any better. The closeness in that moment, the way his lips responded to yours, still burns in your mind. Your skin seems to remember every place where he touched you, his warmth, the way his body leaned into yours. And now, the tension you’d both ignored for days feels like it’s finally spilled over.

Eventually, the rocking of the waves forces you to steady yourself. You lean on the ship’s railing, and when you do, you feel his hand brush against yours. It’s an accidental touch, you know, but it sends a shiver down your spine. You look at him, and his eyes are fixed on you.

No words are needed. You lean toward him, and this time there’s no hesitation. Jun-ho pulls you into his arms and kisses you with an intensity you never imagined. His lips are firm, desperate, as if he’s held back all that desire for days, weeks, maybe months.

The sound of the sea and the sway of the boat fade away. There’s only him, his body close to yours, his hands finding their way to your waist. You can’t stop him, and you don’t want to. Every time you try to pull back to breathe, his lips find yours again, hungry, eager, as if you both know this moment can’t be enough.

"This isn’t professional," he murmurs against your mouth, though he makes no effort to pull away.

"Then stop doing it," you reply, your fingers tangling in his hair, forcing him to continue.

He laughs against your lips, a low, rough sound, before surrendering completely. What started as a kiss ends in desperate caresses, his hands exploring your body with a mix of tenderness and restrained passion. Every touch ignites a fire inside you that you didn’t know existed.

Finally, you both separate as the boat reaches the dock. The return to reality is abrupt, but the heat between you doesn’t dissipate. You walk to your house in silence, though your fingers graze his as you move forward, as if neither of you can bear the idea of being too far apart.

When you finally open your front door, the initial awkwardness returns. Jun-ho seems hesitant, as if debating whether to stay or not.

"Do you want to come in?" you ask, though the answer is evident in his eyes.

"Only if you’re sure," he replies, his tone low but full of emotion.

You don’t give him time to think. You take his hand and guide him inside, closing the door behind you.

The atmosphere changes immediately. The intimacy of your home seems to amplify what’s already happening between you. You barely have time to turn toward him before Jun-ho takes your waist and gently presses you against the wall. His lips find yours again, this time with more urgency, as if everything he held back during the journey is spilling out.

His hands explore your body with a perfect mix of softness and determination. You feel alive under his touch, every caress sending waves of heat through your skin. Your hands also explore, sliding over his chest, his shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath his clothes.

Her breath quickens, her eyes shining with contained desire.

The moment he moves away from you a little, you can see the effort he makes to control himself.

"I promise you won't want this to end," he whispers, as if waiting for your response.

You don't wait. Your mouth finds his again, and this time the kiss transforms into something hungrier, more intense. His lips part just enough to allow his hand to remove your blouse, his gaze resting on your bare breasts with a mix of admiration and lust.

The feeling of being naked in front of him is exciting, and although a part of you feels the temptation to cover yourself, the look in his eyes stops you. You had never seen him like this, as someone who surrenders to passion. He is so different from what you expected, and yet, he is as real as the man who accompanies him.

A second later, Jun-ho kneels and begins to kiss your chest gently, as if it were your first encounter. Your breath quickens as his lips travel across your skin, kissing and caressing your breasts. His fingers glide over your shoulders to the waistband of your pants, unbuttoning them with a skill that makes you feel like a novice.

You don't protest. You don't want him to stop, although you don't want him to undress you completely just yet. There is still something you hope will happen, something you feel you can't lose.

A moment later, your pants are on the floor and his hands are sliding up your thighs, reaching the edge of your panties. You look him in the eyes, seeing how his pupils dilate as his fingers slide under the cotton.

Her touch is light, but it makes you shiver, as if you had never been touched like this before. Her fingers continue exploring, finding your clitoris with a gentle yet determined touch. The sensation is so good that you can't hold back a moan.

"Do you like it?" he asks in a low voice, although his gaze shines with the answer.

You nod your head, although your response seems insufficient for him. His fingers begin to caress your lips with a skill you didn't expect. His rhythm is fast at first, then it slows down, as if he were waiting for you to get used to his touch.

The pleasure is overwhelming. His fingers seem to know exactly what you need to feel to surrender. The rhythm picks up again, and you can feel something inside you approaching the edge.

"Jun-ho" you moan, your hips starting to move in search of more.

He smiles against your mouth, his fingers increasing their pace once more. The feeling that you're going to explode is getting stronger, but you can't stop. You don't want to stop.

Finally, a wave of pleasure consumes you, making you moan his name. His fingers don't stop until you feel exhausted, your breath ragged, your body trembling.

But the pleasure doesn't end there. Jun-ho continues caressing you while kissing you softly on the mouth, on the neck, on your shoulders. His fingers reach your clitoris again, this time faster, more determined.

"God!" you moan when the pleasure returns, as if you hadn't been on the verge of exploding just minutes before.

Jun-ho smiles again, but his eyes shine with a lustful desire. His fingers continue to caress you mercilessly, as if he expects to push you to the limit once more.

"How many times can you?" he asks, his breath quickening, his lips on your neck.

You can't respond. Your body trembles with pleasure, but somehow, you feel you can go on longer. Jun-ho smiles once more, and a second later, his fingers caress your clitoris again, this time with demonic skill.

You moan his name when the sensation of orgasm returns, although this time it is stronger. The pleasure is overwhelming, so intense that you might feel yourself collapse into his arms.

Finally, his fingers stop and you take a moment to catch your breath. But the tension remains, palpable between the two of you.

"How do you feel?" Jun-ho whispers softly, his breath on your neck.

Your fingers tangle in her hair, and you catch her to kiss her mouth. Her response is instantaneous, her tongue finding yours as she presses you against her body.

"I don't feel complete" you reply softly, looking directly at him. "Not yet".

Jun-ho nods, and a second later his mouth meets yours once again. His fingers touch you everywhere, roaming your body with desire. Finally, you feel his fingers searching for the zipper of his pants, and an emotion consumes you as you realize what is about to happen.

When his fingers reach the zipper, a second of indecision floods you. You haven't seen him like this, naked and vulnerable in front of you. How will he feel?

You don't have time to ask yourself anything else. His fingers release his erection, and surprise floods you as you see how big it is. You didn't know what to expect, but this is much more than you imagined.

His fingers caress her, as if she were offering herself to you.

"Do you want to taste" he whispers in a low voice, and something in his tone makes you understand that he doesn't have much experience with this.

You nod your head. It's your opportunity to touch, to feel, to do something more than just feel.

You bend down and touch his erection. It's hard, but soft at the same time. Your fingers caress her skin, feeling it pulse beneath your touch.

"Do you want me to do it?" you ask in a low voice, your gaze meeting theirs.

Jun-ho nods, his eyes shining with desire. The way he looks at you makes you feel strong, as if nothing can stop you.

You move a little closer and gently kiss the tip of his erection. The sensation is strange but pleasant. His fingers rest on your shoulders as he watches you, as if he can't believe what's happening.

Even though you are not a virgin, Jun-ho's size is intimidating, but you don't stop. You take his erection into your mouth and gently touch it with the tip of your tongue.

Jun-ho moans when he feels your touch. His gaze pierces you, his breath ragged. His fingers search for your hair and cradle you as you kiss his erection with more passion.

Finally, his erection begins to enter your mouth. The sensation is overwhelming, but you don't stop, feeling every inch that enters you. Jun-ho moans again when you feel his testicles against your lips.

Her breathing becomes erratic, her fingers tightening in your hair.

"No, I can't take it anymore!" he screams, gently pulling you out of her body.

You look at him in surprise, but his fingers pull you closer and he kisses you desperately. The need between the two of you is palpable.

"Are you sure?" he asks a moment later, his breath still ragged.

"Yes" you respond in a low voice. "Yes, I want to do it".

Jun-ho nods a moment later, and his fingers take you by the waist. A second later, you find yourself in your bed, with him between your legs.

"Do you mind if this is quick?" he asks, his fingers brushing your inner lips gently.

"No" you respond quickly. You can't wait any longer.

You feel him brushing against your entrance with his member. His fingers continue to caress your clitoris as he slowly enters you. The sensation is incredible, his erection so big that you can feel it throbbing in your body.

The penetration is slow and painful, but it is also exciting. Finally, his erection enters you completely, and Jun-ho pauses for a moment to let you get used to his size.

"You're so tight" he whispers very softly, his lips brushing against yours.

"So perfect".

"Don't stop" you moan.

Jun-ho laughs for a second before he starts to move, his rhythm initially slow but then quick and desperate. The sound of their bodies joining is audible in the room, sweat covering their bodies as they move with desperation.

The feeling is overwhelming. You didn't expect something like this, something so intense, but here it is. Everything comes down to this moment, to his body inside yours.

Pleasure takes hold of you once again. His fingers caress your clitoris once more as he moves inside you, and you can feel something within you starting to grow.

Finally, a third orgasm consumes you. You moan his name as his body tightens around you, the sensation that he also reaches climax.

"God... " shouts Jun-ho, his breath very agitated as he collapses onto you.

Your arms wrap around his body, feeling his fingers gently touch your back. You can't stop looking at him, the expression of pleasure on his face is incredible. You didn't expect it to be like this.

[venomwrites]

Inspired by @qvert's latest masterpiece because i was called out in the tags and that will not stand. Also on ao3

Dying is more peaceful than she imagined. 

It’s nice, nicer than she deserves after the things she’s done. There’s a linger of disappointment, like the aftertaste of a cigarette or a bad drink. She had been so ready to die. Right up until she found Vi in that cell. Until Vi shoved their mouths together and irrevocably rewrote all of Catilyn’s desires. Before that, the idea of dying was easy enough to imagine. She deserved it for all she had done. She could only hope that whatever part of her passed on was able to explain herself. She had tried. But she had fallen short. Like a novice shooter, she had struck the target but it hadn’t been a bullseye. That was alright though. As long as they gave her just a moment to hear her mother’s disapproving click. The arch of her eyebrow. Anything at all. If she could just have that she would go wherever was next. But then Vi had mashed their lips together and that sweet surrender turned bitter. She truly had tried to live. It was odd, none of her wounds seemed fatal but she must have miscalculated. 

Well it was one miscalculation. One of many, but she can’t even imagine the lifetime that stretched beyond her if they couldn’t salvage her eye. When her fingertips touch the skin though, there’s no damage. After another prod, she realizes there’s no skin either. Whatever she is, she is solid but not. She twists around and tries to sort through what she is seeing, but it’s very difficult. She feels as though she has many voices in her head, but they hum and move past. None actually register as she looks around. It’s baffling but they all feel equal in some strange way. Like everything that has made them them is gone. Scooped out. She has no idea what makes a someone a person if all of that is gone. She wonders if that is what death is. This strange surrender and scooping out. This return to something like light. It feels far more hollow than she would have expected. But if there are voices, perhaps one is that which she is looking for. It takes several tries to get her voice to work, but she is nothing if not determined. 

“Mum?” She calls. No response, just that same dull echo. Something like distant panic churns through her, “Mum? I’m here,” she tries again, twisting for any sign, “Mum it’s Caitlyn, are you here?”

For a moment there’s just silence. 

Then something collides into her and she’s falling. 

Caitlyn thinks she might scream but there’s no air in her lungs to scream with. She can’t remember when she took a breath last or if the need to breathe is even real. The sensation of falling is, maybe other things are as well. She’s been such a monster. Such a failure. Of course the peaceful place she was in is not where she belongs. Perhaps she is meant to fall for the rest of whatever is happening. Existence? Eternity? Caitlyn doesn’t know. She can do nothing except tumble through the impossible light. Just when she is half convinced there is no end to this, scenery roars up around her and Caitlyn barely has enough time to brace herself for the impending impact. Except everything goes molasses slow and instead of a hard landing she finds herself standing on solid ground. 

She doesn’t recognize this place. 

She recognizes vague elements of it. It’s like someone took all the cells in Stillwater Hold and the Bunker, jumbled them together and spit this place out. There were no sensations in the place of light but there is nothing but sensations here. Bruises appear and heal, mildew and mould tickle her nose and then are replaced by the smell of old dust. It’s an overwhelming nightmare that makes her dizzy for a moment as she fights to get her bearings. Her fingers wrap around the bars as she peers down an impossibly long hallway. Somewhere at the very end she thinks she sees the light of the elevator, but her eyes can’t seem to focus on it without it moving away. Caitlyn wonders if this is where she will exist for the rest of time or if this is another temporary place. If the next will be worse. She manages to draw in something resembling a breath and thinks to call for help. 

“Don’t!” A voice whispers. 

The hairs on Caitlyn’s neck stand up at the harsh, desperate whisper. She would know that voice across time and space. That voice has been inked into her marrow. Caitlyn made her peace with her own death. But not with this one. This was the death she wanted to prevent above all others. Some part of her screams in denial but she’s still not certain she can make a sound. And even if she can, the voice told her not to. 

When Vi asks, Caitlyn cannot deny her. 

Slowly she turns around but whatever she’s expecting, it’s not this. Vi is standing behind her but it’s not her Vi. It’s not even the broken Vi she dragged up from the depths of the earth. This Vi is only recognizable in parts. The scars on her face, the pink of her hair, the color of her eyes. Everything else is radically different. She’s whip thin. Painfully thin. Her eyes are bloodshot and her nose is runny. Her hair is shaved on both sides in an severe undercut, the kind that requires another pair of hands. There are no tattoos on her. Not even the VI under her eye. She’s bare faced, inkiness and utterly terrified. The prison garb she’s wearing is shockingly clean and cuffed several times at the ankles. It hangs off her slender frame. Her hands are wrapped but she’s bled though them already. Her hands twitch between wrapping tight around her middle, swiping under her eyes or nose or lifting up near her face. It takes a moment before something fractionally relaxes on her. 

“If they hear you they’ll beat you,” she says in that same desperate whisper and the panic in her eyes breaks Caitlyn’s heart. 

This isn’t her Vi. 

“We’ll be quiet,” Caitlyn whispers and Vi relaxes a little more, “I’m Cai—“

“No names,” Vi says, “they don’t like that. I’m 5-1-6,” she says in a horribly rehearsed way, “but some of the guards call me Pink.”

“I’m Cupcake,” Caitlyn says. 

Vi’s eyes light up. 

“No way,” she says, “I get my sister a cupcake for her birthday every year. It’s like having a whole cake to yourself,” her face falls a bit, “I was saving up for it before—“ she stops herself from speaking and her eyes go panicked like she’s said too much. Her hands rise up, “I don’t have any money the guards took it.”

“I don’t either,” Caitlyn offers, holding out her hands to show she isn’t armed, “I just got here. How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks,��� Vi says and chews her bottom lip, “I think. It’s hard to tell.”

A few weeks. Caitlyn feels sick. A few weeks and ten years to go. She’s one of the few who has seen Vi’s file. Caitlyn has no illusions that the file only scratches the surface. The file is horrific and it is only what people bothered to write down. Or what they were forced to. Stillwater Hold is notorious for having incomplete files. If the guards are not ignoring others atrocities, they are pretending not to have committed their own. It’s a hellish place. It was before Caitlyn had any idea how hellish it truly was. Before she even knew Vi her skin crawled at the thought of it. She had been nervous on that boat ride over. Only her own stubbornness got her off when even the captain of the boat leered at her. Everything in her screams to get Vi out. To save her. But she is fairly certain that she is not in the past. Not really. 

“You’re very strong,” Caitlyn says, coming a little closer, “saving money for your sister’s birthday like that. You’re going to survive this.”

Vi makes a tiny noise before she grabs her arm and twists away. Like even that noise will send the guards running towards her. Maybe it did in the past. Maybe it will now. Caitlyn doesn’t know how she will witness that knowing there is nothing she can do to help. Not really. 

“I don’t want to,” Vi whispers to her and a few tears break free, streaking down the grime on her cheeks. 

They’re close enough for Caitlyn to reach out and take Vi’s hand. Vi’s fingers are limp in hers. It’s horrible, the last time Vi’s fingers felt like this she was dying. Dying but still fighting with everything she had. There’s no fight in this Vi’s blue-grey eyes. She’s terrified. Even though she’s trying to protect herself the gentleness of Caitlyn’s touch seems to break something in her. One of her hands digs into her arm and her fingers weakly tighten around Caitlyn’s. Her lip trembles as she hangs her head, her eyes slamming shut. She tries to breath but every breath trembles. Caitlyn squeezes her hands back and her lips part. 

“I—“ she sucks in a tortured breath, “I want my mom,” she sobs, “I want my mom.”

Her body gives out and Caitlyn dives forward, drawing the trembling girl into her lap. One of the best things about Vi’s hugs is how all encompassing they are. How you’re blanketed in her embrace. Caitlyn doubts this slender thing could wrap her arms around her shoulders. She curls herself into Caitlyn’s warmth with a choked, horrible sob. Caitlyn tries to imitate Vi’s embrace and presses her into her shoulder. This Vi wraps her arms around her own middle but she turns her head into Caitlyn’s neck. Her tears and uneven breaths break Caitlyn’s heart as Vi tries to find comfort in her embrace. 

“I know you do,” Caitlyn whispers, thinking of how when Vi was stabbed she only wanted to go home, “one day this will all seem like a bad dream.”

“How?” Vi sniffles, “they won’t let me out.”

“One day someone is going to come and get you out of here,” she says, “and you’ll wind up in the big shiny house you always looked at when you saw the Fireworks at Progress day. You’ll have everything you could possibly want for the rest of you days.”

“I won’t die here?” The small voice asks. 

“No,” Caitlyn says, “you don’t die here. You’re strong—you’re so strong. You become even stronger in here. And that strength saves so many lives.”

“Do I find my sister?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn says, “you find her. You find yourself,” Vi’s lips shift up, “and you find so many others. People come together because of you. People who never thought they would.”

Vi is quiet for a moment and then sniffles. She slides off Caitlyn’s lap. She still looks scared but there’s a determination in her eyes now. A bit of the Vi she knows and loves, shining through. Caitlyn grasps her hands and looks into her blue-grey eyes. They seem almost colorless in this place. Like they were the night they first met. One day Caitlyn will know every blue in them, but right now they must be grey. 

“You are so loved,” she says, “promise me you will never forget that. Hold onto it.”

“I’ll hold on,” Vi says. 

There are footsteps suddenly. Pounding towards them. Caitlyn opens her mouth and tries to push Vi behind her, but she’s falling again. Slower this time. Monstrous shadows starts to darken the cell but Vi stands tall. Her shoulders square. Her fists raise up as she faces this impossible evil. Before they get her she turns around and grins at Caitlyn. It’s the smile Caitlyn loves. That devil may care one that says this is gonna be fine. She’s got this. She winks at Caitlyn and it’s like Caitlyn can see her growing up in this hellish place. She’s older when she turns back. Ink has started to decorate her skin and her arms are broader. It’s not her Vi, not yet. Closer but not there. But this Vi grins all the same at Caitlyn. 

“I’ll hold on,” she says. 

Time jumps again and Caitlyn is somehow away and unaware of every horror. Every moment. The shadows are gone except the ones the bars create. There’s a dripping sound that Vi uses to thump her fists into the wall. It’s her Vi. The determination is full on her face, but Caitlyn can see a weariness there. One she wasn’t aware of when they met. Vi loses the rhythm and presses her forehead to the wall. 

“How long do I have to hold on?” She mutters and opens her eyes to lock with Caitlyn’s. 

Caitlyn’s not sure how to answer. When even is this? There’s more hopelessness in Vi’s face as she looks at her. A weariness that guts Caitlyn. She’s so tired. She has every right to be exhausted. The way she strikes the wall is listless. Like she has nothing left to give. Caitlyn scrambles to find the right words. It’s harder with this world weary Vi. Somehow she can stand though. She presses her hand to the nape of Vi’s neck and tries not to wince when Vi pushes at the wall. She shies away from the touch like it’s a strike but she doesn’t move to the sides. She doesn’t actually try to get away. 

“Keep holding on,” Caitlyn says, “please.”

“I can’t,” Vi gasps out, “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Caitlyn counters, “I know you can. Hold on. I’m almost there.”

Vi looks at her with one miserable eye but then Caitlyn hears the sound of her own boots. They both turn at the precise steps, the ruffle of pages, the catch of an unsteady breath. Suspicion and worry echo on Vi’s face. She doesn’t know who this is but she can tell they don’t belong here. No-one comes down here alone. Vi listens for a moment longer and then squares her shoulders. If they’re here for her, if this is some new hell she’s going to face it. It’s written all over her face. Even before her grey eyes drag over to Caitlyn’s. 

“I can’t for much longer,” she says, “but for now,” her lips quirk up, "I’ll hold on."

Over Vi’s head Caitlyn watches as she walks into view. She looks so much younger. It’s hard to imagine she was ever this person. But she was. She is. Vi glances at her and then at that Caitlyn. Her Caitlyn. Even though she doesn’t know it, she can’t know it. Neither of them know what is about to happen to them. How this moment will irrevocably change the course of their lives. The cell tugs and fades and blurs. Caitlyn feels the skin under her hand shift and change as a watercolor Vi appears to stare at her Caitlyn and the Vi under her hands finally becomes hers. 

“Cait?”

They clutch each other as the watercolor world gives way to that endless place of dark and light. They don’t exist anymore but Caitlyn is certain they are together. She would have to be truly unmade to not know the feel of Vi’s embrace. Vi’s shoulders heave but they are her Vi’s shoulders. Thick with muscle and the weight of all she has been through. So impossibly strong. Caitlyn pushes her head into her shoulder and digs her fingers into Vi’s trapezius, the one that shifts more easily. 

“Fuck, Cait,” she breathes into her shoulder, “you’re here.”

“Yes,” Caitlyn says. Vi’s head comes up and finally looks around, “wherever this is.”

“We’re not dead,” Vi says with more confidence than Caitlyn is expecting. Her eyes inspect Caitlyn’s face and narrow at the surprised look, “how bad?”

“What—“

“How badly are you injured?” She asks, worry starting to show on her face, “Cait is it—“

“Nothing felt fatal,” Caitlyn says quickly, “some fractures, a puncture wound in my gut. My eye was injured as well,” she tries to keep the list honest and vague. But Vi looks crestfallen all the same, “I’m alive,” Caitlyn says firmly, “Mel is with me. Where are you?”

Vi looks at her and Caitlyn watches her face fall. It’s like being back in that place with the child version of Vi. She looks so heartbreakingly young and lost. Caitlyn cups her cheeks and strokes her thumbs under her eyes. In each other’s embrace it feels like the emotions come faster. Stronger. Caitlyn wants to let go but she cannot. Not when Vi turns her face into her palm and whatever they have for hands tightens around her waist. 

“I’m at the Hexgate,” she says, “with sister and my dad.”

Caitlyn feels the same horror she felt when Maddie cocked the gun. Vi is with her dad. Again. She doesn’t need to say it, Caitlyn can tell from the look on her face. It’s not a happy reunion. How on earth could it be? She saw what her dad looked like after the blast. She can’t imagine what Ambessa and Singed did to him since. She’s on the ground bleeding somewhere and Vi is up high with her father. The fact she has Jinx with her is a cold comfort. The best case scenario here is that Vi watches her father die for a third time. Even though Caitlyn has seen untold horrors in her head, they pale in comparison to the prospect of this. Caitlyn is powerless here in any way that truly matters. But that doesn’t stop her from pressing her fingers into Vi’s cheeks and pulling her attention back to her. 

“Hold on,” she says. Vi’s brow furrows and Caitlyn has no idea if she heard her in the hell that was her past, “just hold on. I’ll find you. I need you to hold on until then.”

Vi takes a breath and looks at her with that beautiful determination. 

“I’ll hold on.”

Something is pulling them apart, no matter how much they cling to each other. Vi spirals away and just shouts across the universe. 

“I’ll hold on! I promise!”

[sustiawan-author]

The Path Untedious - Neil Perry . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

This was lightly inspired by the two Neil asks I've received in my mailbox (including one with black!reader). Here u go sweetcheeks ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ this isn't tooooo according but hey 😌

Your husband was a hard-worker — taking longer shifts in the hospital just for the sake of it, noting down whatever was necessary to get his job done and get patients discharged. It was what his father wanted, but you understood best how it exhausted him so. It brought good money, of course, and the soul-fulfilling duty of being a modern healer was priceless in its own — but it would be ignorant to deny the stress and challenge of the career itself.

Tonight he came home at the usual hour, but he had taken an earlier check-in because of a mixup at the emergency room. It wasn't like Neil to decline, but it also wasn't like him to do the job and not be a total baby to you afterwards.

"My swordsfighting maiden," Neil propped his briefcase on the couch before pecking your cheek, "how are you?"

There's a tiredness in his tone, a loving gaze set in his hooded eyes. They were in tandem with the sleepy howls of the dogs outside and the hooting of owls just outside the window. You dimmed the desklight and stood up to greet your lover. Nimbling your fingers upon the knot on his chest, you undid his tie and folded it along with the jacket.

"Fine," you reassured in a gentle voice, "settled everything today. How's work?"

He blew a raspberry and gave you a look — that look. An expression that read 'people piss me off there, but I'm just glad we're together.' You whistled lowly, putting his dirty laundry away.

"Challenging much?"

"Everything needed to be done, this and that, money and — ugh!" Neil fell to the bed dramatically, an arm covering his face. You giggled,

"Must've been so frustrating."

He pouted at you like a sorry puppy, but you were far too busy tidying up his things for him. Neil stared at the ceiling, pretending there were vines for him to hold onto — to save him and yourself away from this life, a life others chose for him. A life where his real interests were kept hidden and astray, shared only with you in the haven of your home. It just wasn't fair.

But you were so patient and so kind, so loving to his impatient mind and young heart that he would do anything to have you live a life of peace. You were his own anyway.

"Did you do what you love today?" he croaked, voice strained from a day of exertion. If it were possible, your ear would've quirked.

"Let's see," you turned to him in thought, finally, greeting him with your freshly blushed cheeks and rose-glossed lips, "I baked some gooseberry pie, cleaned the oven, prepared your dinner then sewed up some dresses."

Neil reached for your nimble hand and you let him, admiration and awe exuding off of him.

"And," he pondered, searching your face, "did you like that?"

You smiled sweetly, nodding in honesty.

"Why?" he asked in painful disbelief, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat. He coughed it off, glad you didn't seem to notice.

'Wasn't it tedious? ' he thought, 'Didn't I bore you?'

You shrugged as if you could hear what tmhe thought, the satin robe he bought you slipping from your shoulder, "I like it. I like serving you. I like... doing what I love. I love love, so I love this. I like you, Neil — like, like you. It's not something I'm forced to do. I hope to God you don't feel that way either."

"No, goodness no," Neil grasped your fingers, kissing them with insistence as he mumbled, "no, never."

You brushed those brunette strands back, hearing Neil sigh in relief as you did.

"Then what is it?" you whispered.

"It's you," he shook his head, "just you."

You stifled a grin, averting your gaze as bashfulness overtoom you. It always did, always will when it came to Neil. He noticed, of course, and pivoted your chin so you'll meet his eyes.

You'dstay like that forever if you could.

𝚍𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘:

@someone-sss @sorazki @tofallatlastbutfair @shemisseshome @yournormalidiot @anderperry-soliloquies @unfortunately-lilith @heyyyloverr @theduckwithafroghat @marzcrx @dpspolaroid

[squishyo-o]

you wanted inspiration about the tongue thing I NEED TO SEE THIS WITH JEONGIN! (I love youuu)

(SKZ) Jeongin Brainrot ❤️‍🔥

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I love our innie

That man has a tongue and he knows how to use it. Fight me.

In a way, innie likes being the dominant one, but there’s some days where he just gets so riled up and pussy drunk that he could just eat you out for hours. Sometimes he gets a bit needy with it too. But let’s imagine it happened in the morning..

CW!: I.N being thirsty for that 🐱, needy/"subby" innie in a way, nicknames (baby, cutie, pretty, probably others help-), praise (mainly innie praising how good your 🐱 is), obviously oral (f receiving), morning sex, there’s probably more atp

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You hear a soft whine coming from Jeongin "innie?" You assumed that he just woke up and was just stretching. "Cutie.." he said as you turned over to look at him. He pulled you closer to him and gave you a kiss. "Baby.. I need you.." "hmm..? What’s wrong?" "I need a taste.. please?" You couldn’t say no to his sleepy whiny voice so you nodded, giving him the okay to do what he wanted. "Did someone have a naughty dream?" You teased him.

His cheeks got flushed a little bit before he removed the covers and got between your legs to remove your pajama pants. "Yes.." he admitted. "And now I’m hungry. So this will be my breakfast this morning". He gently rubbed your thighs before slipping off your pants and your underwear at once. Whatever dream it was, it turned jeongin into someone else. He put a finger in and curled it a little, listening to your whimpers as he barely did anything with one digit. "Needed this so bad.." he whined.

He went ahead and stuck in a second finger, listening to the sounds of your whines again, turning into soft moans. "Innie.." Jeongin chuckled. "Feel good?" "Mhm.. fuck.." "keep it up cutie.. m’gonna use my mouth.." he said. He took his fingers out of you and licked them with a groan. He then dipped his face in between your legs and began making out with your clit. Immediately, you began to moan and whine Jeongin’s name. He was always so good with his tongue and he never failed to make you scream with it every time.

Jeongin was taking his time with you and making you cum. Savoring every taste with a whine. "J-jeongin.. fuck- y’tongue I-i.." you felt him chuckling against your pussy, which made it throb more. He kept dancing his tongue around your folds and sucking on the bud of your clit. The hunger he felt in this very moment was something he’d never experienced. "Jeongin.. innie.. I’m gonna cum!" You moaned. Jeongin kept going faster as you squeezed your legs around Jeongin’s head.

A moment of sobbing Jeongin’s name and finally you spilled all your juices into his mouth, pulling on his hair as you came. Electrolytes went through your thighs as you made a sticky mess in his mouth. He licked up your cum, helping you ride out your orgasm. He came up from between your legs and gave you a kiss, tasting yourself, which somehow made it ten times better. "Hope y’know we’re not done.." he said. "W-what do you mean..?" He got into bed with you and lifted you up so you’d be straddling him.

"Ohhh.. you want me to ride you.. I see innie.."

"No. I need you to sit on my face."

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𝔸ℕ: aaaand she’s done folks 💪😼 took me a minute with this one cuz I was thinking of plot but I like the way it turned out and I hope you did too <3

Next up: jealous taehyun

[solarpunkani]

Things To Do To Maintain Hope In These Trying Times

Okay so look. This isn't the desireable outcome for me and my fellow solarpunks, but I personally find that I have two options right now--panic and wait for the worst; or dream of, hope for, and work towards the best that I can manage. And I prefer that second option. Is a single individual going to be able to remold the societal systems we find ourselves in, reshape the fabric of our government and turn everything for the better in the next four years? If someone can, it's not me.

But what I can do is do stuff to make things better, lighter, and more hopeful for myself and my community around me, through actions big and small. So here's what I plan to do, or hope to take on, to keep myself from absolutely doomspiraling. And if this list helps you, inspires you to take up an action I'm doing or to try something completely different, by all means that's amazing! What's more solarpunk than inspiring others to be more solarpunk?

Anyways

1: Trash Cleanups and Other Volunteering

I joined a mutual aid group a few months back and lately we've been doing a lot of trash clean ups, which I find really fun! It also helps feel like I'm making a tangible, helpful difference in my community--the areas look nicer for humans, there's less litter issues for plants and animals--it's just a general improvement! I have recently found nothing gets me fired up quite like a trash cleanup these days. I would also like to join more volunteering/mutual aid groups in the area, I'd just have to find ones that fit my current work schedule (and aren't a huge commute to and fro). Maybe someday this year I'll get the courage (and time) to join the Food Not Bombs in my city for a few events!

Maybe picking up trash at parks and ditches and intersections isn't going to improve the entire nation's situation, I'll never claim that it would. But improving the world around you, even a little bit, can help get the ball rolling for other changes--maybe people will start using a park more once its cleaned up, maybe native plants will reclaim that ditch and create a new habitat, maybe people will see us cleaning and see our flag and check out other stuff our organization does! Bit by bit, we're contributing to a brighter, cleaner future.

Maybe I'll get the courage to clean up some trash on my own, who knows.

2: Make Stuff With My Hands

This covers a lot of things, and not always a physical thing to hold. Maybe it's crocheting little plushies, or hats and cardigans, or anything I feel like to accomplish something. Maybe I'll learn to sew more things, or how to embroider. Maybe I'll draw, or write more short stories, or work on my longer projects.

Sure, some things can be made to give away or donate, or can be made with a specifically solarpunky end goal and message. But honestly, even if I'm not writing solarpunk short stories or drawing solarpunky art, if I'm writing or drawing anything it helps bring me hope--and brightens the day of my friends who enjoy it too!

3: Gardening and Sharing

It's winter as I'm writing this, which means its about time to dive headfirst into garden planning and seed starting! Even the process of watching something grow from a tiny little seed to a fully-grown plant brings me hope, and every different kind of plant gives hope for a different reason! My pollinator garden helps me take action to assist the native pollinator species by giving them a place to feed and grow, and the more kinds of native plants I provide the more habitat I create for them! And the fruits and vegetables I grow bring a sense of accomplishment with each harvest, and satisfaction as I share them with family, friends, and neighbors! I am still chasing the high of sharing bowls and bowls of tomatoes and peppers with my cul-de-sac.

In addition to my own personal garden, my volunteering group is looking into adopting an abandoned community garden and bringing it back to life! If we can (still waiting for approval), it'll bring access to fresh veggies and herbs to the nearby community, and if it goes well we may even try to take up more around town! I'm really, really excited about this project!!

Maybe sharing produce from my garden will inspire my neighbors to create their own (I'm already lowkey claiming credit for inspiring one neighbor to start growing tomatoes last year), and share their extra produce, and inspire more people to garden! Maybe talking about my pollinator garden and sharing seeds with my friends and coworkers will create more interest, and more habitat for for local creatures! Maybe if I yap about milkweed and tree snags hard enough, people will see the expanses of grass on the sides of the road differently, or find a different species to advocate for!

Then of course there's the possibility of guerrilla gardening. While there are a lot of reasons I haven't taken it up super hard yet (not finding good sites, not having a lot of money for throwaway seeds, not wanting to be a black woman in the south doing 'weird stuff' on the side of the road, etc), maybe I will. In any case, I have brought up the idea of scattering wildflower seeds at some of the sites we clean up to my volunteering group--if that idea gets taken up, that could in a sense be guerrilla gardening, right?

4: Clean My Goddamn Room

"Ani what does cleaning your room have to do with hope in these trying times" Clean room, clean mind, more room to start seeds, less environmental stress. Maybe just doing a few chores when I'm feeling anxious can help me take time to think things through instead of downspiraling, or can help me work my way through a plot hole in a story, or think of a new project to take up.

Maybe for you guys its not 'cleaning your room,' maybe its some other task. Sometimes doing a small, mundane task for yourself can give you the vibes and energy to take up another challenge!

5: Encouraging Others

I've said it before and I'll say it again, is there anything more solarpunk than encouraging other people to be more solarpunk?

Even if you aren't waxing poetic about the values and virtue of the solarpunk movement, being a source of hope and light for others can do a surprising amount to get things done! For example, if I personally can't muster the courage to go to an FNB event or a rally, or if something comes up and I suddenly find myself unable to garden this year or keep doing trash cleanups, if I--through talking about my hobbies or sharing resources on how to start or just existing and vibing with my gay little NPC bounce and chatting about sunflowers in a checkout line--inspire five other people to take up an action, that's five more people taking up an action. And that action can lead to them doing more and more, bigger and better things. If I help a friend feel better when they're feeling down, maybe they'll have the energy to help others, who'll then help others, and help make the world just that much brighter! Even if the action is unrelated to what I personally am doing, it'd still be a beautiful and amazing thing! If me sharing my crochet projects inspires someone else to take up leatherworking or sculpting or woodworking, that's still more creative energy in the world! If me talking about native wildflowers burgeons an interest in native trees, or grasses, or hell even something like green building design or community planning somehow, that's someone developing an entirely different skillset than I could ever imagine, which can be used to do amazing things!

I'm not gonna pretend like its going to be all sunshine and rainbows from here on out! We're still talking about the person who literally refused to leave the house yesterday because she was so anxious something might happen, after all. But if I'm given a choice between wallowing in misery and anxiety and despair, or doing anything I can--even the smallest things--to make things a little bit better and brighter for those around me? I know what my choice is.

[shdysders]

you can't just keep leaving us on angst like that. Look i get that your page is all about angst, but sometimes we should get some healing as well!!! I know writing someone fixing the angst is hard but don't you think its the same thing over and over again, just jenna's character being an ass/meanie every time without any fixing 😭 . It just feels kinda repetitive and empty now.

hi! i had a feeling someone would bring this up eventually, and i get it.

but the thing is, i really enjoy writing angsty imagines—it’s what i love, and it’s where i feel most inspired. writing has always been something i do for joy, and for me, that means focusing on the kinds of stories i personally like to tell.

i did notice you mentioned how my imagines feel the same over and over again, and while i get that might be your perspective, i don’t see it that way. i try to explore different dynamics and emotions in each one, even if they’re centered around angst.

that said, i’ll take what you said into consideration. i know not everything i write will be for everyone, and that’s okay. i just want to stay true to what makes me happy as a writer.

thanks for the perspective, and i hope you’ll still find something to enjoy in my work

[the-witty-pen-name]

Electric Touch (1)

Steve Harrington x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Synopsis: Inspired by "Electric Touch" by Taylor Swift ft. Fall Out Boy

Steve has not had the best time in recent history when it comes to love. He knows he shouldn’t put all this weight on a first date, but he can’t help it. His mind is overrun with thoughts of you- with him, being the one. Maybe this time, he’ll have finally gotten it right.

A/N: Can be read read as a follow-up to "The Love Triangle from Hell" or can be read as something entirely separate. This reader is not the same as the one in that series- but it's the same Steve in my head (if that makes sense??)

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; smut (not overly explicit); piv; oral (f) receving; kissing; cursing

Steve never used to be anxious leading up to a date. He’d be calm and collected- confident. He was charismatic… once. Now, a terrible dry spell and terrible heartaches later, he’s met someone. And he so wants tonight to go well that he’s been pacing since getting ready a whole hour early. Eddie joked Steve was going to set sparks on the carpet from the friction. Steve couldn’t help it- he’s desperately trying to rid his body of this nervous energy. He needed to get it out of his system before you arrived. It was just hanging out, he tried to calm his nerves. Just breathe. He just so desperately wanted this to go well. 

He didn’t want to put too much pressure on this. It’s just the first date he’s had in a while. Not that you were calling it a date- no one has officially said date, but fuck- Steve wishes tonight is a date with you. He hasn’t been able to get you out of his head since he met you- completely by happenstance. It’s always when it happens- just when you decide you’re done- giving up completely on dating, you meet the person who you’re willing to get yourself hurt again over. 

“It’s just watching a movie, Steve,” Eddie tries to calm his friend’s nerves. He’s sitting at the little bench they have by their front door- leaving soon for a date of his own tonight. “You’re still King Steve,” he teases and in his frustration, Steve flips him off. “You just need to channel that lady killer energy- not all of it, but the good parts,” Eddie offers advice and Steve shrugs. Steve goes over to the window, peeking outside to see if your car is pulling up yet. 

“I really, really like this girl,” he groans, flopping onto the couch dramatically. “I can’t keep fucking up.”

“You’re going to if you don’t stop overthinking this,” Eddie points out. He shrugs on his jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says with his hands over his face. He waves Eddie away dramatically. With an unintentional slam of the front door, Eddie is gone- leaving Steve to his own devices as he tries to pull himself together. 

Steve has not had the best time in recent history when it comes to love. He just wants what everyone else seems to have- all of his friends managing to have love figured out at this moment. He feels like he’s being left behind- and he knows he’s missing out. He knows he shouldn’t put all this weight on a first date, but he can’t help it. His mind is overrun with thoughts of you- with him, being the one. Maybe this time, he’ll have finally gotten it right. 

You’ll show up, and you'll be just as shy as he feels- because maybe, just maybe you’re feeling the same way as him. You’ve been thinking about him just as much as he’s been thinking about you. You want him. It’s finally that fucking simple. He wants you to want him, to crave his company as much as he hopes for yours. You’re perfect for him, and maybe he’ll be perfect for you. Fate finally lets him have someone who wants him- he wants his soulmate. Maybe you’re her. Maybe tonight will go well and it’s the start of something wonderful. 

He imagines how it will feel to have you so close, sitting flush against his side. Your perfume will smell so good, and your skin against his will feel so soft. He wants to wrap his arm around your shoulders, and pull you in closer. He imagines what the weight of your head will feel like on his shoulder and if your hair will be ticklish as you rest in the crook of his neck. He wants to experience what it would be like to be close to you like that. 

He wonders if you’ll be as nervous as he feels, or maybe you’re so much braver than him and make the first move. Maybe you’ll kiss him, leaning up as the credits roll and your lips taste so sweet from your lip gloss. Would you kiss him slowly? Would it be one of those chaste, perfect first kisses? Or would you be more needy, more desperate? Just overwhelmed with the feeling of being close to him like how he would feel. Maybe you’ll climb into his lap to let him know you want to go further- you need to be closer, and he’ll happily oblige. Whatever you want. 

How would it feel if you pressed against him? He imagines how beautiful you’ll look in the dark, the TV light making a halo around your body he so badly wants to know. How perfect would your legs rest around his waist? Would he be able to feel the heat between your legs through your clothes? Would you moan? God, he wants to know your pretty sounds. Would you want to take things further? Would you ask between fevered kisses which bedroom was his? 

If you wanted, he’d lay you down and just worship your body if you’d let him. Would you? He imagines how you’d look- your hair played out across his pillow. He can see you in his bed like you were always meant to be there. It’s a space he wants to have completely taken over by you. He’ll be so gentle, if that's what you’re needing. He’ll take his time, pull back your layers as you let him. Maybe you’ll be more impatient, wiggling under his touch until he gives you exactly what you’re craving- what he’s craving to give to you. 

He wonders what you’re wearing- if maybe you picked out any of it just for him? He won’t ask, but he’ll imagine you doing just that. You want to look your best, the same way he does. He wants to put in the effort for you- he’ll spend hours to make his hair the perfect messy, he’ll overthink every sweater and shirt in his closet and he hopes that you did the same. Maybe you left your apartment with clothes strewn everywhere because you also couldn’t settle on what you wanted to wear. Maybe you’ll practice conversations in the mirror as you do your makeup like he did as he ran product through his hair. He’ll make sure to appreciate your efforts. 

Would you let him take it off? After all your hard work, would you let him get underneath it all? God, he knows you’d be so perfect. Would you let him kiss you absolutely everywhere? He imagines kissing your ankles, up the length of your gorgeous legs, before he settles your thighs- your beautiful thighs- on his shoulders. He wants to roll his tongue into you and kiss your wetness, and spend hours there if you’d only let him. He knows he could make you feel so good if you just give him a chance. 

He wants to know the feeling of your hands tangling in his hair. He wants to feel you tug him closer, and he wants to feel you coming apart for him. He imagines the grip of his hands on your thighs to keep you steady when the feeling starts to become too much. He’s got you. He wants you to know it’s okay to just let go. He wants to know how you feel in every sense. He wants to feel your body shake and hear your pretty moans for him if he makes you cum with his tongue. 

He wants to feel your skin, he wants to feel the sheen of sweat between your bodies. He wants to kiss your salty skin and whisper how much he loves you as he pushes into you for the first time. He knows you’ll feel so good. He knows you’ll take him so well. He just wants to stretch you out, and he knows you’ll look so pretty on his cock. He wants to kiss your pretty tits, and squeeze them and lick your hardened nipples. Anything- absolutely anything that would make his girl feel good. He wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to worship you the way he wants to. The way you deserve. 

He’s let his mind wander too far, and he knows he needs to reign himself in. He sits up, and goes back to the window again- perfect timing. He sees the headlights of your car as you pull into the driveway. He takes a few deep breaths, shaking the thoughts he should not be thinking about right now. He fluffs the pillows and fixes the blanket on the back of the couch, trying to think of anything not sexy to calm himself down. 

Hair in the shower drain, double shifts at work, dirty dishes…

Buzz

His thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of the intercom. 

“Hey, Steve, it’s me!” he hears your cheerful voice through the speaker. He can’t help but smile and it melts his heart. He has a good feeling that this is going to be the start of something really great. 

“Come on up,” he says, pushing the button to buzz you in.

TAGLIST:@sunshinepeachx@downbear@fanlifeaamt@exploding-bonbon@losingmygrasponreality@skiddypiddy@andvys@djodirt@moonlightsolo@kyga01@sheisjoeschateau@melaninjhs@v3lv3tf0x@purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles@sunshine-mrk@danymunsonharrington@mrsjellymunson@fanficfantik@the-unforgivenn@punkrockmlchael

[darkhawk2021]

RE: pparacxosm

I never post or interact on tumblr before but I feel like I was the only one who saw this situation and I need to share.

Please read the whole thing and if you’re someone who pparacxosm spoke to frequently or you think she’d be looking at your blog then please reblog because I hope they can see this.

I’m going to start with some context: in 2018 I got accepted into college after repeating my senior year more than twice and having to take multiple gap years to save up. there was lots of personal drama in my family too and I was also suffering from mental illness. And then within like the first two months of school I procrastinated on an assignment and in a panic I totslly plagiarised the whole thing last minute. I got caught (obviously) and was expelled from the university and that whole event made it that I couldn’t reapply to any universities for a long time.

Eventually it all worked out and I’m now back in school but I say all this to say that maybe I’m projecting here and maybe I’m giving the benefit of the doubt but I know how scary and painful something like this is and I know how deep the regret can go, especially because this is such an avoidable mistake that

now I am not saying this is 100% the reason pparacxosm left. I don’t know obviously. Vut I’m just speculating. (also all links will be from @grimsonandclover because she reposted all of pparacxosm’s works and it was just easier having it all in one place)

OK so as we know pparacxosm deactivated shortly after publishing this fanfic for Riff lorton from West Side story:https://www.tumblr.com/grimsonandclover/773054457368985600/this-made-me-pause-and-sit-back-and-think-about?source=share

I remember reading it pretty much right after it was posted, and then seeing a certain comment. now I do so badly wish I had screenshotted it, but everything happened so quickly so I can’t even remember the commenter’s name. but basically, the comment was stating that the fic was ‘suspiciously’ similar to another fic on ao3 and then added the link.

(here is the link, but please finish reading this before going there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793593)

also I totally understand if you don’t even want to see it because it might ruin the wholeness of pparacxosm’s fic for you, but let me just explain.

Basically I went and looked at the linked fic and when I came back to tumblr both the comment and pparacxosm’s account had been deleted. Again, I don’t know that this was the reason but the timing is obviously interesting.

there’s 2 sections of pparacxosm’s fic that mirror this other one but in all fairness, they’re two of the most thematic sections of the latter so I don’t want to downplay how harmful this is.

for context here are the sections.

it’s the beginning dialogue, which was edited to fit the situation in pparacxosm’s fic

and then this part about synchronicity which was definitely less edited

What really really broke my heart about this is how 1 - the rest of the fic doesn’t seem to be plagiarised at all! & 2 - pparacxosm didn’t even need to take those sections as they were. Truly speaking of she had just tweaked them a little more and credited that fic for inspiration there would be no issue at all. So if the fact that she deleted as soon as someone caught on shows that she had nefarious intentions I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I was such a fan but I’s like to think she was just scared and didn’t know what to do.

& something worth noting is that this wasn’t a frequent occurrence. I soent time last night looking into all of their work and it seems that most of their fics (Blue-eyed Son, Wounded in, Uta hagen, Stream of green, Dearly beloved, Something borrowed, Sigh like a chime) are from what I could tell entirely original! And that’s so crazy to me because things like uta hagen and Stream Of green are so original and unique to me and some of my fav things of theirs so I don’t know why they wouldn’t believe they have the talent to write for themselves when they totally do.

And those which do contain plagiarism from what I researched are also just small sections. Like in wounded in it was some dialogue from two other fics (both by the same person who wrote ‘baby teeth’). in hunger is ugly, it was a bit of a larger section (also from a fic from that same writer) but still only 1 section. and in Home Again Empty it was just one section from the middle, the one talking about how “you weren’t encouraged to befriend the residents” (also from a fic from the same writer), but even that pparacxosm also tweaked to fit the story, and the changes they made really showed their own personal writing style and individuality which tells me they really didn’t need to do that at all

I tried to check if pparacxosm has any connection to this writer, but it doesn’t seem like it.

This all just makes me so sad because they were clearly so capable and I think of the guilt that I was feeling when I got caught for this in college and I can only imagine what they’re feeling now.

but like look. for example this entire excerpt from the Riff Lorton fic I truly think was absolutely stellar and I can find no trace of from any other sources, so this was all pparacxosm:

and don’t even get me started on the last bits of that fic (of which I also couldn’t find any other similar sources)! That was so good! So descriptive and emotive and completely original

especially this for me:

So so good!

I mean anyone who really paid attention to their writing knows that pparacxosm had a very distinct style. Their humor and word choices and the way they combined words was always so charming and original to me, like you could identify a pparacxosm fic without knowing it was them and I had a professor always told me that that was the marker of a great writer. little things like that, which were completely them like they weren’t plagiarised from anything, tells me that they really had an identity as a writer and maybe that’s why I just want to believe they made an honest mistake, as immoral as this behaviour is.

both times pparacxosm has left before (first when they deactivated her original account and then recently with their hiatus in I think November?) they said it was because of personal issues, and sort of implied theybwere suffering from some stuff (I don’t want to make any diagnosis or anything. And I do believe all that was true. I reached out to them after they came back most recently and I got the vibe that they sometimes aren’t doing that well emotionally or at least that’s what they sort of told me. I won’t post the DMs because that feels like an invasion of privacy

I do believe they are a talented writer and I think personally they were kind of going through some stuff. anyone who dms them personally probably would have heard them say they were conflicted about school and stuff. I feel like there was just a lot going on with them and maybe it manifested in this way. that said: obviously plagiarism is inexcusable and if it’s maybe guilt that made them leave then I can only hope they use the time away to examine that and work through it. I think an apology and proper explanation would be nice but I doubt we’ll ever see them again. I don’t think this means they shouldn’t be a writer, but I think they has a lot of personal stuff to do (like internal work) that they couldn’t have done on here. this is just my theory, I think there are other people on here who spoke to them more than I did but yeah.

I think it’s completely important to maintain a no-tolerance policy to this kind of thing in fanfic spaces and hold them accountable, but I also hope they know that if they came back and wanted to continue writing the right way I’m pretty sure we’d all be forgiving and supportive. They clearly have a skill and a passion and I don’t want them to lose out on it just because of a silly mistake on a platform that focuses on community and I hope they can use this as a learning opportunity so that they don’t make this misstep on a larger scale where it would actually matter and seriously effect them (eg. college).

I was thinking of making a Google drive with all the examples of plagiarism in their work (and honest to god there aren’t that many!) but I was concerned about it maybe blowing up into a bigger thing that it really is and potentially affecting their real life? which is the last thing I want, but if people are curious I could also just put the rest in reblogs.

Anyways this isn’t meant to be some sort of take-down or me trying to cancel them. If you’re a person who considers yourself a fan of poaracxosm’s work, that doesn’t need to change because from what I can tell, there really aren’t too many examples of this but also one is enough for us to have to call attention to. maybe this can just bring to light or start a conversation about the nature of writing with no incentive/how open social media requires us to be. Stuff like that. This situation is less about a few plagiarised paragraphs than it is about the fact that pparacxosm potentially felt so guilty/shameful/was dealing with other stuff that it was enough for them to completely delete their account and give up everything they’d worked for which really breaks my heart.

pparacxosm if you’re seeing this I hope this didn’t offend you and I hope you know that it matters more to us all to have you here than what you did. I’m more than willing to forgive this and move on and see what else you have to share. I still reread so many of your fics and will continue to. you are truly talented and I could tell you really valued this space and I don’t want you to just abandon it when you may potentially have been using it as a safe space. I don’t know you that well and I don’t know the things you are going through, but I hope you know it will be okay and that you have people who support you :)

[npookie0]

A Mind Too Loud. - Angel x depressed g.n.reader

Content warning: depression, possible spoilers for Angel's route. The reader may not be completely inclusive.

Angel helps you during your worse times, while she also has a chance to help herself.

Being you wasn't always as cheerful and fun as you wanted to show it. It was exhausting, you were exhausted.

Struggling with depression didn't help you with your writing or maintaining your relationships, it actually made it all extremely hard, but who would expect anything else? Maybe the people who made it an aesthetic or those who thought that hardships brought people closer and filled them up with inspiration.

But no. What you were going through was even half as inspiring as you wished it was, it was actually a nightmare.

You were rotting in your bed, unable to move unless you absolutely needed to. Your phone somewhere in your bed with a dead battery, your unfinished writings scattered all over the floor, multiple dirty dishes with, or without, food on them piling up on your desk. It all made you even more exhausted, even more unwilling to get up.

And the worst part? You completely cut off your friends and your girlfriend. For a week now you haven't contacted anyone, you slept through your days, just hoped that staying in your bed would help. Surely, if you slept long enough it all would be gone, the exhaustion, the lack of motivation, the unwillingness to contact anyone or their image of you would be ruined.

Did you feel terrible? Yes. You knew that not contacting Angel was wrong, you knew how she was and how her previous relationships were. You knew that, yet you still couldn't bring yourself to do so. Why? You didn't know. Maybe you were too exhausted, or maybe you were scared that seeing you like this would disappoint her.

"Ronin are you sure they live here?" You opened your eyes, hearing someone's voice outside of your front door from your bedroom. It was muffled, but you could tell that it belonged to a woman.

Then followed a few knocks. You weren't in a state for anyone to see you, but you didn't care. You couldn't bring yourself to wash your home, why the hell would you wash yourself? You got out of your bed, trying to figure out if you actually had to open the door. Unfortunately, the person behind your front door wasn't giving up and you didn't really want to make your neighbours angry with you, arguments were too exhausting right now.

You opened the door and being them you saw her. Maria de la Rosa herself. Your girlfriend, a serial killer and a popular model with a channel of her own. She looked beautiful, sweetness laced with teeth of those she killed. You had to blink a few times before you realised that it was Angel. You weren't ready to face her, not now, probably not never.

"Angel. .. I-" You wanted to say something, greet her, but before you could do that, she wrapped her arms around you and pulled you into a hug. Holding onto you like she thought she would lose you.

"Angel, are you... Okay?" You asked, your voice was raspy, obviously dry after not drinking or talking for a while now. She didn't reply, just held you tightly until she finally let go and invited herself into your home, closing the door after you entered behind her.

"Y/N... Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, her eyes full of worry. She looked broken, a little bit more than usual that is. The perfection wasn't there, these were her raw emotions.

"Tell you what? Oh...." Oh. So she knows. Well, that saved you some explaining, but also brought up a new one. "How do you know?"

"Ronin wanted to look more into you when you went missing, he was also worried even though he wasn't really showing it.". A weak chuckle left her mouth. "He found your medical records, they really did a shitty job hiding your name, his words not mine." She sighed and looked down at her hands. "Why didn't you say anything?"

You looked away. Shame filling you up. Finally something else than this notorious emptiness.

"I... I didn't want to worry you, to disappoint you." You answered, tone weak, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry Angel." You looked at her.

She took a breath. Took your hands in hers and cupped her face with your hands, leaning into the touch. "Love, you could never disappoint me, not with something like this at least. But, this conversation will wait for a moment when you feel better."

She looked around your hallway, then looked at you again. "You should eat something, I brought lunch." She smiled gently.

Angel was looking at you throughout the whole meal. She felt like she was looking at someone who's dead. You weren't there with her. You looked at your plate, stabbing through your food, eyes emptied of all the energy and motivation, you were obviously exhausted. It broke her heart to see you like this, so different from how you usually were.

It also reminded her of herself, so empty, so deprived of emotions because they were too exhausting.

"Maria?" Your voice brought her back to the moment. Your plate was half empty while hers was still full. "You should eat too."

Right. She should eat. She actually didn't ever since you were gone and she couldn't reach you, worried sick about you. But she should eat now. For herself and for you. If she showed you that she also fought her own battle then maybe you would be willing to fight through your own? Maybe you could win this, return to be more than a moving body without a soul. Maybe with her help this thing would be easier for you?

She wasn't a healer. She could only kill to help her friends, but for you she was willing to try. She was willing to wrap you in her embrace, lay with you in your bed, listen to your problems, and slowly clean your surroundings for you.

She wanted to do all these things, in a way it was helping her. Letting her be a mess, drop the perfect Maria de la Rosa and be just Maria, Maria helping her lover and helping herself.

Helping herself with a mess of her own while you two were fighting your battle.

It felt grounding, seeing the light in your eyes slowly shine again, watching you write and get out of your house. You were alive again. You weren't just a walking corpse too exhausted to show her emotion.

You were alive and it was reassuring.

[originalartblog]

(continued under the cut ↓)

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