#it has been decided from the beginning that it ends in despair

[ja3yun]

Melting Point | P.SH | Ch.3

brother's rival!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: angst, smut (mdni), oral (f. rec), protected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, cum eating, it's the dirtiest smut I've written, sexual harassment**, violence, mentions of blood, anything else lmk! ch.3 synopsis: to get sunghoon off your mind, your friends suggest tagging along to a party, but things don't go as planned and you're driven closer to sunghoon than ever before. wc: 16.8k previous | masterlist | next a/n: hi! i have decided to give you this all early since i finished the editing early. it's actually my birthday tomorrow so i won't have time to finalise it, please take this as my gift to you! thank you for the love on the last few chapters, it means so much that you are enjoying it, and as always, comments, likes, and feedback are always appreciated! **the sexual harassment scene is small but as it can make people uncomfortable, i have put <*> before and after the scene! (this is also the only scene in the whole fic like this just fyi!) yn explains what happened with little detail later on so you won't miss anything by skipping it!

For the past week, you've been engulfed in misery. It's as though you're trapped in a downward spiral, confined to your bed while your hair tangles into knots. 

A massive part of your despair was the aching in your chest from pondering what could have been, the unknown of if you ended something that could have bloomed into something wonderful. You had never felt like this before, not through any of your situationships or even that one failed relationship when you were 16 and thought they were the one. 

Adding to your distress is the burden of deceiving your brother about the situation. Minhee came to check in on you every day to make sure you were okay. Of course, you didn’t tell him you were going through emotional turmoil, simply portraying the act of a sickly Victorian child who was too poor to leave the bed. He bought it at the beginning but now you can see him starting to question your sneeze’s authenticity. 

Still, he was there looking after you, bringing you your favourite Lucozade and going all away across town for that vegetable soup you loved. Why did he have to be so nice?

Currently, your room has been infiltrated by Allen and Rina. You haven’t messaged them or attended Uni since last Thursday and Rina being the overdramatic friend she is, came barging into your room, wearing all black to ‘mourn the time lost between you’. She wasn’t exactly enthralled by your reasoning for the lack of communication.

"So you're telling me," she exclaimed, flinging herself onto your bed, "that you, my best, most cherished friend, couldn't even bother to message me because of some guy?" her words hit you like a slap, "And not just any guy, but one you've barely spent, what, nine hours with?" 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as her words ring true; you have been wallowing over someone you hardly know, "So what if you slept with him? He's just a man, Y/N. Men are easily replaceable!" Allen shoots his girlfriend a sceptical glance, but she disregards him entirely.

You can't argue with her logic; you know how absurd it must sound to everyone else, "It's not just him, Rina," you murmur, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you, "it's Minhee too."

"Minhee's always been protective of you, especially when it comes to your flings," Rina interjects, her tone softened slightly, "Allen, back me up on this." Her boyfriend hesitates for a moment before reluctantly nodding in agreement, "She has got a point, Y/N," he admits, shrugging apologetically.

Burying your head into your hands you groan loudly, almost verging on a scream, “You guys didn’t see him when he thought I only got a lift from him, he was all like ‘If you two are dating I’ll tear him limb from limb’ it was so scary,” you recount the scene from last week with Minhee, though judging by their reactions, you realize you're failing to convey just how serious he appeared, "He sees Sunghoon as his arch-nemesis! And I slept with him! And I want to do it again!"

“Y/N, babe, it is not that fucking serious he isn’t Batman and Sunghoon isn’t Penguin.” 

"Wait, isn't Batman's arch-rival the Joker?" Allen interjects, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Allen, really? Now's not the time for comic book trivia," Rina scolds, shaking her head. "But my point remains," she continues, sitting up and clasping your hands in hers, "I promise you, Minhee won't lose it just because you're involved with Sunghoon." You're at a loss for words, partly because she makes a valid point about Minhee's dramatic tendencies, and if Rina is calling you out for being dramatic, you know it must be true.

Allen walks over to you and sits on the floor beside your bed, placing a hand on your knee “I think the best thing for you, Y/N, is just to leave it. Don’t get involved between them, just-”

“Find someone else!” Rina shouts, pouncing up like a tiger ready to attack, “Baby, you’re a genius! Y/N, we need to find you some at the party tonight!” As quick as a flash, she’s in your wardrobe looking for an outfit, flinging stuff behind her to clear her view, “You need something so diabolically sexy it’ll have every man’s dick standing to attention.” Your best friend always had a way of describing things. 

Looking down at Allen you see his sorry expression but you don’t mind, Rina has always been like this since you were little, always full of life and vibrant. She has been your best friend since she asked you to eat a worm in primary 2 to enter her secret club, one eaten worm, and a trip to the medical room because you vomited said worm right back up later, you were inseparable. You weren’t a quiet person but with her around you might as well have been a mouse next to a lion, and you loved her for it.

"What party?" you inquire, looking at the chaos in your room that you'll inevitably have to clean up later. "I haven't heard of any parties happening on campus tonight." Being Rina's best friend definitely had its perks, as her popularity ensured invitations to every cliche social event.

"There's a party on the other side of town at Yeonjun's house, and all the hottest hockey players are going to be there," Rina announces with excitement, twirling around as she brandishes an ivory white cami dress with ruffled detailing on the straps and bust. How did she even find that? The last time you wore it was three years ago to your brother's 17th birthday party.

"Rina, I wore that when I was 16. It's not going to fit anymore. Bodies change, you know, and thankfully, my boobs have gotten bigger since then," you protest, trying to reason with her.

Blowing out air, Rina throws it at you with force whacking you in the face with it, “Squeeze into it. We’re going and you’re wearing that with those nice black Naked Wolfe dupes you got from Pretty Little Thing.” With no room to argue you fold it up in your arms.

“Since when did we go to Choi's parties? Didn’t he reject you and you swore to never to even breathe the same air again?” Rina had the biggest crush on Yeonjun but when she asked him to take her on a date he flat out said no and with zero explanation. Rina doesn’t take no for an answer so when it was a brutal rejection like that, she was on the warpath to make him regret it, it got so bad you had to physically stop her from signing him up to the Army.

Still rifling through your closet, Rina finds the boots and a matching leather jacket. "Yeah, well, I've matured," she quips with a mischievous grin.

“She’s going to use me to make it clear that she’s over him, which is right isn’t it babe, you’re over him.” Bless Allen, Rina did truly love him and there wasn’t a more perfect fit for her, but even he knew she couldn’t let a grudge go. Nodding her head she agrees, shining a wide grin to her very understanding and loving boyfriend. 

One day you’ll find someone like Allen.

Rina gives you a time limit of 2 hours to get ready as she runs home with Allen to get changed herself. Parties are great, they’re fun and you can forget everything for a night, get drunk, and make terrible decisions to mask the ones you’ve already made. You haven’t been to any parties other side of town so this is the one time to undoubtedly let loose and embarrass yourself. It was in Sunghoon’s territory though, but he never goes to parties so you’re safe from the awkwardness of bumping into him.

Right on time, Rina and Allen are outside in a Lyft, the driver honking you down. You do one last check of your hair and makeup which you did to match the weird Bride of Chucky aesthetic Rina has set out, it’s not anything amazing, just some eyeliner and straight hair but you do look good. 

“You can do this Y/N.” Whispering encouragement to yourself before you run downstairs. Minhee was out with friends and your mum was off galovanting somewhere, so you didn’t have to worry about them asking why you’re suddenly fit as a fiddle. 

Tonight you have one job - to forget about Sunghoon and let your mind be free of any thoughts. 

____

Arriving at the party, it’s already kind of busy, enough people that you have to weave your way through the hallway and into the living area which has now become overrun with loud Uni students. Everyone dresses up so nicely in this part of the city, it’s like you walked straight into Paris with how glamorous everyone looks. It makes you feel a little inferior but that can change with a few double vodkas and too many tequila roses. 

Yeonjun's shared house is a bit chaotic but undeniably spacious, which means it takes you a bit of time to locate the booze amidst the clutter. The occupiers of the house, all members of the Albion Hockey Team, are part of the reason Sunghoon ended up skating at Belmore, and by extension, part of the reason you're now on a mission to drink their place dry. 

As you step into the kitchen to pour yourself something, Rina beats you to it, already lining up some plastic neon shot glasses. 

Looking around, you see a few potential boys you could harmlessly flirt with, none of them as pretty as Sunghoon, but no one could ever be, you haven’t seen anyone as ethereal as him since you were a little 7-year-old girl. 

But tonight isn’t about him, well it is, but it’s about forgetting how perfectly his hair falls on his face, or how his eyebrows are so gorgeously thick and dark, and those freckles that are scattered on his face in all the right places are just perfect to kiss, and how his cock was the only one that made you feel satisfied, and ho-

“See anyone you like?” Rina’s voice thankfully rips you from your thoughts, pushing a shot into one of your hands and a pint glass of something in the other. Hurriedly, you down your shot and chase it with what now you know is a quadruple vodka and orange Breezer; the measurements Rina poured were always lethal like Majorca party strip-type measurements. Allen is close behind her, clinging to her just like she loves her men to do, but he is looking around with you, assessing from a man’s perspective.

Pointing sneakily to one guy with puppy dog eyes, you say to Rina, “He looks good and dependable, and his lips are nice.”

“Y/N, who the fuck cares about ‘dependable’ you are looking for someone to fuck the name Sunghoon out of your brain.” Rina declares bluntly, earning a pinch from Allen's warning grip as he shoots her a look, silently urging her to be more supportive in your time of need. "Okay, okay, how about we just get drunk and see who comes up to you? In that outfit, you'll have them lining up," she amends, holding her cup out for cheers. Allen nods in agreement, joining in the toast.

Not even an hour later, you’ve already misplaced your jacket and the dress you had to suck yourself into is hugging you tightly as your stomach bloats from how much alcohol you’ve consumed in a short amount of time. Despite your typically high tolerance, you find yourself more intoxicated than ever, swaying to the music blaring from various Alexas scattered throughout the house. The party has swelled in size, with unfamiliar faces outnumbering the familiar ones. Yet, you can't shake the feeling of being watched, though you can't pinpoint the source.

With a cup in your hand, you stretch up and move your hips to the music but it isn’t on time, you might as well be playing one of those ‘Guess who isn’t listening to the same music’ games, but you don’t care.

A hand runs itself down your back, stopping just above your ass but you don’t stop dancing. The mystery body starts to move along with you, his groyne making its way to your backside and pressing it in so you unconsciously grind on it. You’re so far gone you don’t register it until his breath is on your neck. Turning around, you meet a set of prowling eyes that instils uneasiness. 

‘This is your chance to forget about Sunghoon though’ you argue with yourself. It’s not the right call and you know it but if you disregarded the weird feeling you got from him, he was genuinely handsome, tall and burley, clearly on the hockey team, and if romance books taught you anything it’s that hockey players could fuck really good.

“Hey," he smirks, his arms encircling you as his hands find their way to your rear, giving it a firm squeeze, "You look too sexy to be on your own. Who did you come with? A boyfriend?" His question seems calculated, an attempt to gauge your receptiveness, though you doubt the presence of a boyfriend would deter him in the slightest.

“I came with friends,” You try your best to play along. Rina was right, all you have to do is have a good fuck and you’ll forget about Sunghoon, not feel guilty about lying to Minhee, and everything should sort itself out…right?

Clearly, your answer pleased him because the lack of mention of a boyfriend had him giving your butt a harsh squeeze, “Why don’t you dance with me then, since they’ve ditched you.” He was a sleaze, that much was obvious but it was just a fuck at the end of the day, a one-night thing to prove that any man can give you what Sunghoon can. 

So you throw caution to the wind and dance with him, trying to enjoy the way his hands are groping all over your body. He doesn’t get girls outside of parties because no man who knows how to feel a woman would be grabbing like this but those tequila roses are doing a great job at helping you not give a flying fuck right now. 

Rina spots you when she comes hand in hand with Allen into the makeshift dance area and looks a little worried but you wave her off, signalling to her that you’re fine. Accepting your dismissal, she grabs Allen and takes him somewhere low-key. 

<*>

Roughly 20 minutes later, the boy before you leans down, his lips on your ear, “Let’s go upstairs.” His breath blowing into your ear makes you cringe but nod and follow him as he practically drags you up the carpeted staircase and into the first empty room he finds. It doesn’t take long before his body pins you to the wall, his hands sliding up your 2 sizes too small dress already trying to get your underwear off. He wasn’t kind, or gentle, it was rough and barbarian. 

Once he rids you of your pants, leaving them pooled around your ankles, he slides his finger up to your entrance, not even waiting before plunging into you mercilessly, “I’m going to have so much fun with you.” His voice sends a shiver up your spine, and not in a good way. Was this such a good idea? This isn’t what you imagined.

As he continues his attack on your hole you realise you aren’t getting any pleasure from this at all, in fact, it’s making you miss Sunghoon more. He was so attentive and caring about making you feel good and this guy is just fingering you to make sure his cock will fit. He didn’t need to bother opening you up if the imprint of him you felt when dancing was anything to go by. 

The guy isn’t even kissing you, just staring at the wall behind him trying to make this quick. You need to stop this, you don’t feel good being here with him, “Uhm, I think my friends are shouting for me.” It was a pathetic excuse but hopefully, he would get the message and get off of you. 

"I didn't hear anything," he dismisses, adding a second finger and increasing the pressure, causing discomfort akin to a carpet burn. His indifference only adds to your unease, and when you hear him unzipping his trousers, panic sets in.

You have mere seconds to escape this horrifying scenario. Your mind races through options, but it's clear asking him nicely won't work. With a surge of desperation, you attempt to push him away, pleading, "Really, I should go."

"Don't be a fucking tease. I put in the work," he growls, moving his weight to crush you even tighter against the wall, making escape impossible. Regret floods your mind as you realise you should have trusted your instincts about him. You should have listened to your gut, you knew he was horrible and yet you didn’t listen. A woman’s instinct is always right so why did you betray yours now?

The gears are turning in your head. Think. Your teary eyes widen and you gasp inward, doing all you can do in the situation - kick him in the balls. In a split second, you act on impulse and deliver a stinging knee to his exposed groyne. The contact sends him flying to the ground in agony. 

Seizing the opportunity, you hastily adjust your underwear and flee the room, your heart racing with adrenaline and revulsion at what nearly happened. 

<*>

Feeling icky and in desperate need to go home, you look for two things, Rina and your jacket; if you find your jacket first, you can phone Rina and get the fuck out of here. 

Roaming around the house you see the familiar leather jacket hanging on the back of a dining room chair, all your belongings still there, thank the heavens. Unlocking your phone you dial Rina’s number but she doesn’t answer, she’s nowhere to be found in this massive place because she’s probably sucking off Allen somewhere. Shit. 

As you frantically flip through your contacts, your thumb hesitates over Minhee's name. If you called him, you would never hear the end of it and it wouldn’t just be Sunghoon he would forbid you from seeing but literally any of the outside world that wasn’t school or the rink. But desperate times call for desperate measures so you scurry outside into the cold, trying to sober up a little before phoning him to pick you up. 

But there's no answer from Minhee. He's probably out celebrating Jungmo's birthday with his friends, too intoxicated to even consider coming to your aid. Why did you even entertain the thought? Now he'll worry because he missed your call, you realise with a pang of guilt. 

Crafting a flimsy excuse in a text message, you attempt to play it off as a casual check-in, hoping to alleviate any concern he might have.

A bolt of panic jolts through your back as you hear the guy from earlier’s voice bellowing down the stairs, calling you every name under the sun. If he found you, you don’t know what he would do, so you hide behind a group of people in the front garden, trying to blend in. Shakily, you scroll through your apps trying to find any taxi service that would come ASAP, but of course, everyone and their gran is trying to get home so as you try to book a ride the max wait time is 40 minutes.

Crumbling to the ground you sob, you just want to get away from here, you want Rina or Allen to come to find you, you want to feel safe again. You want Sunghoon.

Sunghoon. He lives on this side of town. Could you have the gall to ask him to come rescue you after you basically left him in the dust? You stand up, fixing your hair and dress, and wiping your tears away as if he can see you and hit call, “This is a bad idea, Y/N. He won’t eve-”

“Hello?” He picked up within 2 rings, not even long enough to finish your inner monologue. 

Hearing his voice come through the phone makes your heart skip, you haven’t heard or seen him in a week but you would think it was years the way you choke up, “Y/N, It’s late. What do you want?”

“S-sorry I-,” You can’t get the sentence out before bawling to him on the phone, all the tears you’ve held in now overflowing tenfold. All the pent-up anguish and fear pour out, overwhelming you as you cling to the lifeline of Sunghoon's voice on the other end of the line. How can you possibly explain this to him? Even in your sober state, you doubt you could articulate the events of the evening - the desperation to forget him, the reckless decisions made in the name of distraction, the groping, it all sounds so foolish and shameful.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? Talk to me.” His voice is flooded with concern and you hear him shuffle on the other end, “Sweets, please?” he drags out the please, begging you to cooperate with him. What you don’t know is he’s putting on trousers as you cry, ready to come get you before you even have the chance to ask him, “Are you out? Is that music?”

“I’m at Yeonjun’s party.” He tenses, feeling even more worried for you than before. He knows what that crew is like and if you, a well-assured girl who can most definitely handle herself is crying, that means something bad has happened, "I'm sorry, Hoonie. I shouldn't have called. It's just... the taxis are all too far away, and I can't find Rina, and I just really need to go home," you confess in a rush, the words tumbling out in a jumble of desperation and regret.

"I'm coming to get you. Stay there, and don't talk to anyone," Sunghoon commands, his voice firm with determination. Both of you feel the same palpitations of fear and concern, the only remedy being Sunghoon's swift arrival by your side. With a swift motion, he throws on his black hoodie and bolts out the door of his flat, ignoring his flatmate's bewildered inquiries. There's no time to waste - he needs to reach you as quickly as possible.

Sitting beside a couple making out, you lift your knees and cross your arms, tucking your face into the space you’ve created. How could you be so stupid? You’ve just created a bigger mess than this had to be. 

Why couldn't you have just followed Allen's advice and left it alone? No grand plan to get over Sunghoon, just accepting the choice you made and moving on. Sure, you'd be miserable, but at least you wouldn't be freezing outside a house party in an unfamiliar side of town, surrounded by strangers. The laughter of partygoers echoes around you as you cry, feeling utterly exposed and humiliated. Every approaching figure sends a shiver of fear down your spine in case it’s him, causing you to recoil further into yourself.

Your mind is doing that thing that all women do in these situations and blaming yourself for what happened, it’s tricking you into thinking you asked for it because you followed him, but you didn’t know it was going to be like that, so degrading.  You feel so weak, like a damsel in distress, this wasn’t you. Maybe you should have just walked home and dealt with it on your own.

There’s an engine in the distance and you pray to anyone that it’s Sunghoon. Headlights shine through the street and the car comes to a halt, tyres screeching as it emergency brakes. Looking up you see the 6-foot-tall boy you’ve been dying to see since last Thursday. Instantly, your body relaxes knowing you’re almost safe. 

Sunghoon slams the door shut and charges up to the door, he almost walks into the party but you squeak out his name loud enough he notices you, “Y/N.” The way he says your name is like he’s both relieved and desolate.

Dropping down to his knees, Sunghoon pulls you closer, his touch gentle as he softly rubs your arms to keep you warm. It's clear from your dishevelled state that you're as drunk as a skunk.

He asks what happened, concern etched into every line of his face, but you can't find the strength to articulate it. Instead, you shake your head, tears streaming down your cheeks unabated.

The vulnerability in your body language speaks volumes, but Sunghoon needs to know the specifics, "Please, tell me," he implores, his voice tinged with urgency and worry.

"This guy," you begin, wiping away tears as you struggle to compose yourself, "I was dancing, and he said we should go upstairs, so I did, and he..." A sob interrupts your explanation, tearing through your chest and escaping into the night air. You instinctively cover your mouth, as if trying to contain the anguish within.

After a few moments, you regain some semblance of composure and continue your slurred account. "He was touching me, which was fine at first, and then I didn't want him to anymore, and he..." The words catch in your throat, rendering you unable to finish the sentence.

Sunghoon's jaw clenches with restrained anger as he pieces it together, "Did he..." His voice trails off, the unspoken question hanging heavily between you. He doesn’t want to ask in fear of what your answer will be.

"No, I got out of there before he could," you assure him, relief evident in your voice.

Sunghoon's head falls onto your knees, relief washing over him knowing you escaped further harm, but anger simmers just beneath the surface. He wanted to commit every crime against this pervert because how dare he think he had any right to do that?

Sunghoon lifts his head back up, his eyes meeting yours and it breaks you a little because you basically just confessed to nearly fucking another man.

"You did so good, Sweets, getting away and calling me. So fucking good," he praises, his arms enveloping you in a tight embrace, offering whatever comfort he can summon. He knows that a mere hug won't erase the turmoil raging within you, but it's a start, "I'm so proud of you," he murmurs, his words a balm to your wounded soul, eliciting even more tears from you as you allow yourself to be held tightly.

The smell of him and the softness of his hoodie was all the feeling you needed earlier, that safety you begged for. Sunghoon strokes your back, laying a few kisses atop your head between intervals of his whispered reassuring words. 

Leaning back to look at you, he takes his right thumb and wipes your tears away, “Let me get you out of here.” He wanted to ransack the party for the bastard that made you cry like this, but he fights himself against it, choosing to focus on you and your needs rather than his want to kick fuck out of that guy.

“Stand up for me, Sweets.” He holds you steady while you find your footing on the grass. Once he knows you’re okay and not going to drunkenly collapse back down, he fastens up your leather jacket and wraps an arm around your shoulder, guiding you to the safety of his car. 

Just as he has calmed you down and you’re halfway down the front path, a venomous voice invades your ears and you tense under Sunghoon’s touch, giving him every indication of who it could be.

“There you are, gorgeous. Sorry, lad, this one’s taken.” He goes to grab you but Sunghoon blocks him and pushes him back, holding himself back from battering his lights out. 

In shock, the guy glances at Sunghoon, his expression morphing into a mixture of disbelief and indignation. "Nah, this fucking cock tease owes me," he retorts, his tone dripping with contempt.

A heavy silence descends upon the scene as a crowd begins to emerge from the party, their murmurs mixing with the tension in the air. You catch snippets of conversation, people questioning Sunghoon's presence at a Choi party, knowing full well the history between him and Yeonjun.

Sunghoon and Yeonjun have had beef since they were in 3rd Year of High School after the ice skater found out Yeonjun snuck weed into his bag for a ‘joke’ and it consequently got him suspended from Skating until he proved himself through drug tests. It's a deep-seated grudge that neither of them has forgotten. Since then, he hasn’t stepped foot near Yeonjun or any of his friends.

Sunghoon steps up to the guy, staring him down. Your perpetrator might be built but Sunghoon is tall and way more intimidating, everyone can see that, “Say that again.” "Say that again," Sunghoon challenges, his voice laced with a quiet intensity, silently daring the guy to escalate the situation further. It's a dangerous game, and Sunghoon is teetering on the edge, desperate for an excuse to unleash his pent-up fury upon the guy who dared to harm you.

“That bitch is a fu-” 

The garden erupts into chaos as Sunghoon's fist connects with the boy's face, the impact echoing through the air like a gunshot. The crowd gasps in shock, some scrambling to film the fight while others recoil in horror. With each blow, Sunghoon's rage intensifies, his fists raining down on his target with unrelenting force. There is no thought in his mind, only a primal instinct to protect you at all costs.

Blood gushes from the boy's nose and mouth, staining the grass crimson as he struggles to breathe due to the onslaught. He splurts out blood but that doesn’t stop Sunghoon as he shows no mercy, his relentless assault fueled by a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The sheer power behind his punches threatens to shatter bones, each strike delivering a punishing blow that leaves his opponent battered and broken. You swear you hear cracks coming from the boy’s nose and jaw.

Rina and Allen run out to the commotion and watch as you try to stop him, “Hoonie, stop!” You scream as you stand still, not daring to get in the middle of it out of fear of catching a hit. Your words don’t stop him though, only making him angrier because he can hear the bubble in your throat from your tears. The boy below starts to appeal with him to stop too, not sure how much more he can take. 

Pushing him forward, Rina signals for Allen to help but he’s also too scared to move, mimicking your ceased state but eventually she pushes him so hard he ends up in it anyway, grabbing Sunghoon by his hoodie to get him off. The helpful boy almost gets an elbow to the face but he swerves it.

“Don’t you dare fucking touch my girl again,” Sunghoon physically spits on him, pushing Allen off in the process. 

My girl.

The words make your heart pound, even more than it already is due to the booze. Right now you should be terrified because Sunghoon just displayed about 10 red flags, but why are you not scared at all? He got so angry he nearly punched a man to death and you still feel completely safe even just being around him. Maybe it’s the fact that he’ll protect you so willingly.

Sunghoon shakes the blood from his hand, wiping some of it on his sweatpants before he finally faces you again, “Y/N…” He’s filled with anxiety that you’re petrified of him, of this protective side that even he didn’t know he possessed, “I-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you pull him into a hug, your face nuzzling into his heaving chest. A mixture of missing him and feeling grateful for his act causes you to squeeze him so tight he can’t breathe.

Sunghoon hesitates for a moment before returning the embrace, holding you close, his heart pounding against yours in rhythm. Despite everything, in this moment, you find comfort in each other's arms, a silent understanding passing between you that transcends words.

He places a side kiss on your temple and looks at you, “I’ll take you to mine.” 

“No, you won’t, are you crazy?” Rina’s voice pierces through the tense atmosphere, making you stumble back, but Sunghoon is there to catch you, his protective grip reassuring, “I am not letting my best friend go home with a psychopath.”

He scoffs, facing her with a hard expression and one arm still holding onto you, “Best friend? You mean the best friend you couldn’t even be bothered to stick with because you were fucking your shrimp of a boyfriend?” 

Pinching him, you shake your head, you don’t want him to start bad-mouthing your friends just because he’s angry, it’s not their fault. He whispers a ‘sorry’, his bloody hand stroking the last of your tears away before he turns back to Rina, tone firm, “I am taking her home and you are going to cover for her if her family asks where she is in the morning, got it?” Without waiting for their response, he guides you towards his car, planting another kiss on your head before opening the door for you.

As he shuts the door behind you, he glances back at the scene he left behind with a small smirk, feeling a sense of vindication from getting a few hits against one of Yeonjun's lackeys. He gets in the driver's seat, putting the heating on and starting the car.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon.” You mumble, appreciating the heat that's blowing your way as you start to get sleepy from all the adrenaline leaving you. He buckles your seatbelt for you, untwisting it for your comfort.

“Why are you apologising?” His tone is firm yet gentle, and you can sense the protectiveness in his words.

“For phoning you, for getting you into that mess, it’s my fault,” you explain, feeling the weight of responsibility heavy on your shoulders.

“Don’t,” Sunghoon interrupts, his grip on the steering wheel tightening, “Don’t apologise for any of this, none of this is your fault.”

Regaining some composure, he softly puts his hand on your thigh but you jump slightly, memories from the previous guy coming to the forefront of your brain. The reaction you have only fuels Sunghoon’s anger back up but before he gets back out of the car and finishes the job, he takes his hand off you and drives back to his place. Luckily he lives only 10 minutes away and with the roads being so quiet at this time, he blazes through it in 6 minutes. 

In that small amount of time, you pass out, snoring slightly, the noise making Sunghoon smile. You were so cute when you slept, so peaceful like you didn’t have one care in the world. He wanted that for you. Always. 

Pulling up to the street he parks his car half on the pavement and turns the ignition off, being careful to not wake you.

The biggest challenge he’ll face is getting you up the stairs to the front door but he manages to carry you bridal style up and into the house. His two flatmates Jay and Jake are perched on the couch the way he left them earlier. The look on their faces drops when they see blood and a passed-out girl, “Is she okay?” Jake asks.

Sunghoon hushes them and keeps walking, “She’s fine, Lee Heosun isn’t though.” Leaving it at that, he walks into his room with you and lays you down on his bed. Your dress looks tight and uncomfortable so he picks around his room for some clothes to change you into but all he has is a Metallica shirt and some boxers in his drawer, everything else either needs to be washed or is his skating gear. 

He lays the makeshift pyjamas on the bed before trying to take your dress off gently but you’re wriggling against him, unconsciously fighting him so you can keep sleeping, “Sweets we need to get you changed.” You grumble and shake your head, you’re incoherent but causing Sunghoon issues when you try to kick him away, seeking the deep release of sleep, “Work with me here, baby,” he exhales, finally getting the zip of your dress down. 

After that, it was easy enough to strip you naked and slip you into his t-shirt. He did try to get you to put on the boxers but you had enough by then, rolling over onto his bed and getting comfy, your ass is hanging out. Normally, Sunghoon would be thinking something crude but all he is thinking about is how someone else touched you. 

He promises to himself he won’t let that happen ever again.

“M’sorry, Hoonie.” you muffle into his pillow. 

Tucking you into bed he kisses your forehead lightly, “Stop apologising, Sweets and go to sleep for me.” 

Tapping your lips, you indicate you want a kiss, which makes Sunghoon hesitate. Eventually, he sighs, giving in to your request. “Just one, okay?” he concedes, leaning in to kiss you softly. The warmth of his lips against yours comforts you and him. He missed your lips the past week and he wouldn’t do without your kisses again. 

“He told me not to see you.” You say forcing him to stay close to you, stealing smooches as you talk.

“Who did?” Sunghoon asks, brows furrowing.

“Minhee.”

Ah, it all makes so much more sense to him now. It wasn’t just your brain turning over and over in your head; Minhee had actually warned you to stay away.

Sunghoon kisses you longingly once more before pulling the covers up to your chin,  sending you off to sleep. 

_____

There has to be one of those cymbal clapping monkeys in your head because as you groggily sit up, all you feel is a pounding and ringing sensation. The last time you had a hangover this bad was last year at your birthday party when Rina came back to the table with 10 skittle bombs and 5 sambucas. The night was fun but the morning after was most definitely not. 

It takes you some time to force your eyes open, expecting to see Rina’s room, but unless she heavily redecorated the complete opposite of her aesthetic in the past few weeks, it was safe to say you were not in Rina’s room. It’s strange because she always lets you crash at hers after a night out, it was an unspoken rule you both made so you could debrief the events of the night before and cringe every time you remembered some of the munters you kissed. 

You rub your tired eyes to try and get a better scope of your surroundings but nothing about this room is familiar. Glancing around the walls you see posters of some random anime and Red Velvet, shelves filled with pictures of, and some shelves with all types of cologne and figurines displayed. 

As you look down you see yourself dressed in only a t-shirt, no pants, no trousers - this cannot be good. Who did you speak with last night? If you were being honest, the whole night was a blur and the more you try to think the more your head hurt. The t-shirt smells familiar which is a good sign, as a matter of fact, the whole room smells familiar. It’s not overwhelmingly obvious but you could definitely place it. 

Getting out of the comfortable bed you start to nosy around the person’s belongings like you were on an episode of Come Dine With Me, looking for any clue as to who the owner is. 

The room is clean bar a few clothes and a gym bag that you have one-hundred percent seen before. Your best bet is to look at the photos splattered on the long mirror adjacent to the bed but when you look at it, the reflection of the wall behind you makes you spin around and observe. 

The wall is filled with floating shelves covered in trophies and medals, an astronomical amount of awards for one person, kind of like Minhee has. The ironic thing is, you think this tiny room might hold more trophies than your brother’s double room dedicated to them. 

Your steps slow as you approach a particularly large trophy, its gleaming surface catching the light. Your heart sinks as you read the nameplate, the realisation hitting you like a wave crashing against the shore.

No, no, no There is no way you are in his room..

Headache or not you need to start thinking about what ensued at that stupid party. 

You got there, Rina handed you a few drinks, you took a few shots, danced with a few people, but what else? You don’t even remember seeing Sunghoon there so how the fuck are you in his bedroom and presumably in his shirt, or better yet, in only his shirt. 

Cursing yourself was too polite a punishment because last night you made a promise to get over him by getting under someone and clearly that didn’t happen. 

Oh no. You think to yourself as you start to wonder if he was the one you got under and you don’t even remember it. You grudge yourself because sober you wanted nothing more than to have sex with him again and now drunk you might have gotten the opportunity and forgot every single bit of it. She was not your best friend at the moment. 

On the bright side, this was your chance to poke around his room and uncover any icks that could help you with your Sunghoon problem. You see a pair of boxers strewn on the floor and shove them on, trying to save yourself some dignity. 

The trophies were magnificent. You knew he was the best but to see all his accomplishments displayed so blatantly like this struck you with awe. The years ranged from 2011 to now which just showcased how long he has been dedicated to the sport. You understand he’s been doing it since he was a kid, you got the privilege to watch him, but you didn’t get to see all his competitions - not the ones Minhee didn’t compete in at least. 

Next to the last trophy is a picture of him, his dad, and his mum with what you assume is his first-ever award. He looked just how you remembered him, so cute and bright, the ice skating persona then was one far different than the ‘cocky’ one he has now. Back then he was branded as the nation's cutie pie and had every old woman trying to adopt him as their own, like how teenage girls adopt men in bands and claim them as their children. 

You mourned the kid he used to be, only imagining his situation was the same as your brothers - grew up too fast with too much pressure. 

Moving over to his desk you see his University books and a laptop with stickers he’s collected from random places. You don’t know a lot of them but see a few Sanrio stickers and smile, he is for sure Tuxedosam in human form. 

There’s not a lot scandalous about the rest of the room which busted your mission. You could look through his drawers but you have to draw the line before it gets creepy. 

There is, however, a bottle of water and some aspirin next to the bed which he must have left for you. Swallowing the physical pills, you now need to swallow the metaphorical ones and leave the room to face the boy you pied for a week.

A sick feeling bubbles in your tummy that could either be from the obscene amount of alcohol you drank or seeing him again. You did technically see him last night even if you don’t remember, but that makes the turning in your stomach worse because what did you do last night? Best case scenario? You didn’t embarrass yourself.

Hyping yourself up by shaking your shoulders, you open the door and head down the hall. By any miracle he won’t be there, you can put your shoes on and make a run for it. Sadly for you, when you see a broad back walking into the kitchen completely oblivious to your presence, you realise quickly you need to face this. Face Sunghoon.

“Hey,” Shooting around at the sound of your voice, Sunghoon’s eyes widen when he sees you like he wasn’t the one to carry you to bed and change you; it’s good to see you found the boxers he failed to fight on you last night.

“How are you feeling?” He doesn’t know how much you remember and he doesn’t know what to do if you don’t. How would he bring up anything that happened at the party without upsetting you all over again?

Sitting on a high stool at the island, you rest your head on one of your palms and close your eyes, “Fucking awful, my head has its own personal marching band,” you attempt to laugh at your analogy but it hurts too much, the strain on your head causes you to wince, “Did I, uh, did I call you last night?”

Shit, you don’t remember. Sunghoon physically stiffens because he doesn’t know what to say. You have every right to know what happened to you but then you might relive the memory and turn back into the girl from last night, and he never wanted you to feel like that again. 

As you stare at him expectantly, he doesn’t move, the only thing stopping him from looking like a 2D manga character is his shifting eyes that are looking everywhere but at you. 

The way Sunghoon is reacting is making you nervous. You must have fucked up big time if Park Sunghoon is speechless, “Sunghoon I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

His eyes widen, your choice of words ironic to your situation. If he can make you remember at your own free will then that has to be better than just springing it on you, right? “You didn’t do anything out of order, I promise. You called me to come pick you up,” he pauses looking down at the now suddenly interesting countertop, “Do you remember why you phoned me?”

You lift your head from your hand and shake your head, “No, not really. I remember drinking lots and then it kind of blacks out.” Your brain vessels are popping at the hard work you’re putting in to remember because by Sunghoon’s facial expression, you’re missing something massive, “I do remember dancing, and then sitting on the ground outside.” The memories fade in and out, only recalling locations.

He blows cold air and nods slowly, knowing he is going to have to tell you, “Y/N, do you remember a guy?” Seeing your eyes dart about like you’re trying to find the answer in the air tells Sunghoon you don’t remember, “He uh, he was dancing with you and asked you to go upstairs?” He is giving you tiny hints to help you cast your mind back which seems to be working enough.

“I went upstairs and,” all the images from last night flash quickly by, how you walked up the stairs, how he pinned you against the wall, his unappealing touches, how he-. That’s why Sunghoon looks so apprehensive to tell you flat out what happened, “Oh…yeah.” 

Suddenly, you feel like you’re back in your body from last night, that guy's fingers still on you and his breath sticking to your skin. It made you feel disgusting and your body didn’t fit right over your bones anymore. Your mouth fills with saliva and you grip the countertop, this only ever happens when you are going to be sick or have a panic attack, in this case, it could be both but for now, it’s only a nauseous reaction. Tears prick your eyes as you try to stop yourself from breaking down.

Rushing over, Sunghoon twists your seat to face him so he can envelope you in his arms, “Shh, you’re safe here.” And you believe him. You are safe as long as he is with you, his soft touches are a testament to that.

Sunghoon shuts his eyes, wishing he could take away all the pain and sorrow you’re feeling but he’s a useless bystander who can only watch you go through this. He knows words and affection only go so far and it would take you a while to come to terms with the ordeal, but he’s silently vowing to himself that he will be here for you. 

It’s strange how rapidly he became attached to you, like you were a bright light and he was a moth, too distracted by your beauty to think about the danger. 

Once you settled down a little, he pulled away to check your face for straggled tears and wiped them away, “I will never let anyone touch you again. Not like that.” 

With your memory piecing back together, you pull yourself away from him, grabbing his wrist and inspecting his hand. He had punched that guy so much that the scene before you looked like something out of a gory horror film. Sunghoon’s knuckles are cleaned but bruised and discoloured, the swollenness of his hand indicates a minor fracture. 

He wanted you to forget that part but he supposed you would see it eventually. It took him a long time to get the blood stain off, red tinges still visible if you looked hard enough. He has a pictorial for a sponsor in a few days that he’s either going to need his hand airbrushed over or cancel it completely. It didn’t matter the outcome, it was worth it. There will always be more ad deals in the future.

You bring his injured hand to your lips and kiss the knuckles softly which causes Sunghoon to suck in a breath and his throat to close over. Even when you were in dismay you still found time to look after him in the simplest of ways, ways he doesn’t know he needs until you’re already tending to him. 

“You need to wrap this up and put some ointment on it or it’ll scar. Where can I find some wrap and Savlon?” You stand up, not taking your eyes off his battered hand.

“I’ll get them, they’re in the toilet I think.” He strolls to the bathroom and finds some old bandages and Geromlene that should do the job just fine. When he walks back into the kitchen you have a cup of water and a piece of kitchen towel, “Here.” He hands you what you need.

Pushing him onto the stool you once occupied, you put his hand on the worktop to clean it, “You know, you shouldn’t have done that.” 

He knows the implications of his actions, especially with people recording. If it got to the board he could be removed from competing at Nationals and stripped of his titles, “I guess, but it was worth it.” The boy wants to say that you’re worth it but he doesn’t, scared you’ll pull away again, “I got some revenge from it too.”

The damage to his hand isn’t as bad as you thought but as it tremors slightly, you know some nerve damage has been done. Slathering it in Germolene stings him but he doesn’t let you know it hurts him, he just grits and bares it, letting you continue. Wrapping the bandage around the wound, you collect your thoughts, “What do you mean revenge?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you one day,” he shrugs but his words set a sadness in your chest because when would he get to tell you this mysterious problem he has with your aggressor? Sunghoon is saying it like he has a lifetime to tell you all these stories but you shouldn’t even be speaking to him now.

“I am truly sorry, Hoonie,” He tries to talk but you interject, “Not just about last night but for shutting you down like that.” Pursing his lips, his eyes are trained on the bandage, “I just can’t be with you.”

You finish up and kiss his hand again. It’s not difficult to fix someone's physical wounds, there are all sorts of treatments and medications for them, it’s the emotional nicks and cuts you have a hard time patching up. You didn’t really think it would affect him but that’s a lot easier to manipulate yourself into thinking when the boy isn’t in front of you with his face contorted, looking like an injured puppy. 

“Minhee doesn’t own you, y’know. You can see whoever you want.” He retorts, hoping you find some reason in his words. Confused, you scrunch your eyebrows as he explains, “You said last night Minhee forbid you from seeing me.”

Ah, drunken you really stuck her foot in it, “I know he doesn’t own me, but you should have seen his face. I’ve never seen him so angry.”

“How did he find out about us?” he asks. Sunghoon says ‘us’ so casually, like you’ve been an ‘us’ forever. He finds it so natural to talk about you as part of him. When he told Jay and Jake about your impromptu date the night of the Zamboni he kept speaking for both of you, how ‘we’ had a great time and ‘we’ just got one another. 

“You drove your car up to my front door. The next morning he was all like ‘If you date him Y/N, I’ll kill him’ or something like that.” Your impression of Minhee makes Sunghoon laugh because you nail it perfectly - the scowl, the hard-lined eyes, you must have seen that face so much to perfect it.

Standing up, Sunghoon takes the medical stuff back to the bathroom where he found it, giving himself time to think of ways he can change your mind, find a loophole, anything that allows him to be around you. It’s selfish to want you with him knowing what it does to your brain but if he can somehow convince you, he’ll do anything.

Walking back to you, he sees your figure perched on the stool and there’s a lightbulb moment that goes off in his head, “Did he say date?” 

You spin around at his question, unsure of what he is getting at, “What? Yeah, he said ‘date and stuff’ I think.” 

“Then let’s not date.” 

Slouching, you agree, nodding your head and trying not to look too upset. The notion of not dating him seems to nip your feelings more than you thought.

Seeing your saddened expression, Sunghoon quickly recovers, “No, let’s-” he pauses for a moment, trying to find a nice way to say it, “Let’s keep it casual, keep it strictly hooking up.”

You bring your eyes to meet his pleading ones but you don’t understand the whole situation. When you called it off, he walked away so easily you thought he didn’t care but in front of you now, he seems the exact opposite, “You didn’t seem bothered about me stopping whatever this is between us at the rink,” as you point your finger between you both, Sunghoon can only let out a ‘huh?’ and lean on the island, “You said ‘suit yourself’, like, that would indicate you couldn’t care less.”

Honestly, Sunghoon just didn’t know how to respond at the moment. He wanted to say more but what could he have said?

That was also the reason for his dry response, he decided that it might be best to let you walk away, for your own sake, “It’s not like that, Sweets. I didn’t mean to be like that, I just…I don’t know.” He couldn’t articulate his thoughts at the moment, brain preoccupied with how to keep you here, “Look, you can say no but if you’re the same as me, you know you want this.”

“It won’t ever just be a hooking-up situation though and you know it.” You had to call it what it is. The way you both feel, even in your week apart, was enough to know this would never work. Someone’s feelings, probably you both, would grow so immense that it would never stay casual. 

“We make a deal, a promise, swear it on your brother's name that we won’t get attached. You’re too loyal to betray him and I can keep myself in check.” Sunghoon is highly aware of how desperate he sounds right now but he doesn’t mind. 

“But I would already be betraying him by even considering having sex with you again.” You’re crestfallen as you speak, gazing down and playing with your fingers.

Sunghoon has the opposite reaction however, his face has a slight smile while he brings his hands to your shoulders, gaining your full attention, “But he said you can’t date me, not that you can’t fuck me.”

“I think it was implied, Hoon.”

“But not explicitly stated.” If Sunghoon wasn’t in university for sports physiotherapy, he could be studying to be a lawyer, at least that’s what he thinks, “C’mon, Sweets, I might go mad if I don’t get to touch you again.” 

The cogs turn in your head because he does have a point, it’s the perfect, guilt-free loophole. You wouldn’t be dating him but still get to see him, it’s a win-win on paper, “What if my brother finds out?” 

His big hands tuck your hair back behind your ears and stay pressed on your cheeks, “Believe it or not, Y/N, I don’t tend to air my sex life to the town.” Sunghoon breathes out a laugh, his thumbs swiping back and forth on your face, helping your uneasiness but also removing some of the smudged makeup from yesterday, “We’ll keep it a secret, yeah?”

“You could have any girl, Hoon, one you don’t have to sneak around with,” you want to give him one last chance out of this.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he whispers, “To be perfectly honest, Y/N, I don’t want just anyone else, I want you.” You need to tell your heart to calm down so you close your eyes to find some semblance of equanimity. He nudges his nose with yours and smiles, knowing the effect he has on you, “So, what do you say?”

There is a beat of a pause before you say softly, “Yes.” It was a risk. You would have to be careful but if you wanted to stop at any point you could, because it was just casual, nothing more - Minhee would never know. 

The brightest smile graces Sunghoon’s face, his eyes shrinking in size and canines on full display, “Yeah?” It’s like he doesn’t believe it even though he’s heard it. For a moment he thought you were going to tell him no, that there was no ambiguity to be found in Minhee’s words, “Can I kiss you then?” he asks, his voice tinged with hopeful anticipation.

You meet his gaze, offering a nonchalant shrug that belies the flutter of excitement in your chest. "I suppose so," you reply, your tone teasing yet inviting. 

He leans in slowly, testing to see if you actually meant it. Meeting him halfway, your lips meld together seamlessly, igniting a spark of longing that fuels the kiss. Sunghoon's smile against your mouth speaks volumes, conveying his joy and gratitude. Sunghoon can’t ever stop kissing you, not unless you need air.

With his hands gently gripping your waist, he feels you push yourself onto him. Sunghoon’s lips are all over yours practically eating your face off because he can’t believe he hasn’t kissed you in 8 days. He missed your taste and how easy it was to get lost in your mouth. Both of you are so desperate for one another that you don’t even come up for breath, the kiss all too consuming. 

You yelp when he picks you up and carries you to his bedroom, kicking the door shut with his foot and throwing you both on the bed and as you shuffle up the bed, Sunghoon crawls with you, his mouth chasing yours eagerly. 

There’s electricity in the air and it sparks pure lust into his body, his dick throbbing at the thought of being with you again. This time he’s going to do it right and take his time with you, ensuring you feel sufficiently fucked out when he’s done. When he was taking you in the front seat of his car, it was good, actually, it was beyond perfect but it was over too soon, he had so much more to show you.

His mouth moves at a new unhurried pace, his tongue running painstakingly slow over yours, so slow he could feel all your tastebuds. Sunghoon’s promise to himself was to devour you so much you are all he can taste for the next few days, just in case he doesn’t get the chance to sneak you away. This deal he has with you isn’t ideal, he wants to call you his and never let go, not just be a fuck buddy. He did call you his last night in the heat of the moment and it felt so good to say it. 

Your hands slide under his white t-shirt and scrape his sides lightly, making the man shiver. It’s not only his waist you’re touching like this but you’re soon roaming all over his body. Your hands have a mind of their own as they glide every inch of his soft, warm skin, and the caresses you are receiving are equally as adoring. Not like that guy.

Why did you think about it now? Just when you had distracted yourself enough.

Noticing the change in you, Sunghoon pauses his kisses and opens his eyes, “Are you okay, Y/N?” You nod but it’s unconvincing, making him halt, “Talk to me, Sweets.” 

Unfortunately, he’s seen that look on your face before and he knows what you’re thinking about. 

How could he be so stupid? It didn’t even register to him you might not be ready to jump into bed considering what happened not 24 hours ago, hell, not even 12 hours ago.

“Hoonie?” Your voice is wispy as you run a hand through his dark locks, “Make me forget about it? Replace his touches with yours?” It was a simple request but it held so much weight. Sunghoon was the only one you wanted to feel on your body from now on.

“Are you sure, Y/N? I don’t want you to think you have to. I can wait for as long as you need.” 

Sunghoon’s facial features are drawn with concern as he waits for you to truly think about this, to analyse whether you’re making this decision with a clear mind.

Shaking your head, you decline his kind act, “I want you to fuck me. Like really fuck me,” your eyes never come off of his to make certain he knows you’re serious, “I’m okay and I want this. I want you so bad.”

A smirk plasters itself onto Sunghoon’s face, “You’re going to kill me, y’know.” He presses his body on yours so you feel most of his weight on your core, his cock hardening as he softly grinds it onto your clothed heat, “As long as you’re sure?”

You nod, getting a little impatient but you’re appreciative of his concern.

He doesn’t say anything but goes back to kissing you even more intensely than before, his fingertips rubbing themself all over your body just as you requested. Sunghoon will do anything in his power to make you feel better. If this is what you wanted, this is what you’d get. 

Sunghoon’s right hand trails down your stomach, shaking a little from sheer joy. He dips into the band of the boxers you’re wearing and slides his fingers perfectly between your folds, “How many times do you think I can make you cum this time, hmm?” The pad of his pointer circles your clit “Maybe once?” His husky voice flows into your ear as he speaks, “Could be twice, or three times, I know you’re more than capable.” You wriggle under him when his middle and ring fingers join the party and tap your entrance, “4 times? Could my Sweets cum 4 times for me?”

He has the audacity to be asking you these questions when all you can do is writhe in anticipation and want. If he keeps rubbing your clit and poking at your hole like this you might have the first orgasm in record time, but you don’t want to give him all the satisfaction, so you hold back. 

Biting at your neck, he feels your heartbeat picking up speed to mirror with his thumb, “You could cum right now, couldn’t you? Why don’t you?” Sunghoon can feel your resistance and he knows you’re hating how much control he has over you. You’re an independent girl and he knows that means you’re not used to being in this position, with someone playing you like this. When you rode him in his car, you wanted to be in full control but he didn’t let that happen.

Moving his face to yours, he sees your eyes shut and mouth open, a clear invitation for him to stick his tongue down your throat. You moan at the sensations happening to your body all at once and the cocky boy on top of you smiles, his tongue licking over yours, “Let go, Sweets. I won’t deny you anything unless you want me to.” 

If there is one thing you hate in this world it’s being edged. You’re aware that some people love it, that it heightens the climax when you finally get to cum but you can’t think of anything worse. Why withstand the inevitable when you can have multiple bouts of pleasure? So maybe you should just let him see how many times he could get you off, it would be beneficial for you, who cares if his ego inflates, you could get him back another time. 

You smile at the thought of having another time with him.

Once you make the decision to loosen up and let Sunghoon do his thing, he knows he’s won the tiny battle of dominance, “Good girl.” Here comes that praise kink you’ve discovered because, with his words, you’re purring into his mouth and levitating your hips to get more connection from his fingers. You don’t have to ask him anything, he already knows what you need, he can feel the wetness on his fingers that’s leaking from your pussy.

His thumb hasn’t stopped rubbing you, and it continues with the same vigour as he slips his two fingers into you, stretching you open. Assessing your face for any discomfort, he doesn’t discover any, only bliss etched on your features. If he could, he would do this for a full-time job and work overtime just to see you like this all of the time. 

Sunghoon starts to thrust his fingers into you at a steady pace, one finger ridged, applying pressure, and the other loose so he can hit every spot inside you. He wasn’t an expert on fingering women but with the response of your pussy contracting, he knows he’s giving you what you need. While his fingers pleasure you, he works off the boxers you’re wearing which is easier said than done considering he’s only got one hand to pull them down with. It’s not like him to give up on anything though and before you know it, he’s whipped them off your legs, all the while never letting up on his pace. 

He needs to add multitasking to his resume. 

Sitting on his knees and finding a new angle, he adds a third finger, stretching you to the brink. He looks at you from where he sits and takes in the view; your legs spread, shoulders pushing themselves into his sheets while your back lifts - it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever witnessed. And here he was thinking you bouncing on his cock was top of his list.

You bite back a moan, covering your mouth with your forearm, “Nu-uh, Sweets. I wanna hear you,” he leans forward and cages beneath him as he pins your arm away from your face, “Let me hear how good you feel.”

You aren’t necessarily loud in bed, but you’ve never had the need to be moaning and groaning like a pornstar. That was until now, so with his go-ahead, you become more vocal, signalling when he was making you feel stars in your pussy. “Fuck, I-”

“Cum on my fingers, baby, give it to me,” he rubs your clit harder, coaxing out your first of many orgasms of the night. 

Not wasting a single drop, he dips down so his face is at your core and laps up the juices, replacing his fingers with his tongue. You taste so perfect, the tang of your pussy is what he has been craving and he wasn’t satisfied until he had it filling his mouth.

He eats you out, his fingers that were once inside you now assisting his mouth by spreading your folds open. Your legs flail while he drinks you up, consuming your pussy like it was the last bit of water and he was a traveller in the Sahara Dessert.

You finally plant your feet on the bed, resisting the urge to close your thighs in case you suffocate him, but Sunghoon being Sunghoon, notices, “Don’t be scared to crush my head, I like it.” 

He loves it actually, the feeling of being confined by fluffy thighs, the 'no way out’ feeling gives him more incentive to get his partner to cum quicker. It might be masochistic the way he loves fighting for breath but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Oh my fuck,” Your legs grant his wishes and trap him. He is way too good at this like he does it as an obsessive hobby. All caution is thrown to the wind and mewl out his name loudly, tugging his hair with your hands. 

Sunghoon feels his cock throb at how you cry out his name so achingly, he needs to have you around him soon, so he focuses on your clit, nipping at it skillfully to bring you over the edge. It only takes a minute or two before your pussy is contracting as you cum over his face. Your nectar coats his mouth and he wonders how he can add your cum as part of his skincare routine because he wants to be lathered in it morning and night. 

Your legs shake intensely as you feel the orgasm claim you. Your body has gone limp, legs falling open to each side. Swiftly, his hands are on your ass, pushing your vagina up to his face so he can tuck into you, taking full control. Sunghoon is holding your whole bottom half up and it’s helping him slurp you, his tongue dipping into your hole to lap any of the leftover cum he could have missed and his perfect nose rubbing against your delicate clit.

“Sunghoon, please, I can’t do another one so quickly.” Sunghoon doesn’t hear you though, too focused on his meal. He’s using his hold on you to manually grind your pussy on his face which is sending you into overdrive. He buries in your cunt as deep as humanly possible, moaning into you. 

The vibrations from his moan are too much for you, “Hoonie, fuck, I’m gonna cum again.” His ego is the size of Buckingham Palace the way he made you take back your words. He knew you were lying when you said you couldn’t cum again that fast. You need to start giving yourself more credit.

For the third time today, you cum hard moaning his name, this time you're really gripping at his hair, almost thrashing around at the intensity of it. Those porn videos you see scrolling through Twitter might not be as over the top as you thought because you’ve lost your head, the only thing you know for certain is that your pussy is pulsing and soaking wet. 

He kisses up your heat once more while his hands rub the outside of your legs, trying to get you to settle, “Take a minute,” Sunghoon brings you forward so you sit up, his arms keeping you steady when you climb onto him and sit on his lap, “You did so well, Sweets.” You lay your head on his shoulder and indulge in the praises he’s giving you. 

Drawing back you look at him with hazy eyes, “Thank you, Hoonie.”

“I should be thanking you, you taste fucking unreal,” he pushes your sweaty hair back absentmindedly before he kisses you ever so gently, his teeth grazing your lower lip, asking you to open up for his tongue.

Slowly, you open up to grant him entry, his kitten licks subtle but deep enough that you can tangle your tongue with his. You had never been kissed like this before and it was turning you on so much; the way his hands were roaming over your back and his lips moulding into yours just right, it was like a dream. The atmosphere was getting hot again as you both deepened the kiss, your tongues swirling and flicking with one another rhythmically.  

He bites your bottom lip and pulls at it roughly, making you involuntarily groan and throw your head back. Sunghoon loves how responsive you are, the way your body presses into him desperately seeking connection the same way he does. It's euphoric, and it gives him the same feeling of want that you do. 

One thing that’s missing is the view of your delicious tits in his face, covered by his much-loved band t-shirt. Swiftly, he peels it off your body and his hands fly right to them, squeezing and pulling at them roughly. He contemplates removing his lips from your mouth to attach them to your perky nipple but you’re enjoying kissing him too much. 

He’ll come back for them soon.

Although it seems like he has been kissing you for eternity, it has revived you and made you want more. The idea makes your clit pulsate, and you softly massage her over his clothed cock, “Hoonie,” the uttering of his nickname brings him out of his dazed state and he pulls back to look at you, “I need you.” After admiring how full his lips have become from the kisses, you find it impossible to resist the temptation to start kissing him once more, not giving him a chance to speak.  

Sunghoon’s mouth should be put in a museum or win some sort of Nobel prize for how spectacular it is.

“You sure? Don’t you need more time?” To be honest, Sunghoon became so engrossed in your tongue inside his mouth that he completely lost track of time. He’s unaware that he has been kissing and holding you on his lap for more than twenty minutes which for you is more than enough recovery time.

“I’m sure,” You reassure him not just by your words but by how hard you’re starting to hump him over his boxers.

His eyelids are drooping, heavy from the lust he’s feeling, “Fuck, you turn me on so bad, Y/N.” Sunghoon can’t wait any longer so with one hand on the back of your head and one on your ass, he lifts you slightly as he shuffles forward to lay you down so you’re comfortable on the bed. Just as he promised himself, he dives his mouth onto your left tit, sucking and licking your nipple. They’re so soft and delicate that he just cannot get enough.

Although you enjoy the way he's toying with your breasts, it's not what you want right now. He has all the time in the world to fondle you, just as soon as his cock is slotted inside your pussy, “Sunghoon, please.”

“Shh, I know.” He gets it, he really does - he is just as, if not more desperate to fuck you. He just had to pay some extra loving to his favourite girls first.

“Let me grab a condom.” Sunghoon keeps them in his top drawer like most people do so they’re easy enough to retrieve and won’t keep you waiting. He stands up and flicks through the drawer to find the foils - he has ultra-thin condoms somewhere in this mess which are far superior to the ones he has in his car. 

You turn to look at him as he hurriedly scours his drawer for the rubber and it dawns on you that he still has his clothes on, albeit he’s only in a loose top and stripy boxer shorts, but it’s still two layers too many. Your fingers reach over and twist his top idly, wondering what he looks like naked. It was unfair he got to see you naked twice and you haven’t even seen him with his top off yet.

Sunghoon feels the tugging of his t-shirt and looks down at you, the desired-filled gaze you have as you’re lost in thought only encourages him to find the condoms faster. He finally stumbles upon the red packet and inwardly celebrates. The ultra-thin condoms felt so good, giving him almost the same sensation as going in raw while making sure no baby Parks were running around Cheonan. 

With the boy distracted as he shuts the drawer, you take the opportunity to slowly pull down his boxers. His startled expression  turns to one of excitement as he processes what you’re doing, “That desperate?” Instead of answering, you lick up his shaft painfully slow, keeping eye contact with him as you do so, “Fucking hell.” 

As your mouth closes around his tip and sucks firmly, the already painful hardness of his cock intensifies, leaking pre cum into your mouth already, “Sweets, as much - fuck - as much as I would love to have you suck me off, I really want to fuck you.” He whips off his t-shirt, now standing proudly naked.

Popping off him reluctantly, you agree and go back to the position he laid you in, “You always listen to me so well, Sweets,” he says while stroking his cock a few times to spread the mix of your saliva and the beads of his cum. 

Opening the wrapper and rolling the condom, he sees your hungry eyes focused on him. You’re watching his every move and it’s agonising. That jealousy that seems to erupt within you when it comes to Sunghoon seems to have gotten so bad you’re now jealous of him as he touches his own cock. There’s something wrong with you but you want to be the only one touching him.

Sunghoon crawls on the bed and hovers over you, ready to give you what you want, “Can’t wait to feel you around me again. Thought I might die.”

“Sunghoon, it’s only been a week,” you laugh and curl your arms around his neck to peck his lips.

“Yeah, a week too long.” Sunghoon mirrors your laugh. He wasn’t joking though, after he fucked you, nothing else could get him off, only you could do that for him now. He was never letting you out of his grasp again, that much was obvious.

He starts by dragging his dick through your folds, stimulating your clit with the brushing of his head just to test how ready for this you are. Your nub was highly sensitive at the moment and he didn’t want to hurt you but by the soft mewls leaving your throat, he got confirmation that you were okay and pressed himself to your entrance, slowly pushing in.

Sunghoon started off slow and shallow, opening you up around him gently. What he doesn’t plan on is you moving yourself down further onto his cock, already eager for more. He didn’t know what you liked so he had to learn as he went along but he’s taking mental notes because he wants to be the one fuck you never forget about. Even in 40 years if you’re married to someone else with kids he wants you to look back on him and think about how no one has ever fucked you as good as Park Sunghoon.

He grips your hips and starts to bottom out, thrusting into you with a fast and steady pace that’s already driving you wild. The way his cock curves slightly to the left helps add a sensation you haven’t felt before with anyone else, “Oh my god, fuck,” you grasp him by his hair and plant more kisses on him. Even though they're clumsy, you absolutely have to have him all over you, whatever it takes, “Hoonie, you feel so good.”

“Fuck, baby, so do you,” The nickname slips out his lips by accident, he wasn’t sure if calling you baby was against the rules, he’d have to ask you later because he doesn’t think you’ve even registered what he just said, too lost in pleasure.

His hips snap sharply against you as he presses in deeper. The feeling of your pussy squeezing him has him close to climax but he’s holding it in, just like you did earlier. This wasn’t for any reason other than wanting this to last. Sunghoon can cum more than once usually, but with breaks, and by the look of you already so fucked out, he knows he can’t push you to go that long. 

Sitting back up on his knees, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and twists you on your side, the new angle allowing his cock to hit your sweet spot over and over again. He’s pounding into you so deep you think you can feel him in your stomach, “Fuck, Hoonie, right there!” you cry out in pleasure, burying your head into the bed. He is literally fucking you sideways and you cannot get enough of it. 

You want to help out but you physically can’t. Sunghoon is holding onto your leg and manhandling you in any way he pleases to make you feel good and fuck it’s working. In contrast to his forceful thrusts, he gives your calf a couple of gentle kisses, making you feel incredibly cared for, as though his sole goal is your pleasure.

And it is. That’s all he will ever think about from now on, “Y/N,” he moans your name and it’s the best song you’ve ever heard, “I’m gonna fuck you forever.”

“Please, don’t ever stop, please.” You mean every pleading cry because you’ve never felt so good in your life. The groans escaping your mouth are so loud it’s embarrassing but when you feel Sunghoon thrust his hips faster, the feeling of embarrassment dissipates because he clearly likes you being loud, probably because he’s the same. His grunts filled the room with the occasional profanities following them. You’ve never been with a man who’s vocal but you can’t ever go back to the quiet. You can’t fuck anyone other than Sunghoon.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sweets. You’re fucking sensational.” He twists you back onto your back, both of your legs now placed over his broad shoulders as he bends you in half, fucking you to finality, “You’re squeezing me so good. Do you want to cum?” His voice is breathless, close to finishing himself.

You can’t get the words out so you settle with a nod but you know he wouldn’t accept that as an answer. Looking up at him you manage to build your voice, “Yes, Hoonie. I wanna cum so bad, please let me cum.”

“You never have to ask, Sweets, just let go.” 

Being the people pleaser you are, it’s only natural for you to ask if you can cum. If you cum too soon he might not like that and you can’t imagine disappointing him. What you don’t know is that you could never disappoint Sunghoon, he doesn’t care if you cum in 5 seconds or 5 hours, he just wants you to feel good.

He sees you thinking about it even though you’re desperate to climax. It’s time for him to bring out the big guns. Sliding his hand down between you, he rubs your clit back and forth, “Be a good girl for me.” He caught onto your need for appraisal right away and he knows it’ll drive you crazy. And he’s right because the praise mixed in with his harsh thrusts and fingers stroking your clit, your body starts to shake and contort as you cum. 

Even though your eyes are clenched tight, you could cry from how much the orgasm is coursing through you., “That’s it, doing so well for me,”  Sunghoon whispers in your ear, losing his sharp rhythm, “Fuck, Y/N, you’re the best pussy I’ve ever had.” 

“It’s only for you.” You whimper, still fucked out of reality, “Only yours.”

“Yeah? Your pussy is all mine?”

“All yours, Hoonie.” 

With your words, he stills his cock inside of you and lets his climax take control as he spills into the condom, filling it up before falling on top of you. It doesn't take the exhausted man long to realise that his head is perfectly positioned between your tits, a sly smile teasing his face. 

This is everything he’s ever dreamed of. 

Your shared breathless pants bounce around the room, evidencing the exertion of your sex session. Can you imagine if you had said no to being casual with him? You wouldn’t have gotten to experience the best sex of your life. 

He lifts his head to look at you, swallowing hard, trying to get some moistness back into his mouth, “You are unreal, do you know that?” All you can do is laugh at him and shake your head, “I’m serious, Y/N, you’re fucking amazing.” He places a gentle kiss between your breasts as if to seal his compliment into your heart. 

You thread your fingers through his hair and it falls perfectly back into place. You are so content right now with Sunghoon’s cock nestled inside you, his hands tucked under your back as he absentmindedly massages you, and his lips now trailing kisses up your collarbone and neck, “Thank you, Hoonie.”

“You don’t have to thank me for telling you the truth,” His lips finally meet yours again as he smooches you a couple of times.

“Not that,” you pause to collate your words, “Thank you for helping me yesterday, like truly I wouldn’t have been surprised if you ignored my call.” After you left him high and dry you didn’t understand why he came to your rescue at the party but you could not thank him enough.

“I’ll always answer when you call,” he states casually, hiding how his words have a deeper meaning. 

His eyes sparkle and stare into yours. He wants to say more but he has to leave it there. What he wants to tell you is that you can rely on him night and day and that he wants to protect you for the rest of his life. There’s something about you that is dragging him into a pot of feelings he hasn’t experienced before. 

It’s crazy how fast all of this has happened for you both, and if he ever vocalised how he felt people would probably tell him it was crazy. Yet, for Sunghoon, it wasn’t crazy at all. He felt so many things for you, he just doesn’t know what they all are or why they’re happening so quickly.

But he told you he would keep his feelings in order, hold them back to make this deal work. It’s going to be difficult because he wants to scream at how much he likes you, how comforting it is when you’re with him. Even when you studied at the rink while he skates, no one uttering a word or sparing a glance, he just felt happier with your presence. That’s probably why he came up and spoke to you that night he accused you of being a spy for your brother.

Yes, there was a little part of him that believed you were there to give Minhee a heads up given how close you both are, but he just needed one excuse to talk to you. If he made the first move then he could keep talking to you, just like he’s always wanted to.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper. 

“Like what?” His eyes don’t stop speaking silent words and it makes your tummy flutter.

“Like you’re breaking the rules already.” 

You sit up on your elbows, breaking the connection. Not that you wanted to but if you both can’t even keep the deal intact for a couple of hours, there was no hope for you. Sunghoon listens to your body language and gets off of you completely, slipping his cock out in the process. 

He disregards the condom in his bin and puts his boxers back on, “I guess we need to set the rules before I can break them.” Suddenly he goes out of the room for a minute, only to come back with a cloth and some blue Powerade, “Like, can I clean you up, or is that a no?”

The boundaries between what is and is not too intimate are hazy, but he is physically unable to resist taking care of you after sex. He would rather die than watch you clean yourself because as far as Sunghoon was concerned if he made the mess, he should clean it. Plus, it’s the right thing to do after he just fucked your brains out.

“I-” You ponder for a moment, unsure of the protocol between fuck buddies, but as you think it over, Sunghoon is already wiping you down, cleaning your juices from your folds and thighs. You could do it yourself, you supposed, but you can’t lie, being taken care of like this even in the most simplest of ways made you feel warm inside. Are these the feelings you’re both trying to avoid? This is too complicated.

“I guess we can work out the rules as we go. But I am giving you aftercare, I don’t care what you say.” He hands you the Powerade once he’s finished cleaning you off, “And you can’t run off right away.”

“But I can’t spend the night,” you argue.

“You don’t have to, but I’m not going to kick you out. If you’re tired, you stay here. End of story.” Clearly, Sunghoon hasn’t grasped the idea of friends with benefits but you’ll let it go for now. 

You take a sip of your drink, your gaze lingering on Sunghoon as he rummages through his closet, searching for something for you to wear. You take the time to admire his back, the natural muscles built from his workout regime pop as he flicks through the hoodies hanging up. It’s making you wet again, you can’t lie. 

He removes one from its hanger and gives it to you, along with some gym shorts. Although they probably look great on him, you can’t help but think how much you might end up looking like Adam Sandler if you put them on, but then again, you don’t have a choice.

“Here, put these on.” He hands you the clothes, kissing your head before petting it softly, the act of affection making you giddy.

“I can’t wear your hoodie, that’s too girlfriend-ish,” you look up at him and his hand stops at the back of your head, scratching it adoringly.

Sunghoon sighs with a smile, “You don’t really have a choice here, Sweets. Unless you want to put that dress back on,” The idea of physically stuffing yourself into that piece of clothing again makes you shudder, “That’s what I thought. It’s just an old hoodie anyway, I don’t even wear it anymore.”

False. He won't admit it to you, but he always wears it and carries it with him everywhere. It's his comfort sweatshirt. To see you in his favourite hoodie and to smell like him - that's why Sunghoon chose it especially.

As you slip into the hoodie, unaware of its significance to him, you unknowingly envelop yourself in a piece of his world. The familiar scent of him lingers in the fabric, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. 

Quickly, you put on the remaining clothes and search for your stuff, “I need to go to Rinas, she’s probably wondering where I am.” In your leather jacket, you feel around for your phone, anticipating missed calls from your best friend. 

“She knows you’re here,” He picks up your phone from the floor and passes it to you, it must have fallen out when he carried you in here last night. 

You look at him puzzled but still remember to thank him, “What do you mean? Rina would never have let you take me home,” you state. Rina saw the mess you were in because of him, and with him leathering into that guy, she would have dragged you away from him herself.

Sunghoon smiles triumphantly, “She didn’t have a choice. I told her you were going to mine and that she had to cover for you.” 

“You told THE Yu Jimin what to do?” You were gagged at the thought, truly, your flabber had been gasted because no one tells Rina what to do, like ever, and if they did she would make sure they were never happy again.

He simply shrugs and steals a kiss, and then another before his lips linger for a little longer, enticing you to kiss him back. Once he feels your lips moving with his, he smirks, bringing his hand to cradle your jaw, his fingers in your hair. You probably shouldn’t be kissing like this either but you don’t care right now, not with how his lips taste against yours..

Sunghoon steps back after a few blissful minutes and asks, "Was that the right choice, or what?" When he walks away to change, the smile becomes a smirk as he thinks about the sex you’ve just had. 

You check your phone for messages and there are a lot. One from Minhee, saying he had a great time and he was staying at Jungmo’s place. It was perfect because now you could sneak into the house without anyone knowing you were gone for the night. There are a few texts from your mum saying she’s going to the store and not to sleep all day. And then there was Rina.

Rina💗

4:12am: Y/N, text me when you get there.

4:33am: If he touches you I swear to fuck I will kill him.

5:02am: Please let me know if you got to his ok?

8:54am: GIRL WAKE UP.

9:01am: You never sleep in after drinking.

9:01am: ARE YOU FUCKING HIM RIGHT NOW?

9:02am: IF YOU FUCK HIM I AM NEVER SPEAKING TO YOU AGAIN

10:23am: I cannot believe you are fucking him! Get over here right now.

You don’t know how she knew you were fucking him at that time but you are never going to hear the end of it. 

“What is she saying?” He asks, tying the string of his joggers. 

“That if you touch me she’s going to kill you, and I’m basically in the bad books for fucking you.” He turns the phone to see the messages and laughs. 

Sunghoon hadn’t encountered Rina until last night but he heard the rumours about her and her temper. He didn’t know it was that girl who was your best friend, he thought you might have run with a different crowd, a quieter one with less drama. Rina was the opposite of you, she’s loud and obnoxious, and that’s just from what he saw last night, but at least she looks after you. He knew it was out of order to bad mouth her and her boyfriend but he’s not sorry for it.

“Well then,” He circles his arms around you, “If I’m going to die at the hands of your best friend, I think I should get to fuck you one more time.” He leans down to kiss you but all you can do is laugh. He was just a man at the end of the day, a horny, needy man.

“I need to get to Rina’s.” You say between kisses but that’s not what he wants to hear, so he grumbles slightly, the pout of his lips only adding to the kiss. He doesn’t have to say anything, you know he’s upset that you won’t stay a little longer, “I know, Hoonie. But I’ll see you at the rink, yeah?”

“Want another Zamboni lesson? I can really show you how to pump the lever.” Playfully, you slap his chest and push him away. The look on his face is one of arrogance and it’s so sexy but you can’t let him know, it’ll only inflate his head more. 

You grab your belongings while Sunghoon follows you around like a puppy, placing his hand on your ass as you bend down to put on your shoes. The clothes you are wearing are ludicrous, nonetheless, you can't go to Rina's place barefoot. Sunghoon's hand slides beneath your hoodie and gently rubs your back, but when you straighten up, both of his hands are suddenly on your skin, easing their way to your boobs.

He pinches both of your nipples, eliciting a moan. Your head falls back onto his shoulder as you let him fondle you, “Sunghoon, I honestly have to go.”

“I know, just give me a minute.” His fascination with your boobs is unhealthy but he just can’t get enough. If your pussy wasn’t so delicious they might take the number one spot for his favourite things on your body. True to his word, after a couple of minutes he lets you go, his hands now hanging sadly by his side, “C’mon I’ll drive you.”

“I can walk it’s fine.” It was a long walk but you could use the air, still hot from the hangover and taking Sunghoon’s cock.

His eyebrows raise and he crosses his arms, “In those heels, yeah?” His eyes point to your 6 inch shoes in bewilderment. People look great in heels but he will never understand how anyone walks more than 5 minutes in them.

You look down at your shoes with him and nod, “Yeah, it’s only like an hour or two walk or something, I’ll blast through it.”

“Not a chance. I’m driving you.” As you begin to protest he points to you, “Eh, no arguing about this, Sweets, I’m taking you to Karina’s.” Sunghoon always had a way of getting what he wanted, either from his charm or his stubbornness. You have no choice now but to agree, so you pick your stuff back up and follow him out of his room.

Just as you both exit, Jake stands with a towel wrapped around his waist and water droplets falling down his abs. Sunghoon tuts in disgust, “Dude, there’s a girl here.”

“Yeah, I think the whole block knows that.” Sunghoon warns Jake with his eyes to shut up, “I’m Jake, by the way, Sunghoon’s favourite roommate.” Jake sticks his arm out to give you a handshake which you gingerly accept. 

“Y/N.” 

“Yeah, knew that too. He’s just as loud.” Jake laughs and walks away, leaving you both filled with embarrassment. 

You punch the boy beside you in the arm once Jake is out of sight, causing Sunghoon to yelp and rub his arm, “How could you not tell me you had roommates!” you whisper-shout up at him.

If you had known he lived with others, there's no way you would have been as loud as you were. Everyone has sex, so it's not a huge thing. However, you're not thrilled that Sunghoon neglected to mention his roommates, especially since you haven't even seen them before and their first impression of you is you moaning like you’re in the adult entertainment industry.

“I guess I was too busy fucking you senseless to think about them.” He earns another punch for that one, but he takes it in his stride, wrapping his arm around you, “C’mon, Sweets, if anything, you’ve started a competition on who can get their girl to scream loudest.” 

With that, he kisses the crown of your head as he guides you out of the house and to his car.

taglist (closed!!): @heelee-01 @zerasari @beomgyusonlywife @iwaplant @monstanctiny21 @chiiiiiiiiis @minniejenseo @run2gyuz @jngwnlvs @haelahoops @capri-cuntz @nctislifue @jaehoonii @weyukinluv @skzenhalove @enhypenlovre @cherriruto @bambangan @who-tf-soddhi @nxzz-skz @nshmrarki @hotsforikeu @enhastolemyheart @erehkinnie30 @judeduartewannabe @neosexuals @fakeuwus @positivelyinlovewithjungwon @tobiosbbyghorl @kimsunoops

[evermoresversion]

For James Beaufort

He has a girlfriend and Ruby tries to ruin it but fail and if you do smut can you add it at the end no pressure to do this.

THE PHOTOS, JAMES BEAUFORT.

A/N I changed Ruby to Elaine because I don't really see Ruby trying to ruin a relationship.

PAIRING James Beaufort x Fem!Reader

TW/TAGS Established relationship, kind of angsty, fluff? at the end. There may be grammatical and spelling errors since English is not my first language.

SUMMARY Despite all of Elaine's attempts to separate you from James, she never succeeded.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN | JAMES' MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

You and James had been dating for months now.

While most of Maxton Hall considered you both the king and queen of the school, others simply did not accept your relationship.

By "others" I mean Elaine Ellington.

Before, she saw you as a friend or something close to it, someone she could get along with since your father was one of the most important businessmen in the place.

But all thoughts of getting along evaporated the second she saw you arrive at Maxton Hall holding hands with the boy she wanted.

From that moment on she promised herself that she would do everything possible to separate you both.

She went from trying to kiss James in front of you at a party, ending in him rejecting her in front of everyone, to her asking one of his friends to try to flirt with you and making you uncomfortable, which ended in James asking someone to beat the shit out of him, since he couldn't risk his reputation doing it himself, but if he could he would have broken the boy's face.

Faced with several failed attempts, Elaine was beginning to despair, but the idea of letting you and James be happy was never in her plans.

Until one day she had an idea.

Somehow he got a girl quite similar to you from the back and had pictures taken of her kissing another guy at a party.

"Perfect." She muttered looking at the photos on her phone. No doubt James would fall and finally leave you.

She walked through the halls to where James was with his friends, you were in a class right at that moment.

"Can we talk?"

James sighed, tired of the situation.

"No, Elaine, I already told you a thousand times that..."

"It's about y/n."

That certainly caught James' attention. He walked away from the group so he could talk to the blonde.

“What about y/n?”

"I didn't want you to find out from me but it seems fair that you know, I shouldn't play with you like that."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

She took her phone out of her bag and showed the photos to James, watching his every reaction, watching how his jaw tensed and how his breathing quickened.

"When did they take these photos?"

"Friday night."

James simply nodded and without saying anything else, he walked towards where Elaine assumed your class was.

She smiled victoriously and left, believing that James would break up with you in a few minutes.

But the next day all hope disappeared again when she saw you both arrive holding hands and laughing with each other.

As you both passed her, James caught her attention.

"Thank you for telling me about the photos."

"Next time make sure I'm not having dinner with his family when according to you I'm kissing another guy." You smiled with false kindness and both of you continued on your way.

Elaine, on the verge of having a tantrum, decided it would be best to wait until you both break up and be there for James.

Although that clearly didn't happen because you ended up engaged to him sooner than she thought.

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2024.

[flowerandblood]

Object of Desire (1/3)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, hate sex, sex content, smut, angst, domination, violence, swearing, humiliation, hard chauvinism ]

[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. This story is an Anon Request, sorry it took me so long. I know anon wanted it to be a softer and sweeter story, but it didn't fit Aemond's character and what I think would be going on in his head. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. Lots of humiliation, violence and chauvinism. ]

Part 2 − Object of Despair Part 3 − Object of Delight Epilogue

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

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He thought the greatest humiliation of his life was behind him when he lost an eye, when his brother and nephews gave him a pig instead of a dragon. He thought that now that he was a man, rider of the greatest dragon walking the earth, he would finally get everything he deserved − a wife from a dignified, respected House, and with her an offspring, his inheritance, an extension of his lineage.

He could not hide his expression of disappointment, disgust and bitterness when his mother informed him that instead of one of Lord Baratheon's daughters he would be marrying Lord Arryn's niece − his grandfather, intent on strengthening his brother's position on the throne felt that depriving Rheanyra of the support of the Eyrie, her mother's kin, would greatly weaken her in the ongoing war.

He would have endured this change without a word were it not for one thing.

The woman was a fucking widow.

Already intimate with another man who had taken her maidenhood, she was worn, marked, like an overbitten apple that now someone had to eat to the end to keep it from rotting.

He imagined in the back of his mind how the court, which both feared and mocked him, would spread rumours that the One-Eyed Prince was not only crippled but must marry a woman devoid of value and her greatest virtue, for no other lady would agree to be his wife.

However, he knew what duty was and intended to fulfil it.

Despite his mother's suggestion, he did not want to see her before the nuptial day. He felt that he did not want to further exacerbate her bad enough appearance in his eyes; he feared that she was not only worthless but plain ugly, her mind empty and shallow.

Although the nuptials were to take place in the noble family, knowing that this would not be her first wedding it was decided that the whole ceremony would be modest, only the most loyal lords and relatives who supported their cause were invited.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror in shame and disgust, at his emerald tunic adorned with golden threads swirling in embroidery reminiscent of dragon's heads, he thought it seemed too refined for such an occasion, for such a woman who could offer him nothing.

He knew that there was no fault of hers in her husband's sudden passing from this world, that it was pure politics, but he could not help thinking that it would have been better if she had died with him.

Waiting for her in the Great Sept, he felt nothing − he had not even bestowed a single glance on her when he heard the sound of trumpets, indicating that she and her father had entered the temple and were heading towards him.

As he felt her presence beside him he immediately noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was dressed in a blue gown, flowers of the same colour in her hair − curiosity forced him to at least glance at her and he swallowed loudly as his gaze met her violet eyes.

The colour of the Targaryens.

He froze, feeling his heart suddenly begin to beat faster, unable to look away from her irises, from her long, dark lashes and eyebrows surrounding her eyes like a sky surrounding the sun − unintentionally his gaze studied quickly her entire silhouette and face.

He swallowed with difficulty, turning his head away, realising that her figure was pleasingly girlish, she was young, too young in his eyes to be a widow − her dark hair was tied back, myosotis tucked into her curls at the sides of her head, her gown made of some thin, smooth, shiny material shimmering blue and purple at the same time.

He couldn't focus on what the Septon was saying; he only glanced at her again when Daeron handed him the cloak with which he was to cover her − her gaze fixed on him, her eyebrows arched in sorrow as if she was in pain, her eyes gleaming, slightly reddened, as if she was barely holding back tears.

He felt like asking if she was so disgusted with him, but no sound came out of his mouth.

With a stony face expressing indifference, he threw his cloak embroidered with a three-headed red dragon over her back and then took her hand in his, small and surprisingly smooth.

She didn't look at him when, in a trembling, soft voice, she repeated the words of her vows with him. He tried to remember her doing it for the second time in her life, that she was someone else's, warming someone else's bed, but he couldn't.

She seemed so innocent.

They hadn't exchanged a word during the wedding feast; he watched from the corner of his eye her demeanour, her face − she seemed to him absent, sad, ashamed.

He thought with a squeeze in his throat, filled with jealousy and envy, that she was a beautiful young woman, and someone had her before him.

He took a loud, impatient sip of wine from his cup, its tart, slightly sweet aftertaste spilling over his tongue, dulling his mind.

He felt like his head was going to burst.

They both tried to put it off for as long as they could, however, eventually his mother suggested that his spouse was surely tired and should retire to bed.

He pressed his lips together at her words, rising silently, looking at this strange, frightened girl out of the corner of his eye, her face turned towards him, her eyes open wide in terror.

"Come, wife." He hummed coldly, without emotion and heard her swallow hard − she followed him quietly as he left the hall, heading down the dark torch-lit corridors to his chamber.

He watched indifferently as her servants helped her undress from her beautiful gown, slowly untangling the curls of her hair, one of them wanted to remove the flowers from them, but he protested.

"No. The flowers are to stay. Let at least some semblance of innocence and purity remain." He sneered, saw that the corners of her mouth twitched, her eyebrows arched in pained humiliation.

He cocked his head, intrigued that she endured his words and what was happening with such humility.

He thought that if she behaved like this, perhaps he would take pity on her and actually put his child inside her, so that she could somehow regain her dignity, to be the mother of his heir.

"That's enough." He said at last, when she was left only in her nightgown, from under which he could see the outline of the pleasing shapes of her womanly body, waiting patiently until they were left alone.

She was looking somewhere far away, sad, tired, humiliated, her face, although pale, as if filled with mourning, was smooth and pleasant, the shade of her eyes seemed to him more blue in the firelight.

Proof that they shared ancestors, a common heritage.

For some reason he felt some kind of affection for her at the thought.

He got up from his seat with a loud creak of wood, walking with a slow, lazy step towards her − he saw that she twitched but did not look at him, her lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath, betraying her nervousness.

He walked around her, looking at her as if she were an object, assessing her figure, the shade of her hair, the shape of her face from every angle. She swallowed quietly and lifted her chin, looking at him with some kind of challenge, a decision that she would accept what was about to happen and give him no reason to mock her.

He hummed at the thought, stepping behind her, feeling her flinch all over as she felt his large hands touch her waist and then slide lower, to her womb − he felt surprised, licking his lips with his tongue, that his manhood swelled hard in his breeches when, in some sudden, involuntary reflex, her small hands grabbed his wrists, yet not stopping his movements, just trying to maintain some semblance of control over what was happening.

She let the air out of her lungs nervously, closing her eyes for a moment as his nose sank into her sweet-smelling, smooth hair, his hands stroking her lower abdomen trailing over it in tender, slow movements as if he imagined she was already carrying his child, his reason for being proud and pleased with her.

"This poor man, whose name I can't even remember, died without an heir. Why?" He whispered in her ear, a note of menace in his voice, his fingers digging into the fabric of her nightgown and her stomach, forcing her to take a step back, bumping into his throbbing manhood pushing against her buttocks. He heard her gasp softly, swallowing loudly, her body quivering in his embrace.

"The will of the Gods." She replied softly, her voice melodious, warm, pleasant to his ear. He hummed again, acknowledging her answer, his hands again beginning to stroke her womb in an unhurried, tender gesture.

"Why would I need a wife who won't give me an inheritance? Hm?" He asked in a tone as if he was curious and intrigued − he felt her whole body tense up in fear knowing that he was mocking her.

She drew in air loudly, suddenly tightening her fingers on his arm as his hand slid lower, between her thighs, the tips of his fingers began to brush her there with calm, steady strokes.

His free hand rose higher, to her neck, tightening around it warningly when he felt her buttocks begin to rub against his length, feeling a pleasant wave of heat surge through his spine and lower abdomen. He looked down at his fingers between her thighs, even through the material feeling the moisture leaking through it.

"A wife is a gift. Like a sword, a book or a horse." She cooed softly, responding with a rocking of her hips to the touch of his fingers. He involuntarily chuckled at her words, charmed that she understood exactly his approach, that her mind was not obscured by bottomless female fantasies, but stood in reality.

"Why would I need a chipped sword, an empty book, or a blind horse?" He asked lowly, his hand from her neck moved higher − his fingers cupped her cheeks, forcing her to turn her head towards him, to look at him, her violet eyes misty, bright, beautiful.

She smiled and giggled softly, startling him completely, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"It's amusing to hear you speak about blindness, husband. I hope the lack of your eye doesn't bother you anymore." She whispered with a satisfaction that made him snort in fury − she squealed quietly and closed her eyes as his fingers dug into her cheeks and shook her, as if he wanted her to come to her senses and remember who she was standing in front of.

"You are nothing, whore. Do you understand? Nothing. A worn-out cup to be filled with seed. I don't have an eye, but I do have a fucking dignity that my mother deprived me of by forcing me to marry a creature like you." He hissed, shaking her head violently once in a while, wanting it to get into her little empty head what he had just said.

She looked at him with hatred, her gaze seeming darker, more dangerous to him, her tongue hitting her palate with a quiet click of her saliva as she whispered a single word in his direction.

"Pathetic."

He didn't even know when his hand tightened in her hair, slamming her head against the table that stood in front of them forcing her to lean forward with a violent gesture − she squirmed loudly and cried out, clenching her fingers on the tabletop as she tried to catch her balance − he kicked her ankle with his foot forcing her to spread her thighs wider.

"You like it rough, hm? You find yourself better at being a whore than a wife? Very well then." He growled, his free hand undoing the buckles of his tunic, untying his breeches quickly, releasing his throbbing erection, giving it a few sure squeezes at the base, for some reason what was happening, their quick, rapturous breaths aroused him even more.

"Fucking male pride. Take what you want, you won't break me." She hissed with such hateful envy that he chuckled out loud, somehow impressed by how brazen she was.

"There's a little dragon burning inside you, isn't it? We shall see. I'm a man full of patience." He sneered, lifting her nightgown up in an impatient motion, exposing what was between her thighs, her rosy, puffy folds glistening with her moisture.

She pressed her lips together, struggling to hold back the sound of discomfort as he pushed against her, forcing the fat, pink head of his cock between her tight walls. He sighed heavily, feeling how wonderfully she clenched around him on all sides, hot and surprisingly soft.

"− fuck −" He gasped out, spreading her thighs wider with his leg − she cried out loudly as he sank all the way into her with one sure thrust, her fleshy muscles throbbing againt him in panic.

They both began panting loudly as, in some subconscious, natural reflex, he began to pound into her with the impatient, aggressive stabs of his hips.

"− fucking whore −" He growled angrily, clamping his hand painfully tight on her hair, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan as he suddenly quickened his pace, looking down, feeling a wonderful thrill of elation at the sight of his manhood opening her slick folds wide again and again with deep, brutal thrusts of his hips.

"− bastard −" She cried out, responding however to the pushes of his hips with a fierceness from which his voice stuck in his throat. He was no longer sure, groaning low with pleasure, feeling the way her walls squeezed him wonderfully, sucking him inside, whether what they were saying was true or just a test of strength and dominance, an attempt to establish who would have the last word.

"− shut the fuck up − to think you still have the strength to babble − shall I put it in your mouth so you'll finally be quiet? −" He snorted through clenched teeth, gripping his free hand over the soft, smooth skin of her firm buttocks, slamming into her like mad.

It seemed to him that they were both moaning and panting too loudly, as if they were in some kind of frenzy, his thighs slapping against her bare skin with a sticky smack again and again, barely sliding out of her.

"− fuck − o-oh fuck, stop −" He gasped out as he felt her muscles suddenly clench greedily against his manhood at his words, intensifying his sensations. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he heard sweet, loud moans of fulfillment begin to erupt from her throat, her body trembling all over − she whimpered when he didn't slow down, chasing his own fulfilment.

"− I know − fuck, just a moment longer − shhh −" He hushed her and groaned low, sighing in relief when he felt that wonderful, relaxing feeling, bliss in his mind and whole body, delight as his seed spilled deep inside her, right where it belonged.

His hips rocked inside her a moment longer with her mumble of displeasure, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged, her fingers trailing over the table top as if she couldn't calm down.

"− it's alright − easy − it's alright −" He whispered, panting heavily, stroking her soft hair with slow, tender gesture, her eyebrows arched in pain as she wept loudly, tears one after another began to run down her face.

He wasn't sure if she was crying from relief that she had it behind her or from grief that she had to go through this again.

"− I know − I know −" He hummed, running his fingers over her smooth, dark curls, for some reason feeling the need to reassure her, fulfilled and content after what had happened between them, his half-soft manhood still twitching deep inside her, all slick from their shared moisture.

"− I don't blame you, wife − that man was weak, as was his seed − you will soon bear me a son −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar

[bones4thecats]

Hii!

I love your work and I was wondering if I could request platonic Baul and Sebek with an oc insert, Alcestris? (oc info x (the second one) & x that is adoptive family (Baul's daughter and Sebek's aunt but it can go in sibling reader)

If not I'll just ask for a simple reader <33

If you need any more info on the oc just tell me ^^

Baul Zigvolt Adopting The Fae! Reader

Characters: Baul and Sebek Zigvolt (separate) Requester: @althea-and-alcestris A/N: I decided to just do a plain reader, also this is most definitely not my best piece, but I tried my best with the info given. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Mentions of abandonment and war ⚠️ (P.S: The Reader is themed after the Tundra Fey from Maleficent: Mistress of Evil)

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Baul Zigvolt ════════════════════════════╝

🐊 It was a mere few months after the Human and Fae war had ended, and it was obvious that, despite what the elder had said, Baul was traumatized from the constant bloodshed

🐊 Ever since it ended, he had begun taking small walks in the woods nearby to calm himself down from the memories of losing the young and old. From his childhood friends to even the ones that barely scraped 150 years old

🐊 During one of these late walks, he heard the cracking and squashes of sticks and wet leaves coming from ahead of him. And, in true warrior fashion, he gripped his weapon and stalked his way towards the noise silently

"I'm so sorry, my baby..." A female's voice said through the trees as the Fae came closer.

"Who goes there?!" He yelled, making the woman stand abruptly and begin running away as fast as her speed and legs could take her.

🐊 Baul began to run after her, but stopped when the curiosity of what she left there took over. So, he turned around and sprinted back to where she once kneeled. And when he looked down, he was shocked

🐊 A young Fae was there, wrapped up in a tiny periwinkle-colored blanket, it was fairly faded with your bright colors. Your small white and black horns were a tell-tale sign of your heritage, but what was more of a sore thumb was your high-levels of paleness, you were far brighter toned than other Faes nearby

🐊 You had to be a Tundra Fae, which was odd. That sub-species was very hard to come across, since they were seen to make up a large section of most first-fighting armies, meaning they passed far faster than other kinds

🐊 Baul kneeled down and looked at you with a glossing of despair in his eyes, who in the name of Twisted Wonderland would leave such a vulnerable Fae, nonetheless one that couldn't be that much older than a few years. Perhaps around a few months in human terms

🐊 Instead of leaving the youngling in the woods or leaving it at the nearby orphanage, Baul looked into the tiny (E/C) eyes that faded into black and smiled gently. You reminded him of his daughter when she was a baby, with such innocence in her eyes. Maybe raising another wouldn't be so bad...

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Sebek Zigvolt ═══════════════════════════╝

⚡ Sebek has admired you for the 16 years that he has been alive. From the way you defended your family if offended in any way to the way you seemingly got along with everyone that you met, it was all just amazing to witness

⚡ He hates himself for his human half, so having a family member that can sit by his side and speak of how they felt knowing that they were far from related to the people once considered family, it was nice to know that not only he felt like the oddball in the family to his Grandfather

⚡ Speaking of his Grandfather, as his adoptive child, you were held in very high regards by others. From his now-deceased wife, to his biological daughter, her human-husband, and their shared children, you were always beloved. Especially when he had first brought you home all those years ago

⚡ You were also fairly young for Fae, reaching at 170 years old. In human terms, you would be around 17. With such youth, you grew up being babysat by your older sister and father's best friend, Lilia Vanrouge, who adored you to pieces

⚡ Since you were so young, Sebek, whom was your technical nephew, was shocked to see just how close you got to his 'Wakasama'. It was not like he was to yell at you like he did others, you were his family, nonetheless his aunt/uncle, he respected you highly

⚡ But, every time he saw you laugh freely with Malleus, he couldn't help but wonder if you did have some kind of special bone with the future ruler of Briar Valley

⚡ As you grew up and helped raise Sebek well, you understood how he thought far better than other people in your family. You would sit by him almost every night and let him relax alongside you, inviting the others like Malleus, Lilia, Silver, maybe even the new magicless human from time to time for extra companionship

⚡ Sebek also protects you the same way he does Malleus. Anytime he sees/hears someone disrespect you, he yells at full volume about how 'repulsive' and 'self-hating' they must be. One time, he had found a Diasomnia third-year speaking about how you must be using your title to get you through College, and oh boy did he regret saying that

⚡ He had told Lilia about the words, leading the elder Fae to grit his teeth in a smile before telling his son and son-figure to get ready for a small interrogation, War Style

⚡ He also enjoys to see you train against others. You were raised by a former soldier, so fighting was in your 'blood', in a way. The way you gripped a spear and readied yourself whilst kicking away and dodging every upcoming hit coming from your uncle figure just made stars appear in your nephew's eyes

[yandere-3-sagau]

Genshin Cult AU but reader really doesn’t wanna be creator

warning(s): mental-health issues, mentions of suicide, mentions of death and killing, angst

Isekaied reader who always dreamed of going to teyvat but when they actually go, they realize they took for granted their life before. They’re homesick and want nothing more to return to their family.

They hide and no one recognizes the creator’s face. Reader makes friends with people and becomes close. However, they’re devout followers of the creator. Reader goes to “mass” with them and when they’re there they can hear their prayers. They decide to help them out in their own way.

Someones missing, they goes out to find the missing person and since none of the creatures hurt them, it’s relatively easy.

Someone’s sick, reader buys them medicine or helps heal them.

Reader accidentally helps too many people and they begin to suspect them. Their very close friend apologizes before cutting reader and their golden blood is shown to all. Reader feels heartbroken at their close friend being distant out of respect. They just wanted to help people, they didn’t want to be put on a pedestal. They wish no one ever knew. And all of a sudden everyone forgot about reader being the creator.

That’s when reader finds out they can erase memories/control minds. They decide to leave since nothing is the same.

They become depressed and starts drinking. Reader heads over to mondstadt and drowns themself in alcohol and gets heavily drunk in front of diluc. He figures out that they’re the creator after ranting to him in their druken state. However, they erase his memories.

For years, reader lives while erasing the memories of those who discover them. During this time, they’ve tried to off themself several times only to fail. Finally, after the boredom and loneliness sinks in, they finally decide to give being creator a shot. They think it can’t be that bad and reveals themself. They were wrong.

Now reader has a suffocating pressure on them at all times. So, instead of erasing their memories (since they’ve been doing that for years), reader tries to do something different. They try to be evil.

Reader kills people off/orders their execution at the slightest of things. They hope that their evilness will spark the people’s will to kill them. However, no one bats an eye. All of the acolytes believe that they’re right no matter how cruel reader is. Even the families of the people they’ve killed think that there must have been something wrong with their loved one for the creator to sentence them to death.

Because they are so blind with devotion, reader tries to manipulate them into hating them. Poisoning the acolytes mind against themself. That still doesn’t work. Even if reader blatantly tells them that they don’t give a fuck about any of them, the acolytes just become more determined to fix themselves so that reader approves of them.

Next, reader tries to use mind control to force the acolytes into killing them. But no amount of damage they do can kill them. They are immortal. When it fails, reader erases their memories.

Finally, reader tells them that they’ve seen of a future where a powerful god/creator from a different universe is planning on invading. They urge everybody to create the most powerful weapon that could kill a creator/god. When they finally create one, reader uses it on themself.

Sad ending: The weapon doesn’t work on them because the acolytes made a safe guard to ensure no harm comes to the creator. Reader is so despaired that they kill everyone and is doomed to live an eternity in an empty universe.

Alternate Ending: Reader manipulates the acolytes to remove the safe guard and then uses it on themself, finally succeeding in killing themself after years of being trapped. But they don’t return to their home-world and remain dead. The entirety of Teyvat suffers from the knowledge that their beloved creator offed themselves to escape the world they created.

[defectivevillain]

broken vessels

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used. there's one mention of glasses, but that's the extent of my self indulgence.

summary:

You sit down across from Hannibal. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it, judging from the smile pulling at his lips.

You had no idea just how drastically your life would change after becoming Hannibal Lecter's therapist.

word count: 7.8k | ao3 version

author's notes: This fic has been rotting in my drafts for too long. The transitions are a bit choppy, but I just had to realize this into the wild. So... yeah.

The focus of this fic is Hannibal Lecter/Reader; there is no explicit romance, but I am a diehard fan of the inherent homoeroticism that is Hannibal Lecter. If you’re looking for a happy ending or romance, you won’t find it here. Also this won't be canon compliant, since Sam and Hannibal are very different. You have been warned!

And if you aren’t familiar with The Patient… Well, you’re in for a wild ride. For now, all you need to know is that the reader is a therapist and Hannibal visits them for a session. (And you should also watch the series when you get the chance, because it's very good.)

warnings: canon-typical violence, depictions of mental illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, hopelessness, kidnapping, captivity/imprisonment, blood and injury, cannibalism

Hannibal Lecter is an interesting patient. You’re not sure what compels him to come to you one dreary morning, when the sky is muddled with grey and there is nothing but the threat of a storm on the horizon. You just know that your doorbell rings at exactly 10:00 a.m., and you open it to find a fine-dressed man with perfectly coiffed hair and an easy smile on his face. The expression is nothing short of polite, yet you feel as if there is unspeakab;e malice dripping from the corners of his lips. You invite him in and urge him to take a seat wherever he feels comfortable. The man regards the room for a moment, before sitting in the armchair you typically sit in. Unperturbed by the seating change, you move to the couch parallel to your usual chair. 

For a while, there is only silence. You get the feeling the man is surveying you, scrutinizing you in his mind’s eye. You watch him and he watches you back. While you’re content to let the silence settle over the room, after a few minutes, you decide to speak up and ask him why he decided to come for a session with you.

The first session doesn’t prove to be entirely eventful, but it rarely is. Since it’s your first interaction, you spend most of the time trying to get to know him better. You learn that the man—Hannibal—was a surgeon and is now a psychiatrist, rather renowned for his research. Idly, you have to wonder how he came across you—and why he’s giving you a chance. Surely Hannibal has access to any of his colleagues, who are distinguished scholars. Maybe he needs a break from that, you then think. 

Ultimately, your first session with Hannibal isn’t cause for concern. Your attention instead falls to your third session together, when you begin to realize that he’s being deliberately vague with his answers—and that he seems to favor dishonesty over truthfulness. 

“Hannibal,” you remark, your heart thudding steadily in your chest, “I get the sense that you haven’t been quite honest with me.” You feel unreasonably apprehensive, as if this single accusation will ruin the little progress you’ve made with him. Yet, you can’t even call your past two sessions “progress,” can you? You spent the entire time attempting to stay afloat amidst the fluid conversation, feeling somewhat frustrated and confused all the same. 

“I’ve been perfectly honest with you,” Hannibal responds. The look on his face is seamlessly calm. You’re nervous, but you continue. Therapy conducted under pretense is pointless, after all. Besides, this man knows what he’s doing. His behavior has been purposeful. 

“You haven’t been,” you say, “and I think we both know that.” Hannibal looks at you—really looks at you—for what feels like the first time. His eyes are a glittering maroon and a slight smile rises on his face. Somehow, you can’t shake the inexplicable feeling that you’ve just made a grave misstep. 

You continue to recall that third session as you stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom, your vision slowly growing fuzzy. You’re tired, but it’s taking you a while to fall asleep. Your mind is racing, recalling several different moments scattered across your lifetime that you’d rather forget. You try to focus on your breathing and, eventually, your eyes fall shut. 

Your dreams are weird—which is saying something, since dreams are usually weird. These particular dreams feel like omens for the future and, if that is the case, then your future can’t be very good. You dream of sharp mirrors, harsh corners, and neatly-carved lines. You dream of an infinite winding labyrinth that you can’t escape from, of a puppet-master watching you stumble through a never-ending maze with amusement, of your tattered visage reflected in the jagged shards of a broken mirror.

You jolt awake with a gasp on your tongue, your throat feeling extremely dry. It takes you a few moments to internalize that you’re awake and no longer dreaming. There’s a cup of water on the bedside table and you reach for it, wincing at how heavy your limbs feel. Eventually, you reach the water and take a sip. The glass is cold against your skin and, when you put it back, you nearly miss your nightstand entirely. That’s a little strange—the nightstand has occupied that position for years. Why would your muscle memory fail you now, all of a sudden? 

You swing your legs to the side of the bed, only to hear an ominous rattling sound—almost reminiscent of metal clinking against the ground. You reach down and try to feel your way around in the dark, grabbing your glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. The darkness momentarily sharpens and a sense of foreboding prickles along your skin. Your surroundings look strangely unfamiliar. Unease pulling at your gut, you reach down, down, down—only to find a thick chain secured around your ankle. You tug at it, panic rising in your chest as you realize it’s not coming off. You then push yourself to your feet and walk a few steps, testing how far the chain will go. It doesn’t reach far enough for you to thoroughly explore the unfamiliar space—just barely getting to the small room that looks to be a bathroom. Upon further investigation, there’s nothing in the bathroom that would help you get the chain off. The toothbrush and disposable toothpaste resting inconspicuously on the counter throw you off guard. Was this planned? It’s abundantly clear to you now that you’ve been kidnapped. Did your captor plan this out and configure this bathroom for a captive?

You manage to convince yourself to move back out to the main room, only to find a meal placed on the small plastic table situated past the end of the bed. You don’t recognize the food and, frankly, you don’t want to know what it is. The thought of food right now is enough to make you nearly throw up. You instead decide to continue testing how far you can move with your chain. It turns out you can’t move very far at all: you only have access to the bed, the nightstands, and the nearby bathroom. There are a set of glass doors across from the bed and hints of the morning sun illuminate the room in a hazy glow, revealing polished furniture and elegant decorations. It seems your captor has rather distinguished tastes. 

In hindsight, seeing Hannibal Lecter come down the stairs moments later is more of a shock than it should be. Your eyes widen and you blink a few times, convinced your mind is conjuring illusions. Hannibal stares at you in return, before sending you a small smile—as if sharing an inside joke.

Meanwhile, you’re panicking. There’s a good chance Hannibal is the one who trapped you here. “Hey, where am I?” You ask apprehensively. Seeing Hannibal simultaneously provokes relief and dread within you. You tug at the chain on your ankle, but it doesn’t budge. “Hannibal? Why am I here?” “This is my home,” Hannibal answers. You feel your heart drop to your stomach. It was a foolish thought to think Hannibal would be here by mere coincidence, but it kept your hopes alive. Now, you’re left to the bleak despair that clings to your ankle like a vice. “I need to speak with you.” 

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend that statement, in the wake of all the thoughts running through your mind. “You could’ve called me to book an appointment,” you eventually point out, struggling to keep yourself calm. You’re trapped here, and the chain on your ankle is extremely thick and sturdy. Not to mention, you can’t reach the door; you don’t have your phone; and you have a bad feeling Hannibal is the sole occupant of this house. How on earth will you escape? 

“This is… an ongoing concern,” Hannibal interjects. It takes you a few moments to process that statement. Then, at your disbelieving look, he continues. “Our typical environment was not suitable.” 

“Not suitable?” Panic is beginning to seep through your voice. You know you should probably be maintaining your composure, but it’s rather difficult to do so when you’re faced with the inevitability of your captivity. “What part of this environment is suitable? I have a chain around my ankle and I can’t leave!” You try to take a deep breath and manifest a level of composure that you certainly don’t have at the present moment. You look eyes with him and attempt to get through to him. “Hannibal. Take this chain off my ankle.” 

You don’t expect your attempt at persuasion to work and, indeed, Hannibal is silent. He regards you for a moment before stepping forward, momentarily fooling you into thinking he may genuinely release you. Then, he takes another step and pulls a chair out from the table to take a seat. He motions for you to take the other seat. You shake your head and remain on the bed, opting to keep as much distance from Hannibal as possible. Unfortunately, it still doesn’t feel like enough—as his eyes pin you in place.

You’re not sure how long you spend trapped in your spiraling thoughts, before you attempt to speak to your captor again. “Hannibal,” you say, trying to maintain your composure. You’re grasping at the sheets of the bed with shaking hands. “Whatever you have to talk about, I am willing to listen to you. But not like this.”

There’s a beat of silence. You aren’t deluded enough to think this conversation is getting you any closer to an escape. Instead, Hannibal regards you for a moment, clasping his hands on the table. He holds his utensils in a strangely tight grip, as if they’re weapons. The knife makes you particularly nervous, but it pales in comparison to his next statement. “You would be legally required to share the information I divulge.” Therapists have a firm code of ethics, which dictates that information must be brought to the local authorities if it involves harm to oneself or others. The thought makes an ugly feeling stew in your stomach. You inhale slowly. 

“This is your last chance,” you warn, despite knowing you have no power in this situation. “Let me go, and I’ll pretend this never happened. We can go back to the way things were. I won’t press charges or anything. Okay?” You think that’s a pretty generous offer, all things considered. 

For a moment, the air is entirely still. Then, the expression on Hannibal’s face flickers. “Would you like something to eat?” he eventually responds.

You stare at him in disbelief. It seems you underestimated Hannibal and his cruelty. Your tongue feels ironed to the roof of your mouth, and you take a deep breath before shaking your head silently. You move back on the bed, your back finding the headboard. You pull your knees up and rest your arms, clasping your hands and closing your eyes. Maybe, if you keep your eyes closed for long enough, this scenario will simply… disappear. 

Hannibal takes a bite of his food, ignorant of your internal conflict. The small clinks of his silverware against the plate are the only noises in the otherwise tense air. Even when Hannibal’s gaze is focused on something else, you feel as if he’s watching you. You don’t dare to move a single muscle. There’s an uncomfortable silence settling in the air. 

“I met with many different therapists,” Hannibal remarks, apropos of nothing. He levels you with a scrutinizing gaze. You blink and you see your head on his dinner plate. You shake off the grotesque thought. “I chose you.” Is that supposed to make you feel better? It only makes you feel more uneasy.

After some time eating silently, Hannibal gets up from his seat and takes his empty plate. You watch as he steps towards the hallway from which he came—leaving you suspicious and wary as you wait for something to happen. In the time after his departure, you’re still tense. Will he be back soon? You’re not sure how long you sit there, dreading his return. 

Eventually, after what must be at least two hours, you conclude that Hannibal won’t be returning. You decide to lie down, curling up on your side. Perhaps if you close your eyes, you’ll wake up from this nightmare. 

…But the universe isn’t that merciful, and you wake up hours later with a helplessness that clings to your skin. This wasn’t some twisted nightmare—it’s reality. And your reality is inescapable. You’re a bird with clipped wings, trapped in a gilded cage. 

Hannibal visits in the middle of the day. Your eyes follow him the moment he enters the room; as if recognizing this, he seems to take delight in moving as agonizingly slow as possible. Despite the deliberate slow pace to his movements, you recognize the show for what it is. Hannibal is a predator on the prowl. You are his prey, left baring your bleeding flesh before a salivating maw.

It’s not helpful to think about what you could have done instead of pushing him to be honest. But you think about it anyway. If you had let him have his lies, his understanding but strained smiles… what would have happened? The self-defeating part of you wants to say he would’ve left you alone, but you know that’s a desperate thought. No. Somehow, you piqued Hannibal’s interest from the moment you found him on your doorstep.

Realistically speaking, he could’ve been watching you long before that. You’re not sure if he’s the type to stalk people; then again, you didn’t characterize him as the kidnapping type at first, and look where you are now. The thought drags a wry laugh from your lips, inadvertently drawing Hannibal’s attention towards you. He motions for you to join him at the table, where he’s prepared some sort of meal. Despite your growling stomach, you refuse the offer. Hannibal only raises a brow, as if he sees your fleeting attempt at resistance and views it to be a waste of time. Your refusal does give you an illusion of control. You feel as if you have power—however slight—over this situation. 

You don’t think you’ll cave so quickly, but by the time he returns that night with a late dinner, you’re fighting off the instinct to join him at the table. As if recognizing this, Hannibal stares at you with twinkling eyes. You grit your teeth. Unfortunately, you don’t really have a choice anymore. If you want to navigate his mind games, you need to be completely focused. Your hunger and aching stomach can’t serve as distractions. 

You sit down across from him. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it. 

As you’re eating, you realize you’ve been given a knife. You frown and look at the meal before you. There’s meat on Hannibal’s plate, but not on yours. Why were you given a knife, if you didn’t need one? Initially, you want to think it’s just a mistake. But you don’t think your captor would overlook something like that. Nearly every action of Hannibal's so far has been purposeful, even if that purpose was beyond your understanding. It’s very hard to believe that the knife is a simple oversight. 

But the knife’s purpose doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that you have a weapon. Hannibal is well within striking range, since the table you’re eating at is rather small. You could easily reach out and stab him in the hand, but then what…? You would still have the chain on your ankle. If you dealt him a powerful blow, you could incapacitate him at the very least. You’re not familiar with knives, though, so an attempt to incapacitate him could quickly become a murder. That’s a risk you think you’re going to have to take. You’re not sure when you’ll have another opportunity like this. 

You reach out and take both your fork and knife, pretending you’re going to cross them on your plate to signal that you’re finished with the meal. Your hand doesn’t want to relinquish its awkward grip on the knife, though. Something about the blade’s steady pressure against your palm is grounding. You realize you’re drawing blood when droplets fall to mark the wooden table. Hannibal’s eyes follow the movement, as if he actually heard the sound of your blood hitting the surface of the table. He’s momentarily distracted.

So you strike. 

At least, you try to. When his attention is captured, you slide your grip down to the handle of the knife, winding back and aiming at his neck. But Hannibal is inhumanly fast, and he quickly grabs your wrist with bruising strength until the utensil clatters back to its place on the table. Your eyes meet and you see only raw, unadulterated fury. A shiver crawls down your spine as a bone-deep fear settles past your skin. You’re going to die. 

Seconds drag on and, while Hannibal is still holding your wrist, the strength of his grip slowly fades. The silence is almost more painful than the white-hot irritation of the gash on your palm. With bated breath, you watch as Hannibal lets your wrist fall. Dread churning in your stomach, you’re frozen as he leaves the room. Terror stews in your chest at the anticipation he’s leaving you in. What weapon will he choose to end your life? 

Hannibal returns moments later with a clear container. You bite the inside of your cheek and watch silently as he approaches you, setting the bin on the table before taking your wrist and studying the minor gash on your palm. Something close to disapproval passes over his face for a quick second, before it’s replaced with a clinical gaze. 

Your hand is trembling ever so slightly. If Hannibal notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he obtains ointment from the container of medical supplies and spreads it along your scrape—before wrapping a bandage around your hand and wrist. His movements are precise and practiced; even if you were unaware of his background, you’d know he had experience as a medical practitioner. 

“Don’t try that again.” His voice is deceptively light; you don’t need to look far to see the anger coiled in his tight shoulders. You nod silently, your throat burning as you’re overcome with your own helplessness. With that, he walks back to the table, collects the dishes, and leaves the room. You stare down at your newly-bandaged hand, a renewed anguish promptly replacing any hope for escape. That attempt just now was a colossal failure. You didn’t think you were too obvious about your intentions, but he had reacted as if he expected you to stab him. Maybe that knife was placed there purposefully. Maybe, for reasons beyond your current comprehension, Hannibal wanted you to threaten his life. 

You really don’t know what to do with that information. You settle for reclining on the mattress and closing your eyes, still fighting off that foolish hope that you’ll wake sweat-soaked in your own bedroom, breathing hard from the fictitious nightmare you just experienced. 

Not much is born from your failure to escape, save for a few things: 1) a downgrade to plastic silverware, which makes you laugh in hysterical defeat; 2) pervasive hopelessness; and 3) a need for a new coping mechanism. Planning to escape no longer seems like a productive use of your time—trying to create something out of nothing is just insanity. Instead of maniacally going through every physically possible way to escape—a list which currently has zero items on it—you find yourself meditating. 

You were never the meditative type; you had many therapists who told you to meditate on your problems, and you promised yourself that you would never give that kind of advice to your patients. Mindfulness itself isn’t a bad suggestion, but the suggestion of meditation—crossed legs, pinched fingers—always felt like a slap in the face. 

You were so desperate once that you gave it a try. Predictably, your skeptical nature prevented it from actually working. But, ironically, when you tried it again a few days later, you found that you were able to compartmentalize your thoughts better. It didn’t necessarily make you feel calm in the way everyone claimed it did, but meditation helped you sort out the seemingly infinite tangle of problems in your mental cobweb. And if that cobweb was tangled before, it’s an absolute wreck now. Trapped in a man’s basement with no means of escape is a never-ending fountain of dread, regret, fear, and stress. 

At first, you just try to count to large numbers in your head. It helps you pass the time, in a room with no other form of entertainment. You slowly work your way up to tackling actual thoughts from there, and you find that, with time, you’re able to suppress unwanted feelings slightly. It’s nothing ground-breaking. But coping with your situation is one hell of a difficult task, so you’re proud of yourself for making any progress at all. 

This meditation becomes somewhat of a routine. You find yourself retreating into the depths of your mind at least once a day, if not two or three times. It’s a welcome escape from the unfamiliar room around you. Everything fades away, until you’re submerged in an endless void. Memories flicker before your eyes in brief flashes of light, visible but intangible. 

This meditation has one flaw: it leaves you entirely unguarded and defenseless. You were preoccupied with this notion during your first few attempts, but after you returned to the empty room each time, you began to forget your fear. But losing that fear made you complacent. You soon found yourself entirely ignoring the room around you—ignoring footsteps, ignoring shadows passing across the walls. While you often returned to reality to find yourself alone… that wasn’t always the case. 

When you’re finished with meditation one night, you open your eyes to find Hannibal standing in front of you. You immediately flinch and suck in a startled breath, nearly falling backwards on the bed as you create more distance between the two of you. It doesn’t take much contemplation to understand what he’s doing here. He was watching you, observing you. You never noticed him cross the threshold of the doorway; you didn’t notice him approach you with intrigue in his eyes as he regarded your vulnerable form. You were lost in the workings of your mind palace, your eyes closed and hands clasped in your lap.

“Hannibal,” you say, when you regain the ability to speak. “You scared me.” That’s an understatement. Your heart is positively racing in your chest. Hannibal has that damned smirk on his face, suggesting that your terror only amuses him. You grit your teeth and pretend not to notice the satisfaction practically radiating off of him. 

He finally stops looming over you, turning on his heel and walking over to the table. When he takes a seat, he immediately looks at you expectantly. “Take a seat,” Hannibal verbalizes, when a few seconds pass and you don’t make a move. 

You do as requested, albeit with a lot of restless fidgeting. Whenever the two of you sit at the table and there isn’t any food, you know a therapy session is beginning. Admittedly, your interactions so far barely qualify as sessions—Hannibal has still been frustratingly vague with what he’s experiencing, leaving you with virtually nothing to give to him in return. 

This session is nothing new. His ambiguity is still infuriating, but you find yourself grappling with a newer impatience. When it becomes clear that the conversation isn’t going anywhere, you hear yourself speaking. “I thought we promised to be honest with one another.” You wait with bated breath. Hannibal looks tightly coiled, as if ready to strike at any moment. But he remains silent, which pushes you to continue. “You’re still not being honest with me.”

“Very well,” Hannibal nods. You both know it’s true. Hannibal has only spoken of ambiguous urges that nearly consume him. These urges are evidently negative and almost mirror compulsions. However, from what you’ve seen of Hannibal so far, he has finely-regulated emotional control. Is he really a victim to these negative urges, or is he their puppetmaster? Your instincts gravitate towards the latter, but you aren’t prepared for the verbal confirmation he gives you. “I am a serial killer and a cannibal.” 

You immediately scrutinize him, looking for the signs you’ve grown to attribute to dishonesty. But there is only unapologetic candor… and an almost boundless hunger. You loathe how quick you are to believe such an outlandish statement. But, in the wake of your captivity, you’ve grown somewhat used to outlandishness. After all, Hannibal went so far as to kidnap you indefinitely—it’s been abundantly clear since you woke in this room that he is not a good person. His thinly-veiled fury has always been present—it is only now that you are able to attribute it to something. 

Your gaze is then unwittingly pulled down, past his neatly-ironed suit and to the wooden table before you. You think back to all the meals you’ve been fed and you look back up at him, unable to hide your fear and revulsion. “Have you…?” You’re at a loss for words. 

“I have not fed you anything untoward,” Hannibal answers. You’re briefly grateful, before you chastise yourself for the emotion. Why are you grateful to your captor for showing you the smallest of mercies? You are still trapped here. You have been shown the most basic of human decencies: food and water. Privacy and safety are distant memories, at this point. 

“You’re a serial killer and a cannibal,” you hear yourself repeat. Your voice sounds foreign and unrecognizable, in the wake of this horrifying revelation. “That’s…” You choke out, entirely unsure of what to say. 

Hannibal tries to keep talking, but you place your hands on the table and get to your feet. The chain on your ankle clinks menacingly as you move away from the table and towards the bed. You know better to turn your back on the man, so you instead perform an awkward side-shuffle until you’re seated on the bed. Hannibal finishes his meal in silence and leaves you alone in the basement. You break down soon after. 

Each time you blink, you see eyes glazed over in death; limbs stiff and unfeeling; lips parted but unbreathing. Every morning, you’re brutally torn from your sleep and forced to wake up in a nightmare. You are rotting behind these nondescript walls and no one has seemed to notice. What of your family and friends? Where are they now? Is anyone looking for you, or have you been banished to the uncompromising soil and cold headstones in a barren field? 

You haven’t caught even a trace of happiness throughout your captivity here. Fear, unease, and desperation have forced you into compliance. There’s a constant burning sensation in your throat and behind your eyes, as you mourn for the tragedies of tomorrow. Your life here is dictated by Hannibal’s whims. And, worst of all, your death is completely inevitable. You have no sense of the passage of time, yet the threat of your end seems to come ever closer with each passing moment.

There are only so many mind games you can subject yourself to before you have to face the grim reality: you are trapped here, and you likely will be trapped here for the remainder of your life. Whether that’s several weeks, eight months, or a few years… You will be confined here until Hannibal grows disinterested. Whatever the source of his interest, one thing is certain: this intrigue persuades him to spare you. But, as patient as Hannibal seems to be, you know it will only be a matter of time before he snaps. 

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you can hear your own bones cracking and snapping under his grip. Sometimes, in the light of day, you can see bright patrol lights reaching out to you through the screen door, beckoning you back to your life. But none of it is real. Nothing is tangible, save for the chain suffocating your ankle and the fear that keeps you from acting out or attempting to escape again.

In light of Hannibal’s confession, you feel… empty. A part of you is almost hopeful—even desperate—for an end to your confinement. That part of you longs to test the limits of Hannibal’s patience, in the hopes of breaking it and triggering the final chapter of your life. 

Safe to say, you aren’t sure what to do with yourself anymore. Everything feels completely pointless. You’re just waking up to fall asleep again the next night; eating to put off the gnawing feeling in your stomach; living to die. Each day simultaneously feels like a victory and a defeat. 

One question still begs your attention: why are you here? In your first session, Hannibal had maintained the illusion that he wanted to get better. The same can’t be said anymore: he shows no regret for the things he’s done. There isn’t even a hint of remorse in his answers to your questions, which only confuses you more. He does not want to improve. 

One particular morning, you decide to ask him. After all, you have virtually nothing left to lose. You would welcome an escape from this situation—any violence from him would only provide a merciful end to your suffering. “Why are you still entertaining all of this?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Hannibal is entirely static as he stares at you, no hint of emotion in his eyes. You can only imagine what he’s thinking. “You don’t want to get better. You show no remorse for your victims. Therapy is conducted under the pretense that the client wants something. As you’re aware, that is often support, self-actualization, or even just someone to listen to them… What do you want?”

“I’m glad I chose you,” Hannibal says, his eyes glimmering. 

“You haven’t answered my question,” you frown. 

“Company,” he answers. 

You study him for a long moment. “Do you feel unsatisfied with your current attachments?” You ask, squinting at him. “You once told me you host dinner parties frequently. You’ve never expressed difficulties with making friends, but you also never speak about the ones you do have.” You wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal didn’t have any friends—he doesn’t seem the type.

“Perhaps I think them to be beneath me,” he remarks casually. 

“Sure,” you say. That sounds about right, but you know things are rarely so simple and straightforward. “But then how do you fulfill your basic interpersonal needs? Are you constantly pretending?” You push. 

His silence is enough of an answer. Something ugly stews in your chest. You hate that you’re entertaining this—that you’re even pretending this man is redeemable. Yet what other choice do you have? When it comes down to it, you don’t want to die in this basement. You’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you escape that fate. Even if that means asking questions that you really don’t want the answers to. Somehow, you manage to push the off-putting words from your lips. “How do you choose your victims?”

Hannibal raises his brows, evidently surprised that you asked. He almost looks impressed. The recognition nauseates you: why are you so desperate for his approval? “I exchange business cards with people I meet,” Hannibal responds. That uneasy feeling is only increasing, continuing to prickle along your skin. “The cards of those who are particularly rude… are set aside.”

You force yourself to maintain some semblance of composure, even if you know the effort will be obvious. “And then?” Your voice is deceptively light, despite your pulse practically thrumming with uneasy anticipation. “What pushes you to make a move?”

“Anger,” he answers. His eyes gleam a foreboding crimson in the dim light of the basement. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to stop talking, yet you continue relentlessly. 

“No,” you immediately argue before you can stop yourself. “It’s not anger.” Hannibal raises a brow, challenging you to provide a better explanation. 

You pause to review everything you’ve learned about Hannibal so far. His secretive, elusive nature suggests that he isn’t killing for attention or pride.  Sure, anger could be a motivator, but above that… “It’s boredom,” you realize aloud. “You’re bored. Very little interests you, especially when you have so few genuine relationships. Killing actually makes you feel something—an emotion you’re unable to find elsewhere.”

You’re gripping the arms of your chair hard enough to send bolts of pain sliding through your fingers. One wrong move and he could lash out at you, ending your escape attempt before it can even truly begin. “Try as you might to replicate that feeling… You can’t.”

You’re not sure what reaction you’re expecting. Yet you’re still shocked to see Hannibal smile—a twisted, malicious thing that tears your breath from your chest. You’re immediately overcome with the inexplicable conviction that you’ve just supplied the last nail in your own coffin.

“My whole life, I have been thinking…. thinking… trying to figure myself out so I can help other people understand themselves.” You say some time later, staring up at the ceiling. Your fingers twitch restlessly in the plush brown armchair you find yourself sitting in. The room is warmly lit, with bookshelves lining the walls. Across from you sits your old therapist. “And here I am,” you continue wryly, “Talking to my dead therapist.”

There’s a healthy glow to Charlie’s warm brown skin; he looks entirely at ease. “Why do you think that is?” He asks. Irritation floods through you. Charlie is just a figment of your imagination—a device your mind is using to attempt to cope with the trauma of this situation. But even this manifestation of Charlie is unrelenting, just as he once was. 

“Come on, Charlie,” you groan. His expression says, Humor me. You take a slow breath. A thump from upstairs draws you to look up at the ceiling, before you’re returning your eyes to Charlie and the space around him. “Fine. I was kidnapped by a serial killer and I have no chance of escape. No one is going to find me and I’m going to rot down here.”

Speaking on your thoughts ushers in a new sense of finality and it’s greatly unsettling. Charlie, on the other hand, is entirely unaffected. Whether that’s because he’s already dead or simply because he has a firm handle on his emotions, you’re unsure. 

You’re not sure how long you spend falling apart on that armchair, nor how long it takes for you to pull yourself back together. All you know is this unfamiliar feeling that tugs you back up above the roaring waves, pushing you to try again when all feels pointless. “I can’t die here,” you announce. The words linger in the air long after you utter them.

“So don’t,” Charlie replies simply. 

“I wish it were that easy,” you breathe. Faint traces of voices break you from your reverie and you stare at the basement wall intensely, before abandoning the gesture moments later when nothing happens. You look back at Charlie, whose eyes snap back to you as if he was also distracted by the sound. “Hannibal… He’s too perceptive. It won’t work.” You’re forced to think back to the rapidity with which he disarmed you.

You sense what Charlie’s going to say before he says it. “You don’t know that unless you try.”

“There’s no point,” you sigh frustratedly. 

“How long will you perpetuate this cycle?” Charlie asks, a worried frown on his face. “You give yourself hope, only to take it away again. You are the one in control here.” 

That’s not true. You’re not in control—Hannibal is the puppet master. But you suppose your therapist is correct, in a sense: your emotions are your own. “Fine,” you acquiesce. “I need to put an end to this. I can’t be trapped down here for the rest of my life. I need to try, at the very least.”

Somehow, the placating smile on Charlie’s face still looks smug. You put it down to your imagination. “What are your options, then?” He questions.

“Well…” You trail off. “I could fashion a weapon out of something in the room. But I’ve been downgraded to plastic silverware since the fork incident…”

“I could also try to reason with him. That definitely wouldn’t work, because he’s already convinced and can’t be persuaded. Hannibal shows no remorse for his actions and he will likely spend the rest of his life killing.”

You find yourself faced with the same troubling conclusion that has provoked your inaction. “I have no power, no authority in this situation.” It doesn’t take long for the reality of the situation to set in once more. “He’s not trying to get better.” Only in the depths of your mind, before your conjured visage of Charlie, does your voice betray the defeat you feel. 

“But he brought you here,” Charlie reminds you. You tap your fingers restlessly against the arm of the chair. “He must’ve taken you for a reason, even if it wasn’t for you to help him. What do you think that reason is?” He prompts. 

“He’s…” You break off. “He enjoys being in control and exerting authority.” That explanation sounds flimsy, even to you. The truth of the matter is staring you in the face, but you’re too unsettled to acknowledge it. 

“You’re grossly underestimating your value,” Charlie hums, perceptive as always. “You are valuable to him.” You’re unwittingly reminded of his gentle touch as he bandaged your palm; the intensity with which he gazes at you (especially when he thinks you don’t notice). You can deny it no longer. 

“Somehow, I interest him.” You say. Charlie nods; you’re on the right track. Something pushes you to shake your head and abandon that thought process. Inexplicably, you know you won’t like what you find there if you push any further. 

“I need to focus on how to get out of here,” you announce. Charlie arches a brow, but gracefully allows you to change the subject. Yet the unspoken sentiment adds a tension to the air that wasn’t present previously. You both know just how far Hannibal’s intrigue goes, yet you’re not comfortable with addressing it. 

“You’ve looked around the room,” Charlie then prompts. 

“Many times,” you acquiesce. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look again. There are two padlocks—one on the bedpost and one on the chain around my ankle. The lock on the chain could be picked with a pin. I doubt he has a pin lying around, but a nail or something like that could work…” 

Charlie nods approvingly. You roll your eyes and willingly retreat from your mind palace, returning to the room around you with renewed resolve. That resolve slowly wanes when you don’t find anything in the main room. But when you walk into the bathroom, you realize there’s a landscape painting on the wall. It must be secured with a nail. Surely enough, when you remove it from the wall, a single nail is left behind. It looks bent already, but it’ll have to do. Studying the room, you decide to stuff the painting in the cabinets beneath the sink. You’ve never seen Hannibal use this bathroom and you’ll have to trust that assumption. Hope brews in your chest, but you can’t quite bring yourself to trust it. 

When you leave the bathroom and enter the basement, you sit on the bed in silence—waiting for Hannibal to stalk in and thwart your escape attempts. After an immeasurable amount of time spent holding your breath, you manage to convince yourself to work on the padlock around your ankle. The nail you found is rigid and uncompromising, which forces you to exert an unnecessary amount of strength to manipulate it into a suitable shape. 

The chain is rattling ever so slightly as you attempt to free yourself from it. Your breathing is extremely loud in your ears and you’re frantically fighting off the growing potential for Hannibal to walk in and catch you in the middle of the act. Your heart is thudding steadily and quickly in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You’ve waited for this chance and you’re not going to blow it. Your fingers calloused and throbbing, you firmly maneuver the nail and the padlock finally pops open. You place it on the bed gently, before shakily taking off the manacle. Your ankle is bruised and irritated, but it’s not broken and you don’t feel too much pain. After a moment, you decide to hide the padlock under the comforter. It doesn’t really matter if you hide it—Hannibal will notice your absence regardless. 

You take a deep breath and get off the bed, stealthily walking towards the glass doors at the other side of the room. You’ve been staring through them for so long now, but you were never able to get close enough to open them—let alone see your surroundings. Now, you find that it’s afternoon—as the sun casts a warm glow on the sky. You slide the lock of the door and pull up on the interior pin, before gently sliding it. Of course, the door catches on the track and shudders—but you manage to put it back as quietly as you can. 

Your shoes finally meet the pavement and you’re free. You’re actually free. 

You take a deep breath of fresh air and survey your surroundings, only to see a never ending expanse of trees on all sides. You’re in the middle of the woods. 

Fuck. 

You had a clear plan in your mind: escape the house, run down the populated street, and find the nearest approachable stranger to ask for help. The second step of your plan has already failed: there is no street or neighborhood—only forest as far as the eye can see. It takes everything you have not to fall to your knees and cry. Crying won’t do you any good.

At first, you take silent, measured steps away from the house—afraid to make any sound. As the house shrinks in the distance, however, you break into a jog and, eventually, a full-out sprint. You don’t know where you’re going—you just hope to put as much distance between Hannibal and you as possible. (Of course, it’s likely that he knows these woods a lot better than you do. That’s only another reason to prioritize speed over getting your bearings.)

In hindsight, you wish you had attempted to sneak upstairs and steal something from his house: a wallet, a phone, a weapon, anything. But you just couldn’t risk it. Not to mention… you had banked on finding yourself in a cookie-cutter neighborhood, not in the middle of nowhere. 

You’re not sure how long you’re running. You don’t stop until your legs threaten to give out. Then, you brace yourself against a tree and try to catch your breath for a few minutes. The pain in your chest fading and your breath restored, you remove your hand from the tree and stand upright—only to see a figure a short distance from you. You squint and try to make it out. For a moment, it’s stationary and you’re fooled into thinking it’s an object. Then it moves, and you’re forced to come to a nauseating conclusion: Hannibal followed you. 

“No,” you say. “No, no, no, no.” Your shoe slides back as you step backwards, leaves and sticks crunching under your feet. You’re hardly able to believe your eyes—frozen in fear as Hannibal strides towards you. Your survival instincts don’t kick in until he’s far closer, and you immediately whip around and run. 

You don’t get far before he’s tackling you to the ground. The sharp edges of his body press into you and you try to throw him off, bucking underneath him. His grip is insistent and he stares down at you with a blank expression. You manage to pull your knee up far enough to hit him, causing his grip to slacken and giving you an outlet of escape. You shove him off of you and kick at his side, but he manages to maneuver to the side and dodge. 

Something at his side catches the light. He’s holding a knife. You’re holding your hands out in front of you, as if that will somehow stop the killer in front of you from making you another victim. With blinding speed, Hannibal is lunging towards you and sinking the knife into your thigh. You scream and manage to push him away, though your attempt at disarming him is futile. You immediately clamp a hand against your bleeding leg, gritting your teeth as stars pass across your vision. Hannibal continues his pursuit, forcing you to stumble backwards. 

“Hannibal,” you choke out, your voice thick. You think you taste blood in your mouth—probably from biting the inside of your cheek too hard. There is almost no emotion in Hannibal’s eyes, save for one confusing one: betrayal. Did he expect you to stay? “Please.” What are you begging for? Do you want mercy, or do you want an end to this madness? 

Either way, Hannibal extends his hand towards you. You’re shaking, blood dripping from your lip as you stare at him. The gesture is a peace offering of sorts: come willingly, and I won’t hurt you, he’s trying to say. You’re not so easily fooled. You never had a choice. 

You still shake your head, a pained whimper wrenching its way out of your lips. You instinctively step backwards. In the blink of an eye, the world is spinning around you and you’re falling to the forest floor. (If a tree falls in a forest with no one to hear it, does it make a sound?) You blink dazedly, your vision slowly blurring. Leaves crunch near your cheek as Hannibal draws ever closer. You try to reach out a hand to resist, but you can only twitch for moments before your eyes are slipping shut. 

When you can finally fight off the exhaustion seeping into your form, you blink past dry eyes and stare up at an achingly familiar ceiling. You push yourself up weakly, only to find yourself in Hannibal’s basement once more. There’s a sturdier chain around your ankle, and a new, bulkier padlock securing the chain. All you can hear is your ragged breathing and the awful ringing in your ears. Taking a shuddering breath, you bury your head in your hands.

endnotes: Here's some dialogue I couldn’t find a place for:

“I don’t particularly care.” “That doesn’t sound like you,” Hannibal responds. “You don’t know me,” you feel the need to remind him. “And I haven’t felt like myself in quite some time.”

Hannibal's boujee ass definitely has a state of the art security system in his home… Methinks the reader triggered the alarm system in their escape and it sent Hannibal's phone a notification…

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[zoe-oneesama]

From what I’ve know, the fandom mostly dislikes Andrey for reasons related to Chloe (bad mother etc.), but what are YOUR reasons for not liking her?

Cuz she's an asshole? On top of being qualified for the Top 3 Never Should've Been Parents to Begin With Award (next to Gabriel and Tomoe), she's an elitist dick waffle without any on screen talent to back it up. So she's a fashion critic. So what? What makes her qualified, have you seen her outfit? And I just have a special hate boner for people who look down on the service industry, so she already wasn't winning any awards for "firing" people left and right.

Meta-wise, I hate her because she just confuses things. "Despair Bear" makes it out that Audrey abandoned the Bourgeois when Chloe was small, though at least old enough to remember, so maybe at minimum 3 years old, though in a sensible universe, closer to 5 or 6. Yet despite being absent from Chloe's life for about a decade, if not more, we're supposed to believe Chloe is the way she is because she's emulating her mother...who isn't there to emulate? Okay. Sure Jan.

Totally unnecessary, Chloe's personality has a good foundation in the fact that her father is rich, powerful, and ready to drop everything to cater to her every petty whim. What does Audrey even add to Chloe's story as presented? Personally, I would've liked it more if Chloe deeply resented her mother and was determined to prove she was BETTER than Audrey. Then have her be frustrated and pissed off every time the two of them are accidentally in sync. Show me a love-hate relationship, at least that would've been interesting, and better yet, would've had something to say about a parent abandoning their child.

But the show just sorta soft balls it. Chloe and Audrey immediately "resolve" a lifetime of abandonment issues because another 14 year old pointed out that they both suck and the two bonded over the fact that she's...right? Audrey decides Chloe's name is worth remembering, she's worth staying in Paris for, and she's "exceptional" in less than 3 minutes because Chloe yelled at the Butler. And for the rest of the series, Audrey is just another Chloe-Patsy, doting on her like her Dad in "Malediktator", cowering under her outburst in "Sole Crusher", and acting as her enforcer when Andre ever puts up a fight. A duo made in hell, but they ARE getting along.

Which makes the leaks for how they're going to end things for the two are confusing.

I don't like Audrey because she was made to be unlikable, but I also don't like Audrey because of her effect on the story. She's used to excuse Chloe being The Worst because look! An Even Worse person! And she made Chloe sad! So you should ignore those several felonies Chloe's committed because her mommy sucks! Nevermind that Chloe and Audrey get along just fine now!

And on top of that, she's used to excuse Andre. Andre, who spoiled Chloe from the beginning, who acts as her attack dog when Chloe cries wolf, who's taught Chloe how to lie, cheat, steal, and bully her way to the top. Somehow HE is getting off scott-free now because He CaN'T bE a DirEcTor aNd fUlFiLL hiS dReAm cUz HiS wIfe'S a BiG meAnIE. Even though Chloe is mostly his fault.

Why couldn't Audrey just stay in New York so we can pretend she doesn't exist and just let Chloe's behavior make sense like it did back in Season 1?

[xjulixred45x]

This is my last request and I hope you enjoy your holiday. May I request for more Yandere platonic Nanami wherein he yells at their darling one day and so they decide to hide from him inside the house and Nanami foolishly thinks they escaped. They only come out after hearing the commotion

Ohhhh great! More characters! I like this, thanks for the Request!

Platonic Yandere Nanami and Reader: Hide and seek

Kento had had a bad day, a pretty bad one, leaving him irritable and definitely not wanting to do much. Simply arrive and spend time with (Reader).

But that was no excuse for what happened next.

(Reader) had already become quite accustomed to the... lifestyle that Kento forced made them maintain for their safety and protection, however they was still a young person, they was still learning things--

So there was no way they knew that resuming a small argument they had earlier and that they WANTED to finish(about the sorcery academy, above all.Even after the events in Kyoto and Geto, they wanted to return to the academy when what was the point? Those from their year had been expelled. Did they expect them to be sent alone? no way) would have been the straw that broke the little calm left in the man. Ending the interaction with a single, forceful scream at them.

Kento didn't mean to yell or sound abrupt, but all the built-up tension of the day, the overtime, and the fact that he just wanted to rest and not deal with anything else made him not realize that Reader was not only startled, but was made backwards, in fear...

no again...

Kento had already been through this at the beginning, when he first brought them home, how they would stay away from him, how they would be startled when he tried to get close or give them affection, how many times they tried to escape from home...the punishments that followed--

Everything had been worth it until now, they were finally accepting him as a father, loving him back, seeing him in a similar way to when he supervised them at the academy--

and he ruined it.

and now he paid the price.

He promises himself that when he returns from this shift, he would make it up to them for yesterday (already hoping that they would want to leave their room by that time) and thus fix things and not start from scratch again.

What he didn't expect when he returned was to realize that he had left the door unlocked... and he felt the little color he had in his face drain away...

He quickly entered and checked readers's room, it was open, there was no one, he went to his room, nothing, he left his bed, nothing, there was no one in the kitchen or the living room, he removed everything, he made a big mess and nothing.

and since they had behaved so well he had turned off the security cameras for a while. so if they had left he had no idea where they went....

Reader had fled, all because of him.

All the possible scenarios began to appear in his head, what would happen if they ran into some curse? They had gotten too used to fighting because they were living with him, they would be defenseless! They hadn't even properly healed from the events of last year! or being alone out there, in Japan, hungry, cold, with all the depraved people out there...

Should he ask the other sorcerers for help? But what happens if they see the relationship he has with Reader in a bad way? Or what if Gojo found out that he was keeping them locked up when he told him to stay away from them? What if he told the normal authorities? They would misinterpret everything and want to take them away from him! Or worse! Return them to the academy where they would run more danger!

Kento started to panic, he got on his knees, pulled his hair and, like yesterday, let out a scream of pure frustration at the situation, but with many more emotions than just anger.

despair, sadness, fear, uncertainty--

That's when he heard it.

like something was moving in his room.

Even if he searched for Reader in depth throughout his entire apartment, he did not search in places that, out of mere habit, he did not see because they were obvious, such as the closet. and now he heard someone walking from his room to where he was (the living room, in a mess) and when that person appeared he realized... it was Reader.

They stared at him before letting out a small "I heard a lot of noise..."

Nanami was perplexed, but tried to compose himself quickly and act "normal" as he stood up and walked towards them with a slow step. He scared them once, he wouldn't do it again.

Kento was amazed that Reader had decided to just hide. Had they realized that the door was open? Was it some kind of plan? Or was it sincere? It didn't matter now.

Nanami could hardly hold back his tears when he got closer to their level to give them a hug while whispering what he feared most "...I thought you were gone...".

Fortunately, as they hugged him back, he realized that he wouldn't have to worry. They wouldn't leave.

He got them used to depending on him a lot, they love him, he knows it, deep down they love him as much as he loves them, they know that it is better here, that he does this for their own good, like a good father would. They won't leave him because they know there's no point in doing so...he will find them sooner or later...they didn't go through so much misery together to stop now...

They will be together.

He would make sure of it, from now on, no matter what happens.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Ayesha Liveblogs Spy x Family S1

"Proof that the foreign minister wears a toupée. I even have the negatives." "Well done. Now we can force him to resign." How could this possibly be enough to force a resignation? Is wearing a toupée a sign of dishonesty or shame in this cultural context??

"In an era in which the nations of the world were waging a fierce war of information just out of sight, this man survived the battlefield by being a master of disguise." Ooooh is this a historical anime? How fun!

Update from 1 minute later: The newspaper confirms this as a Cold War-era story!! Colour me intrigued

"Farewell. May you find happiness." What a polite end to such a callous breakup LMAO

Why does Donovan Desmond look so incredibly haunted LOL

"In order to achieve this [spy mission] you will get married and have a child." Ah, there we are with the premise!

Of all the spy strengths they've displayed thus far, I am most impressed with this blond man's ability to pull a newspaper apart without bending it. You must need to generate a lot of force:

"Yeah, sure. Take whichever one you want." This is about the average regard for orphans in Shonen Anime Societies

"This little girl happened to be a telepath." She's a WHAT NOW? What a casual way to introduce this fact

Honestly the random facts about what Anya likes and the bursting into tears with unclear motivation seems very much a realistic parent and child experience

"I just don't understand this irrational behaviour." I love how quickly Loid Forger aka Twilight, International Spy, has been foiled by this tiny, psychic child

Loid is approaching parenthood very casually so far. Surely a spy (pretending to be a psychologist, even) can recognize the psychological impact of abandonment on a child

Fjlkjfljflf what kind of society allows Loid to barricade his six (or maybe four) year-old child inside their apartment unsupervised all day LMAOOO

SCREAM not Anya immediately revealing their location from playing spy games. Also a very realistic problem to have

"Boss, I think we should just give up on the toupée." [Pulls out a gun and shoots him] "Transparency is essential in government. Toupées are a no-go." WHY ON EARTH ARE TOUPÉES THE ULTIMATE SPY PLOT DEVICE JFKJFJF

Love that the betrayal of the nation is SECOND to the toupée. They said: Wigs are for liars and cowards

"No one reached out their hand to save me. I felt alone, in despair, and so powerless all I could do was cry." We have unlocked Loid's parental instincts AND his tragic backstory in the span of 1 and a half minutes

"I'm a failure as a spy? No. My mistake was putting that little girl in danger to begin with. How could I forget? To create a world where children won't have to cry... That's why I became a spy." Alright Loid, colour me charmed:

Ahhhhhh I love Loid giving his enemy the chance to go back to his daughter instead of attacking him

Loid deciding to take Anya back with him despite all his misgivings bc he wants to give her a home 🥺💘 HE'S NICE

"Papa is a huge liar. But he's such a cool liar." Awww, Anya

I can see how being psychic and being able to hear every single child's confusion during a test would be distracting

"I... relaxed? What the hell is going on with me?" FATHERHOOD

"It is mandatory that the applicant attend with both parents. Absolutely no exceptions." For a society with such a cavalier approach to violence and orphans (at least where Loid goes), you'd think they'd be more accepting of single parents

Everyone's absolutely on Yor's ass for being a single 27-year-old. [Yor as Charlotte Lucas voice] I'm 27 years old. I have no money and no prospects. I'm already a burden to my brother—

"I have a client for you, Thorn Princess." Is Thorn Princess Yor's sleeper agent activation phrase? Her whole face darkened

Clearly Yor doesn't have the same violence-aversion as Loid:

Yor ready to fall in love with anyone who's nice to her. Mgkjgkg but same perhaps

"A spy...An assassin...? I'm... so excited!" [Narrator voiceover] "The little girl was straving for entertainment." The narrator's interjections are very funny

HAHAHAHA I love that they're both trying to fake date each other for very different reasons. Incredible, 10/10, love this

It's fun that Franky, spy gadget guy, is also now mission back-up

Also I take back everything I said about Loid's violence aversion

"I'll be sure to tell your brother that you came alone." Why is every woman that Yor works with (and, it seems, every woman with more than one line in this show thus far) seem to be so mean-spirited LOL

HFHLKHGLHGLGH Loid showing up to the party covered in blood and introducing himself as her husband when she needed a boyfriend. We love a spy who is terrible at his job

Loid managing to somehow make a really amazing impression on this party by being hot and defending Yor's past as a masseuse (murderer). GOOD FOR HIM

"The concussive recovery method is the latest in modern medical practices." Imagine going to your doctor for a prescription and having them kickbox you into submission LMAO

"Um, Loid-san, this may not be the best moment to ask, but why don't we get married?" SCREAMING AT YOR BEING THE ONE TO PROPOSE AND HOW KNOCKS THE WIND OUT OF LOID:

"No matter what hardships await us, let us be there for one another." [Explosions go off in the background] Colour me sold on this grenade-pin ring and spy-assassin romance

I love that they're going on a little family outing to prep for their interview

I can also understand how a political rally would be stressful for Anya

"I've completed countless missions, yet once again I find myself losing heart." Loid will eventually get used to his girls who are obssessed with nuts and knives 💞

All of them calling attention to themselves by helping an old lady deal with a purse snatcher ❣️ I love this family. I've only had the Forgers for two episodes but if anything happened to them I would [redact] everyone in this room and then myself

"I guess... receiving thanks every once in a while wouldn't hurt." "Papa is a softie." YEAH HE IS

"Papa and Mama are flirting." "No we are not!" HEE HEE

"Anya, are you going to be okay in this crowd?" Dad Mode Activated

Ohhhhhhh Anya helping the cow through her fear. Baby!!!!

OHGHGLGHLKGH setting aside how they managed to have at least three outfits in that suitcase, I really want to know how the quick change is happening in the middle of this cobblestone pathway to the school

"Why are you getting irritated, Loid? She's not even your real wife." I love that whenever someone makes an out-of-pocket insult to Yor (her coworker calling her a whore, this dorm master critiquing her lack of cooking) Loid jumps in and he's like, HEY, THAT'S MY WIFE

"My Papa and Mama are both so much fun, and I love them very much. I want to be with them forever." I also want this family to stay together forever, Anya 💗

Both Yor and Loid ready to fight this jerk for making their daughter cry!! I love them

The hope that Loid has because of his new family. This is really fulfilling a deepseated psychological need that I had to watch an anime that's just about a nice man

"He might just be the best spy in Westalis, so don't worry too much." With all due respect, that doesn't say much for the other spies, considering how suspiciously Loid acts everywhere he goes

Yor genuinely considering murdering someone to get her daughter into school 💝 Parenting!

"I appreciate the attempt at consolation, my elegant boy." This is how I will be responding to all attempts for someone to comfort me from now on

Loid just carrying a party popper around in his pocket for when Anya gets in. I LOVE HEEEM

Loid can waste government resources on a little play mission for his family. As a treat

"He's requesting agents. As many as possible," incredible how Loid immediately folds to his daughter's request to be attacked by enemies LMAOOO

HAHAHAHA Loid telling them in morse code it's an imperative part of Operation Strix, which is technically true, but not at all for any reason they would think

The way they're all like, "I will JUMP at the chance to attack Loid, been waiting my whole life for this," is also really fun

I was waiting for the spy costume. I am so glad it is a plot point

I can't decide what I enjoy more, Loid's blush over having to put on the costume mask, or the way the other spies are fangirling over him

Loid getting his butt kicked by Yor in this drunk roleplay does make me wonder if we're going to see that her assassination missions run contrary to his goals of peacekeeping

"I've come to save you, Princess Anya." "Papa!" "Wait, I'm supposed to be your dad in this?" AWWWW ANYA JUST WANTED TO HER DAD TO ACT OUT SAVING HER

In fairness to Anya's fear of kidnapping, she has been kidnapped before!

"Though, you're usually on the ball, so [discussing Operation Strix Phase 2] may not be necessary." "Well... I may actually be off my game lately." At least Loid's willing to own up to it LMAOOO

Firstly, what happened just now was definitely an attempted [redacted] crime, which is hideously uncalled for, what the fuck. But secondly: I love Yor and Anya bonding time

"I know it's really dangerous to be an Eden student now. But it won't be as scary if I train. I can do my best at school without dying!" I do love the idea of teaching this tiny child fighting techniques, but my god, what a thing to say

"Even if I can't be like a normal mother, I'm going to do everything I can for her." YOOOOOOOOOOOOR I love you

"She's already realized how amazing I am and fallen for me." Incredible confidence from Damian Desmond, Very Rich Six-Year-Old LMAO

"Mama, you liar. Smiling didn't help at all." I am very entertained by Anya's psychic child conflict management

Ffjhfkhfk I really do love the way that Anya tries her best to do things in a way that her parents would most approve of. Smiling first, trying to not get in trouble in front of the teacher when she punches Damian, claiming defence of a friend. She's a good kid!

What will Loid, who is not actually a psychologist, be doing during the day while Anya goes to school and his wife does her work. I hope it involves costumes

Update from 1 minute later: At the very least, it involves stalking elementary students from a rooftop

Update from 4 minutes later: IT DID INVOLVE COSTUMES!

Also. Also. How the hell would Loid's plan work if his daughter was NOT psychic. Like yeah yeah yeah, she knows she's supposed to be a good student. But it doesn't seem like he's explicitly told her out loud to be friends with Damian. So is he just hoping for her organic success? It's a good thing his baby knows exactly what he's thinking LMAO

I love that Becky has decided to be Anya's no. 1 supporter. She needs a friend!!

"Why do I find it so hard to speak when she's in front of me?" In a very expected turn of events, lil Damian has a crush:

"Plan B is done for." You are wrong Loid! Plan Befriend has simply turned to Plan Boy Has a Crush on Your Daughter

This at-home tutoring really resonates with my experience of being the child of Asian parents with high expectations when it comes to their children's innate talent for math

"No, Yor. You're not a stranger, nor part of someone else's family. Right now, you're the mother of the Forgers. I'm counting on you to provide whatever I'm lacking." AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I love the Forgers

I loveeee this parenting discussion around positive reinforcement

"I wonder what it'd feel like to have a real family," said Loid, tits deep in a family and fatherhood

"My sister got married?" I was waiting for this ball to drop. Can't wait!

NOT BABY BROTHER YURI BEING EMPLOYED BY THE TORTURE DEPARTMENT OF THE GOVERNMENT OMG

"[Twilight] is the villain who is trying to make this world fall into chaos. You could call him my natural enemy." NOT BABY BROTHER YURI ANNOUNCING HIS INTENTIONS TO MERC HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW WHO HE'S ABOUT TO MEET AT DINNER:

I gotta say, despite them introing with assassinations, I do feel like Yuri represents a drastic tone shift for this show

"Yuri... I mean, my younger brother is coming here today! [Loid's voice raises several octaves] "Today?" The voice crack was funny. Back to family shenanigans

As a sister. I AM SICK OF THE SISTER COMPLEX JOKES. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, BABY BROTHER YURI, ANIME AS A GENRE, AND WHATEVER JAPANESE SOCIETAL NORM THAT ALLOWS THIS TO BE A CONSTANT IN SO MANY DIFFERENT STORIES?

"What could my sister possibly like about this guy?! Just because he can cook a little, and he's handsome, and tall, and considerate, and a doctor," It sounds like Yuri is talking himself into having a crush on Loid????

Wow, Loid has made Yuri as an intelligence agent within like, mere minutes of meeting him. Maybe Loid is a great spy!

Ahhhh, so the reason Yor took up killing as a job was to put her little brother through school. How honourable!

"Kiss here and now." I can't decide if this is terrible or fun. Maybe both. My money is on Anya interrupting to see her Uncle

I do appreciate that Yor has never been kissed! It makes sense, given her murder job, and I feel like we don't often get 20somethings without prior entanglements

HDJHDKJDHDHD this is so unhinged and weird. Jesus. Yuri Briar puts the B in Behnchod

"Loid Forger. You may lay claim to my sister's lips for now." WHAT A THING TO SAY

"So, let's do everything we can to make sure Yor is happy." Loid is THE Husband. There are no other husbands, just him!

"Children are so curiously observant at times," said Loid, about his daughter who is literally telepathic

"It's a terrible idea to date a woman while deceiving her," said Loid, as if that has not been the premise of his ENTIRE romantic history thus far

I think Loid is starting to develop (romantic) feelings:

You know, I haven't really commented on the horn cap thing, but I do wonder if they are to do with Anya's powers rather than just a fun little design thing

I need you to see what I'm looking at when they tell me this is Bill Watkins, Age Six:

I do like all the montages of how all of these children (and Bill Watkins, Deeply Suspicious Age Six) were preparing for this dodgeball tournament

SCREAM THE CUT TO THE DRAGON BALL Z NAMEK BACKGROUND

Damian taking the dodgeball bullet for Anya. Love u little guy

Calling it right now, with all this lead-up, I don't think Anya's throw is going to work out the way she wants

Update from a few seconds later: Yep, that was correct!

Gnjghkgjhgkjhg Loid loves Anya too much to be strict with her so he is engaging in quite a permissive parenting style

ANYA TRYING TO SAVE THE LITTLE BOY FROM DROWNING WHEN SHE'S JUST A LITTLE GIRL HERSELF. SWEETEST BABY ALIVE

DAD'S HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ANYA EARNING HER FIRST STELLA! YEAH BABYGIRL

I like how they do a count of her Stellas (merit points which lead to the Imperial Scholar Society of Parent War Instigation) and Tonitrus Bolts (demerit points which lead to expulsion) whenever Anya gets closer to her goal

Also, bonkers that getting a Stella doesn't cancel out your Bolt? It's like, forgive, but never forget

Fhkhfkjfhfkjh Anya deciding she'll only respond to Starlight Anya. Very Six-Year-Old Behaviour

"Do you really think we go to some third-rate school that would hand out a Stella by mistake?" Damian continuing his chivalry streak

1) Extremely rude of the people to treat the dogs that way and 2) Does that big white dog's flash to the Forger family mean that we have unlocked a psychic puppy subplot?

I have been thinking since Damian was introduced that he and Anya are paralleling the Syaroan and Sakura Archetypes, but there is no greater Cardcaptor Sakura parallel than the fact this episode is called Penguin Park

"Please wait, Papa, who is a good and normal person." 10/10 spy deception Anya, no notes

Gghkhgkghkg Loid being yelled at by his Spy Juice Lady for not prioritizing this other mission. How does no one overhear this!!

"Mama, I'm being kidnapped," said Anya, as if she did not latch onto this spy herself to help out her dad's Penguin Mission

It's incredible how many of Loid's problems are solved just by him being hot:

Awwwwww I'm glad they did some actual family time after the Aquarium mission. Also I love how embarrassed Loid is every time has to do something silly, like pretending to be a Penguin Plushy for his kid, but how he'll immediately do it, even in public. Best dad!!

"Being both a Papa and an agent... must be tough balancing the two." Real and true, spy chauffeur

I love how they do parallel plots between family stuff and spy stuff. Anya looking for a puppy... Dad looking for bomb dogs!

They are in fact explaining the psychic puppy subplot

"It is far too early for Anya-san to get married!" Yor, I would like to study the way your mind works (also mom's here!!!!!!!!!!!!)

UHHHHHHHHHHHHHH EXTREMELY TRAUMATIZING FOR ANYA TO HAVE TO WATCH HER DAD'S IMMINENT DEATH BY EXPLOSION THROUGH DOG-O-VISION

That was an incredibly morose diatribe from The Handler, who is the only spy other than Loid to get a title/name

How is this baby supposed to disarm a bomb?!?!?!??

Ahhhh, by leaving a ketchup message for her dad on the door that says "NO! (Drawing of Bomb)" Of course! We love a girl who knows how to improvise

Dad has got back in the danger zone to stop the last of the Foreign Affairs Minister's terrorist threats, fair enough! I really hope they don't make him [redacted violence involving animal]

OH THANK GOD THEY HAD HIM ATTACK THE VEST AND NOT THE DOG—I WAS PRETTY CONFIDENT THEY WOULDN'T DO THAT TO LOID, BUT YOU NEVER KNOW WITH ANIME

From Yor's perspective, Loid has been in the bathroom for two full episodes

Yor kicking Keith the Radicalized Student Terrorist's car off the road after he has been discovered by Anya and foiled by Loid. We love a team effort!

"How many times must I tell you not to run off alone because it's dangerous?!" [Tearfully] "I'm sowwy." Awwww a very reasonable worry for your daughter who keeps running into every spy mission she possibly can

"I also had a daughter about her age." The Handler's tragic backstory unlocked?!

"Be prepared to take care of him until the end. I may have no right to say those words." Loid's dog care advice has accidentally turned into existential dread about adopting a child for the sake of a peacekeeping mission

Awwwwwww Yor taking cooking classes from her workplace enemy to be a better cook for her family

"Camilla-san has always been a nice person," said Yor, about the woman who called her a whore in front of a room full of people and tried to scald her with hot food on like Episode 2

"The more I savour each bite, the more I see my life flash before my eyes." Say what you will about Weird Brother Yuri, he is supportive

Admittedly this cooking lesson episode has made me like Camilla

HAHAHAHA the "They are whispering" caption so the viewer can understand why no one's reacting to the yelling about spy intel on Scruffy's potential lover

Awwwwwww Loid opting out of the family outing to comfort his little scruffy friend, who I have just re-learned is named Franky

LMAOOOOO at them just having Henderson-sensei do literally all of the classes. Top-tier writing

The Handler now has unlocked TWO new names, which are Sylvia Sherwood and Fullmetal Lady

"On the one day each month that Mister Moon goes away, Anya's power to read minds goes away too." Oooooh new psychic baby lore unlocked

Even though I don't care for Weird Brother Yuri, it is nice that Anya has someone outside of her parents to rely on for tutoring

Loid covering for Incompetent Spy Daybreak jkhfkhfkjhf

I love that Loid broke into the school, not to boost his daughter's grades, but rather to check that she didn't fail and leave it that way, and then reverse cheat (as in, undo someone's wrongdoing) to make sure two other students got their earned grades. What a man!

Ffljlfjjflkj Becky objectifying Anya's dad. I know they're six, but it's not a trope I love

"I was trying to report the cigarette I found, then he punched me." I know this is a scheme but what kind of society has SIX-YEAR-OLDS plausibly smoking???

"Second Son wouldn't do that! Anya was watching." Heck yeah Anya standing up for Damian (even though her Damian motives are decidedly ulterior LOL)

"Don't try to drag me into these adult matters in the first place!" An incredibly reasonable request from Damian

Gdljljggjglkj I love these kids telling Glooman 'Actually, the biggest problem is you have a bad personality' True and real and cutting

"Don't worry. The West is a safe place." ANYAAAA. Something something children and their ability to see people outside of the confines of politics

"There's saltwater pouring out of my eyes." The implication that George has not cried once in his six years of life LMAOOOO

Genuinely heartwarming to see all these kids singing for George and giving away their favourite school items for his sake (also I bet you $5 he doesn't actually have to quit this school)

Update from two minutes later: I was correct lol

I've been thinking about this since the hospital volunteering, but it is kind of a flaw in Loid's spy tactics to choose a public-facing job, because at any point someone could just walk into the hospital and realize he doesn't work there kjhgkjhgg like he should've just been some sort of private practice

Loid running home to "check on what Yor was doing at the school" but actually using it as an excuse to ask her on a lunch date <3

As if the show could psychically tell that I was wondering about it, they are now forcing Loid into a "Take Your Kid to Work Day" situation lmaooo

"[Loid] became an important part of our team as soon as he transferred in." How is Loid an important part of the staff if he's constantly out of hospital doing spy stuff??? How is he even capable of giving psychological care???

"To go with the rest of the facade, a number of my coworkers have also inflitrated this hospital." Ah, perhaps the fact he has a research position and other spies in the hospital is enough to cover his absences and maybe make him have fake patients

Honestly, it's a wonder Anya hasn't run into more problems in the spy realm recently other than getting stuck in a secret passage

HHGKJHGKJHGKJGH Loid taking Anya's improvised sandbox of toys as a sign of deep psychological distress

"He golfs at his workplace and creates shady channels." In every class there is one child who has the most chaotic possible interpretation of their parents' job (the kid who says their parent stabs people for money when really their parent is a tattoo artist) and Anya has decided to be that student

"But if Mrs. Forger just happened to retire, that position would have to be filled, would it not?" Why is Fiona so comically evil about getting to fake marry Loid

"But... this woman doesn't seem to have any flaws in her appearance." Even Father-snatcher Fiona Frost thinks Yor is hot

"To think the great Twilight is stuck playing house.. It's a disservice to the world." Loid said: Fuck you Fiona, I like playing house!

This silent spy standoff has certainly taken a turn:

I actually kind of love that Loid is faced with someone else who has feelings for him, because I KNOW for certain he will choose Yor, and I think that's good for Yor to see

"You're already working hard enough, Yor. That's why Anya is so fond of you. I couldn't ask you to do anything more." HE LOVES HERRRRR

I really resonate with Yor's Girls Who Are Bad At Stuff representation kjhgkgjh

"Agent Penguin suffered honourable injuries in battle." Loid sewing up his daughter's penguin stuffy and making up a backstory for their dog chewing him up ❤️ I love hiiiim

I appreciate that Fiona confirms from someone who knew him before Loid has been changed by love (for Yor and Anya)

NOT THE DOUBLE FAKE TENNIS COUPLE NAMES BEING TWAIN AND NAFALIA PHONY

Though, now that I think of it, I guess Loid's given last name is Forger, so really this is a pattern of very silly names

"We've been developing a new doping agent called OSO-R along with the government in preparation for the upcoming East-West Sports Exhibition." Every so often they dip back into the crime world, and today it's sports doping

"I wonder what her relationship with Loid is." Yor babygirl, you do not need to worry about her, Loid is fully Team Yor

I love this little look into all the different things that come up in an infiltration (having to be very good at specific things like tennis, dealing with potential poisons, compensating for traps)

"You're still young, and you're clearly talented. From now on, hone your craft properly. I'm sure you'll become an amazing player." "Twain, I'll really do my best from now on!" Aside from being an incredible professional tennis player, Loid's talents also include reforming his opponents into better people:

Fhfhfkjhfkfjhf Loid every time Fiona comes near Yor: Hey, please leave my wife alone

"Come at me with everything you've got." "Uh, don't, Fiona." Loid knows Yor has enough physical might to beat a hundred tennis players

Yor wanting Loid to praise her for winning the match 🥺❤️

Loid taking Yor on a reassurance date to let her know she's still #1

"Wait, does Yor have romantic feelings for me?!" TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH, BUT YOU GOT THERE, LOID

NOT LOID IMMEDIATELY SWITCHING TO PLAN HONEY TRAP AND YOR ACCIDENTALLY KICKING SOME SENSE TO HIM

"I can't let my guard down like that. Somehow, being with Yor throws me off." Loid, you stupid man, who can't see that him AND his wife have feelings for each other

"I would love for you to continue being Anya's mother. And to continue in the role of my wife." This is the most honest thing Loid has said in hours

Anya getting Becky a keychain because she didn't think she was allowed to get one for herself!! Sweet girl

What kind of father has ZERO time to interact with his son LMAO (Donovan Desmond, apparently)

"Anya's a little scared because she's not sure if Papa loves her or not. He always gets mad at me. But I believe in him because I love him." ANYAAAAAAAAAA

Papa Desmond and his truly haunting eyes finally make an on-screen appearance and meeting with Loid:

"Even the child that shares your blood is a stranger." Is this a general view from Donovan on his parent-child relationships or is this a shot at Loid for not being Anya's biological father?

"People will never be able to understand each other." What a thing to say about your six-year-old, who is standing right in front of you with his friends

"What's truly important is to continue walking them despite [not understanding each other]. I decided that I would accept her regardless, and I try to find every opportunity I can to talk to her." Loid laying spy ground work on top of challenging Donovan to be a better father. We love a man who can multitask

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't actually dislike you. It'd make me happy if you could be friends with her." "Well, I want to, too..." Gjhgjhgjhfjlfj Loid is also working on Operation Playdate

This has been a pretty delightful show so far. Spy x Family proving to everyone you can fight people AND be nice!!!!

[iblameashley]

Rekindle: Soulstring Symphony

Military | Male | Gay

2,400~words Content: AU, time skips, soulmates, depression, longing, angst, bullet wound, mention of blood, bit of fluff, gay stuff, happy ending.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | John 'Soap' MacTavish

!!!SFW!!!

Everyone has a special someone out there in the world. Everyone is connected in their own way, and for John 'Soap' MacTavish, that's through song. Every time they sing, they can hear each other... until one day the songs stop and Soap is left alone and heartbroken. Thrusting himself into a military career, he eventually pushes the idea of finding his one-and-only out of his mind; until a mission goes wrong and he hears his soulmate once more. (Based on Tweet below GIF)

THE LONGING

It was difficult sometimes, to wander the world alone. To see all the soulmates around you find their perfect person. Johnny wondered if he would find his soulmate one day too.

The memory of the songs haunted him now, but he remembered the first time he had heard them, been blessed by them. He had been asleep in his bed at his family home when the melody slowly crept into his dreams. The voice was rich and smooth, with a deepness that pieced his heart.

But when he woke, he could only remember the outro of the song.

...As the night surrenders to the dawn, and the stars begin to fade, The echoes of our connection linger in the serenade. A promise in each note, a vow in every line, To find you in this lifetime, and forever call you mine...

Then one day, the songs stopped. He had wondered if maybe his soulmate had died suddenly; it had happened to other people, and it was a soul-crushing experience to know you'd spend the rest of your life alone. Disconnected. Halved.

Johnny had searched the library for old folks songs, and then eventually online, plugging the lyrics he remembered into search engines to come up empty. This was an original song, it seemed.

Johnny's journey began at home in Scotland. Guided by the knowledge that more than two thirds of all soulmates were born within a one thousand kilometre radius of each other.

That didn't stop people from moving away by any means, but it narrowed the search down to the Atlantic Ocean and the surrounding countries of the European Union. And he was pretty certain his soulmate wasn't in the ocean.

He travelled the misty highlands, the expansive coasts, and ancient castles seeking any clue that might lead him to his love. Town after town, and small villages were turned upside down in hopes of anything. But finding nothing that lead him closer to his soulmate, he moved on Ireland, then England; finding only a growing despair and loneliness in his heart.

Everywhere he travelled he found nothing but dead ends. There was nothing in Norway, except the picturesque scenery of the fjords. Denmark, while also another beautiful country to visit was just as barren of his soulmate as all the preceding locales. By the time he had reached the Netherlands, all he had was a dimming hope in his heart. In a quite place among the bulbs of the Keukenhof garden, Johnny took a seat under a tree and closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath and recalled the last bit of the song; not that it took much to remember, having been burned deep into his soul for so long.

In his deep voice, low as a whisper, he began to sing. To reach out to his soulmate in hopes of kindling a response.

...As the night surrenders to the dawn, and the stars begin to fade, The echoes of our connection linger in the serenade. A promise in each note, a vow in every line, To find you in this lifetime, and forever call you mine...

Choking out the lyrics through the welling tears in his eyes, Johnny waited for a reply, anything to tell him that his soulmate was still out there somewhere. The maddening silence was the only answer he got in return.

“Please answer me, mo chridhe.” He whimpered.

Finding no peace or happiness among the trees and flowers of the garden, Johnny decided it was time to move on once more.

Without a reply to the song to guide him, Johnny felt lost. His heart was beginning to fracture on his way back home. Having used all of his savings, and not wanting go home to his family still alone, he was ready to enlist in the military and see where his life would take him. If he was destined to be alone now, the least he could do was feel like his life meant something. That he was doing something worthwhile. At least, that's how he sold it to himself.

But then something happened.

It was faint, almost like white noise in his head. It wasn't the song, not exactly... more like a longing that resonated deep from his soulmates heart. They were out there, close, but still far and beyond his reach. It was just an echo. A ghost.

“Mo chridhe...” He murmured into the window of the train car. “I'm here... you're not alone.”

And then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

It crushed him.

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ENLISTMENT & THE SAS

Prodigy is not a word tossed around so easily in the British military; but that's what Johnny was. Young, smart, motivated and able to out think and out manoeuvre his fellow soldiers.

This path left no room for distractions, let alone the notion of his soulmate still being out there and longing for him in return. Or so he lied to himself.

He was able to think outside the box and on the fly to complete tasks that most men thought were impossible. He couldn't deny that it went to his head. Johnny's mental health bore the weight of his relentless pursuit of perfection, to meet his astronomical and unreachable standards, and thrived on the positive feedback and praise from his superiors.

But added to the stress of his standards was the constant scrutiny from his fellow soldiers. While most of the enlisted men in the service became close comrades, it was something that was kept at an arms length for Johnny. No one wanted to be around the young, up-and-coming showoff – and smart ass – Scot.

Off-duty time was the only time where Johnny's focus wavered. With nothing to occupy his time, mind or hands, he was left to his thoughts; and those usually drifted to his loneliness. To dull the ache in his heart every night, Johnny would find a quiet and secluded spot on the base and would sing to himself and to his soulmate; who he prayed could still hear him.

...When I'm lonely, well, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you And when I'm dreaming, well, I know I'm gonna dream I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you When I go out (when I go out), well, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you And when I come home (when I come home), yes, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you...

“Mo chridhe... I wanna be the man who grows old with you.”

Another night of singing, another night of silence in return.

The turning point in Johnny's career was when he aimed at the SAS, the best of the best, the elite. What Johnny wasn't aware of at the time was that the SAS had their sights set on him as well. They recognized the potential in him and valued his abilities to think beyond the military norms.

The process to be selected for the SAS was, in a word, gruelling. Johnny pushed himself to the limits of his physical and mental endurance. Yet in the forge of the SAS training program, he was able hone his skills and discover a deeper understanding of his own resilience.

Though it nearly broke him – in a different way than his loneliness had – Johnny managed to pass the selection process and found his new sense of purpose. The long climb through the ranks of the military quickly shifted, and his career felt like something he could celebrate. Along with the accomplishment of being among the elites, Johnny finally began to find brothers in arms, friends.

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MEETING THE GHOST

The hum of the engines drown nearly all other sounds out, even the rumbling engine of the approaching truck. Ghost was waiting on his SAS forces to arrive, and was not disappointed when one particular Sergeant hopped off the truck and jogged over to him.

“Save ya' a seat, LT.” He playfully quipped, giving Ghost a punch to the shoulder before darting towards the ramp to the plane.

“Fuckin' Hell...” muttered in his gruff voice. He slowly moved forward, following Soap.

Outwardly, Ghost appeared annoyed by the Scotsman, but he couldn't help but be a little amused by the man.

He was also grateful for the mask, and his ability to hide the beginnings of a smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips.

Ghost joined the rest of the men on the plane and strapped himself in for takeoff. He was unaccustomed to working with such a large team, and it made him uneasy. There was a knot in his stomach as his eyes scanned the cargo area, falling on every soldier down the line.

And then there was Soap, sitting directly across from him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“So, LT, ye ever been tae Mexico?” He asked, attempting to break the ice.

Ghost locked his gaze onto Soap and sat there quietly. He considered replying, but somehow he knew that Soap wasn't the man to just inquire about the mission. It was the smile on his face and the glint in his eyes. So Ghost sat there quietly.

“It's an awfully long flight, LT. Gotta pass the time somehow, aye?” Soap continued. “Ye ever been tae Las Almas?”

Ghost conceded and gave a shake of his head. “No.”

Soap nodded in response.

“Guessin' ye never worked with the Mexican Forces, then?”

Ghost let out an inaudible sigh. “Nothing more than intelligence sharing. But I know they are an effective group.”

He didn't understand why he was still indulging this conversation, but there was something about the Sergeant that disarmed him; threw him off balance. Ghost would rather be waterboarded than admit that out loud, though.

“Aye, I've heard they're no strangers tae dealing with the like o' the cartels. Hope Alejandro dinnae think we're here tae step on any toes.”

Ghost shakes his head firmly. “Alejandro has a solid reputation.”

Soap shifted slightly in his seat, stretching a leg out towards Ghost.

“Ye ever wonder what ye'd do if ye found yerself on the other side of an ambush?” Soap asked, knowing it was still work-related but not mission-related.

Ghost actually pondered the question for a moment, oblivious to Soaps intention to get him to open up, he finally replied. “Stay low, prioritize targets, maintain communication and adapt as necessary.”

Soap grinned and gave another nod. “Tactical tae the bone, eh, LT?”

Ghost let out an agreeable grunt.

“Favourite childhood memory. Go.” Soap said, abruptly switching the topic.

Ghosts eyes were rather indifferent to the question, but there was a part of him that wanted to chuckle at the ridiculous question. Suppressing that urge, he cleared his throat before engaging Soap once more.

“This isn't a game, Soap.”

“Aye, It's not, but no harm en' askin' ye?” Soap retorted. He couldn't help himself, he felt a deep urge to lay on some charm with the big man that sat across from him.

He wasn't going to relent. Ghost knew it, and he could see the smirks and chuckles from those in earshot of this conversation.

“Training sessions in the rain.” Ghost deadpanned.

Soaps head jutted back and he raised a brow. “That's yer idea of fun?” he questioned.

Something stirred in Soap with that reply. A warmth. Ghost was definitely a closed off man, and one of few words, but it seems he still had a sense of humour about him. It intrigued Soap to no end. Ghost had no idea what he was getting himself into now that Soap had managed to worm his way under Ghost's armour.

“It's efficient.” Ghost added in his flat tone. In his own way, Ghost was enjoying this playful banter, it was something he hadn't allowed himself in years. Though he was concerned at how easily Soap managed to disarm him, even if he didn't outwardly show it.

“Might have tae get ye to show mae sometime.” Soap declared.

Ghost could only look away, focusing his gaze on a rather unremarkable sign bolted to a bulkhead of the plane. He hated and loved the feeling swelling inside him. A feeling he saw reflected in Soaps eyes.

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IN STITCHES

“The fuck ye trying tae do tae me, kill mae?” Soap whined as Ghosts hands worked to asses the wound on Soaps abdomen.

Ghost let out one of his usual, gruff grunts of amusement.

“Looks like you tried to do that all on your own, Johnny.” He replied, a sardonic smile playing on his lips under his mask.

“Ach... ye've not got the hands for this, Simon.” Soap continued to complain, his voice strained with discomfort.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Sergeant. I've had worse patients." Ghost retorted, his hands working with a practiced efficiency. "Maybe if you stopped trying to catch bullets with your abdomen, we wouldn't be in this mess."

Despite the blood over his hands and the rickety table under Soap, the wound really wasn't as severe as it seemed. The bullet had passed through the right side of Soaps abdomen, and no major blood vessels or organs were hit.

Soap winced, a low grumble escaping him. "Fuckin' bullets never were good for mae complexion, Ghost. Maybe if ye stopped picking missions with so much lead flying around, I wouldn't have tae be yer practice dummy."

“Stop whining and moving around.” Ghost fired back as he worked to clean the wound. He scanned his medical supplies, and sighed in relief that there was enough there to patch Soap up and get him back on his feet. “You're lucky the bullet went through you the way it did, otherwise I'd be carrying your dead ass back to exfil.”

“Aw, ye wouldn't leave mae behind? Even if I was a gonner?” Soap teased, though his usual grin was weak and unconvincing.

“Wouldn't do that.” Ghost divulged with an unusual amount of honesty, his eyes momentarily betraying a hint of genuine concern beneath the mask. "Besides, who else would I have to annoy with my impeccable charm?"

It took Soap by surprise and left him momentarily speechless. “Jus' patch mae up and get us tae Exfil.” He grumbled, resting his head on the table. “An' for the record, I'm the charmin' one on this team.” He smirked.

As he stared up at the ceiling, he couldn't help but reflect on how this mission had gone tits up. The room, dimly lit with flickering candlelight and a few flashlights, emphasized the gravity of their situation.

The mission was pretty straight forward; infiltrate a terrorist stronghold on a dense tropical forest on an island in the South China Sea. Ghost and Soap had approached the island via stealth insertion and had to navigate the vegetation and hills until they reached the compound perimeter undetected. The objective: confirm the presence of a high-ranking extremist leader.

The mission had actually started out well, the overcast skies and foggy waters provided more cover than initially predicted, and both men were able to navigate through the shadows to the compound.

The compound itself was old and run down, with barely any power. There were very few camera's, the electric fences didn't function and the guards were spread far and wide. It was almost too easy to breach the defences and slither their way inside.

But a few wrong steps - quite literally - and a slip of the tongue alerted one guard to their presence. One guard turned in ten, then thirty and suddenly they were overrun. Apparently the compound housed more terrorist forces than intel had lead them to believe. With a few quick and desperate shots and a lot of running, Ghost and Soap made their retreat, but not before Soap got shot.

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SONGS AND SOULMATES

With Soap begrudgingly resting on the creaky table, Ghost moved with his usual purpose through the small, dilapidated home. He meticulously secured all doors and windows as best he could, putting up wooden planks and chairs where he could, and using torn and foul-smelling blankets to cover the windows. There had been sounds in the distance, too indistinct to tell if it was wild animals or their pursuers, but he wasn't willing to take any chances.

Outside, Ghost stood guard under the small porch of the entryway. He scanned the darkness of the forest around them before taking a step off the crooked step and into the soft soil beneath his feet. The silence was eerie, even for him; though looking at him you'd never know it.

Ghost began to do perimeter walks, though never straying far from the small abode that Johnny lay in. It was a stroke of luck that either other them had found this abandoned hovel. If Ghost had to guess, this used to be some sort of drug smuggling port. The few buildings and dock were clearly hastily assembled, which also explained their current state of disrepair, though the one home they occupied was the only fully standing structure left.

Ghost couldn't help but also wonder; how was this place was missed during the intel gathering? Though it had been a miracle to exist and be abandoned when they needed it most, maybe it was best to not look too deeply into the matter.

Knowing they needed to get back on the road – so to speak – Ghost finished up his last lap of the area and headed back towards the home. He stepped up onto the old porch and slowly creaked the door open.

Ghost's gloved hand barely released the door handle when it hit him. A melody, soft and somehow distant, crept into his consciousness. A song, not from the dense jungle outside, but resonating within the confines of the small home and within his own head. The disparity between the reality of their situation and the euphoric notes dancing in his mind brought Ghost to a halt.

...When I'm lonely, well, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you And when I'm dreaming, well, I know I'm gonna dream I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you When I go out (when I go out), well, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you And when I come home (when I come home), yes, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you..

His heart, accustomed to its steady rhythm, even during combat, skipped a beat. The song washed over him like the waves of an incoming tide; soft, soothing and dangerous.

For the first time in a long time, Ghost was frozen, and there was a lump caught in his throat. He hadn't expected this, and certainly not now. He hadn't sung since he had become The Ghost, and his soulmate has stopped singing to him years ago. He had convinced himself they were beyond each others reach now, resigned to a fate of loneliness. But here it was now, in his head, threatening to drown him in emotions he has long since suppressed.

Managing to muster up the courage and strength to step inside and close the door behind him. He took a shallow breath with every step as he crept closer to the kitchen where Soap lay.

He peered through the crack in the door, still a fair distance away, and focused on Soaps lips as they softly mouthed the words to 'I'm gonna be'. His head spun with every passing line as it dawn on him that he had been serving alongside his soulmate for years now, completely unaware.

But it couldn't be true. It was impossible! They would have figured it out, certainly, right? They were soulmates, there should have been other signs!

And there were. There had been plenty, but both of them had been too lost to grief and despair and their careers to notice.

Despite the proof in front of him, Ghost needed to be certain. Maybe he was somehow hallucinating Soaps voice in his head. He had to know. He had to test.

Swallowing hard, Ghost parted his lips under his mask, and began to sing some of the song he had written when he was a teen, when he first became aware he had a soulmate out there in the world. It was low, nearly a whisper, to ensure Soap couldn't hear from from the other room.

...Through the trials and the battles, where our destinies entwine, May this song guide you to me, a soulmate undefined...

A symphony of yearning, sung from the depths within, An anthem for the restless hearts, a journey to begin. In the tapestry of fate, where threads of time align, This melody of hope declares a love that's divine...

As Ghost reached out with his song, Soaps eyes widened with surprise and recognition. It was the song from his youth. “Mo chridhe.” He choked to the ceiling above him.

And Ghost continued.

...Oh, whispers in the shadows, reach across the starlit sea, A serenade for the one who shares this tune with me. Through the trials and the battles, where our destinies entwine, May this song guide you to me, a soulmate undefined.

As the night surrenders to the dawn, and the stars begin to fade, The echoes of our connection linger in the serenade. A promise in each note, a vow in every line, To find you in this lifetime, and forever call you mine...

Ghost paced the small space as his song came to an end, his masked features betraying the turmoil within. The weight of years spent in solitude, conditioned himself to guard his heart against the vulnerabilities of love, collided with the realization that Soap, his annoying Scotsman Sergeant, was closer than ever.

Their shared history, and the undeniable proof of their soulmate bond, felt like both a lifeline and a precipice. Ghost's stoicism, a shield against the harsh realities of their world, buckled in the face of this revelation. The desire to retreat into the well-known comfort of silence was strong, fueled by the fear of exposing the fragile state of his own heart.

As Ghost contemplated the situation, his eyes fell once more to Soap, laying on the table. He had almost convinced himself to keep it a secret, until Soap began to sing again, this time he echoed the song Simon had written all those years ago. His heart swelled with affection for this idiot. His Sergeant. His soulmate.

For all his quirks and banter, Soap... Johnny had become an indelible part of Ghost's life. The possibility of losing him now, with their shared history and the bond rekindled, was a risk Ghost found himself unwilling to take.

The decision solidified in his mind, compelled not just by duty but by a deeper, unspoken respect... love that had weathered the test of time. Ghost couldn't deny that Soap deserved to know, deserved to understand the reason he stopped reaching out and searching.

Steeling himself, Ghost slowly walked across the room and pushed the door open to the kitchen, approaching Soap like a he would a mission objective. And then he stood before Soap who lay there and looked at him with teary eyes, and all of Ghosts resolve melted away. There wasn't going to be any “I'm your soulmate, Johnny.” or “I heard your singing in my head, I never knew it was you!” or any such directness.

Instead, Ghost cleared his throat and give Soaps wound one last glance.

“Time to go.” He commanded, already assisting Soap into a sitting position. “Gotta get to exfil before we're found, Johnny.”

As Soap stepped down to the floor, Ghost helped to steady him. “Easy there, Johnny.” He muttered, his voice low but filled with a touch of warmth.

Soap let out a grunt and a nod, and gave Ghost a few firm pats on the shoulder. “I'm fine, LT.”

As Soap found his footing, Ghost ensured all the candles they used were put out and their equipment packed up and ready to go. He could see the longing and pain creeping back into Soaps expression, and it broke his heart; something he assumed would have been impossible until this moment.

He gripped the nape of Soaps neck firmly and aimed him towards the front door. “We'll take it slow...” he began as they started to walk, “but we should reach exfil before the night surrenders to the dawn... Mo chridhe ”

Soap was caught off guard – to say the least – by the words that fell from Ghosts mouth, and felt his heart flutter. The tone in Ghosts voice carried the admission of their connection, and the immediate danger they were in felt far away.

“C'mon you muppet... gotta get you to safety, we've got a little to talk about, yeah?” Ghost understated. His fingers massaged gently at the back of Soaps neck as they continued to walk out of the house and into the forest. Soap was still grappling with the revelation that there was more to their bond, his footsteps heavy and his breath short as his mind worked to unravel what had just happened.

“Simon...” was all he was able to mutter.

“I know Johnny...” Ghosts vocie went low and was filled with remorse. “I'm sorry, chridhe. I'll make it up to you.”

Soap wanted to cry, to burst into tears and turn and hug Ghost, but Ghost was right; they had to get to safety first, and then they could talk about it. “Yer pronunciation was shite, Mo luaidh.” Soap chuckled; grabbing at his sore abdomen as he shuffled through the foliage. “We'll work on that tae, aye?”

Ghost let out an approving grunt, giving Soap a playful push forward.

[drakoneve]

Missing Memories Pt. 1

request: Hey!  I saw that your requests are open so I was wondering if I could get a Daemon x fem!reader where they are happily married and one day reader has an accident and is unconscious for weeks and he is desperate and when she finally wakes up ( to make his despair worse) she has lost her memory (maybe she doesn't remember anyone or to be more distressing maybe she just doesn't remember him, I'll leave it up to you) Seeing her condition, Viserys and Rhaenyra + try to help by telling things about her and also about their relationship before the accident and how happy they were and completely devoted to each other, but it doesn't do much good.  Seeing such a situation Daemon decides and is determined to win her back, at first she is defensive and even a little afraid of him (which makes him very sad, since of all of them she was the only one who was never afraid of him, nor even before they get together) the months go by and he has some advances +(like she starts to feel more comfortable around him and that sort of thing) one night she is talking to Rhaenyra when she gets a really bad pain in her head and flashes of memories begin to flood her mind, when rhae says she is going to call the maester, she runs off to Daemon's room (which was the room they shared before the accident) she enters and runs towards him and him. kisses passionately, when they break up she says she remembered everything. With lots of angst, fluffy, a little nsfw at the end (if you feel comfortable) and happy ending, please?  (If you could also develop Reader's relationship with Viserys and Rhaenyra while she is out of memory I would be extremely grateful. Sorry for the amount of detail, feel free to ignore and sorry for my English)

pairing: daemon targaryen x y/n velaryon

word count: 2.9k

warnings: angst, mentions of head injury, permanent scarring, blood and memory loss, oh and targcest but this is hotd so...

a/n: i’ve decided to split this into two parts so it doesn’t feel rushed! i’m not a dr and have no idea how head injuries/memory loss actually works. also the boar incident didn’t happen on Aegon’s nameday :)

The young prince Aemond’s third name day hunt in the Kingswood was meant to be a celebratory occasion. You’d arrived behind the immediate royal family, emerging from the carriage hand in hand with your love, the Rogue Prince Daemon. At first everything had gone well after the two of you arrived shortly after your younger brother Laenor and his cousin-wife Rhaenyra. 

It had been far too long since you had celebrated such an occasion with your family as you’d spent the last few years living in Pentos with your husband. Daemon enjoyed Pentos, but you could tell he missed the west. He missed the Keep and the city he had known his entire life, and so you had managed to convince him to come back to King’s Landing, if only for a while.

Things took a turn when trouble came the next day in the form of an argument  between Viserys and Rhaenyra over Gods knows what that ended in the king yelling in his daughter’s face in front of the majority of the royal hunt. Rhaenyra stormed out of the tent, and you rose from your seat to follow her but Daemon grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Must you chase after her?” Daemon asked, frown forming on his face. “Rhaenyra is quite capable of taking care of herself.”

You clicked your tongue at him and pulled your arm free of his grasp. “You know I must, Daemon. She is like a sister to me and you know that.”

It was true, the two of you practically grew up alongside each other as sisters would as the two of you were the only girls your age around (minus Alicent, of course). In the years before either of your marriages you would often join Rhaenyra and Syrax in the skies upon your own green scaled dragon Rixende. 

You were just fast enough to catch up to Rhaenyra and her hose upon one of your own, alongside Ser Criston. The three of you dismounted your horses for the day as the sun had begun to set and you were too far away to make it back to the campgrounds before dark. 

Rhaenyra sat in front of the barely light makeshift fire pit while you scavenged around for more fire fuel. The last thing you remembered before waking up in royal chambers was the snorting of a wild boar. 

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Daemon knew something was wrong when he could not find the strength to will himself to sleep. His stomach felt like it had twisted itself into a tight intricate knot and in the back of his head he knew he was right in not wanting you to follow after Rhaenyra. Although Daemon loved his niece and held her very dear, you meant more to him than anyone else in the world.

He was awake when Rhaenyra and Criston rode back into camp, the princess screaming for the best healers present. Daemon nearly tore down the front of the tent with the force of his rage as he ripped through the camp, searching for you. He met a devastating sight.

Rhaenyra cradled your head to her chest as she held a soaked red cloth to your head, your own silver hair stained red with blood. The princess herself was stained in a fair amount of blood which would have been just as concerning but you were the one unconscious on the ground with a grievous wound to the side of your head.

Despite every instinct in his body to be by your side and let no one near you as to protect you from further harm, Daemon merely watched with a cold glare as the healers pushed Rhaenyra away and began to stitch at the open wound on the left side of your head just above your ear. 

Daemon instead turned his fury to Ser Criston, who seemed to be the only one of the three of you completely free of blood. The sight of him, clean in the face of the love of his life and his niece blood soaked while a pathetic excuse for a knight of the Kingsguard stood idly by in spotless armor, woke the dragon within the Rogue Prince.

Criston hit the ground so hard it knocked the air out of him. Before he had the chance to stand, or even catch his breath, Daemon kneeled over him to deliver several hard blows to the face of the knight. 

Criston’s nose cracks under the force of Daemon’s blows, blood spurting down his face and chest.

Daemon gripped the neck of Criston’s armor and raised his now bloodied face to meet the prince’s. “What the Seven hells happened out there?” he growled out. “and if you should tell me anything but the truth I’ll have your head on a spike!”

“A boar,” Criston croaked out before spitting blood out onto the side of his face and to the ground. “A wild boar attacked the princesses. Princess Rhaenyra was brave enough to face it after it attacked Princess Y/n.”

“How worthless you’ve proven to be,” Daemon spat in return. “Leaving the princesses to fend for themselves. If my wife dies, I’ll feed you to Caraxes myself. I might do it anyway!”

All the commotion woke the entire camp and by now a large circle had formed around the royal family as King Viserys ran towards his brother. The king pulled on his brother’s shoulder and off of Criston.

“Daemon enough!” Viserys urged. “There’s been enough bloodshed for one night, brother. You must focus your energy on your wife.”

The comment lit a fire in Daemon’s chest and he shoved his brother’s hand away. “Do not speak to me of the duties of a proper husband.”

He brushed passed the king to join the healers at your side. The stitching was finished now, and by the looks of it Daemon knew it would leave a welted scar just above your left ear. With the most care he had and as gentle as he could, Daemon lifted you from the ground where you laid and brought you back to the tent you two shared. 

The healers followed him inside to give Daemon instructions of how to clean the wound throughout the night before excusing themselves, ushering the prince to call for them if need be. 

Daemon leaves your side briefly only to finally remove his armor. He reattached Dark Sister to his hip before pulling a chair to your bedside and taking your hand in his. He thought of the night he saw you for the first time since before leaving for the war in the Stepstones.

It was Rhaenyra and Laenor’s wedding, and you arrived with the rest of your Velaryon kin to the throne room. Daemon hadn’t seen you since before the war in the Stepstones when you were still a young girl and he was surprised to see the beautiful woman you’d grown into. 

The eldest of Corlys and Rhaenys’ children, you wore a sea green satin dress to represent your house. Daemon couldn’t help but admire the way it flowed around you as you twirled around the dancefloor with your sister Laena. 

He ignored the stares of others, namely Corlys and Rhaenys, as he split the dancefloor in half on his way to you. He graciously asked for a dance, and had expected you to reject him. No doubt Rhaenys had filled your head with every filthy thing the realm had to say about him. And if not her, surely one of your handmaid's had. 

You surprised him, though, when you smiled up at him, and accepted his invitation. Daemon took control, wasting no time in taking your hand into his own while wrapping his other arm around your waist to lead you.

When the music slowed down you’d began to pull away from him, but Daemon only tightened his grip on your hand and his other arm around your waist to pull you closer into him.

“Must you leave me so soon?” he’s asked you softly. “The nights only just begun.”

Daemon charmed you into one more dance, which he dragged out into dancing the rest of the night until the unfortunate demise of Ser Joffrey due to Ser Criston’s outrage. After that night Daemon whisked you away to Pentos, where the two of you were wed under the traditions of Old Valyria. 

He took you flying across Pentos upon Caraxes, showing you wonders of the world you’d never even dreamed of seeing. Daemon remembers your excitement fondly as he’d spent the majority of the flight memorizing the smile on your face and shine in your eyes.

Daemon rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand almost in an attempt to wake you. He new it wouldn’t happen this night, you’d been given too much milk of the poppy for that, but it didn’t stop him from trying. 

He spent that first sleepless night by your side and remained there while the maesters prepared you for the ride back to the Red Keep for proper medical treatment. 

Daemon stood outside the carriage with a heavy watchful eye as the maesters secured the makeshift cot to the carriage. Out of his periphrial Daemon can see Rhaenyra approaching, and while he normally dotes on his sweet niece, in this moment his stomach turns at the sight of her.

It should have been her. He thinks to himself. Not my precious wife.

Rhaenyra is respectful in her approach as to not set off her reckless uncle. Her lilac eyes rake over your injured form, guilt eating away at her.

“Any word from the maesters, uncle?” Rhaenyra asks softly. 

The prince takes in a breath, soothing himself the way he know you would. He knows if the roles had truly been reversed then nothing would stop you from aiding the princess in any way. In his heart he knows he shouldn’t blame Rhaenyra, she’s the one who saved your life after all, but he can’t stop himself. 

You should be awake, by his side. You should be enjoying the young prince’s nameday celebrations as you always did. 

“They do not know why she hasn’t woken,” he explains solemnly. “I have requested the best maesters from the Citadel this morn.”

Rhaenyra nods, before looking to her feet as she twirls her golden rings. When she looks up again, Daemon turns to meet her gaze before he can stop himself and he can’t overlook the tears in the princess’s eyes.

“Iksan sīr vaoreznuni, kepūs (I am so sorry, uncle),” Rhaenyra mutters tearfully. “I should have protected her. I should have-”

“No,” Daemon interrupts her, knowing it’s what you would do. “You are lucky you escaped unscathed, princess. She will heal. She will come back to us, this I know.”

One of the maesters then steps off the carriage and approaches the pair. “Pardon me, my prince, but the carriage is ready. It is best for the princess that we do not delay our travels any further.”

“Of course,” Daemon nods. He gives Rhaenyra a hopefully reassuring hand on her shoulder in a goodbye before joining your side once more.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 

Despite the arrival and treatment of two maesters from the Citadel, and one healer Daemon flew in from Pentos personally, you had not woken.

After the wound on the side of your head began to heal and the maester took out the stitching, worry began to truly settle into Daemon’s core. The maesters and healer both had done what they claimed they could yet could not give the prince an answer for why you had not woken.

Day after day for three weeks Daemon sat by your bedside waiting for you to open your eyes and come back to him. The two of you hadn’t been apart for more than a few days in the entirety of your marriage, and these weeks without you have been torture.

Today had been no different, it seems. Daemon thinks to himself as he enters your shared chambers, where you still lie upon the bed. One of maester Orwyle’s trainees is by your side but rose upon the prince’s arrival. 

The man bows respectively. “My Prince, I’m afraid there’s been-”

You interrupt the maester with a low groan. “M-my head hurts,” you wrasp, eyes still closed.

“Go, fetch the maesters, the healers, someone!” Daemon bellows his demands to the young healer, who wastes no time in scurrying from the room.

Daemon rushes to your bedside where a pitcher and empty cup sit on the bedside table next to you. He pours you a drink and carefully holds it to your lips.

“Here,” he whispers gently. “drink this, darling. You will feel better.”

You do as he says, not consciously thinking of it, you only wished for relief from your terribly dry, scratchy throat. 

Once you’ve finished, Daemon pours another in case but leaves it on the table. He sits, and claps one of your hands with both of his own.

“I was so afraid,” he confesses softly. He doesn’t look at you, instead he focuses his gaze on your bundle of hands. “So afraid you would not wake. I thought you were gone and there was nothing I could do.”

WIth your free hand you grasp the thick fur covering your legs and you pull it up to your chest, and wriggle your other hand free from Daemon.

“D-do I know you, ser?” you ask, and Daemon can see the confusion laced with fear in your eyes.

He’s always been able to read you and you’ve told him before it’s one of the things that attracted you to him. Not once, since that night he asked for your hand in a dance, had you ever looked at him and been afraid. 

Not when he arrived on Driftmark upon Caraxes years before you wed, soaked in blood from winning the war in the Stepstones. That night you sat with him, alongside your father Corlys and brother Laenor, and begged for every detail of battle. As they relayed their stories of war to you your eyes gleamed, and you enamored Daemon from that moment on.

Daemon shot up from his seat as a sickening feeling took over him. He swayed on his feet, or was he really? He grips the hilt of Dark Sister in an attempt to steady himself. 

Wordlessly he turns and charges out the chamber doors, letting them slam shut behind him.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 

Once word had spread through the Red Keep that you’d finally woken you’d been swarmed by maesters and Pentosi healers bombarding you with questions. 

How were you feeling?

What could you remember?

Why was Prince Daemon seen storming away?

You simply asked who Prince Daemon was, which stopped the bustle of your busy chambers.

“Have I said something?” you asked, blissfully unaware. 

Laenor then bursts through your chamber doors, winded and eyes wide. His arrival sparks life back into the maesters and servants continue cleaning like nothing happened.

“Sister!” he gasps, rushing to your side. He wastes no time, carefully, wrapping you up in his arms from your spot on the bed. “I am so relieved to see you. How are you feeling? And where is Daemon?”

You groan, pulling away from your younger brother. “Why does everyone keep asking me about Daemon? I do not even know a Daemon! Have I missed something, brother?”

Laenor sits back slightly, lips parting. “Y-you do not remember? Y/n, Prince Daemon is your husband. You’ve been happily married for years.”

The two of you sit in silence as you do your best to file through your memories. 

“I think I remember seeing him at court once, but I do not remember marrying him. How can I be married and not know it?” You push away from Laenor and stand from the bed. Without risking further bodily harm but as quickly as you could you slip on some simple shoes and pull a robe over your nightclothes.

Laenor follows you as you move about the room. “Where are you going? You’ve only just woken, you must rest!”

“No,” you insist, pulling away from his attempt to grab your arm to stop you. “I have a husband, whom I cannot remember. I have much more important matters than lying in bed all day.”

Many people watched you shamelessly as you made your way through the Red Keep looking for your cousin and close friend, Rhaenyra. If there was someone here who could help you make sense of things it would be her. 

Eventually you find the princess sat under the weirwood tree in the Godswood, reading with a book in her lap.

“Princess,” you call as you approach. “Might I interrupt your studies for a moment?”

Rhaenyra’s head whips up, mouth slightly open in shock. She tosses her book aside carelessly and rushes to wrap her arms around you. The younger girl hits you with such force the two of you nearly tumble to the ground.

“I was so worried,” Rhaenyra whispers into your curly hair. “All I could think of these past weeks was your recovery, it’s all I have prayed for.”

“Yes, such is the sentiment I have been hearing. But I am afraid there’s trouble, cousin.”

Rhaenyra pulls away from the hug but keeps her hands on your forearms. “What is it?”

“I do not remember Daemon,” you confess softly. “Laenor informed me I have been married to Daemon for years, but I cannot remember any of it and it worries me.”

The princess’s violet eyes widen, “Nothing? Not even your time in Pentos?”

You shake your head mournfully and Rhaenyra’s frown only deepens. She pulls you to sit with her under the weirwood. 

“Come, we must find a way to bring your memories back.”

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Mad Love Chapter 21

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

To decide my future as his lover, Roger gave me one final trial.

—However, I was still unaware of one unshakeable truth hidden from me.

--

Alfons: I wonder if that man’s revealed something important to Kate.

Elbert: Something important?

Alfons: The cost that comes with that man’s egoistic way of life.

Elbert: …

There was a hint of sorrow in Elbert’s downcast eyes.

Elbert: Is that…something that will make Kate sad if she knew?

Alfons: Yes, if you were to liken it to a fairytale… It is the worst kind of ending.

--

Roger and I started working making an antidote for the condemned.

…But making it was more difficult than we imagined.

Roger: …The hell…

We had repeated the experiment many times, but it always failed whenever we got close.

Roger: Ahhh, can’t even find a clue.

(Roger looks so troubled…)

Roger: …The Privy Council and the Royal Hospital’s doctors used my research materials to synthesize a drug and then were poisoned by it. Meaning, if we reverse engineer it, then we can make an antidote.

Roger sighed as he thought over his past experiments.

Roger: But we haven’t been able to. What are your thoughts, Kate?

(Thinking about it in simple terms…)

Kate: We made a mistake along the way. Or…Oh, perhaps our process has been wrong since the beginning? What if they used a method other than what’s in your research…!?

Roger: Yeah, well…that could be why we can’t make an antidote. It’s highly likely those guys combined my research with “someone else’s”.

Kate: What do you mean “someone else”?

Roger: If I knew, then it wouldn’t have been this difficult.

Meanwhile, the criminals’ symptoms were getting worse. Worst case scenario, they die before they can even be condemned.

(Like Roger said, we “ can’t let them run away by dying”)

(We need an antidote immediately…)

Time was limited.

I frowned as I started getting impatient…

Kate: Wooooah…

Roger’s pressed against the crease between my brows with a finger.

Kate: What was that for?

Roger: It was messing up my cute puppy’s face. Your earnest nature’s a good trait, but don’t overthink.

We’re already short on time

But I’m feeling frustrated

I don’t want regrets… +4 +4

Kate: I don’t want regrets…

Roger: Time’s running out so how ‘bout we don’t think for now. That’s how most would feel, right? Though surprisingly, taking a step back can be a shortcut.

Roger grinned.

Roger: So how ‘bout you take a break and run an errand for me?

Kate: An errand?

Roger: Yeah, it’s a kind of errand only you can do. I’m gonna keep researching, but I got someone to go with you—

Before he could even finish his sentence, the lab’s door opened.

Alfons: What is it. Why are you calling people over all of a sudden?

Roger: …See?

(—Alfons of all people?!)

--

The errand Roger wanted me to run was—

To buy flowers to lay on Lance’s grave at the public cemetery.

It was something I didn’t manage to do the other day because I got kidnapped.

(The fact that I wasn’t able to visit Lance’s grave was something that’s always lingered in the back of my mind)

(Roger must have noticed and decided to send me on this “errand”)

Despite how straightforward he was, Roger looked after others.

Kate: …

I placed the flowers in front of his grave and closed my eyes.

In my mind I saw Lance’s faint smile. He had left this world without knowing that he was cursed.

(...Rest in peace)

(May you meet your sweetheart in heaven)

I then opened my eyes and twilight winds swept my hair.

I followed where the wind blew as I looked over the graves.

(So many people are resting here…)

It would be nice if all deaths could end with a “happily ever after” as beautiful as the and the ones in fairytales. 

However, life wasn’t that simple.

(I wonder how many people lost their live while holding despair in their hearts)

Kate: …

When an inescapable sadness gripped at my heart—

Kate: Woah! Hey! What do you think you’re doing Alfons?

I quickly covered my ear and the person who had just breathed on it frowned in disapproval.

Alfons: Oh my, what an accusatory reaction. Had you been feeling sentimental for any longer, you may have been taken to the underworld. I was only bringing you back to reality.

Kate: …Um, thank you?

I was baffled, but thanked him and Alfons gave a shady smile.

Alfons: Yes, of course. You’re welcome. —By the way, Kate. Your month as Fairytale Keeper will be over soon. You will be out of the darkness and free! Please forget everything you’ve witnessed here and have a fresh start. Work hard once you’ve returned to your old life.

(Huh…)

I blinked like an idiot at his wide smile.

Kate: Um, I don’t have any plans on leaving Crown or my position as Fairytale Keeper.

(I haven’t told anyone about this, not even Roger)

(Why did Alfons bring this up…?)

Alfons: Meaning?

Kate: I still haven’t received Victor’s approval yet, so this is just my personal wish, but… I would like to continue being Fairytale Keeper after the month has passed. And I want to help Roger with his ongoing research on the Cursed.

I had planned to tell Roger that after we finished with the antidote.

Alfons: Though this decision is typical of an earnest woman such as yourself, it’s difficult for me to understand. Our curses are of no relevance to your life.

Kate: No relevance?

Alfons continued, no warmth in his voice at all.

Alfons: Yes, in the end, it’s someone else’s business. Did you know that you cannot work for the sake of others forever?

Kate: …It’s true that I’m not cursed. And I may never fully understand them. But…this isn’t someone else’s business. We met and you became someone important to me.

Alfons: …

Kate: Also, I’m not just saying this out of altruism.

(There isn’t a single part of me thinking about sacrificing myself…)

My desire is—

Kate: I’m…definitely the one that wants to see Roger overcome despair the most. 

Alfons: That muscle-glasses egoist is leaving your valuable life with. I find it difficult to believe. You haven’t forgotten about our fated “tragic ends” have you?

Kate: Well—

I was about to tell him that it wasn’t something I’ve ever forgotten about, but a sense of discomfort held me back.

Alfons: Roger is doomed to be “ruined by his own guilt”... I do wonder what sort of destruction awaits him. Ah, it’s horrifying to even imagine it.

(...There’s something strange)

(Alfons has had nothing but harsh words today)

(It’s like he’s trying to make me mad…)

Normally, I’d feel offended if someone doubted what I said in confidence and tried to discourage me.

(Yet, I don’t feel angry or annoyed)

Instead, it was like he—

(It was like he was trying to free me from getting my feelings hurt. At least, that’s what it felt like to me)

Kate: …Alfons. Is there a reason why you’re trying to stop me from continuing on as Fairytale Keeper?

Alfons: …Aha! Do you think I’m some sort of saint?

Kate: Please don’t avoid the subject.

There were still many more truths I didn’t know about them and Crown.

(Even so…)

Kate: I’m a Fairytale Keeper. …I may be inexperienced, but I do know that you’re the type to hurt people.

Alfons: You insist on believing that there is good in me. I like your views. Then, I shall live up to your troublesome expectations. —Kate.

His voice when he said my name carried a different feeling from before.

Alfons: If that man did not have very long to live, would you still choose to stay by his side?

Kate: ——Huh?

--

When we returned from visiting the cemetery, I stood in front of Crown Castle.

(I need to go back to researching, quickly…)

But what Alfons said continued replaying in my head and I couldn’t move.

(...I can’t go back inside yet. Not when I’m not sure if I can act normal in front of Roger)

At that moment—

Ale: Woof.

As if to rescue me, a cute, fluffy mass came running toward me.

I picked Ale up and headed to the palace library.

(There’s not a lot of people around, it’s quiet, and I’m less likely to run into someone)

(Let’s calm down for the time being…)

I walked around and browsed the shelves to distract myself.

However—Alfons’ words still continued to replay in my head.

[gatitties]

Hi again!it’s the one of the anons who asked for pt.5 of the jjk series,how about reader in Shibuya?becuase things would only get more complicated there.

As the reader would go with Gojo (he forced her to, so he can protect them, but he just wants to spend time with them) it isn't until he gets sealed the reader gets kidnapped by the villains and maybe meets Nanako and Mimiko. (who becomes Yanderes for the reader too maybe?) and while everything is a mess reader is kinda of chilling. (panicked but chilling)

─Yandere!Jujutsu Kaisen x fem!reader (platonic)

─Summary: You prefer to be confined to your room, they can even tie you with chains, you will accept anything less than being here, but fate is capricious.

─Warnings: none

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

The blank pages: Part One

Ohhh this poor reader doesn't have a minute of rest 😔✋🏻

─ You're really rethinking your life choices right now because of all the places you could be, you had to be next to Gojo in Shibuya, where the villains were waiting.

─ Wasn't it safer to lock you in some hidden place to be safe and sound? No, Gojo is so egomaniacal that he think you're safer next to the 'strongest man in the world'.

─ Your face does not change despite everything that happens, you are waiting for an opening to escape but when your eyes meet those of Mahito and Choso you mentally collapse.

─ If it's not the 'good ones' it will be the 'bad ones' who will take you as if it were the hot potato game and you are the ball.

─ What kind of graphic novel has your life become? Where is that truck that runs over you and that strange deity that gives you a second chance in another world?

─ Choso slowly pushed you to the side as Gojo began to fight, were you having a nervous breakdown over the situation? Yes, did you give it importance? No.

─ You tried to calm down by trying to throw garbage into the volcano on Jogo's head but you couldn't because Hanami stopped you.

─ Then everything happened so fast, Gojo was sealed, and honestly, you'd rather be the one in that damn box.

─ Team change! You are part of the bad guys now, thank goodness you have learned to cope with your hysterical attacks because you wanted to tear your skin off at that precise moment more than before, you were sick from the amount of blood and hostility in the place.

─ Although you were able to create a gap to escape from there because they had the priority of killing Itadori to reach Sukuna.

─ Almost, you almost cried with joy when you saw two normal-looking girls wandering around the subway even in the crazy situation that was going on inside.

─ Nanako and Mimiko were the sanest people you've spoken to during these months apart from Utahime.

─ Although you threw all those beautiful hopes in the trash when you heard them ask about Sukuna and Suguru, without knowing that the short period will have been enough for them to take some affection from you, or to use you as a path to Sukuna.

─ You don't know if you are the mentally crazy one or the people around you at this point in the story, but you decided to go along with them and act as friends during this time, trying to find, as always, a method of escape.

─ The 'cute friendship' didn't last a damn when Sukuna decided he wasn't going to grant the girls' wish, well, you'd rather be a fake friend to the two of them than see them die tragically, but at this point you're just adding traumas as if they were pokemon.

─ At least, you appreciated a moment of tranquility talking with girls your age as if you lived a normal life, what a shame it lasted less than an hour, you begin to suspect that your happiness is ephemeral or non-existent at this point.

─ From one extreme to the other you end up in the 'neutrality' of Sukuna and Uraume's side, he drags you into his battle with Jogo, a breaking point where you can escape, only to end up landing on an island somehow.

─ You cry internally of despair when you see Nanami and Maki's fight, looking for a way out with almost no chance of success.

─ You can't take it much longer and you let out everything you've been holding in, the snot slides out and the tears flow while your body has small spasms, here you are again.

─ You close your eyes tightly counting to ten and looking for a happy memory, oh, you really hope that your parents are safe right now, you hope that all this that is happening helps so that they don't have a bad time.

─ It's when your breathing becomes more or less stable that you feel something pulling on your hand, when you open your eyes, you turn pale as you see a giant crab grab your hand with its claws and drag you away.

─ You don't have enough strength to fight against the sea curse and you simply accept your destiny, surprisingly it shows you the exit and you do not hesitate for a second to regain hope in an escape route.

─ Among all the chaos in the subway, you manage to get out onto the street after a while, the first thing you see is a bruised Megumi in fetal position, your first instinct is to approach and help.

─ But you rule out the action immediately, nah, no way, you're not going to help anyone who has made your life miserable.

─ If you're lucky and don't run into Shoko or someone else, you'll spend some time 'missing' from the sorcerers, hoping they'll leave you for dead, though it's a shame they have to see it to believe it, since they've obviously tried to find your body in Shibuya.

─ The only thing you've caused is an even more intense search, hopefully you won't end up in any game where Itadori, Megumi or even Yuta are lurking around.

[readsrealm]

Buggy & The Roger Pirates Thing (maybe even a little Corabug!?)

Buggy always feeing like he doesn’t belong on Rogers crew. Like he was just brought on to be a playmate for Shanks (practically a pet). He’s not entirely wrong either most of the crew shows unintentional favoritism to Shanks and don’t really remember that Buggy’s there half the time.

The next island they visit they actually forget Buggy. Buggy himself doesn’t even realize until hours later, Roger Pirates far away and still unaware of their mistake. Buggy’s devastated, he kinda wanders around the islands small town and into its forest in shock and despair before coming upon a familiar face. A blond marine who he’d met in the town earlier who was now running through the woods. They had a good conversation earlier and all Buggy had really learned was the boys name. Rosinante.

Rosinante takes Buggy back to Sengoku who goes “WAIT A MINUTE” and then declares that Buggy’s been taken in for ransom. Buggy tells them that nobody is going to come for him.

They wait a couple days, then a week, then a couple weeks, finally two whole months go by and nobody’s showed up for Buggy. Sengoku is disturbed by this and does some digging. Apparently a vote to retrieve Buggy was placed and the majority thought it was too much work for the second cabin boy (the add on, the spare, the unpromising backup). There was also info that Roger and the losing side were upset with the polling results but weren’t going to do much about it.

Sengoku decides right there and then he’s gonna see why Roger let Buggy onto his crew in the first place and why they don’t want Buggy back.

And…..

Sengoku has no clue why they wouldn’t want Buggy to return to them. He’s crafty, smart, loyal. He’s a good kid by pirate standards. Clearly a trouble maker but the passion he has for chemistry and science is unmatched. The way he solves puzzles and can worm his way out of any situation socially is insane. His treatment of people around him and of Cora himself (even if it’s special treatment😉) is admirable. Not to mention the boys luck.

Sengoku suspect it’s cause of Buggy’s less upfront way of fighting and actually assessing situations is what put The Rogers off. Buggy may be cowardly but if he really is needed he’ll do his part. Plus his long range weapons (bombs, altered guns) are nothing to sneeze at.

Buggy ends up staying with the marines for a really long time even if in the beginning he said he was going to escape and get far far away from them. Instead staying, training and getting stronger.

Decades later Red Haired Shanks comes face to face with a marine with long blue hair and the nickname Ringmaster.

Okay first of all thank you for writing this.

now right now I’m crying because that’s just fucking sad.

them leaving buggy there and how they decided is disgusting and I’m literally devastated. Poor buggy wanna hug him so bad.

For me Roger here failed as the captain bc who tf cares what the crew thinks. He is the captain and he should have been defending Buggy but he didn’t. In here Ace was right Roger was a monster bc left a child who looked up to him like no one else ever did in a town from nowhere behind. I wonder how shanks reacted.

I kinda wished that- I don’t know if you watched the LA but there Garp is on the Plattform where Roger gets killed. I wish that buggy would arrive the Plattform when Roger finished his speech him thinking he will die with no regrets and with starting the new era but the moment he saw buggy his smile vanished and he knew he could no longer die at peace.

I have two things in mind of what buggy could say

He would smile at roger with a trembling body saying something like: “I hoped you lived a good live “captain”

or

2. He would be cold and saying shit like: “That’s it Gol D. Roger. You and your loved one will pay for your crimes” and he would mean it bc with people who believe in him he would get stronger and have more determination

I’m kinda surprised that Sengoku would take with if we think about what he did to Ace considering that wanted to execute him for being roger son not being the second commander of Whitebeard who was equal to roger. But I do not complain. If I think about it Buggy could be trained by Sengoku and Garp and Tsuru. Sengoku and Garp were also equal to roger. And while Sengoku could teach him to be smarter fight smarter, Garp could train him in strength combat and haki. Tsuru could help him to calm himself down and always keep his cool. So he could be powerful yonko level bc that what actually oda said. If Buggy would take effort he would be yonko level.

You know what a sad part of this is Buggy is the kind of character who gets treated bad by the “good” ones (in here the goal of the main character) but he would not get justice. He would die and maybe the others would regret it but probably not the same episode one person would say “he would want that you hate yourself…” like BITCH OFC HE WOULDNT BUT YOU SHOULD BC YOU DESERVE THAT.

anyways I’m getting of the topic I think Buggy is smart and a sweetheart if you treat him well. He maybe loves treasure in an unhealthy amount and can be a little arrogant but it’s like he is be mean but still would do everything for you if you treat him right. (I also believe that he would not have a pride problem to apologize if he did something wrong but that another thing).

again with the Plattform (I hope it’s Plattform English is not my native’s language) the thing is Shanks would see it. And I think no matter if choice one or two you choose he would be angry…even though he has no right too. But Buggy doesn’t care about shanks…well not anymore bc he has Rosi. While he hadn’t a bad relationship with Shanks his relationship with Rosi is much better. Shanks if not meant to be mean only teased him which lead to the whole crew teasing him and Buggy didn’t like that. I mean I don’t think he had a problem with some teasing bc that normal and fun you know? Everyone does that but they teased him about everything and it kinda hurt bc it gave off the feeling he wasn’t taking seriously at all. That he couldn’t be allowed to be sad or scared…genuinely.

With Rosi it wasn’t like that he got comforted motivated. Instea if being told that “a pirate isn’t allowed to be scared” or “are you hiding again” or “you wouldn’t be scared if you trained harder like shanks” he gets “it’s fine I protect you” or “don’t be scared buggy! Your strong and if anything happens I’m right here” and it helps bc it motivates him and them saying that they believe he is strong wants him to prove that and he doesn’t and he makes mistakes and learns from them and gets better bc that how it should be done

So if Buggy and Shanks would meet after decades Shanks would be furious at Buggy for doing this to their captain. But with just a few sentences Shanks anger turned into guilt

“Roger didn’t want me. He left me and abandoned me. No one wanted me”

So I think Shanks would withdraw and just go with it. But now he would feel emptier. It was one thing not having seen buggy and him officially cutting of the relationship was hard for Shanks but he shouldn’t complain he didn’t say anything when they voted to leave him even if he didn’t want that he could do more. Bc they would listen to him.

Buggy himself would live a good life being a very much known marine (vice admiral) having Rosi by his side (this is a Corazon lives AU) and be happy.

I even think that Luffy would be on Buggy’s side if he heard that story. But still would not stop being a pirate

[vanfleeter]

Matched: Chapter 1 - The Reunion

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Thea Warnings: 18+. Drinking. Angst. Smut. Lust. Protected sex (p in v). Oral sex (m & f receiving). Fluff. (please let me know if I missed anything) Author's Note: Beginning of an adventure told through the eyes of Jacob.

When I met her, I found myself immediately attracted to her. Pathetic, I know. There was just something about her that drew me to her. Her eyes sparkle when she’s happy but show utter despair when she’s not. I fear if a flower were to look upon her sadness, it would wilt. But the life that shines through when she’s happy is like bathing in the sunlight, warm and comfortable. Her smile is contagious, you can’t help but smile when she does. Her laugh is melodious, like a song you want to listen to over and over again and never tire of hearing it. Her hair, long and dark as it flows over her shoulders and halfway down the spine of her back. Her skin lights me on fire in the best possible way. I crave to feel her skin against mine, tracing my fingers along her skin, tracing every curve and goosebump that raises as I make my mark on her.

I thought I was shit out of luck when I found out that Sam liked her too. Pursued her in every possible way until he finally got her to agree to go out on a date with him. I kept my distance whenever she came around, looked away when he’d kiss her. I tried to keep myself distracted from her, dated around–but no one compared to her. No was like her. I thought of her whenever I had myself buried inside of another woman. She consumed my thoughts at every waking hour, she even infiltrated my dreams.

Seeing her with Sam physically pained me. Did she make him feel the same way she makes me feel? Did he get butterflies whenever he saw her? Did his heart pound in his chest when she was near? Would his palms get sweaty? Did he ever stutter over his words when he spoke with her because of how nervous she makes him?

I would do anything to have her–but she’s with my brother. I can’t do that to him. I can’t be selfish, wanting her all to myself. He seems to genuinely like her, her him. He’s happy, and I don’t want to be the one to ruin that.

Fate, though, seemed to have different plans.

After being away for nearly a year, traveling around the boat, like I’ve always wanted to do–something my twin brother thought was insane, I had come back home to be told of the news that I used to be so desperate to hear.

“We broke up..” Sam says as he pops the top off of a beer bottle and hands it over to me. I gladly take it and drink some of it.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say as I set the bottle down on the table. “When did it happen?”

“A few weeks after you left on your boat trip,” He sits down across the table from me and takes a drink of his own beer. “But it ended on good terms.. We mutually decided to split. We fit better as friends.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Sam nods his head, takes another drink of his beer. The bustle of the people in the bar toned down a little, finally. Between the loud music and the people raising their voices over it to be heard made my head want to explode.

I see his face light up and he waves someone over. “I didn’t think you were going to make it!” He says as he slides out of the booth to hug the incoming guest. I nearly choke on my beer when I see her walking over.

It’s only been a year but somehow she looks different. Her long hair was now shorter, stopping just above her breasts. Those seemed to have gotten bigger too.

Knock it off, Jake. Be respectful.

She stands there, dressed in a black leggings that accentuate her curves and she’s wearing a dark red sweater, a little low cut revealing the top half of her cleavage.

After their hug ends, Sam invites her to join us in the booth. She happily agrees and slides in beside him. My heart hammers in my chest, the same way it always has. I hadn’t thought of her the whole time I was away–or at least the last six months of my trip, I wasn’t. It only took me half the trip to finally decide to get over her. Now here she is, seated across from me, looking more beautiful than she did when I had last seen her.

“So, Jake..” I lift my eyes to look at her. The way she says my name, innocently enough, but still does something to me. “How was your boating trip? I saw a few things you’ve posted, looked like fun.”

“It was good,” I say as I take another drink. “Relaxing, it felt nice to get away from everything for a little while.”

She smiles and it just about kills me and I can’t fight the urge to smile back. “I’m glad you had a good time. Missed you though..”

She missed me?

“Feels good being back?”

“Yeah, it does.” I say.

Sam then excuses himself to the bathroom. He’s leaving us alone. Now the sweaty palms set in. I run them against the fabric of my jeans, willing the nerves to go away. It’s been over a year, almost two, since we were ever alone together. It was quiet between us. Neither one of us is speaking. I had no words, unsure of what to say exactly as the woman I once loved sits in the booth across from me.

Could this really be happening? Is fate trying its damndest to push us back together, though we have never been together? Or is this some cruel joke from the universe, bringing us together like this, only then to rip us apart and force me through the tragic heartbreak of seeing her loving on someone else?

“I saw that you made a stop along the coast of Florida back in June.” She finally says. “Not to sound stalkerish, but I saw you there.”

I looked up again, meeting her eyes. “You were there? You saw me?”

She nods her head. “I wanted to talk to you but uh, you seemed a bit preoccupied with a blonde–practically swallowing her tongue.” My cheeks burned in a flush and I ran a hand through my hair. She giggles and leans back in the booth. “I would’ve gone to see you the next day, but your boat was already gone.”

“You would have come to me?” I ask, not believing a word she was saying. She would have come to me. I barely remember being there. I don’t think I would have remembered her if she did come to me. I barely remember the blonde. I wouldn’t deny that if I woke up with her wrapped up around me, I wouldn’t have been upset. It’s everything I had longed for, to have her wrapped around my body, whimpering my name as I made her come apart at the mercy of my own hands.

“I should’ve gone sooner, maybe I would’ve caught you before you left.” She says, leaning forward on the table.. “After that, you were never seen or heard from. Next thing I know, today comes and Sam is calling me, inviting me out because you finally came back home.”

“And you still came?”

I can see the light blush in her cheeks. She nods her head and smiles. “After seeing you in Florida, you were all I could think about. Hoping you were safe but also hoping you would come back home.”

“I would have, eventually..”

“I see that now.”

My mouth presses into a tight lipped smile. Glancing around the bar, I notice that Sam hasn’t emerged from the bathroom. Pulling out my phone, I shot him a quick text.

‘Where are you?’

Just as quick, he response comes back. ‘Went home. Have some fun! ;)’

“Um well,” I cleared my throat. “Seems like Sam has ditched us.”

“You’re kidding..”

I shake my head and stuff my phone back into my pocket.

Come on, Jake.. Take your chance. She’s here. Don’t let her get away again.

“I’m going to go pay the tab, and then maybe we can get out of here?” I say, in hopes that she’ll say yes. When she nods her head, I begin to slide out of the booth and make my way up to the bar to close the tab. I’ll request the money later from Sam as payment for ditching us. Though I’m secretly hoping tonight won’t be all bad.

If she had shown up on my boat, I would have taken her with me. I would have taken her everywhere with me. So long as I had her and knew she was mine, I would have done it. 

“I still have it,” I say. “The boat.”

Having not driven to the bar this evening, I had no other way home. So a walk is what we took back to my place. A place she’s never been. A place that has never been graced with her presence, everything inside untouched. Now she’s here, standing in my living room and holding a glass of wine.

“You brought it all the way here?”

I nod my head. Taking her hand, I pull her out of the living room and out the back door towards the pole barn. Her eyes grew twice their size when I pulled her through the door and flipped on the lights.

“This is so much bigger than I thought it was.” She says as she approaches the boat. She runs her fingers along the still glistening paint. “Don’t tell me you brought women on to this..”

I chuckle but shake my head. “No.. I didn’t think anyone was worth bringing onto this.” I find myself stepping behind her, placing my hands on her hips and drawing her close to me. “Except you..”

She turns her head to the side and lifts her eyes up to look at him. “Only me?”

I nod my head and pull away to lead her around to the back where the ladder is. I drag it down and help her climb up. “I was selfish.. Hoping that I’d find you out there somewhere and that I’d take you back here and make love to you like I’ve always wanted to.”

I caught her biting her bottom lip. She steps up to me and slowly wraps her arms around my neck. “What if we did that now?” She asks.

She.. I stood there, not believing the words that she had spoken. After everything that transpired; our meeting, her falling in love with Sam and then them dating, my heart longing to be hers and she to be mine, and then my leaving. Now she stands before me, suggesting the act of making love to be committed at this moment.

“It’s not the same without being on the waves…” I say with a sly smile.

She shrugs her shoulders and pulls away before walking around me. She ducks inside but peers back out. “We can make our own waves.”

Oh fuck.

I didn’t want to seem desperate and run right after her but at the same time I wanted to run after her. So I met in the middle and hastily went after her. I brought her to the bedroom and gently laid her out on the bed.

Is this really happening?

Her legs wrap around my waist and she pulls me down on top of her. Her breasts are fully pressed up against my chest. Leaning down, I press my lips to hers. My god, they feel so good. They were everything I imagined they would be. Soft and nearly smooth, save for a few breaks in the sensitive skin.

On instinct, my hips grind against her core and she moans into my mouth. I know I’m growing hard and I know she knows because I feel her hand snake its way between our bodies. She cups her hand around my clothed length and slowly starts to move her hand in circles. I groan and bury my face in her neck where I lick and I suck on her skin, leaving a noticeable mark.

I will always mark her so everyone knows that she belongs to me now.

Not being able to contain myself, I pull away and unbutton the rest of my shirt before sliding it off and tossing it somewhere in the room. She sits up as well and removes her top, revealing her braless chest to me. Immediately, I latch onto her left breast as I begin to massage her right one. I circle her nipple with my tongue before lightly nipping at it, which elicits a deep moan from within her.

Licking her nipples once more, I pull away again only to hook my fingers beneath the waistband of her leggings and drag them down her legs along with her panties. I find them to be black and all lace. I wonder if her bra matches, if she ever chose to wear it. Once I have her pants off, I move downwards, hooking her legs over my shoulders.

Her cunt is right there in front me and I couldn’t feel any luckier than I do at this moment. I bet I’m better than any lover she’s ever had.

“Jake…” I hear her whine. It makes my cock twitch inside my pants. Guess I know now that I like to hear her whine like that.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” I tease as I bring my hand to her center and slowly rub my thumb in circles over her clit.

She moans and reaches down with her hands to tug at my hair. “You know what..”

I smirk and move my face closer, removing my thumb and rubbing my nose against her clit instead. I flick out my tongue and lick upwards through her folds, as slowly as possible, just to drive her crazy.

I lick and I suck and I thrust my fingers inside of her until I have her legs clutching my head tightly between them. She comes undone at my mercy and I drink up every drop she has to offer.

Pulling away, I gently drop her legs to the bed and undo my belt before unbuttoning and shoving them down my legs. Digging into my wallet, I pull out a condom and slide it on my length. She moves up the bed to make herself more comfortable and I crawl after her, resting once again in between her legs.

In one swell thrust, I’m plunging deep inside of her, stretching her out. We both moan in pleasure as I bottom out. I’ve always dreamt of this, having my cock buried so far inside of her and making the most beautiful love to her. And now it’s becoming real. I start to move, thrusting in and out at a delicious pace. I come to rest my arms on either side of her head, tangling my fingers inside of her hair.

Her naked breasts bounce with each of my thrusts, they brush against my chest, which turns me on even more. I feel her hook her leg against my waist before I’m suddenly flipped onto my back and she’s on top of me, straddling me. She laughs at the surprised look on my face.

Fuck yeah I’m surprised. No woman has ever done that before.

She keeps the pace I had going, lifting herself up on her knees before letting herself drop back right back down. I can tell she’s close as her walls clench around me.

“Soak me, Thea..” I bring my hand between us and rub her throbbing clit. Her fingers dig into my chest and thrust my hips upwards, pushing myself deeper. My name falls from her mouth as her release coats every inch of me and continues to ride me until her orgasm is through.

Before I even had a chance to register how beautiful she looked, she was off of me in a second and rolling off the condom. Her mouth swallows me and she begins working me to my own release.

“Fuck..” I clutch the sheets in my hands as my legs shake. I didn’t even know I could do that.

Soon she has me coming to my release, the orgasm washing cleanly over me. Her tongue. Goddamn. She licks me from shaft to tip, not missing a single drop of my own release.

Once she is finished and my orgasm subsides into nothing, she crawls back up to me and curls into my side, draping her leg across my waist.

“That was… Wow..” I breathed, my chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as I worked to relax my body. She giggles against my chest and begins to draw little circles on my skin.

“Jake?” I hum in acknowledgment, waiting for her to continue. “Had we seen each other again in Florida, would you have taken me with you?”

I nod my head and look down at her. “In a heartbeat.”

There was a part of me that couldn’t believe that this is all real, that if I were to wake up tomorrow morning, she would be gone and I would have dreamed all of this. A dream that I never would want to wake from, because she’s here and she’s in my arms.

____________________________________________________

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[no-less-than-a-god]

Four sets of footsteps are befalling the lush undergrowth Darkwood has to offer. One pair leading, the other three following.

The Lamb maneuvers over a fallen log effortlessly, and turns around, holding out their hand. Narinder steps over the log just as easily, and like the Lamb, he turns around and holds out his own hand. He wears no veil.

Aym and Baal stand before the gods, empty-handed and wide-eyed with a childlike sense of wonder. They reach out—Aym to Narinder, Baal to the Lamb—and the two smaller felines are assisted over the tree trunk.

It’s been two years since Narinder was freed from his chains. It’s been two years since the crown split, and two years for the four of them to get used to their new life. It had taken a while for the former disciples to get used to their freedom, to get used to a life unbound, among the earth.

But now, the Lamb and Narinder think, they’re ready.

“I don’t get it,” Aym mutters aloud to his brother, purposefully speaking up enough for the two others to hear. “They said we’re ready, but refuse to tell us what for. Instead, they drag us out to a place we’ve never been before.”

“Maybe they meant we’re ready to be out here in the first place,” Baal speculates back, none of the apprehension his twin had in his voice.

“But we have always been able to defend ourselves,” Aym counters. “What could we have possibly not been ready for?”

“The world.” It’s Narinder who speaks, glancing back to look between the two before looking away, carrying on beside the Lamb. “You two were gifted upon me as disciples while kits, too young to remember the air you used to breathe or the ground you used to tread on. The world is vast, unpredictable, and filled with equal beauty and despair. Life and death, good and evil, freedom and choices.

“As disciples to a chained god, you remained in one place, under my command. Releasing the two of you immediately upon our freedoms would have been overwhelming, and perhaps fatal, as we still aren’t sure how much immortality the two of you possess. It was safer to have you two remain in the cult until we felt the two of you were prepared enough to live freely.”

The brothers fall silent, contemplative, Narinder’s words sinking in. Their footsteps slow slightly, and the gods slow with them in turn.

It’s Baal that’s the first to speak again, grabbing Aym’s wrist and planting his feet to the grass beneath him. His face is screwed in confusion, a troubled look in his eyes. “We’re being released? Are you leaving us?”

The Lamb and Narinder halt, and simultaneously turn. They share an unspoken look between them, and the Lamb nods.

Narinder approaches his two ex-disciples, and he ducks his head slightly for the two of them to get a better look at his face. “We will not be abandoning you, not now or until the end of time. No matter your situation or circumstance, we will always remain for the two of you to stay with if you wish. The Lamb and I have just decided it’s time for the two of you to make a choice of your own.”

“In what way?” Aym asks, tail lashing out behind him. Baal’s fur begins to bristle in response to his brother’s unease.

“We’re taking you to meet someone,” is what the Lamb replies, and they step forward. “A trusted individual, who has helped me on countless crusades. I ask that the two of you trust us to meet her without fear or hesitation: she’s important to not only me, but to all four of us.”

A beat passes, tense, before the twins relax.

“I apologize for worrying you,” the Lamb adds. “My mind is addled with my own worries and thoughts. I should have explained we were going to be introducing someone to you sooner.”

“It’s all right,” Baal replies, and Aym nods. The two of them look at each other, Aym nodding, and Baal speaks again. “We’re ready to continue.”

The trek through Darkwood resumes, and silence blooms between the four once more. Growing more familiar with the terrain, Aym and Baal begin to need less assistance over obstacles, and their paces quicken. Heretics are encountered occasionally, but are cut down before they have the chance to attack. 

However, it still takes another day of walking before they arrive at their journey’s end.

It comes with the sight of a small clearing, makeshift tables and supplies scattered around. Walking about, barely visible through the gaps between the trees, is a large, black figure moving about, dressed in red, a gray and yellow crown upon their head.

The Lamb stops before the clearing, and turns to their companions. They place a hand upon Narinder’s arm, and turn to address the twins.

“The two of you wait with Narinder,” they say. “I need to speak with her beforehand, privately.”

The three felines nod, and Narinder stands before the brothers as the Lamb continues on into the clearing. Their voice is heard calling something out before they’re too far away to properly hear.

“Who is this stranger we’re meeting?” Aym asks Narinder, after some time.

“Someone important,” is Narinder’s vague reply, parroting the Lamb’s earlier words. Aym levels his gaze with a pointed look, and he huffs, tail twitching in agitation.

“Do you even know her?” he asks, and Narinder eyes Aym thoughtfully before he finally chooses to reply.

“I do.”

“Then who is she?”

“A traveler.”

“Is she the merchant?” Baal suddenly asks. “The one the Lamb has mentioned giving them things?”

Narinder hesitates, before giving in. “She is.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that?” Aym gripes, crossing his arms. “So much suspense and it’s just a traveling merchant.”

Narinder hides his wince and holds his tongue, much to the annoyance of Aym, and the curiosity of Baal.

“Narinder.” The sudden appearance of the Lamb saves him from further conversation, and the Lamb beckons, a slight smile on their face. 

It’s only Narinder who notices the slight tremble in their fingers, however.

Walking ahead, the taller gods blindly lead the twins to the edge of the clearing, and the four of them hear a gentle gasp from the middle of the area.

“My god,” a soft, melodic voice greets, and the Lamb looks behind them to watch as Aym and Baal’s eyebrows furrow, their ears twitching, tails flicking. They give each other a confused glance, a shared struggle happening between them both. “O, the length of time between now and the last of mine eyes has laid upon my lord. The Lamb had spoken of your freedom and halved crown, but I shan’t believed until now.”

“Forneus,” Narinder greets in return, bowing his head slightly. “I thank you, first and foremost, for all you have given the Lamb and myself over the centuries.”

“O, shall I remain most rewarded by my lord’s thanks,” Forneus replies, and she lets out a gentle laugh.

The Lamb, with eyes on the twins, watches as they both freeze, eyes grown wide as long-lost recognition overtakes them.

‘Mama,’ Baal mouths to his brother, and the Lamb finally looks away, their shoulders relaxing.

“Forneus, my dear companion,” the Lamb begins. “I remember the day you told unto me of what you’ve lost, and how you had heart and hope of their safety. I know your heart aches to see your sons again. Forneus, I wish for your heart to hurt no more. May you reunite with your sons, Aym and Baal.”

Simultaneously, the Lamb and Narinder step to the side, unshielding the brothers from view. Forneus gasps at the sight of her sons, a large hand flying to cover her mouth, tears viciously welling in her eyes. Overtaken by emotions, Aym and Baal both sob out. They take a step, two, before they start running towards their long-lost mother.

Large and towering over both the Lamb and Narinder, Forneus drops to her knees and lets her children barrel right into her, holding them tight against her chest. They grip her flannel in their claws in return, faces buried in fabric as they cry into her, eons of forgotten memories and heartache suddenly rushed forth with the reunion of the mother they forgot they had.

“Blessed Lamb!” Forneus cries aloud. “Blessed unshackled god! A heart remembers. A mother shan't forget. O, generous fortune! Should I be dreaming, never allow me to wake! Ah, gods! Praised Lamb! Blessed The One Who Waits! My sons returned, soul whole.

"Often I would hope, and scorned myself foolish, that upon of mine eyes, my kits would return. When they did not, I would dream of their smiling faces held close by kindly paws! O with all my humble heart did I yearn for such! And here, now... ah! The wounds of a heart once carved may yet be healed!

"Blessed Lamb, the heart remains an infinite vessel. And yet mine overflows. What language speaks love? What of gratitude? Whichever it is, mine is due to you!"

“You owe us nothing, dear friend,” the Lamb gently replies over the cries of a family reunited.

“I insist thee,” the crying mother assures, and takes a hand off Aym for a moment to point at a nearby crate before wrapping him back up safely in her arm. Approaching, the Lamb removes the lid of the crate, and retrieves two strange objects that they hold in each hand as they walk back to Narinder.

“Relics,” they whisper to him, showing them off. “Crafted from Forneus and her late husband. They’re tears.”

The Lamb presses them into Narinder’s hand. He takes them, and pockets them into his robes.

“Can we stay here?” a sniffling voice draws the gods’ attention, and they see Aym turned towards them from Forneus’ side, wiping the stream of tears from his eyes. “Can we stay with our mom?”

“Of course,” Narinder speaks for the two of them. “You two are free to choose where each of you wish to go or remain.”

“The cult will always be open for you both, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay,” the Lamb adds. “If you wish to remain by your mother’s side, then that will be a decision both of us will stand by and support.”

“I want to stay,” Baal cries.

“Forneus?” Narinder asks. “What about you?”

Laughing through her tears, the mother replies, “O, you must know my answer: I shall keep my sons for as long as they wish to remain with me, and will let them go when they’re ready to take flight into the world.”

Two purrs erupt, and a third quickly joins as mother and sons continue their long embrace, their tears and sobs slowly subsiding.

And when the sun sets once more upon Darkwood, and farewells are given, there are only two sets of footsteps befalling upon the lush underbrush as the Lamb and Narinder return to the cult, where their followers peacefully await for their leaders.

hiiii sorry for not posting for a bit, I had midterms lol. Anyways, I drop Forneus, Baal, and Aym content into y'all laps bc I love all three of them sooo much. I also almost cried like twice while writing this alskhdg