#like I never thought I would be where I am now

[auroracalisto]

Hey can you do a fiyero x reader where the reader is afraid of being vulnerable and he helps them?

yes, superfartninja, i think i can.

to be changed.

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 3.4k words summary: to be vulnerable meant to be defenseless. it was a liability and that's all it ever would be. fiyero couldn't have that, now could he? a/n: please remember that i only have movie knowledge, so this will be based solely on what i saw in the movie. :P also, shout outs to house song by searows (was on repeat for this fic). erm. this kind of got away from me. i started it was 12 AM and now it's nearly 2 AM. hope it's coherent.

It wasn't like you to be vulnerable. It just didn't happen. It was like... asking a fish or an elephant to climb a tree, or some other weird analogy that you heard oh-so-long ago, when vulnerability aged you more than it helped.

To be vulnerable meant to be hurt. To be ridiculed, to be laughed at, to be made a fool in front of anyone who cared to look your way. It was something that you knew was not needed. You would be fine living by yourself. You came into this world alone and screaming, and you would leave this world the same way.

If you cut out the wound before it began to fester, you solved the problem immediately. Or so they say.

So that's what you did, long ago, when you swore to yourself that the pain you felt would be the very last time. It would never happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Oh, Oz, it couldn't. Your heart couldn't take it.

What was left of your heart, anyway. Sometimes you feared you no longer had one, especially when you feared the pain that would haunt you if someone else came along and made you feel that way again.

It's not that you were afraid. No, fear of being vulnerable was foolish. At least... you believed that you weren't afraid of being vulnerable.

Perhaps that was an act of foolishness in itself. Pretending that you weren't afraid. Pretending that having few friends and few moments of happiness didn't pierce your heart with every passing second.

Perhaps you needed to be better. To be vulnerable, to swear off that silly promise you made to yourself so many years ago.

But it was so difficult.

Being vulnerable was to be in pain. To be lost to a world of sorrow. To be... hurt by the very thing you swore you'd never be hurt by again.

It wouldn't happen.

You wouldn't let it.

He existed in the back of your mind. His beautiful blue eyes, the way those pretty locks fell in front of his eyes when he actually studied his books (if he ever did, of course).

When was the last time he actually tried...? No. You couldn't think of him like that. Too much thinking about his pretty face would ruin you.

You had only talked to him a few times here and there, and the first time was to merely ask him to move out of the way. He took up quite a lot of space—or at least, maybe it was his confidence. It oozed from him like an air of upmost superiority.

No...

You were just being cruel. He was just standing in the way, out of breath from singing to Galinda in the library (because of course—who didn't sing to pretty girls in libraries anymore?).

The second time you spoke to him was over the essay you had to write in your literature class. Peer reviews were the bane of your existence, and this essay, because of course it did, had a simple prompt in response to one of your readings: Taking into account the author's sheer disdain for the idea of magic, write what you believe Oz would be like without magic.

Thought-provoking, yes. You wrote a decent two pages, handwritten of course.

He gave you a paragraph.

If the world of Oz existed without magic, perhaps we would all be better off. No more bickering over the usages of it all, no more idiosyncrasies, no more debates on whether you are intelligent or mediocre if you hadn't the ability to wave a wand or utter a simple spell. If we didn't have magic, perhaps life would be far more difficult, but I also feel as if we should see what it would be like. Maybe there would be less heartbreak. More happiness to go around.

Okay. A piss-poor paragraph that made you wonder how he was even passing Madame Lillabet's literature class.

Maybe he wasn't.

You didn't feel pity for the man—nobility had the ability to do so many things that you would only ever dream of. Why should you feel pity—vulnerability—for a man you didn't know, let alone understood?

Oz, even now, his essay haunted you. You did your best with your review, pointing out the obvious things missing—a decent thesis, body paragraphs that proved his thesis, and just in general, an entire essay that was expected of the entire class.

He merely read over your essay and made one simple comment: Excellent.

Oh, yes, excellent. It was excellent to know that he was just trying to help your essay, yes? Leaving that little comment, even though you didn't make full marks—how was it supposed to help you?

Pity be damned. He was a fool, through and through.

Things muddled in your mind like they often did. Thoughts racing, heartbeat close behind the quick pace.

If you had magic, you'd be sure to quell it.

These thoughts were the one thing that you wished you could squash under the heel of your boot. They were the bane of your existence, the utterance of a foolhardy penance to the god of whatever looked down upon you and wished for pain.

Perhaps that was what was meant for you.

A life of pain—of pity from others, of the amenability to be swayed by those around you even when you tried, desperately, to stay away from those who may catch your attention.

Like him.

Oh, Oz, just like him.

Fiyero.

The man who'd lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders. The man who once told you in passing that if he hadn't a brain, perhaps classes would be easier—then he wouldn't truly be all there, and he'd easily get around the... well, specifics of it all. The man whom you felt tugging at your heartstrings, even when you told yourself no.

It would not happen.

It could not happen.

You would not let it.

In typical, terrible luck fashion, you found yourself wandering the halls of Shiz late at night, unable to sleep. The thoughts racing through your head of so many things, not just him (although they kept leading back to the fool), they just weren't stopping.

An exam was to be held tomorrow. Perhaps you could create a distraction—keep the professors from being able to do as they needed. There were a box of fireworks hidden in one of the many corridor closets, kept for special occasion. You could whip a few of them out and create so much chaos that they'd surely have to cancel the exam!

You leaned against the railing, looking down at the stonework of Shiz's courtyard. A chill ran down your spine from the cold breeze, and for once, all was silent if only for a moment.

His voice brought you out from your thoughts.

"Y/n," he said, an obvious smile playing at his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and glanced back at him. Without saying a word, you acknowledged him.

"Doesn't look like your dorm," he continued. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

"Thinking."

His eyebrow quirked. "Thinking? Oh," he softly hummed, coming to stand beside of you. "Well, that's no fun, now is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

He snorted softly. "You're thinking about... nothing?"

"Whatever I'm thinking is none of your business," you retorted.

He stared you down for a moment, tilting his head curiously. He hummed again and looked out at where you had been staring moments prior.

"You are right," he softly said, voice much quieter this time. "Let me lead you back to your room. We have an exam tomorrow, remember? You at least need to pretend to sleep."

You paused. Since when did he care about exams? You glanced at him, fighting the urge to question him. You let out a soft sigh and shrugged, allowing him to lead you to your dorm.

The walk was quiet, and you almost questioned how he knew where your dorm was, but you didn't. He seemed to pay attention better than most (it was part of that aloofness, you've noticed), and it wasn't the first time he had seen you near your dorm.

It was at least the third. The number had to be easy to memorize by now. 133.

As you opened your door, Fiyero spoke. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous thing for you, isn't it?" you quipped, not looking at him as you stepped inside.

He let out a soft chuckle. You amused him to no end.

"Yes, perhaps," he softly said. "But besides. I was still thinking. I've been... well, wondering if perhaps you would—"

"—no."

He blinked slowly. "What? No? Y/n, you didn't even hear what I had to say—"

"—the answer is still no," you said. You glanced up at him from the spot you had been staring at, frowning. "I don't know what this is, but we are not friends. Do not ask me for favors."

"Not friends, hm?" he softly hummed, leaning against the doorway as he locked eyes with you. So knowing your dorm number was just a fluke.

"Not friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go and pretend to sleep."

His upper lip quirked in a faint smirk. Not friends, but you still joked with him as a friend would do. He rolled his eyes and gave you a rather joking half-bow.

"Of course," he said. "Do not let me keep you up. Perhaps I should find my dorm as well."

"You should do that," you simply said, shutting the door right after.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything else, quickly locking the door and heading back to your bed.

Heart pounding, mind still racing, but not with the thoughts of earlier. No, dear reader, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

So impressionable, so—so kind, so—well, was he really kind?

To you.

He was kind to you.

Nearly a week passed you by. The exam went rather well, without any kind of distraction. Passing marks and a somewhat decent night sleep.

You do everything you can to try and avoid Fiyero. Running this way and that, going through all of the longer corridors instead of the shortcuts you knew by heart. You did everything you could to avoid his handsome face.

You did everything you could to avoid the vulnerability that plagued your heart every time you thought of him.

If you simply embraced the wants of Fiyero, perhaps not having a brain would keep you from thinking this way. You'd still have a heart, sure, but it was much better than keeping yourself on your toes wondering if you'd see the damned man at any passing second.

On the hour of the rising moon, almost exactly on the dot, Fiyero spotted you. And this time, you were not evading him.

He practically took off after you, leaving his friends behind. They scoffed and called after him, but he didn't look back. His focus was on you.

He grabbed onto your wrist as you went to leave, not letting you go.

"Y/n! There you are," he softly said. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I wouldn't have thought it would be so difficult to find you, but—"

"—there you go, thinking again," you blurted, unable to stop yourself. Your tongue was wagging faster than your brain was working.

He weakly smiled. "Yes. I know. How ironic, hm?"

You watched as he stared you down.

"Look," he softly began. "I truly—I do not know what I did to deserve you ignoring me at any which way, but I wish you would tell me why. What did I do, Y/n? I thought—well, I assumed that we were friends, but perhaps I was wrong. I find myself wrong quite often nowadays."

"I—well, Fiyero, I—" you paused. You squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. "I don't have friends."

He blinked slowly. "You don't have friends? What of the one girl you were with the other day? Milla?"

"I do not have friends," you repeated. "I have... acquaintances. People I do not get attached to."

"That is sad."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like a commonality when he spoke with you. The staple eyebrow raise had to happen or else he wasn't really chatting with you.

"It is sad. Why wouldn't you want to get attached to people?"

"I don't want to have meaningless relationships," you said. You avoided saying, I don't want to have relationships at all. "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, Fiyero."

He rolled his eyes. "Friendly. Yes. I talk to people, but I would rather not have all the attention that I do."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "You play the popular little prince and then claim you do not want it? What is that, Fiyero?"

Fiyero pursed his lips. "It is just—this is not a conversation about me. I wanted to have an intervention for you since you seemed as though you were avoiding me every which way. Now. Just—"

"—an intervention? What? Please. You sound ridiculous."

"So do you!" he returned, hands to his hips like an older man scolding a child for something they broke. "You vex me, Y/n! You act as if you are interested in me, then run away hiding like a scared little pup. You act as if you are afraid to get close to anyone."

You stared at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly. But it was enough. You were done for.

He let out a curt laugh. "You are."

"What?"

"You are. Scared. I can see it in you. You listen to what I have to say, even when the others don't. I've made an effort to pay attention to you. To see what you—"

"—Fiyero, stop."

"Do not tell me to stop, Y/n," he said, voice low with conviction. "Not now. Not when I've finally figured you out. You are scared. But of what? Being close to someone? Having a friend?"

You frowned. "I am not scared—"

"—you look at me like if I were to touch you, you'd melt."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"I can see it in your eyes, Y/n," he said, not looking away. He held eye contact with you and hoped that you would continue to do the same. "You—you're scared. To open your heart to the people around you."

You frowned, again. It was perpetual anymore. "And you're a sad man who dances and pretends everything is fine because Galinda said you looked pretty one day."

He blinked slowly, a smile quirking on his lips. "Maybe. But this—this isn't about me, Y/n. This is about you."

"What even is this? I didn't agree to have you psychoanalyze everything I've ever done."

"Neither did I, yet here we are," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think, to mull it over, and I know it. I know it now. You are scared. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know who hurt you in your past, or if something tragic happened to make you so cold inside, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with being... with being vulnerable, Y/n. There's something... magical, even, about opening up to others."

"Oh, and you would know, wouldn't you?"

He frowned. "Y/n—"

"—no. Absolutely not. You do not get to sit there and ridicule me for not wanting to be close to people and then not take what I give you," you said. "You do not let anyone close to you. Sure, Galinda, but what does she know about you? Does she know how you half-ass everything? How you hardly even talk to your 'friends' and just let them float along with you like everything is fine and dandy? You're as sad as I am, if that's what you're trying to say. Don't try to fool yourself."

"I am not trying to fool myself," he softly said. "I am only trying to make it known that I see you. I see myself in you."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "The rich, popular boy sees himself in little ol' me. That's perfect."

"Y/n—"

"—no. Don't. Stop. Just. I don't want to talk to you anymore. We're not friends. We never were friends. Just leave me alone."

It's simple, but it shuts him down. And with that, you run from his side, rushing to hide away in your dorm.

You couldn't believe what you did. Blowing up at him instead of listening to what he had to say. He read you like the children's book your heart truly was—while everyone else focused on the words, he focused on the pictures. The minute details that seemed to pass by everyone's mind because the story was flowing far too quickly.

He saw the delicate brush strokes, the intricate colors, the pieces of you that the words did not show.

He knew you.

And it scared you.

Only you knew yourself. If anyone else were to know who you were, deep inside, well, that would be disastrous.

It couldn't happen.

You couldn't let it.

Fear.

Perhaps fear was the best way to describe the way you felt.

You sat by the edge of the lake in the forest just beyond Shiz's campus, fingers gently brushing against the water. The surface rippled, sending small waves to the end of the shore.

You were afraid.

Of what?

Of a man knowing you?

Of Fiyero knowing you better than even your family once knew you?

You sat there, thoughts racing through your mind. It was as if you couldn't avoid them anymore.

Days had passed since you blew up at Fiyero and ran. You couldn't avoid him forever, you knew that, but it seemed as if your thoughts believed the same.

Tears pricked at your eyes. The warm, salty tears began to fall before you could even try to stop them, and a soft sob bubbled at the back of your throat.

"Y/n?"

Shit.

You quickly wiped your tears away and looked back at him—at Fiyero. But your tears wouldn't stop. A soft sob rippled through you and you turned your head away.

Fiyero came to your side, kneeling down in the soft earth beside of you. He inwardly grimaced at the dirt, but he said nothing of it. He'd bathe in mud if it meant you would stop your tears.

He reached forward, gently placing a hand to your cheek. He turned your head to face him.

"Y/n," he softly said. "It's alright. You... you're alright."

Another sob.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. You didn't pull away, melting into his embrace as he said you would before. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, situating himself so he would be more comfortable near you.

He softly hummed a soft tune—you remembered it. The one thing he hummed quite often when you caught him alone, or trying to focus on his school work.

Dancing through life, skimming the surface... Life's more painless for the brainless.

He was just a sad boy with needs of his own, much like you were scared of being seen. Of being known.

Of being loved.

Oh. Oh, that's what it was.

It terrified you to no end.

Fiyero pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

"What's got you so upset, love?" he softly asked, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs.

You shook your head. "I... later," you mumbled. You leaned into his grasp, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften.

He released a soft, shaky sigh of his own, before he pulled you back into his arms. He'd hold you until the end of the world if that's what you needed him to do.

Being vulnerable—it was the one thing you had told yourself you would never do. Ever again. And here you were, letting this man hold you and practically lull you into a calmness you'd never felt before.

Is this what it felt like? To be... weak? To be... frail?

No.

Vulnerability... it didn't mean that.

It meant that you were... open. That you had managed to open your heart to a more... malleable form.

To be changed.

To find the one thing in life that you knew would keep you going for as long as it could.

To be vulnerable meant to be loved.

[crescenthistory]

morning touches

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Words: 581

Warnings/tags: this is literally just fluff and waking up together, established relationship

Note: i wrote this drabble immediately after waking up in the winter sun a few weeks ago, and figured it was time to share<3

Your senses were droopy like honey, but you could vaguely make out the sound of a mumbled whine and a rumbling low laughter.

Burying your face deeper into the warmth you were surrounded by, you were determined not to let such disturbances rouse you from this peaceful sleep that held you like a hug. Minutely, you could hear a voice in the back of your head laugh at the thought because it essentially is a hug, but brushed it off for the sweet relief of darkness.

You breathed in a grateful sigh, nose filling with the comforting smell of sheets, cold morning air and him.

“Mmmm, morning dovey.”

The grumble would be music to your ears, had you not vowed to shut them off.

You were half-aware that you let out another low whine, nuzzling against the lean muscle and soft skin that provided an excellent pillow. You hoped he understood the noise as be quiet lovely boy, I am milking this sleep.

Slow, impossibly sweet kisses were pressed along your hairline, a chuckle causing soft vibrations to ripple across the skin there. “Don’t wanna wake up?” He had the decency to speak in a quiet voice, words dripping with humour and affection. Dedicated fingers moved from where they had rested between your shoulder blades for hours to slowly drift through your hair, massaging the nape of your neck.

You tightened your grip on him, a handful of the wonderfully warm skin of his side clutched between your fingers, still weak with sleep. “Mmm, please,” was all you squeaked out, vocal cords hoarse and pressed against his chest.

Remus hummed in affirmation as his other hand came up to brush along the top of your shoulders that poked out from the duvet and had grown chilly. The windows of your flat were poorly isolated and installed, which peeved you most days – but now that you could curl further and further into your personal furnace, you found you didn’t mind so much. 

The kisses became more rapid and firm, scattered across your face, causing your nose to twitch ever so slightly. Another appreciative hum escaped your lovely boyfriend as he carefully tilted your head further up so he could press kisses to the tip and sides of your nose as well.

“Anything for you, dove,” he murmured against your skin. You could feel his smile against you. “You just keep on sleeping.”

“‘S a bit difficult when you’re doting on me.” 

You slowly opened one eye to squint at him – any faux chagrin slipping out of reach when you saw Remus in all his beaming, bed-head, beautiful glory. You could have sworn there was a halo around him as the light caught on the messy frizz of his curls.

He kissed your eyelid that was still shut. You let the squinted one drift back closed, leaning your face more heavily against his lips. 

“Do you want me to not dote on you?” he asked, teasing lamenting his low tone. He already knew the answer.

“No,” you whispered. “Please keep loving on me.” You could not help the smile that was growing on your lips and you pressed them carefully to kiss right over his heart.

“Oh, dovey.” With two fingers underneath your chin, he lifted your face back up to his and at last, he kissed your lips sweetly. “I would never stop.”

Perhaps there was one thing you wanted even more than sleep; that something would always be Remus.

[sunfairiess]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐣𝐣 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

tropes: 3rd person narration | soft boy jj | best friends to lovers | comfort | fluff

synopsis: reader’s battling against anxiety and during one of her anxiety attacks, jj’s there to help her.

warnings: heavy depiction of anxiety, anxiety attack.

wc: 2.1k

writing this as someone who suffers from anxiety and deals with it on her own, was really emotional; if you find yourself in this position too, please don’t be afraid to ask for help. mental health matters <3

song rec: breathin - ariana grande ♡

everyone fights their own monsters, some are physically visible, others are perceived. some people have to fight against their families, some against their friends. but one of the biggest and worst challenges, was to fight against your own head.

everyone is tormented by their own monsters. hers is called anxiety, the beast who had ruined her life.

at school, her grades started to drop because she was just so tired all the time she couldn’t even bring herself to open the textbook; half of the foods she used to love were cut out of her daily routine because she would get constant heartburn and stomach problems to the point where she wasn’t able to consume a full meal for days.

when it came to sleeping, she couldn’t fall asleep because her mind was always racing with awful thoughts. what if i don’t wake up tomorrow? do my friends hate me because i didn’t go out with them today? is my heart supposed to beat so fast? my back is hurting, is this a health condition? am i going to be alone forever? usually she would go on for hours, reaching three or four in the morning, until she either cried herself to sleep or she almost passed out because of how tired she was.

going out of the house became hard. she became afraid of taking public transportation because what if someone tried to rob her or kidnap her. she couldn’t take long walks anymore because what if something happens and i’m alone. she even had to stop going to parties because she couldn’t stand big and loud crowds of people anymore.

her mental pain became physical: constantly having back problems, her chest and throat always felt too tight to breathe, her body tingling out of nowhere all the time.

it would’ve been a lie to say all of this didn’t reflected onto her relationship with others; she never told anyone about her own problems, not that they could help anyway. so when she started to hang out less with her friends, she always had to lie. i’m grounded, i can’t go out. sorry, i have too much homework to do. i have the flu, i can’t come. my dad needs my help, i’ll come next time. eventually though, she would run out of excuses, and that’s how she ended up for the first time in a month at the château, surrounded by her best friends.

“girl, we haven’t see you in forever, i almost forgot your face.” kiara joked, nudging her a bit with her elbow.

“i know, i’m so sorry guys. past month has been crazy.” which wasn’t a lie per se, she had spent the last weeks having constant anxiety and panic attacks. in the morning, in the afternoon, at night. and every single time she felt like she was about to die, the impending fear of doom creeping inside her. it really started to become unbearable, to the point where she didn’t even notice how many days would go by.

“well you’re here now, that’s what matters.” pope chimed in, giving her a smile. somehow that made her feel a little bit more lighter, knowing that her friends didn’t actually hated her. anxiety made her overthink every little detail of her life.

even though she tried to appear relaxed the whole night, she still felt like she was being chocked by an imaginary hand, pressing harder every time she breathed. she was grateful that none of her friends noticed the stiffness in her body, it would’ve been to hard to explain everything.

at least she thought no one noticed. jj noticed, he always did. he would observe every little detail about her. and from the moment she stepped into the château he hadn’t been able to keep his gaze off of her, not even for a second. he missed her. he hadn’t seen her in weeks and he had become restless. day and night he would think about her, what she was doing, if she missed him, if she too dreamed about him like he did about her. that’s how it felt being in love with your best friend.

jj knew something was up with her. she was always full of joy and energy, but bow it seemed like she had lost her spark. he knew there was something wrong, especially when he saw her fidgeting with her rings, gazing anxiously around her. he knew something was wrong when she got up, excusing herself from the conversation, and almost running to the bathroom.

following her wasn’t probably too good of an idea, but jj was impulsive, so he did it anyway. amen to that, he would’ve dealt with the consequences later, like his confused friends asking him what the heck was going on.

as he entered the bathroom, she was sat on the toilet. her face so pale you would think she was about to pass out.

he sees her as she stares into the wall, her eyes fixed in front of her, full of fear. he notices as she bring her right hand to her throat, sliding slowly down her chest and pressing hard. he hears her breathing going faster and heavier, like she couldn’t catch a full breath. her hands shaking as she tries to ground herself and not slip into the arms of her anxiety.

jj had no idea of what an anxiety attack looked like, he had been fortunate enough to never had one, but he always thought they had to feel awful for whoever got them. but seeing her, his sweet little sunshine, shaking all over the place and being surrounded by a cloud of darkness around her, made his heart break into a thousand millions pieces. he wanted to help her, but he didn’t know how to do it in the right way. he just wanted to do something, and so he did.

“sunshine, hey. baby, look at me. c’mon lemme see your pretty eyes.” he kneeled in front of her, placing both of his hands on her knees and gently rubbing his thumbs against them.

everything was spinning around her, thoughts racing with all the emotions she bottled up and all the fears she always had. she couldn’t stop them, it felt like she was going to be swallowed up by a black vortex. but then she heard his voice, it was like hearing an angel talking. her gaze slowly shifted from the white wall to his eyes, his gorgeous blue eyes, usually shining like stars when they looked at her, but now they were the depiction of concern. she felt a sharp feeling of guiltiness running through her your veins, because the last thing she wanted was to make him sad.

“that’s it, baby. you are so pretty, my pretty girl.” he gave her a soft smile, slowly moving his hands from her knees to her thighs. he wanted to pull her close and hug her, but one time— and thank god for him and the one time jj actually listened to what he said— pope told him that when people had anxiety or panic attacks, most of the time they didn’t wanted to be touched. so, instead of being the usual impulsive jj he was with everyone, he took baby steps with her, not wanting to scare her or make her even more anxious.

her breath was slowly calming down, but the aching in your chest and the lump in her throat were still there, still feeling like she was going to suffocate any moment now, but jj pulled her out of her thoughts again.

“alright pretty girl, i need you to do something for me, ‘kay? i need you to take deep breaths with me, i know it’s hard but i’m here. you’re safe, i won’t let anything happen to you. breathe with me, baby.” his voice was so sweet and gentle, she actually thought she was going to cry because of how soft he was speaking to her and how he was trying to handle the situation. she nodded slightly, following his example as he took one deep breath and then exhaled. one deep breath and exhaled. inhale and exhale. and they went on, and on, until the tension she felt before started to leave her body, making her shoulders and back relax and her hands stop shaking.

jj didn’t say anything this time, he just looked as she regained consciousness of her surroundings. even though the attack was gone, it usually took hours before she could actually calm down completely. it was hard and she always handled them alone, but this time having him with her felt like a blessing from heaven.

feeling like she had just been pulled out of a dark hole, she launched herself into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck. he let out a sigh as soon as he felt her flesh touch his own, his arms reaching for her hips and his face buried deep into the crook of her neck. they stayed like this for a almost twenty minutes. he only pulled her in tighter, not wanting to let go of her because he knew as long as she was into his arms, she was safe.

30 minutes later they were laying next to each other in the hammock, her head resting on his chest, the sound of his heart beating calming her, like a lullaby. his hands were both placed on her back, rubbing small circles against the thin fabric of her shirt.

jj really didn’t want to break the peacefulness that surrounded them, but he had to ask her why she never told him anything. he felt like he was failing at being her best friend. “why did you never tell me?” his voice was low, sounding almost like a whisper.

“i- i don’t know. i didn’t want to bother anyone, didn’t want to be a burden.” jj stopped moving his hands on her back, instantly lifting his head to look at her.

“okay, know that i’m not mad, but, firstly, i’m not anyone. i’m your best friend, you would never be a burden to me.” his hands moved to her cheeks, lifting her face. “i’ve been through hell and back these past weeks. not seeing you, not talking to you for more than 5 minutes on the phone, not touching you. it nearly killed me, y/n. i was always on the edge of a breakdown, constantly snapping at everyone because i didn’t know how you were doing. were you safe? were you alright? not knowing made me go insane.”

he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. he was pouring his heart out, which he never do, but he just felt like he had to do it now. “and i’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, that’s the last thing i want. i just wish for you to know how much you mean to me. you’re the most important person in my life, you’re my best friend, my ride or die, my partner in crime. you- you’re my first love, and hopefully you’ll be my last one too.”

her eyes went wide at his words, and honestly she thought she heard him wrong. “jj, what- what are you saying?”

“i know the night wasn’t perfect, but please just lemme say this now because i don’t know when i’ll get the same courage again. i love you, y/n. i love everything about you. i love that weird sound you make when you laugh too much, i love how your eyes shine when you’re talking about things you like, i love how after surfing your hair become all curly. hell, i love even the things you do that should piss me off, like when you throw away my joint because i’ve been smoking too much or when you scream at me because i got in a fight with some kooks again. i love you so much it physically hurts.”

her eyes were watery now, tears threatening to coming out in flows. she didn’t know what to say. because seriously, what do you say to someone who sees you as the most incredible human being, when you can’t even love a quarter of yourself?

you say nothing. but you can do something.

that’s why, in the quietness of the night, under the stars and while she was feeling at peace for the first time in weeks, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against it.

she wasn’t magically healed, she still had things to deal with. but now, she wasn’t on her own anymore.

[syggwolf]

Not to hijack this post or anything, and I'm gonna share some seriously depressing stuff here, along with talk of injuries and blood, just as a warning, but I can easily pinpoint the (And I cannot stress this enough.) SINGLE most traumatic thing that ever happened to me in a long, long, long line of catastrophically traumatic things: It was a very specific incident of being told not to cry. And it wasn't like I wasn't already told not to cry already or anything because, you know, you have a dick, you're not allowed to cry past the age of six and all that. And I was about thirteen so, way beyond that point. But this time, I mean, it was sort of a big deal. You see, unfortunately for me, a very heavy falling object had split my forehead open, and the amount of blood pouring down my face had convinced me that I was pretty for sure probably maybe going to die. Also it really hurt. But because I went into shock, I started laughing instead. I want to stress: the laughing was a panic reaction, not conscious, nor on purpose. Then I proceeded to leave an unbroken trail of blood all the way up to the front door of my house, about a half a block away. All the other kids fled as soon as it happened, except for one; another boy who was a friend of mine, only slightly older than me, who walked with me up to my house and came inside. Well, my mom shrieked and put an icepack on it, which, if you've never had burning cold shoved against exposed skull, it kinda really hurts even more than getting your skull exposed in the first place. And so I'm sitting there on the couch next to my friend, who's still staring in horror at my head and the blood all over my face. By this point I have definitely stopped laughing or doing much of anything, and the sheer amount of "I am so fucked." is starting to sink in because they are calling a fucking ambulance. My dad is sitting there, yelling at my friend to explain what the fuck happened and my friend gets to the part where I started laughing and my dad looks at me, and no bullshit, at this exact moment, there's a spike of pain from my head, and I'm miserable and it's sinking in that I'm going to the fucking HOSPITAL in an AMBULANCE and I am definitely in trouble. (Which is another fun thing that happens in an abusive household. Imagine thinking you're in trouble for getting hurt. Spoilers, I did in fact get yelled at, excessively. My intelligence, character, moral fiber, strength, and foresight were all called into question.) So right there, with all of that hitting at once and my father staring straight at me, my chest hitches and I fuck up and I let out a voice cracking little whimper. My father looked at me with an absolutely haunting combination of anger, disappointment, and some kind of disgust, and he said in this very rough, clipped tone that was more threat than anything else, "Don't you dare. You will NOT cry." And that broke something inside of me that to this day I've never been able to fix. If the role of a "man" was not to cry even under circumstances as extreme as that, than I clearly was broken in some way and I would endeavor to never cry again. And even Now? I simply cannot cry until I fully and completely lose control of every aspect of myself and snap, and even then it never lasts longer than a few moments. I can't make noise while I'm doing it either. It's a silent affair that can only happen in the most extreme circumstances when I am alone. His reasoning for saying that to me? For looking at his wounded child, blood covered face and pain and misery and all, and saying those words? He wanted the story to get around the neighborhood that I laughed at having my head split open because he thought it would make me look cool and really badass. He literally told me that to my face a few hours later, and said it was for my own good because none of the kids would fuck with me if I looked manly. He also chewed me out for possibly ruining it for having the gall to break while my friend was still next to me. The patriarchy is fucking evil and must be destroyed.

Everyone is so weird about people who cry easily. Fellas, is it evil and manipulative to *checks notes* have an involuntary stress response?

[m1ssunderstanding]

My thoughts on Beatles 64

Am I a terrible person or something because I’m genuinely having such a hard time wrapping my head around these people’s reactions to their president getting shot. Like I can count on one hand the people I’d give a fuck about in DC and I’m not crying if that happens. I’m angry. I’m scared. But I’m not sad.

Who is this covering all my loving? It’s pretty.

I will forever love Paul and George’s big and little brother dynamic. Deep, cloudy scouse: they’re in perfect synchronization. Bright, squeaky scouse: Are they? Like, where is George’s little chimney sweep costume?!

And Paul’s sharp tone calling John’s name. I don’t know, I could obsess over any little scrap of footage of them. I just love picking apart details that reveal dynamics.

George’s insecure, curious, “Are you filming now?” Compared to his over-it, sardonic, “Are you recording our conversation?” He aged about twenty years between 64 and 69.

John’s reaction to his own voice in his ears is always a straight shot of joy.

I like that they’re showing all the boys. You know, because if only girls like them, then they’re just a silly pop group, but if boys like them too, well. That’s something else, isn’t it?

One of my favorite moments. No wonder Paul took so well to shepherding. His blood pressure spiking if John gets out of arm's reach. And John is of course so happy to be pulled back in.

Their hair really was so fluffy!

John spreads his legs when he’s playing because he’s an anxious attachment. Paul keeps his legs closed because he’s avoidant. In this essay I will.

This mix of She Loves You is really highlighting Ringo’s drumming for me. He’s so talented and attractive.

This is why Paul’s my favorite, genuinely. Because he goes from the most polite, people-pleasing, tender-heart to an absolute mean girl cunty bitch in the span of less than a second.

Ringo is the quickest wit, I’m telling you, and if anyone says otherwise, I’m cancelling you for classism.

Why is it always Paul these middle aged creeps feel the need to touch? I mean, I know why. But it makes me sick. That kind of thing is reserved for the mutuals. Definitely not cops.

It’s literally sooooo funny for me seeing this guy choke up about She Loves You. Like I’m genuinely happy for him, but I was literally just over at my husband’s grandparents double-wide and they Still go on about how stupid the Beatles haircuts were and how they remember the days before the Beatles when there was ‘real’ rock and roll on the radio.

So, Paul’s been telling the story of Jim critiquing She Loves You for literally sixty years now, and originally it was with mix-ins from John and George and without a lot of artificial sweeteners. Here’s the sixty-year-old version:

Back home in Liverpool, we used to sing over some of our songs to relatives—I did to my Dad and my aunties,” he recalled. “My Dad would look at me looking disappointed. ‘I don’t know young Paul,’ he’d say. ‘I try to get you to speak properly, and you drop your aitches. Why sing ‘Yeah, Yeah’ when you mean ‘Yes, Yes?’ I tried to explain this was the whole point of the song,” Paul continued. John broke in: “Anyone ever heard someone from Liverpool singing ‘Yes’? It’s YEAH.” Paul continued: “Well, we just laughed. My Dad gave us some of the worst advice ever. He said this music thing will never last. It’s all right on the side, he’d say, BUT PAUL IT WILL NEVER LAST!” “Remember,” said George, “he always wanted us to sing ‘Stairway to Paradise’?” – Ray Coleman article 1964

What a cutie. Shouldn't be allowed.

“That wasn’t really the case.” (that America was the land of the free). He always almost gets to his political views. You know? Microdosing? Left-bating? Maybe both. Whatever.

I LOVE their funny little accents with all my heart. John does posh scarily well.

Ringoooooooo!

“Go on! Defy convention!” Quotes that define the speaker. He should sell t-shirts with that slogan.

This girl’s Brooklyn accent and her confidence are so beautiful!

Why did they buy John an ID I’m actually dying! Oh! They don’t mean, they mean like Paul’s and Ringo’s bracelets. Got it. Okay. I was like ‘are you trying to help him ten years in advance with his immigration struggle?’

The juilliard girl is phenomenal.

I want the nylons and I want the shoes.

“Would you do me a tremendous favor?” “I’m not gonna kiss you like Elisabeth Taylor.” See? Ringo is the funny one. Ringo is so fucking sharp and nobody gives him the credit he’s due.

Ronnie Spector you deserved better, Queen! I love her. She’s so gorgeous, she’s so cool, she’s so young and energetic!

Two excellent Lennonisms right in a row. “Have you been watching the newsies?” and “I don’t care,” I say as I care caringly. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he has the most sunshiny smile in the Beatles.

Ringoooooo!

Not the picture of JohnandPaul singing together as ��with lovers and friends” plays.

Love Paul offering Ringo a candy. In yet another accent. People need to make them talk in goofy accents more in fic because it’s incessant. But I just love them offering each other food. It’ll always get me.

See, this is what I love about John. “People have been tryna stamp out rock and roll since it started.” “Why do you think that is? What are they afraid of?” “I always thought it was cause it came from black music.” He’s not ‘honest to a fault’ or whatever the boomer men love to say. But he’s very, very blunt, and he’s not going to try and skirt anything. You know?

Literally the most embarrassing thing a person can ever be is white.

“I thought it was very weak. You know what I think, I call a spade a spade. I thought it was weaker than weak.” Cook him! And then the mimicking! I love him so much! Holy shit, that would’ve been so enraging.

And then the quiet sass of the guy being interviewed right after. “Well, the versatility, the originality. I like anything that’s original.” I love some clever tumblr web-weaving in my documentaries.

In my husband’s grandparent’s defense, the “real rock and roll” they loved before the Beatles was literally only black artists.

I love this picture for ever. Look at how tight he’s holding on to John with one hand and the other hand raised in joyous triumph, engagement bracelet visible. This is Paul in heaven.

“The whole assumption of male vs female is not prominent. They’re sort of in-between.” Yes. Love. Keep going.

Ringo’s got all the quips, again. “Ringo, look over here!” Puts his hands up. “Don’t shoot!”

I didn’t know Smokey Robinson and the Miracles went to the Cavern, that’s cool! And here I was thinking I wouldn’t learn anything new from this doc. His whole interview is very lovely and generous.

I always think “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me” probably spoke to John in terms of his relationship with Paul, but I go there so easily. Anyway, Smokey Robinson had every right to be pissed that they released a cover of his song without even asking. Like that would be illegal nowadays, right? And yet he’s so kind about it.

We talk about how scary Beatlemania was and we should because it was, but it really puts it in perspective for me personally hearing Smokey say he was shot at for trying to use the bathroom.

Oh I love that we have footage of Paul taking Ringo’s picture! Makes me think of “eye of the storm” obviously, but also the way he’s mocking the photographer's jargon of the time as he’s doing it. The fact that he ended up marrying a photographer who made a point to depict him as not just “some doe eyed sex object” in her pictures, and also of his song “pretty boys” and his quotes about the sexualization of “male models”. Definitely not about anything he himself experienced. Anyway, thoughts. Strings. Pins. Etc.

Also Ringo turning to the camera still filming him, “what do you think I am, a monkey?” Remember that part in this footage where Ringo says something like, ��are we ever going to have a break from all these cameras?” And he’s exhausted. It really seems like, from the footage selected by this doc at least, that Paul and Ringo were doing the bulk of the lifting at this time just with cooperating with the show biz stuff. And isn’t that (interesting? Sad? Poetic? Good?) that they’re the ones still cooperating sixty years later.

How dare they cut out “but we ain’t written no poetry!”

As John’s panicking, “how are we gonna – have you seen the kids? How are we gonna get in, then?” Paul’s just calmly going, “Hi girls!” With a patient smile and a cute little wave. “I’ll just go in and speak to the people first, okay?” I love Paul “calming-down-other-people’s-hysteria-is-my-calling-in-life” McCartney.

Cute, George introducing a song he’ll do a viral backflip to in twenty years.

I wonder what that letter is. John’s being very tender with it.

“You’re fired!” “It’s Love Me Do, whacker!” With the sweetest most innocent smile. I love when John is John, you know?

“To me they’re all obviously low or middle class, highly illiterate, unintelligent wild kids seeking a little fun and pleasure . . . I think there’s something very strange about it at the same time, something very sick. . . . I’m sure that sexual reasons have something to do with it. They find the Beatles sexually attractive and they’ve made some kind of psychological tie with them. I think the whole thing’s a little bit frightening and quite sick.” Where’s that old meme with Trump describing the democrats in the most hateful terms he can think of and people being like “yep that’s me”?

Paul stopping to say goodbye by name to each of the people who've been in their hotel room one by one. It’s giving *Opra voice* “and you please don’t hate us and you please dont hate us and you please don’t hate us”

Ringo coming back because he went the wrong way is the most me-core thing.

Paul will come in with the random shouts and yelling in the middle of a song he’s singing lead on all the way from the very beginning and all the way to the very very end, huh.

I just get filled with so much rage at this image of the Bernstein family, especially after the footage of the Gonzalezes. Like, I know I need therapy. I know. But it costs money. Anyway, all rich people can go straight to hell. “I was allowed to wheel the TV set down from the library, down the corridor and into the dining room.” Oh, were you! Well, you must be very special, then.

I wonder if Paul’s title of his exhibition has anything to do with this quote from John about “It was like being in the eye of a hurricane.”

The girl hanging on Ringo like a jungle-gym is me. I love the way he flirts, it’s so smooth, physical, casual.

Classic John moment and he doesn’t even open his mouth.

My dearest wish is that these two are happily married now, holding hands in the theater watching this.

The voice of the woman asking Paul “what do you think of the American TV” sounded extremely like Linda’s. I sort of panicked for a second. Linda’s voice is lower, but the accent and cadence and the sort of wealthy slouch is the same.

I love them picking up on the dystopian beginnings of America’s version of late-stage capitalism and broadcasting the ridiculousness of it all to a public that didn’t know any different. “The situation in China is very bad. Have you ever wondered, when you’re eating at home?”

The guys setting up wearing Beatles wigs? Ew. Why?

Ringo’s so funny! “Watch any band. If anything goes wrong, they go – Blame the drummer.” And he’s so endearing and sweet. “I just always wanted to be IN the band, not like ‘oh, I’m over here.’” Reminds me of his quote about being lonely as an only child and ending up with three brothers. What a tenderheart.

Huh. Always thought some idiots just set up his rostrum backwards. The rest of the stage spinning around it makes much more sense.

That little smile between the two of them.

George in tears! Poor baby! I really do think, with the way this affected him on another level than it affected the others, and with the way he talked about his experiences at the Inny compared to Paul (not that you can trust Paul to say anything actually gets to him) that George maybe was more sensitive to classism than the others.

I hope Paul said something to that affect to George after. “They’re working at an embassy. We’re on the road, rocking. I don’t give a flying fuck.” You know? I could see it.

Another thing I love about John. You need that guy on your team, whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish. That when people are being bitchy, you tell them to fuck off and you leave. I bet Paul, George, and Ringo were so relieved that John did that for them.

After Ringo talked about not wanting to be back behind and separate from the band, I’ve noticed all three of them stepping back sometimes to stand more in line with him when they’re not singing. I don’t know if it was conscious or natural, but either way, I love that they did that and I’m sure Ringo did too.

The looks and smiles

I usually maintain that Paul is only sexy from 60-61 and from 68-98 and from 18-now. But. This is just objectively hot, I don’t care who you are.

It’s so sweet to see George being such a ham, getting John to do silly bits with him, putting on a waiter’s uniform and passing out drinks, climbing up in the luggage compartment. I wish they could’ve somehow kept it at a pace that was manageable for him so he could’ve kept on being so happy with his life, you know? I mean it’s not like it just disappears completely. There’s some of it in Get Back and even in Anthology, but it’s just not the same.

This is what happens when you’re a slut, Paul. You get paternity suits that ruin your mood. Shame, shame.

Interesting that Paul points out Brian’s “defying convention” by having them play their scandalous rock and roll shows in all these “hallowed halls”. I’d never thought about it as Brian’s conscious decision but obviously it must’ve been, and that’s very clever and snarky of him.

“That man, who is strong enough to be gentle, that is a new man.” Betty Friedan is pro-beatle. We love to see it!

Watching Paul try to behave like a human being on stage with all of his early twenties energy is honestly painful. It’s like Kurt Vonnegut’s Harrison Bergeron, you know? Like I can just see him aching to let himself free, but there are weights put in place for a reason. I know Brian was right to calm them down, and this documentary is proof that if he hadn’t done his taming, either they never would’ve made it or there would’ve been all-out class warfare or something, but it breaks my heart, it really does.

Ronald Isley, again, just like Smokey Robinson, being so so charitable here, and managing to do so without playing down the fact that things were absolutely rigged against him and his group at the time. “We should be on the Ed Sullivan show doing . . .” Yes. Yes.

I looked it up, and this quote is genuine. “If it wasn’t for the isley brothers, we would still be in Liverpool.” – Paul McCartney. That’s one thing I love about him. He’s always giving – very much due – credit to his black contemporaries. People ask him about Elvis and he always says, “yes, and Little Richard.” People say he was the most innovative bass player of his time and he says, “yes, and Fred Thomas.”

Ringo literally gets me every time. George: I don’t remember Wales. Ringo: It was before you joined the group.

The way Paul talks about George living “the good life” is very much in the tone of an older brother who’s helped his little brother do well for himself, you know? It’s adorable.

Of course Paul’s out feeding seagulls.

Not even going to comment on the “i love you” thing. Nope.

Okay I do have to say, the end of this guy’s story about going to liverpool and getting deported is incredibly sweet. I was kind of ignoring him, and then when he said he met John during Imagine, I sort of braced myself. But it turned out absolutely adorable. I love John’s little antenna miming and that he promoted this guy just for having made the front page of the Liverpool Echo. It’s all very John, very endearing.

I hope Paul and this weepy old guy had a talk about healing yourself from abuse through music. There’s like a 1/100 chance, but I still hope they did.

John loves a good boat analogy, doesn’t he? “There was a ship going to discover the new world. And the beatles were in the crows nest on the same ship [as everyone else] and we just said ‘land ho!’

Love the use of “Roll Over Beethoven” as the final song.

[highvern]

Steam IV

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: ATLA au, enemies(?) to lovers, forbidden romance, royalty au

General Warnings: violence (bending fights), injuries (mentions of broken bones, burns, blood, bruises), alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitutionSmut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, fingering, dry humping, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, handjob, hair pulling, marking, virgin!reader, wonwoo has a tiny bit of a corruption kink, breeding kink, marking

Length: ~19k | Fic Length: ~64k

Credits: banner: @caelesjjk and @shadowkoo | betas: @tomodachiii @miniseokminnies @gyuswhore @haologram and @wqnwoos

Note: ITS HERE, steam is officially done :(((((( i made the doc for this fic back in february and didnt start actually writing until October. now i've got over 64k words in the longest fic i've ever written. ill get weird if i talk to much. ALSO IMPORTANT!!! ice lilies look like lily of the valley. just for reference

summary: Wonwoo is the best fire bender in Capitol City. Or he is. But a water bender he's never seen before changes everything.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The dueling arena of the palace was massive; bigger than the warehouse Wonwoo was accustomed to fighting in; rows and rows of seats lining the entire perimeter of the central field, stone columns draped in blue fabric with the royal seal embroidered in silver thread. The rain from the previous day baked away in the hot sun hanging heavy in the sky. Guests lined the benches, not a single seat vacant, voices loud in excitement. The council of nobles sat at attention amongst them, weighing and measuring every man as a potential ally or enemy on the throne. Even Commander Aiko attended, sitting in one of the boxes reserved for the queen's personal guests. 

This was what they had been waiting for since your intent to marry was announced. This was all that mattered. 

Sweat dripped at Wonwoo’s collar. Not from the heat of the day in his black uniform but his own nerves. After the garden, you dragged him into your room, sat on his lap and kissed him for hours like it was the last time you two ever would. Wonwoo kept his clothes on - even as you plucked at the ties and buttons of his soaked uniform - he kept your wandering hands at bay. The queen had prepared him for what the others would say when he declared himself as a competitor, and he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of being right. Couldn’t live with himself.

Wonwoo thought of this morning. When you snuck into his room for one last kiss before the servants came to whisk you away, still in your nightgown, face soft with sleep and eyes half closed as you crawled into his bed and woke him with more of those maddening touches. If all he left the palace with was memories then those would be his fondest.

On the dais, you looked like the perfect image of royal propriety in pearl jewelry and a deep blue gown, back pin straight as you sat next to your grandmother. You kept your gaze forward on the field where the champions would be presented. All the traces of yesterday were gone. Now you sat as princess and soon-to-be queen; half of the woman Wonwoo loved. The other half hidden away in your sitting room, falling asleep as Wonwoo read from your book of stories to the symphony of the previous night's storm.

The Queen rose from her throne and approached the balcony to address the crowd. “Friends, esteemed guests. I am honored to host you today, as we gather for the tournament for my granddaughter, Princess YN’s, hand.”

The crowd roared in response. Wonwoo’s pulse hammered through his clenched jaw to the beat of their applause.

“Present your champions.”

Gyan, Char, Maoki, Bavruq, and others stepped forward, all with the same confident air swirling their shoulders. Wonwoo wasn’t scared. Especially not of Maoki. Even if he lost there would be satisfaction in wiping the floor with the smirky boulder bouncer. Bavruq was older, more experienced but that didn't scare Wonwoo either. He faced men twice his age, revered military men with medals of honor and walked away victorious. Char, Gyan, and the others were wildcards.

Wonwoo snuck to the edge of the balcony and descended the stairs into the arena as the last champions presented themselves. No one paid attention to him. He held the same weight as a servant, blended into the background because people purposefully ignored him. As such, no one stopped him from approaching the line where the other men waited.

He swallowed back his nerves and stepped forward as the queen motioned to speak again; just as she instructed him yesterday.

“There is one more challenger,” Wonwoo called.

The queen kept her face neutral and leveled him with a heavy look. “Who?”

“Me,” Wonwoo announced, chin tipped upwards.

The tension in the arena swelled and exploded. Wonwoo kept his eyes glued to yours, the way your jaw dropped in shock before the icy masks secured back into place. 

“What?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Outrageous!”

“Who speaks for this man?” the queen asked.

“I do.” Aiko came forward, out of the raging crowd ready to murder Wonwoo. 

So that’s why the Queen invited him. Aiko nodded at him briefly, focusing on the queen. Wonwoo noticed a subdued air to the older man. Aiko only ever stood at attention, years of muscle memory keeping him taunt. This was different. The queen seemed to battle a smile.

When I was her age, I loved a man who was considered below my station. A guard who I became friends with as a young woman in the palace…

Aiko.

Wonwoo stood where his commander once stood, caught between his duty and his heart. History repeated itself and this time Aiko wouldn’t let you and Wonwoo make the same mistakes.

“The rules of the competition state any man of good standing with the crown may compete,” the queen said. “Our brave Commander Aiko vouches for Captain Jeon. He shall compete in tomorrow's games.”

If you didn’t murder him in his bed tonight.

The queen adjourned herself and the council of nobles. Others stayed, mingling and eying him with suspicion. Wonwoo kept his chin high, shoulders back. He would not show fear even in the face of starving wolves who wanted nothing more than to rip his throat out.

Eventually, the arena cleared. Han and Sami found him, and led him away to a different maid he’d never met before. She led him to a wide set of ornate double doors revealing a small suite in the western wing of the palace, as far away from your room as possible. His belongings were laid out in the room; books on the desk, clothes tucked away in the dresser. They must have moved everything immediately after the queen granted her blessing.

It didn’t strike him until then that of course he would no longer be sleeping in your apartment after declaring his intent to win your hand. Now, whether anyone liked it or not, Wonwoo was a suitor and propriety needed to be maintained. No more late night chats in your dining room or stumbling into your bath. No more whisking you away with fake meetings. You treated Wonwoo like an equal from the first day you met, it was the kingdom that now followed suit.

“These cords will call the kitchen,” the maid, Juli, explained, pointing to the crimson ribbon hanging from the walls, “and these will call the maid's quarters should you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Wonwoo tried to relax in his new quarters but the quiet unnerved him. Only a few weeks ago he would have found this space to be a blessing but now it felt too big, too lonely. The suite had a small training area and he worked through his forms over and over again, welcoming the ache in his muscles as distraction. 

His confidence rose with each punch and kick. Those royals and nobles probably sparred with tutors too nervous to push them, who always let them away with an easy win and a pat on the back. Wonwoo grew up fighting in the streets of the Middle District, spent hours in the ring where it was win or starve. He knew what it was like to fight with something to lose. Now he stood to lose you and he refused.

He’d win. There was no other option as far as he was concerned. 

After a final set, Wonwoo retired to his bedchamber, quickly washed up in the bathroom that reminded him too much of yours and then fell into a shallow sleep.

Chaos claimed the council chamber. Nobles from each house attempted to speak their grievances over one another, echoing the same sentiment again and again. 

“He cannot compete! It is a shame to our allies!” 

“Lock him in the dungeon for insubordination!” Lord Zo hissed. 

Fists slammed against tables, chairs clattered to the ground as more incensed men rose to their feet to yell across the aisle.

“He is a commoner! He has no title!”

“If his lack of title is such a cause for concern then perhaps he can have yours, Lord Gaha,” your grandmother responded. Her voice chilled the air and immediately the ranchous nobles silenced under the threat. She looked giddy.

“Your Majesty, I only mean—”

“How dare we entertain the thought of a peasant on the throne? A peasant who doesn’t even know the first thing about ruling a kingdom!” Lord Baelor roared. “It’s dishonorable to even consider the notion—“

Dak threw his hands in the air. “You’re one to talk of honor. Your nephew has enough bastards to fill half the arena!”

Belaor’s face flushed ruby red. “He has no right to wear the crown. To consider the possibility is an insult.”

“The competition is designed to measure a person’s merit,” interrupted Senator Mo. “Not their luck to be born in the correct family.”

“The law states anyone of good standing can compete. Aiko, you vouched for the man. What do you say?” The queen asked Commander Aiko,

“Captain Jeon is one of the few, perhaps the only, man I would consider to be my successor,” Commander Aiko announced. “He is as good a man as any other presented today. I’d consider it a grave miscalculation for anyone to think differently.”

“But what message are we sending by allowing him to compete? And what if he wins? Does he bring money? Connections? Allies?”

Minister Gul had a point. Your grandmother married for wealth and allies, your parents much the same. Political marriages brought benefits to the kingdom. A marriage with Wonwoo only brought benefits for you.

“I believe you are getting ahead of yourself, Minister Gul,” you responded shakily.

“If Captain Jeon wins, then he will rally the citizens of the kingdom. To see one of their own kind ascend to power, to be respected, that is a man that can rule a country. Not a stranger from far away who will send people off to die in their own wars without understanding the sacrifices they are making in his name.” Your grandmother nodded. “But first he must win the tournament on his own and prove he is a better man.”

Grumbles of begrudged approval echoed through the chamber.

“Since it is her marriage, I believe the decision ultimately is my granddaughter’s.”

Dozens of eyes turned to you expectantly. A part of you, a spiteful sliver of your conscience, wanted to reject Wonwoo’s attempt to compete; punish him for leaving you in the dark. You seethed at your grandmother for planting ideas in his head. 

“If he wishes to compete then I say let him. If it is the lack of title you are concerned about then I will remind you all that title doesn’t prevent people from dying for the crown in our army. It should not prevent someone from sitting on the throne either.”

No one spoke then, the words hung in the air like heavy fog. You stared at Galin, pinning him in place until he cleared his throat and spoke.

He sputtered to attention. “The princess is wise. If she believes Captain Jeon should be eligible to compete then I agree with her.”

“He has proven himself to be a man of honor which is more what I can say of the others who came forward today,” Dak chimed in.

Others slowly began nodding. Several were on the list Galin delivered to your office shortly after your meeting. You eyed them pointedly until they also agreed. Loudly.

“Then it is settled,” your grandmother said firmly.

A few grumbled under their breath, but voiced no more objections despite the obvious desire on their face; flaring tempers, clenched fists, and furrowed brows. The decision had been made. Wonwoo would compete.

The meeting adjourned and on the way back to your apartment, you hatched your own plan.

It took some begging for Han to lead you through the tunnels to Wonwoo’s new accommodations. If your grandmother thought tucking him away in a secluded wing of the palace could keep you away, she was wrong.

“This is so romantic,” she sighed dreamily.

You stewed in silence a few paces behind her. It wouldn’t be romantic when you screamed at him for being an idiot. Before you burned through the last of your patience, she stopped in front of a door and took her leave.

Your annoyance waned at Wonwoo’s sleeping face, bittersweet fondness swelling in your heart. He was flopped on the mattress - too tired to pull the covers aside apparently - snoring softly. You cupped his cheek and smiled when he nuzzled into your palm gently.

Then you dumped the pitcher from his side table on his head.

“What the hell?” he coughed.

It gave you enough satisfaction to pull the water from the bed sheets into an orb over his head and drop it again.

“Stop!” Wonwoo sputtered and glared up at you.

“No!” You lifted your arms to do it again but Wonwoo caught your wrists, flipped you beneath him and pinned your arms into the pillows. “Get off me!”

“Stop trying to drown me!”

“No!”

You thrashed against him and Wonwoo flattened on top of you. “Then you’re staying put.”

“This was your plan?” you seethed. The vase on his dresser cracked from your anger, the water frozen solid. Wonwoo held fast, and you deflated in resolution.

“I knew you wouldn’t agree, which is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

“Of course I wouldn’t agree!” you scoffed. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I assure you I’m very sane.”

“You can’t assure me of anything.” You thrashed again, this time flipping him over and pinning him beneath you. He could’ve gotten out of the hold if he wanted to but instead he rested his hands on your thighs and gave a reassuring squeeze. “They’re going to try to kill you and make me watch. I… how can you ask me to sit through that?”

Something wounded flashed through his gaze. “You don’t think I can win?”

You knew he could win but you didn’t want him to pay the price to. He didn’t get it. How much it would hurt you to watch him take a beating for your sake. Over and over and over again. You wanted to shake him until he understood. Outside the window, the moon sat small in the night sky, a little more than a crescent, edges blurred by thin clouds. You felt it like fingers up your spine. So small and powerless.

“They’ll stop at nothing to prove a point! If you lose you'll spend months in the infirmary and if you win then you’ve made some very powerful enemies.”

“If I lose then you marry someone else and if I win you marry me. So I just won’t lose.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Well if it’s that simple.”

It wasn’t easy to admit you were scared, like swallowing a mouth full of ash. You couldn’t see him hurt because of you, for you. Even if he won, what was the price he’d have to pay at the hands of scorned men who thought of him as nothing more than a thorn in their side. 

“Fine. Get yourself killed, see if I care.” You rolled off him with an ‘arrogant hothead’ under your breath before moving towards the door. Wonwoo rushed to catch you and pinned you against the wall. 

“When I win, will you have me?” Wonwoo dragged the tip of his nose against yours, eyes sinking shut as the tension swelled. You didn’t push him away. You didn’t want him anywhere other than where he was at that very moment even if you wanted to dump another pitcher over his head. You wanted him by your side. Always.

You kissed him once then responded with a frown. “Win and find out.”

Wonwoo kissed you again. He kissed your cheeks, chin, your nose. The wrinkles in your brow that refused to smooth. He was still so warm with sleep and it lulled your raging pulse until you surged and caught his mouth in a frenzy.

You didn’t know everything about marriage. In fact, you knew very little and realized more and more how out of your depth he was as the hours passed since that morning. But right then you couldn’t help believing that it was the first testament to what a life with him would be. One of you inevitably upsetting the other, only to forgive just as swiftly; flowing back and forth just like your elements. A flicker and an inferno, a ripple and a tsunami.

“Wait,” you blurted, pulling away from his hold. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Then let me apologize.” Wonwoo lifted you onto the dresser, parted the front of your robe and bunched the fabric of your nightgown around your thighs before claiming the space between them. He released a deep breath as he discovered how little you wore beneath. 

You hadn’t walked across the palace without underwear or bindings with any intent. Not that it mattered. You tugged at the tie on his sleep shirt until he stood in nothing but his bottoms. Soft touches have you both warm, sighs of breath ruffling your hair line. Your arms snaked around his shoulders - fingers diving into the short hairs at the base of his skull - and exhaled. “Is this how you plan to apologize every time we argue?”

“Depends…” His fingers slipped up, too high on your thigh but not high enough. Nowhere near where you wanted him to touch you; just grazing, before moving away.

If Wonwoo plans to tease then you will too. 

“On?” You sucked his ear lobe.

Wonwoo grunted at the sting, fingers rising a fraction higher. “How willing you are to forgive me afterwards.”

“Then I guess that depends…”

“On?”

“If previous experiences are anything to go by, then that leaves me in a very difficult position.” You faltered into an airy sigh as he bit your collarbone. All teeth and no mercy. Your blood turns thick as he does it again further up your neck.  “And I really want to be mad at you.”

His hands ran across your ribs, cupped your breast as he thumbed your stiffening nipples. He pulled back to look over you, cheeks pink and eyes glazed, far too cocky for your liking but you let it slide. Just once.

“Still angry?”

“Furious.”

He took a nip of your pulse and smiled when you choked on a moan. Then you kissed him, grabbed his face and pulled him close with a desperate arch in your spine. The hard tent of his pants pressed into your core. An easy target for your wandering hands. 

“I,” his voice hitched from a tight fist. “I thought I was apologizing.”

It was your turn to smile and tease. “Can’t multitask?”

“I—” he choked into a brilliant shade of red as you dipped your hand beneath the fabric and thumbed the leaking tip.

“What’s wrong?” you smirk, palming him with more vigor. “Something distracting you?” 

You pressed your tongue along his lower lip, invited it into his mouth and swallowed his moan as you worked him with quick, tight strokes. Your knees itch to sink to the ground and put your mouth on him, lick and suck his cock the way he did to you. Give him a fraction of the relief that's been so greedily reserved for only you up until now.

“You…” Wonwoo panted against your neck. ”You fight dirty.”

“Me?”

Wonwoo pulled you off the dresser, knocking your hand away as you both tripped towards the bed. He pushed you down with a light bounce before laying on top of you and biting at your chin. “Take your dress off.”

“Whatever for?” you gasped. You knew but wanted him to say it; wanted him to vocalize how badly he wanted to touch you.

You pushed him off with a jagged finger on his chest and waited.

Like always, Wonwoo met the challenge head on. 

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “I want to make you come again and again and again until you can’t remember your own name. Keep you in this bed until they drag me away.” Your hips curled into nothing. “I want you to be my wife, and let me take care of you the way a husband should.”

You sunk deeper into the mattress, the only thing preventing you from floating away was Wonwoo’s weight and his fingers wedging between your thighs to take advantage of the slippery warmth. He didn’t try bartering for access, simply flipping the fabric up until it pooled around your throat. “And how is that?”

He sucked a nipple between his teeth, rougher than before; patience worn thin from having his cock in your hand. It sat sticky and used against your thigh and the horribly tempting thought of what would happen if you touched him the way he touched you took root.

Wonwoo inside you, surging between your legs like he had in your hand; cumming inside you, marking you as his. The first. The only. Your core clenched.

You tried to sink a hand down, circle him in a tight grip with hopes he’d maybe make the tempting fantasy real. But he snatched it away and pinned it beside your head. Huffing his name, you pouted against placating kisses. 

Wonwoo dragged you closer to the edge of the bed. You're exposed perfectly to his eyes, body completely on display to be touched exactly how he wanted to. Focused on rubbing your clit until you couldn’t breathe, Wonwoo sank to his knees at the edge of the mattress and put his mouth to use pressing teasing kisses across your hips. His teeth raked over your hip bone. “Tell me what you want, Your Highness.”

You couldn’t think straight enough to chastise him for the name, angling him closer with a hand in his hair. “You.”

“More specific.” He gave a shallow thrust of a finger but that was all.

“Touch me,” you whined pathetically.

“I am.” You felt his laughter against your skin. Another press of his finger but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

“I want—I want you to…Wonwoo, please.”

He pushed your legs wider, making more room for himself as he licked a broad strip up your core. A throaty groan vibrated against your cunt, tightening the muscles along the inside of your thighs. He sucked tenderly at your clit. Your back arched, nipples aching for more attention. 

“Don’t stop,” you warned. 

You moaned at the electrifying feeling when he gently coaxed your clit to life with his tongue, tracing it with devastating precision over and over again, lapping away the arousal he’s stoked out of you in excess. He didn’t let you rut into the friction. Kept you pressed flat for whatever plans he had, biting the crease of your thigh before resuming mind numbing touches. 

You watched his lips, pink and swollen, as he lathered your core in wet kisses and then suctioned tight until you bowed off the bed. The fingers curved into your inner walls warmed, easing the stretch enough you choke on a beg for another. “Oh, spirits.”

He licked a little firmer, refusing to treat you as something fragile when you chant his name the way you learned he liked. If this was an apology you’ve forgiven him tenfold. Every swipe of his tongue dragged you deeper; forgetting anything beyond where he pulled your strings like a puppet master.

The feeling tickled up your legs. You’ve sweated out of your own skin, warm and blushing head to toe. Everything’s tighter, hotter - wetter - as Wonwoo snuck a hand up your front and flicked your nipple until it hardened. You stopped thinking. Let him give whatever he could, soaked in the attention until his name like a weak mantra until your voice broke. Your thighs squeezed numb and finally that feeling snapped into a million pieces.

When your heart calmed and feeling returned, your lover was already tracing a gentle trail up your body with his mouth. Wonwoo nestled close, cock hard against your thigh. “Forgive me?”

You cupped his wet cheeks and kissed him until the taste of your own arousal faded away. The warmth of his body on yours left you sweating. Too hot to be touching like that but tomorrow he’d be entering the lion's den, and it’d be a miracle if he came back to you completely unscathed. 

Your greed was Wonwoo’s downfall.

He fell to his back with gentle prodding, taking the initiative to pull you into his lap and pointedly ignore your nudity in such close proximity to his; cock displayed out in the open, pants halfway down his thighs. Wonwoo let you memorize all the ridges of muscle and soft plains of his chest; laid there silently through the painstaking tease of your fingers mapping his body. His only demands came in the form of weighted kisses to your lips.

You watched him fight the urge to touch you as well; fingers twitching where he gripped your sides, hands smoothing over bare hips in an attempt to distract himself, jaw clenching as your nails caught on his nipples. You were the queen of the world in his bed.

Wonwoo sucked a tight breath through his teeth when you gripped his cock once more.

He shut up when your tongue traced the curve of his thigh, down, down, down until his cock sat front and center. Steeled with false bravado, you licked the tip, savoring the taste leaking eagerly. His hips kicked, nudging the head through your lips into the wet heat of your mouth, catching you off guard. Wonwoo choked out an apology but you ignored it; seeing him lose control was more intoxicating than ten bottles of fire whiskey.

You did what he had done to you before, sucking and licking, gaining more confidence with each throaty groan you received. You felt dirty; on your knees for a man who wasn’t your husband yet, cock in your mouth, how it turned you on to have him completely exposed and at your mercy. 

You pressed a kiss to the tip and pulled back. “Does it feel good?”

Wonwoo answered with another indecipherable grunt and you took it as permission to suck his cock back between your lips. He cued you into the motions; back and forth and back and forth. The same rhythm used on his fingers and face to find your own end. Each time he moaned you took it a little deeper, preening as he choked in shock at the barrier of your throat.

“I-I’m —fuck— I’m gonna,” he grunted, fingers flexed at his sides, so dedicated to maintain some semblance of control. 

That wouldn’t do.

The competitive part of your brain, the side that was unignorable in Wonwoo’s presence, roared at the challenge. You sucked him deeper, eyes watering as instinct guided you through.

He tried not to thrust into the brutal sanction, hands flying to the sheets, grip hard enough his arms shook as he watched you with rapt attention. The beginning of a blush spread through your cheeks as he gawked boldly. 

You jumped back in shock as evidence of his spend flooded your mouth. Some dribbled down your chin, stained your lips, mixing with spit as he came on your pout. You didn’t mind the taste; you could learn to love it if the universe gave you another chance to unravel Wonwoo one thread at a time. You swallowed the mess, licked it up from what your tongue could reach, sucked his softening cock again for good measure until he tugged you up his body and rolled on top of you, hiding his face in the curve of your neck.

“You are…” he grunted, “going to cause me a lot of problems.”

You brushed back the hair sticking to his face, soaking in his glow like it's your own. “Still plan to marry me?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

He begged you to stay; not in words but touches. Pulling your clothes from your hands, lacing his arms around your waist and tugging you back to the bed each time you tried to get up.

It wouldn’t hurt to bend a little. The palace was fast asleep and no one would come looking for you for hours so you allowed him to pull you down and spoon you from behind. You sighed and moaned as he kissed your neck and wedged a hand between your legs until you came again. When you tried touching him in turn he shivered with sensitivity and pushed your hands away.

When you rose to leave the final time, Wonwoo had started to nod off and you weren't much better; eyes burning from fatigue and brain fuzzy from another orgasm under the hands of your lover.

The door to the tunnels was tucked away behind a pillar near the bathroom door. Wonwoo watched you with keen eyes as you made your way to it. “And where does this passage go? Your office? The gardens?”

“Actually,” you turned with a smile and eyed the stain on the front of his trousers, “This one leads to my bedroom.”

“Don’t tempt me with that,” he groaned, flopping back on the mattress.

“Survive tomorrow and maybe I’ll show you the way.”

You fell asleep clinging to the tiny spark of hope in your chest.

The arena boomed like an organized riot. Ranchous voices filled the space, deafening as the nobles and servants alike clamored with excitement in the stands. 

It was truly no different than the warehouse Wonwoo grew up fighting in. If Jeonghan appeared then he’d start taking bets, Dokyeom would lead the crowd in cheers and make a huge spectacle of the match. Seungcheol would watch from the highest stands with his wife. Wonwoo saw his friends easily fitting into the unfamiliar space and it gave him the confidence he needed to step into the battlefield.

Maoki stood at the opposite end of the field, bouncing from one foot to the other. He looked nervous; beet red face already covered in sweat. Maoki was a senator which meant he probably never saw a real fight, let alone participated in one. He probably did his military service the same way all noble sons did: symbolically. 

You sat high above the rest. The crown of silver and jewels glittered in the sun, face stoic. You stared at nothing while Wonwoo stared right at you as the official recited the rules, hoping to catch your gaze before he humiliated Maoki in front of everyone. When the official said his name, you finally looked, startled to find him already waiting to greet you. You rushed to look away but Wonwoo caught the twitch of your lips threatening to bloom into a smile.

He remembered last night, how you felt beneath him, on top of him. How you knelt between his legs with wide eyes, face shining with his cum. He focused on the more innocent acts like you tracing shapes between his shoulders or the snorts of over tired laughter. When he won this match he’d go back to his quarters and hear that melodic calming sound again.

Wonwoo didn’t risk finding out if Maoki was as unskilled as he seemed. After the call to start the match, he charged forward, blades of fire filling his hands. 

Maoki slammed a stone pillar into his gut and sent Wonwoo skittering back. He managed to dodge the next blow aimed straight for his head and rushed forward again. Maoki yanked the ground from beneath his feet, but Wonwoo used the momentum to leap over Maoki and slam his foot into the center earhtbender’s chest.

Fear and pain twisted Maoki’s face. He raised his hands and the earth around Wonwoo’s feet formed thick boots, locking him in place as the other man hurled huge chunks of rock at him. Wonwoo threw his arms up and defended from the worst of it, jets of fire crumbling the largest boulders into pebbles. There was no way out of the trap without breaking his ankles unless Maoki stopped his assault.

Wonwoo didn’t have to think long about escaping because the force of the next boulder launched him out of the trap and sent him sprawling across the arena. Something in his side made a sickening crunch, it hurt to breathe too deeply. He refused to stay down despite the pain. If he lost this competition, it wouldn’t be to someone like Maoki. He’d rather die.

“You think she loves you? You’re nothing, just some pathetic babysitter with a crush,” Maoki sneered.

Wonwoo stayed silent and dodged the next onslaught of dagger like earth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he rushed to where Maoki stood. Maoki sent a thick wall to prevent him from gaining ground but Wonwoo sprung over it and blasted a stream of fire from his fist. 

Maoki rolled out of the way. “Unless… you’ve already had her.”

“You piece of shit!” Wonwoo roared, fire blazing from his fists. The air reeked of ozone. Lightening jumped from his skin but Wonwoo pulled it tighter, stuffed deep down where he maintained control. He couldn’t kill Maoki no matter how much he wanted to.

The shorter man’s face lit up with petty pride. “Is that it? You damaged the princess and now you think you’re doing something honorable?”

The earth churned beneath Wonwoo’s feet but he was faster.

He saw nothing but the ruby blood gushing from Maoki’s nose.

Silence. The arena sat in complete silence as Maoki fell to his knees, clutching the burned side of his face, shrieking in pain. No one moved. No one cheered. Only Maoki’s choked gasps filled the arena.

You told Wonwoo they would make an example of him if given the chance, so he made an example of Maoki first.

He knelt beside Maoki, watched him writhe in pain. The smell of burnt flesh rolled his stomach but Wonwoo didn’t flinch away. “If you ever say anything about YN again, she’s the one you’ll answer to. And she will not be as merciful as I am.”

Wonwoo stepped back as healers rushed to the fallen man’s side. Maoki would be fine, Wonwoo put more of his fist behind the blows than his fire. The burn they would heal; but the shame Maoki felt would linger forever.

Good.

“First victory: Captain Jeon!”

Wonwoo remained on his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain radiating across his entire body demanding attention. Spots floated in his vision and his ear rang with a high pitched screech. The hand that made contact with Maoki’s face was definitely broken, hanging limply by his side. But he walked back to his room without assistance, locked himself away in his room, and promptly passed out from the pain.

Wonwoo didn’t wake until after you started healing him. You cleaned away the dirt and caked blood with a wet cloth, careful of broken bones and tender muscles. He was so tired he didn’t budge an inch, only the shallow rise and fall of his chest proving he was, in fact, still alive.

You focused on washing away some of the grime matting the hair around his temple and when you leaned away, a pair of brown eyes greeted you.

“What were you doing out there? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Getting my ass kicked wasn’t a part of the plan,” he croaked.

You poured him a glass of water and held it to his lips. “Oh, so now there’s a plan.”

He drank until the cup emptied before answering. “There’s always been a plan. First, I win. Then, I beg you to marry me. And then, you finally take pity and say yes.”

“What an incredible plan, I can’t believe I ever doubted you.” You set the glass down and conjured water to cover your hands. “Now hold still.”

“It hurts.” He groaned and attempted to wiggle away but didn’t make it very far before giving up.

“I haven’t even touched you.”

“It still hurts.”

“It’ll hurt worse if you don’t hold still and let me help.”

With most of the filth wiped away the damage became clear. You healed the smaller scrapes littering his torso and arms, then the bruises. It took several passes but they slowly cleared until nothing but unblemished skin remained with faint pink scars. His hand was nasty work, broken bones wrapped in angry swollen flesh. He stiffed as you lifted it, a choked scream stuck in his chest, then relaxed as the healing water enveloped it, soothing away the pain.

Then it was time for his ribs.

“Don’t move. The closer to your heart the more risk,” you warned, hands cloaked in freshwater. He jumped as the bones knit back together, winced in pain but sat still. “Okay, I can’t do much more now. You’ll be sore tomorrow but Raza gave Jao some nasty blows so at least you’ll be evenly matched.”

He panted. “Great.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” You crossed towards the bathroom with the pitcher in hand, dumping it in the sink and returned to find Wonwoo sitting up at the edge of the bed like he attempted to follow you but couldn’t manage it.

“I know—” he panted.

“If you talked to me about it first then—“

Wonwoo cut in. “Then what?”

There was no then. You’d been completely resigned to your fate while Wonwoo made a plan, found an ally in your grandmother. There was no use in suffering through hypotheticals. He would win with his blood and sweat and your tears shed in the solitude of your room. But you didn’t have to like it.

“I don’t like watching you get hurt,” you admitted quietly, taking the space between his spread legs and cupping his face.

Wonwoo snorted and looked up at you. “Unless you’re the one doing it.”

“You make me sound horrible.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Highness.”

You combed a hand through his hair. “I have you at my mercy and you want to insult me?”

Wonwoo wrapped his arms around your waist, still careful of his hand, and buried his face in your stomach.

“Stay,” Wonwoo sighed.

You kissed the top of his head, fingers following the muscles across his back. He’s had knicks and scraps there too. You tugged at the water in the vase on his dresser and soothed them away. “I can’t.”

“Just for a little while. Don’t think I forgot about you showing me how to get to your room.”

“I don’t think you're in much condition to make use of the information,” you smiled.

One brown eye cracked up, peeking up at you. “All I wanted was to sleep. What were you thinking?”

It took great effort to get him beneath the covers but once he was settled you claimed the space next to him. If this brought him comfort you’d oblige. Maybe it brought comfort to you too. After watching him take a beating it was nice to feel the solid weight of his body next to you, the warm smell of smoke and spice that clung to him no matter what; knowing he was okay, at least for now. Your grandmother said the first flower to bloom had the most difficulties, and bloom Wonwoo did. The palace murmured with quiet curiosity after his victory.

A few hours of sleep wouldn’t be so bad. You slept better knowing he was nearby anyway. You rained gentle kisses over the side of his face, careful to avoid the lingering bruises. Wonwoo hummed in content, trying and failing to catch your lips with his own. 

“I love—”

“Don’t.”

He leaned back and gave a puzzled look.

You brush a kiss against his frown. “I want to hear it after you win.”

Because a part of me is terrified that you won’t.

The objection sat on his face but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he burrowed down into your chest and slept.

When he woke up the first time, you’re still there, eyes dropping while staring out the window. Every time you started to nod off you jolted awake, paranoid until his chest swelled with another breath. The moon swelled in the sky, daylight still a long ways off. 

“You stayed,” he whispered, burrowing down into your chest to savor the comfort for a few more minutes.

Your hand didn’t stop tracing lazy shapes between his shoulder blades. “You asked me to.”

“You need to get back before—“

“Let me worry about that.” You smoothed the wrinkle in his brow with your thumb. “Sleep.”

Wonwoo did.

When Wonwoo woke the second time, you were gone, the bed sheets already long cooled. You could heal his injuries but the exhaustion for yesterday lingered deep in his veins, making itself at home and weighing him down. He stumbled out of his suite and towards the arena for another fight. 

Under the blazing sun, his fire burned hotter. More powerful. Easier to call upon. But whatever advantage he had in the midday sun, Jao had too. Wonwoo approached the center of the arena, the dry earth cracking beneath his boots. The nobles in the stands sat up straighter, strained their jeweled necks for the best view. His victory yesterday sent ripples through the ranks. Or at least, that's what the maids talked about as he ate breakfast. All were curious about the supposed dark horse that burnt half a senator's face off and walked away in silence.

“Prince Jao of the Earth Kingdom, and Captain Jeon of the Royal Army,” the official called. Jao tilted his chin cockily, and eyed the cheering crowd. Jao was your friend, he remembered. But Jao was also a prince and standing in Wonwoo’s way. He wouldn’t take the same vengeance like he had on Maoki but a fight was a fight.

The official signaled them to start and without preamble, Wonwoo thrusted his hands forward, unleashing a vicious wave of fire. The flames crackled, swirled violently like an inferno out of control, the air shimmered around it from the heat.

And hit nothing.

Jao dodged, sidestepped, and parried no matter how Wonwoo attacked him; used only the minimal energy necessary to deflect or avoid each blow. Wonwoo’s body ached, but his pride fueled him.

“You’re quite skilled, Captain Jeon,” Jao commented, feet slipping in the dry dirt.

Wonwoo wasted more energy chasing the prince around the ring, the high sun banishing their shadows into nothing and burning the fire from his body hotter. He pressed and pressed until Jao finally stumbled. A glimmer of hope to end the battle before Jao took advantage of his waning energy crumbled as the prince leapt back to his feet and danced around again.

“Quit playing around,” Wonwoo growled.

Jao ducked beneath the stream of fire and rose again. “Might I say, I wasn’t sure until yesterday but watching you smack Maoki around warmed my heart.”

“He’s a prick.” Wonwoo waited this time. No use fighting against someone who only evaded. They circled each other, fists raised in loose form but came to a lull in fighting.

“Unfortunately, he comes from a long line of them.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it, he laughed.

“You’re an honorable man, Captain Jeon. But being honorable doesn’t mean you’re good enough for YN.”

His hackles raised like a wolf under attack. The smell of lightning came again from Jao’s words. A part of Wonwoo agreed he would never measure up but it wouldn’t stop him from trying. “And you are?”

Jao looked over Wonwoo’s shoulder, where you sat. Your guard protecting you like he was bound to; from any ill fit suitor. “You love her?” 

“Do you think I’d sign up for this insane contest if I didn’t?”

Jao side stepped again, driving Wonwoo around to face you before speaking. The change in position wasn’t lost on him as Jao spoke again. “Men do all sorts of ridiculous things for power.”

“Her crown is the least interesting thing about her.”

Jao’s gaze flickered with approval. 

“I’m here as a favor to YN. But I believe I’m no longer needed.” Jao knocked away Wonwoo’s unthreatening volleys easily. “It would be a shame if you took advantage of my weak ankle.”

A trap. A fakeout. Wonwoo didn’t let his guard down to take the bait. “What?”

“Horrible injury when I was a child. Broke it in three places, never the same again.” Jao said beneath his breath. “My left ankle, by the way.”

Wonwoo swept the man’s feet out from under him with a flaming kick and sent him sprawling. He launched a series of fireballs as Jao rolled across the ground, careful to ensure each one fell short. Jao lifted a wall of fire to defend himself but it was weak. Wonwoo launched through it and landed squarely on top of Jao, pinning his chest down with his knee. He stopped from crushing the man’s nose when Jao eagerly shouted.

“I yield!”

Wonwoo helped Jao to his feet. They were both filthy though the amount of blood staining Wonwoo’s clothes was considerably less than yesterday. Jao limped next to him as they both returned to the center of the field. 

The official lifted Wonwoo’s hand for the cheering crowd. “Second victory: Captain Jeon!”

Jao waved away the healers buzzing like a swarm of bees around them, instead walking side by side with Wonwoo back towards the tunnels.

“I would say don’t hurt her, or else,” Jao smiled. “but we both know she is more than capable of fulfilling the ‘or else’ herself. Next time, don’t burn my shirt. This is one of my favorites.”

“Next time?”

“I intend on a rematch - friendly of course - once you’re the prince. And I won’t go easy on you. Even if your girlfriend scares me.”

“She scares me too.”

“Good luck, Wonwoo.” Jao nodded and left Wonwoo to find the way back to his own rooms by himself.

You healed Wonwoo again but thankfully his injuries from Jao were minimal; superficial burns that stung rather than hurt and singed hair. They were nothing compared to the damage from the previous day but Wonwoo let you coo and fret over him. When you were done he pulled you beneath the covers and nuzzled that space beneath your jaw. He wanted to touch you. Wanted to savor your taste and those delightful noises you made when he did something that pleased you. But he was so very tired.

As you touched him, massaged the knotted muscles of his back free and untangled the hair on his forehead, it soothed some untouchable part of him that ached. Even with the worst of the day, he found something healing in you. He knew you didn’t want to hear him say he loved you. He understood why. How painful to hear the words, knowing they were true, only for him to lose the tournament. But he also knew that even if you didn’t say it, you showed him how much you cared as you cleared away bumps and scrapes from his body, studied him for any lingering pain and healed him until your brow sweated with exhaustion.

He fell asleep as his heart thumped steadily, and in the morning you were gone again. 

You hated leaving Wonwoo. He looked so boyish in his sleep; face slack, lips pursed in a pout. But you had to be back in your room by sunrise. So you slipped from beneath him, left a final kiss on his brow, and set for the tunnel before the servants started rising.

Hours later Han and Sami arrived to dress you for the day. Neither mentioned Wonwoo. They chattered between themselves, happy to fill your place in the conversation with their own voices. They didn’t think twice of your silence or the bags under your eyes or how you kept nodding off while they combed your hair and straightened your gown.

A woman in a position such as yours, with the man she loved fighting not only for her hand but his own life, would spend most of the night restless. They were happy to believe that story and not the fact they both knew you had a direct path to Wonwoo’s room and no supervision to put a stop to it.

When the games started again at noon, you were wide awake.

Yesterday’s matches drained you. Wonwoo beat Jao easily but it was Bavruq that gave you concern. The match between him and Char lasted hours. Both men refused to concede even as the arena threatened to crumble around them. Just as one gained advantage, the other regained his footing. It was a battle of wills until the end. Bavruq nearly drowned Char but Char came back with forceful blows of his own, throwing Bavruq high into the air with a gust of wind. The prince landed with a sick thump but managed to roll to his feet and beat Char with a final icy blade into his shoulder. 

Bavruq had the best healers in the world managing his wounds each night, Wonwoo had only you and your will. Bavruq had years of training and luck on his side, but Wonwoo was in better shape after his last battle with Jao.

If he got hurt fighting Bavruq then you’d march down onto the field and kill Wonwoo yourself.

They shook hands at the center of the field and then the match was on.

Wonwoo sidestepped each blow, adapting without pause - using your own tricks against Bavruq. He maintained a healthy distance, plenty of room to escape and dodged the ice floes the older man attempted to crush him with. Wonwoo attacked faster and faster, summoning more fire, bigger flames that made the crowned tug on their robes and flee the first few rows of seating. 

Their muscles shined under the blazing sun, covered in sweat and blood from hours of fighting. Bavruq looked truly exhausted while Wonwoo collected a few scrapes and a limp from a failed evasion. 

And then something changed. The atmosphere crackled with static. The sun reached its peak and with his opponent weakened, Wonwoo struck.

A swift kick launched a huge fireball from his foot, a swell of heat surging across the field with terrifying speed. Then another and another, driving Bavruq back until a final explosion sent him rolling across the arena. 

Wonwoo’s hesitation is the only reason Bavruq rose to his feet once again. 

You couldn’t hear what they shouted to one another, the pounding blood in your ears deafening. The metal cup on your table covered in frost, contents frozen solid. Their elements clashed with enough force to rattle the arena but you stayed glued to the battle; refusing to blink. You wanted to intervene but if you did, then Bavruq won.

Wonwoo sliced his hand through the air, a razor thin whip of flame bursting forth snapped against Bavruq’s feet. He evaded once more by riding a wave around the edge of the arena. Bavruq had power but Wonwoo had stamina. Eventually, Wonwoo evaporated whatever water was left available, the wooden barrels across the arena completely empty when Bavruq attempted to pull more water from them. The prince was defenseless against the tsunami of flame that crashed down from above. 

When it dissipated, Bavruq was left cowering on the ground, hair singed and tan skin tinged pink from the heat. But he was alive when he shouldn’t be and for that he yielded.

The servants cheered first; from the high plazas behind the seats filled with nobles their voices echoed like an endless roar of thunder. Mingyu whistled from behind you, bellowing next to Han and Sami. Even the servants in the garb of other kingdoms shouted and clapped. There are more of them than there are nobles. Guards, including Aiko, punched the air with wide smiles.

You couldn’t hear any of it. You couldn’t breathe.

“I present our Champion, Captain Jeon of the Royal Guard,” your grandmother announced, beaming before she turned to you. 

You joined her at the edge of the balcony, shaking hands hidden beneath the long sleeves of your gown. Wonwoo looked up from where he stood, sweaty and bruised but smiling. 

“Will you accept this man as your husband?”

You whispered a short prayer to the spirits begging he’d forgive you some day and answered.

“No.”

His smile disappeared completely.

With square shoulders, you addressed the crowd. “I am Princess YN. First in line for the throne of the United Islands, and I will fight Captain Jeon for my own hand.”

Just like when Wonwoo announced his intent to compete, the arena settled into silence and then ruptured into chaos. Nobles, servants, and guards cried indignantly as you tilted your chin in defiance. Wonwoo stood frozen, eyes trained on you.

Your grandmother whisked you away to her private meeting chamber. No servants, no guards. No one. Only her quivering rage and your solid defiance locked away.

“What is the meaning of this?” your grandmother hissed.

“I will not be sold off like livestock to the highest bidder,” you sniffed. 

A maid came in with a tea tray but your grandmother shooed them away with a wave and they scurried back through the servant’s entrance with a squeak.

“Is that what you think this is? That man put his life on the line for you, endured the wrath of other kingdoms for the chance to marry you because he loves you. And how do you thank him? By throwing his effort back into his face?”

“Wonwoo proved himself to them, now I must as well. What do I look like if I let them force me into a marriage? I allowed the tournament but I will not allow them to think I’m weak.”

“And if Wonwoo beats you? Did you think of that?”

You scoffed at the idea. 

“Do not act so bold!” she chastised. The air in the room rustled with her anger. “He defeated some of the best fighters across the kingdoms. Well, one of them. Jao and Maoki couldn't fight their way out of a pillowcase but Bavruq is a respectable adversary.”

Anger and hurt swelled inside you. This had been your plan since after the stormy night in the garden, when Wonwoo asked you to marry him. You figured out a way to make an example of the suitors and fortify your place as heir apparent. Your grandmother had meddled, stuck her nose where it didn’t belong — albeit with good intentions. 

“You made a plan with him without me so I made a plan of my own.”

She threw her hands up and opened the window at the far side of the room. “Is that what this is about? You felt left out?” 

“If either of you just told me—”

“If you were implicated then the nobles would have been suspicious. World of good that is now. It looks like you sent Wonwoo into this competition with the intent to have him win and then forfeit.”

You joined her by the window. She had a point. But Wonwoo wouldn’t forfeit, his pride was too strong. And you would win. You’d beaten him at his best in the warehouse but anger hadn’t been on his side then; he’d also have the advantage of the daylight. But even without the boost of the moon you were confident. You had to be.

In the gardens below, families from across the kingdoms gathered, their conversations floating straight up to where you both listened in secret.

A sham! 

We’ve been made fools!

If she thinks she can beat him then she’s crazier than we all thought…

“I don’t agree with your methods,” she sighed. “But if you manage to win then it sends a very powerful message. Besides, they’ve never given your bending the respect it deserves. I just hope Wonwoo doesn’t decide to forfeit.”

“He won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I won’t have a coward for a husband.”

You did not visit Wonwoo that night. Perhaps for the best. He practically vibrated with annoyance, vision narrowed into a red haze. He fought, he bled and bruised, for you. Only for you to turn around and reject him so boldly. So publicly. In front of people who already looked down on him.

He didn’t understand; couldn’t. What was the point? To punish him for competing at all? 

One of Jao’s healers came and patched him up in silence, Mingyu standing guard. Neither man spoke while Wonwoo fumed silently. The candles littered about the room burned brighter from his mood, flickered widely from an invisible breeze as he tried to reign in his temper. 

The healer knitted a final wound, a deep cut on his arm from one of Bavruq’s ice knives sealing and blending with the other pink scars littering his body. Bavruq had been far more capable than Wonwoo’s previous opponents; ran Wonwoo ragged around the arena for hours. His muscles ached. Even breathing left the healed wound in his side from Maoki sore. 

A cup full of herbal tonic was pressed into his hand. He drank as the healer explained it would help his energy for the next day. Wonwoo downed the entire thing and the healer left him and Mingyu alone.

“Is she always so…” Wonwoo trailed off. The effects of the drink were already making him feel fuzzy around the edges.

“Confusing? Irritating? Hard headed?” Mingyu responded. “Yes.”

“One minute she tells me she loves me and next she says she doesn’t want to marry me.”

You wanted to marry him. Wonwoo knew you did. Or was he another brainless fool who fell into your web like the others; a pawn in your game to make a point.

“I don’t doubt she loves you but she won’t debase herself for you, or anyone.”

“But then why put me through this entire game?”

Mingyu leaned against the doorway. “I won’t pretend I understand her reasoning. Ever since we were kids she's done things her own way. If she couldn’t win a game, she used the rules against you to make sure winning felt a lot like losing.”

Wonwoo stared at the ceiling. The night sky stared back, hand painted silver constellations covering the entire ceiling from wall to wall. You had pointed out the ones you knew the previous nights. The Dragon, the Chained Spirit, the Warrior, the Lionturtle, the Earthshaker. His head pounded.

“The council sees her as something to be controlled,” Mingyu said. “We know they’re wrong but now she has a chance to show them and the other kingdoms she’s not. It has nothing to do with you.”

Wonwoo huffed and closed his eyes. It was much colder without you beneath the covers which was odd because as a firebender, nothing short of dropping him somewhere in the poles would have affected him. “Why must everything be so difficult?”

“You wanted to marry a queen. It comes with the job.”

Mingyu left after that.

Wonwoo sat in silence and realized he’d still marry you whether you beat him tomorrow or not.

Wonwoo entered the arena feeling simultaneously better and worse than the previous days. His body was well rested, the tonic from Jao’s healer giving him a good night's sleep. Though his new energy might’ve been from falling asleep at a reasonable hour since you were not in his bed asking to be kissed.

You waltzed in, head held high and back perfectly straight; chest bound in blue wrappings, pants the same color. There was no crown on your head or jewels on your fingers. There was no need for finery when every inch of you screamed royalty now that Wonwoo knew what to look for. You looked the exact same as that night in the warehouse, that first encounter that bound his fate to yours. His heart lurched.

You both faced each other in the center of the field, a foot of space between. Fire burned in your gaze. Wonwoo knew beating the others proved his worth to the nobles but this was more than that. This was you proving your ability to lead, proving no one could control you.

This time, you extended your hand first, and Wonwoo shook it.

“Good luck.”

“I won’t go easy on you just because I love you,” he said loud enough for the entire arena to hear. Your jaw dropped in shock. Even though his face heated at the declaration, your reaction made him want to say it again.

“Likewise.”

The official signaled the beginning of the match.

Wonwoo launched a stream of fire where you stood. You dived low, easily avoided it and returned the attack with more force, several massive jagged ice floes aimed straight for his head.

Fire. Water. Fire. Water. Red. Blue. Back and forth across the arena. The ground became a messy pattern of mud and scorch marks. Spectators watched the dance in awe, marveling at the ways your respective elements met and clashed with enough force to deafen them.

“That's all you got?” you goaded. Your clothes smoldered where one of his fire whips made contact, blue stained with ash, your hair singed at the ends.

Wonwoo looked like a drowned ice rat.

He chased you to the far end of the field, sending comet after comet after you but you evaded, skating away on a wave. Reaching a safe distance, you turned the wave against him. Wonwoo failed to clear it in time. Feet frozen in place, you released a torrent down onto him.

Wonwoo laid still on the ground when you finally stopped.

“Wonwoo?” you gasped and ran to him.

When you stood over him, he knocked your feet out from under you and rolled away.

Mud caked your arms and back. “Seriously?”

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” he called. 

The fighting picked back up again. 

He promised not to go easy on you and he’d keep the promise. Wonwoo knew you wouldn’t forgive him if he broke it. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t help you make a spectacle. 

Wonwoo cut your attack off your next attack with a swift lash of fire, a razor thin whip cleaving the wall of ice clean in half. 

The smell of ozone clouded the arena electricity jumping from his skin as he pulled it closer and closer. Your face hardened, preparing for the strike as Wonwoo thrusted his hand forward.

In the same confident show as before, you redirected the hit as if it was nothing.

The arena was silent. You and Wonwoo continued like no one was watching.

You pulled all the water in the arena into a massive fifty foot wave. It blocked out the sun and most spectators' view of the field. When you released it Wonwoo opened his mouth and breathed fire. The two unstoppable forces clashed and steam erupted, cloaking the entire battlefield.

You couldn’t master him any more than he could beat you. Even in the thick fog, he wasn’t scared. He heard your wet footsteps run around him somewhere behind and prepared for a snowball to his temple.

When you couldn’t beat them, you apparently fought dirt.

The air rushed from his lungs as you tackled Wonwoo around the waist and into the slick mud. 

“Oof,” he grunted.

You were laughing. “Did I hurt you again?”

“No, I’m used to it.”

“Good. I’d hate to injure my fiance before our wedding.”

He froze. And then the same laughter infecting you shook his body. He grabbed a fist full of mud and smashed it into your hair. “You had this planned from the beginning!” 

You gave an indignant shriek and pushed your mud hands against his face. “Maybe this will teach you not to make plans with my grandmother without consulting me!”

Wonwoo rolled, you beneath him, thrashing for release but he held fast; pinned your arms down and used all his weight to keep you where he wanted. “Yield.”

Apparently he didn’t have the grip he thought he had because the sweat covering his body froze, stinging against bare skin. You took the moment of distraction to roll back on top, pin his hands and freeze them in the mud.

“Really?” he grunted. He summoned heat into his hands and melted the icy cuffs but waited to make use of his freedom. He forgot all about it when he felt your laughter puff against his mouth.

Wonwoo’s world narrowed down to just you, like every time you pulled him into your tide.

“Yield,” you commanded. Wonwoo heard the smug satisfaction in your tone but also the giddiness.

“Never.”

You swooped down, kissed him once more. “Good.”

A harsh breeze cleared the cover of steam. Alerted by the noise, you sat up straight and Wonwoo tipped his head back, both of your eyes landing on the Queen watching from the overhang.

Wonwoo wanted to bring the steam back and hide away with you. The dumb smile wouldn’t leave his face, even under the weight of an audience.

“Since you both refuse to yield,” she announced dryly. “This match is a draw.”

You knelt across from Wonwoo as the sages recited the martial rights in monotone. The only thing that kept him from nodding off was your fingers tangling and untangling with his, the silver and gold fabric of your wedding robes obscuring the way your nails scratched over his palms. Your hands were cool and dry, his clammy with nerves. Not nerves to marry but nerves to be paraded around the palace for the rest of his life, having to smile at the nobles that insulted him and his wife under their breath. 

He’d marry you in every lifetime if he could.

Eventually, the sages finished their speech, snapping Wonwoo back to reality. You eyed him expectantly and leaned closer. Wonwoo knew he must’ve looked like an idiot, staring starry eyed as you kissed him gently and then pulled away to face the sages once more. You held his hand a little tighter.

The sage, clad in his own robes of navy and burgundy, read from a scroll. “Do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of the United Islands, according to our laws and customs? Will you, in your power, cause law and justice and mercy to be executed in all judgments?”

“I will.”

The sage faced Wonwoo. “And do you swear to uphold and protect Her Most Regal Majesty? To never waiver in support of the crown and people of the United Islands?”

Wonwoo was thankful his lines were short in the ceremony. Between planning the wedding in only a few short days and being all but banned from seeing you between the end of the match in the arena and this morning, he wasn’t left with much mental space to memorize anything grand or impressive.

“I do,” Wonwoo said.

Smoothly, you rose to your feet and Wonwoo rushed to follow, hand clenched so tightly in yours he was afraid it hurt. 

“Presenting Her Majesty, YN, Queen of the United Islands. And His Royal Highness, Prince Wonwoo. Long may they reign.”

The marriage hall broke into cheers, his friends’ voices the loudest among them. Hoshi, Dokyeom, Seungcheol and his wife, Jeognhan and many others crowded amongst the pews, brushing elbows with royalty like they belonged.

Once again, he found courage in reminding himself just because he was in the palace didn’t mean he had to completely act like nobility.

Wonwoo grabbed you around the waist, ears deaf to the shocked gasp of onlookers as he pulled you into his chest and kissed you. Not a chaste peck or something gentle and fleeting. He channeled the passion and happiness flooding his heart into it. Wonwoo kissed you like a man kissed his new wife, not like a prince kissed his queen. 

You adapted quickly, tongue shy against his lower lip, far too suggestive but Wonwoo bit at the bait. He should've known that if he started the flame you’d fan it into an inferno. Hands surging into action, he pulled you tighter into his chest and slid his tongue against the sensitive side of yours to hear one of your precious moans.

Someone wolf whistled loud enough to remind Wonwoo he was, in fact, on the verge of groping his wife in public. He pulled back but it was you who refused to let go, only conceding when the hand in his hair met the metal of his new crown. 

You didn’t even have the shame to blush as you pulled away and faced your subjects, smiling proudly while Wonwoo tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

The reception occurred in the same ballroom as the night of the Spirits Festival but decorated with cascading white ice lilies and fire poppies, the chandeliers dripping with pearls and diamonds, and long banquet tables draped in embroidered tablecloths crowded with food and wine. Wonwoo didn’t like crowds but he loved you and if people were watching him dance with you through every song then let them. He spent too many dances at the edge of the floor tortured by the sight of you in another man’s arms to sit through another one.

“If you step on my foot one more time,” you warned but the threat was empty. You smiled too much.

Wonwoo pulled you even closer if it was possible, no space between your bodies as his hand curled tightly around the curve of your waist. “You’ll do what, Your Majesty?”

“I’ll…” you huffed. 

“Terrifying,” Wonwoo chuckled, sweeping you around the room.

“Where did you learn to dance like this anyway?”

Wonwoo recalled the incredibly awkward moments in his temporary accommodations with Mingyu and Sami teaching him the court dances. Han wasn’t invited for obvious reasons, like using the way Wonwoo led the taller man around the room while Sami provided instruction as black mail. 

“I’m a man of many talents.”

You didn’t buy it. “Last time we danced together I thought you’d drop me.”

“You don’t trust me?”

You nuzzled his jaw softly, lips leaving a trail until you reached his ear, damp breath sending goosebumps racing down his back. “I trust you with my life.”

It wasn’t a truth he took lightly. 

Before Wonwoo could respond, someone crashed into him from behind. 

Hoshi and Dokyeom were dancing with each other, nothing but uncoordinated limbs flailing in place as everyone chuckled. Most people laughed, a few stuck up nobles seemed to hate fun. The sidestepped the other couples following the unspoken choreography to stay close to you and Wonwoo.

“Great party,” Dokyeom grinned.

“If I knew you were the queen I would've given you a way nicer bottle of whiskey.”

“I wasn’t the queen when we met,” you laughed.

Wonwoo shook his head at his friends and led you away; he’d see them later. At that moment, he wanted you to himself. 

But the spirits had other plans. Every time he thought he had you both alone for a few moments, someone else popped up. They acted like koala sheep flocking to the trough. Attempted to surround you two at every chance. Luckily, you were apt at leading the dance and tugged him away from the most overzealous nobles already attempting to petition for funding and favors. When Wonwoo’s friends approached he didn’t feel guilty cutting the conversation short.

You only successfully spun you away from Belaor’s grumpy face to find Jao waiting for his own turn. His partner was old enough to be the old queen’s grandmother.

“I have a wager there will be an heir within the year,” Jao winked. “Don’t let me down.”

Wonwoo blinked and looked down to find you hiding in his lapel. 

“Jao is a very odd man.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “But a wonderful friend.”

Wonwoo managed one song completely uninterrupted, not that he enjoyed it much. He was too focused on eying anyone that came close, nearly snarling when looks didn’t warn them off fast enough.

“This party is dreadfully boring,” you whispered.

“You mean our wedding?”

“Our wedding was hours ago. I mean this party where the same men who beat up my husband a few days ago are drinking my wine and eating my food.”

You gazed pointedly at him and then the door. Oh.

“Are you planning to take revenge?” Wonwoo smirked.

“Maybe.”

“Less than a day as queen and you’re already trying to start a war.”

“Then I guess it’s time to take our leaves for the evening. I wouldn’t want to have an outburst.”

It felt like eternity before you finally untangled from the party and returned to your new apartment. It was bigger than your old rooms, big enough for more than two people with a vacant nursery and Wonwoo’s own private bedroom connected to yours through a door. You doubted he would appreciate the space. He seemed fond of keeping you close.

Han and Sami beamed from ear to ear as they readied you for bed, untied the silk ties of your wedding gown and plucked the heavy jewels out of your hair. 

“You might as well speak freely, you both think so loudly.”

Han burst. “Can Wonwoo introduce me to his friend?”

“Which one?”

“The one with nice lips, and muscular thighs. He was dancing with the other loud one.”

Dokyeom. From what Wonwoo told you, Han would eat him alive.

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“Everyone knows the way to a man is through his wife.”

You wondered just how your newly minted husband was fairing with his own servants at this moment. Someone undressing and dressing him, catering to his every fleeting desire. He probably was as red as the fire poppies down in the ballroom. 

“Wonwoo likes you two,” you said. “I’m sure he’d be happy to.”

“He has so many handsome friends,” Sami sighed.

“You got over your crush on Bavruq quickly.”

She thought for a moment before responding, “There’s something unattractive about a man cowering for his life.”

You didn’t tell her about the match you witnessed between Seungkwan and Hoshi the night you first spoke to Wonwoo when Hoshi got on his knees and begged.

“Are you nervous?” Han asked.

You met her gaze in the mirror. None of today felt real. 

“Honestly? It feels like we still have to sneak around the castle.”

“I knew there wasn’t a bird that morning!” Sami gasped, jaw dropping. 

Han rolled her eyes. “I already told you there wasn’t a bird in her room.”

“Whatever. Now you’re the queen and can do whatever you want.”

They tidied your dressing room and left you alone. When you re-entered your room you found it empty, the door connecting yours to Wonwoo’s firmly shut. Once you opened it then you two would be alone to do whatever you please. No one waiting around the corner to catch you, no more rumors of impropriety, no more sneaking around in the dark.

Just you and your husband.

You nearly sprinted.

His room resembled yours: massive bed, dark wood furniture, velvet curtains half obscuring the massive window on the opposite wall.

Wonwoo sat on the edge of the bed in sleeping clothes. The candle light jumped over his skin and made something in your chest squeeze. He held something in his lap, you couldn’t see from the angle as his hands fiddled with it.

You rested against the door jam and cleared your throat. 

He looked up, black hair flopping into his face. “What’s wrong?” 

“You are so far away.”

“I thought I was supposed to stay in here or something.”

“The rooms are more a formality than anything. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to.”

“Thank spirits.” Wonwoo heaved a sigh of relief and came to stand in front of you. “I meant to give this to you earlier.”

He passed whatever he held to you. It took a second to figure out what it was but when you did your chest ached again. A glass ice lily shoot with white bell shaped petals so thin you could see through them, frozen in perfect bloom. The verdant green glass stem sat dainty between your fingertips. It was small and delicate, so realistic you could smell the sweet aroma tickling your senses.

“Where did you get this?”

He blushed, eyes on the figure resting in your hands. “I made it.”

“You made this?”

“Mingyu helped a little but… you said it was your favorite.”

It wasn’t much. Nothing like the grand metal works or massive jewels displayed around the palace. The piece of glass work wouldn’t stand out amongst the hundreds of expensive gifts you’d received for birthdays over the years. But Wonwoo made it for you. He took the time to listen and remember even if you didn’t recall ever telling him the information. There wasn’t a value to be assigned because that tiny glass flower was priceless.

You didn’t know what to say.

“Do you want to take a bath with me?”

He nodded mutely, allowing himself to be pulled through your bedroom and into your bathroom where a pool-like tub waited. You turned on the water and poured in soaps and oils until satisfied and then turned back to your waiting husband.

“Will you warm it for me?” you whispered.

He stepped around you, hands ghosting along your sides as he passed. One disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

“Not like that.”

Wonwoo stared at you quizzically. “This is how I heated it last time.”

“Last time.” You approached him slowly as if he was a frightened animal. When he didn’t move away, you untied the sash holding his shirt closed, pushing it from his shoulders. You kissed over his heart and plucked at the tie of his pants. And then Wonwoo was naked; naked and hard and looking like something out of a painting. “Last time you weren’t my husband and I couldn’t pull you into the water to join me like I wanted to.”

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint the queen,” he chuckled and sunk into the water. 

The sleeves of your nightgown floated down your shoulders, leaving you completely bare as it pooled around your feet. Wonwoo wanted to look, you saw it on his face; the strain in his eyes to stay at an appropriate level. But he was your husband now. And if he couldn’t look at you naked, who could?

You remained standing until his eyes fell from your face, filtered down to your chest, across your stomach, your core and legs. He drank you with heated looks that made you preen with pleasure. You wanted him to look at you like that forever.

He spread his legs in invitation and you took the space between them. You leaned back into him, thrilled by the press of his bare chest against your back. Like that morning you woke up in your bed with him. Now, you get to wake up to him every day.

An hour passed in cozy silence, only the crack of candle wicks and content sighs mingling together; occasionally a splash as you stretched for more comfort. Wonwoo couldn't stop pressing his mouth to your shoulder, rubbing his hands over your sides, tracing odd shapes in your stomach as the water soothed your tense muscles. It was perfect. He was perfect. Like the warm flicker of the candle light in the night, the toasty comfort of a fire during a cold day. He was perfect and he was yours. Forever.

With Wonwoo in the water, it never got cold. He pushed heat through his body and kept it perfectly warm. 

You showed off by making tiny figurines skitter along the surface: horses, dragons. You froze some in mid air and Wonwoo raised a hand to melt them with a lick of flame, placating your petulant frown with a kiss to your ear.

Sneakily, you placed your hand on his knee beneath the surface. It was innocent enough, you were already touching everywhere else. His knee was nothing compared to the soft pressure of his cock against your lower back but you were done waiting. You slowly dragged your nails over his leg, a fraction higher each time before descending again. If he caught on to your game he hadn’t shown it. Instead, Wonwoo leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, sighing in your ear. 

He didn’t initiate anything beyond gentle touches. Smoothed his hands down your arms, laced and unlaced his fingers between his, swiped your hair to the side and gently pecked the back of your neck.

You left his lap, swimming into the deeper end of the tub and submerging yourself beneath the surface. When you came back up for air, Wonwoo sat sprawled against the side of the tub, arms out at either side, washcloth clutched tightly in one hand.

Straddling his thighs, you dipped down for a kiss. “Wash me.”

He took his task seriously, scrubbing away all the powdery makeup and oil perfume until your skin felt fresh and clean. The rough washcloth stung your breasts but Wonwoo soothed the ache with his tongue, lapping away the bath water as your chin tipped back.

“You looked beautiful.”

Your shoulders itched closer to your ears as he sucked your nipple stiff. “I know. You told me.”

“Never hurts to tell you again.”

You opened your mouth to goad him again but he beat you to the punch with a kiss on your sternum. 

His cock grazed over your clit with each grind. You wanted it, wanted him; all of him. You didn’t care you were in a bathtub or that you didn’t really know much more beyond wanting inside you. You rose higher on your knees, titled your hips and… 

“Slow down,” Wonwoo warned, teeth firmly around your breast. He held himself in a tight grip, just below the tip and prevented you from taking any of him inside you.

“But—“

“Let me take care of you first.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” you whined. “I need you inside me.”

Hands squeezed your hips, halting any attempt to take him further. He flipped your positions, him standing in the deeper end of the bath, you pressed into the wall completely at his mercy.

“Wonwoo!” you protested, water splashing as you thrashed against him in a tantrum.

“Be patient.”

You snaked a hand around his cock beneath the water and gave a quick stroke. You remembered the noises he made last time, how he liked to be touched. If you pulled the right strings then maybe he’d let you feel all of him. If you got your mouth on him he’d crumble to whatever you wanted.

But he snatched your hand away and tangled your fingers through his. When you looked at his face he was already watching you with a half formed smile. The sight alone was enough to make your stomach flip.

You pulled a ball of water and dropped it over his head. 

“You’re gonna pay for that!”

“Oh, I’m soooo scared,” you cackled. 

He chased you around the tub, just a little too late to catch you. Screams and giggles and splashes echoed off the walls. When he finally managed to pin you to his chest, an ember in your own flared.

“Take me to bed.”

It was tricky moving from the bath to the bedroom. You were so consumed with groping him - his ass, his chest, his cock - that preventing an accidental tumble fell entirely on Wonwoo. Unfortunately, he needed to touch you as well. He cupped your face in his hands, kissing you and guiding you towards the door without looking.

He sandwiched you between his body and the door jam, the bed only feet away but too far. Fingertips glided over your damp skin as Wonwoo smoothed his hands down your sides and caressed your hips, his thigh wedging between your own for you to clench and grind against. His hands traced up and down your sides, driving you more mad with every pass. Wonwoo squeezed your breast, thumbs rolling your nipples until they were stiff enough to bend and latch his mouth on. 

You’d never tire of the contrast of his fingers against your skin, the sight of how your own breasts perfectly fit his hands, the feel of him touching you like he was made to.

You melted beneath his tongue, hands sinking in his wet hard and tugging with each gentle suckle. Arousal smeared between your thighs and you want him to touch you there too. His fingers or his mouth, you were wound so tight you didn’t care, anything to relieve the stifling heat in your blood. You’re wetter, han you could possibly need to be and yet he still wouldn’t take advantage of it just yet.

“Take me to bed,” you panted again, failing to instill the authoritative tone that came as second nature.

Apparently, it was enough for Wonwoo. He finally pulled you from the wall with that, tripping over his own with eager clumsiness. You followed in his wake, knees meeting the edge of the bed and pulling him down on top of you.

This much you’ve grown accustomed to; touching, caressing, stroking. A week ago you would’ve begged for the chance to have Wonwoo naked and so close. Insides coiled with a spark desperate to smolder into something greater but now, the more he touched you the less confident you felt. He knew what to do and you didn’t and it shouldn’t have ground against your already thin nerves but it did; for a split second you resented him.

Wonwoo picked up on your mood immediately. He raised up, hair tangled, cheeks stained and lips bruised from kissing. He looked like a dream. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, trying to pull him into another kiss to distract from the moment but he avoided it.

“Not nothing. Tell me.”

“I said I’m fine,” you bit.

You weren’t. And it wasn’t because Wonwoo had been with others that predated your knowledge of his existence. 

He moved further away, sat upright next to you on the bed with his hands firmly in his lap despite how much you did not like it. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“If you want me to go into my room and stay there the rest of the night I will. I’ll be pretty upset not spending the night with my wife but I’ll do it.”

Your head shook. “No, I don’t want that.”

“Then tell me what happened between now and the bath.”

“I…I just…” you made a frustrated noise. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Me either.”

You looked at the ceiling before grumbling, “Yes, you have.”

He had. You weren’t naive to what others experienced while you sat guarded away in the palace. The maids had sex, the other guards, the men you met from other kingdoms. It was you who was the odd one out. Thrusted into the deep in, swearing you could swim and now that you were here you floundered.

Wonwoo kept you afloat. 

He grabbed your hand, traced circles on your palm with his thumb as he spoke. “I’ve never had a wedding night, I’ve never been married, I’ve never been with someone I feel the way I do about you. I know it’s your first time but it’s my first time with you.”

“But you at least know what you’re doing. I have no idea.”

“‘Wow, Wonwoo. That’s so romantic, Wonwoo,’” he cooed in a poor imitation of your voice.

You huff an amused breath, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

“I– I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

The admission lifted a weight from your chest. You burrowed closer to your husband, suddenly aware of how naked you were.

“Do what feels good.”

“It all feels good.”

You didn’t have to look to know he’s pleased with that comment. 

“Lay back and let me make you feel good. Then you can boss me around.”

You pull back from hiding, scoffing in protest. “I don’t boss you around!”

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Wonwoo didn’t answer, too busy smiling into a kiss at your childish pout. His laughter sparked some of your own as you realized how ridiculous the entire thing was.

True to his word, he took the time to sink to his knees beside the bed, shoulders cloaked in your legs, face level with your center. He indulged you with sweet flutters of his mouth across your thighs then lower, over your entrance with teasing gentleness. Only when you’re close to pulling your hair out did his tongue part your folds to collect the wetness he coxed so easily without even really touching you.

You shivered from the combination of his tongue snaking across your clit and the first shallow thrust of a finger between your walls. 

“M-more,” you rasped.

One arm slung across your stomach, preventing you from bucking him off. He turned his head and sunk his teeth into the meat of your thigh until a bruise formed.

Even if you felt out of your mind you were in good hands. Wonwoo would take care of it. He'd show you what to do, take your first time and make it something at the very least good. Even if it’s just you two putting your mouths on each other's sex until the sun rose.

The idea of having him back in your mouth sent a zing through your gut.

“Wonwoo?” you sighed.

He hummed into your clit, simple acknowledgment clenching your muscles tight from the vibration.

“I want…” you started but faltered under the stretch of another finger and a sloppy glide of his tongue.

He circled the swollen nub, groaning the way you squeezed his fingers so tight. He doesn’t stop. Not until your thighs snapped shut around his head, hips buck into his waiting mouth. You coiled around the sparks in your veins and let it rush up to greet you. He licks every single nerve to life until you nearly rip your own hair out. 

The candle flames jumped a little higher with every pitiful noise, the vulgar sound of his mouth worshipping your core. Wonwoo knew what he was doing when he gave you a third finger. More sloppy kisses to match. “Spirits—” you choke on a whimper. 

You clawed at whatever came in reach: his shoulders, his arms flex over your hips, the back of his head. He kept going; heavy licks of his tongue dragging you over the coals until a tidal wave washed that final break through your blood.

Wonwoo crawled over you, planted himself between your spread legs and waited. “Good?”

“Great,” you croaked, delirious.

When you finally opened your eyes, you nearly seized again.  His face was wet; chin, cheeks, lips covered in your arousal he rightfully earned. You fumbled for his face, bringing him back into a kiss. His cock laid flush against your center with a little more movement; a sensation you’ve rapidly grown accustomed to except now there’s nothing to stop you from having all of him. 

The itch to parade him around the palace like that, completely debauched and on display, tickled the back of your skull. Wonwoo would never agree but the idea of rubbing all those nobles’ noses in proof that you don’t care what they have to say about your husband sparked something in your gut; tightened the nerves in your neck like a hand would and maybe that’s something else Wonwoo can show you later.

Right now you wanted him in your mouth.

Wonwoo went where you directed, leaned back on his elbows in the pillows, body splayed across the sheets like a meal. His nudity only made you more aware of your own. The blushing tip of his cock shining in the light. It was a little different now than when you believed you’d only get one chance to touch him as bold and free as you wanted. But you took the challenge head on like everything else. 

If you messed up, Wonwoo was there to show you the way.

“Show me,” you commanded, cheeks flaming from nerves. “Show me how you like to…”

Wonwoo sat up and grabbed you, arms tangled between your bodies with your head on his shoulder.

“Hey!”

This time, he commanded you. “Watch.”

You do, eyes glued to the hand skimming down his belly, fingers traveling across the flat plane of his stomach, over his thighs. He teased himself as you gawked tongue tied. You stayed quiet as he gripped his cock and gave it a squeeze.

“Can I…”

His hand shone in the dim light, wet, and not from the sticky mess leaking from his cock. It’s the same hand he used to make you come, your arousal easing the friction of his thrusts. Your hand sunk down, fingers woven between his.

“You wanted to watch. Now, watch,” he hissed but made no move to swat you away.

He shaped nicely in your hand, really his hand but you focused on the contrast of your fingers between his. Wonwoo told you to watch but didn’t make any mention of refusing any of your own demands.  You swallowed, thighs rubbing together for some relief. 

The sensitive side of his neck became your newest victim, teeth scraping against the raised vein; a pretty bite mark evidence of your presence.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

Even with only one experience, you’re confident as you shimmied down his body and kneeled at his side. His stomach caved with a few tentative licks, as you stroked him. Eventually his hand fell away and found new interest in tracing your spine. His fingers itched down your back, over the curve of your ass. You spread your legs a little wider, give him more room to touch you the way you both want.

You moaned around his cock as he fingered you again, a little firm, not as hesitant. You tasted and teased and catalogued every tiny grunt and curse to memory. When your jaw started to hurt your hand took over with a slick glide.

“Fuck, okay.” Wonwoo pulled you back up, rolled until you splayed beneath him.

You frowned. “I wasn’t done.”

“I almost was,” he sighed. 

His fingers were still buried inside you, a fact he reminded you of with a quick rush. You tingled from head to toe.

“Move your hand.”

The idea thrilled the life out of you; finally having him inside you where you knew he’d fit perfectly.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You’re not gonna break me.”

“There’s a chance you’ll…” he trailed off. “If I finish inside you.”

“Wonwoo. I know how babies are made,” you snorted. “I took care of it.”

“Oh.”

You didn’t not want children with him. But at that very moment, the idea of learning to be a queen and a wife and a mother felt overwhelming. You wanted to enjoy your husband; and spirits knew there wouldn’t be much time for that with the full demands of running a kingdom on the horizon. After your honeymoon, you’d be lucky to have the energy to maintain a conversation with Wonwoo before bed.

You deflated, eyes closing. “I just… There are already hundreds of people sticking their noses into our marriage. I wanted to have you to myself. At least for a little while. But I want that. Eventually.”

“Me too.”

You melted right there, laid back down on the sheets and dragged him over you. Wonwoo molded to your shape, kissed you gently and pressed his crotch to yours, let you both soak in the heady contact for a moment before the head of his cock nestled at your entrance, and then he was inside you. 

It didn't hurt. But it certainly didn't feel good.

“Ah–” you squeaked, thighs protesting in discomfort.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Wonwoo repeated it like a mantra, slowly retreating before pressing forward again. You’re stiff and awkward in the worst ways. It’ll pass. The unfamiliar stretch and stunted motions couldn’t last forever.

The worst of the discomfort faded, your hesitation leaving with it as your insides adjusted to his presence. You spread a little more, lifted your legs around his waist, and gave him leverage against your clit. Better. 

“Slower.”

Maybe you did enjoy bossing him around but Wonwoo listened. 

Another slower thrust knocked the stretch from better to great. Something about Wonwoo on top of you, inside you, suddenly the hottest thing in the universe. 

It felt new. More. Better. It was for the best that you never felt something as satisfying as him inside because if Wonwoo had you that morning in your room then the way things had to be done - him earning his place next to you and you earning yours on the throne - would’ve become completely ignorable; a blip on your consciousness. You’d lock him in away forever just to keep him in your bed, shun the world outside for a better one between the silken sheets with him.

“Wow.”

“Good?”

“So full,” you whispered in a daze. Your eyes rolled as he pulled your legs up a little higher, changing the angle and eliciting a real moan. “Wonwoo, please. Move.”

It’s a sad cadence at first. Your body protested the sudden intrusion again and again, but it felt good as the initial discomfort faded. Patience was never a strong suit but there was no other option. Each rut forward brought you closer to that heady glow you’ve associated with Wonwoo’s touch. Your nails left pink lines in their wake across his skin.

Your breath ripped raw in your throat with a new kind of contact, deeper. Harder. Wonwoo sucked the moan straight from the source, honing in on the enticing friction again and again.

“Touch yourself. Like this.” Wonwoo clumsily shoved your hand between your thighs, rubbed quick tight circles that made you tingly.

“Oh Wonwoo – yes, yes!” you keened. You thrashed against the bed as he latched on to your breast. Too much. Everything was too much and not enough and you couldn’t vocalize what you needed.

He spread your legs, tilted his hips to fuck you deeper; cock heavy in your walls. Wonwoo rolled his hips in smooth thrusts. A hand looped beneath the arch of your back, his other arm protecting your head from the head board. 

“Please,” you pleaded. Wonwoo heard but there’s nothing for him to do except emphasize his presence in between your walls and give you that final nudge over the cliff edge.

Wonwoo gasped, hips stammering into clumsier rhythm as you came around him with a kicking of your legs. Your vision went white for a second as your throat burned from the rough sound of his name. 

“I think ‘m…I’m—” he came in a choked breath. You took all of it greedily, ground down on him for more of the indescribable warmth flooding your insides until your hips protested. “Shit. O–oh fuck.”

You felt his lips move against your temple, curving around the syllables of your name as he rocked into you a few more times. You felt raw and sensitive but you took it; not ready for him to pull away just yet.

Cum leaked out of you, slipped down your ass and pooled in the bed sheets. Wonwoo rocked into you few more times without the same strain as before. Each subtle press spread more of his mess. You didn’t mind.

“Was that,” he panted, “up to your standard, Your Majesty?”

“When I can think again, I’m going to freeze you to the headboard.”

He lit up with pride, rubbed his cheek against yours while you both calmed down.

When he finally pulled away you whined. Empty. Horribly empty where he fit so perfectly. You don’t have the energy to demand he fix it, you don’t have the energy to do much at all.

Soreness already filtered into your lower body; back, hips, thighs all ached from being twisted in half beneath your husband for however long. Wonwoo rolled you onto your front, pushed your arms and legs from beneath you until your chest lay flat against the bed. The soft sheets soothed your sensitive nipples while Wonwoo’s hands warmed your back.

Your body responded to his proximity, aroused even through the heavy swirl of exhaustion. Wonwoo ignored the squeeze of your thighs. His hands firm, he moved from your shoulders to your lower back precise fingers untangling deep knots as your thoughts drifted into perfect nothing.

“Good?”

You nodded dumbly.

He reached your ass, large hands palming the soft flesh. You tried not to give it; to let him touch you with innocent curiosity. Wonwoo was anything but as he dragged his teeth over the curve of your ass and made you shiver.

His thumb brushed your entrance, barely dipped inside. “Sensitive?”

You shuddered and nodded again, more aware. There’s a weird satisfaction to the used and stretched feeling, the fact Wonwoo did it to you. That he might do it again.

“Want me to stop?” He asked. This time he dipped two fingers inside and crooked them softly.

“No.” Never.

“Good girl.”

Your lungs seized at the praise, wavering slightly. He pulled away, dragged his fingers through the mess on your inner thigh and sheather them back inside you. On reflex, your legs spread wider to accommodate.

A million thoughts floated through Wonwoo’s brain, none seemed to stick for very long as he focused on you. 

How many nights had you healed him in the dark? Erased every injury you could find and soothe away the ache of his muscles? But no one stopped to take care of you. He would now though. 

More heat flooded into his hands as he continued to knead your inner thighs, focusing on the sore muscles. You melted like wax beneath a flame. All he meant was an innocent massage but the smear of his cum and your arousal mesmerized him as he rubbed it into your skin. It felt right; the mess covering your most sensitive areas looked like it belonged there. He tried not to overwhelm you with all the horribly inappropriate things he wanted, mainly to feel you come for him again while he forced his cum deeper into you.

Wonwoo watched as more of it leaked out of your used hole. He collected it on the pads of his fingers and pressed it back where it belonged but each time he did, your inner muscles clenched and pushed it right back out. He knew you wouldn’t get pregnant. He knew that no matter how much of himself he gave you, it wouldn’t take. Not tonight. Not for a long time while you both enjoyed just each other for the first time. But he’d never had sex with the intention of getting his partner pregnant and now that he technically was supposed to, he couldn’t think of anything else.

You with a swollen belly, still bossing the entire kingdom around. Pregnant and radiant as you knocked someone councilman into place. An instinctual part of him roared to life at the fantasy. The nobles would know. Everyone would know the child you carried was his; that Wonwoo was yours and you were his.

But that was for later. At that moment, you rocked back into his hand like you’d die if he didn’t feel you. He rose on his knees behind you, pulled you up on your own but kept your front tight against the sheets as he bent at the waist and nipped your shoulder.

“Want you,” you whimpered.

His cock was still sticky with combined arousal and cum but hard as he ran the tip through your folds.“Like this?”

With your face buried in your arms you nodded, pressed back into his cock and took the first inch with a sigh of relief.

“Gonna be deep.”

“I want it deep.”

Like anything you want, he gave it to you. 

You pulsed around him. His eyes threatened to roll back but he kept them open, watching you take every inch with rapt attention before pulling back and starting again. The room swelled with heat, the scent of sex heavy in the air. dirty. The queen on her knees for her husband, begging him in choked breathes to fuck her hard and deep. 

“F-fuck.”

Even if he couldn’t see the way you stretched around his cock to accommodate, he could hear the wet slaps of his thighs against your ass, feel the contact of your body against his, the perfect curve of your hips in his hands.

“Okay?”

“So…full…” you heaved. “More.”

He needed you closer; needed to feel you on every part of him. He hinged at the hips, chest hot against your back, teeth at your neck. You’ll come again, Wonwoo made sure of it. He doesn’t have enough energy to fuck with the vigor the sight of you on your hands and knees incites. 

“So fucking good,” he moaned in your ear, fingers maneuvering to pet your clit with enough pressure to make you keen. Another night, when he isn’t fighting just to stay awake long enough to satisfy you both, he’ll dig into your praise kink. 

You’re both exhausted, clinging on to wakefulness with white knuckled grips because it’s your wedding night and the first time Wonwoo didn’t have to think about all the things he wanted to do to you. He could just do them.

“Harder,” you whispered greedily.

There was a moment's hesitation but he trusted you to tell him exactly what you needed. Wonwoo anchored himself with a grip on the headboard, fucking your next command into a shrill moan; so much force you both scrambled for some leverage but refused to stop. A few rough swipes of his hand and you come with breathy gasps like you’re drowning.

Wonwoo chased his own orgasm, spurred by the image of your pussy flooded with even more of his cum. It’s the most painful orgasm of his life, pulses hot and tight in the pit of his stomach like a gut punch. He faltered into a stunted rhythm while you clawed at the sheets.

You took it perfectly. 

You collapsed against the bed, Wonwoo following to hold you tight to his side. This time the dead weight consumed him completely, trapping you in a tangle of his arms. There is much he could do but rest his lips against your damp hair and enjoy the silence.

“I love you.” The admission was more breath than words but his heart clenched all the same.

“Love you too.”

“How does it feel to defile the queen?” You laughed without real bite. 

“Gimme a few hours. I’ll do it again.”

Your only response was a hum and a kiss on his chest.

In the early hours of the morning, when the sky shifted from black to pale grey to orange, you woke Wonwoo with wandering hands followed by drowsy kisses. He didn’t stop you as you mounted his thighs and slipped his half hard length inside you.

“Good morning.” Your rough voice was hushed.

Most of his brain remained dedicated to sleep as you rocked over his lap but that didn’t mean he couldn’t savor the silky wet heat around him so early, the gentle squeeze of your cunt as you ground lazily against him, cooing sleepy noises in his ear. 

“Seems like it.”

After you both finished, he dragged you from the bed into the bath, heated the water with his own body. You washed him, and he watched through wet eyelashes as you healed the red streaks of your nails from the night before. At some point he fell asleep. When he wakes, you’re tracing shapes against his chest.

It still didn’t feel real. Everytime he woke it felt like you’d dissolve, this entire ordeal some wild dream only possible in his head when he slept. But no. You were real. You were real and there with a sleepy smile and half closed eyes as he nuzzled your cheek. His wife. His queen. His love.

“What are your plans today?” He asked, kissing your cheek while waiting for a response.

“I’m supposed to attend a council meeting this afternoon.”

Barely a full day after your wedding and there was work to do. Wonwoo dreaded when his duties as prince started.

“Is it important?” 

Your fingers, pruned from so long in the water, stroked his neck. “Depends what you’re offering.”

“There’s a shop in the Middle District with really good waffles…”

“I like waffles.” You yawned against his throat, nuzzling further into the warmth there. “If we go now we can make it through the Noble’s Quarter before everyone wakes up.”

“How do you plan to get back?”

“It’s our honeymoon. We can worry about that later.”

You never made it to the Middle District. You and Wonwoo barely made it to the bed before your limbs tangled together and you both fell asleep.

The next time Wonwoo woke you up it was to eat the waffles he asked Han to bring from the kitchen. 

Four and a half years later…

The afternoon sun warmed your face, the breeze pleasant and floral. A cold winter finally broke into a pleasant spring, the gardens full of sounds; birds, cicada frogs, palace guests.

You soaked it all in with your eyes closed.

Wonwoo continued to read, hand resting on your stomach, thumb rubbing soothing circles. “The rabbit hopped further into the forest until he came to an open space. There was a woman busy picking lettuce. She put everything she picked into her apron. She looked up and saw the rabbit with his basket.”

“I don’t think it can hear you,” you smile.

He took one of your hands and nipped at your fingers. “Nesa’s favorite story is the frog one I read all the time when you were pregnant with her.”

“I think that has more to do with the fact you and Mingyu taught her how to catch frogs the second she could leave the nursery.”

“Because she loves frogs.”

“Whatever you say dear.”

Wonwoo opened the book back to his page and started reading again. He didn’t get far before Sami chased your daughter through the gardens as she raced to you and Wonwoo.

“Papa! Papa!”

Even though she called for her father, Nesa buried her face in the skirt of your dress. You bent to kiss her hair; overly difficult given the baby growing inside you and its habit of crushing your bladder and lungs simultaneously. Nesa jumped into Wonwoo’s lap once you let her go.

“Why do you smell like smoke?” he asked.

Sami swallowed. “The princess set the bushes on fire.”

You and Wonwoo froze. “She did what?”

“She was playing with the gardener's son and…set it on fire.”

“She set it on fire?”

“Yes.”

Nesa tugged at your sleeve. “Can I go play with Jun now?”

Wonwoo looked positively thrilled. Spirits help you.

“Yes, but no more fires.”

“But—“ she argued. She looked so much like her father.

“No buts,” Wonwoo warned. She listened to him better than you anyway. “Not until Papa teaches you how to control it.”

“Fine,” Nesa huffed, squirming out of his hold and took off towards the archway, Sami on her trail.

“We’ve raised an arsonist.”

“She got your temper,” Wonwoo jabbed, dropping a kiss to your cheekbone.

“I’ll show you a temper!”

He snickered into your hair, turning you to face him for a quick peck. “You’re six months pregnant.”

“And I can still freeze you to a wall,” you sniffed. It was difficult to be mad with how doting he was, fatherhood fitting him perfectly. 

“She’s gonna set her nursery on fire the next time we try to feed her peas.”

“She’ll probably set it on fire for fun just like her father.”

The turtle ducks splashed in the pond a few feet away.

“Your grandmother told me about how you threw Mingyu in the pond when you were little.”

“First of all, Mingyu deserved it.” You snagged a cookie from the tray. “Someone else might end up in the pond if he keeps bothering me.”

You’d take revenge later, in the privacy of your shared room. He looked better in icy cuffs than he did completely naked.

“I wonder where Nesa got her temper from,” Wonwoo pretended to ponder. His hand still hadn’t left your swollen belly.

“Shut up, hothead. Finish the story.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Iya’s favorite animal turned out to be rabbits. Wonwoo took his win without an ounce of humbleness.

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[mel4rock]

"They don't love you, you are just normal." The tallest of the group spoke. It was obvious that they anted to breake you to take you over on their side afterwards especially since you heard them talk about it earlier when they still thought you where unconscious.

"Are you kidding me? I'm literally their favorite child." You respond "Do you even know how many school calls they got because Lora accidentally put something on fire or because Matt broke something? Don't get me started on Emma. They love me for being normal.

Belive me, mom thought about retireing just so she could attend all these conferences. Also I'm the only one my siblings trust and who can give them commands. I'm the one staying behind organizing every fight my family has with every villain.

To the public I am the calm one that never gets into trouble but belive me without me my siblings will be uncontrollable."

Your voice gets calmer the longer you talk but the guys in front of you don't seen to belive you. They are five, you are alone that could become a problem if you would try to flee. The room has two doors but only in front of one is a smaler but burly guy in position. You can't see any windows and you doubt that the unprotected door will lead anywhere else than a dead end.

The cuffs that tie you to the chair are easy to open, just because you are normal doesn't mean your parents didn't train you well. Actually -you think waiting for the right time to attack - it's weird that you only got kidnapped now like it's literally the first thing you would come up with as a villain, but hey, who are you to complain?

One of them excused himself to go to the toilet and you used the moment when it was only four against one to attack. More accurate you start running for the door. Confused as they were you actually reached the door 'till one of them reacted and grabbed your arm.

"What do you think you are doing there young lady?" Asked the tall one who already spoke to her.

"The chair is really uncomfortable so I thought I would disstretch a bit." All of them look at you confused and probably muffled by the comlete nonsense comming out of your mouth. You are as well. You take a step away from the door joust a second before it flies out of their angles. Lora Matt and Emma sorming the room. "Ohh," you say, "I wanted to say distract you, that's what I was doing." You kick ta.. guy in the stomach so he would back off and it worked.

Your siblings totally knocked out all of the men in no time. "Mom says you can't skip family day that easily." Matt said it in a tone that makes you smile.

"Wouldn't dare to." On your way out you see lots of other guys lying around every single one of them knocked out some of them having bruises or burns and some siluettes seem a bit off like something elementary messed with their bodies. Damn are you happy to be one of the good ones.

You, a normal human, were born to a family of famous superheroes. You’ve been kidnapped by a supervillain, who keeps trying to convince you that your family doesn’t love you because of your ‘condition’.

[luciferanalyzestar]

Live reaction to Mastermind, ughhhhh.

Spoilers of course.

Gross.

I like this design; she's cute. Shout out to the character designers.

Satan's design is like whatever. Those imp-like horns on the top of his head looks silly. Just more fucking red on top of red. Loveart23's Satan design for her re imagined is peaked.

This shit is fucking gross, please STOP!

This design is bad too and Ozzie's outfit is hideous.

Bee's outfit here is 100% better than her main one.

See Mammon, no one wants you because you are fat and that's gross!!!! >:(((((

Notice that Mammon is the only sin that is overweight and the only one confirmed to be on the asexual spectrum. Levi's design is horrible. Those colors do not go together.

This line would be amazing if Loona wasn't a whole ass adult. This is so melodramatic I am giggling. "I love you guys." Yeah, you threaten to sexual assault them both to Mooxie and stalked them back in season 1. These characters are not "found family". This is the quality of this show now, just ass.

I skipped the song; I'm not listening to that shit. I'm tired of hearing Stolas singing about Blitz, This is a small smile on my face, you know why just look like my username.

YES SATAN!! This shit got me laughing, why he is crying over Stolass?? Fuck him, he is a fetishizer.

This is the FIRST time Stella and Via have interacted....we are at the end of season two. Look guy, she's being EVIL!!!!! and doesn't care about her daughter at all. *eye roll*

What does Stolas even do?? We never seen him do his royal duties, just fucking around with IMP or he is in his mansion.

You want to fuck your sister.

GET IT!! HE EATS A LOT!!!! MAMMON IS FAT!!!!! ISN'T THAT GROSSS!!!!!???????

I WANT TO PUNCH A HOLE IN MY WALL. Viv will never beat the fatphobia allegations. Let fat character exists without doing shit like this.

I notice that all or most of rail thin characters are rarely seen eating food but Mammon and Adam who are fat eat food on the regular.

I'm sending the fandom there too. My new favorite minor character! Thank you, janitor imp. You're a real one for this.

She better not assault Blitz every again.

Why is Blitz bathing him??? This is giving me bad vibes like why????

DROWN!!! Please do us a favor and DROWN!!!

Rating: 2/10

I don't care about Blitz, Stolas, and their relationship. It is boring and bland like dry moldy toast. It being the main "appeal" to Helluva is an awful choice, no one can tell me otherwise. This is why the views have been dropping since the released of Full Moon. The shippers are this show's life support and if they ever become unhappy, this show is tank.

This episode barely kept my attention unlike the previous one. I even paused it to eat some Hawaiian Rolls, and I had more fun eating bread than watching this episode.

The only thing that kept me interested was the small mentions of Lucifer. If did not have a hyper fixation on him, I would probably not finish the episode.

The crew hyping up Vassago by putting him in that pride parade print and other merch is funny because he does nothing. He has no personality out of being Spanish. If something is hyped by Viv or anyone else, it's going to be lame.

We know season three will have more focus on Ars Goetia so he will probably be Stolas' future Latin lover or even worse, a love triangle between him, Stolas, and Blitz. Vassago and Stolas should get together, they both have "ass" in their names.

Viv said this episode is one of her favorites and is self-indulgent. Self-indulgent where??? This is just your standard season two epsiode of Helluva. I thought it was going to be more of a musical episode.

Anyway, this episode is bad in my opinion.

[lokidjarin-7567]

The Prophecy

Viktor x Reader When the friend of your youth, Viktor, sees you still living in the Undercity, and working in a strip club at that, he is determined to reconnect, and rekindle a childhood friendship that was rooted in something more. fem!reader, fluff, angst and smut all in one folks, 18+ MDNI, a few physical features described but still reader insert I think, both Viktor and you POVs, long-ass one shot 8.1k words Taglist: @night-fall-moon @zsuzsu321 @sh1zhu @circeinspace @casualjagodek @retrokatz @am-3-thyst @xlittlemissydjx @sseleniaa Hi guys, thanks for bearing with my while I've been working on this one!! I have been absolutely obsessed with this man ever since I finished Arcane, so I just had to write something about him! I also think a lot of people mischaracterise him, so I tried really hard to get his personality right - let me know if I actually have lol. Anyone who knows my works knows how slutty my smut can get lol, but this is actually quite tender so a new one for me too. Anyway, I'll stop waffling now, I hope you enjoy. TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

Viktor was lost in thought as he made his way back to Piltover, small tube of Shimmer tucked away in his satchel. He didn’t know what to do. Using it might stabilise the Hexcore, allowing it to keep the plants alive and accomplish everything he and Jayce had been working towards for years, maybe even curing this sickness that had taken over him, or…

Or it could end horribly.

The undercity was as dark and unpleasant as he remembered it. He had never fit in here in his youth - too scrawny, too bookish, and with his leg, he stood no chance. And now was no different.

The neon store signs stood out against the blackened buildings and muddy streets. This part of the city, deep in the underbelly of Zaun, seemed busier than the rest, roads bustling with call girls and salesmen and tourists from Topside taking their pick of unruly establishments. Hundreds of voices layered atop each other in a cacophony of harsh laughter, garish music and argumentative tones. There was barely space to walk, especially with his cane, and he was starting to wonder if this journey was even worth it.

Then something caught his eye. A flash of red, deep and vibrant, moving towards him on the far side of the lane. It was hair, bouncy and curly and his subconscious told him it was shorter than it should’ve been, but it was a colour he knew. Her face wasn’t one he could place at first, but as she got closer, he saw the freckles that smattered across her nose like a constellation, the full, pink lips that were perpetually curled into a soft frown, the blue-grey of her eyes that she always accentuated with brown liner. It was her.

The only friend of his youth. A young girl who used to sit behind the foliage near the water where he tested his inventions. She was shy, even shyer than he used to be, too scared to ask him anything about what he was making for a long time, just watching with curious eyes. But he would never forget the day she moved closer. The way her long, burgundy curls flowed around her, almost touching the floor, the way she was trying her best to be confident, but there was a soft shake in her hand, and a slight stutter as she said hello. Then she produced a small invention of her own - a submarine, the same colour as her hair, designed to float perfectly so the periscope was the only thing that peeked out from the surface.

For years, they were inseparable. She was more artistic than him, always adding a flair to her designs that he didn’t have, so he’d let her ‘improve’ his too. They would play together, and then as they got older, build together, each creation more daring and experimental. And then they started to drift apart. They were in their mid teens when her mother got sick, and she couldn’t make it out as much. Viktor always offered to help, but she refused, not even allowing him to see where she lived. And so, when Professor Heimerdinger found him and offered him an opportunity to be his assistant, he couldn’t even tell her. He left a note, delicately placed under a rock where they would build together, telling her where to find him and how to get in touch, but he never heard anything.

And now here she was. He called out her name softly, not wanting to alarm her in this hostile city, but she didn’t hear. She’d walked past him now, so he turned, following but she was walking fast, faster than he could manage. He called out again, but it wasn’t until then that he noticed the headphones over her ears. She couldn’t hear a thing. He carried on, hoping she would stop but she didn’t. If it was anyone else, he would’ve gone home, given up, but now he’d caught a glimpse of her, he had to see her. To talk to her. To find out why she never got in touch. To apologise for leaving her behind.

She disappeared from view for a moment, and he panicked, thinking he’d lost her again, but he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, entering an alley beside a row of bars and clubs. He grimaced, following her to see the red locks just moving out of sight again, and a bouncer closing the door behind her. He tried to follow her into the building, but the man stopped him.

“Please…” he asked, out of breath, “it’s an old friend, I need to see her…”

“Staff entrance only, pal. You’ll have to go ‘round the front like everyone else.”

“But… she’s right there… I only need one moment, if she just saw me…” The words died on his lips. Would she even recognise you?

“Don’t make me ask you twice.”

It was dark inside the club, the lights low apart from on the stage and around the bar. It was only mid afternoon, but the place was near full of lowlifes just starting their evenings, sloshing their drinks and talking loudly. The neon from outside carried into this space too, strip lights around the platforms accentuating their presence. There were dancers atop each of them, but he averted his eyes. He shouldn’t have come here. This was so far from his comfort zone, loud and unruly, a long way away from his lab, but he had to see her. He couldn’t let her go again.

He found a stool by the bar, ordering a soda and waiting for her to start her shift. There was no way he could miss her again if he was right here when she started.

And then he saw her at the very edge of his vision, as though his eyes were programmed to search her out in any crowd. She was on stage, cherry red hair glowing in the soft lights, combined with the neon from below making her look like a ghost, ethereal. What was she doing up there?

***

“Afternoon, Joey.” You muttered to the bouncer, and he opened the door for you wordlessly as you slipped off your headphones, replacing your perfectly selected playlist with the sleazy music of the club. Just one of the many reasons you hated working here. You were running late, as per, throwing your things in your locker and quickly changing. Lacing up your shoes always took the longest time, and you barely even had a chance to check yourself in the mirror when you were finished. Your hair looked perfect at least, the naturally burgundy curls sitting at shoulder length. You missed the long hair of your youth, but it become impractical very quickly, and the memories it held… you ended up cutting it all off soon after your mum died. That was when you started working here too. You’d had dreams, of course you did, but growing up in the Undercity made it almost impossible to follow them. There were worse places to work though - for the most part, the patrons were respectful, and everyone who you worked with was kind, but it was still a strip club. At the end of the day, no little girl wanted to be an exotic dancer when they grew up. At least it just about paid the bills.

You had been put on a long shift today - late afternoon until the early hours. You didn’t mind though; it was exhausting, but more time meant more tips. And you needed the money. You were saving, slowly but surely. One day, it would be enough.

These shifts always started slow. Not many tips this early in the day. Not enough drunks - they were all too willing to part with their money, an exploit you knew how to use. After a while on stage, it was your turn to make your way into the crowd. You started away from the bar, smiling at a few, a couple of words of flirtation thrown around, but no one was loose enough for anything else yet. There was something different about the energy today though. You felt… exposed, on display, more than usual. Self conscious in a way you hadn’t been since your first week. By the time you got to the bar, you were already feeling frustrated at the lack of interest. But your favourite coworker was pouring the drinks tonight, and she had one ready for you already.

“Thanks, Katie” You crooned, knocking back the shot quickly and she immediately offered to refill - something you gratefully accepted.

“Thought you might need it. Slow start?”

“Yeah, not the best day so far.” You took your second, thanking her again, when you heard a voice call out your name. Your real name. It made you start, whipping your head around to find the source. You didn’t use that name here. You were expecting to see an ex, or an old boss, but instead you were met with a face you hadn’t seen in years.

His eyes hadn’t changed. Kind but tired, amber in colour and glowing like whiskey in sunlight. The curve of his nose was the same, the curl of his lips, the small moles like points on a map - one beneath his right eye and the other to the left of his lip. There was a cane tucked beside his stool, and he was dressed well. Too well to be in this part of town. A uniform of some sort, something a Topsider would wear: blue shirt accented with a cream ascot and waistcoat. It suited him.

As soon as you saw him, every fond memory of your childhood rushed back to you like a river. The gentleness when he explained his creations to you. His willingness when you asked if you could paint them pretty colours, or add cute designs. The way he held you as you cried about your mum falling ill. How quickly he offered you support, and how quickly you turned him down. You didn’t want to be a burden, but you regretted that choice as soon as he stopped showing up to your usual spot. You kept going for months before you gave up, still trying to find him. The last time you visited was to scatter your mum’s ashes - your stories of Viktor’s designs and the beautiful creek where you tested them out together being one of the last things that brought her comfort.

And now, he was here.

He’d made it out. He’d made it Topside. And you’d only fallen further down.

If there was one person you never wanted to see you like this, it was him. He was the only slither of your youth and innocence left, the only soul in the whole of Runeterra who knew the true version of yourself, the first version of yourself. The version you actually liked. And now, he had to see this. You couldn’t tell what you were feeling. Every emotion was vying for attention: joy, nostalgia, anger, envy…

He repeated your name in a questioning tone, and you realised you’d been staring at him, the rollercoaster of emotions you just went on likely visible on your face.

“Do you know him, darling? Or shall I grab Joe?” Katie asked from behind the bar, staring him down with a protective look. Viktor opened his mouth to speak, indignant look on his face, but you answered for him, never once being able to tear your eyes from him.

“Yeah I… cover for me? If anyone asks, he got a dance.”

“Of course.” Viktor’s gaze had returned you, confused, and you just muttered a ‘come on’, signalling him to follow you, and you lead him across the floor to one of the private rooms. They weren’t exactly the nicest places to talk, the whole room painted a hideous deep purple, a weirdly-shaped black velvet sofa the only thing to sit on. As soon as you closed the door, turning around to see the soft look on his face, every drop of anger seeped from you, replaced with relief. Relief that he was alive. Relief that he had done something with his life. Relief that you hadn’t lost him forever.

You couldn’t help it but let the tears fall as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him tight.

***

He was surprised by her warm welcome. After all these years, he had always imagined she would resent him, but here she was, face pressed to his chest as she hugged him, tears falling onto his shirt. He didn’t even have to think about it, his own arms naturally surrounding her as she cried, keeping her close. He never wanted to let her go again.

She eventually pulled away though, wiping her tears with the shy smile he remembered so well.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.. on your fancy Topside shirt too.” She laughed nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I… um, I imagined bumping into you one day, finding you again, but I never thought I would be dressed like this.” He finally let himself glance down at her when he said that, to take her in completely, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t meeting his eyes. She looked beautiful - a black two-price set, solid silk on the areas that counted, but the frills and accents were a sheer lace, stockings too, glittering beads woven into the delicate material. Even if the environment didn’t suit her, somehow the clothes still did, the same style he’d seen her develop in her teenage years. Simple in colour, beautiful in design - the cunning of her inventor’s mind applied to her other passion.

“What are you doing here, Viktor?” She sat down on the awkward sofa, curling her legs up onto it, and he followed suit, resting his cane against the arm.

“I could ask you the same thing.” It fell from his lips before he could stop it, and he winced, expecting her to be offended, but she just smiled sadly.

“You got out.” She stated, ignoring his quip, and he nodded. He could explain, he should, but not yet.

“And you never wrote me.” He responded.

“Write you? Viktor, I didn’t know where you were.” She never got your letter.

“I left you a note by the creek. You never got it?” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve found you somehow, or…”

“It’s ok, Vik.” She shuffled closer on the loveseat, grabbing his hand and squeezing tight. Hearing the name she used to call him sent a pang of pain to his heart. This is what he had been missing out on all these years, all because of a stupid letter. “If I was in your shoes, I’d have done the same. Besides, I never let you see where I lived, or anything else about me. And when mum… I fell off the face of the earth. I wouldn’t have let you in no matter how hard you tried.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know.”

***

You spent a long time asking about his life now. He was working in the academy, partners with Piltover’s favourite researcher, helping to create the HexTech that kept the whole city afloat… he had changed the fucking world. And you were… here. Still.

He said your name softly, as though trying to broach a subject carefully and you knew what was coming. You had seen the query floating in his eyes since the moment he saw you.

“What are you doing working here? I mean, you’re brilliant, more so than me, and yet…”

“I’m still stuck in the lanes?” You sighed.

“Well, yes.” You’d never once thought of him as ignorant. Maybe he’d been living Topside for too long.

“I never got my break. You deserved what you got, of course you did, and you’re the smartest person I know, Viktor, but that doesn’t change the fact that you got lucky. And it’s not the same here as when we were kids. Sure, things weren’t great then, but now… There are no jobs, no money, housing is insanely competitive even though most of it is disgusting.. it’s a vicious cycle meant to keep you in the shitter. This is what I could get. It pays my bills and lets me save a little, the other girls are nice, it’s close to my apartment…”

“But…” You knew from the look on his face what he was going to say - a long speech about how much potential you have, and how much better you could have it. You dropped his hand.

“But what?” You couldn’t help but snap, defensive over the very job that you cursed daily. “But I’m better than selling myself to sleazy drunks? You think I don’t fucking know that? You think I want to be losing my sense of self every day just so I can keep the lights on? You think it’s my dream to feel like I’m a lesser human being because I will let someone pay me to take them into this room and…” You stood up then, starting to pace as silent tears fell. You never let yourself think about any part of your life longer than you had to. Not pondering on it was the only thing keeping you alive.

“You know I wasn’t saying that…”

“I know I’m sorry… I just…”

“I know… I know…” He stood up then too, wrapping you in his arms and letting you cry. Again. You felt so stupid. “I missed you.” He whispered, face nestled into your hair, barely audible.

“I missed you too.” The tender moment didn’t last for long though, as a sharp knock on the door startled you, jumping away from him and wiping your eyes.

“Vikki?” Joey’s voice called out, and you breathed a sigh of relief. “You ok in there?” You put on your smiley voice, cooing back to him.

“Yeah, all good Joe, got a paying customer in here...”

“You got it, doll.” You heard him walk away, and turned back to see Viktor looking at you, head cocked, small smirk playing across his features.

“What?” You asked with a shy smile, wiping away the last of your tears.

“Vikki?” Oh.

“Well I couldn’t exactly use my real name.” He laughed at that, and you couldn’t help but giggle too. “That does mean we’ve been in here too long though, I should…”

“Yeah, no of course…” he moved to open the door, grabbing his cane, but you stopped him quickly, pressing your hand against the door frame.

“One second…” He frowned as you reached towards him, but he didn’t move, just watched curiously as you took your time unknotting his ascot. Once it was off, you unbuttoned a few of his buttons, trying to ruffle his shirt a little, make it look like you had actually been doing your job rather than talking to an old friend. “There…” you muttered quietly, realising he’d shuffled a little closer to you as you worked, and now his lips were only a breath away. He was looking at you so intently, as though there was something he wanted to say, but he never spoke, just gazed at you in a way that made your heart swell. Your hands lingered on his chest, comforted by the warmth and solidness of him. A reassurance that he was real and here. You didn’t want to move.

“Please, don’t go anywhere just yet…” you muttered, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

She had been backstage for a while now, muttering something about trying to move her shifts around. She came back beaming, and it was infectious, a smile he was trying to fight taking over his own face just at the sight of her.

“Ok, if you’re busy tonight, or you have plans, you can tell me to piss off…”

“Never.” She blushed in response, her wide smile spreading further as she spoke, and he was helplessly drawn to her, eyes scanning her face intently.

“Well, someone came in early for their shift, but someone else is running late… anyway, our schedule is a mess, but good news is I only have to stay for another hour and then I’m free so… I was thinking, maybe you’d want to grab some food and catch up? Unless you have somewhere else to be…” She still sounded so shy, so unsure - the same habit she had when she was young, babbling when she was nervous. He was finding it hard to connect the dots in his mind: the timid person before him now, the girl he used to know, and the dancer on that stage, full of bravado and confidence.

“That sounds wonderful.” The joy in her face was intoxicating, and he watched as relief visibly washed over her body.

“Ok, brilliant.” She spun away for just a moment, trying to track down the bartender she seemed to know well. “Katie, he’s with me, ok? Send him back in like an hour, and his drinks are on my tab.” He tried to protest, but she rested a hand on his shoulder, quickly silencing him. “I insist. It’s the least I can do, considering how long you have to wait around.” Again, he tried to tell her didn’t mind, that he’d wait as long as she needed, anything for her, but she was gone already, slipping into the crowd. He sighed, turning back towards the bar on his stool, taking another sip of his soda.

“That’s our Vikki…” Katie mused, slicing a few garnishes behind the bar. “Never accepting that somebody else would want to do something for her.” He let out a dry laugh, half at the name, half in agreement.

“That sounds like her.” A beat of silence passed between them. The club was starting to fill up, but it wasn’t too rowdy yet, and nobody else was at the bar, all relying on bottle service and shot girls instead.

“Drink?” He shook his head politely. “How do you know her?” Katie asked, staying busy but obviously trying to snoop. He didn’t mind. She was a topic he didn’t mind talking about.

“Childhood friend. I haven’t seen her in… a very long time.” Her eyebrow shot up at that.

“What was your name, by the way?”

“Viktor.” A look of surprise flitted across her face.

“Ohh.” She drawled knowingly, smiling at herself as she continued to wedge limes.

“What?”

“I’ve heard of you, that’s all. Her childhood love who disappeared on her while her mother was dying…”

“You don’t know the whole story…” He snapped back quickly. He might hate himself for what happened, but he felt the need to defend his choices. It had turned out well for him, he just wished he could’ve found her. Taken her with him. Their life could’ve been so different. Katie chuckled, continuing her tasks.

“Oh trust me, I do. She’s very quick to defend you, you know. You can do no wrong in her eyes…”

“Not so sure about that…” As he muttered to himself, something she’d said suddenly hit him. Her childhood love…“Actually, on second thought, I will grab a drink please, whatever she usually has. But don’t put it on her tab…”

“I wasn’t planning on it, Topsider.” She saluted mockingly with a smile.

Two down and that was all he was having, just needing something to take the edge off after Katie’s admission. All those years wasted, because you thought childhood love was stupid and pointless. And now, seeing her again, you still love her as much as you did back then…

Katie was on her break, so he twisted in his seat, trying to find her in the crowd. She had never been difficult for him to spot, everything about her so familiar to him, and this time, she was centre stage, which made it even easier. Every part of him was screaming to turn away, to not taint his view of her, but he was instantly transfixed. She danced so fluidly, so gracefully. Every movement she made was purposeful and poised. However much she hated her job, she took pride in it. He was a scientist, sure, but she was a creator, through and through.

***

You were finally finished, and you were exhausted. Even though it wasn’t even half a usual shift, seeing Viktor, all the memories it brought back, it had been so emotionally draining.

You were grateful that the changing area was empty. It wasn’t the usual shift time, and no one ever came here on their break, so at least Viktor wouldn’t have to deal with that. You almost laughed at the thought.

There was a gentle knock, and his voice sent a flutter straight to your heart.

“Vikki?” He called out mockingly, and you laughed at the way he’d latched on to your new name. It was inspired by him, after all. “Are you decent?”

“Yes, you can come in.” You were looking good, if you said so yourself. The fashion and the opportunity you were afforded to express yourself in that way was one of the few things you did like about this place. You’d tried to incorporate the shapes and designs of your ‘work attire’ into a more lanes-friendly outfit, layering a black organza shirt over the lacy bodice, beading shining through the sheer fabric, pairing it with a bubble skirt and knee high boots, just the right height to allow your stockings to peek from the top. There was only one item that wasn’t black; his neckerchief that you had taken earlier was now around your own collar, tied in a dainty bow. He grinned as soon as he laid his eyes on it, striding towards you and gently holding the hemmed edge between his fingers.

“I guess I’m not getting this back, huh.”

“Never.” He shrugged.

“I’m ok with that.” God, the way he looked at you. It made you melt without fail, warm flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Are you ready to go?” You muttered, eyes still glued to his, honey tones making you feel as though you were stuck in them. A fly trapped in amber, resigned to its fate.

“I’m ready when you are.”

You’d decided you were going to cook for him tonight instead of taking him out. The places near you either weren’t nice enough, or they knew you for the wrong reasons. Besides, you wanted to show him your place. To show him that, even though you were still here, you had done everything you could to make the best of it, to continue learning and inventing and developing yourself.

That did mean you had to stop by the store, though. Which meant bumping into Angel. He and Viktor would not get on.

You had grabbed Viktor’s arm as soon as you left the club, a habit from the times Joey had walked you home, knowing that you were safer beside a man than by yourself. Even though the Undercity was bustling tonight, there was something so soothing about being here with him. A nostalgia warming you from the inside out. He let you guide him into the shop below your apartment, chatting absentmindedly about nothing and everything, when a smooth voice stopped yoou in your tracks.

“Not so fast, Vikki…” You groaned, turning back the few steps you had made into the entrance.

“Hey Angel.” You cooed, although it felt wrong falling into your usual flirtatious routine when Viktor was right behind you. He was working behind the counter today, thumbing through the till. His long dreadlocks were down, grey peeking through his beard, wide grin as his eyes traced over you, following your arm to where it joined the man next to you.

“Is that a nickname, or…” Viktor muttered, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you responded.

“No, Vik, this is my landlord Angel…”

“Landlord, huh? Thought I was more than that, sugar…” He leaned across the counter, shit-eating smile on his face, clearing noticing and enjoying the fact he was winding up your new companion. Viktor scowled, moving a step closer to you.

“Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming, old man…” You sent him a wink, and he laughed, the booming noise of it always making you smile. “What have you got in that’s fresh? I’m actually cooking tonight…”

You chatted a little longer, grabbing what Angel recommended and some wine, before heading upstairs via the back of the shop. Viktor was still scowling slightly as you were unlocking your door, and you laughed lightly, nudging him with the bag of shopping.

“What?” He huffed.

“I don’t like that guy.” He grumbled, feeling smug that you had called it.

“He’s my landlord, Vik, and a friend. He’s a good guy, don’t worry.” He just shrugged as you finally got the door open, and you thanked the stars that you had remembered to tidy last night, or else it would be a complete tip. There were still remnants from your busy morning scattered all around the studio: scrap pieces of fabric and thread strewn across the kitchen table, the half-finished neglige you were constructing laid over the back of one of the chairs, the cogs and pieces of machinery lie abandoned next to your sewing machine in the wake of the modifications you were trying to make so it could handle more delicate material. The space itself was dark in colour, olive and navy washing the walls, brown leather sofa and black countertops marking their territory in the small apartment, the stain-glass screen in front of your bed the only splash of jewel toned colour. You could feel Viktor’s curiosity at the place, and as he stepped further into it, a smile settled onto his lips.

“It’s so very… you.” He said, and in any other intonation, it would’ve sounded like a bad thing, but when he said it, full of adoration.. it was a compliment of the highest order.

***

She was mesmerising as she cooked, twirling in the kitchen to her carefully selected vinyl, a wide smile on her face as she tested what she was making. He wanted to help but she wouldn’t let him, batting him away and telling him to sit down, and for now, he had obliged. But, as much as he wanted to help her always, right now, he just wanted to be close.

“At least let me pour the wine?” He said, already standing to help, and she huffed, but didn't object. Instead, she handed him the corkscrew and the bottle wordlessly. He smiled, leaning against the counter and continuing to watch her as she stirred. She was always so chaotic when she was creating, something evidenced by the near bomb-site on her kitchen table. It was just so… her. Everything about her apartment was as well, such a perfect and beautiful representation of everything she was, every tiny detail of her life and personality reflected in the space she lived in. The colours, the soft furnishings, the bookshelves lining the wall behind her bed. Then, he noticed something about the stain glass screen that separated the room, soft light from her bedside lamp washing through it and creating a blue ripple across the floor like a stream. It was of their place, their creek. It was abstract, sure, but he would recognise it anywhere. The way certain rocks jutted out, the colours of it all, the small boat floating in the still glass water.

“Did you make that?” He asked earnestly, and she briefly glanced up from the stove to see what he was looking at.

“Yeah, I've been trying out a lot of different hobbies actually, things to keep me busy when I’m not working. That was one of my favourites…”

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled sadly, focusing her attention back to the pan.

“It reminds me of you.”

He poured them both a glass, and she gratefully accepted.

“It’s nearly finished, just a few more… oh I meant to ask earlier…” Her mind was such a beautiful thing, the speed at which it moved so captivating, not even time to finish her own thought before starting another, “why were you even here today? In the Undercity, in my club… I just never thought I’d see you back here by choice.”

“I was visiting an old friend, a quandary about a new gadget Jayce and I are working on, but…” He was going to say something about it, ask her opinion on whether he should follow Doctor Reveck’s advice, what he should do next, but he decided against it. “He didn’t have any insights.”

“Maybe I can help?”

“No, I…” She looked hurt at the speed the word left his mouth, almost recoiling and turning back to her cooking with a frown. “I mean that you probably could, but I don’t want to taint tonight by talking about a project that has been frustrating me for weeks. Another time though, of course I would appreciate your insight.” She sighed in relief, smile flitting back across her face. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer, humming as she did, a flurry of breathtaking movement as she dipped it into the sauce, spinning back around and holding it up to him.

“Taste?” She asked, the look on her face so hopeful it melted him, her joy infectious. But underneath all of it, he couldn't help but notice the cracks: the bags under her eyes, the tiredness set into them, the subtle shake of her hand. But he just smiled, enveloping her hand in his and bringing the spoon to his lips.

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.” She looked proud nonetheless, spinning back away from him and he was left to watch again, heart swelling. He wanted this. Cooking with her, drinking wine in the kitchen to her favourite record, letting her order him around. He wanted the… intimacy of it. The domesticity. The realisation of it ached. You could’ve had this. All these years without her, all these years wasted. Precious time that you no longer have to spare. If you’d have just waited, just taken more time to find her, insisted on helping her even…

“It’s ready!” She exclaimed, presenting a plate with a wide grin, and every stress, every regret simultaneously melted away and intensified, a pit forming in his stomach.

“It looks wonderful.”

***

You had eaten, and you were both now on your second glass of wine. You felt closer to him with every single second, drawn to every word he said like moth to a flame. At some point in the evening, you’d moved to the floor, backs to the sofa, as you looked through some of your old sketches you had found. The conversation lulled momentarily, a faraway look in his eyes, and you realised how close you had gotten. Your elbow was leaning on the sofa, supporting your head with your body twisted to face him, knee pressing against his thigh. You moved your head forwards to glance at the sketchbook, and your hand fell, resting on his shoulder. A stillness fell over him at the touch, and he smiled sadly to himself.

“I think you should come back with me.” He stated with finality, and you froze.

“What do you…”

“I think you should come back to Piltover.” He closed the book, placing it gently on the low coffee table. He was serious. “Help Jayce and I with our projects. Let me teach you about HexTech.”

“Vik, I don’t exactly have any actual experience. I don’t have an education. I can’t afford to live Topside…”

“You can live with me.” He said it so simply, like it was so obvious. Of course you would love that. Now you’d seen him again, you didn’t want to be apart from him but… “Professor Heimerdinger can give you lessons, but you have the mind already. There are certain things that can’t be taught. You have the passion, the skill, the creativity…”

“But…” You weren’t trying to pick apart his plan, but it felt terrifying. Even though it was everything you had ever wanted, it felt so far fetched. Like a fever dream. It didn’t feel like your life, your future.

“No, I… I lost you once, I can’t do it again.”

“Vik…” He grabbed your hand that was resting by his shoulder, and you felt yourself relax into his touch. He turned head to meet your eyes, sadness creeping into them.

“I don’t have much time left.” The finality of his statement shocked you, and you couldn’t tell what he was talking about. Did he have somewhere else to be? Oh god, you’d already kept him here too long…

“What do you mean, time left?”

“I’m dying.” It felt like somebody had punched you in the gut, all the air in your lungs gone.

“You’re…”

“Dying.” He repeated factually, and your heart sank further into your stomach. “And if we don’t… Jayce and I are working on something that might help, but if it doesn’t, I need someone I trust to take over from me.”

“Viktor, hold on, I need to think…” Your mind was racing, and you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around everything, hands running through your hair. He was dying. He wanted you to move Topside. He wanted you to work with him. To take over his life’s work. “It’s been years. I haven’t seen you in years and now you want me to… now you trust me to…”

“Of course.” He muttered, speaking your name softly to get your attention, hand gently wiping your face where tears had fallen without you noticing. “You’re everything to me, you always have been. There’s nothing I wouldn’t trust you with.” His hand was still resting on your face, and as you searched his eyes, you saw something else. Something pleading, something that echoed the feeling bouncing around in your heart. It would be hard. It would take a long time to settle in, to learn the ropes, to feel like you belonged. But it was your dream. To help change the world. And if he didn't have long, there was no chance you were wasting any of your time left with him.

“Ok.” You answered nodding, and you watched a smile take over his face, heart swelling at the sight.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… Vik, you’re offering me my dreams on a silver platter, and on top of it all, I get to be…” You nearly slipped, about to say be with you but you knew that was a lot. That you had only just reunited and to spring the whole I’ve loved you since I was 10 and I’ve never loved a soul since thing on him might ruin the dream that he’s just given you. But, fuck, you wanted to kiss him right now. “I get to work with you again.. there would have to be one hell of a catch for me to say no to that.”

“The whole dying thing isn’t too much of a problem then?” He asked with a slight smile, trying to hide a genuine fear beneath a joke.

“Oh, honey, knowing that we don’t have another decade of time to lose… I’m not letting you slip through my fingers this time.” His hand felt so natural resting against your cheek you’d forgotten it was there until it moved to cup the base of your neck, thumb drawing gentle lines across your jaw. His amber eyes were searching your features, looking for anything to indicate that you were unsure, but your resolve shone through, and you could see the moment he realised this was going to work, relief flooding through them.

Then, before you could process what was happening, his hand gently guided you forward until your lips brushed against his—light as a feather. For a moment, you couldn't believe he had just kissed you, that it was real. But as you met those pleading honey eyes, everything else faded away. Every doubt, every regret, every sliver of worry vanished, replaced by such overwhelming care and love that you felt you might burst. Your body gave in without conscious thought, melting into his arms as you kissed him. His hands drifted to the back of your head, tangling in your hair and pulling you closer. You couldn't get close enough, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. His fingers traced down your body until they reached your hips, pulling you over him. A soft giggle escaped into his mouth as you swung your leg over his, settling onto his lap. When he finally broke for breath, you found yourself chasing his lips, panting into the space between you with a wide smile.

His lips found yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. Your hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, steadying yourself as his grip on your hips tightened. The feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan into his mouth. He smiled against your lips, one hand moving to cup your face while the other remained firmly at your waist.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered against your mouth, voice rough with emotion. You could only nod in response, too overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being in his arms after all these years.

The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the sound of your shared breaths and racing hearts in the quiet apartment. His thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, full of warmth and something deeper, something that had been there all along. Something that you had been too blinded by insecurity to notice earlier. Something that you knew all too well, reflected in your own heart. You pressed your lips to the mole on his cheek, and the one beside his mouth, a small smirk playing across his features as you did.

“I still can’t quite believe this is happening.” You muttered softly against his cheek, and he sighed, thumb dancing across your lips.

You eventually found yourselves entwined on your bed, limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets, his back pressed firmly against your sturdy wooden headboard as you rocked into him with gentle, deliberate movements. Each subtle shift of your hips sent waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body, making your breath catch. You panted softly into his mouth as his strong, careful hands helped guide your every motion, his touch both grounding and electrifying. The overwhelming need to be closer drove you to pull him tighter against you, your arms wrapping securely around his shoulders until there wasn't even a whisper of space between your bodies. Your chest pressed firmly to his, feeling his rapid heartbeat matching yours, as your head naturally found its place in the crook of his neck. You pressed feather-light kisses against the sensitive skin, tasting the salt and breathing in his familiar scent. The intimacy of the moment was almost overwhelming - so intense, so raw, so perfectly natural - and you found yourself climbing toward your peak faster than you ever had before, your body responding to his every touch as if it had been waiting for this moment forever. You whined softly into his skin as pleasure built within you, each movement bliss, and he responded with a groan as he pressed his lips tenderly to your temple.

"That feels so good, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice coarse with desire, and your hips instinctively bucked harder against him, drawing a sharp gasp from both of you. His clever fingers traced teasing patterns across your hipbones before finding their way between your bodies, circling your sensitive clit with perfectly measured pressure that made your toes curl. His other hand gently cupped your chin, drawing you back until your eyes met his, gilded with desire but still so full of tenderness. His lips ghosted across yours before he pressed his forehead to your own, releasing your face and returning his hand to your hip, guiding you once more. You could feel yourself fluttering around him as your pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, and his eyes rolled back, a broken groan escaping his lips and filling the charged space between you. The coil of pleasure wound tighter and tighter as you approached your climax, desperately seeking more of him, claiming his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that swallowed the stream of desperate moans spilling from both your lips. When your release finally crashed over you, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced - all the pressure, all the built-up desperation exploded like a supernova and pure, white-hot ecstasy consumed every nerve ending, every thought, every sensation except the feeling of him inside you and against you. He followed shortly after, gasping your name like a prayer against your skin as his own pleasure overtook him, his lips finding purchase on your neck as he shuddered through his release. In that moment, it was perfection, hearing him, feeling him, everything you had ever dreamed of and more. But as you came down from your shared bliss, you couldn't quite silence the intruding thought lurking at the edges of your consciousness - that you wouldn’t have him for long.

She looked so peaceful curled against him, her head nestled perfectly in the crook of his chest as if she belonged there, her beautiful red hair fanning out across the pillow like a fiery halo in the dim light. Her beauty was staggering - the gentle slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her brows, the soft curve of her lips - and he couldn't help but trace each feature with his fingertips, mapping the geography of her face with tender precision. She sighed contentedly in her sleep at his touch, unconsciously pressing closer to him, one hand curling loosely in the fabric of his sheets that lay across them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this complete, this profoundly at peace, as if all the jagged pieces of his life had suddenly aligned. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, committing every detail to memory - the light dusting of freckles across her nose, the subtle flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips curved slightly downwards even in sleep. He wanted to capture this moment, to carry it with him always like a talisman, a protection. A reminder that he would do anything to preserve her peace of mind. To make her happy.

The soft amber from the bedside lamp caught in her hair and painted her skin in warm honey tones, making her look almost otherworldly in her beauty, an ethereal being who had chosen, inexplicably, to be with him. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a feather-light kiss, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, before letting his own eyes drift closed. Despite everything - his illness creeping through his veins, the uncertainty that clouded their future like a torrential storm on the horizon - right now, everything felt exactly as it should be.

[makeyoumine69]

Patrick Bateman being a perfect switch | NSFW HEADCANON

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader; 

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: SMUT🪓

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST];

𝐀/𝐍: I know that sub!Patrick headcanon won in the poll I made, but since it was a pretty close one, I decided to write this! Probably I'll write sub!Patrick headcanon too, same goes for dom!Patrick, hehe. Have fun and I hope you like it!

Even though this man always wore an emotionless mask, there were many different faces underneath—you just had to know how to unravel them. And once you discovered the other side of his personality, the one that longed not to be in control but to be controlled, nothing would ever be the same. 

One day you would let him dominate you, but another day you would shamelessly ride his face, making sure he felt the weight of your body, every snap of your hips as you literally abused his mouth; his chin glistening with your cum mingling with his saliva as Patrick feasted on you like a man starved for ages.

When you accidentally brushed your finger along his puckered hole while giving him head and he literally melted from the unexpected but exciting touch, moaning something incoherent, but as soon as you stopped moving, the man literally gasped in despair, pressing his hips against your hand. "You seem to like this too much...am I right, my sweet boy?" You would ask, your eyes locked on his foggy ones, while your other hand was still pumping him in a steady rhythm, driving him crazy. "Yes...fuck..." Patrick's low whisper would be the only thing that mattered at that moment, along with the red tint that covered his cheeks. Jesus Christ, he looked so fucking hot.

This man didn't even have to do anything extraordinary, just exploring his real desires was enough to make everything hotter, steamier, more intimate. At one point you thought you shared a brain cell because Patrick could understand you without words. If you wanted to be dominated, ruined, reduced to fucking atoms—he would just give it to you. No matter where you were at that moment, Bateman would make sure your mind was free of all thoughts except the ones of his dick sliding in and out of you as he fucked you from behind, folding your arms behind your back and using them as leverage.

There was nothing wrong with giving each other what you both craved.

That single phrase that caused the fall, the words that brought you both to the point of no return, and when Bateman finally unraveled completely and allowed you to peg him, you hugged him from behind, spooning almost gently as you pressed your hips against him, brushing against his ear and whispering to him, almost like a mantra, to remember that moment—the moment when he finally trusted someone as much as he trusted himself. At first Patrick tried to be quiet, unsure if he could really be vocal, considering it wasn't exactly masculine, but as you began to stroke his throbbing cock, still moving inside his tensed body, he finally let go; his raspy, almost pleading moans echoing off the walls of his bedroom, and you thought it was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard.

And you would never betray his trust because you cherished it like a treasure. 

Every time Bateman let you cross that line, you would make sure he got what he wanted, making him cum hard on his expensive sheets, milking his dick with your hand and stimulating his prostate at the same time. And then the two of you would share a lusty, hard kiss that would leave you both breathless, but still wanting more. Cleaning your fingers, you would let him taste himself before you changed positions.

Now you were on your back, spread out on the pillows, watching him trace his large palms over your torso, then go lower until you whimpered in need, arching your back as a huge implication for him to continue. And when his lips touched your most sensitive spot, you wanted nothing more than to fucking claw at his scalp and rub against his perfect face.

"Mmhm...you're so fucking perfect," you blurted out with your eyes closed, tingling your fingers with his messy, slightly wet hair. "I want you to...fuck me..."

Without words, Patrick would turn you over and make you get on your knees while he sat on his heels, giving himself a few lazy strokes even though he was already so hard again. Sucking on your neck, he would slowly bury himself inside you, his hands like tight ropes trapping your body attached to his, you would squirm like a caged bird if he didn't hold you like this, but this man knew you too perfectly.

"Tell me…tell me you love my dick," Bateman's request sounded so desperate, almost pathetic. But you didn't answer right away, just giggled in response, encouraging him to fuck you even harder. "Tell me, you slut..."

"And if I don't," you retorted cheekily, looking at him with your half-open eyes. "Would you kill me?"

Although you knew it would definitely get under his skin, his pretense of indifference to your jabs turned you on even more. The slap of his hand on your ass, the tugging on your hair—everything he did to make you surrender and submit was too much, too cute. Eventually you would play along and whimper, moan for him, praise his huge cock and tell him that no one ever fucked you better than him. 

But you would never admit that he fucked better than you, not when you had him writhing and begging for you. Hell, no. The power dynamic in your relationship was always shifting, the rain of power belonged to no one, because somehow the two of you found the perfect balance.

And you wouldn't give it up for anything else. Never.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

Now I am the first person to understand that sometimes you don't see something

HOWEVER

There was a roomate, she could have just asked

I also have a roommate who was up and told her she could ask them for help if she couldn't find anything. Or come get me if truly necessary.

That's what I would have done

But she didn't, that was a desicion "Tina" made ...

Also, the word SQUASH was used severall times IN WRITTING

I texted her last night what I would need done today.

One of those things was to roast some precut squash I'd gotten so I could have it with my salads and pasta. I was very clear in my instructions: what it looked like, where it was in the fridge, how to use the oven, how to cook it.

Squash and rat do not even remotely sound teh same

Also, there are NO vegetables that are fury

Also Also, half frozen or thawed mice/rats are very specific to te touch, I have never touched anything else that was this very specific mixture of hard and soft

AND

The conversation the Women in question was narrating showed that "tina" very obviously had recognised the rats as rats

AND FINALLY

As teh women pointed out

And like, that's insane all on its own, but if you're going to cook any animal, you should at least clean and skin it first, right??? Like, do the crazy, disgusting thing properly so I can respect the effort, instead of sticking them in as is. Fur and guts and all.

SO what happened was

Tina

was instructed to cook SPECIFICALLY squash

saw the bag with the un-flayed un-gutted rats

and thought, close enough

-> Again, there was a roomate she could have made sure with, and she choose not to ... that was a choice ...

And wenn the kitchen started smelling like ass, she didn't make sure with the roomate that she had done the correct thing

She just thought nothing

And I tell you why that happened

Becasue not so deep down Tina doesn't really see disabled people as people

SO feeding them food that is clearly not meant for human consumtion (again un-flayed un-gutted) is not something that rings any bells in her mind

She doesen't wonder because she already thinks disabled people are disgusting perverts, why would it suprise her that they eat un-flayed un-gutted rats?

Text recounting of the full events below but oh my god please watch this person explain the wildest thing happening to them

[image text]r/trueoffmychest post by CptnSpaceCase

Today my aide cooked what should not be cooked

I have to get this out, because today feels like an actual nightmare I keep expecting to wake up from.

I'm disabled, and need help with stuff around the house. Today was the second day with a new agency and new home health aide, "Tina." I set it up so she would come by in the morning while I'm sleeping (insomnia is killer), and I texted her last night what I would need done today.

One of those things was to roast some precut squash I'd gotten so I could have it with my salads and pasta. I was very clear in my instructions: what it looked like, where it was in the fridge, how to use the oven, how to cook it. I also have a roommate who was up and told her she could ask them for help if she couldn't find anything. Or come get me if truly necessary.

Now, I have three pet ball pythons. They eat rats that I thaw from frozen in the fridge in a reusable plastic bag. Yes, that's where I'm going with this.

Tina couldn't find the squash, and so, obviously, that meant she should roast the first other thing she could see that was technically also encased in plastic, in a completely different area of the fridge. The FUCKING RATS. In butter and salt, in my nice baking dish.

And like, that's insane all on its own, but if you're going to cook any animal, you should at least clean and skin it first, right??? Like, do the crazy, disgusting thing properly so I can respect the effort, instead of sticking them in as is. Fur and guts and all.

And the smell. Good God baby Jesus the SMELL. It woke me up and had me gagging the moment I opened my bedroom door. Definitely not squash. Or food-smelling for that matter. At first I thought the squash had spontaneously rotted overnight and she'd tried to cook it anyway. That would have been slightly less insane and much preferable.

I had to pull it out of her what she was cooking instead when she said she couldn't find it (it was in plain sight), had to open the oven and see my snakes' dinners in place of my own and still couldn't process what the fuck was happening, what I was looking at and smelling. I don't like yelling at people and generally avoid it. Today was a day for exceptions. And at the end of my half-crazed, dissociative rant, I told her to get the whole dish and its contents and herself out of the fucking house. And to not come back.

Suffice to say, I've contacted the agency to report it and am requesting a new aide. Now I'm sitting at a cafe trying to calm down and eat something despite the scent memory that's taken up permanent residence and turning my stomach. The whole house reeks like musty, sewage-dipped pork that had been left out for a whole day before being cooked in rancid oil, and I'm not sure Febreeze is gonna cut it. I don't want to go home. 🫠😭

[nthspecialll]

Molly O'Shea, a fine lady?

Molly is known to be a very high society lady, and most certianly acts the part, however there exists a theory that she in fact might not be born into wealth. It is quite an unpopular theory, however I will give myself the freedom of showing the four pieces of evidence I have found and allowing you guys to make your own interpreations of it.

The very first thing a lot of people, myself included, is the vague langauge of her Rockstar introduction:

Most notibly the "she claims to be from a well-to-do Irish family", a very loose langauge that can't really be found with any of the other characters who have a very stern and direct langauge without this wavering. Like what do they mean "she claims to be"?

The second thing people notice is in the mission Polite Society, Valentine Style where Tilly asks if they should have asked Molly to come with them and Karen replies "oh no, Miss O'Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes for us or to do any real work. She is a society lady, now." The empthasis on "now" has caught a lot of peoples attention as it seems to be something that hasn't always been there, which would contradict Molly's own claims.

Third piece of "evidence", if you wish to call it that, is part of a camp convosation with Sean:

(Sean) CMLL9_ACT_A_11 = ~z~I knew it. You're a snotty nosed little West Briton.

(Molly) CMLL9_ACT_A_12 = ~z~I am no such thing.

(Sean) CMLL9_ACT_A_13 = ~z~'Course you are. I see it now...

(Sean) CMLL9_ACT_A_14 = ~z~You probably have a family with big farmhouses and titles...

(Sean) CMLL9_ACT_B_1 = ~z~Ah, you're all the same.

(Molly) CMLL9_ACT_B_2 = ~z~Hey! Don't you spread lies about me!

Strangely enough I have never heard that last line in the game despite it being in the files mixed with all the other stuff that hasn't been cut, it is also still in the audio files, so I don't really know why I haven't found it in game.

The last thing I wish to present is once again a convosation with Ms Karen Jones, who seems to know a lot more about Molly than the rest of the gang, as well as being the only one to truely grieve her.

The convosation is in chapter four when Molly is pacing and having self doubt. Karen sees her, they talks shortly until Karen tells her "Listen... it's a hard life, this world... for anyone born without means. Any as judges those who find it hard, is a fool. I'm a lot of things, I'm not quite a fool." Which seems like a very strange thing to say if you are trying to comfort a person who was born with means as it hints at Karen understanding Molly because they both struggle due to a lack of money.

These are the pieces of "evidence" I have found, I will not claim I am 100% right about this as there is also evidence pointing the other direction, but I thought I would share either way.

[seat-safety-switch]

As No Nut November transitions into Some Nut December, it's worth taking a moment to reflect on what the holiday season is really about. For a lot of folks, this has been an especially tough year. We missed the boat on flying cars yet again, and are resigned to limping our regular, earth-going cars through yet another year of winter driving.

And yet, maybe I think I am asking for too much. My ancestors, who mostly toiled in horrible agony in shitty European towns and never knew the loving touch of a hot exhaust manifold, would be overjoyed to hear that we now live in an amazing future where you can order a baked potato to be delivered to your home at any time of the day. Don't tell them that shit gets a lot more weird than "baked potato:" even a mild Monterey Jack taquito will probably throw them back in the grave from which they have escaped for the purposes of this thought experiment.

If you offered these folks flying cars, they wouldn't take them. Hell, most of them wouldn't even appreciate the Meccano set that I desperately wanted as a child but never got. All they wanted was their families. In ancient times, they would have gathered around the old Yule tree.

This would be a break from their usual lifestyles of butchering each other for the smallest of reasons, urged on by their social and economic betters to an unending bloodlust that benefitted only them. During that time – the Yule one, not the murder one – they would get to re-appreciate their surviving loved ones, and realize that what truly matters is togetherness and the spirit of the holidays. Then the whistle would blow, and another vicious land war of questionable origin would either resume or start, depending on what year it was.

I think what I am trying to say is: next year better sure as fuck bring me some flying cars, because I'm tired of waiting for the snowplow to come through and clear out the pile of snow in front of my house. The guy I told to pick up a baked potato from the corner store has taken like an hour to get here. I can still see him trying to dig out his car around the corner. He'd be much happier if he could just fly to my place.

[helluvabossrewrite45]

You Reap What You Sow - The Final Helluva Boss Rewrite

Tw: Mention of SA/R4pe

His neck itched at the golden chain wrapped around his neck. He can smell the ingested air suffocating his closed breath, wincing quietly for Satan not to hear his highly pitched voice that emulates a scared little boy. His body shivered in intense heat around him.

He can tell he was frozen by the glares from the royals deadpanned faces, as though he was a bug that trespassed their homes; waiting to be stepped on without an ounce of care or sorrow. Satan exhaled a deep fiery breath to Stolas’ tiny shrivelled face, causing him to cough the smelt of crisp flames from out of his beak. Satan’s hands snatched Stolas’ face to meet his. “You know what your punishment is, don’t you?” Satan inquired in a firm tone. 

“U-uh…execution?” Stolas squeaked. 

Satan shook his head. “Do you really think I’d let you off that easily?” He continued. “You committed an illegal act, one that violates the order of this state. One that has disobeyed and has not only tainted the legacy as The Goetia but as your own; The great prince of Hell.” His voice lowered as the aggression became stronger. “You really think death would be a suitable answer to your crime? To no longer think of the harm you displayed upon your family? Your ancestors, your wife, your daughter?”

Stolas nodded weakly. “No” He mouthed. “N-not at all…”

Satan sneered. “I thought so.” He inhaled, his tone turned reserved. “Such waste shall not decay its legacy any further, can they?” Before Stolas’ attempted to respond, Satan slammed his face down the rocky floor. He let out a muffled screamed as his face banged to the rock’s gritty texture. His body jittered out of his initial standing position as he felt something inside of him jumping vigorously to be out of his body. Satan grabbed his neck in a tight grasp, causing Stolas to choke as his eyes darkened; only seeing Satan’s icy glare with his mouth disclosing; “You reap what you sow,” before it all turned to black.

***

His eyelids slowly opened half-way as he turned around to the grand door. He sprung up and knocked firmly on it, only to be given with no response. He aggressively kept knocking with the same non-response. His teeth bared along with his feathers bursting from his skin as he attempted to transform into his demon form. Yet all that came out was tiny feathers on the floor. The pupils of his eyes widened to shaky dots as he stared at his hands. ‘What is wrong with me?’ He wondered, aghast. He raised his hands to appear his magic, flickering the same movements he was taught, and yet the magic never re-appeared as before. He gasped as he slowly shifted towards the door, his teeth gritted as his hands turned to a fist. “HEY!” He shouted. “SATAN! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME-” He got cutted off by burning coffee splashing from the back of his head to his eye, drenching his feathers with a disgusting pale brown liquid. An imp wearing a janitor uniform with one of their horns being slightly chopped off yelled back; “You suck, Stolas!” While raising a middle finger towards his direction. Stolas turned back to the janitor and scoffed. “Excuse you, I am a Goetia and Great Prince of Hell. You shall not speak to me like that-”

“Then where’s your crown then, huh?!” They cutted Stolas off as they turned their head back, cackling. Before opening his mouth, Stolas began to touch his crown, only to feel the soft feathers of his head. He froze as he stared at his clothes; No golden crown that accompanied his sophisticated hat, no fluffy posh cape, not even maintaining the clothes with of popping velvet-red. It’s now dingy with a pale red alongside a drabby texture, fading it’s life away just like his now-gone powers. His pants scruffed with cuts in some areas, making him look like those imps he saw on the streets. He coiled. Gasping in between breaths as he fixated on his hands, trembling rapidly.

A light bulb has gone off in his head. Blitz! He turned around yet didn’t see him. “Blitz?” Stolas echoed in the hallway. He takes a few steps forward. “Blitzy?” His hands quivered together as the minutes passed without a word from Blitzo. Stolas speeded out in the hallways, screaming with all of his might; “BLITZZZZZZY! WHERE ARE YOU?!” 

***

His knees were like worms, crawling itself as he kept running while on the verge of collapse. As he rummaged across the unfinished limp buildings, people from it dumped their garbage onto Stolas, chanting their insults -

“Fuck you!”

“Racist piece of shit!”

“Ha! How’d ya like being poor now?!”

He wiped off their trash as he hurried to get to Blitzo, the only one he can rely on at this point. The only imp he truly needed. He’s his imp, his doll. A doll too must take care of their owners, after all. 

He saw a demon silhouette dancing with another who looked wolf-like in a wall of an alleyway. His eyes began to lit up as he rushed towards it. “BLITZZZZ!” He tripped in front of Blitzo, panting up to him like a dog. “Oh Blitzy-I-I’m so glad to see you, I was so scared-” His bright smile faded as he saw Blitzo’s disgusted face. 

“Y-you, you're not dead?” Blitzo snarled. His eyes crossed as he backed himself further away from Stolas.

“No, I haven’t. I’ve lost…everything. My family, my powers, my status, everything.” Stolas directed his eyes to Blitzo, pleading as he began to form tears. “Look, I-I know we didn’t have the best start but please if you can just-”

“No.” Blitzo rejected with a dead-panned tone.

Stolas lips were wincing. “B-but-” 

“No.” He repeated.

“Blitzo please! I-I don’t have anyone else!” His tears streamed down his face, wettening his feathers from blubbering. “You're the only one I have!” He felt his throat closing up, burying his face in his hands as he wailed loudly in front of Blitzo and Loona. Both glanced at each other as they rolled their eyes at him. 

As Stolas continued his weeping, Loona glare tightened as she began to raise her hand and smack Stolas’ puffy face. “Shut up! God, can you ever accept a no for once in your fucking life?!” She fumed. She jumped at Stolas before he could chime in a response. “You used my dad’s own fucking body,” she took a grip of his feathered head and began punching him throughout her speech, “for your own selfish gain,” her fists became harder each punch, “always acted like were nothing but little pets to you,” stolas’ beak began to bleed, streaking down his nose as Loona continued punching him, “and NOW when you lost that power, you still treat us like your pets-fuck you!” She forced Stolas back up before kicking her leg upwards to slam between Stolas’ legs. “FUCK YOU!” Stolas whined in pain as he curled himself up to a fetal position. 

“Loona, sweetie!” Blitzo comes up to Loona as she’s seethed. “It’s okay-”

“No it’s not okay!” Loona snapped. “He’s a racist rapist and thinks he can just prey his way back-” She paused as she stared at Blitzo. “I-I’m sorry dad.” She stuttered in a regretful tone. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Blitzo gave Loona a warm smile. “It’s okay sweetie. I just don’t want you to waste time on..” He paused as he directed himself towards Stolas in a crossed glare. “Him.” Stolas can feel Blitzo’s eyes pierced through him in the same way those at the Demon Jury did. “He’s not even worth it.” Stolas watched Blitzo and Loona leave as his body remained frozen, unable to speak. Not even a whine or wail or peep out of him. Nothing. All he has now is his thoughts. The very thing he avoided for so long. And all it has been doing so far is repeated those final words; 'You reap what you sow.'

[stacygetsit]

Just some thoughts

I wanted to share some of what's been on my mind. Some of you may have come across my ask before I am Calm theory anon. And I have always voiced my opinions on anon ask on others blogs. It was where I was the most comfortable. Well I decided today that I was going to put some of the calm and realistic thoughts out there on my own blog. See I am a Lukola shipper for those that don't know me. Now I am a recent shipper. I have never shipped anyone in my life. Never watched Bridgerton at all. Yet here I am devoting hours to them. One of my thoughts recently was I truly believe that Luke and Nic are in a relationship. I understand that people need more hard-core proof of a relationship between them before they believe. But what mind boggles me is that they believe that Nic is dating JD just because they held some hands and visited places together. And funny how we have the same situation with Luke and the girl (i won't ever name her) all we have seen was them going places and a weak hand hold. None of this is actual concrete proof that they are more than friends. I find it really funny that all of the photos beside Lukes new year eve kiss in January we don't actually have any recent proof of any of these couples kissing or having any type of PDA. How can that be when fans and paps have caught them out? Why haven't we seen any PDA? Another thing that's been on my mind is Nicola. I read that she was on a podcast during Covid and stated that she lived with her last boyfriend. How is it that she was able to fully live with a human and no one knew about him? Yes, she wasn't as worldly popular but she still had a following from Derry girls. How is it that she kept even now to this day the guy from being found out? She makes it clear who her friends are. We also know who her family is. Yet we didn't know who she was dating. Y'all she lived with him and we knew nothing. So if her natural habit is to keep her relationships private would she post her man all over the place? I know the other side argues that she's more widely known now and she can't keep her private life secret. Yet she still has kept who her last boyfriend was a secret. yet the masses would like us to believe that she's with JD. I'm sorry I just feel like that's too far away from what she's comfortable with which is keeping her relationship on the low. That's just taking just Nic past habits into account. That's too far away from her natural habits. We know that during the world tour we found out some key things. We know that Nic and Luke hang out outside of work. They said it in an interview. We also know that he gave her something that she cherishes. Because they said it in an interview. My point is that we wouldn't know any of that if they didn't say it an in interviews. So it blows my mind that people think that they have this couple all figured out and they're so dead set that they're with other people. You're basing your opinions on assumptions and calling them a fact. It would be different if they officially launched to the world I think a lot of people to respect Nick and Luke and whomever they wanted but we haven't gotten that. So it's really possible that those of us that people call delusional are correct. We don't know these people. We can only go based on what we know. I want to preface by saying that I will always say I think not I know Or act like what I think is a fact I'm not like those creators. Part of me understands why Luke and Nick are so secretive. I understand that they want to keep their private life private. And I can respect that but the reality is they're celebrities now. Every career comes with a sacrifice and that's their sacrifice. But are they really keeping it a secret? If you Look hard enough you see they leave hints they are together.

[pinkslipxox]

Billie getting tattoos for her children fic??

Ummm yes of course! That’s a must. Hope you like it 🥰

——————————————————————————

The dimly lit tattoo parlor buzzed softly with the sounds of needles whirring and music playing in the background. Billie sat in the tattoo artist's chair, her heart fluttering with anticipation. She glanced over at Y/N, who was sitting in the chair next to her, their fingers intertwined. Y/N’s presence was a calming force amidst the excitement; Billie felt grounded simply by holding her hand.

“Are you ready for this?” Y/N asked, a gentle smile gracing her lips. Billie looked down at their hands, admiring how perfectly they fit together. She nodded, a grin spreading across her face.

“I’ve never been more ready for anything,” Billie replied, her excitement bubbling over. “I can’t wait to get their names, Ava and Mia, right here.” She placed her free hand over her heart, feeling its soft thrum as thoughts of her daughters filled her mind.

Billie’s eyes sparkled with affection as she spoke about them. “They’re so amazing, Y/N. I can’t believe how lucky we are. Every day they surprise me with their little personalities”—she chuckled, a light blush tinting her cheeks—“and honestly, I just want the world to know how proud I am to be their mom.”

Y/N’s heart melted at Billie’s words. She could see the joy and love radiating off of her wife. “I feel the same way,” she replied softly, squeezing Billie's hand. “They’re lucky to have you as their mom, Billie. You're incredible.”

Billie turned her gaze back to Y/N, her emerald eyes shimmering with adoration. She leaned over and pressed a tender kiss against Y/N’s cheek, whispering, “You make this all possible, mama.” The use of ‘mama’ warmed Y/N’s heart, and her cheeks flushed with love.

As the tattoo artist began to prepare the needles, Billie took a deep breath, still holding onto Y/N’s hand. “We’re making this permanent,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “A forever reminder of our girls and this incredible family we’ve built.”

The needle buzzed to life, and Billie winced slightly as the artist began their work. She glanced at Y/N, who was watching intently, her eyes filled with admiration. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmured, trying to hide her lingering nerves. “This is for Ava and Mia, right?”

“And for us,” Y/N added, a bright smile lighting up her face. “Every little thing we do is for them.”

Billie felt a wave of affection wash over her as she looked at Y/N, who had always been her rock. “You’re the best partner I could ever ask for, you know that?” she said, her voice soft yet sincere. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As the tattoo needle continued to trace the letters on her skin, Billie shared stories of her daughters, her voice filled with warmth. “Ava is so sassy—she’s definitely going to rule the world one day. And Mia, oh my gosh, with the way she giggles at everything…”

Y/N laughed along, their hearts swelling with shared memories. They were both lost in the joy of parenthood, enveloped in the sweetness of their love.

After what felt like no time at all—a whirlwind of laughter and stories—Billie looked down at her wrist, where the names of her daughters now etched into her skin with elegant strokes. She felt a rush of emotion and instantly turned towards Y/N, her eyes glistening.

“Do you see them?” she breathed, awe in her voice. “They’re with me always now. Just like us.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full to bursting at the sight of Billie’s shimmering eyes. “Always, baby. Always.”

Billie leaned in, pressing her forehead against Y/N’s, their fingers still tightly woven together. “Thank you for this moment, for everything. For being the most amazing mama to our girls.”

In that small tattoo parlor, surrounded by love and family, Billie knew they were truly blessed. With Y/N by her side, the journey of motherhood felt like an extraordinary adventure—one they would cherish and celebrate forever.