#i see the face of a man i love and i want to write poetry about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollywoo · 14 hours ago

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J.WY | A Poet’s New Muse.

hi!! this is my first x reader fic! some slow(ish) burn fluff just in time for Valentine’s Day! i hope you enjoy! ♡

pairings: wooyoung!waiter x poet!reader ♡

synopsis: you are a troubled poet who has a poem due on love, though you are experiencing writer’s block. that is, until your favorite waiter gives you new found muse and more!~

word count: 3.2k ♡

Wooyoung would hum a gentle tune as he wiped away the mess left behind by the patrons that had just exited one of his last booths of the night. though his tune seemed happy, his mind was troubled. it was nearing closing time, and the raven haired waiter was left questioning himself, ‘why hadn’t they showed up?’

then, almost like clockwork, the abrupt sound of ringing took his attention to the fromt door, his gentle gaze setting on you. your appearance was put together and exuded pure beauty — though your mind told a different story; the raging war and suffocating feeling of being a poet with the worst case of writer’s block ever seen.

Wooyoung hadn’t looked away, even when you made eye contact it took him a bit too long to break the silence. once he did, his curtain bangs fell into his brunette orbs as he stuttered back to life. “Welcome in!” he would speak in a winded, yet cheey tone. You would try and hold back a smile at the endearing sight before you — Wooyoung all disheveled and shy just at the sight of you made you blush a bit, though you quickly recovered once your right hand gripped at your poetry book slightly. then, the waiter would bring you back from your thoughts, “I’ll show you to your table, followed me.” it seemed that Wooyoung had recovered from his previous flustered state, turning to guide you to a booth in the corner, away from the bustle of other customers.

Wooyoung brought you to this table on purpose of course, he wanted you to be able to write as much as your heart desires — no distractions. he knew exactly how you liked it because he would watch you for months, ever since you first entered the restaurant on that dreary rainy night. You were the only thing that made that night shine bright for him, despite the pouring rain and his new Chrome Hearts beanie getting ruined.

once you were seated, his arm would extend to you, handing you a menu for the restaurant with a soft smile. Your gaze would betray you, taking in the ink that adorned the lower forearm of the gorgeous man before you — thankful that those sleeves belonging to his white button up were rolled to the elbow to display this. You would be brought out of your trance at your brain screaming at you once again, ‘y/n! focus on this writing! the publishers need something to work with in the morning!’ You would tear your gaze away, giving the alluring male a gentle, “Thank you.” before peering at the menu.

tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, and you needed a love poem to hit the papers bright and early tomorrow morning, your boss was going to wring your neck if you didnt have it ready. truth be told, you were too focused on this damn poetry to even think of having your own Valentine. the irony of having to write a poem about love but not having your own is a sick prank from the world.

Wooyoung walked off to give you some time, his own face red from the encounter, he saw the way you looked at him — his rose tattoo. it has his heart beating at a rapid pace, the blush on his cheeks made his dot all too evident than before. as soon as he made it to the safety of the kitchen he approached the sink, washing his face off promptly before hearing a scoff in his direction. he didnt even have to look before the owner of the laugh started to speak, “Woo…just ask them out, you always get so flustered every night when they come in!” his coworker, Mingi would speak as he prepared an entree for one of the tables belonging to another section. “It’s like I’m watching another kdrama! I see the way they look at you too! It’s Valentine’s Day! Just go for it, Wooyoungie!” the tall male would practically whine, “The worst they can say is no~”

Wooyoung’s cheeks would heat up once more, drying away the water droplets with a paper towl from the dispenser above the sink. “Shh.. you do this EVERYTIME” the waiter would groan out in a teasing tone, throwing Mingi a mischievous glare — he was teasing the older. “Maybe one day I will! Plus, they are focusing on their poetry! I would hate to be a distraction!” Woo whined out, moving over towards Mingi who had since finished preparing the dish and was now setting it to the counter to serve. “Can’t blame me for trying!” Mingi would giggle out, hitting the bell for service. “Actually, I think Jongho went to the bathroom, can you take this entree to table 9?” the taller would ask, shooting the younger a gummy smile. Wooyoung rolled his eyes, “fiiinee” he would whine out in a playful tone, grabbing the entree and heading to it’s destination.

as he walked out onto the floor, his gaze would find purchase on you, watching as you began to jot down some starting lines, before ripping the paper out of the book and setting it to the side with frustration. ‘See, they are busy’ He told himself, finally giving the plate to the hungry customer and then making his way back to you.

You were mumbling to yourself, trying to rack your brain of how to write of a romance that you have never had. that was until your thoughts were pulled elsewhere, the waiter was speaking again. “I am so sorry to bother you again, but are you ready to order?” those eyes, they were so gentle — so kind. Wooyoung’s eyes were the kind of brown you could fall into, swim and get lost in. it was if every constellation was held in that magnificent gaze of his. You couldn’t look away — and neither could he. the look in both your eyes gave each other the sense of yearning — of longing.

the way the waiter’s raven hair parted down the middle, framing his face with pure elegance despite his redden cheeks caused your heart to blossom with want — the want of kissing on that cute little mole of his. his hands were holding a notepad and a pen, the way each vein in his nicely sized hands showed caused your beain to wander somewhere far more sinful. your own hand would reach to the other for a moment, placing onto Wooyoung’s and gently rubbing the vein with your thumb.

“my usual, please.” you would finally speak as Wooyoung took a moment, as if your voice hadnt even registered to him just yet. but as soon as it did, his pen began to move along the notepad. afterwards, the hand that was in yours would interlock your fingers with his, his head tilting to the side as he spoke. “will be out shortly for you, my love.” he would speak with such confidence, before lifting your hand and kissing the top. he then began to walk towards the kitchen, putting your order in with Mingi.

so this was love?

your pen began to move along the page as you found some sort of muse — a love to write about. You were finished before Wooyoung would return with your food, placing your poetry book off to the side so the plate could be set before you. the waiter was silent this time, before sliding into the seat across from you. you were shocked for a moment, but absolutely thrilled to be joined by such an attractive male, one that you had been daydreaming about for what seemed like centuries.

the silence was broken much quicker this time, like Wooyoung had found some confidence after their previous interaction. “so, do you have a Valentine this year?” he would question, sipping from a glass of water that he had brought with him. his gaze wouldnt move from you — now you were the one blushing.

“no..” you would speak softly, “my publisher needed this poem by morning, so I have been way too distracted to even think of having one.”

Wooyoung would fall silent, chewing on his bottom lip that was home to another dot of his. this man was truly a work of art. “well..” his voice would trail, that confidence wavered just for a moment before the dark haired waiter regained himself. “Would you like to be my Valentine?” his voice was as smooth as silk, the words rolling off his tongue with ease — your presence gave him confidence and calmed his nerves. “I can get tomorrow night off and take you to a different restaurant, or the movies. anything you want, y/n!” he added, another blush forming on your cheeks at the sound of him saying your name.

“Yes, Wooyoung, I would love to be your Valentine!” you practically exclaimed, your meal was now long forgotten as butterflies swarmed in your stomach. was this really happening? you had never had a Valentine before.

little did you know, neither did Wooyoung, between working at the restaurant and dancing at the studio he didnt have time for love — though you were an exception.

Wooyoung’s eyes light up with pure joy, you could see sparks flying with the way he was looking at you. “Can I have your phone number, darling?” he spoke with a bright smile on his lips, handing his unlocked phone over to you. with haste, your thumbs would tap across the screen, putting your phone number in and saving your contact in his phone. once you handed his phone back, he would text your number quickly. you felt your phone buzz, looking down at it for a moment.

“text me your address, I can pick you up at 6pm!” Wooyoung spoke with a smile on his lips, attempting to contain his excitement as he slide out of the booth, placing his hand on yours and giving it a squeeze before walking off. “See you tomorrow, love.”

────୨ৎ────

it felt like forever had passed by since you had seen Wooyoung, you had turned in your poetry early that morning at the office, and you were now heading back to your apartment to get ready for your date with the man of your dreams. the two of you had been texting all day, making the solid plan to go to a restaurant that Wooyoung said was to die for — then back to your place to show Wooyoung your prized writing collection. you were so excited that as soon as you entered the door to your apartment, you locked it behind you and ran to shower. your outfit had been picked out since last night after you had came home from the restaurant. everything was gping to be perfect.

after completing your shower, it was a bit after 5pm, so you began to get dressed and do your makeup and style your hair to make sure you looked your absolute best — even though Wooyoung would think you would be beautiful even in a cardboard box.

6pm came sooner than expected, you finally finished working on your appearance and sat down on your phone, scrolling through tiktok before a knock at your door brought your attention from the screen, you quickly grabbed your bag and made your way to the door. you were dressed in a pair of your nicest white dress pants that showed off every curve in your hips and legs. this was paired with a wine red flowy blouse that showed off your star necklace that you had adorned yourself with, and then a pair of black heeled shoes.

once you opened the front door of your apartment, your own breath was taken away by the raven haired beauty infront of you. Wooyoung was adorned in a white blouse that showed off his collarbones and upperchest nicely, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow; dress pants were a wine red, the color matched the blouse of yours which was an unplanned surprise that made your smile brighten, and then paired with a pair of black shoes. despite your heeled shoes, he was still taller than you, which made your heart swoon a bit. his orbs filled with admiration gazed down upon you, his hair framing his honeykissed face perfectly, some strands were tucked behind his ears. his silver earrings shone brightly in the light that illuminated your living room, he smiled softly, reaching out to grab your hips and pull you close.

“hello there, gorgeous.” he spoke gently, his tone way more flirty than the night before. he then placed a kiss on your cheek before sliding his hands down to his sides. “our reservation is at 6:30pm, are you ready to go?” he smiled softly as you nodded, he took your hand in his and lead you out of your apartment. you stopped momentarily to lock your door before you allowed him to drag you off into the parking lot.

the drive was amazing, Wooyoung drove the whole time and asked for you to put your favorite songs on to listen to. turns out, he likes your taste; his fingers would tap along on the steering wheel to the tune of your favorite melody as he finally made the last turn and parked. “this is the place!” he spoke with a smile on his lips, turning off the engine and getting out the car, rushing over to your side to open the door for you. you both then headed to the entrance of the restaurant, hand in hand. Wooyoung was a very touchy person, he couldnt seem to keep his hands off of you.

it didnt take long for the both of you to be seated, Wooyoung had made sure to request a seat with a magnificent view of the scenery of the restaurants garden which was adorned with tomatos, potatos, assorted vegetables and a few flowers. you had seen your favorite one and pointed at it happily, his attention was on you immediately. “ooo lily of the valleys! i havent seen those in so long!” you exclaimed with excitement, covering your mouth for a moment after in embarrassment. Woo would reach over and bring your hands from your mouth, wanting you to keep talking. “my favorites are sunflowers, i dont see much of them though!” he giggled softly, giving you a reassuring smile.

moments would pass before the waiter would make his way to your table, Wooyoung’s eyes were on you once he arrived. “Hello, beautiful. are you ready to order?” the waiter of the restaurant spoke to you, Wooyoung’s jaw clenched immediately before snapping back. “they are beautiful aren’t they? MY Valentine is the most gorgeous being to ever grace this planet.” he spoke, eye contact to the waiter now as he made sure to pronounce the word ‘my’ harshly. he was already protective over you and the first date wasnt even over yet, how cute.

You giggled softly, squeezing Wooyoung’s hand before ordering a pappardelle pasta with alfredo sauce. then Wooyoung would place his order as well, which was a tortellini pasta with tomato sauce. the male handed your menus back to the waiter who left promptly without another word, he seemed to be a bit intimidated by Wooyoung.

“sorry about that, i’m not usually protective like that.” Wooyoung would speak to you, caressing your hand with his thumb as he gazed longingly into your magnificent orbs. “don’t apologize, its very attractive.” you would respond. this caused a smirk to appear on Wooyoung’s lips, “ah, then i’ll do it more often for you, sweetheart.” he ended his sentence with a wink.

dinner went on perfectly after this, his hand always somehow found a way to meet yours, or brush your hair behind your ear; he was the moth, you were the flame. he wouldnt keep his hands off of you.

after you both finished eating, you stayed for another hour or two just talking about every interest you both have. it wasnt until the hostess came by and told you both they were closing did you realize how much time had passed. Wooyoung would giggle softly, thanking the hostess before standing and approaching your side. once you stood, he snaked his arm around your waist and you both walked to his car.

the drive home made you a bit upset, not because of Wooyoung — but because the date was coming to an end and you didn’t want him to go. before you could think, you blurted out, “do you want to stay the night?” you then looked over at him, who immediately met yours gaze as well as he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment. “of course.” he answered with a smile on his face.

once you both made it to the entrance of your apartment, Wooyoung’s hand gripped your hip softly, rubbing the bone in a loving manner. you unlocked your door before you both walked into your apartment. “make yourself at home!” you spoke sweetly, “the bedroom is down the hall to the right, the bathroom is across from it!”

though Wooyoung didnt leave your side even after you spoke that, he was glued to you. “hmm, how about we watch a movie?” he spoke excitedly, a yawn following the question as he gazed into your eyes lovingly. “we can cuddleee” he spoke that last word in a whiney tone, like he was already needy for your touch in every way.

you nodded, “yes we can! you choose a movie while i change okay?” you placed a kiss on Wooyoung’s cheek before making your way to your bedroom. in the meantime, Woo had brought in his dance bag that always contained an extra pair of clothes. he changed in the bathroom, now wearing a black t shirt and gray sweatpants when you returned.

you changed into a pair of shorts and an oversized top before making your way back out to meet him. you plopped yourself down beside Wooyoung on the couch, who immediately wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to his chest. “i chose Howl’s Moving Castle, have you watched it?” he spoke softly, rubbing his head against you affectionately— like a cat.

“i love that movie! you so remind me of Howl!” you immediately blurted out, planting more kisses along his jawline as he let out a chuckle. “stopp i was gonna say i loved him!!!” he spoke in excitement, he then laid down on his back and without a second thought you climbed ontop of him. your head rested on his chest, listening to the gentle thumping of his beating heart.

“hey y/n?” Wooyoung spoke softly, running his fingers through your hair.

“yes, Woo?” you responded, fighting off the sleepiness that plagued your body now, and his warmth wasnt helping — though you didnt mind that too much.

“will you be my partner?” he questioned softly, kissing the top of your head. you then smiled the biggest you had all night, your cheeks burning from this.

“of course, baby!” you exclaimed, leaning up to pepper his neck and jaw with kisses. “my perfect boyfriend!” you whispered to him.

Wooyoung hummed softly, “my perfect baby.” he responded before you both succumbed to the peaceful lull of sleep.

—🧸taglist!: @vampzity @sanshairfollicles @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @rvereri @joonezra @jjongibears @h4untedgrl

comment to be added to my taglist! ♡

thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed my first x reader fic!! ♡

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x y/n #—🧸bunnie’s ateez fics !!#—🧸bunnie’s x reader fics !#—🧸bunnie’s wooyoung fics !#x reader #valentines day fic #ateez fluff #ateez fanfiction #ateez scenarios #fanfic

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paranormaljones · 10 months ago

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i think women in media need to start describing the men they're in love with as "beautiful" more often. like way more often. i'm not kidding. it's not a gendered word. there's no way that society is going to give up the idea that it is anytime soon, but wow i want to tell men that they're beautiful. i think it would be good for society to see that on the tv.

#yeah this post was inspired by a scene from chuck #SUE ME #THAT MAN IS BEAUTIFUL IN LIKE SO MANY SENSES OF THE WORD #but anyways the general statement is still true #i actually remember arguing with a friend about this years ago #it makes me wonder about the differences in how i see men i love vs. how the average woman sees men she loves #i see the face of a man i love and i want to write poetry about it #i HAVE written poetry about that concept #men are beautiful and i think they would benefit from hearing that #anyways i love men #chuck bartowski most of all #i mean what #i've been awake for too long

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youryanderedaddy · 1 year ago

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can you write gentle yandere taking their darling for the first time vs mean sadistic yandere taking them for the first time?

Btw I love ur work 💖💘💗

tw: female reader, non - con, kidnapping, obsessive/possessive behavior, sadism, degradation, slut - shaming

Gentle ~

You know the type of guy I'm talking about. Big and buff, dark - haired, cries a lot. Watches romance movies in his free time and actually calls his mother even outside of the holiday season. Wears slutty little black fitted shirts after working out and brings you smoothies after work. He smiles and blushes. The man is a massive loser with an undying passion for anything nerdy, be it dragons, board games, collecting marks. Who would really expect this poor soul to hurt even a fly?

But he does.

It doesn't happen until months after he's taken you in. Most of the time he's being the perfect gentleman (aside from literally keeping you captive) - he cooks for you, brings you roses and chocolates (even when you throw them away or tear the petals from the flowers), cleans and doesn't make you lift a finger. He reads you poetry until your ears bleed. He tells you he loves you one hundred times a day and seemingly doesn't care about your snorts or the way you roll your eyes and push him away, already so used to your living situation you can't even find it in yourself to be scared. You think he's harmless - as harmless as a lovesick puppy.

But then one night he comes home, an unusual frown on his otherwise soft face. There is a certain type of madness in his hazel eyes. They are still so very soft and adoring, he still sees you as a Goddess in need of worship... but there is also something dark and muddy. Something possessive.

Your captor kisses you on the cheek and that much is granted - he does it every day, along with shouting "Honey, I'm home" at the door. He hugs you - tight. Tighter than ever before, it feels as if the man is trying to crush you in a suffocating embrace, like he wants to swallow you whole within his arms. For the first time you realise just how muscular he is - how much stronger he is. And then he picks you up like a blushing bride and leaves a quick peck on your forehead before taking you to the bedroom and carefully laying you down.

He doesn't give you time to ask questions - as soon as he steps a foot in your shared room, he's already tearing apart his clothes, revealing his ripped form.

"See anything you like, sweetness?" the man asks you, rubbing his hands together as he towers over you, caging you between two beefy arms. You stay silent for a moment, mouth agape at the suddenness of it all - you have never seen him like this. He starts caressing your cheeks and slowly moves down, and that's when it finally settles in your mind. You need to act quickly.

"Stop." you say authoritatively, just like you have done so many times before, praying it would work like it had in the past. But not now. This time he simply shakes his head, a crazed smile playing on his lips as he lowers his head and kisses your neck softly, lovingly. It's terrifying. You're not used to this. You don't know how to react. "Baby, I can't hold it in anymore." Your captor whispers, head resting against your shoulder, voice low and desperate - almost whiny.

"I really tried." he swallows thickly. "I swear. I tried cold showers a-and thinking about bad things but..." he bites his lip, staring at you. You look so small and helpless and, God, he respects you, he really does, but he can't help the way his crotch twitches and his pants tighten as he watches you squirm and tremble, oh-so-small and panicky, defenceless little hands scratching at his arms, but failing to make him budge.

"But every time I come home all pent up and annoyed after dealing with bastards all day, all I want is to bend you over," he continues after moving a lock of your hair out of the way so he can whisper directly into your naked ear. "And fuck-”, he says as he pins your hands to the bed frame, enjoying seeing you wiggle and pant. "The shit-" he can feel your heart beat faster and faster as your whole body gets warmer. It's awfully intimate. "Out of-" he's so excited now that he grabs your hips rather roughly, and ruts against your core, whimpering as his crotch rubs all over your clothed slit. "you".

He growls, now more akin to a lion or a bear than to a human.

He tries to enter you slowly so he wouldn’t hurt you, but the moment your tight velvety walls wrap around his hard throbbing length, he’s reduced to a feral whimpering mess, shoving at you in short sloppy thrusts, completely pussy - drunk. He lasts less than five minutes before he pulls out and cums all over your stomach, watching in fascination as his seed marks you. He slams his lips against yours, swallowing your hushed protests as he murmurs “Mine” over and over again, gripping your hips closer when he feels you pulling away.

Once his brain has cleared enough to be able to think properly he helps you clean up, touching you so gently you wonder if this wild, brutish side he exhibited was all but a dream. But it’s still very much there, barely contained under the surface - and one single moment of freedom and passion is enough to open Pandora's box.

After that night he feels a lot more comfortable with touching you, for better or worse.

Mean ~

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to your ‘new life’ before he basically pounces on you like a predator. To be completely honest, he’s wanted to fuck you within inches of your life since the time he first saw you - the only thing keeping him at bay for a while were the countless pretty pictures he had of you naked and writhing in your own bed in the comfort of your home that all the secret cameras he had installed managed to capture.

Before he used to treat your home footage like his own personal cam - girl show; sometimes he would wait to leave work, jerking all over your face on his screen the moment he gets home. Other times he wasn’t so patient, and he had to sneak off to the restroom any time a thought about you occurred, stroking himself to completion as he blasted his recordings of your quiet moans on his headphones.

But now you’re here in the flesh - the real thing, tied so tight you can’t move an inch, trembling all over just like a bunny caught in a trap by the hunter. He wants you completely immobilised - he’s waited ages for this moment and he wants absolutely no distractions getting in the way of him finally taking his price.

You sob pitifully, your mouth the only part of your body left uncovered, and you try to plead with him desperately. You promise him money, influence, anything he wants - whatever would be able to get you out of this hellish predicament. You even offer to give him a blowjob - which he simply sneers at, grabbing a fistfull of your hair.

“Oh, doll, the night is still young. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” He looks possessed, ready to feast on your flesh. You shiver, curling into yourself as much as possible - but he pulls your legs on both sides of his thighs, his hands seeming grand across your rickety ankles. “You’ll get your chance to choke on this cock soon enough.” He grabs his bulge crudely, massaging it through his thick stained grey pants. “Right now all I want is to see this cute little pussy stretched on my meat and those pretty tits bouncing in the air as I slap them red.”

It really doesn’t matter if you’re a virgin or not, you’re getting brutalised either way - although his comments would be different.

If you’re a virgin, he’s making sure you get the whole of his length in one - there is something terribly amusing about the toe - curling scream you let out as his cock tears you apart, something borderline pornographic in the way your brows twist and your nostrils flare, lips shut tight as to not give him the pleasure of hearing your pain out loud. But it’s obvious, and he wants you to know that he enjoys it through and through - licking your tears and the sweat off your neck, pinching at your thighs, your breasts, your stomach; whatever makes you cry the most.

If you’re not a virgin, he still finds a way to get his fun out of you.

“I don’t feel you clenching on me, you little slut.” He smacks your cheek with little force behind it - it’s not meant to hurt you, but to humiliate you and drive his point across. “Did you have a fucking train ran on you? I should have known you’d be a filthy whore.” He bites at your lower lip, pulling at it until he hears you whine pitifully - leaving his mark on you. “Should’a known with these cocksucking lips of yours, and ngh-” He sinks into you, voice breaking once the tip of his dick brushes against your cervix. “And t-those slutty hips, shit, keep squeezing me just like that, n-ngh, I am going to ruin you all over again!”

He fucks you for who knows how long - when he’s finally satisfied, the sun is already up and you’re drenched in sweat and cum. There isn’t a single part of your body that doesn’t ache.

He leaves you there, snickering at the sight of your empty stare fixed on the ceiling - only reaching to untie you and cuff your ankle to the bed frame instead. You weakly raise an eyebrow in question.

“Stay here until I come back, okay?” He grins with malice, caressing your wet matted hair. “Hah, not that you can really go anywhere.”

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere smut #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

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retroaria · 5 months ago

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⊹₊⋆.˚ Confessions ⋆.˚₊ ⊹

summary: the bllk boys and their romantic confessions, some are love, some are not! all of them are pretty cute though, not gonna lie…

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | requests are open! | enjoy 💋

⊹₊⟡⋆ Isagi Yoichi ‹𝟹

isagi makes it a point to confess to you in person. he spends a few days thinking (and overthinking) exactly what words to use. he wants to make sure he can confess his true feelings and also let you know how lucky he would feel if you accepted him.

once he’s ready he’d send you a text or call you, asking you to meet him somewhere quiet, maybe just his house or yours. the two of you meet up and he’s immediately flushed. he’s nervous and excited all at the same time. he’s the kind of guy that would want to have built a strong friendship and bond before confronting his feelings for you, so he’s confident that you guys will be ok no matter what happens.

he’d take your hands in his and look you in the eyes while he confesses. his gaze would be warm and sweet, he’s just glad he could even get the opportunity to express himself to you.

“I’ve really love having you with me. You make me feel better, even when I thought I was fine before, being with you just feels better. The closer we’ve gotten, and the more I’ve seen of you and your world, the more I realize how badly I want to be a part of it.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Bachira Meguru ‹𝟹

as soon as bachira realizes he has feelings for you, he feels immediately ready to tell you. he’ll let the feeling settle for a little and try to tell you in an indirect manner. he’ll swoop in with a surprise kiss on your cheek, giggling as he watches your flustered expression. or maybe he’ll leave little notes around for you, in your bag, in your car, in your pockets, in your books, etc. they’d say silly little things about how adorable you were that day or he’ll briefly write about something that reminded him of you, maybe some mediocre poetry he thought up in his love sick state. you’d catch on pretty easily that it was bachira, and he never intended to keep that a secret.

then after a few days of messing with you, he decided he’d tell you the next time he saw you. when the two of you met up he immediately sucked you into a bone crushing hug, like he was holding on for dear life. he’d pull away, “hey cutie~ guess what…” he’d coo at you.

“i like you! Like, I really like you. Maybe I even love you. actually, yeah, love sounds better. I love you! I wanna take you on a date and kiss your stupid face. I know you feel the same, I wish you could see how red you are right now.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Nagi Seishiro ‹𝟹

Nagi realized he loved you when he began to notice how sad he would get when you leave. being sad is a serious pain for him. he doesn’t like the way it makes his brain and body feel all fried and stressed, he hates not wanting to do anything even more than he already does, yet simultaneously willing to do anything to get you back in his apartment. Nagi would beg you to sleepover every time you hung out at his place, he’d sometimes try to wrestle you into the bed. you were just so kind and warm and calming to him. he felt graced by you and your presence.

his confession would come out of him like a nice long sign of relief. he’s been having this strange internal battle between his love for you and his love for laziness. it’s a hassle to have to confess and then put in the effort to build up a romantic relationship, but in the end he decides it’s even more of a hassle to not tell you how he feels. plus, you’re so worth it.

“It just doesn’t feel right when you’re not with me. It’s like I don’t really know what to do with myself. You make me feel alive. That sounds cringe. I love you, is what im trying to say. I hope that makes sense.”

disclaimer: do not date a guy like nagi in real life you cannot gentle parent this man child lol

⊹₊⟡⋆ Reo Mikage ‹𝟹

Reo’s confession was a long time in the making. he clung to his feelings for as long as he could until it really felt like he was gonna explode if he didn’t tell you. he did that because he wanted to wait for the timing to be perfect. he wanted to find the perfect spot to do it, the perfect words to say, all at the perfect time in both of your lives. but of course, things rarely work out that way.

what actually happened is he blurted it out in the middle of you talking one day. you were telling him about something you were working on, something you loved and were really proud of. he was listening so intently, or at least trying to. his thoughts kept stringing him in a different direction and before he knew it, he dropped the L word on you like a nuclear bomb.

“I-uhh…Ok listen, I’m sorry I promise I was listening to you it’s just…you look so beautiful right now and you sound so cute and excited. It got me all frantic, I didn’t mean to drop that on you so out of nowhere…it’s true though, I do love you. I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Michael Kaiser ‹𝟹

(unless you speak german) kaiser has already confessed to you a million times. “ich liebe dich~” he’d say to you upon every parting, telling you it was simply a term of endearment. if you did happen to know what that meant already, or if you took the time to search it up, he’d be like “yeah, I said that, so what?” this man would propose to you in the middle of times square in broad daylight he’s so confident but that’s a different hc for another time lmaoo.

his confession is charming and flattering. he truly worships the ground you walk on while also believing that he’s the only one who could appreciate you as you deserve. his hands cup your face and his eyes fall warmly on yours. his voice is direct and steady. not a twinge of nervousness can be seen, just pure love and admiration. he speaks to you with a calm and lulling voice, a tenderness he only lets linger when he’s with you.

“Liebe, don’t you see how soft you make me? I’d hate for you to not realize how I feel for you. I want you to be mine, if you’ll have me, that is.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Rin Itoshi ‹𝟹 (i wrote so much for rin wtf)

Rin has walls that he has spent a lot of time and effort building up over the years. they’re forged to keep out anything and everything that may be a distraction from his goals, but if this is the guy you’re going for, i’m sure you’re a persistent little pest. you’d sneak your way into his life, just by being there, texting him, talking about him. soon enough you’d infested his mind as well, suddenly he’d find himself thinking of you when he least expects it.

one day he was on the pitch, just a practice game, but you were in the stands watching him. throughout your friendship you’ve done this quite a few times, so he has no reason to pay much mind to your presence in the middle of the match. today was different though, you were up close, eyes beaming at him in the center field, hands at the side of your head clutched together in a little cheer. he hadn’t done anything yet, the match just started, what were you even cheering for? it was cute, he decided. that’s why it broke his focus long enough for the other team to score. actually, it was adorable. so adorable it tugged the corners of his lips upward slightly, which he quickly moved to cover with his hand. he just threw a match and he was smiling? what were you doing to him?

after some time of thinking you might be employing psychological warfare against him, Rin decided it was time to really sit down and confront his feelings. he’d go a few days, maybe even a week or more without speaking to you. don’t worry, he was thinking about hardly anything but you the entire time.

“Sorry for ghosting you, I just needed to think about some things. It made me a little sad to be away from you too. I hate you a lot less than I hate everyone else, you know? Don’t get cocky about that. Also, don’t leave me ok? I’ll be nicer, yeah sure. Maybe I can walk you home…or something. Here, let’s hold hands.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Sae Itoshi ‹𝟹

he’s way more flustered about it than you might think. he’s not embarrassed or nervous necessarily, he just hasn’t expected to feel this way about anyone. similar to kaiser, sae thinks he’s the only person who could truly love and appreciate you as much as you deserve. this typically stoic and selfish man finds himself smiling in your presence and wanting to give you everything you want and more.

your relationship until this point has been uhh… “transactional” we’ll say. the two of you liked going out and hanging out together, but no feelings attached. a few kisses were shared here and there, he’d take you back to his apartment to cuddle sometimes, but wouldn’t ever let you sleepover. eventually things started to get a little more *intense*. you did start staying over, a lot. so much so that you had a toothbrush on his bathroom sink and clothes in his closet. the first time he ever had the thought of being in love with you was when he realized his sheets always smelled like you now, and he wanted it to stay that way.

the fact that you were enough to turn his head, take over his thoughts, and make him fall in love with you feels like proof beyond the reasonable doubt that you are perfect.

“You can move in, if you want. I wouldn’t mind. We’re basically already dating, so I don’t see the point in denying it anymore. Yeah, I didn’t think it would go this far either. I like knowing you’re here at my place, with me and not with anyone else.”

HONORABLE MENTIONS

⊹₊⟡⋆ Oliver aiku ‹𝟹

“You know I love you, let’s stop pretending. Seriously, you could keep me on a tight leash if you really want. Promise, I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Kunigami Rensuke ‹𝟹

“I love you, I want you to know that. It’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I want to care for you and keep you safe, you mean so much to me, you don’t even know.”

i love this post so much, the nagi disclaimer i had to put, the strange onion analogy for rin, the flustered reo moment. also just isagi being here, the man that you are, Isagi Yoichi. i had so much fun making this - aria

divider - @enchanthings

1K notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 5 months ago

Text

LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door.

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often.

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you.

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality.

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run.

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty.

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok.

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay.

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff.

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship.

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it.

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile.

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it.

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together.

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested.

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion.

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours.

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water.

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you.

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last.

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.”

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of.

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.”

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you.

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common.

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you.

And it no longer shall.

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life.

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.”

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps.

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch.

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself.

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up.

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service.

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you.

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take.

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore.

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening.

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were.

And the process soaks your panties.

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore.

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches.

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age.

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you.

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea.

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste.

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him.

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex.

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you.

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.”

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about.

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body.

And you might as well give him what he asks of you.

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them.

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours.

He didn’t expect that.

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly.

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.”

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you.

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable.

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet.

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over.

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better.

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him.

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now.

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back.

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you.

And you let his following question consume you just as much.

“Were you in love with him?”

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out.

No need for long nights of overthinking.

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?”

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst.

“What’s it to me?”

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers.

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him.

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face.

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore.

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin?

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation.

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?”

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it.

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.”

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.”

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about.

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back.

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?”

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?”

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will.

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.”

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead?

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment.

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick.

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer.

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.”

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.”

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety.

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release.

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.”

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.”

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak.

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long.

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.”

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt.

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at.

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water.

And you do.

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out.

“Did you cry for him?”

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?”

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.”

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.”

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his.

The life in you throbs.

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that.

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.”

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again.

“Touch it, please.”

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged.

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain.

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing.

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him.

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.”

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants.

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with.

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally.

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.”

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume.

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit.

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body.

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it.

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away.

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.”

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out.

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him.

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once.

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.”

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity.

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?”

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off.

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth.

Your poor heart skips a beat.

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?”

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you.

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils.

“That’s so hot.”

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.”

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his.

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too.

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle.

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.”

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon.

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty.

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.”

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.”

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.”

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.”

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it.

“I want that so bad.”

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.”

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him.

“I didn’t bring any condoms.”

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.”

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing.

“I’ll give you a big load.”

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face.

“Good girl. Such good manners.”

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime.

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.”

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity.

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin.

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you.

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.”

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.”

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish.

“Say that again.”

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.”

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one.

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out.

But only one thing is clear.

“I’m yours.”

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp.

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg.

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.”

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines.

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him.

Blood-hot.

And you feel as though you deserved every drop.

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see.

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning.

They cease to exist.

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?”

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him.

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head.

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.”

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again.

Again and again.

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb.

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world.

Hoseok is that life.

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

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yes-no-maybe-soo · 15 days ago

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Some personal Sylus hcs and hills I will die on

(This was originally meant to be a very short "Sylus hills I will die on" post but then it somehow evolved and became a long-ass list of hills and headcanons, a lot of them NSFW 🔞. Idk how that happened but it did so uhh... enjoy? Except if you are a minor, in which case, keep scrolling)

Will never cheat physically or emotionally. Period. The mere thought of being with anyone but you is both appalling and distressing to him (as per Goodcat Code, the only time we ever see him actually jealous). He's a one woman man and he's locked in for life.

King of Consent, always and forever.

He is not 6'2 are you kidding me. With those proportions? No way. He's 6'5 at minimum.

Smells absolutely divine (I mean, one of his canon hobbies is taking baths.)

Writes poetry. Actually good poetry. The man is a romantic and a yearner at heart after all, and has always had a way with words.

Dislikes cigarettes, but will occasionally smoke a cigar or two (cuz mafia boss. It's a requirement lol. And the visual is extremely hot to me for some reason. Yes, this one is indeed extremely self indulgent).

He has the habit of burying his nose in your hair or in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. It brings him more comfort than anything else in the world.

He is a vers pleasure dom. A soft gentleman dom. Your needs, your pleasure, your consent come above all else.

Hurting you in any way is a major no go. Even should you want him to in the bedroom, he won't do it. He'd never put you in any danger by his own hands. Ever. The furthest he'll go is biting (dragon instinct), the pain of which he'll immediately soothe through kissing and licking. Should you beg for it, the occasional light/safe spanking or whipping is also fine as is, again, light and safe choking if that gets you off. That is all, though. Sylus would rather chug a large tub of wasabi every hour every day for the rest of his immortal life than ever cause injury to his beloved.

Consensual non-con is similarly off the table for him. Because your consent is so massively important to him (and also a major turn on), I can't see him getting off to any scenario where he doesn't have it, even during roleplay.

While he is down to bottom, he is not a switch (bottoming ≠ subbing). Because of his past — the way his agency was brutally taken away from him at a very young age and the trauma it caused him — I believe that control is simply too crucial to him to ever truly relinquish. Losing it would probably be triggering for him. At least at present. Maybe if he were to work through his trauma he could learn to eventually hand over the reins for a while. But for now, I just can't see him fully submitting.

Has body worship, praise, size, and breeding kinks.

Girthy. Size training required.

Favorite place to have sex? Either in his/your bed or in the shower. His private office is a close second, with you either splayed over his large desk or straddling his lap in his luxurious armchair, riding him.

Loves eating you out. It's his favorite meal.

His favored position is missionary because it allows him to clearly see your gorgeous features, to observe the way they contort in pleasure, to greedily drink in the incomparably beautiful expression on your face as you come undone by him. It also has the additional advantage of giving him easy access to your lips, which he loves to claim with his own.

During lovemaking, at least one of his hands will inevitably seek yours, lacing his much larger fingers with your own, and stroking your thumb with his own calloused one. He loves the inherent intimacy of it, how your hand fits so perfectly in his, the way you clasp onto him so tightly, conveying to him your love and your trust — both of which are more valuable to him than all the precious gems in the galaxy combined.

Likes it when you are loud in bed. The ecstacy filled sounds that escape your perfect lips are like music to his ears, and he basks further in the knowledge that he is the direct cause of them. Bonus points if you moan or scream out his name, that will arouse him to the point of nearly coming undone.

Big on cock warming. The inside your warm, slick walls is his favorite place to be. He would probably stay there forever if you consented to it, and if he could only find a way to make it practical. He absolutely basks in the sensation of being so closely, so intimately, connected with you.

The Emperor of Aftercare. Sylus will hold you close and trail soft kisses all over your face and neck, whilst murmuring words of love and praise. Then he'll carry you to the bathroom where a soothing, fragrant warm bath is drawn for you. Once he's lowered you into the tub, he'll personally wash your body with gentle, loving hands. When you are both cleaned up and dressed in comfy wear, he'll procure a nourishing meal for you made from your favorite foods to help you regain your strength. Afterwards, he'll keep holding you in his strong arms for the remainder of the night/day, nuzzling you close.

Huge cuddler and snuggler. Will not let you out of his arms for even a second while in bed together. And can you blame him? He's been without you for several lifetimes, has spent countless nights (or mornings) alone in bed, your absence from his arms aching like a phantom limb. Now that he has you back, he never wants to let you go again. Your presence is as necessary to him as the air he breathes.

Whenever he wakes up before you, he will take advantage of the opportunity to admire your sleeping face. He'll ghost a finger over it, gently tracing your features with a small smile on his lips and a tender affectionate look in his eyes, his heart swelling with all that he feels for you. He can't help but sneak in a few kisses on the top of your head, as light as butterflies so as not to disturb you.

Will 100% cry at your wedding, and when holding your newborn children for the first time. He'll have silent tears streaming down his cheeks and a soft yet radiant expression on his face, making his otherwise sharp and rather stern looking features appear gentle. His bride and his babies are simply the most breathtakingly beautiful treasures Sylus' eyes have ever beheld, and his whole entire being is all but overwhelmed by the fiercest yet purest form of love, immeasurable in its quantity and intensity. Part of him honestly remains in disbelief that said treasures are his, that something this incredible is actually happening to someone like him– "a monster" he once believed incapable and undeserving of love or happiness.

Will only have daughters. In my mind he is so Girl Dad coded that he might as well be incapable of producing any sperm containing the Y chromosome.

Sylus will be the best father a girl could ever ask for. His daughters will never lack for anything, least of all love, support, or affirmation. He is the type of dad who will sing for his children, join them in their games, bake cupcakes with them, hold them in his lap as he attentively listens to them blabber on, comfort them after a nightmare, happily dress up for imaginary tea parties, go to — and if necessary participate in — dance recitals, braid their hair, let them give him makeovers etc. He fosters and encourages individuality, independence, and confidence, but also always lets them know that it's ok to cry, to fail, to ask for help, to rely on others. He is validating and reassuring, never faltering in his emotional support. They can come to him about anything without fear of being rejected or judged. He is a shoulder to cry on, and a confidant always ready to listen and to give advice as needed. From the very day of their births and throughout the entirety of their lives, Sylus will ensure that his daughters will never have even a single reason to doubt that they are the most precious treasures in the Universe to him, and that his love for them is unconditional.

#this is what i get up to when i'm sick dhdjfj it truly does make me feel better tho'. i'll chalk it up to the magic of sylus 😌🫶🏻#ofc these are just my personal hills #if you disagree/have different ones then thats all good :)#except for the first two. i don't play about either of them. please block me if you think sylus would cheat or that he doesnt value consent #sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus lads #sylus love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace

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madwomansapologist · 11 months ago

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Please share your headcanon about gale's kinks!!!!

gale's kinks/turn ons

Navigation | More Wizard of Waterdeep | AO3

synopsis: A deep dive into what the smart wizard man think it's hot. Yes, the brain rot is that serious.

warnings: i'm sick so if this isn't good i will blame the pills. testing a new format. this is about sex, don't interact if you're a minor. remember: if you kink shame me i will get horny just to spite you.

PRAISE KINK

That's a man willing to write poetry about your body, mind and soul. His tongue has only two purposes on life, and both of them involve making you see stars. If his mouth isn't in use, he will be praising you.

And when Gale feels so good he can't even speak, isn't that a praise on itself?

But that we all know. His reaction to receiving praise is what makes me want to bite my fingers off.

Gale Dekarios knows his value as a wizard, but not as a man. His ambition isn't a consequence of his desire to pursue more, but to be more. To deserve love, he must prove his worth. As we all know, it often doesn't end in a good way.

I don't think Mystra ever wasted her precious time to assure Gale of the contrary. And when she did, it wasn't about Gale Dekarious: it was about Gale of Waterdeep, her chosen. How his control of the weave was impressive, how he could conjure any sort of images, how his illusions could fool everyone.

So when he receives praise for any other part of his life that isn't his academic pursues, a part of his brain burns. Be as intricate as his poetry or as lascive as one can be, Gale can feel his knees getting weak. Weaker.

FOOD PLAY

Not only Gale loves to cook and bake, but he loves the whole idea of being responsible for making someone stronger and healthier. Hunger is a hurtful thing, that he knows, and he don't want anyone else to deal with it.

It comes hand to hand with his praise kink. When you eat something good, you don't need to use words: your whole body shows it. He would apreciate the compliments, nonetheless.

To spoon feed you would be such a turn on. It's so intimate, such a show of trust and care, nothing but human. The way your mouth opened for the spoon, how your tongue licked it clean. Can you blame him?

After helping you eat, it would be his turn to end his hunger. You don't mind being his plate, do you? Gale promises to lick you clean. You always taste so sweet for him, what's a bit of honey to add to that?

OLFACTOPHILIA

Your scent can turn him into a fucking mess. There is something so human about it. So natural and real about it. Is just you.

After a fight, when you are covered in sweat and blood, he can't help himself. To be around you can make him drool. You fresh from your shower, smelling just as you and not as any perfume. When you spend the day laying around and is too lazy to get clean.

The amount of times his cheeks burned red because he breathed in when you walked past and a companion noticed can't be numbered.

Gale prefers to undress you rather you doing it yourself. That means he will be able to breath deep against your undies before getting them off of you.

Wanna get him as hard as a rock in mere seconds? Give him a underwear you used for a long time. Just threw it at his face and go on with your day. He will be quick to follow.

Gale loves how he can still smell you on his upper lip after going down on you. If you squirt, he will cum on his trousers. I don't make the rules.

FACE-SITTING/FACE FUCKING

Again: his mouth has only two uses. Is almost therapeutic for him. Just get on top of him, use his mouth however you want. The place in between your legs seen perfect for him to die on.

Gale Dekarios is a service top looking for a pillow princess/prince. I VOLUNTEER!

FINGERS IN MOUTH

You know that feeling of not knowing what to do next? Where to put your hands, what to do with your mouth? Since he prefers to be the one doing things, this can be a problem. A problem that can be easily solved by your pretty fingers.

It can hit even harder if he's in the process of casting something and you stop him by just putting your fingers into his mouth. Gale won't even know hot to react. Actually, he might suck them.

Ok, he might have a oral obsession. What are you, Freud?

BONDAGE

Hand to hand with that sort of anxiety about what he must do next. Make sure Gale stays put in place and use him. Remember guys, your service tops also deserve to be fucked around a bit.

Magic restrains or ropes, and make sure to do some beautiful knots. He could break free from them, but Gale won't desobey. Not after you spend so long getting him ready for you.

shadowheart turn ons/kinks

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

BALDUR’S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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ofstarsandvibranium · 9 months ago

Text

Precious Truths: Part I

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you've been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month's time.

Ever since you were little, you found solace in poetry. Your mother highly encouraged your governess to have you read any and every poetry book that was ever made. The imagery and feelings it produced was something you never experienced before.

After your mother died, your father forbade you from reading poetry. He forbade you for ever mentioning your mother again. Their love was strong and true. As a result, it caused your father deep heartache. He became cold, heartless, and cruel. A drunkard and a gambler. Fortunately, his sister, your aunt, had moved in and became lady of the house. She became your mother figure, but she could only do so much.

She snuck you poetry books when she could. The words now being the only part of your mother you had to connect to.

Because of this love, you began to write poetry yourself. You only ever shared it to your aunt and friend, Kate Bridgerton nee Sharma, another lover of stories and poetry. Both having expressed their hopes of you publishing your writing some day.

"Maybe some day," you'd always say.

What they didn't know was that you did publish your poems. You went under a man's pseudonym, Arthur Talbot. His poetry books were becoming popular among the ton and it brought you joy and a sense of thrill whenever someone mentioned his name to you.

You'd recite your his poetry readings held at Lady Danbury's often. Everyone was always in awe of how the words poured out of you with intense and deep emotion.

But the one who was most taken with them and you, was none other than Benedict Bridgerton.

_______________________

The small group break out into applause and you curtsy. Lady Danbury walks up to you with a proud grin on her face, "Another splendid performance, Miss L/N. I can tell you deeply resonate with Talbot. "

You bow, "Thank you, Lady Danbury. His words mean a lot to me. It's as if he and I are one." You hold back a laugh as you express your gratitude to the hostess.

"Well, I think this calls for a break," the older woman turns to face her guests, "Everyone please enjoy some refreshments."

People begin to disperse, leaving the sitting room for other parts of the Danbury estate.

You're standing off to the side, watching those around you, when your dear friend, Benedict, approaches you. You smile wide at him, "Ben!"

"Another splendid performance, Miss L/N," he lifts his glass to you.

You chuckle, "Thank you. But I think Arthur Talbot deserves just as much praise. They're his words after all."

Benedict nods, "Yes, but you perform his words so beautifully."

You look away, feeling a heat crawl up your cheeks. Benedict clears his throat, "I take it you still have no marriage prospects since you haven't mentioned anyone courting you."

You look back up at him and snort, "Ben, this is my fourth year in society. I highly doubt I'll ever find a man willing to marry me at this point." You cast your eyes down to play with a thread on your skirt, "No one wants to be married to someone who has gambling drunkard father. Doesn't matter if he's a Lord or not."

"If my brother, Anthony, managed to find love and a wife, you will to, Y/N."

You scoff, "How dare you put me in the same category as Anthony."

"I agree," you turn to see said brother and Kate, approaching you, arm in arm, "You're much better than my husband," Kate says with a smirk.

"Still disgustingly in love, I see," you arch a playful look at your friend.

"Very much so, I'm afraid."

Anthony unhook his arm from Kate's and moves towards Benedict, "Come, brother. Let us let the ladies socialize." He takes Benedict's glass and downs it in a gulp.

The younger brother frowns, "I was drinking that."

"Then we shall grab another and drinks for the ladies," he pats his brother's shoulder and Benedict groans, following his brother out of the room.

You and Kate take a seat on the couch and catch up while the men grab drinks.

_____________________

"So, have you finally decided to court Miss L/N?" the eldest Bridgerton asks.

"We are friends, Anthony. Nothing more."

"So you don't love her anymore?" Anthony asks with a curious gaze, taking a sip of brandy.

"...I didn't say that. Besides, you originally didn't want me involved with her because of her father. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, well, we are the not the sins of our parents. Miss L/N is a lovely woman. She's smart, well-read, not to mention she laughs with you even when your jokes aren't funny."

Benedict's brows furrow, "I am funny!"

Anthony takes another sip of his drink and sighs, "What I mean to say is that I think you two would be a fine match. Besides, it's not like any other man is interested in her."

Benedict immediately clenches his jaw and takes a leering step towards his older brother, "Don't talk about her like that."

Stunned by the sudden change of his brother, Anthony takes a cautious step back, "I meant no harm, brother, but is it not true? It's been years since she's stepped into society and very few men have made an effort to court her."

Benedict lets out a deep breath and apologizes, "I'm sorry."

Anthony clears his throat, "All I'm saying is that you've had several chances to be with her. If you don't take the opportunity, you may lose her."

_________________________

"I apologize for missing another one of your recitals," Kate says, grabbing your hand and intertwining her fingers with yours. Ever since she married Anthony, you two have become acquainted due to your paths crossing whenever you came to see Benedict.

You shrug, "You've heard it all before, Kate. Just another one of Talbot's poems."

"You're quite smitten with this poet, it seems."

You laugh, "I can't help it! His words are as if he speaks to my soul!"

"Maybe I should write to this Talbot and see if he'd like to ever attend a Bridgerton ball."

You shake your head, "Oh no. Please, don't. People say never to meet your heroes, so I don't think I would want to meet him."

Kate shrugs, "As you wish."

Anthony and Benedict come back with drinks in hand. Anthony hands Kate a glass and Benedict hands you one.

"Thank you, Ben," you give him a grateful smile and he smiles back, "Of course."

He sits in the chair beside you and you two fall into discussion about the poem you recited, all the while Kate and Anthony give each other knowing looks.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton imagine #f!reader #female!reader #fem!reader

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hminnj · 4 months ago

Text

Maybe In A Different Age

Senku/fem reader

cw: angst no comfort (i tried) ik this fandom kinda dead lowkey but I wanted to write this cause its so senku coded. Senku's an idiot (unsuprisingly). Not very good writing.

wc: uhh i wrote this in my notes, around 1k probably

Byakuya brings two strangers into their house on a random thursday.

"Senku, this is a close friend and her daughter, I'm sure you guys will get along splendidly."

"Ok."

Five year old Senku is harshly blunt when he meets you for the first time, staring at him silently as if you've never seen a human before. He doesn't have anything to say and it seems neither do you, so he walks off, deciding he has better things to do. Promptly ignoring the sigh and apology the older man lets out.

"So I got this new idea and I'm going through the basic logistics and research right now, might need your help later."

"I'll go get us some snacks and something to do while you work on it then."

Six year old Senku watches you dissappear from his doorway, absentmindedly humming while you head to the very familiar kitchen. Your family has been apparently busy as of late so he forcibly sees your face more often. You usually just eat his food, do your work, and ask him (dumb) questions. You're a friend now, he supposes.

"Hey dum dum, Byakuya got me new equipment, so I have some new ideas. So listen up."

"Course Senku!"

Seven year old Senku grins, you're always willing to help him out for whatever reason you have (something weird probably, in his opinion). In return, he always tells you what he's working on and his labor demands. So per usual, he excitedly gets into the details of the next project that he plans on working you and Taiju to the bone for.

"Hey Senku?"

"What?"

"I think I love you."

"Huh? You better not be catching feelings dum dum." He gives you a confused squint after hearing your words.

"Whatever you say." You hum

Eight year old Senku hears you say those three words for the first time, you don't say why and he doesn't know either. He thinks its rather idiotic, but he shrugs it off after you silently go back to reading. You've been picking up books more often as of late, not that he cares much.

"You're late for the test runs, Taiju and Yuzuriha already left."

"Sorry sorry! My teacher held me up a little later at practice today."

"Hm." His disappointed stare returns.

"Im sorry..? Love you?" You're sheepish with your response.

"How is that supposed to make up for anything? Now come help me carry this stuff"

"As you wish, princess Senku."

Nine year old Senku doesn't understand why you and Byakuya tell him that so often (or that stupid nickname sourced from his "feebleness"), but he moves on quickly to detail the results of the test and the numerous next steps. Much to his pleasure.

"Wake up stupid. You fell asleep." Senku (roughly) shakes you awake from your shoulders, poking at your face a few times.

"Huh? Oh sorry Senku, I guess I'm just tired."

"Well you're not gonna wanna miss this." He grins while looking up, expectant.

"Hm. Hey the moons pretty tonight yeah?"

"It looks the same as it always does. Is that poetry getting to you and making you sappy?"

You wait before responding, "Maybe."

Eleven year old Senku keeps you up on certain nights for his projects or for nights like these where there's a meteor shower. He thinks you should stop reading so much of those books that make you sound like Byakuya. You should also get more rest, he adds.

"Happy Valentines Day Senku!! Got you a gift, heh."

"Must I tell you again?" Senku turns to a usual sight, you waving a gift in front of his face as if he were a dog.

"I'm good I just wanted to remind you."

"Right."

Twelve year old Senku doesn't see the point in meaningless feelings or holidays for said feelings. Nevertheless, he takes the homemade chocolate from you, skimming through the card which contents include exactly what he expected (a confession of sorts, again), and placing it to the side. Ignoring it in favor of the much more sensible chemicals in front of him. Like every year though, Senku keeps it. He doesn't know why.

"Taiju and Yuzuriha definitely have something going on don't you think?"

"And you're bringing this up why?"

You pause, you know why, but you know he wouldn't understand. "It's cute... wish I could have something like that you know?"

"...For the last time-"

"I know I know Senku, don't worry I'll try to bother you less."

Thirteen year old Senku doesn't see you as much anymore, mostly because of your practice that your mom wants you to perfect. You come over less nowadays, a shame (for his projects obviously), but your presence isn't any smaller of an intrusion at school. So much for bothering him less.

Around 21:00 is when he hears the familiar ringing of his doorbell. "It's late, why are you here?"

"Got out of training not too long ago and wanted to see you before I headed in."

"Your house isn't even remotely close to mine" A raised eyebrow is all you get in response to your grin.

"What does it matter when I'm already here, but gotta go before I get scolded. Goodnight Senku, Love you!"

"You know it's never gonna happen, as you know-"

"Yeah yeah, 10 billion percent illogical, I know, but I can't let my favorite person forget can I?" You flash another smile.

"As if I'd ever with how often you say it, now goodnight."

Fourteen year old Senku closes the door after you've cheerfully said your bye and faded from his sight enough. The lack of noise is strange, now that Byakuya has "ascended like an angel" (his words not Senkus) it's much quieter. The usual noise of a certain two people is absent more often than not. He let's the silence of the house sit in.

"Hey, can you get me something from the storage real quick? Need it soon but that bonehead forgot when he came up here babbling about confessing to Yuzuriha"

"Of course. I'd do anything for you. Always here. You know that Sen."

Fifteen year old Senku glances at your fleeting figure. The nickname is new, for sure. And he can't say he dislikes it, but the lack of a certain three words with your departure is strange. He brushes it off to your usual forgetfulness and peers out the window at Taiju and Yuzuriha. Thoughts preoccupied until a bright green light overtakes his vision and he can't do anything but think into the void.

So he counts.

And maybe every once in a while you pop into his head like you always do.

Three-thousand and something year old Senku wakes up to a world where theres a lack of civilization, a lack of his decency, and most importantly, a lack of you.

You would be useful right now, he supposes.

Three-thousand and something year old Senku spends his free time trying to find you and the rest of the "gang" (as you would say).

He finds Taiju, he finds Yuzuriha, he also finds a lion-punching maniac, but there's no sign of you.

He's ten billion percent sure you survived.

Right?

The concerned stare Yuzuriha gives him as they part is ignored.

(Physically) Sixteen year old Senku celebrates this birthday gazing into the sky from his new observatory. It reminds him of a lot of things, but he can't help but notice how empty it is, it's eerily quiet.

He doesn't like it.

Senku wishes you were here.

His first real birthday wish.

(Still) Sixteen year old Senku breaks when he hears his father's voice again for the first time in ages. It's not his voice that gets to Senku. He's heard it plenty enough in his lifetime. It's the mention of you.

"Just kidding! I know it's you on the other side of this Senku! And ____'s there with you right? Please tell me you're dating already or even better married so I can have grandchildren. Please please please Senku! Although you can't really tell me that but-"

Senku stops himself from showing vulnerability in front of the village, and he also stops himself from pausing the record right there and then. Opting to sigh and curse his dad out as a cover up, his fist lightly punching the table.

"Damn you old man."

The questions from the villagers about who you could be are forgotten in favor of an angelic voice. Senku's quick to tune it out. It reminds him of you.

(Mentally) Sixteen year old Senku sits by himself that night. It's been a long day. The constant repeat of a certain melody in the background, more work for the science kingdom, and a few questions about who you were. They stopped after a few radio silences from him, feelings are hard for the scientist after all.

It's cold.

He wishes you were here.

It's dark.

He wishes you were here.

It's lonely.

He wishes you were here.

The day he can always guarantee you're there has long passed. You should be here, is what his mind tells him. You owe him for the past 3000 years of missed birthdays after all.

It's funny, in his opinion. That you were probably most-definitely always there. And the one (multiple actually, 10 billion in his mind) time he looks for you, you're not there.

He doesn't think its funny.

"I'd do anything for you huh..."

Anything but keep your word.

He scoffs, but it's directed at himself. He would never blame you for this, or anything for that matter, he can't.

So he sits. And he stays. Like you would've wanted him too. He looks at the clear sky like you usually do. And he notes how the moon is pretty tonight. Just like you.

"I love you too."

He's 10 billion percent sure he does.

Thanks for reading, if you did :). Sorry for any errors not fully proofread. Senku is so right person wrong time coded when it comes to romance that i had to write this even if its lowkey bad

#ishigami senku #senku ishigami x reader #senku x reader #senku #dcst senku

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jobean12-blog · 7 months ago

Text

Falling First

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female!princess! reader

Word Count: 1,842

Summary: It's your first time meeting the General and he leaves a lasting impression.

Author's Note: I'm having so much fun writing about these two and I'm so so thankful that others are enjoying it as well! Thank you for the continued support, it means so much! If you want to read the other stories they are all on my Pedro ML below, but this can be a stand alone. I wanted to write something for their initial meeting and I loved incorporating the book/poetry stuff! I have an idea for what comes next too! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 😘

PS- If you would like to read the poem I reference you can do so HERE: It's called 'Be Patient" by Horace from his collection of books 'The Odes'

Warnings: The General should come with a warning of his own, tension, soft moments, mentions of battle and blood, poetry.

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

You're so absorbed in the words on the page that you almost don’t hear the burst of blaring voices as they ring out in cheer. On a gasp you sit up and press the book to your chest, grabbing the edge of your chair when your feet feel the vibrations of the stone beneath.

Forcing your feet to move you rush to the window and look out, shielding your eyes from the bright sun as it glints off the gold armor adorning the man that approaches. You can’t see much more but you know you should not be hidden away in the library.

Just when you walk out onto the portico, he ascends the last step and stands imposingly, addressing the royal family with a warm smile and a slight tilt of his head.

He catches your eye, and his gaze lingers before he greets the emperor. As if in a trance you move closer, slipping past the guards to get a better look.

As he speaks you watch him, noting the way his large body moves with precision and his dark eyes seem to consider everything that surrounds him.

His eyes flit back to you when he catches you staring, and you see the corner of his mouth lift slightly but as quickly as it happens his attention is elsewhere and you’re clutching your book more tightly to your chest.

You try to look away, but you’re completely captivated. The gold crown that sits atop his hair gleams against his dark curls and his tanned skin glistens in the heat of the sun. As your eyes wander down his broad back your breathing quickens, and you dare to drop your gaze lower.

His legs are thick and strong, spread wide to match the width of his shoulders, and when he turns to face you, his large and strong hands are clasped gently at his waist.

You hear your name being called but it seems distant and it’s not until your father steps into your line of sight that you’re shaken from your trance.

“General Marcus Acacius,” the emperor says, “this is my daughter.”

His penetrating gaze sweeps over you and he smiles while extending his hand.

You continue to stare until your father loudly clears his throat then remember yourself. He takes your hand in his and you feel warmth spread along your skin and when he lifts your fingers to his lips your breath catches in your throat.

“Princess,” he hums before brushing his mouth along the back of your hand. “A pleasure.”

“General Acacius,” you answer, your voice barely above a whisper.

He’s still holding onto your hand when his eyes fall to the book you grip in your other arm.

“May I?” he asks.

You look down, just now remembering you even had it. With an audible swallow you pass it to him. He drops your hand slowly and you mourn the loss of his touch.

“The Odes,” he murmurs as he reads the title. “A poetry lover?”

“I am,” you reply, waiting as he carefully thumbs through the book.

“Ah, here it is,” he says and takes a step closer.

He shows you the page with a poem titled “Be Patient,” and you give him a questioning look.

His head lowers until his warm breath tickles your ear.

“One of my favorites,” he whispers. “I would love to know what you think.”

When his eyes find yours once again, they are sparkling.

“You look surprised.”

You steal yourself and your eyes widen.

“No, not at all General Acacius. Forgive me. It is just…”

Your words trail off and you look down at your feet.

“Just what?” he asks, drawing your attention back to his face.

“I did not expect you to have a love for the written word.”

He huffs out a laugh.

“I have a love for many things and one of them happens to be poetry.”

You open your mouth to speak, hoping to correct your mishap and assure him you meant nothing demeaning but when he reaches for your free hand and kisses your knuckles the words die on your parted lips.

“I very much look forward to seeing you again, Princess.”

Your answer, filled with equal desire, is too quiet for him to hear but something in his expression tells you he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

You stare after him as he excuses himself and let out the breath you were holding then turn on your heel and run back to the library, already perusing the words on the page.

“Are you joining us for the entertainment?”

To your father’s question you lift your eyes from your book.

“Must I?” you ask.

Your father sighs. “If you wish to miss the General’s first fight then that is your own choice, but it will not look…”

“He is going to fight?”

The question rushes out of you and when your father’s eyes narrow you quickly compose yourself with an expected continuation of words.

“I did not realize that he would. I only thought he commanded the armies.”

“My sweet and naïve daughter. Perhaps if you spent less time reading about romance and love you would know more about what really goes on in this empire.”

You place your book down and stand, squaring your shoulder and lifting your chin.

“I will attend.”

As you follow your father you start to hear the deafening crowd, their cries ringing out in the hot open air and filling it with an ominous energy.

You sit and search the arena floor of the Colosseum and see nothing but gladiators.

“Where…?” You start to ask but the question dies on your lips when the crowd erupts into even louder chants.

The doors at the far end swing open and he walks out, his sword at his side. You watch with bated breath as he moves with powerful steps toward the line of gladiators. He lifts his sword to his shoulder and bows his head.

You barely notice the silence that now surrounds you, only hearing the heavy thumping of your heart as you wait and watch. Time seems to stand still before suddenly he lets out a battle cry and charges.

The sound of screams and clashing swords drift up to your ears and you try to track his movements, try to watch which weapon hits which man but it becomes too overwhelming, and you turn your eyes downward.

Your actions go unnoticed as your father is utterly entranced by the scene below, a wicked smile on his face.

It’s only when the crowd’s sound grows to an unbearable roar that you glance down into the arena to find the General standing tall, surrounded by the fallen gladiators.

“Oh, thank the gods,” you whisper.

Your father rejoices with those around him and then turns to you, smiling widely.

“Now that, my daughter, is a gladiator and the General of our armies!”

You nod in agreement and give him a small smile.

“Come! We must offer our congratulations and praise.”

Your father ushers you out of the Imperial Box and away from the crowds. When you’re back in the quiet of the palace you await General Acacius, your skin tingling and your heart still racing.

“Ah! There he is,” your father announces.

The General appears and steps forward, greeting your father. He’s immediately drawn into boisterous conversation, graciously accepting your father’s praise but always his eyes are drawn to you.

After what feels like forever the emperor walks off to continue his celebrating, leaving you and General Acacius alone.

You’re leaning against the cool stone wall when he steps into your space, filling it with the scent of Earth and the tang of blood.

“And what did you think of the entertainment today?” he asks.

You look up into his eyes, stray curls framing his face that’s still dusty with dirt and caked with smudges of dried blood, and your fingers itch to reach out and touch him.

“Do you want my honest answer?” you ask.

“Always Princess.”

“It was the first time I have ever witnessed a fight in the Colosseum. It was…difficult to watch.”

You look down, realizing that your words may come off as offensive and dig your teeth into your bottom lip.

Rough and calloused fingers graze your chin as he presses his fingers under it and lifts your eyes to his. He studies you, his eyes dropping to your lips before rising again.

“You came today…for me.”

It’s not really a question and you can see the light of triumph in his gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “Although most of the time I was looking at my feet.”

His thumb delicately brushes your bottom lip.

“And why is that?”

“It is terrifying! I could barely keep up with you. One second, you’re here then there…swords are swinging- the screaming- the blood!”

Your words spill out louder than intended and by the time you finish talking you’re breathing more heavily.

“You need not worry for me Princess. I assure you I can handle anything they throw at me.”

He steps closer and you press yourself into the wall.

“Who said I was worried?”

For the first time you see a real smile on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

It’s hard not to smile back and you find yourself giggling, the sound ringing out in the large hall. It only makes his own smile grow.

His fingers ghost along your jawline and he cradles your cheek in his hand. “Have you read the poem?”

“I have.”

“And you will give me your honest opinion of course.”

“I loved it,” you tell him. “His words are full of restrained passion, and I find them very enchanting. But patience…I often find it difficult.”

His expression turns intense and his gaze wanders over your face.

“Yet it can bring such rewards,” he whispers.

He drops his head to your neck and lightly runs his nose along your skin, the motion making you tremble.

“General?” you sigh as your eyes flutter closed.

With a deep inhale his lips trail upwards and along your cheek. You dare not open your eyes and wait with your next breath stuck in your throat.

“Perhaps next time we can read it together?” he whispers against your mouth.

You nod and flatten your palms against his chest to steady yourself.

“Is that a yes Princess?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, opening your eyes.

His lips hover just above yours and he tucks his thumb under your chin, tilting your face so he can press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. His lips linger, savoring the feel and taste of your skin before he draws himself away.

“I will be counting the minutes until then,” he says with a bow.

You wait until he’s out of sight and slump against the wall, pressing your fingers to the spot where the feel of his lips still burns into your skin, and try to find balance in the dizzying new world around you.

@hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @lizette50 @tripletstephaniescp

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