#if he’s always believed that the love they had for him is dependent upon his usefulness why would he believe they love him unconditionally

[terrorofthetrident]

thinking about olivia saying “the closest relationship [alicent] had is probably with aemond, but he’s turning into an absolute killer, which is terrifying for her” and how their relationship will change once she finds out about luke’s death. she’s going to be in such disbelief that the son she thought wouldn’t disappoint her, has in the most horrific way. will she even be able to look at him the same way again?? will they reconcile and be on good terms before he leaves king’s landing for the last time? based on ewan’s interview, aemond thinks his family’s love for him is conditional, i need them to prove him wrong. but then, wouldn’t it be so tragic if aemond continues on with that belief, desperately trying to prove he’s useful and worthy of their love by ending the war he believes he’s responsible for starting? no matter the cost, even if that means he has to die in the process.

[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN | JK

"You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying."

→ Pairing brother in law!Jungkook × widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut

→ W.C 17. 32k

→ Warnings unrequited love :(, oc is in love with his older brother, early character death of the said older brother who is haunting the narrative, cute childhood sweethearts who are doomed by me, mentions of dealing with grief and acceptance, mention of cancer, a minor scene where harassment is attempted,emotionally troubled! oc, emotionally troubled and detached! jk, simp jk, pathetic man in love, he's so so lovesick, ceo! jk, protective jk, yearning, pining, loads of angst, fluff if you squint, breif yoongi mention, namjin yay!!,rich people party, mentions of anxiety,sexual tension,slow burnish,smut (omg everyone look away), kissing, unprotected sex (raw and deep, next question),dirty talking, oc is insecure,hickies,oral (f! Receiving), he cums in his pants,big dick jk, soft Dom Jungkook, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, praise, cuddles if you squint again

→ Playlist Guilty as sin, control, killing me softly with his song, do I wanna know?

→ A/N the idea of this one shot came to me at 1 am when I was supposed to be studying for a test that probably my future depends upon and after much much complementing I'm finally posting it. To me, its very experimental and I was just trying to explore my writing style and writing things that I haven't before, like smut 🫠 so please please bear that in mind!! I hope you enjoy reading and if you did please comment!! It makes my whole day 🥰💕💕

P.S: cross posted on wattpad.

It is a believed fact that it takes three to four short months to fall in love. 

For you, it took one summer. The summer spent watching him sketch galaxies in the dirt with a twig, summer spent learning the way his laughter sounded after stealing popsicles from the freezer, summer spent holding his hand as they made paper planes under the blazing sun. It was the kind of love that grew roots so deep, you couldn’t separate where he ended and you began.

That summer, you met Minho. The boy next door with a mind as wild as his curls and a heart so warm it seemed to shine blindingly bright. He showed you how to climb trees, told stories he'd crafted all by himself, convincing you that the universe could be held in the palm of your hand. He shared his world with you, and you fell in love with it.

You kissed his cheek on the porch of your house one late July evening, bold and brimming with the kind of confidence only childhood summers could bring. “Now you’re gonna have to marry me, Min Min,” you teased, hands behind your back, your toes curling against the wooden floorboards.

He blushed, a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, but his grin mirrored yours.

The porch of your house was a witness to many things. Your first steps, held your first scraped knees, your first dog and Minho's new brother; your new friend.

A boy of your age, younger than Minho had appeared from right behind him, his hands clutching onto Minho's flannel, his watchful eyes going everywhere all at once. The kind of boy who never spoke unless he had to, the kind who was more familiar with loss than comfort, lingering on the edges of things, unsure if he belonged.

Jungkook.

Now, Jeon Jungkook.

You and his brother had taken it upon themselves to bring him into your fold, turning your duo into a trio. With time, he laughed with you both, trusted you both, became one of you both.

The three of you were inseparable— in the backyard of your house, in elementary school, in high school. How could you not be? You had tied the promise in the form of handmade friendship bracelets around the wrist of both boys.

Even though what you wanted with minho was far from friendship. A bold dreamer, you always have been. But not so much when you turned sixteen. Sixteen; what a awkward age.

An age of overthinking haircuts, dreams, and the lives your peers are gonna live all at once. Visits to the school councilor are doubled. Relationships happen; Friends part.

But you only grew closer with Jungkook. He didn’t seemed interested in making a move on the timid, short haired girl who passed him notes in chemistry class, neither did he talk much about the future. When you asked him what he wanted to do, he’d shrug and say something like, “Whatever makes sense at the time.” He wasn’t aimless, exactly—just grounded in a way that made you think he didn’t feel the need to plan everything out.

Minho, though, was spiraling.

He now spent more time with the councilor that he spent with you both. Had this bitter look on his face every morning you saw him on the bus stop that will have you sharing a knowing look with Jungkook—Minho had been having a lot of fights with his dad, had been overthinking a lot more because the world seemed so much bigger than he had imagined.

Maybe for the eldest son and heir to a family that ran a company as old as the town itself, the world really was big. But to you, he was just a hopeful boy with all the colors in his eyes. The colors that you loved. The colors that didn't belong in a office, crunching numbers.

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. At sixteen, nobody has the answers.

Seventeen is a different story. It's a starlight dream. It's you acing the college entrance test. It's Minho surfacing back. It's Minho kissing you on that very same porch, promising, “One day, we’ll have our own porch, and I’ll kiss you there every day.”

And he was one to keep his promises.

You married him at twenty-five, in crisp autumn. To your family and friends, it was "About time." To you, it was nothing short of a dream as you walked to promise forever to the man you love, a vision in white. It was nothing big, just a dreamy intimate affair with soft twinkling string lights. Something you both agreed on. Because you were content with what you had, overjoyed actually after picking out a quite cozy apartment for the both of you and landing a job as a humanities professor in a university that wasn't too far from the said apartment. Minho was too and while things weren't the same with his father now, he did what he loved. Ever the artist at heart.

It was like everything you ever wrote in your middle school diary, everything you wished for was now laid under your feet like a carpet unfolding.

You were given a good time before it started pulling away from your feet.

At first, it was subtle. A missed dinner here, a canceled hangout there. Then he told you both he’d taken up an opportunity abroad to manage the family business, something Minho had no interest in, just on the night of your wedding after he had fulfilled his role of the groom's best man, watched you walk down the aisle.

You hadn’t seen the decision coming—not that night, not like this—but you couldn’t deny it either. Jungkook had seemed restless here, especially after finishing college.Conversations with him in those days had been brief, distracted, his eyes darting to the distance even as he smiled at you. It felt as you were trying to talk to the Jungkook who had appeared on your porch the first time. He hadn’t asked for understanding, and you hadn’t known how to offer it. His reasons were vague, more like placeholders for something unsaid. And so he left, quietly, with little fanfare, and though Minho seemed sad to see him go, you could tell he understood.

“It’s good for him,” Minho had said. “He deserves something for himself.”

Relationship happened; Friends parted.

You weren't sure if you understood. While you agreed with Minho, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of a friend now that his calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether. One day, he was simply gone, leaving behind only the memory of the boy who had once trusted you with his rare, precious smiles.

"You’d laugh if you saw me right now. I tried to fix the leaky sink in the kitchen, and now the entire floor is flooded. Minho’s being no help—just standing there laughing."

"Hey, stranger. Our anniversary is next weekend. We’re just doing a small dinner. You should come. Seriously, koo, don’t make me guilt-trip you."

"Saved you a slice of cake, but Minho ate it. You’d better show up next year, or I’ll stop saving you anything."

"Hey, Koo. Just checking in. Hope you're healthy and happy. Would love to hear from you"

You'd text him timely, in hopes that he still knows how to use a phone. But apparently, not.

Still, you had Minho. Your husband, your best friend.

Until you didn't.

Until the carpet was at last, snatched right down from your feet.

The diagnosis came in the spring. It started with a faint weakness in his voice. A shortness of breath he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just tired,” he’d say, smiling that same easy smile. But tired turned into tests. Tests turned into results. And results turned into a diagnosis that was oh so cruel.

Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.

The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatments, and quiet nights where you held him as he cried. You tried to be strong, for him, for both of you. Told him what the doctor in the sterile white office will tell you. "They've caught it early so we're not at a great risk here." You'd reassure him. "You have yet to get away from me, min min." You'd try making him laugh but he had always been better at that.

Now, suddenly he wasn't. The next two years, your life was just the slow, agonizing process of watching the man you loved fade away, losing every bit of his lively soul to the cancer, holding his hand when he was too weak to hold yours back.

Perhaps it wasn't only Minho who was chipping away. It was you too.

You turned into the woman who knew exactly how to track medication schedules, who could list every side effect of his treatment in order of severity, who spoke with doctors as if reciting a memorized script. You learned how to bite back the frustration when he snapped at you because he was in pain, and how to smile when all you wanted was to scream at the unfairness of it all.

You started to measure time not in days or months but in cycles of chemotherapy, in percentages of remission and relapse. Life was divided into hours spent in sterile hospital rooms, waiting for results that were never as hopeful as you needed them to be, and hours spent at home trying to pretend those results didn’t exist.

You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.

Grief doesn’t wait for death— or so you've realized as you often found yourself grieving the life you had built together, the one you knew would never be the same. You grieved the sound of his laugh, which became quieter as the months passed. You grieved the way he used to tease you about your love for terrible reality shows, You grieved the mornings spent tangled together, talking about everything and nothing.

By the time the end came, you had already lost so much of him that you thought you might be prepared.

You weren’t.

And then he was gone.

With an, "I'm sorry. I love you." He was gone.

The house was too quiet without him, the days too long. You withdrew, not just from the world but from yourself, letting grief shape the edges of your existence.

The world moved on, even if you didn’t. They tell you how long it takes to fall in love but not how long it takes to get over it.

2 years, 240 days. And you're still counting.

Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.

Your family, Minho’s family, even well-meaning friends—none of them knew what to do with the mess you’d become, so they did what people often did. They tried to fix it. To fix you.

Blind dates were their answer, little nudges toward what they called healing. The word had been said so many times it began to lose its meaning. Healing. As if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.

You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, so you let them dress you up, hand you phone numbers, and convince you that this—whatever this was—was what you needed.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Because as the man sat in front of you in the dimly lit bar continued to talk about how his ex couldn't handle his success, the trials of being a man with ambition, you really couldn't even bother to pretend you were interested. He was nice enough—tall, well dressed (consdering the dingy bar) with a confident smile but your thoughts kept drifting, as they often did.

2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.

2 years, 240 days of waking up alone in your bed, his side untouched.

2 years, 240 days of trying to find your way back to the woman you used to be.

“Hey,” the man interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward with an eager grin. “I feel like I’m talking too much. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun?”

You forced a smile, your stomach twisting. “I paint. It’s... therapeutic.”

“That’s nice,” he said, reaching across the table to touch your hand. You pulled back instinctively, your stool scraping against the floor. His brows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but his tone was tighter now. He leaned back, shrugging as if trying to dismiss the moment. “You know, you should loosen up a little. You’ll never find anyone if you keep acting like you’re still married.”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you struggled to process the audacity of his statement. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “you should give people a chance. I mean, you’re here, right?” He smirked and stood, coming around the table. “Let me take you home. We can—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, rising to your feet.

But he didn’t listen. His hand reached for your arm, his grip firm.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he was gone.

The man stumbled backward, a hand jerking him by the collar. The force was so swift, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to register what had happened.

And then you saw him.

“..Jungkook?” The name caught in your throat as you turned.

You took in the man standing before you, taller and broader than you remembered, the years etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on the man who had dared to touch you, glinting coldly.

His voice was low, dangerous. “She said stop. I suggest you listen.”

For a moment, the world tilted.

You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.

You were standing at the edge of a memory—the first time you’d ever seen Jungkook, the quiet boy who clung to Minho’s shadow.

And the last.

The last time you’d seen him, a looming figure in an ocean of black suits. A barely recognizable shadow among the mourners at your husband's funeral.

Now, standing before you, he was real, tangible—and so was the flood of emotions crashing over you.

It was so loud, you could barely hear as the the man stammered out an excuse, something about a misunderstanding.

“Leave.” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut and bring you back to the moment.

The man hesitated, his mouth opening as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at Jungkook’s expression and he decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stalked out, muttering something under his breath that neither of you caught.

Silence followed.

Only then did you felt his gaze on you. His presence was larger than life, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how much had changed. How much he had changed. You hadn’t registered that at the funeral. Now, you didn't know what to say, you could hardly manage to look at him. While he wasn't Minho's real brother, didn't share any resemblance with him, it still hurt you, sucked you back into those times when it was the three of you, when it wasn't.

He too didn't reply right away, his gaze searching your face, as though he was also trying to piece together the version of you he remembered with the one standing before him now. When it landed on the arm you were clutching, the arm that dipshit had grabbed, you saw his eyes glint again.

"Did he hurt you?" It sounded more like a demand rather than a question but you couldn't even deciper the words, too focused on how his boyish tone had turned sharper, harder.

"W-What?" You fumble out like a fool.

"Did he hurt you, y/n?" This time, you heard him.

Letting your hand fall, embarrassed, you shook your head, finally managing to utter something sensible out. “No—yeah. I’m fine.”

He glanced back at the door that man had fled from before looking back at you. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and quiet.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

You blinked. “My phone?” You don't remember getting a call from anyone but then you realize your battery had died down as you looked down to see your dead device laying flat. "Oh. I didn't realis—"

“Mom said you’d been gone a while. Told me where you were.” He interrupted. There was an edge to his voice now, faint but undeniable.

You feel more embarrassed now that you know it's because of your mother in law's anxious nature that he is here. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your purse, desperate for something to do, something to hold onto as he speaks again. "Are you ready to leave?"

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I can get a cab.”

His brows furrowed, just slightly, and you noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s late,” he said simply.

"So?”

“So,” he echoed, his tone calm but unyielding, “I’ll take you.”

You hesitated, your pride and your exhaustion warring within you. Finally, you exhaled out in defeat, reaching for your coat. It's just a thirty minute ride. You reassured yourself. It'll be fine.

The cool night air wrapped around you and so did your coat as you stepped outside, and the streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked toward his car. He opened the passenger door for you, his movements deliberate, and waited for you to slide in before closing it softly behind you.

The drive started in silence.

It wasn’t the silence of old friends, the kind that felt easy and safe. This was different—fraught, taut, like a thread stretched too tight.

You stole a glance at him as he started the engine, too aware of the small space you were packed in with him.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said finally, your statement sounding more accusatory that you or he would have liked.

“Just for a little while,” he replied, his tone ofcourse, unfazed. “Business.”

Buisness. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the word. If someone could look like that word, you thought, it'd be the man in the fine tailored suit with eyes fixed on the road ahead and a rolex that didn't look any more cheaper than the car he was driving and you wondered.

Wondered if the lines of his palms—the callouses from late-night basketball games, the way they had felt solid and familiar when he held yours to steady you on the wobbly bike Minho had convinced you to ride—had changed too.

Had they turned forigen, unyielding? Had time eroded their familiarity?

When the car slowed, you glanced out the window, expecting to see the acquinated sight of your apartment building. But instead, the streetlights gave way to a quieter, darker road. You frowned, turning to him.

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

“I know,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. "You're coming with me."

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening as unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Jungkook,” you started, the word heavy with protest.

"Y/N." He ends, sparing you a glance that has you sinking back into your seat, arms folded across your chest like a petulant child that you could swear made his lips twitch at the corner, you could swear you saw your old friend who had grown a sassy tounge at the age of fourteen that'd earn smacks at the head from his older brother for a fleeting cruel second there. But that was it. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, summoning the return of the silence that felt like its own living thing.

The house was still the same.

That was the first thing you noticed as the car slowed down in front of the building that loomed at the end of the road like a memory waiting to consume you.

The overhead lights still flickered faintly, casting shadows across the steps where you and Minho had once sat, daring each other to stay outside until the stars disappeared. Even the smell was the same—faintly woody, with the comforting hint of whatever candle Jungkook’s mom always lit in the hallway.

You hesitated in the doorway, the memories rushing in too fast, too loud. It's not like you haven't been here in ages but since the year you celebrated your first marriage anniversary with Minho here, it felt like you have lived a thousand lives.

Lives that haunted you still, made you randomly pause in the grocery aisle and now before this house until you felt Jungkook’s presence press behind you as if silently urging you on.

Clearing your throat, you slipped out of your heels that have been as much as pain as the man you had been on a date with. The floor creaked softly beneath your feet as you stepped inside, the sound jarring. The same hardwood floors, polished to a faint sheen. The same floral wallpaper lining the hallway. The same photo frames arranged along the wall—a collection of childhoods captured and frozen in time.

But as you glanced toward the corner of the living room where the three of you used to pile up pillows and blankets for makeshift forts. The corner was bare now, save for an old armchair, but in your mind, you saw it vividly: Minho’s determined grin as he shuffled the pillows, Jungkook, always following the lead but never quite competing for it. You would snuggle a pillow to your lap, nestled between the two brothers, peeking from behind your fingers and giggling at the the way Minho’s face would light up in triumph when he won another round of rock-paper-scissors.

A type of smugness that came from knowing he’d get to flick Jungkook’s forehead next. But your smile would fade as soon as you would realize that it's your turn next. “Wait, wait!” you’d plead, wide-eyed, deploying the best puppy-dog look you could muster. It was the same look that had, on occasion, earned you extra TV time with your dad. Jungkook would glance at you and chuckle. Relent like your father would and sheild your forehead with his palm that'd have Minho pouting. "Hey! That's not how you do it!"

"Y/N?" A well recognized voice pulled you back to the where you were supposed to be, back from the fort of pillows and blankets.

You turned around and instantly found yourself wrapped up in a tight hug. You managed a small smile, letting your arms wrap around the warm frame of your mother in law, the scent of her jasmine oil and apprehensive energy pulling you in. "Mom." You greeted back.

Mrs Jeon hadn't always been this.. overbearing. Though after the passing of your husband, she had teamed up with your mother and been on a determined mission to make sure you are well and on a road to healing.

The next few minutes, she did what she had been doing best—fussed over you, asking how you’d been, if you’d eaten, if you were warm enough. In that time being, Jungkook had resigned to wherever his room was.

You planned to do the same, especially now that you could see on her face how she is on the brink of asking about the disaster tonight. You showed some obvious sign of weariness, in hopes she'd let it go for the night and tell you where you're supposed to go to bed for.

"Third on the left, my dear. And I'm gonna need you to stay for breakfast, okay?" You wondered if stubbornness was a running streak in this family.

Hours later, sleep had yet to come.

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint grooves in the plaster as if they could somehow lull you into rest. The trick didn't work. It hadn’t worked in your own apartment either—the one you and Minho had picked out together, picked the colors of the walls together, and argued over where the bookshelf should be. Yet, it was still your space. You could control how you faced the memories there, pacing them, deciding when and how to confront them.

There, at least, you’d managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Here? In this house that held so much of him, so much of them, you weren’t sure you’d manage even one.

The room you were led to was neat and welcoming, the kind of space that had been carefully prepared for guests. But there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge that two doors down lay Minho’s childhood room, untouched, a shrine to a boy who grew up into the man you loved and lost.

At some point, you gave up.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you padded quietly downstairs. The house was silent as you made your way downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the indistinct glow from the kitchen spilling into the dimness. You didn’t expect to find anyone there, but as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Jungkook stood by the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his other resting on the marble surface. His jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere, leaving him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Tattoos.

They sprawled across his skin, intricate designs etched into muscle and sinew, that you didn't think you'd ever see on him.

Perhaps you thought wrong. Perhaps you never knew. Never knew him.

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours that looked just as caught off guard as yours did. For a moment, you didn't feel comfortable moving from your spot until he eventually spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head, stepping into the kitchen. “Needed some water.” You said and opened a cabinet, finding the glasses exactly where you remembered, and filled one with water.

Behind you, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his presence impossible to ignore. Funny, how he always preferred to blend in the background as a child, now his mere cologne—earthy and warm—demanded attention, filled the room before he had even entered.

“Do you… do you drink often now?” you asked hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder, at the way his fingers curled around the glass, the tattoos on his hand shifting as he tilted it.

“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.

If things were anything like before between you two or anything like before at all, maybe you'd have pushed further, asked him if this was growing to be a unhealthy habit.

Now, it didn’t seem right when there was an ocean between you—a chasm of time. Felt intrusive. And you know it would only sound hypocritical from your mouth—talking about unhealthy mechanisms. Hah.

You ended up only nodding and put the washed glass back so you could go back to counting the grooves in the plaster. Resume your restless attempt at sleep.

But Jungkook spoke again.

"How long have you been going on.." He started suddenly, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His voice was calm, but the muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. "These dates?"

You blinked at him, taken aback by the question. "Uh—for a while now, I guess?"

“Are you willing, or are they forcing you?”

The question, the way he asked it—sharp, direct—left you off balance. So did the way he was looking at you now, his eyes no longer holding the casualty as they once did when he had the glass of alcohol in his hand.

“I—” You faltered. “They just want to help. They think it’s time.”

“And what do you want?”

To go back to your room. To ask him what did it even matter to him, after all this time.

But what came out was forthright honesty. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

He stepped closer, his feet padding softly against the kitchen floor—a contrast to his rigid frame that now towered just close enough. Close enough to see how his chest rose and fell with every breath. Close enough to see how his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to unravel something he didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to do anything for them or anyone,” he said, his voice soft but no less rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to deflect, to do something, but his gaze held you in place, tracing down from the dark circles that weighted your eyes to your parted lips. All you could feel was his gaze burning on you and hear your own pulse in your ears.

“Jungkook…” His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible.

He lingered for a beat longer, his eyes searching yours, then he stepped back, his jaw just as tight. “Get some rest.” He clipped out before he turned and walked away, leaving you alone again.

You didn't got any sleep that night.

8:00'o clock. The time's a etched number in your brain ever since you started your job at the university.

It's a routine that needs no alarm clock. It's a number you keep waiting for as you blink at the time passing. And you're more than eager when the morning comes softly along with smaller needle stopping at 8, sunlight slipping through the curtains in streaks too gentle to match the weight in your chest.

With Minho, you were the one to wake up first but here you find that the house was awake before you.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room. Breakfast was warm and lively, much like your mother in law. She greeted you with a brightness that almost made you feel guilty for your somber disposition.

“Good morning!” she said with a smile that could have been plucked from a painting. Reaching for a plate of toast, setting it down in front of the empty seat beside her.

“Good morning.” you murmured, sliding into a chair.

Across the table, your father in law sat at his usual spot, his attention fixed on his phone, only looking up to give you a nod of acknowledgment. You had never fully understood him, not as Minho’s father, not as a man.

Perhaps, It had always been because of the sore spot between him and your husband, the way his father disapproved of his wishes—choosing art over business, passion over practicality. You remembered the arguments you thought would never hear after the age of sixteen, the way Minho would come home, his face tight with frustration. “He doesn’t get it,” he’d say. “He never will.” You saw the way it wore on him, the way he carried the weight of his father’s disapproval like it was stitched into his very skin.

Even now, as you sat across from him, you wondered if he ever regretted it—if he ever wished he had spoken softer, loved louder. But his face was as impassive as ever, his thoughts a mystery.

“Jungkook left early this morning,” his mother said, breaking the silence. “Something about a meeting downtown.”

You nodded, relief washing over you in a way that felt almost shameful. You hadn’t realized how much you were dreading seeing him until you knew you wouldn’t have to.

“Busy as always,” you said lightly, reaching for your coffee.

The conversation drifted into familiar topics—neighbors, extended family, stories you half-listened to with polite nods. The table felt both too full and too empty, the gazes of all the people that sat there never straying to the right one in the left corner, just right beside yours.

The older woman turned to you, her tone bright with enthusiasm.

“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, her smile widening. “Just a small gathering with some friends and business partners. It would be lovely if you came with us.”

The suggestion made you squirm uncomfortably in your chair. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“It’ll be good for you,” she interrupted gently, her gaze soft but insistent. “Everyone would love to see you.”

You hesitated, the thought of mingling with people, of putting on a brave face for strangers already making you want to go back to bed. “I’m not sure I’d be good company,” You glanced towards your father in law, half-hoping he might say something to discourage the idea, but he couldn't be any less bothered.

“Nonsense!” she pressed. “You don’t even have to stay long. But it would mean so much to us.”

There was no malice in her persistence, no attempt to guilt you, just a genuine desire to include you in their lives. You couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Wonderful. Jungkook will pick you up and bring you there. That way, you don’t have to worry about driving.”

You froze, cup midway to your mouth. "There's no need for that, mom."

"Oh hush." she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’ll be coming from the office, so it’s no trouble.”

You nodded slowly, your appetite not too great or you just wanted to get out of here.

8'30. You glanced at the rose gold wrist watch, your first anniversary gift. Your first class is due in an hour, the perfect excuse wrapped around your wrist which you use to excuse yourself from the suffocating walls that always feel like they are closing in on you.

You have come to prefer the morning buzz of the university more—the hum of young adults chatting in the hallways, the scrape of chairs against tiled floors.It was a rhythm you found comforting, predictable in its own way. Here, you were just a professor, the one who explained history and philosophy with hands that only shook sometimes.

The teenage year you would have thought predictable as boring but you— a woman gone through a dubious sets of events found a fellow feeling in it.

Found the task of grading thesis, making power point presentation better than you would have ever imagined.

But Gods, your students need to realize that they can't dump about their toxic ex in every essay. A woman can only take so much.

You were sorting through the said papers in your office when the door creaked open, and a woman peeked her head in, the light from the outside catching in her curly locks.

“You busy?” she asked, her voice light and familiar.

You looked up to see Mira, the economics professor and one of your closest colleagues, walking toward you with her usual warm smile. Mira was more than just a coworker though—being practically family, the wife of Minho’s dark haired cousin who didn’t talk much in family gatherings, and over the years, she had become a friend you could rely on and share lunch with.

“Not for you,” you said, smiling as you waved her in.

She dropped into the chair across from you, setting her bag on the floor. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Was it that obvious?

“I didn’t,” you admitted, sighing softly. “I stayed at the Jeons’ last night.”

Her eyebrows rose, but there was something in her eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made you look away for a second. “How’d that go?”

You hesitated, picking at the edge of a notebook on your desk. “It was… fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Jungkook’s back,” you said, and her eyes widened slightly, the topic seeming to catch her attention.

“Really? I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Neither did I, until yesterday.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Just for a while, though. Business stuff, y'know?”

Mira tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And how’s that going?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on you, curious. “I mean, it’s been years, hasn’t it?"

“Yeah,” you said slowly. "It's fine, I suppose. We didn't talk much."

“Hmm.” Mira hummed thoughtfully as if tasting the question she was gonna ask on her tounge. “Are you okay with him being back?”

Were you okay with him behind back? Okay with him stepping in your vicinity after years of acting like you were not even family, let alone a friend?

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “It’s strange seeing him again after all this time. But he’s been… kind. Quiet, mostly.”

Mira didn’t press further, but there was something in her expression that made you uneasy, as if she knew something you didn’t.

You cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “There’s a party this weekend. His mom invited me. Please tell me you’re going.”

Mira winced, her smile apologetic. “Date night with the husband. Non-negotiable.”

"Oh." You tried not to show the dejection on your face but it was there. "Lucky you."

She studied you for a moment, her expression gentle. “Are you okay with going?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I feel like I have to.��

“You don’t have to do anything for them. Not if you’re not ready.”

If only he understood how much easier it was to do things for others than to face yourself.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can text me. I’ll make up some excuse to get you out of there.”

You smiled, grateful for her before bidding bye to her for her next class and focusing back on the pending work spread across your desk while simultaneously going through your closet in your mind.

Minho had always said red made the brown of your eyes excel more.

And you have really tried to believe it, looking at yourself from above your shoulder, from the side of your arm in the mirror but perhaps it's not only this red, off shoulder dress that's not doing your eyes justice. It's every color you have once known, once loved.

It's like, it's you that's not doing them justice.

As you stared into the mirror, your eyes flitting from one detail to the next—the slightly uneven tuck of fabric, the exposed skin of your collarbone—it felt wrong.

The little things were missing—his hands fixing the clasp of your necklace, his voice telling you not to overthink it, that you looked beautiful. That it didn’t matter what you wore, because it was you who wore it.

But he wasn’t here.

With a sigh, you adjusted the necklace you had chosen yourself, a simple silver chain that rested delicately against your collarbone. The mirror wasn’t forgiving, but you looked anyway, searching for something familiar in your own reflection. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, told yourself this was just another party, and dodged the doubts of this being a mistake.

The knock at your door came too soon, sharp and punctual, like everything Jungkook had become.

You felt your stomach clench, nerves twisting with something else you couldn’t name. Smoothing your dress one last time, you crossed the small space of your apartment, pausing just before the door.

When you opened it, Jungkook was standing right before you.

He had stood on the edge of cliffs where oceans met skies too, in countless countries at that, walked through streets that droned with history. Scrawled through the wonders of the world—the kind that made poets immortalize them in verse—but nothing—nothing—would ever measure up to this.

To you.

You, standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the hall light, your hair falling in waves that he had memorized long ago.

His chest tightened, the memory of another doorway bleeding into the moment as gaily as if it had just happened. He had been in the room meant for waiting, where your parents had sat moments before, your mother sniffling into a tissue, your father pacing in his polished shoes. Now it had been his turn.

The thought alone of being the second person to see you before you walked away from him for good had made his tie that he had been trying to get the hang off felt too stressed around his neck, his palms clammy despite the air conditioning. He rubbed them on his pants, glancing at the small clock on the mantle every few seconds. The minutes dragged, each one seemed longer than the other.

What would you look like?

The thought ran circles in his mind, only for a creak of the door to startle him back.

Footsteps had echoed in the quiet, minimizing the distance until he could practically feel the nervous energy of a bride bounce against his. "Okay. You can turn around now." He had heard you speak, had seen the skittish smile on your face before he even turned around.

And when he did, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

The dress hugged you like it had been designed with only you in mind, its soft fabric flowing as if in defiance of gravity. Your veil cascaded behind you, catching the light, and your smile was small, almost shy, as you looked up at him, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you prompted, turning slightly, your hands brushing the fabric at your sides. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought the universe was wicked for allowing him to witness this and still expect him to let you go.

He had swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady when he finally said, “You look—” His tongue had faltered over every adjective that came to mind. Beautiful wasn’t enough. Breathtaking felt like a cliché. “Perfect.”

You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.

You—who weren’t his to look at this way.

He feels his breath catch, his hands clenching at his sides to keep himself from reaching for you.

Because while that version of you had been a dream, this version—worn, weathered, but still so unmistakably you—was real. And the reality of you had always been what he wanted most.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t have agreed to pick you up, shouldn’t have stepped into this space, should have kept the distance he had spent years bridging.

But he has always found himself hopeless and running back to wherever you were concerned, hopeless in a way that had him studying for a test he didn’t even have to keep you company or show up.. here. Content to be near you in whatever capacity he could. He told himself it was enough. That it would be enough to watch you from the sidelines, to sit across from you at family dinners.

It wasn’t.

Because Jungkook wasn't a virtuous man. He never had been.

Virtue belonged to his brother—the one who could weave dreams out of thin air, who saw the world in colors Jungkook had never learned to name. His brother—Minho—who had been the light, the warmth that people, he gravitated toward. He had admired Minho, even envied him, resented him in ways he never admitted aloud and kept it in shadows.

When Minho died, the shadow became a man. And that man had spent years running.

Running into work, into unfamiliar cities, into the kind of purpose that left no room for thought. No room for the times when everything was right, when he tasted family and friendship for the first time ever, no room for the last time he tasted it when you walked down the aisle to his brother looking at him like he was the sun and how it burned, how he had burned with nails biting into his palms.

And only men with no integrity burn. Men who are cowards, restless, afraid of thier own greed try to run, in hopes that the distance would save them.

But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.

Because here he was again, standing before you, the fire still smoldering.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back, creating a doubt in his belief.

“Hi,” he replied, his own tounge feeling heavy in his mouth.

“You’re early,” you said, your tone carefully light.

He cleared his throat, his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to keep them to themselves. “Traffic was lighter than I expected. Are you ready to leave?"

You nodded and he stepped back, revealing his sleek Mercedes benz parked just right in front. He let you walk before him, watching how your movements were hesitant, as if the ground beneath your feet wasn’t entirely steady. He wanted to ask you if you were okay. He wanted to tell you it was okay if you weren't.

He settled for opening the car door for you.

“Thanks for this,” you said, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do.”

His grip tightened against the leather of the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles ache. There was a rancorous way that you spoke to him, carefully restrained, that he couldn't even blame you for.

"It's not." He gritted out. "It's not a problem."

He had earned every inch of this gap between you, had spent years building it brick by brick, mile by mile. He's all to blame for. For carving the space between you with every ignored call, every excuse he made to avoid family dinners where you’d inevitably be.

For the leaving the wreckage in his wake—yours, his, theirs.

It wasn’t fair to hate the consequences of his own choices.

But hell, if he didn't outright loathed feeling like he was staring at a wall of frosted glass when he looked at you—where he could see the outline of you, but the details were blurred, distant. Like he had lost the privilge of knowing you from one glance, lost the privilge of having you speak up to him whenever you wanted, call him out, intoxicate him with your laughter that lightened up a room he wasn't even aware was dark. Found it fucking unbearable.

So much that he felt relief washing over him when the venue of the gathering came in view. A grand mansion, framed by manicured gardens and sprawling oaks that seemed to whisper old secrets to one another. It had a timeless elegance that made you wonder how many lives it had seen pass through its doors.

Small gathering, she said. You scoffed internally at rich people and their definition of small.

“Nice place,” you murmured as you walked beside him, your steps careful on the stone path after the car was eased into a parking spot.

“It’s the Kim's family home,” Jungkook said. You nodded, though the name didn’t spark much recognition. The Kims had been mentioned here and there at family dinners—names dropped in passing between sips of wine and shared laughter. You had barely paid attention then, too busy suppressing laughs at the jokes that Minho whispered near.

The front doors were open, the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne wafting out to greet you. Inside, the space was as opulent as expected—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished floors that gleamed under the soft light, and clusters of well-dressed guests milling about with drinks in hand.

A tall man stood near the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp jawline making him impossible to miss. Beside him, another man stood with a softer air, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into the first man’s side.

The taller of the two men turned, his expression lighting up as he spotted Jungkook. “There he is,” He said, his deep voice carrying effortlessly.

"Hyung." Jungkook softened, clasping hands in a firm shake before pulling each other into a brief hug, the kind that spoke of collaboration and respect.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse as you wondered whether to step back and leave him to his conversation or stay and risk being out of place.Would it be rude if you chose the former?

You were saved from your uncertainty when the two of them pulled away from Jungkook and took you in, a gleam of recognition passing through their face. Recognition, shock, then pity. You know how it went.

“You must be Y/N,” the taller one said, his gaze shifting to you with a warm smile.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct attention. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Kim Namjoon ” he said, offering his hand. “And this is Seokjin, my partner.” You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the hand of the charming one in the beige suit. “It’s nice to meet you, both. This is a beautiful venue.” You assume that they're the hosts of the party. The Kims that this house belonged to.

“Thank my father for that,” Namjoon said with a chuckle. “Sixty years old and still insists on hosting the most extravagant parties. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”

“Extravagant is an understatement,” Seokjin chimed in, his tone playful as he glanced at Namjoon. “I’m pretty sure half the flowers in the city ended up here.”

You smiled again, but it faltered when Seokjin's expression changed in a beat.

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he said gently, his gaze dipping briefly to Jungkook before meeting yours again.

You tilted your head, curiosity flashing across your face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Namjoon assured you. “Your family is well-regarded, and we-we're sorry about Minho. He was brilliant in every sense of the world. We can't even imagin—"

“Thank you,” you said softly, trying really hard to not let the tightening of your throat strain your voice. “He was.”

Jungkook watched as your smile faltered, just slightly, at the mention of Minho. He decided to steer the conversation away but you recovered quickly, offering a polite nod and beat him to it.

There was a brief, loaded pause before you glanced at Jungkook. “I should find mom. She asked me to join her earlier.”

"Yeah, right.” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the way his chest tightened again when he looked at you.

You walked by Jungkook, brushing close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest, the faintest hint of your vanilla perfume that was so maddeningly you lingered in the air. He tensed, his breath catching before he could stop it. His fingers twitched at his sides, an almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough.

Subtle as he tried to be, he caught himself leaning slightly, his chest rising with a quiet inhale as though he could take the ghost of your scent and keep it for himself.

"Not as subtle as you think." Seokjin snickered by his boyfriend's side who also raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing and somewhat giving away his discomfort. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Shit.

Jungkook straightened, his jaw clenching as he avoided their eyes, fixing the collar of his shirt hoping they won't catch on the heat creeping up on his neck too. “Don’t.” he said quietly, his tone low and edged with warning.

"Maybe you don't sniff her like a dog in public? Maybe you have some decorum?" Seokjin judged, proud and loud.

"I have plenty, hyung." The younger male side eyed the older one, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his ears already crimson red like he was a boy caught watching porn for the very first time.

Namjoon sighed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let him be, honey.”

But the look he gave Jungkook was far from dismissive. It was the kind of look that saw too much, that peeled back layers Jungkook wasn’t ready to confront. Gods, he needed new friends.

He turned his attention back to the crowd where you disappeared.

The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses followed you as you weaved through the grand hall, your eyes scanning for your mother-in-law’s familiar figure. The air in the mansion was heavier than it had been when you arrived, the brush of silk against silk, the way every movement seemed calculated, observed, and weighed.

You navigated through the crowd like a ghost in a gallery, your steps measured and slow, eyes flicking to the floor more than once to avoid the speculative stares. With rich circles came dirty gossip—whispered words disguised as laughter, false smiles that hid daggers. You’d learned to let them roll off your back, like rain on stone.

The Jeon matriarch had mentioned being near the back, closer to where the banquet tables were set. You followed the direction she’d gestured toward earlier, passing servers who moved seamlessly with trays of sparkling champagne.

Halfway through the journey, your steps faltered as your gaze landed on the centerpiece of one table—a chocolate fountain. Warm, rich, and cascading like liquid satin, it stood surrounded by an array of treats. Strawberries gleamed like rubies in the low light, their surfaces polished and inviting.

You hesitated, glanced around as if expecting someone to berate you for indulging in something so ordinary, but eventually, you plucked a strawberry and dipped it into the cascading chocolate.

You let the sweetness settle on your tongue, closing your eyes for a brief moment. For the first time all evening, you found this place somewhat tolerable.

Free food always making things better.

“Excuse me, miss.” a small voice piped up beside you, tugging on the flowy end of your dress.

A boy, no older than six or seven, stood by your side, his wide eyes flicking between you and the fountain. He looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury children’s catalog, his little suit tailored perfectly, his bow tie slightly askew. “Can you grab one for me? I’m not allowed to reach it by myself.” he asked, pointing at the fountain. His voice was polite, but there was a hopeful edge to it, as if he wasn’t used to asking for things twice.

“Of course, love.” you said, your lips curving into a small smile. You picked another strawberry, dipping it with care before crouching slightly to hand it to him. "There you go."

“Thank you!” he chirped, grinning immediate and radiant, the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.

"What's your name?" You asked him, crouching down to his level.

“Do-yun!” came a sharp voice, the kind that turned your stomach before your brain even processed it.

Who you assumed was the boy's mother stepped forward, her elegance severe, her lips painted in a red that matched the strawberries. She took her son’s hand but not before her eyes raked over you, head to toe, with an expression that left no room for interpretation.

"What did I tell you about bothering strangers?” she scolded do-yun who stared at the skewer in his hand apologetically.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” you said gently, straightening up and having the woman’s eyes flicker to you again, assessing.

“He just wanted a treat.”

Her eyes flicked to the chocolate fountain, then back to you, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “how kind of you.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no hint of gratitude. Just a faintly dismissive air. And with that, she turned, her child in tow, leaving you with the faint scent of something floral and the taste of bitterness on your tongue.

You'd learned better than to expect warmth from people bound by history.

You'd learned not to mind it. To overlook it. To not pay attention to them at all.

"That's her, isn't she?"

“Such a shame, losing her husband so young.”

“Yes, but you know, they weren’t exactly power players, were they? He was an artist, wasn’t he?”

The words hung in the air like cigarette smoke, acrid and inescapable.

A laugh, soft and cruel. “I suppose she’s lucky the Jeons still keep her close. Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.”

You stopped in your tracks. The sharp sting of their voices cut through the party’s hum, louder than the music, louder than your own heartbeat.

You could feel your palms start to get sweaty, eyes suddenly unable to meet anyone's.

Breathe. You reminded yourself.

One: Find your breath.

Two: Focus on something neutral—the fountain, the floor, the chandelier above.

Three: Remind yourself: They don’t know you. Their words are weightless.

But weightless wasn’t the right word.

“Though, you’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly… widow-appropriate, is it?”

You tried to focus on your numbers but you lost it.

You turned, your fists clenched, your lips thinned, the polite demeanor cracking away from your face under the weight of your frustration.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Was there something you wanted to say to my face?”

The women froze, their eyes widening in surprise. One of them, a younger woman with a nervous smile, tried to backpedal. “Oh, no, we didn’t mean—”

“Because if you have an issue with me or my dress, feel free to say it outright,” you continued, your voice clear despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. “I’d hate for you to waste any more time whispering behind my back.”

The group exchanged glances, communicating in a language of their own, you couldn’t care less about. Atleast not in this moment.

“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of them muttered, her tone brittle.

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could I possibly take offense to strangers dissecting my life as if it’s some dinner party entertainment?”

Stupid old hags with no life of their own!

You kept that to yourself.

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

The chandeliers above blurred as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

You weren’t looking for anything specific—just distance, just air that wasn’t thick with judgment and whispers. A bathroom, maybe, though you weren’t going to ask for directions not when your voice felt like it would crack the moment you opened your mouth.

People brushed past you, their scents of expensive perfumes swirling in the air, their muted voices blending into a hum you couldn’t quite focus on. One or two bumped into your shoulder, but you didn’t apologize, didn’t bother looking back.

You just needed to get away—you just needed out of here.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing you, a firm hand of another one of a frame you jerked into, closed around your wrist, halting your momentum.

You looked up, brows scrunched, eyes glossy and mouth parting, ready to snap but then you were met with a amicable pair of dark eyes.

A crease of his own wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at you. "Is something wrong?" He asked and you almost wanted to laugh mockingly.

Instead, you did what you initially wanted to do. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “Let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, tounge poking his cheek, grip on your hand loosening but not releasing entirely. "What's wrong, y/n?"

“I said, let me go,” you repeated, your voice firm, frangible at the edges before you pulled your hand away from him and pushed past to walk away without another word.

The next random hallway you stumbled into was quieter, emptier, and for that, you were grateful, stretched ahead like an endless corridor of polished wood and muted gold accents. The noise of the party faded into the background, muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to roam around mindlessly any further. This should be good enough, you told yourself and leaned against one of the walls, your forehead pressing against the cool surface as you tried to breathe through the wave of vehemence emotions that crashed through you.

One: Inhale.

Two: Exhale.

Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.

But they echoed, persistent and savage, circling in your mind like vultures.

Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.

You’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly widow-appropriate, is it?

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your hands clutching at your dress as if the fabric could somehow hold you together. But nothing could, nothing had. You had tried and tried and tried.. and fuck you didn't wanted to do it anymore.

Turning around, your head tipped back against the wall, the ceiling swimming in and out of focus as your vision blurred.

You shouldn’t have come here.

You should have stayed home, buried yourself in the comfort of your quiet apartment where no one whispered behind your back or looked at you with pity thinly disguised as deference.

Why did they care? Why did it matter to them how you dressed, how you existed, how you grieved?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Your hands gripped your clutch tightly, the edges digging into your palms, and for a moment, you considered throwing it—hurling it across the hall just to feel something break.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because even here, in this quiet, empty hallway, you felt the silent expectation that you hold yourself together, that you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep existing in a way that made other people comfortable.

You hated this. You hated being you. You hated being the one who was left behind. And God you hated being alone. No Minho to make a quiet joke about the ridiculousness of it all and pull you toward something fun and irreverent.

Just you.

It will be always be just you. You've never admitted that to yourself but now that you did, you feel such panic rise in your chest that you don't hear him at first. Not until his voice broke through the haze.

“Y/N.”

It was soft, tentative, but it still cut through the silence like a blade.

You flinched, your head snapping toward the source of the voice. Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression shadowed with concern.

He had followed you.

“I told you to leave me alone,” you managed, your voice trembling as you turned away, willing him to disappear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, his footsteps growing louder as he moved closer with a cautiousness that made you feel like a wounded animal. “Talk to me.” He added, the pleading in his voice almost running free.

"I mean it, Jungkook.. go away." You tried putting distance between the both of you again but far too quick for your slowed senses, he was now standing right in front of you, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with him while also knowing.

"And I told you, I'm not leaving." His tone had coarsened and your dam had broke.

“Why now?” you cried, stepping closer to him, your fists balling at your sides. “Why do you want to stay now? You’ve spent years acting like a stranger, Jungkook. Years acting like I didn’t exist. And now—”

You shoved at his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him, but he didn’t move.

“Now you want to act like you care?” you yelled, your voice cracking as you hit him again. “Now you want to be here? Why?”

Jungkook stood still, his arms at his sides, his chest solid and unyielding beneath your fists. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t even try to stop you. He just let you hit him, let you pour out everything.His silence infuriated you, and yet it steadied you in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why do you care now?" you repeated, your voice cracking, trembling like your hands as they hit his chest incessantly. Each word felt like it scraped raw against your throat. "Where were you, Jungkook? When everything fell apart, when I—when I needed someone. Where were you?"

“I don’t need you now!” you snapped, your tears falling freely now. “I don’t need you to come here and act like you care, like you’ve always cared, because we both know that’s not true."

“Because you left!" your voice cracked, the words laced with betrayal. The hurt from the breach of faith weakening you and your punches on his chest until they finally stilled, your hands trembling still as they curled into the fabric of his shirt. Jungkook caught your wrists, his hold firm but gentle, and for a moment, you fought him, your breaths coming in sharp and ragged. But when he didn’t let go, when he didn’t flinch or step back, the fight drained out of you.

Your knees buckled, and his arms came around you slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid you might push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were too tired now. Empty hands that had been holding onto something for as long as you could remember were too tired, have forgotten the feeling of what it felt like to be held instead.

You allowed to let yourself feel that. You allowed yourself to feel someone else other than the woman you couldn’t even recognize in a mirror as you sagged against him, your head pressing against his shoulder as your tears soaked into his shirt, body shaking and shivering from the quiet sobs that you let out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, angel." You heard him say those words like a mantra against your hair, arms tightening around you, nestling you close against his chest.

For a moment, you heard pain there, raw and unfiltered, pain that felt similiar to your own in ways you hadn’t expected. You clutched his shirt tighter. You didn't wanted to be alone and Jungkook felt and smelled of times when you weren't. Earthy and Warm. Like that one time when he pulled you in to him after the death of milo- your first dog, and didn’t even mind your snort.

You had clung to those memories but it felt better clinging to him. A small, desperate part of you wanting to drag him closer, to cling to what little you had left of the past. The rest of you wanted to push him away, to keep screaming at him for daring to come back after all this time, after all this distance.

The sobs subsided slowly, leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if it might shatter with the wrong word or movement. Jungkook didn’t push you away, didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulled you closer, as though he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your gaze searching his face. His eyes shadowed, a stupid perfect strand of his stupid perfect hair falling on his forehead with tension prominent in his jaw and you wondered if there was a time there wasn't.

You wondered if it would make you any more vulnerable that you are right now if you say the words that sit on the top of your tounge, sting in the tears that linger in the corner of your eyes.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They felt dangerous, like exposing a wound that had barely begun to scab over.

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

Your body stiffened at the confession, the world around you shrinking until it was just the two of you, his voice echoing in your ears.

Your first instinct was disbelief.

This can't mean what you think it does.

This can’t mean what you think it does!

The words replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to settle. Each repetition twisted something deeper, something buried in the hollow space that had once been you.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, needing space, needing air.

He didn’t move. His gaze followed you, his expression resolute, like he was determined to lay everything bare now that the first truth had slipped out.

But you didn’t even wanted to acknowledge it as something, let alone, a truth. “That’s not—” Your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to start again. "Are you drunk, Jungkook?" You found the thought so repulsing, you could only think of ways to brush this up, put all the blame on the champagne.

From the way his eyes narrowed and brow ridged, you could tell that it was not the champagne.

“Y/N.” he says with a warning. “I’m not fucking drunk.”

“Well, you sound like you are,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Because that—what you just said—sounds like something someone says when they’re not thinking clearly. You're not making any sense, Jungkook!"

“It makes sense,” he was starting to get frustated now. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”

And you were starting to get scared. You needed him to stop talking. Anything and everything he said made you physically want to recoil. You took another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the weight of unsaid words that are no longer so.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking, hands tempted to cover your ears like a child. His confession felt like a pin pulled from a grenade, and now the blast was unfurling within you. “Don’t do this. It's not fair. It's-It's not fair to him. Or me. Or you."

I know. He admits quietly to himself because he doesn't think anyone knows better than the man who was holding the jagged ends of a once delicate thread. And he hates himself for it because hating you was as unrealistic as the existence of a greater being to him. He had tried. Tried turning to salvation. Tried to despise you for being the one thing that has turned him the best and worst person he can be but he just can't. He prefers hating himself better.

He wants this punishment, that is you. He wants to whisper I'm sorry- I'm sorry for leaving- I'm sorry for coming back in every crook and nook of your body for the rest of his life so you'd feel his expression of regret that could only be a product of love so consuming embedding into you.

Because it's truth. It's his truth, has been for years and years, before he even knew what are the consequences of being a honest person. Now that he is seeing you in front of him—you with a revolting look, a stray tear rolling down your eyes that is nowhere near as angry as it had been before, he understands that it's not a consequence he can take.

He dares to step forward again and even if takes a whole lot of power in him not to pull you into him again, he doesn't and only raises a hand and catches the tear with his thumb.

“You don’t get to do this to me.” you repeat, your voice low and trembling.

And so does his. "I know."

Jungkook didn’t know what he expected you to say, what he hoped for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He wasn’t sure he deserved either.

Yet when you don't pull away, look back at him with the same daring he had stepped forward with, a silence understanding passes between the space that is separating you from him. And he's done being separated from you.

He tilted his head down, his breath stirring your hair when he inhaled deeply, his nose tracing a path down until it rubbed against yours—softly, deliberately—as if giving you time to move away. You didn't and his eyes fell on your inviting mouth again.

Fuck it.

Jungkook surged forward, his hands cupping your face, tipping your face up to him as his lips crashed against yours. The way he kissed you was nothing like the way he had touched you. It was rough, desperate with the way tounge and teeth clashed, filled with years of pent up desire and regret and emotions too tangled to name.

He kissed you like the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling in places too far from home, wondering if you’d be happier without him there to complicate things, wondering if things had been any different if he said something before. Will you have looked at him like the way you looked at his brother? Would that choice have saved you from years and years of tragedy? Would that have saved him from the weight of his guilt, his love—love that had been a silent, unwelcome presence in his life for so long that it felt like another organ, vital and inescapable?

When he felt you grip him again and kiss him back. Nothing else mattered. The world stopped spinning and he didn't wanted to run anymore.

His hands found your waist, gripping tightly. A low groan slipping from his mouth to yours at the feeling of how you melted against him when he deepened the kiss, tounge proding and exploring all that your sweet mouth had to offer. Gods, he was drunk now.

"Shit." He shuddered as the taste of you finally started to settle in, pulling you closer and closer, then pushing you back until your back met the wall of the hallway.

You should be scared, anxious and pushing him back. The mere thought of someone walking in on you kissing him, your supposed family. Should make you want to end this because you could only imagine the stake they'd pin you on. They'd be not wrong to.

This is traitorous—what you're doing, what you're allowing yourself. But so is a shameful part of you that had always reached for him. Something that whispered to you, so soft it felt like it came from inside your own chest.

It's not so bad. His lips feel good.

But oh, it is. It makes you sick from just thinking how bad it is. Anger, confusion, guilt—oh, the guilt—swirl together and make you so sick.

"W-We shouldn’t.." You gasp against him as your unpracticed lips suck on his in a contradiction.

"No, we shouldn't." He kisses you harder, his mouth only leaving yours to trail a train of kisses along the column of your accessible throat to him, making you whimper out loud that he takes as an sign to nibble and bite.

Your hands find their way to his shoulder and his to your hips. "Legs around me." He licks the length of your neck, narrowing your world down to the feeling of his provoking wet tounge on your skin, his calloused fingers squeezing your hips. It felt all too real now. And despite you being balant enough to start this in the first place, you're not sure if you're still feeling bold. What you are feeling is this sinful, unexplainable craving seeping into your bones, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breath and think. Or maybe it's him.

Whatever it is, you get yourself to pause his eager hands and hungry mouth and speak, your breath coming in short, hot puffs. "Jungkook.. I don't think-" He straightens up and the vulnerability in his voice and eyes is gone as he squeezes your hips tighter.

"Finally gave me that perfect mouth of yours and now you want to walk away? Do you like tormenting me, angel? Do you like knowing that I'd fuck my fist to only the thought of you when you do?" He growls against your ear and you feel yourself flush so hard you're sure he even feels the heat coming off you in ripples.

"Please, baby." He pleads unapologetically, fingers tugging you closer even when all of you is pressed against all of him. "I want you." So bad it hurts.

Gone is the man who had once been so armored, seemed so unreachable and untouchable. And left is Jeon Jungkook, who looks like he will crumble to the ground if you pull away now.

You wouldn't want that. But the words came anyway, right from where shame twisted in your stomach, tangling with the guilt that clawed at your throat. "Do you still want me even if I'm nothing like the woman I used to be?" It came out breakable and in segments, and the second they left your lips, you weren’t sure what to except as a answer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing.

You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes was almost unbearable, raw and unrelenting as they searched yours.

"Don't ever say that again." he bit out, every syllable heavy. "I want you always. I want you with my every breath. There's always been only you for me, understand?" He added with a brief grind of his hardened arousal against your front, making you mewl.

The words, though, hit you like a physical forcek, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself, the ones you’d convinced yourself were impenetrable.

Before you could respond, he moved.

His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.

You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.

When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.

Audacious, you were.

Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.

Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.

And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.

You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.

It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.

The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.

But he still wore it.

He still wore it.

Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.

And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.

"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."

The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.

You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.

You had missed that sound. You had missed him.

And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.

"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It had been so long.

Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.

You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.

"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.

A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.

"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."

You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.

You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.

Then again, he was all about surprising you today.

Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.

The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.

Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.

"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.

And so he did.

Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.

"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.

He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.

A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.

This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.

"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.

Oh.

Oh.

It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.

He would never be the same again.

That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.

It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.

"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.

A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.

"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.

Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.

"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.

You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.

He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.

How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?

How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?

You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.

"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.

"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.

It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.

He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.

Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.

Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.

"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.

"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.

"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.

But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.

"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.

But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.

"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.

He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.

It’s been so long.

The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.

"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.

An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.

His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.

Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.

Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.

And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.

And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.

“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."

All you could possibly do was feel him.

He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.

He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.

Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.

He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.

"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.

"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.

You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.

"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.

"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.

"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.

"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.

And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.

You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.

He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.

You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.

You were ruined by him.

There was no going back from this. You knew that.

What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.

You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.

Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.

Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."

You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."

It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Geta’s kisses were strong, possessive as though he was intentionally making himself envious of the idea that your lips had been touched by another before him.

His hand could be found at your neck more often than not, squeezing it now and then as though to remind you of who was the more dominate one out of the two of you, his thumb would even caress the pulse on your neck to see whether he was doing things that made your heart work a little harder.

His kisses were hot and soft at the same time. yet firm and had a way of leaving you a little breathless afterwards. He’s a man that has everything and yet he still heavily influenced by human greed and desire for even more, so much more despite controlling an already dominating empire.

So to say his kisses weren’t also demanding for more and more of you was an understatement as he would always find the need to deepen the kiss, invade your mouth with his tongue after demanding entrance before taking complete control. His kisses didn’t allow you to be in control anytime at all, for Geta always needs to be in content power no matter what for he doesn’t like the feeling of being weak or easily overthrown in anything.

Yet let’s say after an almost successful assassination attempt on either of your lives, Geta’s kisses become more of a celebration of living, a reminder that you were both still alive despite what the gods chose to throw at you and how you both continue to thrive regardless. His kisses were also ones of relief that his reign got to continue but also that you weren’t taken from him unceremoniously, not that he would ever admit it to you but he wasn’t quiet ready to give you up just yet, not when he was heavily indulging on the taste of your lips and how nicely you slot against him.

Caracalla’s kisses were bruising and felt rough, rushed as though he was running out of time and he wanted to taste every last part of you before so, even if meant suffering through his harsh bites to your bottom lip and causing it to bleed somewhat before slipping his tongue in.

His kisses left your lips aching and had a lingering tingling feeling of pain, it made you wonder if the man smiling before you was capable of a softer and less intense way to express his innermost passion and love. He was, it was just extraordinary rare that you were led to believe you married a man whose only emotions was sadistic and lustful.

Yet on the rare one off occasion where he’d be feeling soft and affectionate his kisses became soft, almost featherlight, and tender as he scattered them across your jaw, neck and collar bone as though he was eagerly chasing after something as you ran your fingers through his fiery hair in content. His kisses were almost desperate to keep you with him, to remind you that he was the one you married and dedicated yourself to despite his inherent chaos.

He tries to prolong the kisses as much as possible as they varied from moment to moment depending on his emotions and where his minds was in during the kisses. So with Caracalla you were subjected to more lustful, ravenous, carnivorous as though he was trying to devour you or make you into one being through deepened kisses and painful looking love-bites that left you wincing upon grazing them.

His kisses were like fire but you couldn’t help but grow addicted to it and the sting that came from his teeth digging into your bottom lip, he wasn’t good for you and yet you couldn’t help but become more and more convinced through every kiss that you could help him, become his solace and safe space; yet you knew deep down that would never be the case but yet his kisses made you all the more ignorant to his more dangerous capabilities in other aspects as though he was slowly corrupting you with each and every kiss.

[thebutchersbitch]

18+ ONLY | Cooper Adams x Reader | Daddy Kink / DDLG | Reader had a life with a husband before Cooper abducted her | But now she’s all about that Stockholm Syndrome life, y’know? … 👀 | Infidelity, twisted relationship dynamic/power imbalance | reader uses the bathroom in front of Cooper | restraints are used

PART TWO

Rain softly tapped against the bedroom window. Your eyes opened from sleep, the room gradually coming into focus. You felt Cooper’s warmth against your cheek, where it rested on his chest, his bare skin just slightly damp with sweat. Your eyes traveled up Cooper’s neck and you felt your heart flutter just a little. Even after months of being together, you’d never quite gotten used to how handsome Cooper was. It was hard to believe sometimes that he’d chosen you; it felt as if you’d been together forever.

Remembering the past, your life before Cooper, was difficult. All of those memories had become so muddled in your brain, clouded over by the power Cooper held over you…YOU, his special girl, the one he’d risked so much for, who he…loved? You weren’t exactly sure if Cooper loved you, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. But then, nothing about Cooper was traditional. It was best not to wonder about his feelings for you; it hurt too much to consider that the risks he’d taken to have you, that he took every day to keep you, were motivated by anything but love.

You became aware of the dull ache in your wrist. You felt it some mornings upon waking. The metal cuff dug into your skin just a little, depending on the position you slept in, and today was one of the days you woke up hurting. It didn’t even make sense for Cooper to use restraints; he should know by now that you weren’t going anywhere, that you were his. But there was something inside Cooper you didn’t fully understand, a sense of distrust inside him that stemmed from being emotionally abandoned by his own mother throughout his childhood. He needed proof that you weren’t going to leave him. The cuff around your wrist was uncomfortable sometimes, but Cooper needed it to be there. He needed that physical bit of assurance that you were not going to run away, that you wouldn’t hurt him.

Cooper would be lost without you. He’d told you as much, holding you tightly in his arms, your cheek nestled into the warm curves of his chest, his heart thundering against your ear. He may not have said it with words, but the way he held you spoke louder than any profession of adoration ever could have. Cooper needed you. The void you filled in his life was too important and besides, you were too precious, too pure, to be set loose into a world that would eat you alive, if given the chance. He was protecting you, Cooper explained, by keeping you here. This house was just for you, yours to roam and clean and enjoy, as long as you promised not to ever leave it. The restraints were just a visual reminder for Cooper of your devotion to him, the metal ring around your wrist like a wedding band.

You felt Cooper stirring under you, the low rumble of his breath as he exhaled through his nose. When his eyes opened, Cooper let the ceiling above him come into focus, telling him which house he was waking up in. This was the house he kept you in, the one with the beige-colored ceilings, one of his secret houses. The soft body pressed against his moved just a little, further confirming for Cooper where he was. When he turned his head, he’d be looking into your eyes, not his wife’s, not this morning. He’d make some excuse to Rachel just like he always did, and as usual, she’d believe his lie.

“Daddy?”

Cooper’s lips pull into a contended smile at hearing your sweet voice. The sound of your restraints quietly clinking beside him gives Cooper final confirmation that he is, in fact, with his special girl.

“How did you sleep, princess?” he asks, his voice husky with sleep. He reaches for the key on his nightstand. “I slept fine, Daddy,” you reply, and it’s true. You have the best dreams sleeping next to Cooper, much better than you used to have when sleeping by your husband…in that other, far-away life you can barely remember, before Cooper took you for himself.

His arm goes around you, both to hold you and to unlock your restraints. The key jingles inside the lock; you smile in relief as the cuff loosens and drops from your wrist. Cooper pulls you into him, his lips nestling against the top of your head, his nose buried in the soft warmth of your hair. “How did you sleep?” you ask, and Cooper sighs.

“Not great, unfortunately,” he replies, shifting so his chest and yours are pressed together. “I kept having dreams…bad ones. But I’m better now. Now that I’m with you.”

He smiles, but there’s a look of sadness behind his eyes. It’s a sadness that never seems to leave Cooper, no matter how much sex and love you provide him. You’d give anything in the world to remove that sorrow from him, but it’s buried so deep inside Cooper that even he can’t reach it. That doesn’t stop you from trying, though.

“I could make the bad dreams go away,” you offer, even if isn’t true. Cooper takes your hand in his, guiding it beneath the blanket covering you both at the waist. His cock is stiff, pressed flush against his belly. Cooper wraps your hand over it, groaning contentedly into your touch. “I’d like that,” he murmurs with a sleepy smile.

The rain has picked up considerably, pelting the window beside you. It drums against the roof of the house in time with your heartbeat as Cooper’s hand nestles between your thighs, cupping your cunt in his palm. He massages your clit with the heel of his hand, his fingers gently teasing your moist labia apart. Your breath hitches; Cooper smiles against your lips. “Did Daddy find your special spot, princess?” he asks, his cock pulsing in your fist. Your soft whimper is all the answer Cooper needs. He keeps rubbing you, kneading your pussy in his palm while gradually slipping his fingertips just inside your entrance. You bury your face in the curve of his shoulder, a vulnerable little sob muffled against Cooper’s skin. “Oh, there she is,” he hums, his fingers sinking deeper. “This is what Daddy needs, angel…is this what you need, too?”

You nod into Cooper’s shoulder, lifting your hips to grind against his palm. He lets you sink over two of his fingers, taking them as deeply as you can, curving them slightly around the natural contours of your body. You rock forward and back on Cooper’s hand, humping his wrist. You feel the veins in Cooper’s cock pulse against your palm, his cock throbbing as you stroke him. His breath heats your skin, dusting a few strands of hair from your forehead as he exhales. A groan rises from Cooper’s chest as you curve your hand around his tip, squeezing firmly, increasing the pressure as you stroke him. He follows your lead, parting his fingers just slightly, your cunt rejecting the added stretch.

Cooper growls into your hair, his words full of a pride that strokes something even deeper in you than his fingers: “That’s my good girl…squeezing Daddy’s fingers and you won’t let go, will you?”

You shake your head in the curve of Cooper’s shoulder. “Never,” you reply. “Never going to leave you, Cooper.” Although you can’t feel it, a sense of peace swells inside him, spreading through his body like a drug. That’s right, he thinks. You’re never going to leave me, sweet angel…never.

You shudder on Cooper’s fingers, your climax steadily building. He strokes his fingers inside you, around the curve of your g-spot, beckoning you closer to release. You whimper at Cooper’s ear, your lips parting and latching onto his shoulder, his skin salty against your tongue. He feels you tense, your moist walls pulsing around his fingers. “Come on baby,” Cooper murmurs. “Let it all go for Daddy sweetheart; it’s okay, you can bite down if you need to.” You do, sinking your teeth into Cooper’s skin, bracing yourself as his fingers pull you over the edge into ecstasy. He throbs inside your fist, his body tensing as your teeth breach his skin. The pain is delicious, the sharp sting of your bite coaxing Cooper’s own release from within him. He pulses against your palm as cum paints his stomach, clinging in the curly hair above his cock.

You massage Cooper gently, squeezing every remaining drop of his release onto his belly. His eyes are closed, his mind uncharacteristically blank. It feels…incredible. It feels like killing, that sweet, elusive emptiness in a mind consumed by obsession and the shame of his mother’s rejection. Cooper feels numb, in the best way possible, a state of peace only you and murder can bring him to.

He clutches you into him, the strong thrum of his heartbeat thumping against your cheek as you rest your head at his chest. Cooper holds you awhile longer before reaching for his phone, lifting it to check the time. You can’t help it; your eyes catch the notifications on the screen. Two texts, three missed calls from ‘Rachel.’ Your heart sinks. You feel Cooper’s jaw tighten; he hates this as much as you do. If only a world existed where his responsibility to his family didn’t stand in between the two of you being together…maybe then, Cooper would trust you. Maybe he’d realize the handcuffs weren’t necessary, that you truly meant it when you said you’d be there for him, always…

Cooper sets the phone back on the nightstand, a heavy sigh leaving his chest. He reaches around you for the handcuffs. You offer your wrist willingly, making it easy for him. It wasn’t always; back when Cooper first took you, he was met with extreme resistance. You kicked, you scratched, you screamed…but now? You gaze up at Cooper with big doe eyes as he fastens you inside your restraints. Cooper smiles as the cuff fastens, settling into the familiar grooves it’s shaped in your skin.

“Daddy has to go now, princess,” he tells you, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I should have asked before, but do you need to use the restroom?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. You simply crave more time with Cooper, even if it’s just the time it takes to go to the restroom. He dresses, then unlocks your restraints, helping you from the bed as your legs as still trembling. Cooper walks you to the restroom, his finger poised on your shoulder the whole way. He lingers in the bathroom doorway, leaning against it as he watches you go. There’s no shame in going in front of Cooper; you’ve done everything in front of him. He encourages it.

“Clean yourself up,” he tells you. You hate to see the tension in his face, to hear the slight aggravation in his voice. “Daddy has to get to work, sweetheart. Hurry up now.”

You do as Cooper tells you. He watches you wipe yourself and flush the toilet, reminding you to “wash your hands.” His finger returns to your shoulder as you approach him in the doorway. Back in the bedroom, Cooper lays you out on the bed like a doll, smoothing your hair and smiling admiringly down at you from above. He takes your wrist in his hand and secures your restraints in place. “I’ll bring you something good for lunch,” Cooper promises, smiling warmly. He leans down and kisses your cheek before turning to go. With a quivering lip and tears building in your eyes, you watch him leave, listening as his car exits the driveway outside, longing for the time you hear it return…

Written for @pinastrihaven x

[kamisatomay018]

Confessions of the Heart

Sylus x MCreader (female)

Warnings: angst to fluff, angry sylus and reader, hurt/comfort, kissing

Wrote this after being inspired by what @bookfreakk posted. I hope you guys enjoy!

Sylus was the most infuriating man you had ever met. Since the day you landed in the N109 Zone, you couldn’t stand his haughty, arrogant and smug nature. You two would always argue, especially after the man made you shoot his heart. It made you panic, though back then you never understood why. You always believed he had killed your grandma and Caleb, and your hatred for the man ran deep. But something about his battered, bloody self tugged at your heart, conflicting you.

As time went by, you grew to hate his teasing, his games, his schemes. In your mind, Sylus was everything you never wanted in a man- arrogant, cold, prideful and most importantly- a goddamn Criminal.

Then why was it that your heart skipped a beat every time you looked into those dangerous ruby eyes? Why was it that you found your heart searching for the silver haired man even after you returned to Linkon? It bothered you so much, after all you hated him, hated his guts…right?

Or so you thought. As you lay in bed alone at night, your mind kept recalling the memories of the time your evol linked the two of you together- the closeness of being in the closet, his deep, teasing voice calling you Kitten, his tall, buff body and his stupidly handsome face. Fuck, it was too much. That was when you realised, to your absolute horror, that you loved him. You loved Sylus, and as much as he infuriated you, as much as you wanted to claw his eyes out, you also wanted to grab his face and kiss him.

Fuck.

No, this was so wrong. You couldn’t love him, he was a criminal, wanted by the Hunters Association. Being with him meant bringing disaster upon your life. And that man could love no one. The Sylus you knew kept people around depending on how useful they were to him. He wasn’t one to get attached, no. He was the leader of Onychinus, he was a bloody murderer. There was no way you both could ever work out.

And as much as it made your heart hurt excruciatingly, you buried these ridiculous feelings for him deep down. Perhaps it was just a convenience crush, maybe it was because he was physically attractive. But no matter how much you tried to deny it, you had fallen for his teasing, his boasting, his pride. You had fallen for Sylus.

Perhaps that is what led to your current situation. You glared at the silver haired man sitting in front of you, breathing heavily as you seethed in rage. There he was, sitting ever so casually as he bled, having suffered multiple wounds all over him after a ridiculously dangerous mission you had no idea about. Luke and Kieran had called you over in a panic, never having seen their boss this way. Sylus was basically untouchable in the N109 zone, which is why seeing him battered and bruised like this did unspeakable things to your heart.

“Are you out of your fucking mind Sylus!? Why would you go face so many people ALONE!?” You spat in anger, watching as he simply rolled his eyes, his evol surrounding him to heal his wounds. “Seems like a certain kitten has her claws out tonight” He all but spoke teasingly, only fuelling your anger.

“Is everything just a fucking joke for you!? Why would you ever think that this was a wise choice!?” You raised your voice, agitated by his nonchalant behaviour. Sylus frowned at this, standing up to look you in the eyes. “Enough now kitten. I will tell Luke and Kieran to not bother you with such trivial matters in the future.”

Trivial? You looked at Sylus as if he had lost his mind, your eyes burning with rage. Did he not care about his own life? Did he seriously not understand why you were so angry? Oh of course he wouldn’t, he wasn’t capable of loving someone at all. “Shut up Sylus! Why are you always so arrogant and prideful!? You may be strong but you are not invincible! Walking into a room full of armed men and trying to kill them is a stupid choice!”

Sylus felt himself get agitated at that. You had no idea just why he had chosen to kill those men, just why he had put his life on the line. His ruby eyes glared down dangerously at you now, his tone sharp. “I said, enough. Do not speak on matters you know nothing about. I can handle myself.”

You scoffed angrily, hating that you really did not know anything about his mission. Sylus had been strangely distant with you over the last month, making your heart clench in pain every day. You hated how you still loved him, despite his recklessness. “Oh yeah? You can handle yourself? If you truly were able to then you wouldn’t be here nearly dead!”

Something in Sylus snapped as you yelled out those words. He hated being doubted, he hated being considered weak even after he had conquered the entirety of the N109 zone. And he hated being doubted especially by you. By the one woman that he loved more than his own life, the one woman for whom he was ready to risk everything he had. He clenched his fists in anger, glaring down at you as his own voice raised now “Don’t you even try to doubt my abilities. And frankly Kitten; why are you so bothered by me dying? A few months ago you were glad to put a bullet in my heart. So why the concern now huh?”

Hearing those words was your final straw. You could no longer contain your anger, nor your feelings. “BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! AND I HATE IT!”

Silence, pin drop silence was all you were met with after your outburst. Sylus stood there, motionless, not being able to believe what you had just said. A huge part of him felt relief, so much relief because only heaven knows how much time he had spent being hopelessly in love with you. But the other part? Heartbroken it was, because you admitted that you hated loving him.

For the first time since you’d known him, you saw a rare emotion in Sylus’ eyes that you couldn’t quite understand. Was it anger? Was it sorrow? Was it..hurt? Your own hands trembled as you realised the weight of what you had done. Confessing your love for him was a dangerous move, one that could be potentially disastrous. But your heart could no longer help it. The sight of him bloody and injured, staggering onto the couch was too painful for you to bear.

“Why do you hate loving me kitten..?” You heard his deep voice say, much softer than before. Still as agitated as you were, you glared at him, responding. “Because I know you would never love me back. You..you don’t even know the meaning of love, do you? You only keep me around because I’m useful-“

You weren’t even able to finish your sentence before you found yourself pinned to the wall, Sylus’ face inches apart from your own. He was seething in anger once again, as if your words had hurt him more than the stab wounds he had a while ago. “How dare you assume that I do not know what love is, when I have spent Every.Single.Lifetime loving you, waiting for you..How dare you assume that I kept you around just to use you? After everything I do for YOU?”

You felt your lips part in shock as the weight of his words sunk in. Your anger slowly melted away as it was replaced by raw emotion. You looked into those hypnotising red eyes, searching for some form of mischief, some form of deception or teasing. But there was none. He looked at you with anger, but also with something so much more intense, something that made your heart race.

“You..you love me..? And..what do you mean by everything you do for me?” You asked him, voice soft as confusion swirled in your eyes. Sylus let out a shaky breath, his big warm hand cupping your cheek. “Sweetie..you have no idea how long I waited to meet you. I have always protected you from the shadows, keeping a watch to ensure your safety. Why do you think I went alone on such a dangerous mission? To wipe off The Nest, to wipe off the people who have hurt you, who have made you cry. I know you deemed me as someone incapable of love, but I have spent every second of my life loving you.”

Overwhelming guilt was all you felt at his confession. You had judged him so harshly, when he was out there seeking revenge on your behalf. Eradicating people who meant you harm. Putting his life on the line for you.

Tears filled your eyes as you cupped his cheeks, watching the way he immediately closed his beautiful eyes, nuzzling in your gentle touch. Your heart ached as you finally realised that the intense emotion he always looked at you with was Love. You were just too oblivious to realise it. “Sylus I..I’m so sorry..”

He looked at you again, chuckling softly as he shook his head, this time hugging you as he placed his hand on your head. “No need for any of that sweetie. I wasn’t exactly the best at showing my care for you. I may not show it but I do love you kitten. There is no love purer than mine.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you felt relief and happiness wash over you all at once. You hugged him back so tightly, as if afraid he would disappear. “Do you have any idea how scared I was when I saw you like that? I..I thought I’d lose you..” Hearing your shaky voice tugged at Sylus’ heartstring, leading him to hug you closer.

“Ah so that’s why my kitten was bearing her claws.” He teased you again, trying to lighten the mood. Seeing you cry was the last thing he wanted. But to his amusement, all he was met with was a gentle punch to his chest and a tearful “shut up” from you. That only made him chuckle more, leading him to pat your head.

“Don’t worry sweetie, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Besides..” he gently raised your chin, making you look into his eyes. “I will always find my way back to you, you have my word.”

You knew Sylus always kept a promise once he made it. You smiled tearfully, nodding as you got on your tippy toes to rest your forehead against his, making him smile affectionately. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, steadying you like he always had. “Don’t scare me like that again. You mean more to me than any revenge Sylus. I need you by my side..”

Oh you were gonna be the death of him. Your sweet words only increased his love for you even more, something he thought wasn’t possible. “I will always get rid of anyone who dares to even think of harming you. But, I will be more careful. Can’t have my kitten crying like this again, I prefer it more when you give me that exasperated expression of yours.”

You laughed at his words now, shaking your head. “God you’re so infuriating.” He chuckled at your words, looking at you with the same teasing glint in his eyes, only this time, they were also full of tender love. “And yet you love me sweetie.”

You rolled your eyes at his smug voice, but you weren’t able to fight the loving smile that made its way on your face. “Alas, I do” Sylus smiled wider at that, leaning closer until your lips were a mere inch apart as he whispered “And I love you more than anything else.”

The next thing you felt were his soft lips engulfing your own in a kiss that was filled with longing and passion. You kissed him back immediately, heart fluttering with love as you realised just how hopelessly you had fallen for this man. The big, bad leader of Onychinus; the criminal wanted by the hunter’s association, the prideful infuriating man. But now you realised that in this moment, with you, he was just Sylus. Your Sylus. World be damned, he was all you wanted.

Tags: @radiantbrilliance

[virginiaisforvampires]

The first episode always does things to me. Especially the look of pure love and awe after their first “experience” with Lestats hand on his heart and then looking at each other. Lestat staring with worship. But the way Lestat is looking at Louis right before that scene, when they fell on the couch. The man looks like he can’t believe this has happened, almost in shock:

Indeed. If only I could go back and watch the pilot episode for the first time all over again. The utter rush and elation. *sobs*

But I’m glad you picked up on the shock and awe on Lestat’s face here, because it’s so subtle underneath the pure love and adoration. He cannot believe that someone as magnificent as Louis is really there and really feels the same for him. I also love that you can see Louis is totally over the moon too, because Louis has just had his entire soul laid bare, all his facets, and it’s beautiful to Lestat.

One of my initial interpretations of this look from Lestat was “awww omg he’s checking to make sure Louis is okay” and indeed — he cuts his finger and heals the bite marks in the very next moment.

It’s the way Louis tenderly clutches his hand as Lestat guides it to Louis’ heartbeat. It’s the way Lestat’s thumb is gently stroking Louis’ chest. It’s the way Louis is looking at Lestat like he’s the revelation for which Louis has been waiting his entire life. It’s the way Lestat is looking at Louis like he’s the most divine being in existence. It’s the way they’re looking at each other, knowing they’ve just profoundly surrendered their entire hearts, because now their very existences depend upon the other.

I’m getting legitimately choked up. Just look at that.

LOOK. AT. THEM.

This is something so sacred to them. It’s their circle. Their home. It’s the way Lestat can feel the love pouring out of Louis in this moment. For the first time in Lestat’s life, he knows what it’s like to be loved.

And the way that love is returned to Louis via their circle when Lestat proposes in the church.

“I love you, Louis. You are loved.”

“For the first time in my life, I was seen.”

It’s the way those affirmations of love and worth become the thing Lestat does to comfort Louis when he knows Louis is spiraling.

“I love you, Louis. Tell him I love him, Armand. I love you, Louis. Tell him, Armand! Tell him!”

For the first time in their lives, they know what it’s like to be loved. It’s an unimaginable love, because it’s so deep and so vast and so unconditional. It’s fatal. They won’t survive each other, because their love is too great, and they know that.

I just genuinely cannot think of anything better than this. This is the ultimate of ultimates. The pinnacle. Soulmates isn’t a strong enough word. A new adjective needs to be invented to describe Loustat.

No one is doing it like Loustat. 😭♥️

[cocostyles]

Hiii! This was me! Can i request Sasuke x fem Uchiha s/o arranged marriage pls? Also can you make it non massacred au! Thank you!

Blood Chains — Sasuke Uchiha

pairing: Sasuke Uchiha x fem uchiha reader!

word count: 4595 k ( I might have gone a bit overboard i really need to get a life)

summary: You are forced to marry in order to continue the pure bloodline.

warnings; none, arranged married (?

hope you like it!

The Uchiha Clan had always been one of the cornerstones of Konoha. With their strength, their honorable history, and, above all, the cherished power running through their veins, they had left an indelible mark on the village. However, not everything within the clan had always been harmonious. After years of internal and political strife, the Uchiha decided that the best way to maintain the lineage and the purity of the Sharingan was through an arranged marriage between two strong members of the same bloodline.

Y/n Uchiha, a beautiful young woman with a strong spirit and an indomitable character, had never imagined being part of a political marriage. She was born to be a warrior, to preserve the honor and memory of her clan. She had always believed that her life would not depend on a man. Yet, when the clan council announced her arranged marriage to Sasuke Uchiha, she couldn’t help but feel trapped. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she couldn’t deny her father’s wishes.

Sasuke, on the other hand, had long distanced himself from everything the clan represented. He loved his family but had witnessed too many horrors in his life—too many betrayals, too many broken promises. His brother’s death had scarred him deeply, and walking a solitary path, regardless of the cost, was his way of surviving. He didn’t care about the clan, arranged marriages, or bloodline purity. But destiny—or rather, duty—had caught up with him, and even though he resisted, he couldn’t refuse.

When you were informed that you would marry Sasuke, you weren’t surprised. But that didn’t mean you were happy about it. Y/n understood her duty and was willing to fulfill it, yet she didn’t expect Sasuke to be so… irritating.

The wedding day arrived. The air was heavy with unspoken expectations placed upon the shoulders of the two young ninjas. They exchanged glances at the altar—not the look of lovers, but of two individuals simply accepting what had been imposed on them. It was only a brief moment, and Sasuke, in his habitual silence, showed no emotion. Y/n, on the other hand, stood firm, her eyes reflecting a determination that Sasuke had known since they were children, but there was also a shadow of doubt. What kind of future awaited them together?

The atmosphere during the ceremony was filled with curious glances and expectations from all members of the clan, especially their parents, who viewed the marriage as a necessary step for the survival of the lineage. “The clan needs this union,” was all you repeated to yourself as you listened to the priest’s words. There was no turning back now. You were trapped with him for the rest of your life, fulfilling your duty.

The first few days after the wedding were a silent torment for both. Sasuke spent most of his time away on missions for the village, escaping from his new reality. You, on your part, tried to fulfill your role as a wife, but the household duties and the clan’s administrative responsibilities left you with no peace. The bond between the two was so distant it could be cut with a feather.

One evening, after a long day of training, Sasuke returned home, tired but unwilling to yield. You were preparing dinner—a small welcoming gesture you hoped he’d appreciate, though Sasuke didn’t even notice it. His indifference immediately annoyed you. You were trying, and he didn’t care. Why was he such an idiot?

“Do you have something to say?” your sharp voice broke the silence, almost challenging.

Sasuke didn’t respond immediately. He was too exhausted to argue, but at the same time, something inside him couldn’t ignore the spark of irritation that had been growing toward you during his days at home.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied indifferently, dropping his bag on the floor. He chose not to fight.

You didn’t look at him, but anger began bubbling inside you. How dare he be so distant? you thought. “Then… why don’t you speak, Sasuke? Why do you ignore everything here?”

“I already told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered, now with a hint of irritation. There was something about his attitude that drove you mad. Crossing your arms, you stared at him with determination. This was the first conversation you’d had in days, and you weren’t going to back down so easily.

“I’m not here to play your games, Sasuke. This marriage—whether it’s just for the clan or not—forces us to live together. I’m not some decorative figure in this house you can simply ignore,” you said, unable to keep the anger from filling your voice. Sasuke observed you for a long moment, surprised by the strength of your words.

“And what do you expect from me? To call you ‘dear’ and live a happy life? This isn’t a fairy tale,” Sasuke said, his voice cold and distant as always.

And there it was again—that discomfort in the air, that insurmountable barrier between the two of you. You sighed, feeling your nerves start to snap. You couldn’t continue living like this, in constant friction. But he was right, so you locked yourself in your room with a loud slam of the door.

The next confrontation wasn’t long in coming. A week later, while Sasuke was away, you couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening between the two of you. You couldn’t deny that there was something about Sasuke that attracted you—a darkness that seemed to call to your own inner shadows. But there was also something about him that repulsed you: his indifference, his inability to connect. You were so alike, yet so different.

Since the wedding, your world had changed drastically, but that didn’t mean you would stay silent in the face of the contempt you felt from your husband.

Sasuke arrived home late, as always. You were waiting for him with a cup of tea in your hands, staring at the floor. Sasuke removed his sandals, paying little attention to your actions, and went straight to the window, seeking some calm after a long and exhausting day. The barrier between you remained firm.

You stood up, leaving the cup on the table, and slowly approached him. “Why are you here, Sasuke?” you asked, your voice firm but with a layer of vulnerability you couldn’t hide. “If you don’t want to be here, if you really don’t care to make an effort, just say so and leave.”

Sasuke turned to you, his dark eyes as empty as ever, but this time there was something different in his gaze—a spark of doubt, of guilt, as if your words were beginning to sink in. “I don’t understand you,” he said, letting out an exasperated sigh. “What do you want me to say, Y/n? That I don’t care about this?” His tone softened slightly, but his attitude remained cold, calculating.

“Then tell me,” you challenged, locking your eyes with his. “Because you haven’t said a single sincere word since we got married. I don’t know what you think, I don’t know what you feel. Is this really what you want, Sasuke? For us to live as strangers under the same roof?”

Sasuke stared at your face, noticing for the first time the intensity of your frustration, your pain. You were hurting, too. “Not everything can be solved with words,” he murmured, turning back to the window. “What I do, I do for the clan, for the future. If you have something to reproach me for, say it. I don’t have time for explanations.”

But in his eyes, you saw something else. An internal struggle, a battle he had never wanted to share. It couldn’t be that simple. Sasuke Uchiha—the man who had dedicated his life to revenge and solitude—was fighting against something he didn’t understand, something you couldn’t clearly see.

The tension in the room was palpable. You could feel the anger beginning to simmer in your chest, but at the same time, there was a strange sense of attraction toward him. His presence, his strength, the way he seemed so distant, so out of reach, stirred a mix of conflicting emotions within you. Once again, you let it pass, retreating to your room.

The next day, you decided to do something you hadn't done in a long time: step out of your comfort zone. For years, you had been part of the clan, always controlled, always aware of your responsibilities. But at that moment, you couldn’t keep ignoring what you felt. So, for once, you took a risk.

You walked toward the library of the Uchiha mansion, where Sasuke often spent long hours reading. The air was silent, the whisper of books sliding between shelves filling the space. He was there, standing in front of a bookshelf, his body hunched over the volumes.

“Can I talk to you?” you asked, the voice softer than usual, devoid of the anger that typically accompanied your words.

Sasuke glanced at you over his shoulder, his eyes void of emotion. “About what?”

You stepped closer, with your heart pounding in your chest. “About us,” you replied, a hint of vulnerability in your voice. "I don’t want to live like this, Sasuke. I don’t want to be in a marriage where all we do is ignore each other, and when we don’t, we argue."

There was a pause. Sasuke said nothing, but his expression softened slightly. You didn’t know if that was a good sign or not.

"Maybe, just maybe, if we give ourselves a chance, we could understand each other. Maybe even become... friends."

Sasuke turned fully, his eyes fixed on her. “I don’t want to be trapped in a lie,” he said, his tone heavy, but the intensity in his gaze suggested those words were not only for you but for himself as well. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to act. I...”

But seeing how much he struggled to open up, you didn’t let him finish. You took another step closer and suddenly stopped him with a hand on his chest. Sasuke froze at your touch, staring into your eyes with surprise, and though his body remained tense, the energy in the air shifted, both of you felt it.

"I know," you whispered. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t try. Because, Sasuke, if we don’t, this story will never have an ending.”

It was then that something shifted between them—a change so subtle no one else could have noticed. But in that instant, thanks to that small touch, you and Sasuke realized that the tension growing between you for so long was not just the result of the clan’s expectations or family responsibilities. There was something more, something that connected you, something neither of you could fully understand.

As days passed, the tension between Sasuke and T/n didn’t completely disappear, but something began to change in their strange dynamic. Both started interacting more subtly, less distantly. They no longer avoided glances or uncomfortable conversations. There was a fragile peace between them—one that seemed more like a temporary truce than a definitive solution.

One night, while dining in silence, Sasuke broke the stillness. “Y/n…” His voice sounded less harsh than usual. “Why do you always challenge me?”

You looked up, surprised by the question. Sasuke rarely spoke of emotions, let alone his thoughts. “Because I don’t think everything has to be so cold and calculated. The clan shouldn’t be the only thing that matters. Not when you’re so trapped in your own thoughts that you can’t even see what you have here.”

Sasuke stared at you, unsure if your words had any truth or if you were just searching for something more in him. But without a doubt, you had struck a nerve. He had always lived for his family, for the Uchiha clan, and had learned to disconnect from emotions. But with you, everything seemed different.

Silence fell between them again, but now it wasn’t as heavy. Though they didn’t speak, Sasuke began observing her more closely. There was something in her gaze—something defiant, something he had never noticed in any other woman of his clan. She wasn’t someone who would submit to the will of others, not even his. That intrigued him more than he wanted to admit.

A few days later, the Uchiha clan organized an important business meeting that you were both obligated to attend. During the meeting, Sasuke was absorbed in discussions with the leaders, while you watched with disdain the conversations about alliances and strategies. For some time now, you had been considering stepping back; you were tired of fighting. At that moment, a man from a rival clan began to make insinuations toward you, praising your skills and hinting at something more than mere admiration.

“You’re a very strong woman, Y/n,” the man said with a smile, stepping a little closer. “It’s an honor to meet such an… impressive Uchiha.”

You frowned, uncomfortable. However, the man’s words flattered your ego. “Thank you, Yamada,” you replied, stepping slightly away from the man’s hands, which had shamelessly landed on your waist. “But I’m not interested in your empty compliments.”

Sasuke watched everything from his position at the table, and although his face remained impassive, something inside him stirred. He couldn’t help but feel jealous. But what right did he have to feel that way? After all, he himself had treated you coldly, and you two were only just beginning to coexist in peace.

But the way that man approached T/n awakened something in Sasuke. He couldn’t let another man be so close to you. Though he didn’t fully understand what he was feeling, he knew he couldn’t allow things to get more complicated than they already were.

When the party ended, Sasuke walked toward you without saying a word, brushing past the man with a deliberate bump. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, recognizing the tension in his posture.

“Was that necessary?” you asked, crossing your arms. “It’s just a game for him, Sasuke.”

“I couldn’t care less about what he wants,” Sasuke replied in a low tone, almost murmuring. “I care about what you want.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and though you wanted to challenge him, a part of you felt touched by his words. Sasuke, in his own way, was telling you something without fully saying it. There was something more behind his distant and protective demeanor. Why did he feel that impulse to protect her now?

The previous night, something had changed in Sasuke. Although he didn’t fully understand what he was feeling, seeing T/n distant from him—even smiling with another man—made him realize he wasn’t willing to let you go. Somehow, you were beginning to stir something inside him, something that had been dormant for years.

You, on the other hand, were confused. Although you still saw him as your husband by obligation, the tension between you had intensified in ways you couldn’t ignore. Was that what you wanted now? To have something more with Sasuke, even if he would never be the romantic man you had dreamed of?

One day, after a morning training session, Sasuke stopped in front of you while you practiced your ninjutsu techniques. It was clear that the way you both looked at each other had shifted, but neither dared to speak about what they truly felt. You were exhausted, your breath uneven, yet you stood tall and defiant as always. Sasuke, on the other hand, watched you with a mix of respect and... something else.

“What is it, Sasuke? Are you just going to stand there staring at me all day?” you said without stopping your training, a touch of sarcasm in your voice.

“I’m just wondering…” Sasuke began, his tone serious. “Why do you push yourself so hard, Y/N?” He had spent his whole life watching you push yourself to the edge, becoming formidable.

You stopped training and turned to him with a challenging look. “Because I need to be better. I can’t afford to fail. This is my life, Sasuke. The one I’ve built for myself. And you? Why do you do it? Is it just for the clan, or is there something more?”

Sasuke stared at her in silence, a mix of frustration and strange admiration bubbling within him. you are unstoppable.

“I do it for what I represent,” he finally said, his voice low but firm. “For my clan. For Konoha.”

“Then keep pretending you’re not human,” you replied sharply. “Keep pretending you don’t care what you think or feel and stay out of it.”

Your response left Sasuke silent, but inwardly, he felt wounded. It was true. He had always kept his emotions under control, never letting anything distract him from his responsibilities. But you had seen beyond his facade, and that both irritated and intrigued him.

That same night, after dinner, they found themselves once again in the Uchiha mansion garden. The moonlight bathed the ground covered in fallen leaves, and the stillness of the place allowed them to remain silent without the pressure of prying eyes.

“Have you ever thought that we could be more than a political arrangement?” Sasuke broke the silence, his voice deep.

You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his words. “I don’t know,” you answered after a long moment. “I’ve never thought about what could be. I’ve only focused on what is.”

Sasuke stepped closer to you, cautiously, as though weighing every word. “And what is that, exactly? You and I living like this forever?”

Your gaze remained locked with his, a flash of emotion passing through your eyes. “I don’t want to be just another pawn on the chessboard, Sasuke. I don’t want to be your obligation.”

Sasuke studied you intently, feeling your words sink deeper than he expected. There was something in your gaze that was disarming him. Something that told him he could no longer ignore his own feelings, the ones he had kept locked away for so long.

“Then what do you want from me?” he asked in a low voice, a spark of desperation in his tone that felt foreign to him.

You took a step back, returning to the strong, defiant woman you had always been. “I want you to stop hiding behind your responsibilities and start being real with me, Sasuke. I can’t keep living in a world where everything is just another damn duty.”

The air between both of you grew heavier, but Sasuke didn’t back down. He couldn’t. Something in his chest was beating fiercely, and it wasn’t just for the clan, not just for Konoha. Something else was driving him to stand there, facing you, ready to confront his own demons.

For the first time in a long while, you were not just adversaries. Perhaps, just perhaps, you were beginning to understand each other.

Even though you and Sasuke shared the same home and, in theory, were fulfilling your duties as husband and wife within the clan, there was a palpable distance between you. However, something had shifted in your relationship: words were no longer necessary to acknowledge that your feelings were evolving.

A couple of months after the marriage, Sasuke was in his office reviewing documents when a shadow appeared at the door. It was you, with your usual defiant demeanor, but this time, there was something different in your gaze.

“What’s keeping you so busy, Sasuke?” you asked, your voice laced with curiosity. “You can’t spend the entire day buried in paperwork.”

Sasuke looked up, his expression as impassive as ever, but his eyes revealed a spark of interest. “Work, as always. Do you have something to say, Y/N?”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his desk. “Do you really have to spend all day locked in here, doing things that have nothing to do with us?” Your words, though direct, carried a faint tone of reproach.

Sasuke watched you for a long moment, something he rarely did. For a second, everything about him seemed more vulnerable. His life, always so controlled and calculated, was beginning to crumble under the weight of his own heart. What did he truly want? He couldn’t keep living solely for the clan. You knew it, and he felt it too.

“What do you suggest, then?” he finally asked, his voice unusually gentle.

You smiled faintly, the spark of challenge in your eyes. “That we stop pretending we’re just tools of the clan, Sasuke. Maybe what we need is time... time for us.”

The change in Sasuke was subtle but unmistakable. There was something in your words that resonated within him, something he hadn’t considered before. What you needed wasn’t just to fulfill a duty. There was a need to be honest with each other, to finally be real.

That afternoon, Sasuke decided to break free from his daily routine, spurred by your words. He invited you to train outside the city, in a calm area far from the Uchiha mansion. You wanted to train together, simply to enjoy each other’s company without the expectations of the clan.

The sun was setting as you arrived at a clearing near the forest. You glanced at Sasuke as he began to stretch, preparing to start. His body, always so rigid, moved with an innate grace.

“How do you manage to stay so... cold?” you asked as you began your own warm-up.

Sasuke looked at you again, as if deciding whether to answer. “It’s not cold. Just... efficient.”

“Efficient,” you repeated mockingly. “I know you, Sasuke Uchiha. It’s a façade. And you know it.”

He said nothing, but inside, his thoughts were turbulent. Did you really see him that way? What you said had struck a nerve. He wasn’t just a “cold man” or a machine that only thought about the clan. There was more to him, and for the first time, he felt you were the only one who saw it.

When the two of you began training, the tension between you became palpable. Every movement, every technique, was a blend of challenge, rivalry, and something more... something that was slowly building. However, the most disconcerting thing was the electricity that seemed to flow—a tension neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Suddenly, as you sparred, Sasuke blocked one of your attacks, causing you to fall to the ground. The air grew heavier, as if everything between you had condensed into that single moment. Sasuke extended his hand to help you up, and as your eyes met, you found yourselves closer than ever before.

“You’ll have to do better if you want to beat me,” Sasuke said, trying to deflect the tension, though his voice was softer, tinged with something he couldn’t quite identify.

Instead of responding with words, you challenged him with a fierce red gaze—the unmistakable Sharingan you both shared. He smiled. Something was brewing between you, something even your egos couldn’t deny.

After an exhausting day of training, you shared a light meal at the mansion. Though both of you were reluctant to show emotions, the dynamic between you had changed. Sasuke couldn’t stop watching you, noticing how you ate, how you smiled, how every small gesture seemed more genuine than the empty moments of his past.

When you both finished, Sasuke stood and walked to the window, gazing at the horizon. The silence in the room was comfortable, something he rarely felt.

You watched him from where you sat, saying nothing for a few moments. Something in the air had shifted.

“You know,” you finally said, breaking the silence. “I... I don’t know if we’ll ever become what the clan expects of us. But maybe, we can try to be something else. Just us.”

Sasuke turned to you, his piercing eyes meeting yours. For a long second, he said nothing. Your heart pounded, feeling the weight of your words. Perhaps you’d ruined things, and he would withdraw again.

Then, suddenly, Sasuke stepped toward you, close enough that your breaths mingled. “Y/N...” he murmured, almost in a whisper.

The world seemed to stop, and you weren’t sure if it was the right moment to continue, to take the next step. But something in his eyes told you that, perhaps, the future wasn’t as uncertain as it once seemed.

Sasuke didn’t move for a long moment, his gaze locked on yours. The tension in the air was palpable, indescribable, something you both felt but neither wanted to admit. Your hearts seemed to beat in sync, and the silence between you turned into something almost sacred.

Taking a deep breath, your hands trembled slightly, though you tried to maintain composure. Should you take the first step? Something inside told you yes. You couldn’t keep ignoring what you felt—not when every fiber of your being yearned for him.

Finally, it was Sasuke who broke the silence, his voice low and husky. “Y/N...” he whispered your name again in a way he never had before. It was soft but carried an emotional weight you immediately recognized. In that moment, it was just the two of you.

Without further thought, Sasuke stepped even closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. The distance between you closed, and as you looked up, your faces were so close that your breaths intertwined.

“What... what is happening between us?” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion.

Sasuke didn’t reply with words. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, and in an impulsive act, captured your lips with his.

The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, as if you both feared what would come next. But soon, the tension that had been building for weeks—that spark that had always been there but neither dared to acknowledge—exploded. Sasuke pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as you clung to his clothes, seeking more of the feeling only he could give you.

The kiss deepened with urgency, as if everything you hadn’t said before was being conveyed through that single moment. The world disappeared. The clan’s duties, the weight of expectations—all of it faded away. Only the two of you existed, discovering a new feeling, something you’d never experienced before.

When the kiss broke, you were both breathing heavily, your foreheads touching, gazes locked. Your heart pounded wildly, as if it had finally found its rhythm.

“This...” Sasuke began, but his words trailed off, unable to find the right way to describe what had just happened.

With a shy but genuine smile, you whispered in reply, “This is just the beginning, Sasuke.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of your words lingering in the air. But the certainty of what you had just shared, of what was growing between you, was clear. It no longer mattered what the clan thought or what the history of your families dictated. From that moment on, the rules had changed.

Now, the story was yours to write.

[imtryingbuck]

To Be Loved

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n realises her self worth. 

Word count: 2,831

Warnings: angst. angst. cheating (I’m sorry). self hatred. Sharon. forms of self harming. Steve and Sharon are scumbags. 

A/N: i was listening to Adele To Be Loved and this idea came to me

Masterlist

Everything was in their correct places, she made sure of it. Seven times. It had to be perfect. Today marked three years of marriage for her and Steve, instead of going out they both agreed to celebrate their anniversary at home with a home cooked meal, fine wine and slow music and to top it off with an intimate moment shared together in their bed.

The plan was perfect.

The house was perfect.

The dress she was wearing was perfect.

The meal smelted delicious as it cooked away in the oven.

The only thing now was for her to wait for her love to come home.

She sat at the dining chair watching as the clock on the over tick on by getting further away from the agreed upon time that he was supposed to arrive. Every time she rang him the call dropped straightaway, her messaged just staying on delivered. Fidgeting ever so often trying to smooth out the crinkles of her dark green dress that he told her to wear for their special occasion.

Two hours, still not home.

Three hours, still not home.

Fou- she finally gave up.

Emptying the plates full of now cold food, she turned off the radio, took her heels off and collapsed on the couch.

It had been a long time since she had cried, and that night she cried until her heart started to squeeze painfully.

She cried until sleep over took her weaken body.

She forgave him the next day when he got in at six o’clock that morning. He showed up with flowers and told her that he was sorry, something about a mission brief that ran way too long.

Though she didn’t necessarily believe him or his lie but she was just happy he was home so she never questioned him.

She plastered a fake smile and made out that she watched a sad movie and that was the reason for her make up - the same she took time in perfecting - was ruined, not the real reason for the dried mascara tear tracks running down her cheeks.

A week later she walked into the tower finding it strange that no one made their way to greet her like they always did before. She walked into Steve’s room to surprise him, when she got a surprise of her own.

Her husband of three years, the man that she had been with for six years, the man that she had been in love with for eight years was thrusting away like his life depended on it into a woman that she had been insecure about since she came back to work for SHIELD, the same woman that Steve had reassured her that she had no reason to worry or to be threatened by.

Sharon.

She had no idea how long she stood there for watching the scene in front of her until she watched them kiss, it was then and only then she stumbled backwards knocking into the door which caused a noise.

The headboard stopped violently banging against the wall, the mattress stopped squeaking and Steve’s face drained of all colour as he saw his wife catching him in the act of his betrayal.

“B-baby” he had the audacity to call her whilst still inside of another woman.

Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest as she forced her legs to take a step in front of the other, shaking as she pressed the elevator button her eyes stung as the tears threatened to break over the barrier.

The moment the silver shiny doors open she stepped in repeatedly hitting the close button just as Steve managed to make it around the corner.

This man who she had loved for eight years, the same man that she had just caught cheating had the audacity to look sad at the heart-breaking expression on her face.

A month had gone by since that painful day, and after weeks of him begging and grovelling and profusely promising that he would never do it again, that he would be better. Promising that he would go to therapy to fix his mistakes.

She asked how many times he had cheated on her and he hesitated before telling her that it had been going on for a month before hastily telling her that it meant nothing, just sex - as if that made it any better.

Now please don’t judge her, for eight years she had loved him more than she had ever thought you could love someone and for six years he was all she knew. She loved him with all that she had even if he did the one thing that she never thought he would do to her. She took him back.

When the team found out what he had done they rallied around to the apartment she shared with Americas golden boy, all telling her that they knew nothing, Tony had told her that he told Fury that he was kicking Sharon out of the tower and how Fury had made her move to a different SHIELD location. The team cleaned up the mess she had made the night she got back to their apartment after catching her husband’s betrayal. 

The team understood why she agreed to take him back though none of them liked it. They thought-no knew she deserved better than their friend, their captain. But they promised that they would always be there if she ever needed them, no matter what.

Steve understood that it was going to take her some time for them to go back to being ‘normal’ even though she didn’t know if they could ever get back what they once had.

She tried, she really did try and put it behind her but every night when she closed her eyes she was plagued by the memories of him with a woman that wasn’t her. Every time she woke up she would look to the right of her to find him facing her sleeping peacefully.

And every night she sneaked into the bathroom to put two fingers down her throat to be sick.

She was trying to be better she really was, she couldn’t help but flinch every time he went to kiss her or when he told her that he loved her.

She tried.

God she tried.

The first time they had sex was four months after his betrayal came to light. She hated how much she loved that feeling of him being on her, that feeling of him being close to her. She hated it because the loud banging of the headboard and the squeaks of the mattress took her back to that moment.

After what was normally an act that she once loved and treasured, that had now become a bittersweet moment between the married couple she went to the bathroom and did her routine that she did now after every meal she was forced to eat.

Though she was struggling, she wasn’t the only one.

Steve had gotten mad more than once about how she would always pull away from him or how she wouldn’t look him in the eyes anymore or how their lovemaking was now him doing all the work. He couldn’t understand why she hadn’t gotten over it like she said she did - she never said that, she just forgave him.

He had also complained not only to her but to his friends about her weight loss, how he would see her flicking the elastic band against her wrist that she would now wear.

What Steve hated most was when a storm made its way through New York she wouldn’t seek shelter in the warm comfort of his arms, no she would now lock herself in the bathroom and sit in the corner with her knees pulled up to her chest, flinching every time the loud cracking sound made it’s way through the apartment.

He had made the biggest mistake of his life and now it was costing him.

A year had gone by, six months of Steve getting solo counselling and another six months of them both going to marriage counselling later they had gone back to being how they once were, don’t get it wrong she still sometimes got nightmares about his betrayal but each time she would talk about it to him the next morning and they would talk it over, just like their therapist suggested.

Everything was going perfectly once again they celebrated their fourth anniversary together where Steve took her to a cabin that had a private lake, they spent the nights looking up at the stars that twinkled up in the dark sky and she would giggle when he picked her up and carried her to bed before making love to her over and over again.

Sometimes she would be okay with what happened in the past but then she would find herself thinking if Steve had what they had with Sharon.

It all came crumbling down six months after their fourth year anniversary when Steve announced that he would be travelling with the rest of the Avengers to help out the SHIELD headquarters in London.

Her heart stuttered hearing that.

That was exactly where Sharon had been located to.

He promised that he wouldn’t go anywhere near her, said that he would never make that mistake again. Swore that he was so in love with her that he wasn’t going to stray away from their marriage again.

She believed him.

She trusted him.

Five minutes after he left their apartment she rang to the bathroom to do something she hadn’t done in months. She put her fingers down her throat.

Every day that he had been away he rang her to talk about everything and anything, she had asked him if he had seen Sharon, he said yes but every time she tried to talk to him he walked away.

She believed him.

She trusted him.

When he came home with a massive bouquet of her favourite flowers, neither one of them left the apartment for three days straight. Both had grown sore from their activities.

One night, three weeks after he arrived back from London she received a text message from an unknown number, two photos were attached.

Her heart shattered.

A photo of a sonogram with Sharon Carters name at the top and a screenshot of Sharon’s messages she shared with Steve. Steve talking about how he couldn’t wait to be a dad, her saying that their time in London was special and him agreeing.

She looked to the right of her and saw him sleeping peacefully.

And once again she crept out of bed and began her routine she unfortunately picked up again.

He told her he was going on a solo mission and that he would be back in two weeks. She nodded and kept her head down. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t look at him or how she moved her head to the side so he only kissed her cheek.

She wasn’t foolish. She had gone through his phone and saw the messages between him and Sharon, he wasn’t going on a solo mission he was going back to London to spend some time with her and the growing baby in her stomach.

Her wrist had now a permanent circular bruise from snapping the elastic band.

She had lost count of the amount of tear she had shed from his betrayal and now that there was going to be a child added to the mix she cried more than she had ever done before.

Finally gaining the strength and courage she went to a lawyer and filed for divorce, it broke her heart to do so but it needed to be done. She could no longer go on like this. She could no longer be made a fool out of.

She needed to finally love herself, once again.

When he came home after being in London with her and their unborn child he frowned at seeing their apartment next to empty, all of her things missing, he saw her sitting on the couch looking just a beautiful as she always had.

“Baby? What’s wrong?”

“I know about London and how you’re having a baby with her. Please sign the divorce papers”

“B-baby no… no she means noth-“

“You told her that you love her. You’re having a child with her. Please just stop and sign the papers”

He got down on his knees in front of her begging and crying, pleading with her to change her mind, told her that he would never have anything to do with Sharon or the baby ever, that they could be happy again.

She responded with telling him to sign the papers.

He cried and cried. Telling her how much of a mistake he had made, telling her over and over again that Sharon meant nothing to him. She flinched and grew angry when he said the baby meant nothing to him. That’s when she snapped.

“How dare you! That baby is innocent, as much as I can’t stand it’s parents don’t you dare say that! Poor child was only conceived because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, because you and its mother are terrible people. Yo-you promised me last time and I forgave you, and yet here we are now and you’re having a child with a woman that isn’t me. Sign the papers I won’t ask again.”

“P-p-please we can m-make this work”

“You honestly expect me to stay with you whilst you have a child with your mistress? No Steven that’s not happening. I choose to pick me first now, I deserve better, I deserve to be happy. You and your mistress deserve each other, you and your mistress deserves to be so miserable with each other. Just sign the fucking papers!”

He flinched at her swearing, his heart cracking as she pushed the divorce papers into his chest, he admits that he only slept with her once in London and the next morning the regret washed over him like a tidal wave threatening to swallow him whole. He didn’t love Sharon, god knows he didn’t. He loves the woman standing in front of him. Heck he wasn’t even sure if the child was his as Sharon has a boyfriend.

He finally took the pen from her hand and shakily opened up the papers, his heart sinking into the pits of hell seeing that she had already signed it. Gazing up to face her once more he realised that she was dead serious about this, he couldn’t let her down again so he signed his name next to hers.

“Thank you. Goodbye Steven have a terrible life”

They were the last words he would ever hear come out of her mouth as she walked straight past him and out of his life.

Months later she was behind the counter of the diner she worked at laughing at what one of the customers was saying about something his two year old son had gotten up to, wiping down the counter as another customer chimed in talking about how it only gets worse from here on out with children when the TV that was hanging in the top right corner said something that had a woman laughing.

It was being announced that the baby that Sharon had publicly announced as Steve’s was indeed not his. The baby had been born not even a month earlier and was already infamous by being the possible child from Captain America’s affair.

“I still can’t believe he cheated on his wife with that thing” Joey a loyal customer scoffed with a shake of his head.

“What’s your take on this sugar?” Lolly - Joey’s wife - asked as she sipped from her coffee.

“It’s a shame really” you answered keeping your eyes on the small television screen watching as Steve walked out of the courthouse where the camera man zoomed in on Steve’s wedding ring finger, seeing the ring that she put on his finger nearly five years ago still sitting there.

As for her, she finally found was it was like to love herself again. She could look herself in the mirror now and not point out her ‘flaws’, she no longer wore an elastic band around her wrist, nor did she force herself to be sick.

She was still sick sometimes but not because she wanted to be.

She was finally happy, her skin was glowing as Kiki - her boss - had kept telling her. Her happiness and self-love continued to grow along with her stomach.

Placing one hand on the right side of her large protruding stomach she smiled up at the screen seeing Steve in his car with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Let it be known that she had survived, and that she had gained the love for herself that she thought she had lost.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Had an idea of yandere sonic or tails x reader who can't read or mabye cant read good enough, mabye they get a love letter mailed and he tells you something entirely different to hid it from you, and youd have a level of dependancy you know?

I dunno sorta kinda new to requests and tumblr as a whole just a thought

A/n: sorry for taking long on this

Yandere Sonic/tails x Reader who can't read

Sonic:

Sonic is quick to notice that reading isn't your strong suit. It doesn’t bother him at first. You stumble over words, sometimes avoiding tasks that involve reading altogether, and it sparks his protective instincts.

At first, he helps you in small ways, reading menus, helping you write notes, and guiding you through anything that requires comprehension.

Slowly, Sonic realizes how much power he holds in this situation. You trust him greatly, relying on him to guide you through tasks and information. But he would never abuse that trust and use it for his advantage... Right?

When you receive a letter in the mail, Sonic is the first to find it. Opening it up and skimming through it. Upon realizing its a love letter, he immediately is not having it.

When you ask about the letter, Sonic laughs it off, holding it up like it’s nothing.

"Oh, this? It’s just junk mail. Something about a... uh, local discount or something. Don’t worry about it, I'll just toss it for you."

From that point on he is always trying to help you out, reading things for you, to be more helpful. Emails, messages, etc. You're slowly starting to rely on him more and more.

If and when you start talking about wanting to improve your reading, Sonic subtly discourages it.

"Hey, why bother? You’ve got me for that stuff. Besides, we’ve got more fun things to do than stare at boring books, right?"

If you push the issue, he’ll sabotage your efforts. He might hide the materials you need to practice or distract you with sudden outings.

"Come on, let’s take a run! Reading can wait."

If someone else tries to get close to you, he’ll intercept their messages and replace them with his own fabrications. He’s so casual about it too, you might never even question it.

He genuinely believes that keeping you in the dark is the best way to keep you safe, and to keep you his.

Tails:

Tails immediately notices how you cabt read. He pities it, and immediately goes out of his way to start heloing you out by reading things for you, planning on teaching yiu to read after a while.

At first, his help seems innocent. He patiently explains things, reads signs aloud, and even offers to help you with learning to read better himself. You find his kindness endearing, and at this point he is genuinely trying to help you.

When the love letter arrives, Tails spots it before you do. His sharp eyes catch the handwriting, and his heart sinks as he realizes someone is trying to steal your attention.

Tails doesn’t just hide the letter he carefully reads it, analyzing the handwriting and tone to learn more about this potential suitor. Then, he burns the letter in his workshop, making sure no trace of it remains.

"Oh, you got something in the mail? It was just one of those generic ads. Nothing important." His voice is calm, his face perfectly composed.

Tails begins to take over more aspects of your life, presenting it as acts of kindness. He offers to organize your schedule, manage your bills, and even write your grocery lists.

If you ever feel embarrassed about your struggles, Tails is quick to reassure you.

"Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to do everything on your own. That’s why you have me."

He becomes your shadow, always there to help, because thats what friends do, no?

After sone time of becoming more attached tobyiu, he stops offering to help with your reading. Infact, like Sonic, Tails actually starts to discourages your attempts to improve your reading skills.

"Learning takes time, and you’re already so busy. Dont worry, I'll just handle it for now, okay?"

He goes a step further by subtly undermining your confidence. If you misread something, he’ll correct you in a way that feels condescending.

"Oh, that’s not what it says, like at all... Here, let me fix it for you."

Tails uses his engineering skills to keep tabs on you. He installs hidden cameras and microphones in your home, ensuring he knows exactly who you’re talking to and what you’re doing.

If someone else tries to connect with you, Tails will intercept their messages, deleting or altering them before they reach you.

"Looks like your friend canceled on you again. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you company."

[nineblooddances-if]

NINE BLOOD DANCES

Nine Moons for the Nine Circles of Hell

Ruled by Nine Siblings. Or better known as the Commanders of Hell. Each believed to carry a role in the natural world and each a leader of the Devil’s Army. Each Commander is the personification of their circle and is made with a part of The Devil’s Body.

His Brain. His Genitals. His Stomachs. His Lungs. His Eyes. His Tongues. His Flesh. His Ears. And lastly his heart.

With each part, combined with that of a woman of a different species, flourished the consciousness of the circle, and then from a piece of the circle, a body was molded, creating each commander.

Yet with no one to rule over them.

For the Devil has many things to do and does not have the time to watch over the things he created. So, he gets an idea. A funny idea.

For he wishes not to strip himself of more. So, he goes to a mortal man. One who knew all that of the world, a man who had everything that the mortal heart could desire. Expect love–Yes love. For there is a difference between idolization and obsession and honest love. The mortal man had not that, and so the Devil laughed and lured this man to his death. And when no one showed genuine care for the man at his funeral, he fell into despair.

And the Gods who refused to hear his prayers before now stared upon him and pitied him. And sent the mortal man a gift in order to ease the loneliness.

A gift the Devil needs.

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

✶ [DEMO]

✶ [PATREON]

✶ [KO-FI]

✶ [DISCORD]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You were a gift. Now to whom? No one knows.

All that matters is that you are a gift and not like any of the others of your species. Uniqueness and importance oozes from every fiber of your being. You're important. Everyone says you're important. But why you're so important?

Who knows?

You must figure out what makes you so special and different. You must figure out what drives you through all circles. And you have to figure out why the nine commanders of Hell all have their eyes upon you and wish to have you by their side.

All before the fall of the ninth moon.

☽☽✶☾☾ Customizable MC

✶ [Name, Species(human, fallen angel, vampire, succubus/incubus, etc), Personality, Gender, Pronouns] ✶ [Appearance (markings, scars, wings, tails, horns, ears, etc), Traits, Love Language, Allergies, Diet, Piercings, Aesthetics, and more]

☽☽✶☾☾ Ability to have certain traits, likes, and disabilities

✶[Favorite Foods, Smoking/Drinking Habits, & More] ✶[ADHD, OCD, Depression + more] ✶[Hearing Aids, Prosthetic Arms or Legs, and choosing how you lost your limb]

☽☽✶☾☾ Options that have an effect on romantic and platonic relationships.

☽☽✶☾☾ Choose between nine romanceable Love Interests or None at All.

☽☽✶☾☾ Stats, Personality, and MC Characteristics that will affect the story and characters.

[Harem Route & Poly Routes Optional]

| IMPORTANT VIEWINGS OF CERTAIN FEATURES | ✶Ear Piercings

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 1ST CIRCLE—LIMBO—

COMMANDER AAPO I LIBERTAS

── THAT OF THE DEVIL’S BRAIN

✶ Personality: Aapo is an overly confident, charismatic man who is proud of the ranking he holds, being that he is ranked above his siblings and seen as the current ruler of the Nine Circles. Aapo walks and talks with a smile on his face and radiates this atmosphere of freedom, which is quickly erased by this underlying need for control, and he demands it. He has no reservations to confirm that. Many fear him despite his faux cheery attitude and overly relaxed posture.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [6’1FT ~ 188CM] with pale brown colored skin that is littered with warm brown freckles. He had deep-set shaped eyes while his eyes were the darker color shades of the rainbow, that fluctuated depending upon mood but remained a deep emerald green. He has short mahogany brown hair with a short fringe that seems messy. He’s lean and long, with long legs and arms. Always wearing overly vibrant and eccentric suits of greens and browns, decorated with bronze and gold.

──"CAMBION"—AMAB—HE/HIM ──PANSEXUAL [MASC PREFRENCE]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 2ND CIRCLE—LUST—

COMMANDER ANIL/AIDEN II LUXURIA

── THAT OF THE DEVIL'S GENITALS

✶ Personality: Anil is a self-assured, arrogant, aloof, hotheaded woman. Always wearing a scowl or frown of some sort. Her mood changes just as quickly as the wind and follows that of the hierarchy. She demands respect and will expect it. Many of the others stay out of her way and allow her to do as she pleases, since she has no desire to disrupt anything and follow the rules in place. Unless they get in the way of her desires.

✶ Appearance: She stands at [6’2FT ~ 192CM] with deep chocolate brown skin with no blemishes or scars. She has bedroom eyes that are a deep navy blue but appear black until in candlelight. Anil’s hair is jet black hair reaches her waist and is curly, while wet it reverts into a more coily texture. She has long legs and a waist and adds to her height by wearing dark blacks and blues, wearing heels, with a subtle male pirate aesthetic, wearing silver with everything. With the remains of two torn leather wings upon her back, with a long and heavy black scaled tail of a crocodile.

──"INCUBUS/SUCCUBUS"—AFAB—HE/SHE ──OMNISEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 3RD CIRCLE—GLUTTONY—

COMMANDER ALICE III GULA

──THAT OF THE DEVILS STOMACH

✶ Personality: Alice of the three siblings is by far the kindest of them. With a laid-back attitude. She is blunt but kind in her words, and the most approachable. She, just like her Aapo and Anil, expects respect due to her rank, though she cares little about enforcing it, especially with her "siblings". However, she has a mean streak when hungry and can become aggressive toward those who are men or those masculine in nature.

✶ Appearance: She stands at [5’7FT ~ 175CM] with warm ivory-colored skin, that’s covered in what looks to be scars, that are prominent on her throat, the back of her hands, her palms, and her knees which are small scars, while the entire along her collarbone, slanting cut across her entire stomach, and along the outside of both thighs seem like bigger scars, but they’re not. They are instead different mouths with sharklike teeth and crimson red tongues. That she keeps closed unless extremely hungry. Alice also has yellowish blonde hair that is a messy pixie cut, with an eye patch covering her right eye. She always has deep monolid-shaped eyes that are a vivid orange color. She has a sheer clothing aesthetic as while as a leather aesthetic, wearing many shades of orange, black, and white with gold. Accompanied by the small horns of a deer, a shade of white, and the tail of a deer.

──"VAMPIRE"—AFAB—SHE/HER ──BISEXUAL [FEM PREFRENCE]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 4TH CIRCLE–GREED—

COMMANDER ERIC/EDWARD IV AVARITIA

── THAT OF THE DEVIL'S LUNGS

✶ Personality: Eric is the quietest of the siblings, rarely speaking unless directly spoken to. He is a loner and prefers to be alone. He is also one of the only siblings who dislikes the hierarchy of siblings, and rarely spends his time commanding his circle, opting to be away, spending his time exploring the other parts and various layers of Hell and the unique punishments.

✶ Appearance: Eric stands at [6’5FT ~ 200CM] with pale skin. With the rest of his features hidden beneath a black cloth that hides his eyes. His black cloth also replicates bandages that covered various parts of his arms and legs. He has shoulder-length curly black hair that he keeps in a ponytail. He has a Dark Victorian aesthetic wearing black, red, and yellow.

──"DHAMPIR"—AMAB/AFAB—HE/HIM/SHE/HER/IT/ITS ──GRAYROMANTIC—PANSEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 5TH CIRCLE—WRATH—

COMMANDER LOUIS V IRA

── THAT OF THE DEVILS EYES

✶ Personality: Louis is a confident, arrogant, egotistical, smart man. Who revels in his circle enjoys using his influence on lower-ranked demons and enjoys spending time with higher-ranked demons. He also throws extravagant parties and chooses to spend most of his time with the Devil, who is the embodiment/avatar of Wrath. Louis tends to his duties well, despite his nasty temper.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [5’7FT ~ 175CM] with limestone-covered skin round bright blue and red heterochromic eyes and short blonde hair that fades into red that cut like a jellyfish. He dresses like that of kings and queens, with a 16th-century royalty aesthetic, wearing that of gold and red. He also has the horns of a ram that are a beautiful gold.

──"HUMAN"—AMAB—HE/THEY ──DEMISEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 6TH CIRCLE—HERESY—

COMMANDER GABRIEL VI MENDAX

── THAT OF THE DEVILS TONGUE

✶ Personality: Gabriel is someone who speaks only of rumors and half-truths. Many don't trust a word he says, and you must force the truth out of it. He gets a lot of humor leading people astray with his words. Even though he is quite knowledgeable and level-headed. He prefers to use his wisdom in more trickster ways, unless threatened, he quickly breaks. Outside of his lies, he is quite kind and fair, yet due to his tongue, no one believes his kindness.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [5’9FT ~ 180CM] with bronze-colored skin and long straight dark brown hair that he keeps in a thick braid, decorated with purple snapdragons, lavender, and vines. Gabriel has a soft flowy cottagecore aesthetic wearing colors of white and purple. While upon his back he has two large gray feathered wings that he keeps tucked away.

──"FALLEN ANGEL"—AMAB—HE/SHE ──AUTOSEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 7TH CIRCLE—VIOLENCE—

COMMANDER DAMEION VII VIOLENTI

──THAT OF THE DEVILS FLESH

✶ Personality: Dameion is laid back, mischievous, charismatic, and cocky. Since he has one of the most popular circles, he garters high respect despite being the seventh. He has overbearing pride and follows the hierarchy of the circles. Still, you will not find Dameion without a cocky smile and relaxed posture no matter where he is. Which leads him to having and being loved by many. Everyone practically swoons when he walks into the room or speaks. This doubles when amongst full-blooded bloodhounds, due to him being able to have a body, unlike them.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [5’9FT ~ 180CM] with honey-colored skin with black armband tattoos upon his wrists and ankles. He has short, shaggy black hair and deep red eyes. With a formal aesthetic, always wearing suits or a more military-type aesthetic. He has two long black tails of a wolf and wolf ears that hide amongst his hair with two red horns of a bison.

──"BLOODHOUND"—AMAB—HE/HIM ──POLYSEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 8TH CIRCLE—FRAUD—

COMMANDER LUCY OR LUCIUS VIII FICTUS

──THAT OF THE DEVILS EARS

✶ Personality: They are an untrusted liar, fake, fraud. Dawning on various masks and looking to deceive whoever they need to deceive. Taking upon titles, achievements, and anything to further their lie, and when it all backfires, they run away and never get caught. Due to this, they are never in hell, nor in their circle, in fact, it's hard to get in touch with them. They also spend a lot of time within the different underworlds and heavens, trying to gain something from the divine. Only to be sent back to Hell without punishment. They are tricksters and unreliable, with no real redeeming qualities.

✶ Appearance: They stand at [5’8FT ~ 178CM] with thick curly gray hair with white faded ends. Their hair is short to their chin and left alone. They have hooded gray eyes and short-bison-like horns with gray bat wings that fade into black with a long rat-like tail. They have varying styles but settle on clothing far more revealing. Wearing pinks and whites.

──"IMP"—[SELECTABLE GENDER] ──GAY OR LESBIAN [SELECTABLE SEXUALITY]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 9TH CIRCLE—TREACHERY—

COMMANDER TRENT IX PRODITIO 

──THAT OF THE DEVILS HEART 

✶ Personality: Trent is a sweet talking and kind person. Always understand and be sympathetic. He’s easy-going and easily trusting. He’s a very honest person and falls into his roles, whilst being obedient and submissive. Not wanting to break rules without important reason. He’s a big man with an honest and open heart and tries to live past his title.  

✶ Appearance: He stands at [7’5FT ~ 230 CM] with tan scarred skin and freckles. He has large heterochromic eyes, his right olive and the left mustard yellow. He has messy brown hair that he keeps in his face, partially hiding his eyes. He bulky and tall, but always hunching over with feathered ears that are dark brown and long wispy split bird tail that is also dark brown. Trent wears many colors yet sticks to neutral tones and dark green. 

──"NEPHILIM"—AMAB/AFAB—HE/HIM  ──PANSEXUAL 

AVAILABLE POLY RELATIONSHIPS

TO BE DETERMINED

ⓒ 2023 CVLUTOSGAMES & nineblooddances-if — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[blue-jisungs]

TEXT ME

summary. just very whipped mingyu :')

word count. 818

warnings. alcohol mention

the pleasant chatter of people and faint music became a blur in mingyu’s ears. there a few people at the afterparty… well, mostly his friends. some spilled drinks on the table made his glass get stuck to it, sticky feeling all over his fingers. 

he let out a small sigh and his gaze wandered around, only to be met with more frustration. all the couples dancing, kissing, having fun–

ding! 

mingyu grabbed his phone in a blink of an eye, almost knocking down jeonghan who was sat next to him.

6:01pm

mingyu: text me when you’re free🙏

delivered 

8:40pm

y/n: 20 mins and shift is over!! 

mingyu stood up and rushed to the door, almost tripping over his own legs. someone tugged his arm.

“yah, mingyu-ya! you better come back, alright?”  seungcheol asked, rising his eyebrow. mingyu nodded absentmindedly, looking like what he just heard fell right through the other ear.

the cold air hit his face, making him sober up a little. before he knew it, his legs lead him to your workplace. 

you and mingyu barely started dating two weeks ago. however, mingyu was crushing over you since almost four months and he still couldn’t believe that you two are a couple. 

when his friends jokingly warned you about his puppy-alike personality, you didn’t pay too much attention. but because he was so head over heels for you, he became a hyperactive puppy. 

he clinged to you all the time, followed you around and you wondered if you threw him a stick— 

your phone dinged with a message notification. 

8:45pm

mingyu: btw date on tuesday?? 🤞 i’ll be free around afternoon!! 

mingyu: also comedy, action or romance?? 

you scoffed and shook your head, hiding your phone. fifteen more minutes of your shift and you’re free. 

before you realised it was over and while you were finishing up cleaning one of the cabinets, the door opened with a quiet ding! of a bell.

“we’re closed–” you turned around and your eyes met with your boyfriend. he grinned upon seeing you and ran his hand through his hair. 

“hi” he breathed out and walked over. you blinked in disbelief.

“weren’t you at cheol’s party–?” you asked, stunned. he hummed, nodding, a goofy smirk stretching on his lips. 

“yeah, well, good point: i was. i figured i’d swing by and pick you up…” he explained, shrugging nonchalantly. mingyu reached over to his pocket and handed you… a snack. your favorite, to be precise “i also bought this” 

“you’re impossible” a snort escaped your lips as you grabbed his collar gently and tugged him closer. you could see he was not focused on you(r eyes). “also your text… comedy sounds good. may i know what you’re scheming?”

he blinked, his ebony irises looking like there was nothing behind them – in the cutest way possible. 

“wha… um, yeah” he nodded.

“what’s in that doofus head of yours?” you chuckled, his cheeks puffing at the nickname. 

but how he could say this? you just got him focused on your lips, without even trying. if he had a tail, it would be swinging like crazy.

“i just wanna kiss you” he grinned and swiftly closed the gap between you. 

his lips landing on yours, the faint taste of some kind of alcohol (mb on the rocks?) invading your senses. mingyu melted into the kiss, loving the feeling… as if he didn’t kiss you like, million times already. 

he pulled back and his eyes twinkled with joy. 

“woah, you look so pretty today. as always tho… do you need any help?” mingyu asked. 

sometimes you didn’t get him; like, right now. your hair loose and a black cardigan. simple, nothing majestic. and he’s whipped. 

the other day he said something along the lines “you’re pretty like the view. if i had to choose between the two, you. it’s true!”. and even though it cracked you up, it still made your heart melt.

“just a second and i’m closing up. are you coming back to the party?” you questioned, turning around to finish up cleaning. 

“depends if you want to go…?” he hummed “cheol told me to go back but you know i always put you first” 

“i’m a little tired but i wanna go. i haven’t seen your friends in a while, i’ll go say hi” you said and nodded “we can leave”

mingyu took your arm and helped you close the place. then, you started walking back; his big but tender hand sneaking to grab yours. 

“isn’t it… a thirty minute walk to cheol’s place?” you asked suddenly.

“yeah” gyu nodded. 

“and you made it in fifteen minutes?” you scoffed, looking at him. 

“more or less, yeah” he laughed, realizing how much of a loser he looked right now.

“you’re so whipped” you smiled wildly and he just let out a dreamy sigh, adoring you. 

main masterlist | event masterlist

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @eternalgyuuu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,, @mine-gyu

[awaywardfatherswaywardson]

I'm just thinking about like Dean after finding out about people writing wincest fanfiction and obviously he acted grossed out because that's how you're supposed to act to finding out that people write porn about you and your brother, but also maybe he stumbles upon a fic someone wrote of Sam harbouring feelings for Dean the whole time and he secretly loves it.

He reads the full 50k+ word fanfiction full of angst and yearning and realizes how badly he wants it to be true. How much he wants Sam to have feelings for him, to have had feelings for him his whole life, and something in his stomach twists.

There's something wrong with him, he knows it. He wants Sam to be dependent on him, to never truly love anyone the way he loves Dean. He wants Sam to want him the way women in bars want him. He wants Sam to want him the way Lisa wanted him. He wants to be everything to Sam.

He reads the words on the screen and reflects it to real life. When Sam looked at Jess the first time, she reminded him of Dean. When Sam kissed her for the first time, he thought of Dean. When Sam fucked her for the first time, he had to bite his tongue to prevent from calling out for Dean.

When Sam saw Dean for the first time in years and he's panting, pinned to the ground beneath his big brother, he got hard. When Sam rolled over on top of Dean, he had to force himself not to grind on him. When Sam stood in front of him, just inches too close for brothers to stand, he wanted to kiss him. When Jess interrupted them, Sam wanted it even more, to show Jess that he belonged to Dean. He always has and always will, and she could never compete with that.

Dean knows he shouldn't, but as he reads, he believes that it's true. This is really how Sam felt this whole time. He's not the only one fucked up this way. Sam yearned for Dean for years after they got back together and the tension finally crescendoed when Sam found out about the deal Dean made for him. He realized Dean loves him more than life itself, would spend an eternity burning in hell just so he could have one more year with his baby brother.

Sam kissed him rough and angry before it quickly fizzled out into desperation and longing. Dean sat down on the bed, pulling Sam to straddle him, and Sam gently pushed him onto his back. He mumbled Dean's name into his mouth and Dean pushed up onto his elbows to get closer. They held each other tightly as they rut against each other until finally, *finally*, they come together with each others names on their tongue in the others mouth.

Dean- real Dean- didn't realize he's been rubbing his hand over his crotch until he's wet and sticky in his pants. He hears Sam's name tumble quietly from his lips, and suddenly his eyes and cheeks burn with shame. He tears his hand away from himself before he even stopped twitching. Closing the browser as fast as he can, he launches himself out of the chair and into the shower, barely remembering to slam the bathroom door shut behind him.

Dean doesn't cry in the shower, the water just runs down his face. He's not red with shame, the water is just really hot. His legs don't buckle under the weight of this disgusting burden he carries, the water just relaxes him to the point of exhaustion. There's nothing wrong with him, the water is washing it away.

[signanothername]

May I ask if you think mtt would change their names at all if they left Nightmare? Whether they want to start over, whether the names were from Nightmare and they want nothing to do with him, or solely because after that they could realize they aren't the same, any reason.

For me personally, I always love to think MTT are homesick 24/7, and so for Horror and Murder specifically, they never even signed up to be called anything other than “Sans” cause to them, that’s who they are, and that’s the name they associate with their homes

They had those nicknames forced upon them to “avoid confusion”, but to them that’s just an excuse to strip them of the only thing that is still truly theirs (and that’s true to an extent), they were always “Sans” and now even that is being taken away from them

And cause Murder is in this state of “seeing how much you changed yet still are the same regardless” (the horrifying version™) it’s even more painful to him to be called anything other than his og name

Horror tolerates it, but would definitely perfer to be called “Sans”, he doesn’t appreciate being stripped of the name that associates him with his family and home

Killer is a complicated case, cause not only do I believe he got the name “Killer” before even meeting Nightmare, but depending on the stage he has different reactions to it, with guilt ridden Stage 1 seeing it as the name he deserves after everything he’s done all while holding so much distaste for it, stage 2 not caring about his name and simply treating it with a “that makes sense” attitude and stage 3 having mixed feelings about it, and stage 4 not truly being fully there to comprehend the name other than seeing it as it is, a name and that’s it

With that being said, Murder and Horror would immediately switch back to their og names, making it a point that no one is allowed to call them anything other than “Sans”, too confusing?? Tough luck, everyone gotta deal with it, it’s not their problem, with Murder being aggressive about it, while Horror is more passive aggressive

I like to think Murder and Horror developed a twisted form of friendship between them tho, and so when it comes to each other, it’s a sort of “special pass privileges” sorta thing, so Murder allows Horror to call him “Murder” or “Dust” (Dust being a nickname given to Murder by Horror in the first place) and Horror allows Murder to call him “Horror”

It’s not that big of a deal tho cause both of them will find the first train home and take it, going their separate ways

When it comes to Killer, assuming he now lives with Color, wouldn’t ask Color to call him anything other than “Killer” cause as I mentioned before, one half of Killer thinks it’s the name he deserves, and the other half not having the capacity to care or is undecisive

I like to believe that stage 1 would absolutely love to be called “Sans” again, it’s some sorta far away wish for him, a guilty pleasure, he just doesn’t see himself as worthy of it, and I think as time goes on, Killer would realize how much he truly changed, that no matter how much he resembles “Sans” in looks or how some of his Sans-like attitude is still intact in stage 1, Killer changed too much to truly see “Sans” as a fitting name for himself

So i feel like he’ll keep “Killer” as his name, but i also love to think Color would call him different nicknames too that isn’t negatively associated with him, Color never says it outright, but he sometimes does that as a way to show Killer that he isn’t just his name’s sake, Killer understands that, and appreciates it

[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason will forever be my comfort character, forever and always

Jason knew from an early age that love was conditional. This was especially more so if you lived in Gotham, and if that was the case then love was more or less something that’s purely transactional. The moment you lose the ability to give anything to someone else, you’re more then likely left to die in an alleyway or in a far away abandoned warehouse that was rigged to blow up.

Love was a weapon utilised in every possible way then what it was meant to be used for, and so Jason didn’t grow up with a very good experience with love or what others claimed as love.

Yet he read books where love was pure, love was powerful and empowering to the people who had the chance to experience it, love was scary and brutal as it was beautiful and something everyone desires to have in their life; whether or not it was real for everyone will chase after it blindly and carelessly as though their self worth was dependent on such an emotion.

He’s read books where love could break someone so badly that they can’t get up, where love can cause more cuts and wounds than knives and other weapons could ever inflict. He’s read books where love has left people wonder their self worth and if anyone else could love them as deeply and truly as the person who had just walked out of the door.

However Jason wondered that if people did love that deeply, wouldn’t you want to stay with that person even through the toughest times of their lives? Help them pull through instead of abandoning them when they were in the most need of their life? To Jason that didn’t sound like love at all as he couldn’t help but see himself in these characters that only saw the worst in themselves, truly believing that love wasn’t for them nor ever will in how their entire lives was the biggest example of such.

However all that changed with time the moment you entered his life and for good.

Jason was on the defensive as his eyes wouldn’t leave you as all you did was simple things for him unprovoked, unwarranted, as though you wanted to do these things for him. You would care for his books as though they were irreplaceable while rearranging them in alphabetical order, clean his weaponry and armour before he could early in the morning, and even would him breakfast in the morning when you noticed that he didn’t eat nearly as much as he should to properly function.

Jason didn’t know how to feel, nor how he could repay you back in response and even when he did, you would just brush him off and tell him that you could handle it, telling him that he shouldn’t worry about doing anything for you purely because you did things for him one day.

‘I just wanted to do these things for you.’ You tell him with a smile. ‘You’re a busy man and you don’t have nearly enough time to catch up to everything and I merely wanted to help clear your schedule somewhat while you’ve got your hand full.’ You add and Jason could only stare at you.

‘You wanted to?’ He said with a raised brow. ‘Sweetheart, there’s no such thing as people doing things for others out of the kindness of their heart, everyone wants something in the end as nobody is above their own desires.’ He then crossed his arms over his chest as a look of unconvincing overcame his face at your words.

You frown at this but didn’t hold such views against him, Gotham wasn’t a city where love was genuine and not corrupt nor unhealthy to some extent, if anything your heart ached for him as you could only imagine a young Jason having to learn this cruel lesson in the worst possible way; one that left a permeant scar upon his heart that would ache painfully as a reminder that in a city of Gotham love didn’t exist unless it was for transactional or conventional purposes for even more corrupt figureheads.

‘Love shouldn’t be used to hurt people, it should be used to help people and allow them to gain the strength to let others into their heart and trusting that person to not stab them in the back, love should be used between friends, family and lovers and no one else who could corrupt an innocent emotion such as love.’ You stepped closer to him as you watched his eyes and the flickering of emotions within them as his jaw clench and he would straighten his posture as though he was trying to scare you off with his height, it wasn’t working.

‘Love should help you realise that the love you’ve been receiving is not love at all, Jason you deserve love much like everyone else, for someone will look at you and see a beautiful man with scars that tell stories that they can only hope you’ll be ready to share with one day at your own comfortability.’ You finished as you rested your hand upon his bicep, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, as your thumb caresses a faint scar of his. It wasn’t a touch tender as anything Jason had experienced before and it both frightened and intrigued him at how much he needed this.

Had he found the love that the books he’s read in the past promised? That child in him said yes with such an eagerness, but he was still uncertain but knew that he felt safer with you than he did anyone else, and that was certainly a start in his eyes.

[laurrelise]

someone talk with me about an AU where delores is a real girl who somehow survived the initial apocalypse and spends it growing old with five and keeping him sane

someone talk with me about delores being five’s age when he discovers her body in the rubble and thinks she’s dead before he notices the small rise and fall of her chest before he pulls her out and desperately tries to help her breathe normally again and watches the life fill her eyes with tears in his own that he’s finally no longer alone

someone talk with me about delores being an only child to parents who she wasn’t close with leading her to become dependent on herself until she meets five and learns to trust other people before finding out about his huge family and doing everything in her power to help him not only because she cares about him and wants him to be happy but also because she wants to experience the family she’s never had

someone talk with me about how delores never had powers but survived for the 40+ years in the apocalyptic wasteland of the future due to her seriously genius mind (and five’s help) and lives to help five figure out how to save his family

someone talk with me about young five and delores searching for anything they can find to survive before they stumble upon a half-broken mannequin with a surprisingly intact polka-dotted blouse that five says would suit her so she puts it on out of boredom from looking for materials before five looks at her with the most genuine, in-love eyes she’s ever seen and she decides to keep it just for him

someone talk with me about five always making sure delores has a comfortable place to sleep, to rest, to eat, etc

someone talk with me about five explaining his childhood so nonchalantly one day once he realizes that he can trust delores to her surprise, and she asks why he suddenly had the strength to tell her and he looks her in the eyes and says “believe it or not, you’re stuck with me, and i’m stuck with you, and i want you to know who i am when we’re kicking this apocalypse in the ass”

someone talk with me about teenage five teaching teenage delores how to defend herself with the training he was given during his childhood but reassuring her that he’ll always be there to protect her if something were to happen (to which she reminds him that she appreciates it, but knows she can defend herself with the spite and sheer willpower she has to survive)

someone talk with me about five and delores having a makeshift wedding and five’s vows being along the lines of “even if the rest of the world was alive, i don’t think i could ever hope to find someone that makes me as truly happy as you do, and i will be eternally grateful that of anyone i could get stuck in this goddamn apocalypse with, it was always you, and it will always be you”

someone talk with me about the handler showing up from the commission to recruit five as a temporal assassin and delores as a case worker because they’re both dangerously smart and incredible at surviving in harsh conditions (also, the handler approached them separately to see where their loyalties lied and they both firmly explained they wouldn’t go anywhere without the other)

someone talk with me about delores getting fed up with the handler repeatedly making moves on five despite him clearly being uncomfortable until it bubbles to a climax and she punches her square in the jaw, which results in an ER trip and zero regret (plus five falling even harder in love with the woman who endlessly sticks up for him)

someone talk with me about five and delores plotting an escape plan to get back to 2019 which all goes well, except five had once again messed up the math (or so he thought) and he and delores are placed back in their 13 year-old bodies, but she confesses that she doesn’t mind seeing the boy she fell in love with all those years ago once again

someone talk with me about delores learning to trust and love the hargreeves just as much as five, as they learn to love and trust her just as much

someone talk with me about five always keeping track of dates and specifically remembering the exact times of significant events for himself and delores, like the moment she looked at him for the first time, the moment he knew he was in love with her, and the moment they decided they were going to stop at nothing to keep each other alive and stop the world from ending

someone talk with me about five and delores, the 58 year-old couple that they are, snuggling up on elliot’s couch together because they can’t fall asleep without the other one there to remind them that they’re safe and out of harm’s way (mostly)

someone talk with me about how delores has never been the type to step down, and she continues to stand her ground and be brutally honest when shes upset or wants five to listen to her, and he admires her bluntness (and frankly, needs it) due to his impatience and expectations of honesty at all times

someone talk with me about delores knowing exactly when five needs his time alone and stepping away to help his siblings as much as she possibly can, usually by encouragement or (again) brutal honesty hidden behind a kind and genuine smile

someone talk with me about five reminding delores of his love for her whenever it’s too quiet or he thinks she’s gone too long without him showing it, in every way he can think of, like letting her know that he would’ve lost his mind in the apocalypse without her (which.. he kind of did?), finding little things that remind him of her and bringing them to her, and holding her hand whenever he sees frustration or discomfort bubbling behind her eyes

[yanderenightmare]

Hi I don’t know if you still use this system but I remember a post where you said that you had a categories for the different types of mha boys as yandares possessive v obsessive stuff like that do you still use it while writing for other fandoms?

In reference to these posts, I believe: BNHA yandere beginnings & yandere categories

Cool question!

I'd say it was never something I heeded religiously, but more something I might've referred to every now and again in an effort to find ways to keep the different characters separate.

Adhering to those set yandere categories, it was easier to gauge what reaction different yandere types would have between each other set in similar scenarios. It was more important to me at that time to write them all fundamentally differently because I usually wrote a lot of 'bundle' posts with several characters going through the same imagine.

Take "wrongfully punished," for example, where each BNHA yandere is under the false impression that their captive darling has broken their rules somehow.

Here we have Bakugou, whom I diagnosed as a protective, possessive, and denialistic yandere. He believes that his darling has stolen a knife and proceeds to absolutely lose his shit—his first instinct is to hold back and demand she give it back with minor consequences, but as she refuses (as she hasn't stolen anything), he quickly decides on a punishment that far exceeds the crime—carving the word 'quirkless' into her arm. Then, upon understanding that he was wrong and it was all a misunderstanding, he's just as quick to crash into despair, bearing witness to his horrifying and unjustifiable actions.

His protectiveness and possessiveness come through in how hurt he is over her betrayal, how important it is to him for her to understand that there is no universe in which he'll allow her to escape, and furthermore, no possible way for her to live in the outside world without him if she did—and he'll go to any lengths to ensure she understands that, hence branding what he sees as the ultimate weakness into her arm.

He's a denialistic yandere—wherein the reality he's created for himself, he's able to view his actions as protection—for better or for worse. Condoning his behavior, telling himself that she needs him. But then, as the realization hits and he's forced to see what he's done, his denial reaches its limit, and he's slapped with the understanding that the only one she needs protection from is none other than himself.

Hawks, an obsessive, dependant, and denialistic yandere, has somewhat of a similar reaction where his denials also reaches a limit and he's forced to see his wrongs reflected on him.

However, Deku, an obsessive and possessive yandere, has a very different reaction. Instead of feeling regret or remorse, he hasn't got a single apologetic bone in his body. He's calm and collected, doesn't crack under the pressure of being wrong, and instead simply takes it in stride. In other words, he's built for it and hasn't been denying his nature the same way the other two have.

Where Bakugou and Hawks carry around a constant sense of self-loathing they deny by always finding convoluted ways of condoning their actions under pretenses, such as doing it all to protect their darling or because they love them, Deku is way more honest with himself. He's not doing any of it to protect them, and he's more than aware that love isn't a good enough excuse to hold someone captive. No, he's doing it because he can and he wants to. And he's made peace with that.

In regard to if I still use those categories, I'd say yes, to some degree.

I mean, in simpler viewpoints, one might just look at those categories as personality types. Or rather, if a character has certain set of personality traits, it's then natural for them to be a certain type of yandere.

But at the same time, it's fun to switch it up and give a character completely different yandere traits than what one might naturally expect—for example, suddenly making Bakugou more in line with the yandere type we see portrayed by Deku, and vice versa.

All in all, I'd say these categorical differences are all just tools, and I use and abuse them any way I see fit to create new and exciting takes on what would otherwise be the same story over and over.

If that makes any sense.