#like i know that's a ways out but just planting the seed u know

[nonasbirthday]

i would give my left tit for a short story set at canaan house before the ascension of the first lyctors. tamsyn do you hear me

[wholesomepostarchive]

11/11/2023

[amaranthineghost]

hi! could u write a fic where lando and the reader were fucking and lando takes his phone out halfway through (to take a photo for himself) but accidentally gets it posted on his instagram story and they only find out in the morning idk i just thought this would be funny af

OOPS? ( lando norris. )

lando norris x reader

to commemorate the sight in front of him, he snaps a picture on his phone without realizing he's just posted it for millions to see.

warnings: smut

authors note: I really liked writing this!!! it's a bit shorter than usual, but I enjoyed it a lot so thanks anon!!! <333

HE DIDN'T KNOW HOW HE DID IT. maybe he was just in the haze of sex, buried deep in her cunt with her leg over his shoulder, her other around his lower back pulling him in further.

he was hovering over her, hand pressed against her mouth as strings of muffled moans spilled from her lips, warm tears against his skin. god, she looked so good, too good. he just wanted to remember how fucked out her expression was.

leaning over to the nightstand, slowing his thrusts ever so much as he clutched his phone, flash on to compensate for the darkness of the bedroom. he snapped the photo, throwing the phone to the side, face side up.

he turned his focus back to the messy masterpiece in front of him, returning to the pace he had set before.

he pulled his hand away from her mouth to hear her symphony of moans, music to his ears. his hand took its place on her neck.

lando norris has posted to his story

he was so lost in the moment, he should've realized sooner the mistake he made. he should've realized at the instant texts that lit up his screen because who would be texting him this late?

all he did was flip over the phone, ignoring whatever notified him as he pulled her leg off his shoulder, pushed her leg down from his back. he fell beside her, prompting her to crawl across him, straddling him weakly as his hands settled on her hips.

fuck, she looked so good from this angle. hair messy from the pillows, face red from the tears down her cheeks, but also flushed from how hard he fucked her. he had already coaxed one orgasm ouf of her.

she sank down on his cock, causing him to curse under his breath with praise, “fuck, such a good girl.” his hands clawed into the flesh of her hips, guiding her pace once he saw her struggle.

the view was immaculate, he could've came at the sight of her tits bouncing up and down as she slid on his cock alone. it was salivating.

his hands left her hips to grasp her breasts, and he couldn't care if her pace faltered because everything felt too good in the moment.

if only they knew.

he planted his feet firmly against the bed, grasping her sides again as he lifted his hips to meet her halfway. it was rough, causing her to steady herself with her hands against his chest as he thrusted up and forced her hips down. his cock buried deep in her brought her over the edge so easily as tears fell from her face onto the bare skin of his chest.

she collapsed against his chest as his cock sank into her, feeling the warmth of his seed inside her cunt. she groaned against his chest as his arm spread across her bare back and pressed a kiss to her hair. the tears from her face wet his skin.

“did so good, baby,” he cooed, running fingers across her flesh as she hummed into his chest.

they laid together for a while before going and cleaning up. since it was already late in the night, they got back into bed and fell asleep.

when lando awoke the next morning, his phone was nearly dead and hundreds of texts and missed calls from his friends was the cause. hot to the touch, he carefully held his phone, brows furrowed as he laid on his side, back to his girlfriend, who was still fast asleep on the other side of the bed.

first, he opened the texts from his friend, max, who’s messages were in all caps. his eyes widened at the content, squinting at the screen in disbelief. no way he was that stupid, no the photo he took was in his camera roll—no it wasn't.

he discovered that, unfortunately, the photo he had taken was posted to his Instagram story, and it hadn't been taken down.

if it weren't for the circumstances, he could've stared at the photo all day because it was truly that good, but first he had to get rid of the post—and get the photo into his camera roll.

he nearly jumped out of his skin when she stirred in her sleep, now right against his back with her cheek pressed to his bare skin.

“morning,” she groaned and he mumbled back. she moved to rest her head on his shoulder, squinting to see what was on his phone screen, “why’re you on your phone so early?”

“i'm sorry.” he gulped, turning his head to watch the expression knot on her face, mostly confusion.

she sat up, leaning on her arm as she practically hovered over him, “lando, what did you do?”

“i’m so sorry,” was all he could say.

“lando,” she paused, an underlying tone of irritation laced in her voice as she emphasized her words, “what did you do?”

he glanced back at his phone, not even trying to hide the guilty expression written all over his face. she snatched the phone from his hand, and he didn't stop her. he covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes before leaving them to cover the lower half of his face as he watched her face.

“what the fuck?” she shoved his shoulder.

“i didn't mean to!” he sat up, throwing his hands up before running them through his messy curls, “i don't know how i did it.”

“oh my god,”she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples as she hunched over the phone, “i’m deleting it.”

“wait–” his hand touched hers, he bit his lip, “at least save it to my photos–ow!”

she hit the backside of his head at the idiocy of his words. she exhaled deeply, anger taking over her body. of course, he didn't care as much as she did. he wasn't in the photo at all to begin with and this wouldn't affect his career as deeply as it would affect hers.

“why? so you can post it somewhere else? text it to your friends?” she raised her voice, groaning out in frustration.

“baby, calm down–” he tenderly placed a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off.

“how can i calm down, lando?” she threw his phone down on the bedding, falling back down onto the bed with her hands covering her face in shame. now that picture is all everyone will ever see her as, all thanks to her idiot of a boyfriend.

he grabbed his phone back, seeing the photo had been taken down from his story, but they both knew that image would be circling the internet for a long time.

“at least the photo didn't show anything,” he tried to make light of the situation, but it was to no avail as she spat back with venom in her tone.

“you don't even care about the photo because you aren't the one in it, lando.” she scoffed.

“i’m sorry, okay?” he turned to her, “i really didn't mean to, you know i would never do that.”

she sighed, “i know, but i’m still mad, lan.”

“i know, darling,” he laid beside her on his side, looking at her side profile as she stared at the ceiling, “you have every right to be mad.”

she stayed silent, and he didn't know if it was a good or bad thing.

he gulped again, speaking up, “and i promise to never take a photo of you when we're fucking ever again.”

a laugh forced it's way past her lips, “oh, please we both know you'll try and fail,” she said with a smile on her lips, shaking her head.

“okay, yeah, but i promise i’ll triple check it's not in any social media post,” he flipped over onto his stomach, propped up by his elbows with his pinky held out. she took it and the promise was made. the situation dealt with, for the most part.

“did you happen to save the photo though–ow, okay!”

—

taglist (found here): @poppyflower-22 @sapphiccloud @slut4lrh @kaa12 @taylorslovesswifties13 @sbella13 @nhlfs @beskardroids @hiireadstuff @lorenica @delululeclerc @c-losur3 @casperlikej

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[jiminrings]

if-then

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 7k

glimpse: you're an alien in prince jungkook's planet — both literally and figuratively.

alternatively, jungkook gives his nickname for you to someone else in a fit of anger, and you've never been more upset.

[ fluff, angst, painfully oblivious n dense alien koo, mutual pining (yes MUTUAL!!!!), the glaring concept of not being good n whole enough to deserve love (yikes but i Swear it gets better), mentions of injuries ]

notes: after being asked for literal years to write an alien au, it's finally here!!!! mwah thank u for patiently waiting :D

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook’s fond of appraising things.

He’s fond of assigning values to things that may or may not hold some bit of importance to his life, whether its value proves itself in the present or the future. Jungkook likes setting his literal ducks in a row, and the little inanimate yellow tokens that his brother brought back from Earth serve as a discreet (not really, though) reminder that he may have some hoarder tendencies.

Jungkook’s not really a hoarder-hoarder; it just happens that he likes keeping things, sometimes for no apparent reason at all.

He likes swiping the flashlights that the night guards use to stash in his own personal “emergency” (not that there’s ever been one, nor will there ever be) cabinet, just because he wants to be prepared for a natural catastrophe that won’t probably ever happen in his area. He’s already seen a couple of films that humans have made, and if ever comes a time that Planet Twell has a dinosaurian monster battle it out with a gigantic prehistoric ape, Jungkook’s proud to say that he has a couple flashlights for him and his brothers to use.

In addition, Jungkook likes picking flowers just before they go out of season. His eldest brother’s already cussed him out for it, but he’ll still do what he does best (?), if best means “preserving” the flowers by drowning them in water every ten minutes so they wouldn’t wilt and he’d still get to see them during off-peak days.

Prince Jungkook likes appraising things in his own definition and pace. They’re never categorized in his head for what they actually do, but for what kind of unexplainable fulfillment fills his chest whenever he thinks about the item.

The youngest prince of Twell didn’t like it when there was a commotion at the lily field and the citizens ran out to see what it was about, instead of eating their slices of cake with the fondant that he made out of scratch. Jungkook didn’t like the fondant either because there must be something insanely wrong with itself (or it’s just that he made it just as bad), but he didn’t like being alone either when finding out about the taste.

He didn’t like seeing the tiger lilies he planted himself squished underneath an unknown figure, who may or may not have fallen from the sky, judging by the way you’re wincing alone with no aircraft, no parachute, nor any other person with you.

Jungkook didn’t like seeing you, an alien, who’s just as confused with the entire ordeal. You can’t remember anything about how or why you’ve gotten here — all you know is your name and who you are, and unexpectedly so, the first prince who’s gotten to where you are isn’t so thrilled about the fact.

He’s fond of appraising things, and although he’s not extremely excited about you just as he had been when Yoongi brought home trinkets from him during his trip to Earth (including the very seeds for the tiger lilies you’ve destroyed), he’ll make do.

Jungkook will try and make you mean something, if not everything, to him.

.

.

.

Prince Jungkook has come to learn that you’re part human.

You’re neither fully his kind nor his type (or atleast that’s what he thinks so) and he doesn’t know what to feel about that. He doesn’t know what to feel about only the slight panic that filled you knowing that it’s still unexplained of how or why you’re in Twell; even more, he doesn’t know what to feel that you’re neither scared nor intimidated by him.

You don’t know what to feel either when Jungkook, who’s only mildly shocked about your existence in general, delivers his first question to you and it’s not of the sort that you expected. He looks soft and round, unlike the hearsay about his kind that only amounts to half of you. He doesn’t look aloof and unaccepting at all — if anything, he looks at you like you’re the one who’s cruel instead of him.

Jungkook almost completely does not care about who you are or where you’re from, but what he cares about is if you have any trinkets with you that he could possibly have. Out of anything he could possibly solicit from you, he only asks for so little, no matter how odd.

“T-trinkets?” you squeak, brows raising in surprise. “I’m sorry, Prince Jungkook — y-you’re asking if I have trinkets so you could have them?”

“Yeah,” he nods, lips pursed and cheeks puffed out as he confirms your confusion. “It’s my birthday, and I want to have a trinket.”

“Oh,” you blink once, twice,  a small smile playing on your lips to replace the fact that you’ve been confused for the entire half hour since you came back to consciousness. “Happy birthday, prince.”

“I see.” 

“It’s thank you,” you mutter automatically, coughing lightly when he only knits his brows at you. He’s cute this way — innocent, even. “I-I mean you’re supposed to say thank you when someone greets you, or when someone does something nice for you in general.”

“Okay. My brother forgot to teach me that,” Jungkook hums in recognition, eyes briefly glowing with a bluish hue before he regains his composure. “Thank you.”

You wonder if staring is also frowned upon in this planet.

You wonder if it would get you a mean glare or a sarcastic snicker if you were to stare at Prince Jungkook a little longer without any thoughts floating in your brain, except for the fact that you are completely unaware that you’re already zoning out on him. 

You wonder if it would be wrong for your eyes to take in every single detail of him from his short hair that softly falls onto his forehead, to his supposed birthday attire that only consists of a white button-up, to his gleaming royal jewelry that rightfully so, only looks like it would belong to him and him only.

“Trinket?” he reminds you, head tilting and eyes widening as he cranes his neck to look at you beyond the table that separates the both of you.

“Oh! U-uhm,” you scour your pockets immediately just to present something, and bluntly put, you haven’t even checked your well-being, much less the possessions you have on yourself. You feel more than relieved to know that it isn’t empty, because oddly enough, you’d feel a little upset— a little down if you were to disappoint a prince you just met not more than an hour ago. “I have this handkerchief, I guess.”

“Perfect!” Jungkook exclaims, leaning to grab the baby blue square from you that’s embroidered with your initials that are unfamiliar to him. He clutches it into his hand tightly with a smile on his face, the happiness later dwindling when he realizes he has no clue of what he’s holding. “What is it supposed to do?”

You blank at that, meekly scratching your temple. “Nothing, I think. It’s just there for most people, but I’ve never had to use it.”

“You’ve never had to use it, but you still take it with you?” he attempts to clarify, a slight frown embedded into his lips as he looks down on your averagely prized possession.

“I don’t mean never as in never ever, and I’ve used it a couple of times like everyone else does, but it’s just-…” you trail off, shrugging helplessly because you can’t describe the concept of nothing to him easily. “It’s just there.”

You’re more than fatigued and a lot more confused (albeit less worried) about the semantics of your presence here in Twell, specifically in Prince Jungkook’s office, but the latter doesn’t seem to take mind as he takes you with an open mind.

“Okay. Thank you. I’ll have it,” he announces, shifting his eyes between you and your (his now) handkerchief that he’s slowly and hesitantly unraveling, only to put back into its original square form after every move.

“You will?” you almost snort, a tiny bit amused that a prince is clenching your handkerchief like its the most interesting thing in the galaxy.

“Yes,” he hums distractedly, looking up at you as he lightly scratches the embroidered teddy bear at the corner of the fold. “I will have you too.”

“You will?! You’re not going to dispose me or anything?” you straighten immediately, eyes more frantic and disbelieving to hear that you’re being taken care of (or something of the sort) than just awhile ago when you were unsure of your fate. “Why?”

“Don’t know,” Jungkook shrugs just as easily as you do. “I just want to.”

( ♡ ) 

Prince Jungkook isn’t so bad, and neither is Twell.

The planet isn’t so bad in the sense that although you don’t feel the most welcome you have ever been in your entire life, there’s a recognition that seeps into your bones that some of them, if not most, would set out a plate for you if ever Jungkook came into their homes. He’s the social butterfly of his family; the baby lamb that’s set out into the field to check up on everyone else and act as a mannequin of sorts that’s a little less superficial, and a little more warm.

Jungkook isn’t so bad either in the sense that although it’s the bare minimum to do so, he doesn’t throw his kindness back to your face even in the most critical situations, with now being the sole exception.

With the exception of now, Prince Jungkook has not ever acted rashly towards you. He wasn’t annoyed with you when you kept asking him questions of what it would mean to act as his security detail, and he wasn’t irked either when your questions about your heritage (and his by extension) toed personal lines that no one else would dare cross.

With the exception of now, Jungkook’s never acted rude towards you. He wasn’t as guarded with your existence like his older brothers were; as a matter of fact, he even came to your defense when some of them theorized that you were only here in their planet to act as a precursor for their downfall.

With the exception of now, Jungkook’s never been this cruel; with the ultimatum of his pride over your heart, he’s never made you feel this different and alienated from him — with, of course, the exception of now.

Heartbreak is a human emotion.

The weakness of the concept is disturbingly human and vulnerable. There’s no escape from it, even if the said percentage of human in your blood is barely half and could light a candle to your more evolved, far more powerful Twellian genes. It’s a sickening emotion to feel, much more have it get you carried away from what you have to do at hand.

The grip that said heartbreakhas on you is unimaginable, far more different than what your people, not humans, tell you how it’d feel like. There had already been an uproar when it was announced that you were appointed as Prince Jungkook’s guard, the news of an impure Twellian bearing the coveted position receiving every reaction possible — from fear, to distaste, and even to genuine amazement.

All of the kingdom’s advisers had theorized that despite you of being impure heritage, youwere superior in terms of physical capabilities. With everything else you’ve been theorized to lack at, you bite at the possibility that the ache in your chest is attributed to your stunted emotions.

You feel painfully human. You feel what heartbreak is, and compared to what others have made it out to be, it’s an emotion that you can’t put into words.

“You can’t, Jungkook,” you firmly say once more with your ears ringing, not because the volume of the club makes you want to get down on your knees, but because you’ve perhaps heard something far worse; far more grating, and far more overwhelming than what your heart could even bear. "All of your brothers specifically insisted for me to bring you back before midnight."

They say that your hearing’s supposed to be better. They say that you could see far more colors than what your alien counterpart could ever do. They say that for everything else you lacked, you made up for with the way you’re more physically advanced and therefore adept to protecting the planet’s youngest prince.

No one’s ever said that you’ll be safe from Jungkook himself.

"Jungkook, let's go home. Please," you plead through your teeth, the word you’ve last spoken being the latest term you’ve taught him. Jungkook, along with everyone else, is not familiar with begging; they’re not familiar with desperation so wrung out, there’s actually a word made just for it.

Jungkook only scowls at you, eyes turning a bright red as opposed to his usual pink allotted for you. "Butt out," he murmurs, tightly crossing his arms as his nostrils flare involuntarily. ”You promised me I could be out tonight."

You’re starting to get over the heartbreak little by little, the tantrum thrown by the young prince making you indifferent. 

Maybe you just misheard a few minutes ago — maybe, it was only a fluke and you didn’t hear it correctly the first time. Maybe it’s only your faulty impureness that made you susceptible to just hearing your nickname out of nowhere. Maybe, it’s not heartbreak that you were feeling, but rather only a subdued version of it by seeing Jungkook disappointed at you doing your job.

It’s your fault, you guess. Perhaps it’s the fault of the bustle of the club and the hundreds of dialects you could hear all at once finally got to you, overwhelming you to the point that you heard Jungkook calling for your name, despite not looking at you all.

You’re about to plead even more for the both of you to go back already; to save him from a lecture from all of his brothers and for you to be spared an even harsher scolding because they think you’ve gone too soft for him — but then you hear it. Again. 

Jungkook clenches his jaw tightly, eyes glowing a bright magenta before he opens his mouth.

"Come on, princess," he calls you by his term of endearment for you, yet his hand is outstretched for the female Twellian on his side.

He’s not calling you — he’s not even paying attention to you. Jungkook isn’t giving you a shred of his focus but he wants you to hear him call someone else the endearment he had playfully made up for you, to which you grew accustomed to without fail. He wants you to see how he gives it to someone else easily, the syllables falling from his tongue easily getting into the girl’s head.

Jungkook wants you to know how angry he is over you doing your job, he hits you where it hurts. He has no idea what heartbreak is supposed to feel like, but he doubts that you’d even feel that emotion over what he’s done — and if you actually do over something seemingly simple (for him atleast), he could only think that everyone else is exaggerating what it felt like.

Your heart, whatever is human of it, skips. It tightens and it loosens alarmingly so, almost as if you have no control for the liquid hurt that compromises you.

“I’ll show you a good time tonight, princess,” Jungkook whispers to her ear loudly for good measure, eyes darting up at you, only for him to see that you’ve been watching the whole time. 

You almost can’t tear your eyes away until Jungkook crashes his lips into hers, your nickname easily falling out of his lips as if the endearment is free for everyone; as if it’s never been yours in the first place and you only borrowed it out of desperation.

Your whole flight home is quiet.

Jungkook makes it back home before midnight, but you don’t.

( ♡ ) 

Jungkook’s been looking for you the whole day.

He’s been looking for you since he woke up, and that was fifteen ungodly hours ago when he had risen in a cold sweat. Jungkook felt sick to his stomach, and despite his insistence that something must be severely wrong with him for him to feel that way, the palace doctor (along with every other physician, healer, and reader he knew of) confirmed that nothing was out of place.

Jungkook’s supposedly okay, yet it feels like every part of him is being wrung dry. There’s an ache to his chest that renders him stupid because he feels like he’s forgotten every word, every lesson, and every vaguest bit of semblance that would detail about what he felt.

All of a sudden, Jungkook feels like he’s forgotten what the palace looks like. It’s as if he’s forgotten how tiles are supposed to feel cold on bare feet and how bleak his days are when he doesn’t have you by his side, even if the palace is also occupied by his brothers and the grounds are teeming with staff.

The young prince suddenly feels that he’s forgotten the very layout of his home because his mouth is agape at each room he walks in, simply because you’re not there. He’s practically turned the palace upside down just to grab a whiff of you somehow, and yet you’re nowhere to be found. 

Nothing from his or his brothers’ belongings are missing. There’s not a single piece of furniture that’s tilted askew. Nothing has been taken from Jungkook except his peace of mind and the capacity to just stay still because your sudden disappearance unsettles him like no other.

.

.

.

You’re back home, except you’re no longer dressed in the same outfit you left him in. 

Your uniform’s been ditched for something more casual — something more worn and lived in to the point that it looks like a shirt that’s never been yours in the first place. The sight of you, dressed in clothes that’s not yours, puts a bitter taste to Jungkook’s mouth.

He’s never been that selfish before. He’s generous and lenient as far as a prince could go, and yet he’s never felt this territorial over something seemingly as trivial as a shared garment.

The concern feels too vulnerable to the point that only a silly human, something Jungkook’s not, would consider it as a burden.

“Where were you?” he asks with the gentleness he didn’t think he’d possess after being worried shitless about you, the panic he had harbored for the longest time immediately dissipating at you.

Jungkook wants to be mad at you so, so, so badly. He wants to be angry at the way it was irresponsible for you to be alone because after all, your strength wouldn’t compensate for the gleaming fact that you’re not from here in the first place.

“I was on my leave,” you answer simply, keeping your hands behind your back as if this was any other outing with Prince Jungkook and not just Jungkook, the same man who’d call you princess for fun and hold your hand just for the sake of it.

“I didn’t say you could be on leave,” he lowers his voice, jaw tightening at the sight of you being indifferent towards him.

“I asked your brothers.”

Jungkook feels that sickness again. He feels that tinge of metal that lingers in the roof of his mouth and he wants to spit it out in front of you just to see if he’d find something else that’s not the sensations he’s been experiencing since you came around; if he’d find something else that’s not your doing yet affects him just as much.

“What if I needed protecting, hm? What if something happened to me while you were gone?” Jungkook half-taunts, shrinking on himself despite doing his hardest to appear big by crossing his arms.

“I knew you were in good hands, prince,” you tense, the tide that comes with your tone washing over Jungkook until he drowns in the realization that you were there while she was in his quarters. “I made to sure to hear that you were in very good company before I left.”

( ♡ ) 

Jungkook’s on a self-imposed break from his duties.

The prince’s duties almost exclusively involved chatting and being charismatic in general, along with the occasional goodwill event wherein he had to be all over the place just to take care of things, and not once did he ever take this long of a radio silent break — or atleast that’s what one of his brothers said.

He’s been cooped up in his room since you came back two weeks ago. Despite your absence (if you could even call it that) that barely lasted for an entire day, along with your confrontation just spanning within minutes, it’s been theorized by one of Jungkook’s brothers, again, that it’s because of your doing.

The youngest prince is theorized to be sulking over you and you simply cannot believe it.

You refuse to believe that Jungkook is bedridden with sadness because to begin with, his kind isn’t even supposed to feel such type of intense emotion. He shouldn’t be swayed by you — he shouldn’t be preoccupied with such pathetic, human emotion that you thought only you could feel because of him.

You rebuff the idea that he’s paralyzed with guilt, not only because you feel that it’s physically impossible for him to be, but because it’s him. Someone of Jungkook’s power and influence wouldn’t be so ridden with guilt that he refuses to show his face to you because he’s ashamed of hurting you.

You reject with your whole heart each and every idea that his brothers pitch you. You stay stationary with Jungkook and yet you will yourself to amount to something, even if it isn’t for him, just so the sickening feeling of being replaced won’t ever creep up to you.

You’re in love with him and it’s terrifying.

What’s even more terrifying is that you’re not the only one who knows so.

“I suggest not falling in love with Jungkook.”

You look up so sharply, your neck aches at the speed. Yoongi stands above you with a perfunctory smile, and with just the tiny bit of effort for him to come near you almost makes you forget that he’s Jungkook’s brother who had been particularly vocal about being wary of you.

“I’m sorry?” you murmur in disbelief, eyes wide and unblinking as you take into account his perfect tone.

“It’s obvious, you know?” he smiles tightly, pulling a chair to sit himself down across from you. Yoongi looks relaxed as he takes you in, almost as if he hasn’t spent half a year avoiding you. “I’ve seen the way you look at my brother. I’ve seen it over and over again when I was sent for a mission on your planet.”

You want to ask him why he’s telling you this. You want to ask badly why he’s saying this now when you’ve been certain for the longest time that your adoration for Jungkook wasn’t apparent in a land of creatures that don’t know what love, in your own terms, is supposed to look like.

You want to ask Yoongi why it shouldn’t be Jungkook, but you can’t bring yourself to — not because you know the answer deep down in your subconscious, but because you’re afraid that he would only make sense—

That he’d only solidify why Jungkook should never be in your orbit.

“Oh,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “How do you like my planet then?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I’m sorry, my prince,” you immediately apologize, looking down on your lap as you wait for the impeding lecture; maybe even the impending punishment (you’re not sure what it is, but you know it would hurt someway and somehow) that comes with loving the prince, even by the sidelines.

“Jungkook is a wildcard at best,” he trails off, exhaling heavily as he listens for the heartbeat in the room behind you that houses his brother. “He’s brash and stubborn. He’s driven by emotions we are not even supposed to have.”

If Yoongi stands up now and jiggles the knob to Jungkook’s room with just the slightest bit of force, he can guarantee that the latter would be falling face-down to the floor, just because of the way he has his ears pressed to the door.

Jungkook is moping and sulking and to this day, he does remain miserable — the aforementioned factors don’t stop him from being desperate and nosy.

“What I’m saying is that he’s weak, Y/N,” Yoongi sighs. “The strong isn’t for the weak. That’s always been the case.”

“I know I’m weak, prince, but I-…”

“What?” the prince laughs out loud, the smile on his face wide and cheery. He’s so amused with you that his eyes glow into pink, throwing his head back as he regains his composure. “Jungkook’s the weak one. Not you, obviously,” he snorts. “He’s basically a loser with a crown on his head. He’s the one who doesn’t deserve you and not the other way around.”

You’re not the one who’s being insulted, and yet it feels like it. Your throat tingles and your ribs burn at the sudden urge for you to protect Jungkook, even if he’s in no real threat; even if it feels like all the baser parts of you are coming together just to make sense of the way you grow simultaneously weak and strong for him.

Jungkook, the actual subject who’s being insulted and is proving his brother right by being weak because he’s wallowing in his room out of self-deprecation, sadly hums to himself in agreement.

“I’m not-…”

“Don’t refute it — that’s an order.”

“Prince Yoongi,” you relent, trying to find the right words. “May I ask why you’re telling me this?”

“Because Jungkook’s weak,” Yoongi answers simply. “I’m just saying that you don’t have to be weak with him and for him.”

( ♡ ) 

You’re eating dinner by yourself in the staff room when Jungkook walks in.

It’s the first you’ve seen of him in three weeks. He’s evidently moving on from what seems to have been a rough period for him, right when you’re at your lowest that you’ve ever been.

Prince Jungkook decides that after three weeks, he should take you by surprise and meet you in the staff room wherein you’re alone, pushing your dinner around your plate instead of doing any other menial task you’ve assigned yourself just so it would feel like you’re in use.

You’re just there. You just happen to be there and no one, even you, could do anything about it. You just happen to be there with no exact purpose and it’s gnawing at you from the inside out.

It feels all over again that your family is the runt of the entire extended bloodline. It feels that you’re not remarkable enough for your relatives to surround you and that you don’t amount to anything enough, in whatever aspect it is, to get a shred of attention that isn’t pity,

It feels like the sinking sensation in your chest wherein you have to see that all your mom could contribute to the table is her trusted homemade recipe during holidays, lost amongst a sea full of pre-ordered meals that only your relatives could afford. Like it’s how your dad’s side of the family is borderline batshit crazy and he’s the only one that turned out to be good, and you can’t do anything but watch strangers your have for blood relatives belittle you. Familiarly so, it’s like you’re a kid again with your siblings sitting on the carpet and cleaning up wrapping paper from gifts, not because the gifts are for you, but because you just happen to be there.

You feel like the alien that you are wherein you don’t belong; wherein your family has to sit on the spare chairs dug up from the basement, situated on a portable table outside of the actual, solid dining table where everyone’s sat. 

Jungkook sits with you at that dusty, old portable table. He sits himself on the flimsy chair that’s only used for stepping and for laundry.

Jungkook sits with you, not because he just happens to be there, but because he’s there for you.

“I’m… sorry for calling someone else princess.”

“It’s no problem,” you murmur, putting your fork down as you keep your hands glued to your knees underneath the table.

“But there is a problem,” Jungkook counters, lowering his head to get you to look at him yet you don’t budge. “I’m not okay with calling anyone else princess other than you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“Then suit yourself,” you quip, even with your voice shaky and your vision blurry.

“I’m-…” Jungkook starts again, racking his brain for the limited vocabulary he has that surely isn’t enough to make up for his grave msitake. “I’m very sorry for making you feel bad. It must have hurt.”

“It’s no problem.”

“There’s a problem,” he insists. “I’m saying sorry because I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“But I did,” he frowns, beyond confused to why you keep denying the fact that he’s hurt you in ways he can’t even imagine.

“You really didn’t.”

“Why do you not want me to say sorry?” Jungkook questions, voice raising yet he still looks confused— innocent, even. “Did I… hurt you that much?”

It’s the last straw for you. The pure innocence in Jungkook’s words is and should be the last straw for you because it only makes you realize that he’d never understand you. It resonates in your head, more than ever, that you’ll never be able to understand him fully either because you’ll never be the same.

The only option the universe provides you is for you to love Jungkook halfway.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Prince Jungkook. I shall go back to-…”

“Can I not say sorry to you?” Jungkook bursts, darting his hand out blindly to get a hold on you before you leave.

“You can’t say sorry to me because all of this would feel real,” you ramble, shaking your head vehemently. “You should not say sorry to me because that would mean that I’m hurt because I love you.”

Jungkook looks at you innocently with his eyes wide and lips parted, blissfully unaware of the name to the sensation that keeps tugging at his chest to the point that it feels like it would burst open, yet above all else, he still dives in head-first.

“Can you not love me, princess?” he tilts his head. “Is it not allowed?”

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s words lie heavily on both you and Jungkook.

The prince’s sentiment stays on your chest like a paperweight that only grows heavier the more that you try to push it off. You know Yoongi means well, no matter how his words come across otherwise, but the longer that you think about his own suggestion regarding his brother, the more you feel unsure.

Jungkook’s made complete sense of his brother’s words on the other hand, and instead of being filled with a type of rage that only bubbles up when being looked down on, oddly enough, he comes to the truth quite easily.

He knows the truth that he’s weak despite painting himself the opposite, and he feels it the most now that you’re the one who’s distancing yourself from him. Jungkook feels like swallowing the sun and chasing it down with water when you respond to princess, even if it’s jokingly uttered by his brothers and not said sincerely by him alone.

He knows the truth that he’s the weak one in the family, if not the weakest, whenever he stands next to them. Jungkook may be the poster prince for the citizens but he knows the most out of everyone that he’s not as vital to the kingdom as the others are. He may get an assigned seat at the actual, solid dining table, but he knows that he’s not at the head of it.

He knows he’s weak, with and for you, and that’s never bothered him until it actually did.

Jungkook’s eyesight isn’t as good as yours.

Unlike you, he’s restrained by the entirety of his Twellian blood from immediately focusing his gaze on anything. There’s a lag that registers whenever he fixes his sight on anything, just like everyone else but you, and that hadn’t been a bother to Jungkook the whole time.

He had falsely assumed that since you’re the only one who’s different here, the only exception in the planet by being impure and partially human, you’d be the one who’ll have a hard time adjusting your daily life to his — not the other way around.

Jungkook, who had not once ever felt insecurity before, suddenly feels inferior. He feels like dirt and yet he’s angry, not because of the fact that he comes second to your abilities, but because he can’t do shit when it comes to you.

The prince’s eyesight isn’t good enough to notice the tiny little expressions that litter your face whenever something remotely intriguing happens to you. His hearing isn’t on par with yours because he can’t register the laugh in your voice as quickly as you could recognize his. He’s not on the same level as you and it’s only now that it bothers him—

The realization creeps into Jungkook, slowly yet unsettlingly, when he sees the cut on your cheek; the liquor of inferiority, chased down by Jungkook’s own rage, only hits him the moment he sees that a nasty bruise is blossoming by the corner of your eye.

Jungkook grips your jaw lightly out of nowhere, making you look up at him unexpectedly when you had been only preoccupied with fixing him his drink. The prince, no matter the unmistakeable rage that’s brewing in red, is the softest he’s ever been when it comes to addressing you.

“Who hurt you?” 

He has all his attention on you and it’s almost sickening with the way he doesn’t want to break off. Jungkook’s hand is still on your jaw and his eyes are still fixed on yours and yet his mind, whatever remains rational of it and not just vengeful, is going a million miles per hour.

“Get your hands off me,” you spit, suddenly overwhelmed by his presence and the vitriol that spills out of him so clearly, the air around both of you shifts.

“I asked you a question,”Jungkook repeats, putting is hand on your wrist firmly instead. He makes the grave mistake of looking down, though, because as soon as he realizes that there’s blood caked underneath your nails and that your knuckles are stained with your own blood, Jungkook can no longer hold himself back. “Who. Hurt. You.”

Jungkook’s reflexes are slow, but the moment your bottom lip trembles in vulnerability and pure bitterness, he feels as if time has caught on to the point that it’s only your anguish that sharpens his senses.

His feelings, even.

“If I tell you, would it make a difference? If I’m considered weak, Jungkook, then that means you’re even weaker,” you scoff, eyes trained on the ground with your head low so you could muffle the tremble in your voice; not that it would make your prince any less attuned to you.

Jungkook’s eyes remain narrowed at you, breathing heavily as you only state the facts not to insult him, but to remind the both of you of your place — or whatever is left clear of it because Jungkook can’t even think straight the longer that he looks at you hurting.

“What, prince? What are you gonna do about it?” you spit as the last resort, standing up abruptly to storm off and make an escape for it just once so you’ll be free of the burden of being yourself in Jungkook’s existence, yet he doesn’t let you.

The grip that the prince has on your arm is unstable yet unyielding at the same time, as if it’s taking everything in Jungkook to remain standing despite wanting to hunch over by the unexplainable tremor that roots from his chest.

(It is taking everything in him.)

“Burn,” he utters. “I’ll burn everything.”

“You’re-…”

“Weaker than you? I know that,” Jungkook interrupts, his lips set in a straight line as he lets himself be swept by the current that is you. “All the more reason to do everything for you then.”

The young prince doesn’t even break his gaze from you once, even if his pupils are trembling and his teeth are chattering out of the sheer trepidation that comes with being scared for someone else who carries your heart with them.

He doesn’t break his gaze from you, even for the briefest second, as he fishes out his (your) handkerchief from his pocket that’s there, not because it just happens to be, but because it’s allotted for you.

To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides, and Jungkook no longer wants the star to swallow him whole because he doesn’t want you to be burned.

Jungkook wants to love you all the way.

[ywuji]

Omg so like I want to hear your thoughts on perv!Megumi like finally after so long of Gojo teasing him for being in college for two years at this point and being single, he’s finally procured a pretty girlfriend who’s unfortunately (for her) so naive and sweet??🩷💕 Idk I got shy but I know you’ll do something good with this lol

ik i told u id post this after my wips but i started on it n i couldnt stop i liked the idea too much LOL im sorry for being so confusing D; tysm for the ask though!!! :o i rlly enjoyed writing this!!! (n don’t be shy ahjwhs you’re so lovely T_T♡)

perv!megumi !!! please i feel like he’s the type to be a pervert that’s kinda embarrassed n self aware about himself—especially bc gojo kept teasing him all those years n he was kinda just jacking off to whatever x-rated video that came up first (i feel like perv!megumi is highkey into hentai too but he’s taking that to the grave!!)

n when gets a pretty little girlfriend who acts so cute and who he loves so much, when he gets hard he can’t help but let some of that side of him slip out from time to time...

i think he’s also the type to take lots of pictures,, like pictures while you sleep, peeking through your door while you shower, in clothing store changing rooms while you change, upskirt pictures… he’ll make you his little model!! some of them you know about but some of them you don’t, he’s so lewd.

it’s not just pics of you he takes, it's some of himself too. i feel like one of the things he’d love to do to you is when you tell him to come with you to some random uni event, n he’ll randomly disappear in the middle of it, only to go to the bathroom to take pictures of his hard leaky cock to send you with some casual caption like he didn’t just do that ?!?! he’s crazy (more under the cut)

it’s not megumi’s fault he’s so in his head about you, he still just doesn’t really know how he managed to get someone as pretty and doting as you are as his. 

he sometimes feels guilty for being so obsessed with you—your body clad in pretty little outfits that you show off to him with a twirl, the way you’ll always show him your shiny new sparkly nails when you get them done, how he’s always the first one you’ll pick to talk to about something new you’ve found to love—it’s all that seems to be on his mind recently.

maybe it was gojo’s accidental doing, those feelings of guilt. unintentionally planting a little growing seed of shame in him the first few times he started teasing him for not having a partner yet at his ‘big age’, borderline lecturing him with the ‘when i was your age’ stuff—maybe that was the logical reason why he felt so attached to you, the reason he couldn’t help getting fully erect even when he only saw as much as a pair of your flung-away panties lying at the edge of your bed when coming to your room one day.

but when he recalls back to those nights where you’re innocently cuddled against him, watching whatever movie, a quiet ‘megumi?’ leaving your lips as a sign to tell him you’re falling asleep, and he finds himself shifting in his seat, carefully adjusting your head to let you rest comfortably on him, pressing a soft kiss to your hair as he strokes it and tells you a ‘sleep now, angel’, he knows that’s not the reason.

nevertheless, he’s always been worried about it, thoughts of ‘am i doing too much?’ or a ‘would she not like this?’ clouding his mind. but for every single thought like this he has, he’ll always have two more memories where he’s coming up to you, his sweet-faced little girlfriend, waiting for him with open arms and open heart. and to him, it means more than the world.

and as his cheerful sweetheart girlfriend, you’ve never really minded of course.

you know he’s at least a little perverted, asking to take those pictures of you trying on your new swimsuits, or bras, or skirts, or those times when he pulls out after spilling his load into you, and the first thing he does after making sure you’re okay is to go face-to-face with the trail of cum seeping out of you to snap a few photos.

honestly, you’ve gotten used to it at this point. you just take these moments, seeing what you do to him, as a way of reassuring yourself that he really does just love you that much. and he really does. really!! :(

no matter how innocent or dirty the context, he’ll let you know whenever he gets that warm little feeling in his chest.

“i-i love you,” he pants, head coming up from sucking marks on your neck, languid thrusts coming to a gentle stop as he peers up at you with flushed cheeks. it feels like he’s admitting it for the first time again.

when you stare at him with his same love-drunk look, brows furrowed and eyes pleading, whispering out an “i love you too, gumi”, he’ll pause a moment to study your expression before gently raising you further up the bed, hooking his hand under your leg and repositioning it around his waist.

he’ll drop down to press a kiss to your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder and picking up the pace again, now only determined to make you cum.

when he thinks of times like these, despite what you’re doing together, it’s innocent in his head.

a time where that’s not so much the case though is when you persuade him to come with you to some uni exhibition event, looking up at him with hopeful, doe-like eyes and as many ‘pleeeaaase, gumi’s and ‘please, guuuum’s as you could muster—cause it’s not like he could say no to that, right?

at first he put up an act of feign stubbornness. but eventually he agreed—only when he knew you’d excitedly hug him and press your soft chest to his as a thank you for it though.

he’d tour the hall with you, watching you gaze in awe at everything with your cute, simple curiosity, occasionally pointing out little things in the pieces he liked. before the artist began their talk though, he got up from his seat, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before muttering a “‘m g’na go to the bathroom.”

in an empty stall, he’ll sit atop the lid and pull down his jeans, freeing his stiffening cock from his underwear. he quietly groans as he pumps himself a few times, a slow trickle of translucent white leaking down from his tip.

he silently curses, throwing his head back, thinking about how you let him flip up your pretty skirt before you left, letting him take a peek at your cute ass in the frilly panties he bought for you.

he reaches for his phone, fumbling to send a picture of the sight to you, adding a casual caption of something like ‘hi pretty girl’ or ‘u look so pretty today, angel’.

he pauses, realising that maybe you won’t see it for a little while. he’s imagining you so obediently listening to the artist speaker to notice the ping of his notification—he enjoys that thought too, but he can’t say why.

he’s careful not to thrust up into his fist, not wanting to make too much noise, but it’s futile—he’s too hard staring at the lewd shots of you saved in his secret hidden album—the way you act so innocently, the way you have no clue what the true extent is of what you do to him. he can’t help but let a few breathy whines slip.

he won’t let himself cum though, thinking he’s too good to be letting himself release over some scrunched up, bathroom tissue when he’s got his own pretty little girlfriend waiting for him a few halls down.

he sighs. cleaning up and tucking himself back into the band of his briefs, leaving the stall and washing his hands, walking back out like nothing happened.

[soobnny]

dating him | han jisung

❝ you found my heart broken and you helped me make it whole again ❞

chan | lee know | changbin | hyunjin | HAN | felix | seungmin | jeongin

i think you’re a second love type situation for han jisung

the one where he thought he’d never recover from his first heartbreak

but then here u come

i think han’s the type of person to feel everything

if he’s in love, he’s in LOVE

and if he’s hurt, it would just be overwhelming pain

so imagine how he was when he got his first heartbreak

he’d lose a little bit of his spark

maybe keep to himself even more than he used to

u come to his life in the form of a friend first

and han has unknowingly planted a seed that’s grown and grown and grown

with every interaction

with every laugh you’ve brought back

with every moment he was coming out of his shell again

until it’s fully bloomed into a love that’s very very real and very very present

han jisung would also love so beautifully

he knows what it’s like to be hurt, and he doesn’t ever want u to feel that same pain

he rly makes efforts

he is FULL of efforts

and he makes u laugh ☹️☹️☹️☹️

he communicates

and when the boys finally meet u, they’re very grateful but also

????!!!! why do u they know ur favorite color

and ur go-to order at the cafe

and the hoodie u like to steal from jisung the most

well turns out, han loves talking about u to his friends

they just know everything about u before even meeting u

he’d get rly shy about it but never embarrassed

he’d tell the whole world about u if he could

what else can i tell u

han jisung is just someone where nothing sounds crazy to him

so i think all ur dates with him would be so fun and adventurous lowk

amusement parks !!!!!

ice skating and roller blading

both of u would fall on ur ass

but you’d also laugh so much and somehow that makes up for everything

you’d be holding hands and skating with each other and looking at each other with lovesick smiles

I FEEL SICK!!!!!!!!

he’s always trying to impress u too

he tries to imitate figure skaters

kids don’t try this at home

ofc he fails miserably

obvious blushes when you’d tell him he was cute for trying

or when you’d praise him

anyways when i said he’s always trying to impress u i mean ALWAYS

he treats the relationship like he’s still pining after you

being the standard fr

he never lets go of the love

sometimes he’d still get shy to ask u out

somehow he doesn’t believe u actually said yes to him

he thinks he’s the luckiest boy

anyways, aside from adventurous dates, he equally values his inside time and quieter dates

he’s thankful u understand his shifts in his energy

on days u stay inside, you’d probably watch horror movies

look…. he suggests it….

it looked cool in his head to be all protective

you’d hold onto his arm when the jumpscares come

but

womp womp

he ends up being more afraid than u

and now HE’S holding ur arm

yeah it looked way cooler in his head

you’d play silly little board games together

or maybe charades

he’s so easily amused by sexual innuendos

he’s just a man guys

anyways

there are two things he loves to steal from u the most

aside from ur kisses

and it’s (1) ur perfume and (2) ur lip balm

u’d catch him putting on ur perfume just bc he wants to be surrounded by ur scent

it’s very comforting

one time, he was sick and the boys were taking care of him

and when u finally had time to take over and care for ur bf

u just …. smell ur perfume

“did you put on my perfume?”

“i missed you ☹️☹️☹️☹️”

DOWN BADDDDD

he’s so pouty and so cute

let’s suffocate him with the pillow

KIDDINGGGGGG KIDDING

and then ur lip balm

sometimes he steals the actual thing

sometimes he kisses you so he can have it on his lips too

han jisung is also the type to avail every possible couple coupon

and he’s always begging the cashiers to let u prove u’re a couple

it’s so he has an excuse to kiss you

so

months into dating him also means a thousand love letters

he loves writing u love letters

and u know sooner that he also writes songs

on ur anniversary, he reveals a song he’s written for you

and when he proposes, he tells u about every single one he’d ever written about you and for you

wish that were me 😂😂😂😂😂

TAKE CARE OF HIM

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

[stevebabey]

a piece that alas, will never get finished 😔 the bath fic that was once discussed, half written, and left to rot in my tumblr drafts. i hope u can read the seeds i was planting and see the vision i had even if i never could write it <3

Hot water is, indisputably, a luxury in the Munson household.

Far as Eddie knows, the same goes for the whole damn world.

Hot water is something sacred. Something to be used scarcely, lest you drain the tank and have only cold water to wash your plates and yourself in for the rest of the week.

It's not the worst, but, well, then again Eddie can think of few things worst than needing a shower during the colder winter months when the water splutters out lukewarm and the cold trickles in right when he's in the middle of washing his hair. It sucks. Always sends him to bed with the shivers.

Hell, sometimes he'd even do the mile at school just for a chance to get in the showers first — dashing in for the free hot water that only lasted a good couple minutes.

It was worth it though, Eddie thought.

Both the exercise and the sneers, in exchange for getting to be truly warm for the first time since he'd gotten out of bed that day. Warm showers will do that to you though.

Eddie's heard stories of places, of faraway like Hawaii or somewhere, where it gets so warm that when it rains, the water sometimes rains down already warm. Like a great big shower for the whole place.

He reckons if that ever happened here in the middle of nowhere Indiana, he'd be out dancing in the streets in the warm rain. Soaking it all in. Taking not a single drop for granted.

Steve's house, as Eddie has discovered, has more than one shower — because it's got multiple bathrooms.

In the time he's been hunkered down there, his sides patched up roughly and healing at what feels like a snails pace, Eddie has taken to exploring the empty halls of the Harrington House.

It's... enormous. Gargantuan. Fucking massive.

There's rooms with doors that never open. Rooms that Eddie's never even seen Steve go near. Endless doors and cupboards and an upstairs and downstairs, and far too many garages for one just couple and their son.

Eddie explores them all.

It stems from his boredom, of course, because patient isn’t one of the words used to describe Eddie Munson but restless certainly is.

He wanders aimlessly, under the guise that he needs to keep using the muscles in his legs while he heals up but truthfully, he loves a good snoop.

Soon enough, the driving force of his wandering transforms from boredom to… curiosity.

Steve Harrington has always been an enigma to Eddie.

Upholder of conventional standards and the heterosexual gaze turned, well, loser, in the manner of a couple months- it was jarring to say the least.

Especially to the likes of people like Eddie, for whom he had represented everything wrong with small town Hawkins. Rich meathead jocks who pay their way through school.

Eddie always figured he’d had a fucking mansion of a house but this place… it’s unsettling, seeing so much space, so unlived in.

It’s even more unnerving how Steve just… doesn’t take up space.

Even in his own home. Steve’s bedroom doesn’t sprawl out, it’s not packed with possessions and hobbies like Eddie knows his own is. His wallpaper matches his sheets, picked out by someone who clearly doesn’t know Steve.

Everything is tidy because Steve seems to have this neatness ingrained deep within him. He putters around, on auto pilot sometimes, to keep the space clean for parents who don’t seem to come home.

When Steve's out at work and it's just Eddie, wandering aimlessly to keep the strength in his legs, the loneliness of the place yawns down the halls. Consuming. Suffocating.

He’s found himself eagerly awaiting Steve's arrival home from work, if only to hear someone else's voice other than his own.

Today, Eddie's searching has lead him here— into the master bedroom’s ensuite and they have a goddamn fuckin’ bathtub.

It’s a proper fancy type one with clawed bronze feet and a wide lip, made of sparkling clean marble. The type he might describe for that is a King in a campaign, just to be on the nose about how wealthy and greedy this character was.

He’s so transfixed on it that he doesn’t even hear Steve jimmying his keys into the lock, coming home.

It isn’t until— “Eddie?”

Eddie jumps, startled, as Steve’s hand touches on his shoulder lightly. His goal to not scare the other boy doesn’t go as intended, considering how much Eddie flinches but the moment he turns his head, his face is relaxing.

“Fuck, dude,” He breathes a sigh of relief, lips quirking into a smile. “Didn’t hear you come up.”

Steve shrugs a bit and scratches behind his ear, a bit awkwardly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie nods, but his gaze has already shifted back to the tub before them. Steve follows his gaze easily, an easy chuckle passing his lips.

“I see you found the bath.”

“Yeah…” Eddie says, sounding a bit breathless, his voice distant. Steve glances over, trying to understand the strange emotion toying on Eddie’s features. It’s just a bath. Steve hasn’t even been allowed to use it before, sure, but he likes his own shower just fine.

“It was such a bitch to get it in when they first got it,” Steve explains, folding his arms across his chest as he recalls the memory.

He points his finger behind him to the doorway without moving his arm. “Knocked down a whole wall ‘cos they couldn’t get it to through the doorway. To be honest, I’ve always thought it was kind of ugly.”

He’s waiting for Eddie to say something. For the joke, for the sneering comment on his parent’s fortune, for any lippy spiel that usually gets under Steve’s skin in the best way. The longer Eddie stays quiet, the more it begins to worry Steve.

It’s as though Eddie hasn’t even heard him.

Steve clears his throat and tries again, his tone light and delivered with a chuckle. “Man, you’d think you’ve never seen a bath before.”

Eddie’s head snaps toward Steve. He finally breaks his trance, regrettably just to snap at Steve. “I have, thank you very much.”

Steve feels a bit of embarrassment bloom over his cheeks, wanting to backtrack on his poor joke instantly but before he can open his mouth Eddie is already softening, hackles falling. His eyes are back on the bath.

“Just… haven’t even taken one.” He admits softly.

Steve doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what’s going through Eddie’s mind — can’t come close to understanding what forlorn nostalgia is tugging at Eddie’s gut.

“Not really, I don’t think.” He continues. He pauses to think, head tilting back just a bit. “When I was really little, maybe. Little enough to fit in the sink or— or something.”

Eddie seems to realise he’s letting whatever thoughts he’s having drift out of his mouth and promptly snaps his jaw shut, teeth clacking as he does. He doesn’t look at Steve, doesn’t want to see the pity or the sympathy or the—

“Anyways,” Eddie huffs a breath, turning to leave his newfound discovery on the exploration of the Harrington House.

When—

“Do you want to?” Steve asks suddenly. His voice is sincere. “Take one?”

Eddie blinks. Wonders if it’s a joke, that it’s being offered out just so it can snatched away and Steve can laugh at how desperate Eddie is to actually be given this. He has to hastily remind himself that Steve wouldn’t do that to him.

There’s no containing the excitement rushing in his voice when Eddie spits out, “Can I?”

Steve chuckles, an easy smile at the other’s eagerness.

It’s easy to overrun the instinct that’s ingrained deep, not to cross the little rules his parents have scattered through the house — easy because he’s doing it more and more with Eddie here.

They’d eaten off his mom’s expensive and untouched china on the first night Eddie had managed to get up and about to eat downstairs, instead of tucked in bed.

He’d been so keen to help, proclaiming that he’d set the table for the both of them— too excited to be up and moving to remember that he and Steve weren’t usually as buddy-buddy as they were acting.

Steve had soaked in it greedily. Warm brown eyes, saccharine smile, he’s found that Eddie sort of glows when he’s happy. And that giving him good food is one of the ways to stir up that happiness.

But even then, Steve had paused seeing the plates in Eddie’s hands, an instant stone in his throat because he isn’t allowed to use those ones.

Sputtering through a sentence, Steve swallowed the stone and skipped over the rule he’d never broken before. It was worth it for the smile on Eddie’s face.

Just like it’s worth it now. Seeing the awed smile on his face, already a little jittery at the thought of a bath… Steve’s embarrassed to find he can’t really say no to him.

He keeps that to himself though, because if Eddie knew that he’d be batting his eyelashes and making every demand known to Earth. But then again, that didn’t sound so bad either.

Christ, Steve thinks to himself. He’s so screwed.

[kalims]

ㅤbromance

premise. bro... (romantically) also still no context but those who read part one first know

parts. one , two

featuring. malleus, jade

content. gender neutral reader

note. hi... malleus is so silly boo

malleus

bros the type to stare at you fondly as you do whatever, even if it's either you're rambling about something or just quiet. he is, going to stare.

bros the type to insist you go first in wherever, the cafeteria? you first :) what a gentleman

bros the type to observe from a distance if you're locked in a conversation with someone, he doesn't want to eavesdrop but you know... he has fae heritage so his ears pick up on words.

bros the type to get secretly jealous because no one's paid him this much kindness as you and he kinda just wants you to talk to him when you can.

bro understands that he can't stop you from mingling with other people but he can make you his, and him, yours.

bros always in two moods, always interfering to whisk you away for himself, or holding back for your sake.

bros the type to slow down in his steps when he spots you struggling to keep up with his long legs (if you do.) if not he still slows down purposely so you do too because it means he can prolong your time together.

bros the type to offer you a ride if he sees you tired. if you say yes, he just smiles and picks you up without warning. don't argue because he will in fact, not put you down.

bros the type to be grateful for anything you give. a seed? wow he can plant this and the grown life will be a reminder of your thoughtfulness to give him a gift!

bros the type to give you said gifts, that might be simple in your culture but has deep roots to romance in is.

bros the type to be quality time > physical touch kind of guy but he's not that picky, as long as you're with him there's practically nothing that can convey the extension of his love for you.

bros the type to hold himself back because if he doesn't. he's afraid he might scare you off when you hear about just how much he likes you.

bros the type to ramble about lilia about your 'greatness' while the former lets him whilst chuckling. (secretly wishing you goodluck because his darling son is definitely not going to let you off easily.)

bros the type to notice the slightest shift in your mood from your face alone. he notices a lot than he lets on, the poker face when you're angry, the silence when your sad... he has a way of telling whenever you change.

^ and he's not all but forcing you to let your feelings out. if you like to resolve your feelings by your own, he leaves you alone; even if he himself is just about sulking in his room at the dorm all day.

because he knows how important feelings are. he certainly can't fully understand what you're feeling but he knows that his love for you surpasses his constant need of your presence.

bro loves all versions of you, the mad you, the 'no one can see me like this' you, or whatever version of you that you think is embarrassing. but his favorite you? (hehe yuu) it's the happy you.

so he'll always strive for your content-ness. he knows that life is too short to be sad all the time, even if your happiness could be the cost of his, (e.g going somewhere you want but he dislikes) he's had a long time to be happy.

but he's really the happiest when you are :)

bros the type to go: "oh that reminds me of them," and everyone is SO tired like.. malleus we're in the middle of a magishift match stop daydreaming -probably leona but I made it less mean :P

bros the type to hand out his food when he sees you eyeing it, "want to try?" he says. then just gives you the entire thing when u end up liking it and buys like 2 more for you. (stop him or he will keep coming back to buy it.)

he isn't even sad nor upset he gave away his food!

bros the type to look for you whenever it's time to dance with your partner on the floor. pop, rap, those ballroom music, whatever he's dragging you out there.

don't even think about declining cause who can resist him when he's looking so happy to get to you first? (despite many other people wanting to dance with him.)

bros the type to think of you when he's playing the piano so whatever composition he's performing sounds like absolute heaven. (you'd be surprised at how much he'd learn midst his long years.)

bros music just sounds like the definition of a fairy tale, slowburn love. (ahem, he's so lana del rey coded but I'm listening to happiness is a butterfly as I write this so you can paint the pic :))

bros the type to prefer quality time over physical touch, in terms of receiving you don't really have to do anything for him. sure the reassurance of your affection is nice but you know what's even better? just the notion that you're here.

even if, bros the type to melt at any type of caress you give him. rubbing circles over his palm? actually that's his thing but he can forgive you. ruffling his hair at the top of his head? well. not much dare but aren't you an endearing human! he's chuckling but there's there's unmistakable relaxation of his tense shoulders.

in short he's just practically decomposing to putty in your arms :P

bros the type to give acts of service as a form of his affection. oh your dorm fell apart again as usual? don't even ask cause if he witnesses a part of the roof falling off, just quietly waves his hand then it's fixed and better than before! 

bros the type to silently act out acts that just make your life easier overall, don't complain cause the most you'll get is him toning it down. he will NOT stop.

bros the type to watch himself in your eyes. if anything if you're both talking, the way he's looking into your eyes isn't because he's inclined to do so due to his polite manners. there's just something about the fact that he can see every single color in your iris, or maybe he can see the lovestruck expression etched on his face.

bros the type to laugh at every joke you make, even though he has to be told you're making a joke at all. imagine this, you make a joke, he just stares at you quite confused. you tell him it's a joke and he lets out the most delayed laugh you've ever heard, it's been 15 whole seconds after you spoke it and he's chortling.

it doesn't matter if he understands or not!! he'll never make you feel like your jokes are unfunny, or didn't lighten up his mood cause your existence alone makes him feel like he's practically shining.

bros the type to immediately slide his blazer off his shoulders the moment he notices you're starting to shiver, showing signs of feeling cold. don't worry ;) no need to return, he'll most likely forget and sebek would get him a new one in record speed. strangely his memory is all refreshed and full of pride when he sees it in your room.. have you perhaps been wearing it after that incident..?

jade

bros the type to show his affection through random gifts, he may be an acts of service lad but you know he just had to send you that (totally not poisonous, hopefully?) mushroom.

bro 'drops by to check on the healthcare of the mushrooms he gifted you' cause that's the only sole reason he's there… casually stays there for hours end despite him looking at it for 2 minutes and calling it a day.

bro just HAS to be the one serving your table if you happen to drop by monstro lounge for a quick meal or just there to enjoy the sights it has to offer. he was temporarily busy and someone already took your order? too bad. promptly tells the student to help someone else 'he's got it'

^ MY GUY JUST TRYNA EARN SOME MADOL.

if the definition of 'serving a dear, special customer' was even handing you your food that's been suspiciously accompanied by freebies.. then bros doing it cause apparently since you were a regular he figured it's a token of appreciation. 

you're not sure if azul is even aware he's just casually handing out freebies on his own accord.

bros the type to just sit right in front you, watch you eat, without saying anything at all with a rather eery smile but there's nothing new about that. you're just questioning why he's just.. there. in your table instead of serving the lounge.

bro said "it is fine, business is slow today.." even though if you side eye to the left you could spot nearly all tables full and 3 residents scrambling to balance all of them alone..

literally just stares at you but bro answers if you ever start a conversion or ask a question to fill the silence. you'd think he'd leave you alone after you're finished but he PERSONALLY brings it to the kitchen and 'sees you out because that's what they do for all customers.'

that's a lie btw.

bros difference of 'that look' is absolutely nothing compared to the 'plotting something bad' face which is just slightly narrowed eyes, and a pointy wide smile. so you aren't sure if you should shit your pants (99% would cause you wouldn't know he'd be giving you the look)

bros the type to dust off the dirt in your clothes but you literally just dusted it off two minutes before you two met.

bro makes the most subtle excuses to touch you, AKA including the dusting off the non-existent dirt. he's smooth with it though.

bros the type to completely be focused on you, passing by a really loud classroom while you're talking? eyes are still on you even if the professor mentions fungus.

^ (50/50 tbh).

bros the type to let you play with his hair, particularly the black strands. hide it in his hat, clip it, braid it, add pins on it.. heck, he's genuinely elated you're giving that part attention from your day.

bonus points if bro just stares intently in your eyes as you're working, it's harder to not look back than styling the portion. it's hard cause his eyes are pretty intense, not to mention mesmerizing with the heterochromia.

bros the type to let you pick out music that plays in monstro lounge. azul always questions him why he heard the customers wondering about why CPR was playing but he always shrugs and says it's a new marketing trick.

not bro but when jade is in a bad mood floyd always uses you to 'cure him' and what do you know, he is acting all better but the problem is jade is still not talking to floyd but talking to you… sibling fight tingz.

not bro once again but when jade is intent on making a decision that gives azul a headache and heart attack simultaneously, the man nearly ALWAYS tells you to "wonder out loud about how yellow would not fit the carpet of the lounge." 

bros the type to give you mushrooms instead of flowers. traditional gifts for first dates who?

bros the type to give you a MUSHROOM PLUSHIE instead of a teddy bear 😭 like jade we know you love breaking stereotypicals but please enough… you can't forget the mushroom ballpen he lended you.

bro has one of the most prominent presence in the entirety of NRC but is amused when you're totally unaware of him creeping up behind you. thinks it's funny and cute, and keeps jumpscaring you at random periods of the day.

hey don't look at him like that, he just wanted to talk to you.. didn't mean to scare you.. 😊

note. commissioned piece :D don't repost anywhere else. (plz commission me I'm broke)

[sadseungmin]

not sure if u do yandere content but yandere!felix that’s sweet and kind at first but after he lures u in he shows his true colours that he’s actually sadistic, manipulative and isolating after he finds out u have hanging out with ur male friends for way too long.

also can i be 🎧 anon? :D

♡ dating a yandere lee felix ♡

yandere lee felix x afab reader | dead dove | nsfw (MDNI)

p.s. i hope this is to your liking, 🎧! if you're not too shy, tell me in my dms, ok?

p.s.s. and of course you can be 🎧 anon! ^^

⚠︎ tw: mentioned forced breeding, physical violence, & murder

『 ↳♡･ﾟ yandere!felix is sweet & kind...until he isn't. ೃ⁀➷

Felix, with his charming smile, galaxy of freckles, and endearing demeanor, effortlessly captures hearts. To all who know him, he is the epitome of kindness and warmth, a beacon of light that draws everyone in—including you. However, beneath this sweet exterior lies a dark, obsessive nature that he meticulously conceals until he discovers you've been spending too much time with your male friends.

"Why do you need male friends? Aren't I enough for you, darling?"

♡ *̥˚ yandere!felix lures you in *̥˚ ♡

Felix's initial approach is nothing short of perfect. He showers you with affection, attention, and thoughtful gestures that make you feel like the center of his universe. He listens intently, remembers every detail, and always seems to know exactly what to say to make you smile. Felix is patient, never rushing the relationship, instead allowing it to blossom naturally—or so it seems.

What exactly about Felix lures you in...?

yandere!felix is charming & attentive: he makes sure every interaction is meaningful, creating a sense of deep connection.

yandere!felix makes thoughtful gestures: small gifts, surprise dates, and heartfelt compliments are his tools to win over your heart.

yandere!felix is patient & understanding: he gives you space and never pressures you, creating an illusion of a healthy respectful relationship.

"I saw this necklace and just had to get it for you. It's your birthstone, isn't it? The shade of the gem matches your eyes perfectly, darling. You should wear it to our picnic date later today. Oh, I didn't tell you? I planned for us to have a late lunch by the Han River!"

♡ *̥˚ yandere!felix shows his true colors *̥˚ ♡

Felix's façade begins to crack when he notices you spending time with your male friends. His once subtle jealousy soon morphs into an all-consuming obsession. The mere thought of anyone else having your attention drives him to the brink, revealing a darker side he had carefully hidden.

How does Felix show his true colors...?

yandere!felix uses subtle manipulation: Felix starts to express slight discomfort whenever you mention your male friends, planting seeds of doubt and guilt.

yandere!felix is showing increased possessiveness: He becomes more clingy, insisting on spending more time together and subtly discouraging interactions with others.

yandere!felix makes veiled threats: Felix's sweet words take on a sharper edge, hinting at the consequences of betraying his trust.

"I don't like you hanging out with them. It's obvious they want to take you away from me! They only spend time with you because they want to defile you—they want to fuck you. Do I need to put a baby in you, darling? Do I need to pump your cunt full of my cum to give a nine-month reminder to your little friends that you're mine and only mine?"

♡ *̥˚ yandere!felix is sadistic, manipulative, & wants to isolate you *̥˚ ♡

Once Felix feels he has secured your trust and affection, his true nature begins to emerge. He no longer hides his jealousy and possessiveness, instead using them as tools to control and isolate you.

How does Felix demonstrate these three traits...?

yandere!felix uses isolation tactics: Felix gradually cuts off your contact with your friends and family, using guilt trips and emotional manipulation. He convinces you that no one truly understands, loves, or cares for you like he does.

yandere!felix has sadistic tendencies: Felix takes pleasure in your discomfort and fear. he may resort to psychological torture, such as gaslighting, to make you doubt your own sanity and rely solely on him.

yandere!felix is manipulatively controlling: He carefully monitors your every move, controlling who you talk to, where you go, and what you do. Any act of defiance is met with punishment, disguised as concern for your well-being.

"Darling, you're being irrational and hurting my feelings. I only want what's best for you. If I were the 'sick individual' you claim I am, I wouldn't care to protect you from those losers you call friends. They don't love you; they don't care about you like I do. They wouldn't die for you like I would. There's no one in this world who can love you better than myself, sweetheart."

♡ *̥˚ yandere!felix is a psychopath *̥˚ ♡

Felix's possessiveness continues to escalate to terrifying levels, and he decides a more permanent solution is needed to ensure you remain his forever. His mask shatters completely, revealing a violent and murderous psychopath.

How do you know Felix is a violent & murderous psychopath...?

yandere!felix uses physical violence to instill fear & intimidation: Felix's temper becomes unpredictable and flares uncontrollably, with outbursts of anger that keeps you in a constant state of fear and submission. He begins to physically harm you, using your fear and pain to assert his dominance. Bruises (on your face, neck, torso, and limbs) and cuts (on your thighs, torso, and back) become a grim reminder of his control.

yandere!felix has muderous intent: Unable to tolerate any perceived threat to his relationship, Felix finally resorts to murder. He meticulously plans and executes the killings of your male friends, ensuring that they never come between he and you ever again. His murders are not crimes of passion but cold, calculated acts. He ensures that no evidence can trace back to him, using his charm and ethereal good looks to maintain an alibi and an innocent image.

yandere!felix uses psychological torture: Felix will taunt you with knowledge of his crimes, using your fear and guilt to further isolate and control you. He revels in your terror, taking sadistic pleasure in your helplessness.

"I got you a gift as an apology for slapping you earlier; it's a ring. You know I love you more than life itself, right? It hurts me more than it does you when I have to physically correct you. Anyway, the ring looks familiar, hm? Your friend—Chan, I think his name is—came over looking for you during your nap time. He accused me of keeping you hostage and said you're afraid of me. And, well, he threatened to get the cops involved if I didn't let him see you. So, I had to kill him. But before I disposed of his body, I noticed this ring. I think it will look much better on your finger than it ever did on his. Silver complements your skin tone so beautifully. Oh, y/n, don't cry! He was going to have you taken away from me. Chan left me no choice, darling."

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

EWAN MITCHELL INTERVIEWED FOR NERDIST MAGAZINE.

IN SEASON TWO OF HOUSE OF THE DRAGON, AEMOND BLAZES HIS PATH TO POWER, AND HE'S READY TO START A WAR. WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IS HIS OVERALL MOTIVATION FOR HIS ACTIONS? IS HE JUST SEEKING BLOODSHED, OR DOES HE WANT SOMETHING ELSE?

"That’s a good question."

"I think it could be a multitude of things."

"I think that’s the beauty of Aemond’s ambiguity."

"You don’t necessarily know what he’s thinking or where his true motivations and allegiances lie, but you definitely know that he is thinking."

"There is this calculative quality behind his eye."

"What his motivations are, I don’t know if I want to spoil it too much, but it’s a few things."

"I think he loves his mum [Alicent]."

"He wants his mum."

I’m going to quote Spider-Man… “with great power comes great responsibility.”

"He has the largest, baddest, oldest dragon in the known world."

"He has to be seen as someone who can wield that effectively."

"And so I think it could be a multitude of things, and I think there’s certainly a fear in the unknown there as well."

"What do you think are his motivations?"

I FEEL LIKE IT'S A SPLIT. SOME OF IT MAY JUST BE, 'I WANT TO GO INTO WAR, AND I WANT BLOODSHED. I WANT TO BE ABLE TO PROVE THAT I AM A MAN AND I FIT INTO THIS TYPICAL BOUND OF MASCULINITY.' BUT THEN I ALSO THINK THAT SOME OF IT IS A BIT OF WANTING TO BE SEEN AND BE HEARD. AEMOND IS NOT THE FIRSTBORN NOR THE ONLY DAUGHTER ON 'HOUSE OF THE DRAGON,' AND SO MAYBE IT'S WANTING TO PROVE YOUR WORTH AND SHOW THAT YOU ACTUALLY MATTER. AEMOND JUST WANTS SOMEONE TO SEE HIM.

"Yeah."

"One thing that I’ve touched upon before is the idea that kids need that unconditional love to develop a balanced view of themselves."

"If a child isn’t embraced by the village, they’ll burn it down to feel its warmth."

"And so Aemond, like you said, he’s going to find that validation through other means, that attention through other ways, and he might just do that through war."

THAT IS THE DIRECTION HE'S HEADING! ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT CONVERSATIONS IN THE HOUSE OF THE DRAGON SEASON TWO FINALE IS WHEN AEMOND IS SPEAKING WITH HELAENA AND TRYING TO CONVINCE HER TO TAKE DREAMFYRE INTO WAR. IS HE ASKING HER TO DO THIS PURELY OUT OF DESPERATION TO BEST HIS OPPONENT, OR IS IT MORE OF A STRANGE ATTEMPT TO PROTECT THE FAMILY AND THEIR LIVES?

"I think it’s a little bit of both."

"It’s a fight for self-preservation."

It’s basically, “Look, it’s either going to be them, or it’s going to be us, so it might as well be them… we’re out-dragoned seven to three. If we don’t bind together and take Harrenhal, take out Daemon, and destroy all of the influence that he has in the Riverlands, we’re going to be on a serious back foot.”

"And like you touched upon, the idea of desperation; he is desperate at that moment."

"He’s been made a fool in Rhaenyra raising new dragonseeds, and he had to make a U-turn and fly back to King’s Landing, and he definitely has to feel like he has to overcompensate."

RIGHT. IT'S INTERESTING THAT AEMOND STILL WANTS TO CHART THIS COURSE ON HOUSE OF THE DRAGON, ESPECIALLY AFTER HELAENA TELLS HIM ABOUT THE VISION OF HIM DYING IN BATTLE. WILL HE TAKE THAT OMEN SERIOUSLY OR DOES HE STILL THINK THAT HE'S THE MASTER OF HIS OWN FATE?

"He always thought that he was the master of his own fate, but this new knowledge very much challenges that."

"I think Aemond will believe that information."

"He just doesn’t want to… [the show] planted seeds earlier in season two, episode six, after he’s made Prince Regent."

He is looking up at the Iron Throne, and he yearns for it, and Helaena appears behind him and says, “Was it really worth the price?”

"It gives the impression that she’s always been ahead of the curve and always known the secrets that happened all around in the skies above Rook’s Rest."

"He knew that his sister possessed this foresight."

"And maybe if you were able to, in some way, shape, or form, harness that power, that might be actually incredibly invaluable for the Greens to possess that foresight to know when a blow’s going to come before it lands."

"It would be invaluable."

IT IS A POWERFUL ASSET TO HAVE ON YOUR SIDE! DO YOU THINK THAT AEMOND ACTUALLY HAS THE CAPACITY TO BE A GOOD RULER AND MAYBE REDEEM HIMSELF OF HIS TRANSGRESSIONS ON HOUSE OF THE DRAGON?

"Do I think he’d be a good ruler?"

"No. No, I don’t think he would."

I'M STILL ROOTING FOR HIM BECAUSE I AM AN AEMOND-APOLOGIST.

"[Laughs] … For the majority of season two, he’s so composed."

"Whilst all the members of the council table are raising their voices and arguing, Aemond’s always been the kid who sits back and waits for his moment."

"There is a very cold, calculative quality to him."

"But as soon as he sits in the King’s chair, he starts to chuck people out of the council, and it’s very interesting…"

"You never say never, but at the moment, he seems pretty bad."

"Atrocious."

HE'S TRYING HIS BEST! ON HOUSE OF THE DRAGON, AEMOND OFTEN TALKS TO OTHER CHARACTERS ABOUT SACRIFICING FOR THE THRONE IN ORDER TO BEST RHAENYRA. OUT OF ALL THE SACRIFICES HE'S ALREADY MADE, IS THERE A SACRIFICE YET TO COME THAT WOULD ACTUALLY BREAK HIS HEART? PERHAPS LOSING VHAGAR?

"Losing Vhagar would be…"

"Oh, my God, I’d be heartbroken! I would be heartbroken as Ewan because I want to see Vhagar on screen as much as possible."

"Vhagar was very much his first friend."

"He was the first friend that he ever made and the first being that recognized Aemond and actually showed him some sort of attention."

"She saw something in him that maybe he didn’t even see in himself."

"If he lost Vhagar, he’d be heartbroken. Aemond and Vhagar, they’re a power couple."

"They’re soul-bonded."

"I think if Aemond has a breaking point, he definitely hasn’t found it yet."

VHAGAR IS THE BREAKING POINT FOR NOW, I THINK. YOU KNOW, YOU HAVE QUITE THE FAN CLUB NOW. THERE A LOT OF PEOPLE WHO DIG AEMOND! I CALL HIM A ROYAL PIRATE ON A DRAGON BECAUSE HE'S GOT THE EYEPATCH. HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THIS INFLUX OF ATTENTION AROUND AEMOND, AND WHAT HAS YOUR EXPERIENCE BEEN WITH THE HOUSE OF THE DRAGON FANDOM SO FAR?

"Well, I’m not on social media, so I receive a lot of beautifully articulated fan letters that are often badass as well, and I never take it for granted."

"I use it all as motivation."

"It means the world to me, and it also means that in collaboration with Amanda Knight, the hair and makeup designer, and Caroline McCall, the costume designer, that our work has really paid off."

"It’s a testament to their hard work and talent."

"So I love it all."

"I read every single one of them, I swear to God."

[dream0fschism]

König with a smaller s/o and breeding/creampie king??? i think he would love the intimacy aspect of it, as well as the trust his partner would put in him by letting him cum inside <<33

thank YOU for requesting this.

hope u like it??

"Patience, my love," König hums, shushing you as he cranes his neck to plant a kiss to your temple. He's behind you and you're in his lap, one of his giant arms stretched over your hips as he scissored his fingers in and out of your constricting, needy hole.

You were always desperate in these situations with him, needy as ever as he prepared you for the extreme intrusion his thick cock would be providing in a few moments. You never wanted to wait, and he never wanted to rush.

He outright refused to cause you that kind of pain.

And when he eventually sinks himself into you, it's almost like magic - the way your cunt is wet and hungry enough for him that his size doesn't delay the movement in the slightest.

See, he's absolutely massive - and undeniably capable of lifting you by the hips and guiding your significantly smaller frame down onto his girth. He does this everytime, without fail, absolutely addicted to using your body just like a toy.

The slapping connections of skin on skin were almost completely drowned out by the sound of your laboured pants, which you breathed and hiccuped out of your throat each time König's hips snapped into the softness of your ass.

"Mmf - baby," you breathed out raggedly, back arching into the tautness of his frame as you rest your head in the centre of his chest - the only reachable place for you to comfortably rest.

"Oh, fuck," he whines himself, threading his entire right arm around your middle, holding you in place as his other hand settles over your folds and rubs, desperately.

This sensation is overwhelmingly good, and causes your walls to suck around the cock pumping in and out of you even harder. König gives you an animalistic growl in response, using his arm to lift you slightly and arch you into him further, sink his cock into you deeper.

"Hah, shit - baby, my -" you swallow your words with a clenched jaw. "-soon. I'm gonna cum, I can't hold it."

You know he's close too when he rubs at your clitoris harder, cause he always likes you to cum together - he thinks it's more likely to make you pregnant that way. You told him that's just some sort of old wives tale. He's stubborn.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he curses, breathless as his movements turn erratic. "I'm gonna fill you so deep, my love. You're going to... be so fat... oh..-"

"Yeah?" You moan. "Don't stop until you've put a baby in me, darling... Oh, oh - König, keep going... I'm-..."

His hips stuttered when you came apart, blinded by pleasure as he pushed his length as deep as possible and buried his seed inside of you. And after that he pumped himself in and out of you slowly, even when you'd both settled down from your highs. It's a routine for him.

"Can't.. stop," he sighs, lips pressing into the crook of your neck. "Have to make sure it goes deep."

You brought a hand to the side of his head and stroked tenderly.

"Need to see you with a bump..."

[vinvantae]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write something about Guanyu x curvy short reader, I think he’ll be very supportive of his partner…

I love your work!

Okay, so I am a short girly but not a curvy one so I tried my best, hope it's what you were after! It was nice to write for Guanyu, I have a big soft spot for him!

************************************

Guanyu simply loved the way you felt in his arms - the way your skin was always warm beneath his touch. You were addictive, and he wasn’t ashamed to show everyone just how you made him feel - always having to playfully smack his hands away when he started getting a little handsy throughout the paddock. 

The best part of your relationship was truly that you never doubted how he felt about you, even when others tried to plant those seeds of doubt in your mind, he’d always be there to brush those feelings away. As a shorter, curvier person, not the slender-model type like the rest of the drivers’ WAGs, people would always have something to say that you didn’t fit into the mould they had in their minds. But Guanyu? He paid them no mind. 

It was almost as if he’d known you’d been lurking online again - doom scrolling until you had to throw your phone across the room.

“Smells delicious, Tùzǐ**.” He hummed softly, coming up behind you - wrapping his arms around your middle as you cooked. “You spoil me.”

You smiled softly in response, turning just enough to hold a spoonful of sauce towards him. “You haven’t even tried it yet! Now, open up.”

His eyes sparkled as he took the spoon into his mouth, a deep groan escaping him. “That’s amazing… Do you have anything else to do or is it just cooking away?”

“Just cooking away, why?”

He removed the spoon from your hand, placing it gently on the counter before fully turning you around - taking your waist in his hands, gently squeezing. You couldn’t help the giggles he tore from you as he began tracing his fingers under your shirt. “Baby, please… I’m cooking!”

“I just can't get enough of you… is it not a recipe that’ll taste better if you just let it cook for a while?” He questioned, raising a brow. 

You playfully shoved him away and turned back to your sauce - biting your lip to stop your lips curving into a smile as he whined behind you, his arms wrapping around you once again, pressing kisses along your shoulders. He leant in close, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You’ve been online again, haven’t you?”

“...How could you tell?” You whispered back, using a fork to pull a piece of spaghetti out of the neighbouring pan, placing it between your lips. 

“Your shoulders…” He ran his hands across your shoulders, gently cascading them down your forearms. “They tense right up when you’ve been reading all of that nonsense… you do know it’s nonsense, right?”

You allowed him to turn you in his arms again, his dark brown flickering across your face - imploring you to be honest with him. He caught your face in his hands as you tried to look away, cupping your cheeks - brushing his thumb across your skin. “It’s nonsense, Tùzǐ**... you’re gorgeous, beautiful, sexy. None of what those online trolls think matter okay..? Just me and you.”

He rested his forehead against yours, you smiled at him softly. 

“...just me and you.”

********

**Romanised Chinese for Rabbit/Bunny (according to google lol) thank u @danielfuckingricciardo for helping me angel, mwah x

Sorry for the delay!!

[elsweetheart]

ellie finding ur favorite flowers on patrol n bringing some back for u to plant in the garden :(

flora.

🎀 very short. ellie being cute n goofy. reader being wifey.

“alright, close your eyes and turn around.” ellie’s voice approaches you from the side, having just returned from her patrol shift. you freeze with a smile, shutting your eyes — going to turn away from her. “wait— no. just close your eyes and face me. yeah.” she corrects, her voice approaching closer.

you’re already grinning ear to ear, not just because you missed her so much having been gone for hours — but you loved when ellie was in these playful moods. she’d been through a lot, so you were happy she was comfortable enough with you to act silly.

“hello to you too.” you chuckle, reaching your hands out blindly to touch her. her cold hand pulled yours out to face your palms upwards. “okay. got somethin’ for ya.” you could hear the excited smile in her voice as she shuffled about.

a light weight was dropped into your arms, bright notes hitting your nose and the feeling of waxy leaves on your hands. “‘kay, open.” she instructed proudly, your suspicions confirmed when you opened your eyes to see flowers in your grasp. not just any flowers, your favourites.

“ellie! are these—” you gaped softly, and she sheepishly nodded, stepping back and stuffing her hands into her pockets.

“yeah. found a bunch of packet seeds for different plants n’shit on my last supply run a few weeks back. i knew these were your favourite so i figured i’d start growin’ em outside the gate to surprise you. have something to bring home to you when i disappear off on patrol for hours, ya know? planted the rest of the seeds in the garden… you like ‘em?” she seemed almost nervous and you melted, stepping towards her and placing a hand on the side of her cheek.

“els, i love them. thank you!” you pressed a kiss to her mouth, heart exploding at the way her lips turned up into a smile against yours. “i better get these in some water!” you excited skipped off in search for something that resembled a vase.

from then on, everytime your flowers wilted she’d pick you new ones.

[user777h]

𐌌𐌄𐌍𐌕𐌀𐌋𐌋𐌙 𐌉𐌍𐌔𐌀𐌍𐌄

Authors note: hey 👋 long time no see ,not sure where I was going with this at all but idgaf and if u don't like it then stop reading.anyways love you loads enjoy 😘😘

Word count: 1130

Y/N’s hands trembled as she sat in the cold, sterile room of the asylum. The walls were a sickly shade of pale green, the kind of color that could drain hope from anyone's heart. She stared down at the plastic bracelet around her wrist, the one with her name and patient number printed on it, feeling the weight of it like a shackle. Her mind swirled with confusion and fear, but the strongest feeling gnawing at her was doubt—doubt that anyone would believe her.

The doctors had assured her that the visions were just figments of her imagination, the result of stress, trauma, or some deep-seated psychological issue she couldn’t even name. They said the mysterious man she kept seeing wasn’t real. But she knew better. He was real, and he was dangerous.

As if conjured by her thoughts, the air in the room seemed to shift, a cold breeze that didn’t belong in this suffocating place brushing against her skin. She looked up, her breath hitching in her throat.

“Y/N,” a voice whispered from the corner of the room.

She froze. The voice was familiar—hauntingly so. Slowly, she turned her head toward the sound, and there he was. The man from her visions stood there, dressed in the same dark clothes, his face pale and gaunt, his eyes a piercing snake like that seemed to see right through her. He smiled, but there was no warmth in it, only something that sent a chill down her spine.

“Who… who are you?” she stammered, though she already knew the answer deep down.

“You know who I am,” the man replied, his voice smooth, almost soothing. “I’m the one who’s been watching you, waiting for you.”

Y/N shook her head, trying to dispel the fog of fear that clouded her mind. “But why? What do you want from me?”

He stepped closer, and she could feel his presence like a dark cloud looming over her. “I need you, Y/N. You and I… we’re connected. You’ve seen me because I’m part of you, just as you are part of me.”

“No,” she whispered, backing away until her back hit the wall. “You’re not real. The doctors said—”

“The doctors,” he sneered, his expression twisting with disdain. “The doctors don’t understand. They never could. They think they can lock you away, fill you with drugs, and you’ll forget. But you won’t. You can’t.”

Y/N’s heart raced as his words burrowed into her mind like a dark seed, planting doubt and fear. She tried to resist, tried to remember the things the doctors had told her, but his presence was overwhelming, suffocating.

“I’m not crazy,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I’m not.”

“Of course you’re not,” he replied, his voice softening as he reached out to touch her cheek. His hand was cold as ice. “You’re the only one who sees the truth. The others… they’re blind. But you, Y/N, you can see me because we’re meant to be together. You were chosen.”

“Chosen for what?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“To be with me,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “To escape this place and be free.”

His words made her chest tighten with a strange mixture of dread and longing. She had been in the asylum for what felt like forever, surrounded by people who didn’t understand, who looked at her with pity or suspicion. But this man… he was offering her a way out, a chance to escape the suffocating grip of the asylum.

“How?” she whispered.

His smile widened, but it was a smile that promised nothing good. “Leave that to me. But you have to trust me, Y/N. Do you trust me?”

Y/N hesitated, but something in his gaze drew her in, something dark and magnetic that made it impossible to look away. “Yes,” she finally whispered, even as a voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to run.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. “Good. Tomorrow night, at midnight. I’ll come for you. Be ready.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Y/N alone in the room, her heart pounding in her chest. She could still feel the coldness of his touch on her skin, a lingering reminder that he was real, no matter what the doctors said.

---

The following day passed in a blur. Y/N went through the motions—medication, therapy sessions, meals—all while feeling like she was floating outside of herself, detached from everything around her. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of the man, of his promise. As night fell, her anticipation grew, along with her fear.

When the clock in the hallway struck midnight, Y/N was sitting on her bed, wide awake. The room was dark, but she didn’t need to see to know that he was there. She could feel him.

“Y/N,” his voice called softly, and she turned to see him standing by the door, just as he’d promised.

“I’m ready,” she said, her voice steady, though her hands trembled.

“Good,” he replied, a satisfied glint in his eyes. “Come with me.”

He led her through the darkened corridors of the asylum, moving with an eerie grace. The halls were empty, the usual guards and staff nowhere to be seen. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as they made their way to the exit, the thought of freedom just within reach.

But as they approached the heavy metal doors that led outside, something felt wrong. The air grew colder, thicker, as if the darkness itself was pressing in on her. She looked at the man beside her, and for the first time, she saw something in his eyes that terrified her—pure, unbridled madness.

“San,” she whispered, and he turned to her with a twisted smile.

“Yes, my dear?” he said, his voice dripping with a sickly sweetness.

“This… this doesn’t feel right,” she said, her voice shaking. “Where are the guards? Why is it so easy?”

San chuckled, a low, unsettling sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Because, Y/N, they’re not here. They don’t need to be. No one’s leaving this place.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

He stepped closer, his face inches from hers, his eyes gleaming with a manic intensity. “You see, Y/N, this place… it’s not just an asylum. It’s a cage, a prison for souls like ours. And there is no escape. But don’t worry, we’ll be together. Forever.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold as his words sank in. She tried to pull away, but his grip on her arm tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh.

“Let go of me!” she cried, struggling against him.

“Never,” he hissed, his voice laced with possessive rage. “You’re mine, Y/N. You’ve always been mine.”

Panic surged through her as she fought to free herself, but his strength was overwhelming. The darkness around them seemed to close in, suffocating her, as his laughter echoed in her ears.

Desperate, Y/N summoned all her strength and shoved him with all her might. San staggered back, his grip loosening just enough for her to break free. Without thinking, she bolted down the corridor, her heart pounding in her chest, terror driving her forward.

“Y/N!” San’s voice called after her, filled with fury. “You can’t run from me!”

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She ran through the twisting halls, her mind racing as she searched for a way out, any way out. The walls seemed to close in around her, the asylum a labyrinth of madness and despair.

Finally, she saw it—a door, just ahead. She threw herself at it, praying it would lead to freedom. But as she pushed it open, she was met with blinding white light, and the sound of voices—cold, clinical voices.

“She’s waking up.”

“Administer the sedative.”

“No!” Y/N screamed as hands grabbed her, pulling her back. “No, please! Let me go!”

But the hands held firm, and the light faded to darkness as the sedative took hold.

---

When Y/N woke again, she was back in her room, the cold, sterile walls surrounding her once more. She blinked, disoriented, her mind struggling to piece together what had happened.

Had it all been a dream? A nightmare?

But as she looked down at her arm, she saw the faint bruises where San’s fingers had gripped her, and she knew the truth.

He was real. And he was still out there, waiting.

“Soon,” a voice whispered in her mind, sending a shiver down her spine. “We’ll be together soon.”

And as Y/N lay there, trapped in the asylum’s grip, she realized with a chilling certainty that there was no escape. Not from San. Not from the darkness. Not from the madness that had taken root deep within her soul.

.....

OooOOoOhHhHH SCaryYYYy🤭🤭

[ofmermaidstories]

you saying you’d write an au for stardew is the equivalent of getting a rabbits foot and multiple prismatic shards in one day omg. even if u don’t do it the idea popping in ur head is already fantastic! i’m so happy you love the game i think it’s the perfect distraction for life !!! if only we could all just pack our things and move to our inherited farms and become the richest in town… it’s nepotism at work lol

please tae, i literally daydream about someone giving me a deed to a farm or a plot of land somewhere. 😭 and the thing is!!! like!!! farming’s not an easy job, it’s so dependant on the earth/weather, and even before climate change was a tangible threat it was a hard, hard living. 🥺 i get stressed out with my video game, lmao, 10pm and im still out in the fields hoeing or planting seeds, like. 💀 imagining doing that for like, 40+ plus to make a living……. you’d have to have a good team around you. 😩 farmhands, or family. a good spouse LOL. even a little hobby farm would be stressful………. and yet i still want that life. 😔 an orchard by the sea. 🥹 still stressful, but maybe slightly more manageable lmao.

i am trying so, so hard not to give into the temptation (not yet) to fulfil this wish via a fic LMAO. 🥹🙏🏽 i’m trying to feed it by doing like, small things: naming it (from the valley), making a playlist for it. god, i’ve gotten to the stage where i actively pause the game to write down little notes (things in our backpack: pink cake. a orange poppy flower. goat’s cheese. four cups of banana pudding. a totem with a weathered, deeply carved face. the pock-marked head of a mushroom). i am fighting for my life!!! the only thing that’s actually, properly stopping me from the follow through is that i don’t have a romantic end-game in mind. because in my head i’ve already given Reader three potential boyfies: izuku, katsuki, and maybe shouto (maybe shinsou instead). like, i can picture how friendships/relationships would form among them (izuku the kind, helpful guy. katsuki in the background, wary. shouto the son of the man who founded the company we worked for, back in the city; our work husband, who we joked to about following us out to the valley and who does). the one thing i’d want to do is have Reader find their way to Skull Caverns, and realise that all the magic they thought was whispering to just them has been whispering to other people, too—Izuku, sword in hand, staring at us in horror when he finds us cradling a large, spotted egg. Katsuki, rounding the corner after him, swearing black and blue about ghosts—sdhjfgklsdjflsfgkjsflkgj. i wanna write it so badly, just to get to that moment, LMAO. the mutual horror when all three of you are face-to-face in this giant, deadly, underground maze. the boys making you swear to secrecy; Izuku tearing into you for being so stupid, how did you even find this place, how did you know, do you understand what could’ve happened? you should’ve told them, you should’ve told him. your relief in finally having someone to talk to about all the weird shit you keep stumbling across. the way this would give Izuku an excuse to drop in to you, on the farm. Katsuki turning up to help with the tilling or seasonal planting, the harvest. i want to write about it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! all of it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! being on the dock in the middle of winter as the snow is falling, all those festive, jewel-like boats bobbing gently before you, waiting with their… winter star trees, or their paintings. the sea salt and the charred warmth of coffee beans. the mermaid show with all it’s tawdry secrecy…… the worn carpet under your feet, the mismatched planks that hold steady despite the creaking. i just think!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it would be neat to do. 🥹 i just!! it’s such a good world to play in LMAO. and if i could come up with a ending for it—a true, stops-me-in-my-tracks kind of ending—not even my attempts at nail-digging self-discipline would stop me from writing it.

for now tho it’s just my yapping, lmao. my yapping and my threats. 🥹

[comfortless]

write swagger. anything for swagger. anything. i’ll take a crumb, I’ll take medic x swagger i’ll take any overdone trope give me something for this man!!!! i love u and your writing sm syl i’m sorry this isn’t a köni request but..

Spin Cycle

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary fem!reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS: 18+ minors do not interact! violence, enemies -> lovers, implications of sex (no actual smut), swagger points a gun at your head sorry, reader may have a gun kink.

i hate(love) you, lele!! i listened to this guys voice lines so many times they’re just embedded in my brain at this point. lil rushed & not proofread, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

wc: 3k

Cold. Wet.

This isn't the weather for a battle. This isn't a night to die. But some lack taste in the intricacies of being victimized, and as her sight settles on the enemy maneuvering through the war torn warehouse, she realizes he certainly doesn't have a preference in which way he's ripped apart. The mask covering his face tells her everything she needs to know, he's dead already, hiding beneath an ugly cover to conceal his identity; an unknown, evil thing in her eyes. She would be doing him a favor. Mercy for the man marching around wearing a face not his own.

She slowly positions her pistol, quietly aiming as her finger brushes the trigger. Once, to prepare herself for more blood on her hands. Twice, to make peace with his creator in his stead— he wouldn't have the time nor the delicate nature for it. Thrice, because she likes the feel of the cold metal against her fingertip; it grounds her, tethers her to the reality of what she’s here to do. Lucky numbers be damned, it was all for the thrill of it.

She pulls the trigger and the bullet rips from the barrel as she bites her lip.

To her chagrin, it buries itself in the wall behind her target. To her relief, it definitely struck. The man buckles to the dirtied floor with a groan, gloved hands reaching out to apply pressure to the gash in his calf. It's not enough to kill, they both knew it, but it would put the buck down long enough for her to reload and fire a shot right into his brain. She wonders if she could tell what his face actually looked like when his mask was blown off and gray matter spackled  the floor behind him.

"Knew you were in here, you slimy bastard."

The voice pulls her from her thoughts, and if she were forced to have any sort of virtue left she could be honest and embrace the fact she isn't the most coordinated mercenary out there. Her pistol clatters to the floor. She quickly slips further into the dark, not bothering with her lost weapon for the time being as she positions herself behind a crate to hide.

"Your aim is shit. Your hands must be shaking."

The man's voice continues to rasp. He's taunting her, wants to lure her out. There's something playful about his voice that sends a swell of unease from her chest to the pit of her stomach. The man had just been shot, and that surge of confidence couldn't stem from a wounded man unless he had some sort of a plan. She's been here so many times with so many different flavors of prey that the warning signs aren't lost on her.

She swears she hears the click of him replacing his magazine, the static of his radio, the sound of ripped fabric and a lightening quick application of a makeshift tourniquet. The thought that the gunfire gave out her position crosses her mind.

"Come out, fucking coward."

She's been here so many times, in the dead of night, playing this one-sided game of cat and mouse. She's seen blood, felt the sting of a bullet carving it's way through her, and she's never been afraid. Not until tonight.

This isn't a night to die, yet she's pissed off the fucking grim reaper.

A church bell rings out in the distance, some small mercy. It plants the seed of an idea and she follows the path her mind carves with her hand grasping for a knife at her belt. The knife rips through the quiet air of the warehouse, coming to a clatter some three meters behind him after she tosses it. The man takes the bait, fires several shots in the direction of the noise as she quietly finds her escape. Delivered from death by the heavenly portal of a broken window.

But when it comes to the intricacies of being victimized, it's very rare that things play out so simply. Hunting is a messy task, and one slip up can so quickly prove that prey often have fangs, too.

Her target, some Polish elite soldier, Roland Kaminski, isn't a buck at all. Bucks are easy, they're skittish and stupid. You fire off a shot at one of them, they buckle or prance back into the plush foliage of the forest for cover. When thundering footsteps can be heard in the dark, just past the safety of the broken window, she realises she's not dealing with another deer. Shes got a frenzied boar at her heels.

She's defenseless, her arms scattered in the darkness of the warehouse the boar is charging from, and she finds she lacks the will to break her ankle jumping down onto the pavement below. This is the line where the hunt becomes a proper fight. Her pulse beats like the thunder tearing apart the sky above her, every muscle in her body pulled tight like a spring waiting to maul her impending threat.

The fight never comes.

One moment, he's charging through the wreckage inside like a behemoth with a taste for human flesh, and the next he's simply staring at her while he's shrouded by the dark. It's almost comical, really, her thoughts flood with pictures of horror mascots as she teeters on the windowsill, staring right back into the wide, dark eyes of his mask. They remain in a stasis for a moment, both breathing shallow, both watching the other. Then, he does something that surprises her. Surprises and infuriates her.

He pulls his radio up to his mask, breathes out a heavy sigh as the sound of static cuts through this pair's silence. The grim reaper has the audacity to pretend his frustration over arches her own, and she's gritting her teeth wondering how likely it was she could free his esophagus from the column of his neck with her mouth alone.

She feels his gaze rove over her, lingering along the empty holster at her hip and the garter on her thigh.

"Target's down."

He's lying to his team, lying because he pities her, and she can't think of a thing more insulting. A mercenary is no different than a prostitute, money for flesh, pain or pleasure. She's aware of it, she's seen her fellow mercs gunned down without a second thought from their enemies. She's heard the men in her company boast of ravaging paid women without thought. For some time, she's considered they may all be beasts, but the grim reaper is sparing her. Sparing her, because he doesn't see her as a threat at all. A defenseless woman clinging to a broken window like it's the only tether she has to the world at all. He's no boar, no blood-stained reaper, just a person. He doesn't see her as pounds of flesh to march into battle before him. She sees humanity, and he sees an insect unworthy of his bullet.

"I tried to kill you," she breathes out, enunciates each word careful and slow as she tries to get a read on him, praying her assumption isn't true. There's the creaking of broken glass beneath the toes of her boots as she pivots herself to fully face him, standing in the window with the backdrop of a dark sky threatening violence. The man shrugs his broad shoulders, turns away, as though nothing has even happened. Her stare drifts to the tourniquet on his calf, and it dawns on her that he isn't even limping.

"I wouldn't even need a minute with you." He sounds bored. The pity stung enough. She wasn't just a hapless rabbit in his eyes, she was a gnat. A nuisance to top it all off. "Who are you working for?"

She falls silent, teetering on the ledge of the windowsill in silent debate. The jump would end in injury, but the darkened sky and the rain could cover her. There’s a building less than half a mile away and if she just made it there then—

“Answer.” Roland’s gruff voice sounds out in the quiet warehouse again, and she hazards a glance up just in time to catch those dead eyes of his peering at her from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Roland merely huffs at that, rolls his shoulders a little. He’s confident, a bit too arrogant for a man that’s been shot. She may have seen a boar, and he may have seen an ange, because he has the audacity to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder with a gentle swipe of his thumb along her neck.

Tells her, “Get lost.”

Follows it up with, “Let us never meet again.”

She doesn’t die on this frigid, rainy night, but a part of her is lost with him. Lost with a man that looks at her as though she had tiny angel’s wing, buzzing at her back. Lost with a man who’s entire existence is an enigma to her. Shoot to kill, and she hadn’t. Shoot to kill and not ever would she again, not to him, not to the man who gave her mercy when she deserved none.

— — —

She finds herself working alongside the Polish GROM. Realistically, she had returned sopping wet to her shabby hotel and spent hours researching how to work her way in. She doesn’t know why, but she’s found herself enthralled in a shadow, worshipping him in her own way. All for a chance to see her should-be reaper. And she’s no elite, can barely keep her trigger finger steady, but supplementing for a fallen soldier is the standard and she’s got enough falsified experience under her belt to look the part of a proper gunman.

It pays enough to keep her afloat until the next thing piques her interest or her contract ends, whichever comes first. Her room is simple, a barren mattress and dark walls, a concrete floor. It doesn’t feel homey, but no place ever does nowadays. Small blessings are found in the fact she doesn’t have to share the space, it’s hers and hers alone.

She spends her first few hours inspecting the place for bugs, then takes to staring up at the ceiling, listless, because what the hell had made her so impulsive? Roland could have already had his head blown clean off by anyone else by now. Did she even want to see him? To choke him with his own words or thank him for his kindness?

All of this uprooting driven by impulsivity for a man who told her not to meet him again and yet she’s here, walking about the compound like she truly belongs.

She should have cut her hair, tried to make herself look different from the trembling mouse on the ledge that night, but a part of her wants him to see her. Recognize her, bring him down from that gilded throne of his where women like her are just nuisances instead of a proper challenge.

Only, she’s not a challenge. Not at all, because the second she meets him in the stairwell her mind starts swimming and all she can do is stare. He looks a bit tired, likely having just returned from some dreadful mission, even wearing all black he’s covered in sprays of dust, the denim of his trousers painted darker in some places, blood.

“Ja jebię.”

He hadn’t forgotten.

His breath sounds shaky, and she’s not sure if it’s because the gas mask in its proper place or if he’s actually surprised, startled. If anything could shake him down from his pedestal she imagined meeting the woman who tried to kill him once again would do it.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than your aim, pizda.”

She imagines that he would probably like nothing better than to put a bullet through her right then. The man merely laughs, something breathy and low. She’s surprised him, probably both startled and impressed that she even had the balls to face him again. She likes that, likes that little laugh, that his voice isn’t angry, that he’s playing with fire just as much as she is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Contract,” she states simply, not bothering to hide the way her gaze rakes over his body in the yellow haze of fluorescent lighting. “Just a few months, filling in a gap.”

He mutters something under his breath, a string of Polish and French that she doesn’t quite catch. She knows that he knows she’s infatuated, taking to follow after a wild coyote like a house pet.

It’s a dirty word, infatuated; dangerous in a way that scares her more than facing down the barrel of a gun.

Roland takes a step towards her, brushes her hair from her face with a touch too rough and leans in close to look at her, inspect her as though she’s not even really here, some figment of his vile imagination. She just… lets him. Despite her better judgement she lets him grip at her face like she’s nothing but putty in his hands.

“Here to kill me?” He asks his question as he retreats from her and drops his hands to his sides, staring at her as though she’s not an implant in his force, but an implant on the planet itself.

“Not this time.”

He gives her a tilt of the head and a grunt in response before brushing past in a hurry.

— — —

The following morning, she wakes to several rapid knocks at her door. Sounding just impatient enough to pull her from her sleep with her heart fluttering like a small bird in her rib cage. She readily hops out of bed and dresses before turning the knob to reveal something she didn’t expect— Roland. It’s the first times she’s seen him without his gas mask, but she recognizes him immediately. He’s more handsome when he doesn’t look the part of a famished buzzard seeking out carrion.

“Kaminski.”

“Swagger,” he corrects and she can’t help but laugh at the usage of his callsign. She wants to know how he got stuck with that, something so embarrassing it makes him sound as though he’s some teenage boy desperate to fit in or perhaps even a pirate, not the man she sees before her.

“We aren’t on the field.”

“Today we will pretend.”

He grabs her arm in the very same boorish way he had grabbed at her face just yesterday, and leads her down an empty hallway in silence. Each step seems to echo louder than the last. She wonders for half a moment if he does intend to kill her, hazards a look up at him expecting to see some flame of gruesome determination in his eyes only to be met with a calmness that makes her reconsider.

Today isn’t a day to die, either, it seemed.

He leads her to a room of bulletproof glass and well-placed targets. Pulls his gun from his holster after inspecting that she hadn’t thought to bring her own. She feels silly when his touch goes to prod at her hip, dips along the waistband of her trousers to seek out a weapon that just isn’t there. She’s ill-prepared and now her face feels hot all while Roland didn’t seem to have so much as a care.

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” he huffs as he steps behind her and places his gun in her hands, an ugly thing she recognizes to be a SIG P226. The metal feels cold and heavy in her hands, but she handles it well enough. It doesn’t particularly help that one of his arms curls around her middle to keep her steady. It’s even worse that one hand remains splayed over hers as she holds the gun.

Shooting when you’re in a desperate situation is difficult enough. The thought that death could be approaching doesn’t keep most grounded, not her at least. It makes her shaky. This is far worse. The man is so close she can smell him, gunpowder and something pungent and clean like mint. She feels his warmth cover her back, his fingers digging a bit into her side.

“I’m ready.”

He grunts in response, maneuvering her a bit closer to a small window carved out in the glass.

“Then shoot.”

So, she does. She misses, of course, and she feels even more silly when he mutters something into her shoulder and deliberately moves and angles her arm properly. The only thing good is that the gun’s recoil is soft, because if she were pushed any further against him she may very well melt down into putty.

Again and again she takes aim and fires at the brightly colored target through the window. After what feels like hours she’s finally hit some place that makes Roland give her an appreciative pat to her tummy.

“I’m improving.” She feigns his confidence, puffing out her chest a little in pride.

“Are you?”

He steals the gun from her hand and draws away to face her properly. There’s a tension she can’t place, something strange in the flicker of his eye.

“You saw—“

Her words are cut off when the man tackles her to the floor, covering her entirely as he pins her from either side. A sharp intake of oxygen is stolen as her spine tingles in pain from the sudden force. She yelps, he laughs, and none of it is funny because he’s still holding a loaded fucking gun. Only, worse, when he presses the muzzle against her cheek and uses his free hand to fix her wrists to the cold floor beneath her.

He tuts at her when she doesn’t try to fight him off, only looks up at him with wide-eyes and parted lips, a face too warm to only depict fear. If he didn’t know before, he knows now. She catches a mischievous glimmer in his eyes right before she tilts her head to kiss the cold steel clutched tightly in his fingers.

Roland stiffens above her for a moment, every muscle in his body pulled taut, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering.

“Not pizda,” he whispers as he clicks the safety back on and shifts to holster the weapon. “You are like a…”

“Ange?”

“Non,” he laughs. “Aniołku.”

If she didn’t know before, she knows now.

— — —

Any training session is spent with Roland.

Every mission they’re tethered to one another.

Any free time she finds yourself having is spent with him, even seeking him out herself just as often as he comes pounding at her door.

It feels both natural and absurd, sharing meals with the man she almost murdered, covering him as he covers her, both finding themselves less and less willing to be on their own as the days pass by. The progression just doesn’t halt, a train plowing off track, the man has his blunt talons curled into her and she just doesn’t have the sense to beat him back because she knows she’s got her teeth embedded just as deeply into him.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when she starts her mornings peeling herself away from him, still sleeping peacefully in her bed. His room lacks taste— too barren, too bogged down with well-oiled metal and violence. She’s spruced hers up in the free time she has with small items, things she can pack up and carry with her to whichever side she finds herself pulled to next.

The thing she keeps most sacred, however, is a little photograph of him, one he had insisted on her keeping on the bedside table, despite being in flesh, wrapped tightly around her each and every night.

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands a few times before the weight of a heavy hand splays itself out across her middle, languidly tugging her back down.

“Stay,” he murmurs, someplace lost between dreaming and waking.

“Just for a bit,” she whispers in reply, nestling close, curling against his chest.

“Forever, aniołku.”

With a soft inhale, she falls back against him in a tangle of limbs and warmth, a part of her lost to the fantasy of permanence.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

ange: angel (French)

Ja jebię: fuck me

pizda: cunt

non: no (French)

aniołku: angel